Warriors of gor gorean s.., p.19
Warriors of Gor (Gorean Saga), page 19
“Surely it was he who had Talena in custody,” said Seremides.
“But you failed to wrest her away from the polemarkos?” said Xenon.
“He was not carrying Talena,” I said. “He permitted me to face strip the woman with him and determine for myself that it was not she.”
“Perhaps,” said Seremides, “you slew the polemarkos and have hidden Talena away for yourself, to claim the whole reward?”
“I do not think that Talena was with the flight,” I said. “Certainly the polemarkos did not seem perturbed on that score. He claimed the flight was a trial, so to speak, a practice flight to test the feasibility of such a mode of delivering Talena to Ar.”
“Now he must look for a new mode of delivery,” said Xenon.
“Rather,” I said, “he seemed sure that such a flight, supplied and altered in some respects, would manage the business quite well.”
“He is then preparing another flight,” said Xenon.
“It seems he will soon be doing so,” I said.
“Where is Talena now?” asked Seremides.
“One does not know,” I said. “Presumably either with the ships at Port of Samnium or, as I think more likely, somewhere in Samnium itself, awaiting a new flight.”
“You believed the polemarkos?” said Xenon.
“I had little choice,” I said.
“She may be back with the caravan, the many wagons,” said Seremides, “somewhere east of Brundisium.”
“That is possible,” I said. “But I do not think so.”
“We will return the basket, the tarns, and net to Samnium,” had said Seremides, claiming a change in business plans.
“I doubt that we will get much of a refund from the House of Iskander,” I had said.
“No,” had said Seremides, “not all bandits swarm the roads and prowl the skies.”
I was trudging back up the walled corridor between Port of Samnium and Samnium, after my interrogation of the Cosian mariner, when I was accosted by a fellow in the garb of a Metal Worker.
“My captain,” he said, “would have a word with you.”
“Your captain?” I said.
“Are you Harold of Skjern?” he asked.
“I have been so known,” I said.
“Please follow me,” he said.
I saw that he wore the sandal boots common in the Cosian infantry.
“Certainly,” I said.
After a few Ehn, following the fellow in the garb of a Metal Worker, I entered the now-familiar six-story building owned by the House of Iskander. We ascended the stairwell, noting the first two giant cots and then continued on beyond the third story, at which point Xenon, I, and Iris had been denied passage. We continued past the third cot, which occupied portions of the fifth and sixth stories, and found ourselves on the large, flat, circular roof of the building which, at the moment, was crowded with tarns, and men. I saw no baskets.
“Tal, and welcome,” said the polemarkos, beaming, striding toward me. Then he stopped, abruptly, cheerfully, doubtless recalling protocol, and we exchanged sharp salutes. We then clasped wrists, warmly. “How pleased I am to see you, esteemed antagonist, noble opponent. I feared I might not have the opportunity to wish you well.”
“You plan to embark,” I said. “You will fly?”
“Momentarily,” he said.
“I do not understand,” I said.
“What do you not understand?” he asked.
“It is day,” I said. “Surely you will not risk a flight by day.”
“I think it will be safe,” he said.
“I see only tarnsmen,” I said. “I see no baskets, no basket drivers.”
“Some pack tarns will carry more than enough,” he said.
“Your flight is local; it is short?” I said.
“No,” he said. “It is on to Ar.”
“How can that be?” I asked.
“You look for Talena,” he said.
“Of course,” I said.
“Check the roof,” he said. “Examine the saddle aprons, the saddle rings.”
“I fear I should find them empty,” I said.
“You would, my friend,” he said.
“You seem, polemarkos,” I said, “in fine spirits.”
“Tor-tu-Gor smiles,” he said. “The sky is blue, the wind is light, the air is fresh.”
“I do not see any women,” I said. “I do not see your prisoner. I do not see Talena.”
“No,” he said. “The business has been long and difficult, but it is now done.”
“Your work is done?” I said.
“Yes,” he said. “I need stay no longer.”
My hand went to the hilt of my sword. “Am I to be slain before Talena is brought to the roof?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “But the roof is dangerous. Do not tread too near the edge.”
I quickly looked about. No one was immediately near me but the polemarkos himself. Clearly I could free my blade before I was seized, to be cast from the roof.
“Where is Talena?” I demanded.
“Our diversions have been successful,” said the polemarkos. “We have given them the time they needed.”
“Where is Talena!” I demanded.
“She is elsewhere,” he said.
“Is she here?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “She is already in Ar.”
My body shook. I was stunned.
“How is that possible?” I asked.
“It has been accomplished,” he said.
A tarnsman then led a large, fine tarn to us, and steadied it in place. The polemarkos then ascended the leather saddle ladder, with its wooden rungs, tied it up, and fastened his safety strap. He looked back, and down, at me.
“I wish you well,” he said.
“I wish you well,” I said.
I then watched the tarns, one by one, take to the sky.
I wept.
The gates of Ar had closed behind Talena.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Then all is lost,” said Seremides.
“Even then,” said Xenon, “some fight on.”
“Only fools,” said Seremides.
“Will you return to Cos?” I asked.
“For what?” he asked. “To beg in the streets?”
“What will you do?” I asked.
“You dare not go to Ar,” said Xenon. “You are proscribed. Impalement would follow on arrest.”
“And so, too, to all who might shelter or assist me,” said Seremides.
“The risk is too great,” I said.
“I think,” said Seremides, slowly, “you think to cast the marked stones once more.”
“One chance in a thousand,” I said, “is more than a thousand times more than no chance in a thousand.”
“In Ar,” said Seremides, “Seremides was proscribed, tall, strong, and fierce, quick with the blade and swift with temper, easy to recognize, not a nondescript, haggard, impoverished, unkempt cripple, the pathetic Bruno of Torcadino.”
“Put ambitious, unwary thoughts from you,” I said.
“Kindly, sweet, simple, faithful, innocent Xenon, reliable servitor,” said Seremides, “are you at my side?”
“As always, noble mentor,” said Xenon.
“Would you serve me in Jad?”
“Surely,” said Xenon.
“Unquestioningly, like a mindless brute?”
“Yes, mentor,” said Xenon.
“And in Ar?” he asked.
“I could serve you even better in Ar,” whispered Xenon.
“If nothing else,” said Seremides, “we might witness some of the lengthy, hideous tortures by means of which Talena of Ar might, however inadequately, attempt to pay for her treason, perfidy, and greed.”
How odd, I thought, is the commerce of punishment. What is it, truly, that the scales of justice weigh, or pretend to weigh?
“Do not return to Ar,” I said. “You risk too much.”
“Are you going to Ar?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“You will wager everything on a last cast of stones?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Fool,” said Seremides.
“Are you not another?” I asked.
“And I am a third,” said Xenon.
“It seems we three are then again together,” I said.
“I know men,” said Seremides. “You, pleasant Geoffrey of Harfax, hope to cheat me of a mountain of gold.”
“Let us postpone such considerations,” I said, “until we have a mountain of gold, of which I might then endeavor to cheat you.”
“I am not easily cheated,” said Seremides.
“I am sure you are not,” I said.
“Do not fear, beloved mentor,” said Xenon. “Geoffrey of Harfax is a man of honor.”
“So, too, once was I,” said Seremides.
“Mentor?” asked Xenon.
“Many men who once knew the name of honor,” said Seremides, “have, in the presence of power and gold, hastened to forget it.”
“How so?” I asked.
“It is simple,” said Seremides. “Honor melts in a golden fire.”
“I do not think always,” I said. “I hope not always.”
“I know little of honor,” said Xenon. “It is for the upper castes, but I would fear to betray an oath.”
“What oath have you uttered, by what have you sworn?” I asked.
“Oh, to draw the oar well, such things,” he said.
“You have not sworn by the silent, bloody quarrel, or by the unsheathed knife, blade upward?” I asked.
“Be silent,” said Seremides. “Xenon knows nothing of such things.”
“I take it we agree,” I said. “We are all forth to Ar.”
“It will take weeks to reach Ar,” said Seremides.
“Not by tarn,” I said.
“Have you three silver tarsks?” asked Seremides. “The bandits of the House of Iskander insisted on not only the return of the tarns, the basket, and net, but the return of their entire rental.”
“They have their rules,” I said. “It is not their fault that we did not, weeks ago, complete the journey to Ar.”
“Have you three silver tarsks?” asked Seremides, once more.
“We can sell the wagon and tharlarion,” I said. We had already sold most of the sa-tarna from the wagon, to defray our expenses on the road and in Samnium. The coins taken from the bandits on the Samnium road, too, had, by now, been mostly expended.
“That will not gain us even a silver tarsk,” said Xenon.
“Iris,” said Seremides.
“Master!” protested Iris.
“Not enough,” said Xenon.
“We shall have to steal tarns,” I said.
“And a basket,” said Seremides.
“Or, say, borrow them without permission,” I said.
“I do not think that that is practical,” said Xenon.
“We must try,” I said.
“Even if we were successful,” said Xenon, “the House of Iskander would hire riders from the Black Court in Brundisium to pursue us.”
“You fear the denizens of the Black Court?” I asked.
“Who would not?” he said. “Once they take fee, they are relentless. They are tenacious, like sleen. They would hunt us down. I, for one, do not care to be hunted by Assassins.”
“I shall do what I can alone,” I said.
“And leave us in Samnium?” said Seremides.
“If necessary,” I said.
“That will not be necessary,” said Xenon. “If my mentor, my benefactor, beloved Seremides, wishes to reach Ar, the least I can do is help him to do so.”
“I think that you, too, desire to reach Ar,” I said.
“Only to serve Seremides,” he said.
“How is it that you have such funds?” asked Seremides. “A common oarsman is paid in copper tarsks at best, and only when the voyage is done.”
“One saves, over many months,” he said.
“I admire your frugality and thrift,” I said. “Too, your gift, which we gladly accept, will make our journey not only feasible, but considerably less perilous, given the possibility of an implacable pursuit.”
“I am pleased to be of service,” he said.
It was highly unlikely that an oarsman would have such funds. In this, I saw the hand of Pa-Kur, Master of the Caste of Assassins. Not only, in my opinion, had he organized the raid on the night flight from Samnium some weeks earlier, but he was hedging his bets, so to speak, in case Seremides and I, both formidable competitors, might somehow be successful in seizing Talena. And, as far I knew, he might have planted spies and agents amongst other bounty hunters. I also expected, from what I had heard in Port Kar, of certain doings in the marshes of the delta, that he might be in league with Kurii.
“This will do very nicely,” I said, accepting the coins from Xenon.
I noted that the three coins were, as I had expected, not of the mintage of Jad, or even of another polity on Cos, or of the Farther Islands, but of Brundisium, home to, after the Caste had been banned from Ar, the largest, richest, and most feared Black Court on Gor.
“I think,” I said, “there is little chance we will be successful.”
“That is true,” said Seremides, “but we will try.”
“Gold is persuasive,” I said.
“I have often listened to it,” said Seremides.
“It whispers,” I said. “It need not shout.”
“Perhaps you, too, hear it, noble Geoffrey of Harfax,” said Xenon.
“Certainly,” I said. “Who does not?”
“It is one thing to hear it,” said Xenon. “It is another to obey it.”
“Precisely,” I said.
“Perhaps,” he said, “we will learn who will obey the glittering master and who will not.”
“That is possible,” I said.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“That is the great gate of Ar,” I said.
“Perhaps there is time,” said Xenon. “I do not see the skin of Talena nailed to the gate.”
“It is too soon,” said Seremides. “She would first have to be subjected to weeks of exacting torture.”
“I can remember when the gate was burned and the walls were rubble, torn down by those of Ar herself, duped into rejoicing in their own defenselessness, during the Occupation, dismantled stone by stone, to the music of flute girls.”
“I, too, remember that,” said Seremides. “With glad tears those of Ar were persuaded to celebrate their own ruination.”
“One manipulates terminologies, one seizes schools, one controls the public boards, one invents new goods and bads, one praises this and dispraises that,” I said. “It is an art, a secret route to power.”
“Obviously the walls have been rebuilt,” said Xenon.
“And higher and stronger than before,” said Seremides.
We had arrived in the vicinity of Ar two days ago. As soon as we had learned that, according to Myron, the polemarkos of Temos, the polemarkos of Cos, that Talena was safely in Ar, we had rented a draft tarn and basket, and two saddle tarns, from the House of Iskander in Samnium, and set out for Ar. Xenon and I had been astride the saddle tarns, and Seremides, from the basket, had controlled the draft tarn. Iris had ridden with Seremides in the basket. Xenon and I thought that this was the best arrangement, as it freed us for maneuverability and weapon use, should we encounter rogue tarnsmen on the flight to Ar. Happily we found the skies clear. For most of the trip, Iris was kept in the bottom of the basket, often bound, hand and foot. Slaves expect to be, and commonly desire to be, secured. Such things, like the locked collar, reassure them that they are property and owned, as they wish to be. When a slave is knelt, collared, with her hands tied behind her back, she well knows herself a slave. In bonds her vulnerability cries out. In chains, her submission needs rage. She knows that she is owned and that she belongs. She is not a free woman; but what she wants to be, a slave who belongs to her master. She does not want freedom; she wants a master who desires her with so fierce and mighty a passion that she need have no fear of being freed. She is desired as what she is—a slave. We did not take the tarns and basket into the city, for we wished to enter as inconspicuously as possible. Accordingly, we arranged, outside the pomerium of Ar, to have them delivered to the office of the House of Iskander in the city. We had then purchased a small wagon, and a small draft tharlarion as we had before, long ago, near Brundisium.
We were in a long line of wagons, carts, hand carts, and fellows afoot, waiting to pass through the gate.
“Do you think the gate will be watched, noble Seremides of Ar, noble Bruno of Torcadino, dear friend?” asked Xenon.
“Certainly,” said Seremides. “Gates are always watched. And, I suspect, in times like these, all the more so.”
“And who watches?” asked Xenon.
“As many as find a purpose in doing so,” said Seremides.
“Should we not then have sought entry by means of a lesser gate?” said Xenon.
“No,” said Seremides. “At a lesser gate there is even greater scrutiny. The more obscure the portal, the more likely it is to be accessed by undesirables.”
“I trust, beloved mentor,” said Xenon, “no one will recognize you.”
“Who,” asked Seremides, “would recognize the formidable Seremides of Ar in the form of the pathetic cripple, Bruno of Torcadino?”
“And,” I said, “those who might recognize him might fear to do so.”
“Such terror yet clings to the mere memory of Seremides of Ar?” asked Xenon.
“I think so,” I said. “I suspect few would like to point him out if not backed by a dozen, armed guardsmen.”
“I see,” said Xenon.
“And, who knows, he might have cohorts who would mete out a swift and terrible vengeance to one so unwise as to identify him,” I said.
