Warriors of gor gorean s.., p.22
Warriors of Gor (Gorean Saga), page 22
“Cora,” she said.
“As in the street?”
“Yes, I was named for the street.”
I thought it suitable to keep her name in mind. She, unknowingly, had rendered us a great service.
“You are beautiful,” said Seremides.
“Thank you, Master,” she said.
I smiled. It was rare for Seremides to pay a compliment.
Perhaps it had to do with the auburn hair.
“Go,” I said, gesturing her away.
She rose, frightened, and scurried away, back amongst the tables.
I then called for a coinsman, a taverner’s man who collected coins from the tables. Slaves are seldom allowed to touch money, save under particular conditions, as in shopping. Even the money cast to the feet of a dancer is commonly retrieved by a taverner’s man.
I paid him the tarsk-bits for the paga we and our guests had consumed.
His hand trembled, fumbling with the coins, and then he had them in his hand, his fist clenched. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
“What is wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing, Master,” he said.
“We take our leave,” I said. I rose and Xenon rose, and helped Seremides to his feet. Iris rose, too, but kept her head down, that she might not meet the coinsman’s eyes directly.
He withdrew, abruptly, stumbling a bit.
“What is wrong with him?” I asked.
“He is afraid,” said Seremides. “He draws away, quickly, perhaps to confer with someone, the vat master or proprietor.”
“I do not understand,” I said.
“The tavern is uneasy,” said Seremides. “Look about. We are attended to, but furtively. We are supposedly strangers. We asked questions. They think we are spies, presumably for Decius Albus, the trade advisor.”
“Perhaps,” I said.
As we made our way from the tavern, the coinsman hurried after us, and spoke. “There are many fine taverns in the Metellan district,” he said, “much better than the Silver Tarsk.”
“Are we to feel unwelcome here?” I asked.
“Not at all!” he protested. “It is only that the Silver Tarsk is an inauspicious tavern, unworthy of a superior clientele.”
“Where better,” I said, “than in such a place to hear the rumblings of sedition?”
“We are all patriots here,” he said.
“I am sure of it,” I said.
“Allow me to return to you the tarsk-bits you paid for paga and service,” he said.
I dismissed his offer with a negligent gesture.
“The noble trade advisor is most generous, as always,” he said.
Our party then graciously took its leave of the Silver Tarsk.
We paused outside on the street, the Via Cora.
The voice of Seremides shook with emotion. “Do you truly think it possible that we had Talena in our very hands?” he asked.
“I think it possible,” I said.
“We never saw the woman’s face,” said Xenon.
“When we returned her to Rufus, if that be his name, the drover, he offered us half his load of suls in gratitude,” I said. “That, in itself, should have made me suspicious. Peasants are narrow traders, eager to drive hard bargains. They are shrewd and thrifty. A Peasant might have offered half his load before his companion’s return, but, the return assured, I think his gratitude would be less likely to extend so far.”
“I could cry out in rage, I could howl to the clouds in fury!” hissed Seremides. He pounded his crutch savagely on the stones.
“Let us hope few learn of our failure,” said Xenon.
I could think of at least one who would not be pleased to learn that Xenon had allowed Talena to slip from his grasp, one whom it would not be well to displease.
“By now,” said Seremides, bitterly, “Talena will have been delivered to Marlenus.”
“I do not think so,” I said. “You must not forget the theater in this. “Politics, in its public image, is largely a form of theater. I am certain that Talena, at long last captured, will be delivered to Marlenus in the course of some carefully planned function, in some public, impressive fashion.”
“Ideally on a suitable day,” said Xenon, “one marking an important occasion.”
“Precisely,” I said.
“Such as the anniversary of the Restoration of the Ubar,” said Xenon.
“I would think so,” I said.
“That is four days from now,” said Seremides.
“Time is short,” said Xenon.
“It might as well be four years,” said Seremides.
“She will, of course, be well guarded,” I said.
“One cannot well guard two treasures equally,” said Xenon.
“I do not understand,” I said.
“Talena is unimportant in herself,” said Xenon. “It is gold which is important. Gold is supreme. She is no more than a means to gold.”
I did not doubt but what this was true for my colleagues.
For me it was not true.
Were I fortunate enough to somehow seize Talena, would not my two most formidable adversaries then be my present allies?
I did wonder what, were she not Talena, she would bring on the block.
At the time, as indicated, I did not understand the import of Xenon’s remark, that about the difficulty of guarding two treasures equally. It did not, at that time, occur to me that he might have information at his disposal lacking to Seremides and myself. He had been separated from us for a time, shortly after our entrance into the city. Or, perhaps, rather, he knew certain others better than we knew them.
“What do we do now?” asked Seremides.
“We seek one who may know the whereabouts of Talena,” I said.
“How do we go about that?” asked Xenon.
“We go visiting,” I said.
“On whom will we pay a call?” asked Seremides.
“On an old friend,” I said, “one met on a road not far from Samnium, Rufus, or Ruffio, whose fortunes seem to have improved as he now resides in a tower, the Tower of Philebus.”
“That is one of the most opulent towers in Ar,” said Seremides.
“Then it seems,” I said, “his fortunes have indeed improved.”
“He may not wish to speak,” said Seremides, “and we lack gold to tease words from him.”
“Sometimes the coinage of steel is even more persuasive,” said Xenon, his fingers lightly prowling about the hilt of his dagger.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Approach no closer!” he said. “Armsmen are about, within easy call!”
“They may be close,” I said, “and within easy call, but they are currently unresponsive.”
“Guards! Guards!” he called.
“In an unkind fashion, they intended to drive a crippled beggar from the portal,” I said. “Had they been more generous or more charitably inclined, they might have noticed what was behind them.”
The room, one of at least two, was bright, large, colorful, and well appointed. There were two broad windows. In typical Gorean fashion, there was little furniture, but some carpets and cushions. There were no pantries or closets, but storage, as is common in such places, was provided by chests along the walls. There were two cabinets, and there was a low, small table about which one might sit cross-legged. On the table there were two goblets, both on the surface of the table.
“Who are you? What do you want?” he asked.
“Friends,” I said, “and what we want you may easily give.”
“I will give you a copper tarsk,” he said, “a whole copper tarsk! Then be on your way!”
“Perhaps he is indeed of the Peasants,” I said.
“He values his life cheaply,” said Xenon, his dagger drawn.
“Or a copper tarsk exorbitantly,” I said.
“Where are my guards!” he demanded.
“Resting,” I told him.
“A silver tarsk!” he said.
“Surely Rufus, dear Rufus of the Village of Two Branches, that within the ambit of Torcadino, you recall us,” I said.
“I am Ruffio, Ruffio of Ar!” he said.
“You were pleased enough to see us on a road from Samnium,” I said.
“You!” he said.
“How is your companion, Pechia?” I asked.
“I know not whereof you speak,” he said.
“Scour your memory,” I suggested. “Surely some crumb of recollection will remind you, if nothing else, of her current location.”
“A flow of blood,” said Xenon, “often loosens the tongue of memory.”
“I have no companion,” said Ruffio.
“The woman then,” I said, “whether she be a Lita, a Renata, or even a Talena.”
At the mention of the name Talena, Ruffio turned white.
“How is it that you chose to transport the woman on such a lonely road?” I asked.
“I did not choose to do so,” he said. “I was in fee. I obeyed the orders of my principal. The road was chosen because it was gloomy and sheltered, and little known, and commonly carries little or nothing of value.”
“You did not anticipate brigands,” I said.
“Not on that road,” he said.
“It is time for me to use the dagger,” said Xenon.
“How did you find me?” asked Ruffio.
“In a tavern,” I said, “it seems you boasted of the ascendance in your fortunes, and of a new, projected residence.”
“And in the cylinder?” he asked.
“Simple inquiries,” I said. “We entered on the bridge at this story.”
It was the twentieth story, a story where we would be unlikely to be noticed. Seremides, with his crutch, with a begging pan, stood on the bridge near the entrance to the cylinder. In this way, he kept watch, and guarded the entry by the bridge terminus. Here he could also attend to the two guards, restoring them to unconsciousness should they begin to stir. The bridge was a typical narrow, railless, graceful, soaring, arching bridge, easily defended by one or two men and not difficult to break away and destroy by heavy hammers, if it were militarily advisable.
“He plays for time,” said Xenon.
“Who could blame him?” I asked.
“I do not know where the woman is,” said Ruffio.
“Liar,” said Xenon.
“I think it quite possible he does not know where she is,” I said to Xenon.
“Then let us kill him now, and take our departure, undetected,” said Xenon.
“And the guards?” I asked.
“Two quick strokes of the knife,” said Xenon.
“For a simple oarsman,” I said, “you seem unusually complacent with respect to the shedding of blood.”
“The stakes are high, the risk is great,” he said.
“I doubt that even Bruno of Torcadino,” I said, “would be so complacent.”
“He is no longer needed,” said Xenon.
I shivered, I hoped not noticeably.
“I remember Bruno of Torcadino, the tragic cripple,” said Ruffio, “he in the wagon with the comely slave. He seemed both kindly and astute. Doubtless in his suffering he gained much wisdom and his counsel would be one of circumspection and moderation. You should consult him before you do anything rash.”
“Do not tempt me,” snarled Xenon.
“I really would not tempt him,” I said. “He is a splendid fellow, but he has one weakness, killing people whom he regards as difficult or unreasonable.”
“You jest,” said Ruffio, nervously.
“Of course,” I said.
“I am neither difficult nor unreasonable,” he said.
“I am glad to hear it,” I said.
“Vent no wrath upon me,” he said. “I am a simple, ignorant fellow, whose blood would serve no purpose on your friend’s blade.”
“You fail to do yourself justice,” I said. “You are obviously brave, bold, and clever. In selecting you for so delicate and dangerous a mission, your obscure principal exercised a judgment worthy of a high general or even a Ubar. Few of Cos, even high officers, would have had the courage and sagacity even to enter upon that mission which you carried off so brilliantly.”
“I was well paid,” he said.
“I would hope so,” I said.
Following my remark, his demeanor changed. Accepting my words, he no longer assumed the character of an intimidated coward. Is not deception the essence of intrigue, the heart of strategy, even the name of war?
“Kill me,” he said, “if you please, or if it should charm your short, zealous, homely friend, but I do not know the whereabouts of Talena.”
“I was not certain you would,” I said. “I hoped, however, by means of you to make the acquaintance of another, one whom I suspect is near at hand.”
“I am alone,” he said.
“No, you are not,” I said. “Behold the table. On it are two goblets. As each contains wine, we may suppose your guest is still in the domicile. As neither of the goblets are on the floor, we may infer that your guest is a free person.”
At that point, a tall, bearded figure appeared in the portal of an adjoining room, a short, military cloak loose over his left arm.
“Tal,” I said, and struck my left shoulder sharply.
“Tal,” said Myron, polemarkos of Cos, returning my salute, striking his left shoulder with a fist, which was closed about the hilt of a short sword.
“I am armed,” he said.
“Clearly,” I said.
“Your blade is sheathed,” he said.
“Evidently,” I said.
“Do you wish time to draw your blade?” he asked.
“I could free it before you could reach me,” I said.
“Why is it not free now?” he asked.
“I hoped not to use it,” I said.
“Your friend,” he said, “carries an unsheathed dagger, now reversed to the throwing position.”
“Sheath your dagger,” I said to Xenon.
“Surely not,” said Xenon. “My dagger, cast, could flash across the room, greeting his heart, paying it deep respects.”
“No,” I said, “it would be caught in the folds of his opened, interposed cloak.”
Xenon angrily thrust his dagger into its sheath.
“Thank you,” said Myron. “I am fond of this cloak and would not wish it injured. I wore it even during the Occupation.”
“I remember it, or one like it,” I said.
“Shall I sheath my sword?” he asked.
“Please, do,” I said.
“I could free it before you could unsheathe your blade and reach me,” he said.
“Are we not all friends here?” I asked.
“I knew you were in Ar,” said Myron. “We arrived first, and I had the gate watched, by Captain Kasos, whom you met in Samnium.”
“Just outside Samnium,” I said, “he in the guise of a Metal Worker.”
“Yes, he,” said Myron. “I had hoped, after the delivery of Talena to Marlenus on the anniversary of his Restoration, which is imminent, to see you, and perhaps share a paga or two.”
“Where is Talena?” I asked.
“I do not know,” he said.
“I find that hard to believe,” I said.
“You were counting on it?” he said.
“Certainly,” I said. “Who would know the whereabouts of Talena, if not the polemarkos of Cos, he charged with her delivery to Ar?”
“I did have her delivered to Ar,” he said. “But within Ar itself she must be hidden. Accordingly, I devised a double masking of her location.”
“You entrusted her to a secret confederate,” I said, “who then entrusted her to a second secret confederate, one unbeknownst to you, who would then conceal her until her official delivery. In that way, you would not know her location, and the first confederate would not know her location either.”
“Precisely,” he said.
“But she is somewhere within Ar,” I said.
“I would suppose so,” he said, “but I do not know.”
“Cos has won,” said Xenon.
“Wine?” asked Myron. “Ruffio can summon up a tower slave from a lower floor. The cellars of the Tower of Philebus, as I recall, like its kitchens, are amongst the finest in Ar.”
At that moment, startling all in the domicile, there was a mighty sound, and the reverberation thereof, the first of a succession of such sounds, issuing from smitten signal bars. Ruffio put his hands over his ears. Sound followed sound. In cities such as Ar there are often several such devices, the tones of any one of which would carry well beyond the walls.
“Alarm bars!” shouted Myron.
The alarm bars are the same bars which are used for signifying time, but there is no comparison between the sounding, often of a single bar, which might signify, say, the Tenth Ahn, the Gorean noon, and the current, repetitious, frenzied storms of sound which, it seemed, might well shake the sky itself.
“The city is under attack!” screamed Ruffio.
“There is no hostile army, or horde, in the vicinity,” I said.
“Tarnsmen?” said Myron.
Ruffio ran first to one of the windows, and then to the second. He was followed by Xenon.
“The sky seems clear!” said Ruffio. “I see no municipal tarnsmen taking to the skies, responding to some threat.”
“Fire?” I asked. I joined them at the second window. I could see no fire. I could smell no smoke.
Myron, too, joined us.
“There is no sign of fire or war,” said Myron, loudly. “I do not understand the bars.”
“A revolt, a revolution in the streets?” said Xenon.
“Such seeds take long to germinate,” said Ruffio.
“Cos, for one, has sown no such seeds,” protested Myron.
“Perhaps they were cast from within the walls themselves,” said Xenon.
