Quarry of gor, p.44
Quarry of Gor, page 44
He then freed his blade of its sheath.
“May I speak?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, “but if I am not pleased, you will be beaten.”
“The holding is captured?” I asked.
“Besieged,” he said. “Fighting continues.”
“What is going on?” I asked.
“Slave raid,” he said. “This house is rumored to contain luscious fruit for the markets. And from what I have seen, it does.”
“He does not understand,” I thought. “He does not know what is going on.” I was sure that this was no ordinary slave raid. The central concern of this attack, I was sure, was not a general harvesting of slaves, but the acquisition of one particular slave, Adraste. I was sure he did not know that.
“And you yourself,” he said, “are quite acceptable.”
“Thank you, Master,” I said.
“Leading position,” he said.
I bent over, and he fastened his left hand in my hair.
I was then, my head at his hip, conducted from the chamber.
I found myself soon added to a rope-coffle. At that time I was one of ten slaves, and was she most recently added to the coffle. The rope was looped twice about my neck, knotted, and then dropped behind me, ready for the next to be its prisoner. If my coffle sisters had been tunicked earlier, that was no longer the case. I myself had been brought naked from my cage. Slaves are commonly stripped when in coffle. Each of us was bound as I was, my hands fastened behind me. We were alone, in a corridor on the fourth level.
From somewhere, seemingly far off, I heard the shouts of men and the clash of blades. Then it was quiet.
“Speak to me,” I begged of Cella and Ianthe, those closest to me in the coffle.
“Before dawn,” said Cella. “Five mighty tarns, draft tarns, each with a string of ten men, hovered at the parapet. These raiders discharged, they seized the parapet, hurling secured rope-ladders down to barges, by means of which more assailants reached the parapet. Vigilance was sparse and relaxed, if present. A guard or two was swiftly done away with.”
I knew little of tarns, and had never seen one. I gathered that they were gigantic, dangerous, avian monsters. Few would dare to approach them. Those rash enough or mad enough to risk ascent to their saddles were called “Tarnsmen,” an unusual and fearsome breed of men. These swift, terrible, broad-winged monsters were rare in the vicinity of Port Kar.
“Port Kar is surely under attack,” said Ianthe.
“Not Port Kar,” said Cella. “It would take fleets, hundreds of tarns to threaten the city.”
“Then the holding is under attack,” said Ianthe.
“The masters were unready,” said Cella. “Apparently they suspected nothing.”
I recalled the optimism, the mistaken sense of security, which had characterized the masters. How unwisely they had eaten and drunk “heavily,” and had intended to “sleep late”! What a miserable awakening, then, must they have had, to rise, groggy and confused, to find enemies in the corridors. I wondered, had Bosk of Port Kar been present, if things might have been the same. How furious he might be, to learn of so egregious, though understandable, a lack of readiness.
“How many attacked?” I asked.
“Many,” said Cella, “I am sure, six hundred, at least.”
“We are told nothing,” said Ianthe, “but some of us have seen fighting, and one hears the enemies crying out, informing one another, issuing orders.”
“It seems the intruders hold the parapet and the top three levels of the holding, and are at the canal gate below,” said Cella.
If that were the case, then resistance must have stiffened. The men of the holding must have rallied and taken a stand. The intruders had not managed to seize the holding in a single, fierce sweep of force. I supposed some corridors had been barricaded. We were on the fourth level of the holding. I thought the men of the holding, crews not at sea, might number a hundred or so men. It made sense to me that the intruders were also at the holding’s canal gate. That would prevent Adraste from being hastened from the holding. The intruders would presumably have reached the vicinity of the canal gate from the roof, by descending rope ladders similar to those used to reach the parapet. I heard no alarm bars from the city, so I gathered that there was, as yet at least, no general awareness of the raid in the city.
Within a few Ehn of my coffling, four more slaves were added to the coffle, Mira, Lana, and the two Litas, referred to in the holding as blonde Lita and brunette Lita. ‘Lita’ is a very common slave name on Gor.
“Listen,” whispered Cella.
“I hear it,” I said, “swords.”
It was then quiet for some Ehn; then there was again, briefly, the sound of swordplay. Then it was quiet, again. The noise of war, as nearly as I could tell, had come from the floor below.
This suggested to me that the men of the holding had attempted to challenge the intruders on the third level, but unsuccessfully. Given the likelihood that the men of the holding were outnumbered, say, six to one, it seemed inevitable that the intruders, if only by weight of numbers, would not only maintain their hold on the third level but soon control the second, and descend to the first. The defenders then would be trapped between the intruders within the holding and those outside, at the canal gate.
“Masters!” suddenly cried Renata, who was second in the coffle.
Instantly we fell to our knees.
Four men, with red scarves, surged into the corridor, descended, I supposed, from the fifth level, the level above us, from which the parapet could be reached.
I turned my head away.
I recognized he who was first amongst them, Pa-Kur, of the Assassins!
“Lift your heads!” he screamed.
He strode down the coffle line. “She is not here!” he screamed. “She is not here!”
“Who is not here?” asked one of the men with him.
“These slaves are comely,” said another. “Let us get them over the wall, down to the barges.”
“I want her, her!” cried Pa-Kur, looking about, wildly.
“Who?” asked one of this cohorts.
“We will look further!” cried Pa-Kur.
“Hold!” said one of the men with a red scarf. “The city may soon rise. Danger looms. Do not delay. We have been misled. This is no slaver’s house, with crowded pens! I doubt there are more than twenty slaves in this holding. You are not interested in slaves! You are interested in a single slave, or in an act of vengeance!”
And then he was silent, and wisely so, for the sword of Pa-Kur was poised at his heart.
“Shall we search further?” asked Pa-Kur.
“By all means,” whispered the man.
“For whom do we search?” asked another man. white-faced, stepping back.
“Can you recognize her?” queried another.
“Yes,” said Pa-Kur. “She was once my prisoner, as unveiled as a she-tarsk.”
He then proceeded down the corridor.
He had not said where she had been his prisoner nor under what circumstances, nor what might have ensued.
The fourteen of us were then again alone.
“I hear swordplay,” whispered Cella. The sound was faint but audible.
A little later we could hear the bar for the Tenth Ahn ringing over the city. Shortly after that, Portia was added to the coffle, and we were then once more alone.
At one end of the corridor, now, though no masters were present, we remained on our knees. Who knew when a master might emerge into the corridor?
How fitting this seemed to me, that I should be kneeling, neck-roped, my wrists tied together behind my back.
I, and the other slaves, would abide the outcome of the doings of men, as the sort of cattle we were.
The intruders wore red scarves. This informed me that they were not associates of long standing. They did not really know one another. It seemed they had been gathered for a single task, a single mission. The men of the holding, on the other hand, were familiar with one another and would easily recognize one another on sight.
I knew little of the holding of Bosk of Port Kar. I was not really a member of its household. I supposed it did not make much difference when one is a slave. One is sold in one market or another, one is in one cage or another, one is on one chain or another, one is in one collar or another. Yet how important is the master! So much depended on the master! Did it matter, really, if the master was a good master, whether he was of Ar or Brundisium, or far Turia or even Port Kar? Did it matter, really, whether he was of Cos or Tyros, or of the mainland? I knew that docilities and submissions were endemic, pervasive, universal, in the animal world, and were not humans a part of nature, natively as real and honest as any other form of life, selected for in the course of evolution, formed in the light of the same tendencies, habits, and forces that governed all life and meaning? How can we be fulfilled before we are kneeling at the feet of our masters? In nature we are their possessions. I wanted a master who would be to me as master to slave, who would be kind to me, and yet would have a whip, and would use it on me if I were not pleasing, a master whom I would obey, and must obey. How I wanted to be owned by Addison Steele!
How would he treat me?
I knew he despised me, muchly so, and rightfully so.
I would try to be a good slave to him.
I would try not to be too often beaten.
We were at the long edge of a corridor which ran parallel to the delta wall. Light entered the corridor from narrow arrow ports in the wall.
I had not seen Adraste recently. I surmised, however, that she was still in the holding.
I wondered what might be the relationship, if any, between her and the mysterious Bosk of Port Kar.
Perhaps she had already been located by Pa-Kur and his confederates.
Pa-Kur had not seemed interested in our coffle, save to examine it, to see if it might contain she whom he sought, doubtless Adraste.
One of his cohorts, I recalled, had suggested that we be put over the wall and lowered down to the barges. On the other hand, it seemed Pa-Kur had had no interest in the mere acquisition of a small number of attractive beasts, to be disposed of in one market or another. He was relentless in his search for one slave. From my point of view, this was just as well. I had little enthusiasm for the prospect of a most perilous, swinging, dizzying descent into the arms of delta brigands or, worse, being cast bodily over the wall, hopefully to be retrieved from the water before being seized by tharlarion!
I think it was shortly after the eleventh Ahn that some thirty or forty red-scarfed intruders emerged into our corridor. Several bore vessels and plate; some had rolled rugs or tapestries in their arms or draped over their shoulders; some had wrapped about themselves robes and cloaks. “More loot,” said one of the newcomers, noting the coffle. “Forget them,” said another. “We have searched well,” said another, “and none of the slaves satisfies the captain.” “Let us withdraw,” said another. “The city cannot long remain in ignorance of our presence.” “It knows nothing,” said another. “No alarm has sounded,” said another. “It is only a matter of time,” said another. “Let us make haste,” said another. “No,” said another. “Let us first gather up these slaves.”
We shrank back in our bonds. We, too, were loot, with our market value, in that respect no different from vessels, plates, and such.
Two men with knives began to slash the ropes from our necks. The haste and vigor with which this was done made us fear that our throats might be cut.
Then, to the side, from another portal, emerged another man, short-tunicked, sword in hand, wearing a red scarf.
I gasped.
It was Addison Steele!
Why was I startled? Was it not to be expected? Was he not a minion of Pa-Kur? Had he not been present, in the retinue of Pa-Kur, at the interview with the metal monster in the marshes? Had he not been present in the apartment of Dorna the Proud, an ally of Pa-Kur, when I had been so terrorized and discomfited, when I had suffered in the tunic of fire, when I had been forced to breathe in the noxious, harrowing, penetrating fumes of truth? But, too, he had been enleagued, it seemed, with he who called himself Bruno of Torcadino, surely a rival to the schemes of Pa-Kur and his colleagues. Was his heart then not for hire? Did I not know him as duplicitous and faithless, as venal and untrustworthy? How easily he might turn his coat! How I hated him! How I loathed and despised him! And I wanted so much to be chained at his feet!
One of the fellows who had entered the corridor with the men bearing loot, he perhaps first amongst them, looked up from the rope he had just severed, that which had neck-confined Ianthe. “Welcome,” he shouted, and then he said, warningly, “but beware. Do not challenge us. This loot is ours. Seek your own!”
I was startled to see Florian and Miles, and others of the holding, some four or five others, following Addison Steele, each in a red scarf. Were all these as unconscionable and traitorous, as disloyal and opportunistic, as Addison Steele?
“Defend yourselves!” cried Addison Steele.
In that moment loot was strewn about, slaves screamed, men cursed, and swords flashed. The men who had followed Addison Steele, including Florian and Miles, fell like beasts of prey on the laden crowd of intruders who fell against one another, stumbling, losing their balance, buffeting and impeding one another. Surely the intruders considerably outnumbered the new red-scarfed arrivals but they had not been set for the attack nor had they expected it. The advantage of surprise was with the new arrivals. Too, how many might be behind the new arrivals? Who knew? Most of the intruders, confused and terrified, loot cast aside, turned their backs, and fled, seeking nearby exits. Some were jammed in the portals, and strove, even to the attacking of their fellows, to reach safety. Some, before they could turn to protect themselves, died in the threshold. The thin line of intruders who sought to resist the new arrivals were cut down in place.
“They are divided,” cried Addison Steele, looking after the departed intruders. “They cannot communicate with one another. They do not know our numbers. They descend to a lower floor. They are not led.”
“For now,” said Florian. “They will soon be regrouped, and led.”
“Perhaps they have had enough of this holding by now,” said Miles. “They demanded troves of slaves. It seems they were lied to, told that this was a slaver’s house.”
“They will wish to extricate themselves from the holding,” said Florian. “They are numerous, far more so than we, and dangerous. And men will fight more fiercely for their lives than coin.”
“Free the slaves,” said Addison Steele. “Slaves,” said he, “utilize the back stairways, and make your way to the first level, to the inner vestibule of the canal gate.”
I recalled hearing that intruders were in the vicinity of the canal gate, presumably to guard against Adraste’s being slipped from the holding to safety.
The slaves stood.
Those who were still coffled, as I was, had the coffle rope cut away.
One of the men then began, swiftly and carefully, with a knife, one by one, to cut away the thongs which bound our wrists.
“No,” said Addison Steele. “Not that one. Leave her tied.”
The man then passed on to the next slave.
“I like to see her that way,” said Addison Steele. “Too, it will help her to keep in mind that she is a slave.”
I looked angrily at Addison Steele. As if I needed anything to remind me that I was a slave! Was I not naked, marked, and collared? I pulled angrily, pointlessly, at my wrists, thonged so snugly behind me. I was helpless, utterly helpless. Yes, before him, as before the males of Gor, I was well aware that I was a slave. How different he was from so many of the men of Earth! Before one such as he how could one be but a slave? And yet, I suspected he might be a man of Earth. Surely the humans of Gor were of human stock, descendants of humans of Earth. And then I realized, shocked and awed, how the men of Earth might be.
“To the parapet,” said Addison Steele. “We can outnumber them by hundreds to one.”
“If we can rouse the city,” said Miles.
“Ignite the smoke beacon of danger,” said Addison Steele. “Ring the alarm bar.”
“Can they be reached?” asked a man.
“Follow me,” said Addison Steele.
“Yes, Captain,” said Miles.
Chapter Forty-Two
An Alarm is Given;
A Ruse is Enacted;
The Bridge of Boats;
A Large Canal Boat Casts Off
“I hear it!” said Cella. “Listen!”
“It is the holding’s alarm bar, on the parapet!” exclaimed Portia.
“The masters have been successful!” said Ianthe.
“Doubtless then,” said Cella, “the smoke of danger rises from the delta wall, as well.”
“Time is short then for the enemy,” said Korinna.
“We need not concern ourselves then with new collars,” said blonde Lita.
“How can the enemy withdraw, if the parapet is held?” asked brunette Lita.
“There are many of them,” said Cella. “There would be more than enough to retake the parapet and reach the barges.”
I was alarmed to hear this, for I feared that Addison Steele, Florian, Miles, and the others would be swept aside in a routed enemy’s frantic effort to reach the safety of the barges at the foot of the wall.
But perhaps Pa-Kur’s martial acumen and force of will would somehow manage to consolidate the enemy and delay its withdrawal until its mission was completed. Then, would there not be time to reach the parapet, crush resistance, and reach the safety of the waiting barges?
I and the other slaves, by means of a narrow, obscure stairway, one of those different from the open, broader stairwells which a column of men might ascend abreast, had now reached the inner vestibule of the holding, adjacent to the outer vestibule, that closest to the canal gate. I was the last to reach it, and be admitted through the hastily constructed barricade which essentially sealed it off from the holding as a whole, for, being bound, I had been obliged to move with great care on the steep, narrow stairs.
