Quarry of gor, p.45
Quarry of Gor, page 45
“Be with the other slaves,” had said a man, gesturing to the side of the inner vestibule. I had then hurried, belled, to join the others, kneeling in the shadows. A few were tunicked. They, I gathered, had not required a rescuing from the intruders. Some slaves I did not see. I assumed they were in hiding, or had been apprehended and were still in the custody of the intruders. Perhaps they had already been lowered, or cast, over the delta wall and were tied in one or another of the waiting barges. Amongst the tunicked slaves kneeling against the wall of the inner vestibule, one stood out amongst them, one in a modest, white-silk tunic, dark-haired, green-eyed, olive-skinned Adraste! How beautiful she was! Surely men might kill to possess such a woman, even if there were not some mysterious emolument attaching to her ownership. Of all the slaves in the inner vestibule only I was bound, my wrists tied behind my back. Addison Steele, the monster, had seen to that!
“What is that sound?” I asked.
“Pounding on the gate of the outer vestibule,” said Cella. “They have a beam. They want to crush it in.”
“So,” I thought to myself, “the intruders within the canal gate are no longer content to wait, watching the portal, lest Adraste be ushered through to safety in the city. They are now intent upon forcing an entry. How limited now is their time!”
Then I realized that the alarm bar, high on the parapet, was no longer ringing. Did that mean that the parapet had been retaken by the intruders? Did that mean that Addison Steele, Florian, Miles, and the others were now dead? I had gathered from the character of the intruders that they were unlikely to take prisoners. Too, I suspected that they, in their frenzy and frustration, and now perhaps fear, would not be likely to leave wounded antagonists behind them.
I continued to hear the pounding on the gate to the outer vestibule.
Some men hurried past us.
“They go to reinforce the gate,” said Cella.
I estimated that there had been some twenty men in the inner vestibule, to guard the barricade, and presumably some others, doubtless fewer, in the outer vestibule, to monitor the portal within the canal gate which, until moments ago, had not been approached.
“Listen, listen!” cried Cella.
“The city bars sound!” cried Portia.
We heard the ringing of bars throughout the city.
“Port Kar rises!” said Mira.
A man called back, from the barricade, “Torches approach and a green flag of parley!”
He was joined on the barricade by some ten or so defenders. Given the size, weight, and height of the barricade, that militating against its swift dismantling, and the unreliability of its footing should one attempt to climb it, a small number of men was sufficient, at least for a time, to defend it against a much larger force of attackers.
“Parley, parley!” called a voice from down the corridor, from beyond the barricade.
“Let no more than three approach!” said a defender, half concealed, on the barricade. “And let them be he bearing the flag, one carrying a torch, and one to speak!” Then, a moment later, the defender called out, “That is close enough. Stop! Speak.”
“Do you value your lives?” inquired a voice, powerful, arrogant, and belligerent, from outside the barricade.
I was frightened. I knew the voice. It was that of Pa-Kur!
“Far more than yours!” responded one of the defenders.
“We mean you no harm,” called Pa-Kur. “Let slaughter cease. Our interest is paltry. We seek nothing of great value, only something of personal interest to us, a worthless, stolen slave. Her name is Adraste.”
At this point, Adraste rose to her feet, but was gestured back to her knees by a defender.
“Surrender the slave to us,” called Pa-Kur, “and we will promptly withdraw, nursing no grudges and wishing you well.”
“I cannot hear you,” called out the defender on the barricade.
“Behold,” called Pa-Kur, “I fling over your mountain of wood, rugs, and rubbish a purse. It contains three silver tarsks, far more than the slave is worth. Deliver her to us. Let it be a simple sale. Thus the bargain is yours and you live, your honor untarnished!”
The small sack, seemingly containing something metal, doubtless three silver tarsks, struck on the floor, not feet from where we knelt.
A moment later one of the men on the floor retrieved it and hurled it back, over the barricade.
“It is difficult to hear you,” called out the defender on the barricade. “Can you speak more loudly or clearly?”
More bars throughout the city had now joined those sounding the alarm. Their sound, of course, was much subdued, given the thick walls of the holding.
“We will fire the barricade!” screamed Pa-Kur.
“You will find it difficult to attack through flames,” said the defender.
“I have better than four hundred men behind me, ready to assault your puny barricade,” said Pa-Kur.
“Those will be few compared to thousands in the city,” called the defender. “The city awakens! Men arm themselves! Can you not hear the ringing of the bars? What if they think you are threatening a Home Stone? What then will be your fate?”
“Let us flee!” cried a man on the far side of the barricade.
Then there was a cry of death, and he was heard no more.
“I conclude this parley now,” said Pa-Kur. “You have made your choice. Die with it!”
There was then a silence, save for the ringing of the bars over the city.
“Prepare for an onslaught!” cried one of the holding’s men from his position on the barricade.
Then from the other side, from the outer vestibule, there was a sound of splintering wood.
“We cannot hold the portal!” called a man.
“We are lost!” cried another.
Then, from the other side of the barricade, now back several yards, I heard Pa-Kur cry out, “Be done with it! Swiftly! Sweep them aside like vulos, trample them like urts! Kill all! Spare none!”
There was a scrambling, the sounds of slipping, of breaking wood, cries of anger, and death.
It seemed not many had assaulted the barricade, and few, if any, had reached its pinnacle. The barricade was high and thick, and the footing treacherous and unreliable. Defenders were steady of footing, and muchly shielded, for the barricade had been constructed with such things in mind. Climbers, struggling upward, must risk darting spears and descending axes. Defenders had the advantages of both height and security of position.
“They are resisted, driven back, dismayed!” called a defender, elated.
But I did not think so few men could long withstand larger numbers, and prolonged strife.
Meanwhile, from the court of the outer vestibule, I heard the cries of men, the rending of wood, perhaps the collapse of a gate, and the clash of blades.
“Fire the barricade!” I heard Pa-Kur cry.
“There is no time!” shouted a man. “Hear the bars!”
Then, to my amazement, I heard a voice from the other side of the barricade cry out, “Hold! Hold! Withdraw, brothers! Save yourselves! There is little time. The parapet is clear. The way is free. Back to the parapet and down to the barges. They are your only hope, for time is short, and they will soon be scattered and set afire, for ships even now hurry forth from the arsenal!” What so amazed me, and delighted me, was that the voice was that of Addison Steele! He lived! And then, from elsewhere on the other side of the barricade, other voices cried out, as well. “Save yourselves while you can!” “You were betrayed!” “There are no crowded pens of slaves here!” “You were tricked!” “Do not die for the whim of another!” “Escape! Escape while you can!” “The way to the parapet is clear!” “The road to safety will soon be closed!” “Hear the bars!” “Beware the ire of the men of Port Kar! Expect no mercy. It is not their way. Flee! Flee while there is still time.” “Do not let your bodies rot for months on impaling spears, raised on the walls of the city, a warning to others, a testimony to the displeasure of the Men of Port Kar!”
Amongst these voices I recognized that of Florian, and perhaps of Miles, and surely others.
“Stop! Stop!” cried Pa-Kur. “Rally, rally! Attack, attack!”
But I gathered that Pa-Kur, buffeted and ignored, surrounded by frantic, desperate, running men, soon found himself deserted in the corridor.
Addison Steele, Florian, Miles, and others, in their donned red scarves, blending in with the intruders, had strewn disorder and discord, confusion and terror, amongst the cohorts of mighty Pa-Kur. His men fled, seeking stairwells, climbing, rushing, gasping, unopposed to the parapet, there hoping to avail themselves of the rope ladders by means of which the barges, were they still there, might be reached.
“Sleen! Sleen!” screamed Pa-Kur, and then it seems that he himself withdrew.
A moment later a path through the barricade was opened, and Addison Steele, Florian, Miles, and some others entered the inner vestibule.
They did not so much as glance at the slaves.
“The outer vestibule is taken,” said a man. “We have sealed off the inner vestibule, but we are too few to hold the inner gate. I fear there is little hope.”
Even as he expressed this sober assessment one could hear the sudden pounding of a beam on the inner gate.
“The enemy, how many?” asked Addison Steele.
“Observations taken Ahn ago, from the second floor of the holding, conjectured fifty or sixty, captain,” said the man.
“Too many,” said Addison Steele. “We shall withdraw to the other side of the barricade, and defend a stairwell. We need only hold out until the citizens of Port Kar, in their hundreds, enter the holding and relieve our distress.”
“Time is on our side,” said Florian.
“Let us hope we can survive until its arrival,” said Miles.
“Get the slaves to safety,” said Addison Steele. “They are not to be lost or, in war, accidentally cut and bloodied.”
“Yes, captain,” said a man. “Slaves up!” he snapped. We rose instantly.
At the same time a panel in the inner gate broke inward. Then the beam smote another panel loose.
But oddly, then, we heard cries of anguish, fear, and pain at the gate. Then the beam pounded no more. Through the ruptured paneling we could see men turned about to face others, streaming in from the broken canal gate at the outer vestibule. There was a brief interval of swordplay and then weapons were being cast to the ground, and intruders were kneeling, head down, the backs of their necks exposed to the stroke of swords. In such a way they surrendered, mutely begging for mercy.
We heard a voice cry out, “Strip, brigands. To your bellies, hands behind you! Await your chains!”
“Open, open in the name of the Council of Captains of Port Kar!” called a voice.
“Guardsmen!” said Florian.
Miles ran to unbolt the half-ruined door to the inner vestibule.
“We are safe,” said a man.
“Down, slaves,” said another.
We knelt in place.
Men from outside crowded into the inner vestibule. There were glad cries. Weapons were sheathed. Red scarves were cast down. Their work was done. One could sport such a token now only with jeopardy. Warriors embraced. It was joy, madness, and tumult. I felt a hand seize my hair, and draw me to the side. It was not the hand of Addison Steele! I was drawn up and felt a knife’s edge at my throat. “Be silent,” said an ugly brute. For a moment I did not recognize him, and then I remembered him from the Skerry of Lars. It was Vas of Anango, and I recalled that Bruno of Torcadino had said that he might have use for him, and that he had intended to recruit men in Port Kar. A moment later I was startled to see Bruno of Torcadino himself. He was standing, head bowed, close to Adraste, who was now standing, though in the presence of a free man. Bruno of Torcadino’s sword was bloodied. I suspected he had cut his way through to the inner gate. He spoke to her softly, as in awe, almost reverently. “Noble, glorious Ubara,” he said, “hope of Ar, light of the world, most beautiful of all women, we are in great danger. Accompany me. Outside a cloak and hood are waiting. Surely you recognize me, Seremides, once first sword of the Taurentians, your beloved servant, always loyally at the foot of your throne. At my plea I have been commissioned by the Ubar of Cos, the noble Lurius of Jad, to bring you safely to Cos, our ally in the venture to save Ar from the tyranny of Marlenus.”
“Are you truly my friend?” asked Adraste, or whomsoever she might be.
“How horrid that the beautiful Talena of Ar, freest of all free women, most noble and most splendid of all free women, rightful Ubara of Ar, should be clad in a mere tunic and that of a slave, that her graceful, regal neck should be encircled so closely, so obdurately, with the shameful, degrading badge of servitude, a collar. I avert my eyes. I struggle not to faint with the impropriety and indignity of it all.”
“You would have surrendered me in Ar,” she said, “in the hope of winning amnesty for your own crimes against the state.”
“Never,” he said. “It was a ruse. My true intent was always to contrive a way to save you, to deliver you to your friend and ally, noble Lurius of Jad.”
“I would sooner believe an urt,” she whispered.
How dare she speak so to a free man?
That she had not spoken aloud to him suggested to me that she was uncertain as to what was occurring.
“If you will not trust me, trust the great Lurius of Jad,” he said. “I have here, regard it, recognize it, the seal of Jad. I could receive this only from the hand of Lurius himself. It confirms my commission.”
“Perhaps you would betray me to Ar, for your own wretched skin,” she said.
“Do not forget,” he said, “that I, too, am on a proscription list, and that I fear and hate Ar. Rather than enter Ar I would gladly enter a cage of rabid, starving sleen. Moreover, to assuage your concerns, should I betray the commission of Lurius, my own life would be forfeit. I would be hunted down and slain, following lengthy, grievous tortures. My life depends on my fidelity to the commission of your beloved friend and colleague, Lurius of Jad. You have seen the seal. You know it. How else could I have come by it, were it not from the very hand of Lurius himself? Come quietly with me. A cloak and hood await, and a swift ship, ready to bring you in honor to Cos.”
“It is rumored,” she said, “that I am already in Cos, honored and protected.”
“We shall turn the rumor into fact, noble lady, beautiful Ubara,” he said.
Then, sheltered and unnoticed, at the wall of the inner vestibule, as men milled about, bustling, hearty and hale, laughing and joking, now free of the neighborhood of death, Talena, as I may now speak of her, accompanied by hobbling Seremides, as I shall now speak of him, made their way along the wall toward the shattered portal of the inner vestibule. In a moment they would be in the outer vestibule and making their way toward the landing of the holding’s inner harbor. I had no doubt that the sea gate there had been breached long ago. Vas of Anango spun me about jerking the knife from my throat. I opened my mouth to scream, even though I might not have been heard in the midst of revelry, but his large hand pulled me back against him, capping my mouth tightly, and I felt the point of his knife in my side. “Cry out,” he said, “and you die.” I nodded my understanding, as I could, a small pressure on his hand. How helpless I felt, naked, collared, my hands tied behind me! “Move,” he said, removing his hand from my mouth, thrusting me ahead of him. Then a second pair, again a slave and a master, made their way from the inner vestibule. I gathered that Vas of Anango had not wished to risk killing me in the press of the celebrants. The sound of the bells on my left ankle, if heard, was ignored. It was only that of another belled slave. Then we were making our way through the outer vestibule, threading our way amongst standing men, some still with bared weapons. We stepped about fallen bodies, those of red-scarfed intruders and those, doubtless, of men of Port Kar. Blood, here and there, now brownish red and sticky, was drying on the tiles. Living intruders, on their bellies, hands behind them, were being fitted with chains. Then we were through the opening that had held the remainder of the timbers of the outer portal and were on the landing of the holding’s small harbor. The canal gate, which had been forced inward by the rescuing men of Port Kar, hung awry on its hinges. The holding’s harbor itself, and the canal beyond the harbor, was bristling with canal boats. Some had been aligned, hull to hull, to afford a passage, a bridge of boats, to access the landing. “That slave is naked,” said a man, interposing himself between a canal boat and Vas of Anango. “Suitably,” said Vas of Anango. “She is belled,” said the man. “She is a stray, a kitchen slave, picked up by the men of the holding of Bosk,” said Vas of Anango. “I am returning her to the Silken Rope. We bell our kitchen slaves thusly.” Vas of Anango then sheathed his knife, lifted me from my feet, and stepped about the fellow who had impeded his progress. “Say nothing, give no token of distress,” he whispered to me, “or I will break your neck.” He was a large man, and I had little doubt he could easily break my neck, or back, or strangle me in the crowding and stirring, his act possibly escaping notice. I had inadvertently been close to Talena when Seremides had approached her. I had witnessed their interaction, even to the overhearing of their words. Seremides had perhaps indicated to Vas of Anango, his fellow, that I was to be taken in hand. Otherwise might I not interfere, give warning, or sound an alarm? I was miserable with fear that I had heard far too much for my own good. At the first opportunity, in privacy, might I not be done away with, to protect a secret I had no wish to share? Commonly the slave’s protection is her collar, and her standing, or lack of standing, as a domestic beast, her marketability, and such. She is not a free person. Indeed, legally, she is not a person. Who would be so stupid as to cast aside seized loot or destroy a snared, vendible animal, particularly one likely to be attractive? Now, however, in virtue of what I had heard, I feared that such common assurances, so often relied upon, might no longer obtain.
