They leaped to secure the now-unresisting panther women.
Cara slipped past me to plunge herself, in her sweetness, weeping into the arms
of Rim, who crushed her to him.
“I love you, Rim!” she cried.
“I, too, love you,” he cried.
Cara had carried the tools I had stolen from the Rhoda, a heavy hammer and a
chisel, into the forest. She had followed the backtrail of the men of Tyros. She
had, in a matter of Ahn, found the place where Sarus had left several men of
Marlenus, and some of my men, chained. At that point she had, too, encountered
Vinca, the two paga slaves, Ilene, and my own slave chain of panther women.
Vinca and her cohorts had built fires about the men, protecting them from
animals, and had been feeding them and bringing them water. With the hammer and
chisel, and rocks, Vinca and the paga slaves, perhaps aided by Cara, would have
managed to break or open the hand chains of one of the men of Marlenus, or one
of my men. Then he, with his man’s strength, could strike away other chains, and
free his fellows. It would have takes Ahns, but once a single man was freed and
the tools lay ready, it was but a matter of time until all were freed. As soon
as the men of Marlenus, sixty-seven of them, and the balance of my men, eight,
had been freed, they had trekked to the beach followed by the women, with the
slave chain. As they had come they had broken themselves clubs. They had come
prepared, though naked, to make war, though it be with but the branches of trees
and stones of the forest. About the wrists of many, though separated, still
clung iron manacles; about the throats of many, too, still clung collars of
iron, some with dangling, broken lengths of chain.
Their leader lifted his arm to Marlenus, in the salute of Ar.
Marlenus returned the gesture.
Cara, in Rim’s arms, looked at me, and then looked quickly away. She had wished
to carry the tools into the forest, but in her own way, free. I had instead,
however, tied them about her neck, and bound her wrists securely behind her
body. She would, accordingly, if she did not find Vinca and the chained men,
perish in the forest. I had given her no choice but, if she would live, to
deliver the tools.
“I love Rim,” she had cried to me. “Let me be free to carry the tools for him as
a free woman!”
But I had bound her as a slave. It was thus, under duress, she had complied with
my will. She was slave. One does not trust slaves.
I looked at her. She was lost in her joy of Rim’s arms.
I shrugged.
I examined the panther women, now supine, now tightly bound, before the fire.
“There are two others, who are missing,” I said to Thurnock. Hura and Mira were
not among the captives.
I looked at one of the men of Marlenus, who had come in from the darkness.
He spread his hands. :These are all we caught,” he said. “If there were two
others, they must have slipped past us, or eluded us, in the darkness.
“I want Hura!” cried Marlenus. “Find her!”
His men fled into the darkness.
But I did not think they would be successful. Hura, and Mira, too, were panther
girls.
In time, in a half of an Ahn, his men had returned. There was little point in
prolonging the pursuit. The two women had slipped away, successfully, in the
darkness.
They had made good their escape.
I noted, too, that Verna and Sheera were missing. I had lost blood. I was angry.
I seemed very weary. It was little to me that they, too, taking advantage of the
confusion, had slipped away.
“Where is the slave Verna!” cried Marlenus.
His men looked at one another.
“She is gone,” said one of them.
I wanted to rest. I had lost blood.
“Captain?” said Thurnock.
“Take me to the Tesephone, Thurnock,” I said. “I am tired. I am tired.”
“Where, Bosk of Port Kar,” challenged Marlenus, “is the slave Verna?”
“I do not know,” I told him. Then I turned away. It was over now. I wanted only
to rest.
“Bring paga and food from the ships!” ordered Marlenus.
Thurnock looked at me.
“Yes,” I said, “let him have what he wished.”
“You will be paid,” said Marlenus, “in the gold of Ar.”
Thurnock helped me to the longboat. The beacon of Sarus was now only reddish
stones of wood, like the eyes of beasts, looming in the darkness, lying on the
sand.
“We will have a feast!” I heard Marlenus cry, and his men responded with a
cheer.
“Chain these men of Tyros,” I heard Marlenus order. I heard chains.
“Lie in the boat, my captain,” whispered Thurnock.
“No,” I told him.
“Free the females,” cried Marlenus. “They will serve us in our feast.” I heard
the screams of women, as they were freed of their bonds. I knew they would serve
the feast in the manner of Gorean slave girls, fully. I did not envy them. I
heard the gate of the stockade swing shut. It would be secured, locking them
within with the men, their former captives. I heard some of them pounding
helplessly at the gate with their small fists. I heard the laughter of men.
There was more screaming. I did not envy them.
“Come, Captain,” said Thurnock.
With Thurnock and eight of my men I thrust the longboat back in the water and
then, wading, swung it about.
Thurnock climbed into the boat, and leaning toward me, helped me to follow him.
My eight men took their oars.
“Lie in the boat, Captain,” said Thurnock.
“No,” I told him. I took the tiller.
“Stroke,” called Thurnock.
The oars cut the water. I leaned on the tiller. The moons broke from the cover
of the clouds. Thassa, suddenly, shone with a billion whispering diamonds. Dark,
ahead, were the hulls of the Rhoda, a ship of Tyros, and the Tesephone, a light
galley of Port Kar.
“Captain?” asked Thurnock.
Behind me I heard from the stockade, the song of Ar’s glories, led in the great
voice of Marlenus of Ar, Ubar of Ubars.
There would be a feast. The stockade would be ablaze with light.
I was wet from the salt water, thrusting the longboat into Thassa. My side and
my left arm stung with the salt, and felt stiff with the cold, and then, too,
suddenly, I felt a warmth, slow and spreading. It seemed welcome. I did not much
care. But I knew that it was my own blood.
I heard the screams of women behind me, the laughter of men.
Then again I heard the strains of Ar’s song of glories, led by Marlenus, Ubar of
Ubars.
There was a feast. The stockade would be ablaze with light.
I shook my head.
Ahead, dark, were the hulls of the Rhoda, she of Tyros, and he Tesephone, a
light galley of Port Kar.
I had recollected my honor. I laughed bitterly. Little good had it done me.
Marlenus’s was the victory, not mine. I had only grievous wounds, and cold.
My left leg, too, began to feel stiff. I could not move it.
I looked down into Thassa. The glittering surface of the water, broken by the
stroke of the oars, seemed to swi
rl.
I had nothing.
“Captain?” asked Thurnock.
I slumped over the tiller.
22 There is a Fair Wind for Port Kar
The wind was cold that swept along the stony beach. The men stood, their cloaks
gathered about them. I sat, in blankets, in a captain’s chair, brought from the
Tesephone. Thassa was green, and cold. The sky was gray. At their anchors, fore
and aft, some quarter of a pasang from shore, swung the Rhoda, in her yellow,
now dim in the grayness of the morning, and the Tesephone, on her flag line,
snapping, an ensign bearing the following device, the head of a bosk, in black,
over a field of white, marked with broad stripes of green, a flag not unknown on
Thassa, that of Bosk from the Marches, a captain of Port Kar.
From the blankets I looked across the beach, to the stockade, which had been
that of Sarus. The gate opened, and emerging, came Marlenus, followed by his
men, eighty-five warriors of Ar. They were clad in skins, and in garments of
Tyros. Several were armed well, with weapons taken from those of Tyros. Others
carried merely knives, or light spears, taken from Hura’s panther girls. With
them, coming slowly, too, across the sand, to where we waited for them, were
Sarus and his men, chained, and bound and in throat coffle, stripped, shivering,
Hura’s women. Near them, similarly bound and in throat coffle, though still in
the skins of panther girls, were Verna’s women, who had been captured long ago
by Sarus in Marlenus’ camp. Grenna, too, who had once been Hura’s lieutenant,
whom I had captured in the forest, was bound in the same coffle. She wore the
tatters of her white, woolen slave garment. Among the men, clad, too, like
Verna’s women, in skins, were Marlenus’ own slave girls, those who had been
brought to the forest by him, who, like the others, had been captured at his
camp. Their limbs were not bound. About their throats, however, they wore the
collar of their master.
Today the camp would be broken, the stockade destroyed.
I observed the retinue approaching me.
It would then be forgotten, what had taken place on this beach.
I could not move the left side of my body.
I watched Marlenus and his men, and the slaves, and captives, make their way
toward me.
It was four days since the night of the stockade.
I had lain, in pain and fever, in my cabin, in the small stern castle of the
Tesephone.
It had seemed that Sheera had cared for me, and that, in fitful wakings, I had
seen her face, intent above mine, and felt her hand, and a warmth, and sponging
at my side.
And I had cried out, and tried to rise, but strong hands, those of Rim and Arn,
had pressed me back, holding me.
“Vella!” I had cried.
And they had pressed me back.
I should have a hiking trip, into the White Mountains of New Hampshire. I would
wish to be alone.
Not in the arena of Tharna! I blocked the heavy yoke locked on Kron, the iron
horns tearing at me. The shock coursed through my body, as might have the blow
of a mountain on a mountain.
I heard the screams of the women.
They were Hura’s women.
I reach for my sword, but it was gone. My hand closed on nothing.
The grayish face of Pa-Kur, and the expressionless eyes, stared down into mine.
I heard the locking in place of the cable of his crossbow.
“You are dead!” I cried to him. “You are dead!”
“Thurnock!” cried Sheera.
Then there was the roar of Thassa but not of Thassa but of the crowd in the
Stadium of Tarns, in Ar.
“Gladius of Cos!” I heard cry. “Gladius of Cos!”
“On Ubar of the Skies,” I cried. “On! On!”
“Please, Captain,” said Thurnock. He was weeping.
I turned my head to one side. Lara was very beautiful. And Misk, the great
disklike eyes luminous, peered down at me. His antennae, golden, with their fine
sensory filaments, surveyed me. I reached up to touch them with the palms of my
hands. “Let there be nest trust! Let there be friendship!” But I could not reach
them, and Misk had turned, and delicately, on his posterior appendages, had
vanished.
“Vella! “ I wept. “Vella!”
I would not open the blue envelope. I would not open it. I must not open it.
The earth trembles with the coming of the herds of the Wagon Peoples.
“Flee, Stranger, flee!”
“They are coming!”
“Give him paga,” said Thurnock.
And Sandra, in her vest of jewels, and bells, taunted me in the paga tavern in
Port Kar.
I swilled paga.
“All hail Bosk, Admiral of Port Kar!” I rose drunkenly to my feet. Paga spilled
from the cup. “All hail Bosk, Admiral of Port Kar!”
Where was Midice, to share my triumph?
“Vella!” I cried. “Love me!”
“Drink this,” said Arn. I swallowed the liquid, and lay back.
The wind had been cold, too, on the height of Ar’s cylinder of justice.
And small Torm, in the blue robes of the scribe, lifted his cup, to salute the
beauty of Talena.
“You are denied bread, and fire and salt,” said Marlenus. “By sundown you are
not to be within the realm of Ar.”
“Victory is ours!”
“Let us hunt, tumits,” suggested Kamchak. “I am weary of affairs of state.”
Harold was already in his saddle.
I drew on the one-strap of Ubar of the Skies, and the great bird, giant and
predator, screamed and together, we thrust higher into the bright, sunlit skies
of Gor.
I stood at the edge of the cylinder of justice of Ar and looked down.
Pa-Kur had leaped from its height. The sheerness of the fall was broken only by
a tarn perch, some feet below.
I could see crowds milling at the foot of the cylinder.
The body of the master of the assassins had never been recovered. Doubtless it
had been torn to pieces by the crowd.
In Ar, years earlier, Mip behind me, late at night, I walked out upon a tarn
perch, and surveyed the beauties of the lamps of Ar, glorious Ar. I had looked
up and seen, several feet above me, the height of the cylinder. It would be
possible, though dangerous to leap to the perch.
I had thought little of it.
Pa-Kur was dead.
“Was the body recovered?” asked Kamchak.
“No,” I had told him. “It does not matter.”
I threw back my head and laughed.
Sheera wept.
“Put more furs upon him,” said Arn. “Keep him warm.”
I recalled Elizabeth Caldwell.
He who had examined her on Earth, to determine her fitness for the message
collar, had frightened her. His clothes did not seem right upon him. his accent
was strange. He was large, strong-handed. She had said his face was grayish, and
his eyes like glass.
Saphrar, a merchant of Tyros, resplendent in Turia, had similarly described the
man who had enlisted his services in behalf of those who contested worlds with
Priest-Kings. He had been a large man. His complexion had not seemed as one of
Earth. It had seemed grayish. His eyes had been expressionless, like stones, or
/>
orbs of glass.
Pa_Kur stared down upon me. I heard the locking in place of the cable of his
crossbow.
“Pa-Kur is alive!” I screamed, rising up, throwing aside the furs. “He is alive!
Alive!”
I was pressed back.
“Rest, Captain,” said Thurnock.
I opened my eyes and the cabin, blurred, took shape. What had seemed a dim sun,
a flame of darkness, became a ship’s lantern, swinging on its iron ring.
“Vella?” I asked.
“The fever is broken,” said Sheera, her hand on my forehead.
I felt the furs drawn about me. There were tears in Sheera’s eyes. I had thought
she had escaped. My collar still encircled her throat. She wore a tunic of white
wool, clean.
“Rest, sweet Bosk of Port Kar,” said she.
“Rest, Captain,” whispered Thurnock.
I closed my eyes, and fell asleep.
“Greetings, Bosk of Port Kar,” said Marlenus of Ar.
He stood before me, his men behind him. he wore the yellow of Tyros, and, about
his shoulders, a cloak, formed of panther skins. About his throat was a tangle
of leather and claws, taken from panther women, with which he had adorned
himself. His head was bare.
“Greetings, Marlenus,” said I, “Ubar of Ar.”
Together we turned to face the forest, and waited. In a moment, from the trees,
emerged Hura.
Her hands were tied, by her long black hair, behind the back of her neck. Her
hair had been twisted about her throat, knotted, and then, with the two loose
strands, thick, themselves twisted, looped about her wrists, her hands had been
secured. She was stripped. She wore a branch shackle, a thick, rounded branch,
some eighteen inches in length, notched toward each end, with supple tendrils,
fitting into the notches and about her fair ankles, tied across the back of her
legs.
She stumbled once on the stones, struggled to her feet and again approached us.
Behind her, nude, proud, erect, golden rings in her ears, carrying a pointed
stick, an improvised spear, came blond Verna, tall and beautiful.
Hura fell to her knees, between Marlenus and me, her head down. The proud leader
of the panther girls had not escaped.
“I found this slave in the forest,” said Verna. About her own neck she still
wore Marlenus’ collar.
He looked at her. She looked at him fearlessly. As an unveiled free woman, not
as a slave.
Verna had caught Hura yesterday, but she had refused to bring her to the
Norman, John - Gor 08 - Hunters of Gor.txt Page 38
