Norman, John - Gor 25 - Magicians of Gor.txt

by Magicians of Gor [lit]

  Then the High Council stood to one side, and Seremides himself returned to the

  point on the platform where the rear ramp, that near the Central Cylinder,

  ascended to its surface.

  The ringing of the bars then ceased, first those of the Central Cylinder and

  then those near it, and then those farther away, about the city. This happened

  so quickly, however, that it was doubtless accomplished not by the fellows at

  the bells apprehending that those most inward in the city had ceased to ring but

  rather in virtue of some signal, presumably conveyed from the Central Cylinder,

  a signal doubtless relayed immediately, successively, by flags or such, to other

  points.

  The crowd looked at one another.

  No longer now, the bars now quiet, did I even hear the drums and trumpets of the

  approaching Cosians. Those instruments, too, were silent. I did not doubt,

  however, that the approach north on the Avenue of the Central Cylinder was still

  in progress.

  Seremides now, at the rear of the platform, where the rear ramp ascended to its

  surface, extended his hand downward, to escort a figure clad and veiled in

  dazzling white to the surface of the platform. It was a graceful figure who,

  head down, the fingers of her left hand in the light grasp of Seremides, now

  came forward upon the platform.

  “No! No!” cried many in the crowd. “No!”

  “It is Talena!” wept a man.

  The figure, to be sure, was robed in white, and veiled, but I had little doubt

  that it was indeed Talena, once the daughter of Marlenus of Ar, Ubar of Ubars.

  “She is not gloved!” cried a man.

  “She is barefoot!” cried another.

  Marcus looked down, sharply, at Phoebe, who clung to his arm. Instantly Phoebe

  looked down. In that crush she could scarcely have knelt. She might have been

  forced from her knees and trampled. Phoebe, of course, was much exposed in the

  brief slave tunic, her arms and legs. I looked at her calves, ankles and feet.

  She, too, was barefoot. This was appropriate for her, of course, as she was a

  slave. Slaves are often kept barefoot. I then looked up, continuing to regard

  her, she clinging (pg. 87) to Marcus. Yes, she was quite lovely. She looked up a

  moment, saw my eyes upon her, and then looked down again, quickly. The slave

  girdle too, tied high on her, crossed, emphasized the loveliness of her small

  breasts. I was pleased for Marcus. He has a lovely slave. I was lonely. I wished

  that I, too, had a slave.

  “She is in the robes of a penitent or suppliant!” cried another in dismay.

  “No, Talena!” cried a man.

  “No, Talena,” cried another, “do not.”

  “We will not permit it!” cried a man.

  “Not our Talena!” wept a woman.

  “The crowd grows ugly,” observed Marcus.

  “Ar is not worth such a price!” cried another.

  “Better give the city to flames!” cried another.

  “Let us fight! Let us fight!” cried men.

  Several men broke out, into the street, where Taurentians, with spears held

  across their bodies, struggled to restrain them.

  “Good,” said Marcus. “There is going to be a riot.”

  “If so,” I said, “let us withdraw.”

  “It will give me a chance to slip a knife into a few of these fellows,” said

  Marcus.

  “Phoebe might be hurt,” I said.

  “She is only a slave,” said Marcus, but I saw him shelter her in his arms,

  preparing to move back through the crowd.

  “Wait,” I said.

  Talena herself, on the height of the platform, had her hands out, palms up,

  shaking them negatively, even desperately.

  I smiled.

  This behavior on her part seemed scarcely in keeping with the dignity of the

  putative daughter of a Ubar, not to mention her mien as a penitent or suppliant.

  “She urges us to calm!” said a man.

  “She pleads with us to stand back,” said a man. “Come back.”

  “Noble Talena!” wept a fellow.

  The crowd wavered. Several of the men in the street backed away, returning to

  the crowd.

  Talena then, now that the crowd, divided and confused, seemed more tractable,

  put her head down and to one side, and, lifting her arms, the palms up, made a

  gesture as of resignation and nobility, pressing back the crowd.

  “She does not wish succor,” said a fellow.

  “She fears that we may suffer in her behalf,” moaned a man.

  It had been a narrow thing, I thought. Had Talena herself not suddenly

  interposed her own will, clearly, vigorously, even (pg. 88) desperately,

  signaling negatively to the crowd, the platform and avenue might have swarmed

  with irate citizens, intent upon her rescue. The handful of Taurentians about

  would have been swept back like leaves before a hurricane.

  “Do not let this be done, Seremides!” cried a fellow.

  “Protect Talena!” cried several men.

  But now Seremides held forth his hands, calmly, palms down, and raised and

  lowered them, gently, several times.

  The crowd murmured, uneasily, threateningly.

  “Talena intends to sacrifice herself for us, for the city, for the Home Stone!”

  wept a man.

  “She must not be permitted to do so,” said a fellow.

  “We will not permit it!” said another, suddenly.

  “Let us act!” cried a man.

  Again the crowd wavered. There was a sudden pressing forth toward the platform,

  a tiny, incipient surgency. Taurentians braced themselves and pressed back

  against the crowd with the shafts of their spears.

  Seremides’ calming hands continued to beg for patience.

  Then, again, the crowd was quiet, tense. I did not think that it would take much

  to precipitate violence. Yet, for the moment, at least, it was still, if

  seething. There is often a delicate balance in such things, and sometimes in

  such situations even a small action, even a seemingly insignificant stimulus,

  can trigger a sudden, massive response.

  Seremides then, again, held out his hand to Talena. He then led her forward, as

  before, toward the front ramp. As they neared the figure of Gnieus Lelius,

  kneeling in his chains near the front ramp, Talena seemed to hesitate, to shrink

  back with distaste. One small hand, even, extended, palm out, toward the former

  regent, as though she would fend away the very sight of him, as though she could

  not bear the thought of his nearness. She even turned to Seremides, doubtlessly

  imploring him with all the piteous vulnerability of the penitent or suppliant,

  that she not be stationed close to that odious object, which had brought such

  lamentable catastrophe and misery upon her city.

  Seremides seemed to hesitate for a moment and then, as though he had made a

  determined decision, however unwise it might be, graciously, and with great

  courtesy, conducted Talena to a place further from the kneeling Gnieus Lelius.

  The crowd murmured its approval.

  “Good, Seremides!” cried a
man.

  As Talena was conducted to her place, a few feet from Gnieus Lelius, she drew up

  the white robes a little with her right hand, so that they were above her

  ankles. In this way (pg. 89) those who might not have noticed this fact before

  could now note that she was barefoot. I supposed this tiny act of exposure, so

  apparently natural, if not inadvertent, as though merely to aid her footing,

  this act so delicately politic, must have cost the modesty of the putative

  daughter of Marlenus of Ar much.

  A man near me put his head in his hands and wept. Marcus glanced at him,

  contemptuously.

  In a moment then, startling me, and doubtless many others in the crowd, there

  was a blast of trumpets and a roll of drums to our right. Regulars of Cos,

  regiments of them, in ordered lines, in cleaned, pressed blue, with polished

  helmets and shields, preceded by numerous standard bearers, representing far

  more units than were doubtless in the city at the moment, and musicians,

  advanced. Tharlarion cavalrymen, of both bipedal and quadrupedal tharlarion,

  flanked the lines. The street shook under the tread of these beasts. Turned on

  the crowd they might, in their passage, have trampled hundreds.

  The crowd, now that it had segments of the forces of Cos before it, seemed

  strangely docile. These were not a handful of Taurentians that might have been

  swept from their path like figures off a kaissa board. These were warriors in

  serried ranks, many of whom had doubtless seen battle. To move against such

  would have been like throwing themselves onto the knife walls of Tyros.

  Similarly, should the troops wheel to the sides, charging, blades drawn, they

  might have slaughtered thousands, harvesting the crowds, trapped by their own

  numbers, like sa-tarna.

  With a roll of drums and a blast of trumpets, and the distinct, uniform sound of

  hundreds of men coming simultaneously to a halt, the Cosian array arrested its

  march not yards from the forward ramp.

  I thought I saw the figure of Talena, standing on the platform, with others,

  tremble. Perhaps now she realized, I thought, what it might mean to have Cosians

  in the city. Did she now, suddenly, I wondered, realize how vulnerable she

  really was, and Ar, and how such fellows could now do much what they pleased.

  She was in the white robes of a penitent or suppliant. The penitent or

  suppliant, incidentally, is supposed to be naked beneath such robes. I doubted,

  however, that Talena was naked beneath them. On the other hand, she would surely

  wish the good citizens of Ar to believe that she was.

  It seemed terribly quiet for a moment. If I had spoken, even softly, I am sure I

  would have been heard for yards, so still were the pressed throngs.

  “Myron,” I heard whispered. “Myron, polemarkos of Cos!”

  (pg. 90) I saw nothing for a time but the crowd, the platform, the people on the

  platform, and Cosians, for several yards to the right, standard bearers, some

  even bearing the standards of mercenary companies, probably not in the march,

  such as that of Raymond Rive-de-Bois, musicians, and soldiers, both foot and

  cavalry.

  “He is coming!” I heard.

  The polemarkos, if it were indeed he, I thought, must be very confident, to so

  enter Ar. I did not think that Lurius of Jad, Ubar of Cos, would have done so.

  To be sure, Lurius seldom left the precincts of the palace of Telnus. More than

  one triumph in a Gorean city has been spoiled by the bolt of an assassin.

  “I see him!” I said to Marcus.

  “Yes,” he said. Phoebe stood on her tiptoes, clinging to Marcus’ arm, her slim,

  lovely body very straight. She craned her neck. She could still see, I thought,

  very little. The close-fitting steel collar was lovely on her throat. The

  collar, with its lock, muchly enhances a woman’s beauty.

  In a moment a large bipedialian saddle tharlarion, in golden panoply, its nails

  polished, its scales brushed bright, wheeled to a halt before the standard

  bearers. Behind it came several other tharlarion, resplendent, too, but lesser

  in size and panoply, with riders. Myron, or he who was acting on his behalf,

  then, by means of a dismounting stirrup, not the foot stirrup, the rider’s

  weight lowering it, descended to the ground. It was curious to see him, as I had

  heard much of him. He was a tall man, in a golden helmet, plumed, too, in gold,

  and a golden cloak. He was personally armed with the common gladius, the short

  sword, the most common infantry weapon on Ar, and a dagger. In a saddle sheath,

  remaining there, was a longer weapon, a two-handed scimitar, the two-handed

  scimitarus, useful for reaching other riders on tharlarion. There was no lance

  in the saddle boot. He removed his helmet and handed it to one of his fellows.

  He seemed a handsome fellow, with long hair. I recalled he had once been under

  the influence of the beautiful slave, Lucilina, even to the point of consulting

  her in matters of state. She had been privy to many secrets. Indeed, her

  influence over the polemarkos had been feared, and her favor had been courted

  even by free men. Her word or glance might mean the difference between

  advancement and neglect, between honor and disgrace. Then Dietrich of Tarnburg

  had arranged for her to be kidnapped and brought to him, stripped. He had soon

  arranged for her to be emptied of all sensitive information. He had then renamed

  her ‘Luchita,’ an excellent (pg. 91) name for a slave and quite different from

  the prestigious name ‘Lucilina,’ which might have graced a free woman. He had

  then given her to one of his lowest soldiers, as a work and pleasure slave. The

  last time I had seen her had been in Brundisium, among the slaves belonging to

  various mercenaries, men of the company of a fellow who was then identifying

  himself as Edgar, of Tarnwald. I did not know where this Edgar, of Tarnwald, now

  was, nor his men. I suspected that by now Myron had come to understand, and to

  his chagrin, how he had been the pliant dupe of a female, and even one who was a

  slave. I did not think it likely that this would happen again. He now doubtless

  had a much better idea of the utilities and purposes of females.

  Myron, now, as I suppose it was Myron, with two fellows behind him, each bearing

  a package, ascended the platform.

  Seremides approached him and, drawing his sword from its sheath, extended it to

  him, hilt first.

  “Myron does not accept his sword!” said a man.

  Myron, indeed, with a magnanimous gesture, had demurred to accept the weapons of

  Seremides, the high general of Ar. Seremides now sheathed the sword.

  “Hail Cos! Hail Ar!” whispered a fellow.

  The crowd then hushed as Seremides extended his hand to Talena and conducted her

  before Myron, her head down.

  “Poor Talena,” whispered a man.

  The daughters of conquered ubars often grace the triumphs of victorious

  generals. This may be done in many ways. Sometimes they are marched naked at

  their stirrups, in chains; sometimes they are marched similarly but among slaves

  holding other loot, golden vessels, and such; sometimes they are displayed onr />
  wagons, or rolling platforms, caged with she-verr or she-tarsks, and so on.

  Almost always they will be publicly and ceremoniously enslaved, either before or

  after the triumph, either in their own city or in the city of the conqueror.

  Myron, however, bowed low before Talena, in this perhaps saluting the loftiness

  and honorableness of her status, that of the free female.

  “I do not understand,” said Marcus.

  “Wait,” I said.

  “Will he not now strip her and have her put in chains?” asked Marcus.

  “Watch,” I said.

  “She will be in his tent, as one of his women, before nightfall,” he said.

  “Watch,” I said.

  “To be sure,” he said, “perhaps she will be kept for the (pg. 92) pleasure

  gardens of Lurius of Jad, or the kennels if his house slaves, if she was not

  beautiful enough for his pleasure gardens.”

  “Watch a moment,” I said.

  Talena, as I knew, was an exquisitely beautiful female, with that olive skin,

  and dark eyes and hair. I did not doubt but what she was worthy of a ubar’s

  pleasure gardens, and even if, all things considered, she was not quite of that

  quality, she would still, undoubtedly, find herself there. Allowances are often

  made for special women, former enemies, and such, and I had little doubt that an

  allowance of one sort or another would be made for a ubar’s daughter, or one

  taken to be such. It must be remembered, too, that the contents of a pleasure

  garden are not necessarily always viewed in only one light. For example, such a

  garden may contain women who are, in a sense, primarily trophies. Surely Talena

  might count, say, from the standpoint of a Lurius of Jad, as such a trophy.

  Indeed, some men, collectors, use their gardens mainly for housing their

  collections, say, of different types of women, selected perhaps primarily with

  an eye to illustrating, and exhibiting, various forms of female beauty, or,

  indeed, even for their unique or rare brands.

  Myron then turned about to one of the two fellows who had ascended the ramp with

  him, each of which held a package.

  “What is in the package?” asked a man.

  “A slave collar, slave bracelets, shackles, such things,” said a man.

  “No, look!” said a man.

  “Ai!” said Marcus.