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

Norman, John - Gor 25 - Magicians of Gor.txt Page 40

by Magicians of Gor [lit]

  fastened somehow to the inside of the back panel.”

  “In a sling of sorts,” I said.

  “She was then hanging down, fastened to the side of the back panel away from the

  audience, when the trunk was opened?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  (pg. 269) “And was returned to the interior of the trunk with the shielded

  lifting of the back panel?”

  “Yes,” I said. “And once within the trunk, it then closed again, she could, of

  course, her hands being free enough in the sirik to accomplish this, undo the

  straps, and conceal them in the flooring of the trunk, in a slot prepared for

  the purpose.”

  “Then it was not magic?” he said.

  “That depends on what you mean by ‘magic’,” I said.

  “You know what I mean,” he said, somewhat disagreeably.

  “No,” I said. “It was not magic.”

  “But it could have been magic,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Even those these wonders could have been accomplished so easily by mere

  trickery, that does not prove they were!”

  “No,” I said. “I suppose not.”

  “The same effect might have quite different causes,” he said, “for example, in

  these cases, having been achieved either by mere charlatanry or by genuine

  magic.”

  “I have seen the equipment,” I said. I had, in one of the wagons of the

  ponderous fellow several months ago. I had even diddled about with it, for my

  own amusement.

  “But that does not prove it was used!” said Marcus.

  “I suppose not,” I said. “I suppose that these effects, so easily wrought by a

  skilled fellow, who knows how to bring them about, might actually, in these

  cases, have been produced not by familiar trickery but by the application of

  uncanny and marvelous powers.”

  “Certainly,” said Marcus.

  “Would you believe the fellow if he showed you how he did it?” I asked.

  “He might show me how it could be done, but not how he actually did it,” said

  Marcus. “He might lie to me, to conceal from me his possession of mysterious

  powers.”

  “Well,” I said, “I never thought about that.” I never had. “I guess you’re

  right,” I said.

  Marcus walked on beside me for a way. Then suddenly he burst out, angrily, “The

  charlatan, the fraud!”

  “Are you angry?” I asked.

  “They are only tricks!” he said.

  “Good tricks,” I said.

  “But only tricks!”

  “I don’t think he ever claimed they weren’t,” I said.

  “He should be boiled in oil!” cried Marcus.

  “To me that seems somewhat severe,” I said.

  “Tricks!” said Marcus.

  (pg. 270) “I suppose you now respect them the less,” I said.

  “Charlatanry!” he murmured. “Trickery! Fraud!”

  “I think that I myself,” I said, “apparently responding to this sort of thing

  rather differently from yourself, admire them the more as I understand how

  ingenious and wonderful they are, as tricks. I think I should be awed by them,

  but would not find so much to admire in them, if I thought they were merely the

  manifestations of unusual powers, as, for example, the capacity to turn folks

  into turtles or something.”

  “Perhaps,” he said.

  “Certainly,” I said.

  “I would not wish to be a turtle,” he said.

  “So let us trust,” I said, “that folks do not abound who can wreak such

  wonders.”

  “True,” he said.

  “Similarly,” I said, “if there were such a thing as ‘real magic’ in your sense,

  whatever that might be, the world would presumably be much different than it

  is.”

  “There might be a great many more turtles,” he said.

  “Quite possibly,” I said.

  I did not doubt, of course, from what I knew of them, that the science of

  Priest-Kings was such that many unusual effects could be achieved. And, indeed,

  I did not doubt but what many such were well within the scope of the several

  sciences of the Kurii, as well. But these effects, of course, were rationally

  explicable, at least to those with the pertinent techniques and knowledge at

  their disposal, effects which were the fruits of unusual sciences and

  technologies. I did not think that Marcus needed to know about such things. How

  inexplicable and marvelous to a savage might appear a match, a handful of beads,

  a mirror, a stick of candy, a tennis ball.

  “The slave was not in Anango!” he cried.

  “No,” I said. “I would not think so.”

  “But she said so, or let it be thought!” he said. “She is thus a lying slave and

  should be punished. Let her be whipped to the bone!”

  “Oh, come now,” I said. “She is playing her part in the show, in the

  entertainment. She is enjoying herself, along with everyone else. And she is a

  slave. What do you expect her to say? To tell the truth, and spoil the show, or

  perhaps have her master flogged? Do you not think such ill-thought-out

  intrepidity would swiftly bring her luscious hide into contact with the supple

  switch?”

  “Yes,” he said. “It is the master who is to blame.”

  “I do hope you get on with him,” I said.

  (pg. 271)”What?” he cried.

  “Yes,” I said, “and, indeed, I would even recommend that you be nice to him.”

  “Why?” asked Marcus.

  “Because,” I said, “it is he who is going to obtain for you the Home Stone of

  Ar’s Station.”

  18 Our Wallets are in Order

  “Here we are,” I said.

  We had been walking about for some time after the show, even past the time of

  curfew the constraints of which, because of our affixed armbands, as auxiliary

  guardsmen, we had not the least difficulty in circumventing. Challenged, we

  challenged back. Questioned, we questioned. And if our challenges and questions

  were satisfactorily met, we would proceed further, first volunteering, of

  course, in deference to alternative authority, our own names and missions in

  turn. If notes were to be later compared at some headquarters, as I did not

  expect they would be, some officers might have been astonished to learn how many

  sets of auxiliary guardsmen and diverse missions had been afoot that night.

  “This is the insula,” I said, “at which resides the great Renato and his

  troupe.”

  “The magician?” said Marcus.

  “Yes,” I said. I had made inquiries into this matter prior to leaving the

  theater, Marcus waiting outside for me, pondering the wonders he was convinced

  he had beheld within.

  “I would not keep the stripped, lashed Ubara of a captu
red city chained in a

  kennel such as this,” he said.

  “Surely you would do so,” I said.

  “Well, perhaps,” he admitted.

  Some believe such women should be prepared quickly for the collar and others

  that the matter may be drawn out, teasingly, until even she, trying to deny it

  to herself all the while, realizes what her eventual lot is to be.

  “Not all folk in the theater and such live as well as they might,” I said.

  “It seems they cannot make gold pieces appear from thin air,” said Marcus.

  (pg. 272) “Not without a gold piece to start with,” I said.

  “Getting one to start with is undoubtedly the real trick,” he said.

  “Precisely,” I said. “Let us go in.”

  I shoved back the heavy door. It hung on its top hinge. It had not been barred.

  I gathered that not every one who lived within, interestingly, was necessarily

  expected back before curfew. On the other hand, perhaps the proprietor, or his

  manager, was merely lax in matters of security. The interior, the hall and foot

  of the stairs, was lit by the light of a tiny tharlarion oil lamp.

  “Whew!” said Marcus.

  At the foot of the stairs, as is common in insulae, there was a great wastes

  pot, into which the smaller wastes pots of the many tiny apartments in the

  building are emptied. These large pots are then carried off in wagons to the

  carnaria, where their contents are emptied. This work is usually done by male

  slaves under the supervision of a free man. When the wastes pot is picked up, a

  clean one is left in its place. The emptied pot is later cleaned and used again,

  returned to one insula or another. There is sewerage in Ar, and sewers, but on

  the whole these service the more affluent areas of the city. The insulae are, on

  the whole, tenements.

  “This is a sty,” said Marcus.

  “Do not insult the caste of peasants,” I said. “It is the ox on which the Home

  Stone rests.” Thurnock, one of my best friends, was of that caste.

  Not everyone is as careful as they might be in hitting the great pot. Lazier

  folks, or perhaps folks interested in testing their skill, sometimes try to do

  it from a higher landing. According to the ordinances the pots are supposed to

  be kept covered, but this ordinance is too often honored in the breach. Children

  sometimes use the stairs to relieve themselves. This is occasionally done, I

  gather, as a game, the winner being decided by the greatest number of stairs

  soiled.

  “Ho there,” said an unpleasant voice, from the top of the landing. We looked up

  into a pool of floating light, from a lifted lantern.

  “Tal,” I said.

  “He is not here,” said the fellow.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Anyone,” said the fellow.

  “There is no one here?” I asked.

  “Precisely,” he said.

  “We should like to rent a room,” I said.

  (pg. 273) “No rooms,” said he. “We are filled.”

  “I can be up the stairs in an instant,” said Marcus, “and open him like a bag of

  noodles.”

  “Whom are you looking for?” asked the fellow, who perhaps had excellent hearing.

  “Renato the Great,” I said.

  “The villain, the fat urt, the rogue, the rascal?” asked the fellow.

  “Yes,” I said. “He.”

  “He is not here,” he said.

  I supposed the fellow was fond of him, and was concerned to protect him. On the

  other hand, perhaps he had not yet collected the week’s lodging. That, in

  itself, might be a good trick.

  “Do not be dismayed by our armbands,” I said. “We do not come on the business of

  guardsmen.”

  “You are creditors then,” he said, “or defrauded bumpkins intent upon the

  perpetration of dire vengeance.”

  “No,” I said. “We are friends.”

  The pool of light above us seemed to shake with laughter.

  I drew my blade and put it to the bowl of the lamp, on its small shelf in the

  hall. With a tiny movement I could tip it to the floor.

  “Be careful there,” said the fellow. His concern was not without reason. Such

  accidents, usually occurring in the rooms, often resulted in the destruction of

  an insula. Many folks who lived regularly in insulae had had the experience of

  hastily departing from their building in the middle of the night. There was also

  the danger that such fires could spread. Sometimes entire blocks, and even

  districts, are wiped out by such fires.

  “Summon him,” I said.

  “It is not my building,” said the fellow. “It belongs to Appanius!”

  “Ah, yes!” I said.

  “You know the name?” asked Marcus.

  “Yes,” I said. “Do you not remember? He is the owner of Milo, the handsome

  fellow, the actor who played the part of Lurius of Jad in the pageant, and is an

  agriculturist, an impresario, and slaver. That explains, probably, his interest

  in this establishment, and his catering to a certain clientele.” I looked up at

  the pool of light. “It is that Appanius, is it not?” I asked.

  “Yes,” said the fellow, “and a powerful man.”

  I lowered the blade. I had no wish to do anything which Appanius might find

  disagreeable, such as burn down one of his buildings. He was undoubtedly a

  splendid fellow, and, in any (pg. 274) case, I might later wish to do business

  with him. I sheathed my sword.

  “Appanius is not one to be lightly trifled with!” said the fellow, seemingly

  somewhat emboldened by the retreat of my blade.

  Marcus’ blade half left its sheath. “And what of heavily trifling with him?” he

  asked. “Or trifling with him moderately?” Marcus was still not well disposed

  toward most fellows from Ar, and did not seem prepared to make an exception in

  favor of the fellow on the landing. I pushed Marcus’ blade back down in its

  sheath.

  “This,” I said, indicating a cord and bar to one side, “is undoubtedly the alarm

  bar, to be rung in the case of emergency or fire.”

  “Yes?” said the voice from the pool of light.

  “I am pleased to see it,” I said. “This will quite possibly save me burning down

  the building.”

  “Why do you wish to see Renato?” asked the fellow, nervously. I think he did not

  relish the thought of being on the landing if the occupants of the building

  should suddenly, in their hundreds, begin to stream forth in vigorous, or even

  panic-stricken, haste, down the stairs.

  “That is our business,” I said.

  “You are not going to lead him off in chains, are you?” he asked. “He owes two

  weeks rent.”

  I surmised that more than an occasional lodging fee had in such a manner escaped

  the agent of Appanius.

  “No,” I said.

  “Hah!” he suddenly cried.

  â
€œWhat is wrong?” I asked.

  “It is the same trick!” he said. “I see it now! The same trick!”

  “What trick?” I asked.

  “The rogue last year pretended to have himself arrested and led away, but it

  turned out to be by members of his own troupe, and thus they all escaped without

  paying the rent!”

  “And you took him back in?” I asked.

  “Who else would give such a rogue lodging but Appanius?” said the man. “But he

  made him pay double, and for the time before, too!”

  “Interesting,” I said. “But we wish to see him on business, now.”

  “We can force the doors, one after the other,” said Marcus.

  “There are at least a hundred rooms here,” I said. “Perhaps more.”

  (pg. 275) “Which is his room?” asked Marcus. “And we shall rout him out

  ourselves.”

  “I would have to consult the records,” said the fellow. “He may not even be

  rooming here.”

  “But surely you have one or more of his slaves chained somewhere as a surety,” I

  said.

  The fellow made a tiny, angry noise above us.

  I saw I had guessed right. The only slave of the ponderous fellow I had seen in

  the show had been the one he was now calling Litsia. I expected he had one or

  more elsewhere. For example, I had not seen a certain blonde about whom he often

  used in his dramatic farces, in various roles, such as that of the Golden

  Courtesan. She, and perhaps one or two others, I did not know, were in this very

  building, or elsewhere, chained or caged, as a surety for the lodging fees. If

  he wished to use one of them in some farce, or such, he would perhaps take that

  one, and leave another, say, Litsia, as he now called her, with the agent, or

  his men. Such women, being properties, may be used as sureties, to be taken over

  by the creditors of their former master’s creditors. There are many variations

  on this sort of thing. For example, it is not unknown for one fellow, desiring

  the slave of another, to advance his fellow money, perhaps for gambling, in the

  hope that he may not be able to pay it back, in which case the creditor, in

  accord with the contractual arrangements, may claim the slave. Also, of course,

  it is not unusual, in serious cases, for a debtor’s properties to be seized and

 

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