Renegades of Gor

by Norman, John;

  “What will happen!” she said.

  “The citadel will be taken,” I said. “Cosians will enter, with fire and sword. The noncombatants, the able-bodied men, the soldiers, the garrison, what is left of it, will then be forced to withdraw to the wharves and piers. Then they will be driven from them. I fear there will be great slaughter in and about the harbor. Perhaps few will escape.”

  “Surely terms will be sought,” she said.

  “The Cosians have waited long for Ar’s Station,” I said. “Doubtless they never guessed the resistance they would meet. They have lost many men. Their patience is at an end.”

  “It is my fault,” she said. “Better that I had been what I rightfully should have been, a slave girl.”

  “It is not your fault,” I said. “I doubt that your pittance of treachery made any difference whatsoever. It is the fault of Ar.”

  “But I am guilty,” she said.

  “Yes,” I said, “and for your crime perhaps a reduction to bondage would be fitting. Too, given what you are, I think that such a fate would be quite appropriate for you.”

  “It is true,” she whispered, “—Master.”

  I then turned my attention to the pan of food. “There is much food here,” I said, “and meat. I doubt that even those at the central crenels, those on the towers, those defending the gate itself, feed as well this morning.”

  “But you are only putting it to your lips,” she said.

  “I am tasting it,” I said.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “It seems good,” I said.

  “What is your concern?” she asked.

  “It is nothing,” I said.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I thought they might have entered something into the food,” I said, “in kindness, a painkiller, something with an analgesic effect, to ease your pain.”

  “If they have,” she said, “I would appreciate a little food.”

  “But they have not,” I said. “Apparently it is true, as our charming warder told you, that they want you to squirm well on the spear.”

  She shuddered.

  “They see no reason in encouraging espionage,” I said.

  “No,” she whispered.

  I then fed lustily. Strength flooded into my body. I had not eaten so well for days. Too, I had the girl, in effect, my girl, bring me water.

  “That was good,” I said.

  “How is it that you can eat at a time like this?” she asked.

  “You must keep up your hope,” I said.

  “I am a naked female,” she said. “Men can do with me what they want.”

  “True,” I said, “but it may not be the case that every man wants to do exactly the same thing to you at exactly the same time.”

  “I suppose not,” she said.

  “And therein lies your hope,” I said.

  “There is no hope,” she said, resignedly.

  “There is always hope,” I said.

  “What hope have I,” she asked, “other than they might put me on the spear a little later, rather than a little sooner?”

  “I think you have more than you know,” I said.

  “How?” she asked.

  “You have unexpected allies,” I said.

  “Who?” she asked.

  “Outside,” I said. “Cosians.”

  “How can they help?” she asked.

  “Perhaps they cannot,” I said. “It is only a possibility.”

  “I think it is near dawn now,” she whispered. There seemed a narrow fringe of lightness in the darkness, at the edge of the high window. We looked up at it. We could not reach the window, even if she were to stand on my shoulders.

  “I think you are right,” I said.

  “Oh!” she cried, startled, and threw herself into my arms. She looked up at me, wildly, frightened.

  “It is the trumpets,” I said. “They signal the attack.”

  There were answering trumpets from the walls.

  There had been a great, ringing blare of trumpets from outside, perhaps hundreds of them. The response from the wall, in comparison, brave though it might have been, had seemed frail, indeed. When the trumpets had rung out there had been, too, from before the citadel, raised the war cries of thousands of men. These cries, too, had been answered, by a ragged cheer from the walls. She looked up at me, half kneeling, half lying in my arms, in the darkness of the cell. A naked woman feels good in one’s arms. I wished I owned her. They feel even better when you own them, and they know you own them.

  We then heard a dull impact, from a distance.

  “What is that?” she asked, alarmed.

  There were then two more sounds, much like the first.

  “Come here,” I said, and pulled her, on her side to the outside wall, and lay in the straw on the floor there. It is safer there, where the floor, like a buttress, reinforces the wall. You are safer there, too, from showering stone, bursting inward.

  “It is the artillery,” she said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  We could hear, too, from time to time, the sound of the kick and rattle, and vibration of cordage, of a catapult above us, on the walls. They are often roped down. Otherwise they can radically change their position, spinning half about, or even, literally, flinging themselves back off the walkway. They are easier to manage on softer surfaces, where the wheels can be dug in.

  “You are covering my body with your own,” she said.

  “Be quiet,” I whispered to her.

  “You are protecting me,” she said. “You are sheltering me. You are a true gentleman! You pretend not to be, but you are a true gentleman! Oh! No! What are you doing? I am on my belly! Only a slave is had in this position! No! Oh! Oh!”

  “Do you not recall, last night,” I asked, “when you faced away from me, on all fours, like an amorous tarsk?”

  “Ohhh,” she purred. “Oh, Master.”

  “How easily the word comes to your lips,” I observed.

  “Yes, Master,” she said, gratefully.

  “Do you not recall?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “I am your amorous she-tarsk. I ask no more.”

  “Do you still think I am a gentleman?” I inquired.

  “No,” she said.

  “What am I then?” I asked.

  “My master,” she said.

  “But you are a free woman,” I reminded her.

  “Yes,” she wept. “I am a free woman.”

  I continued then, for a time, to shelter her body. I was pleased that I was now more relaxed. I had enjoyed myself, but, too, my use of her, and as one might make use of a slave for such a purpose, had been a calculated one, to combat the waiting, the fear, the worry, the anticipation, the expectation, spread over Ahn. That sort of thing can gnaw at you. There is an optimum point for readiness and action. It was at that point that I wished to be when the door opened. We heard, more and more frequently, the impact of stones about us. Two assaults were forced back from the walls. When it grew lighter, and I feared they might soon come for her, I left her at the outside wall, and went to my former place in the straw, and lay there. The food pan I put back, a few feet before the door, where it could be seen through the observation panel. Its contents were now gone. I myself lay in the straw, perhaps too weak to move.

  15

  We Leave the Cell

  “Come, come, little vulo,” said the man, “do not be shy.” He beckoned, coaxingly, to Lady Claudia, who was still near the outside wall, crouching there now, in the straw, numb with fear. I did not even know if she could stand. In his left hand he carried several coils of rope, and a leash and collar. She regarded him with horror. “Come, come,” he said, advancing past me, lying in the straw. There were two others, with set crossbows, in their hands, standing within the cell, rather to the right of the door, as one would face it from the inside. At the door stood our warder.

  I did not think the fellow with the rope really wanted to approach the far wall, the outside
wall, or weather wall, too closely. From time to time we could hear, and sometimes feel, through the floor, the impact of the Cosian projectiles, the great stones, some of which would weigh a thousand pounds or more, flung by mighty catapults, some the size of houses. We could hear, too, as though far off, the rhythmical shock of the battering ram at the gate, where men toiled at the hundred ropes, beneath the long shedlike roof which protected them and the ram.

  “We do not want to stay here too long,” said the warder to the fellow with the rope. “It is dangerous on this side. Hurry!”

  “Come here,” said the fellow to Lady Claudia. “Kneel here, straightly, up, off your heels, your arms at your sides.”

  “Please!” begged Lady Claudia.

  “Hurry!” snapped the warder.

  I think the fellow did not much care to be the object of adjurations by such as the warder. I think he would have preferred to have found her not in a position of authority, small though her authority might be, but rather in a position more fitting for her, one more appropriate, too, to her sex and nature, say, naked on her belly, at his feet, subject to his kicks and whip. He said nothing, however. Rather, angrily, summoning up his courage, he went quickly to the Lady Claudia, seized her by the scrub of her hair and drew her, she half crawling, half being dragged, to the center of the cell, and knelt her there, in the position he had specified.

  The warder laughed.

  Did the fellow not know the Lady Claudia was a free woman? It seemed to me he handled her rather roughly, given that she was free. She was not, after all, a slave girl.

  The rope, then, in coil after coil, was wrapped about the Lady Claudia. It was in this fashion, I had gathered, from her own account of her capture, that she had been bound on the wall, and brought before Aemilianus. This touch was doubtless intended to remind her of the events of that evening.

  “Make it tight!” said the warder.

  Lady Claudia winced as the ropes were drawn about her.

  “Now the leash and collar!” said the warder.

  In a moment, then, the leash and collar were fastened on her. She then knelt there, in the center of the cell, heavily bound, collared, the leash dangling down before the ropes bound about her.

  “Splendid!” said the warder.

  Tears ran down Lady Claudia’s cheeks. She looked at me, and smiled. She pursed her lips a little, kissing softly, almost imperceptibly, at me. I watched, lying in the straw, my eyes half closed. I did not respond to her tiny, pathetic gesture. It interested me, however, that she bore me no ill will. Had I not led her to believe that I might be of assistance to her? Had I not tried to keep up her courage? But I realized now she had never expected me, really, in the moment of truth, so to speak, to act. It would be pointless.

  “How touching!” said the warder.

  I made as though to try to rise, to my knees, my head down. It seemed I could not manage this.

  “Remain where you are,” said one of the fellows with a crossbow.

  “He is too weak to do anything,” said the warder. “He cannot even stand.” She then went to stand before Lady Claudia. “The spear, my dear Claudia,” she said, “is a single piece of solid, polished metal. It is very long, and less than a hort thick. It is tapered to a point. It fits in a mount.”

  Lady Claudia knelt there, with her eyes closed.

  I made as though, again, to try to rise. One of the guards looked at me, and then looked away.

  “Glory to Ar!” snarled the warder.

  “Glory to Ar,” wept Lady Claudia.

  “Do you know what we are waiting for?” asked the warder of Lady Claudia.

  “No,” whispered Lady Claudia.

  There was then a sudden impact somewhere on the wall, perhaps not seventy-five feet from where we were.

  “That was close,” said one of the guards, uneasily.

  As I had expected they would, they had more to worry about than what went on in the cell.

  Again I struggled to my knees. This time I remained there, head down, as though unable to move.

  “Stay where you are,” said one of the guards. I was about seven or eight feet from him.

  “We are waiting for the executioner to come for you,” said the warder, delightedly. “He will come to fetch you, and take you to the wall, to the spear.”

  Lady Claudia put down her head.

  “Glory to Ar!” cried the warder.

  “Glory to Ar,” said Lady Claudia. She had her eyes closed. That, I thought, was fortunate. The nearest guard looked at me, and then glanced back to the two women. The guards had been in the cell some time, at least a few Ehn. This, I had thought, would put them at their ease. The expectation of resistance, of course, is at its height early. If it were to rise again, which I did not really expect, or not significantly, under the current circumstances, presumably that would be shortly before their departure from the cell. They were now awaiting the arrival of the executioner, who was to fetch Lady Claudia to the spear. Their expectation of resistance, now, I thought, might be at its low. To be sure, that is an excellent time to be particularly prepared. Yet it is impossible to maintain an attitude of full alertness for an extended period of time. It is psychologically impossible. This meant that the initiative, in this situation, was mine. If they had expected resistance, of course, they might have thought, appropriately enough, that I might choose to act before the arrival of the executioner, as that would mean an additional fellow to deal with. I had not, of course, realized that the executioner would come to the cell. If I had given the matter much thought, I would have supposed that he, or they, would wait on the wall. Such customs, I supposed, would differ from city to city. I was not pleased to hear about the pending arrival of the executioner, of course, as that might set me an additional problem, one I had not anticipated and one I certainly did not welcome. It was not a mistake that I had lain in the straw where I had. I had, the day before, found a ridge in the stones there which would give me leverage, something to push away from. Too, I was barefoot. I would not slip. I lifted my head, dully, as though groggily, to look at the guards. They were half starved. Their reflexes, I was sure, would be slow. They would not have their full strength. The nearest guard looked at me, again, and I returned his gaze, dully. He then glanced back at the women once more.

  “He is very skilled at his work,” said the warder to Lady Claudia. “He will put you on the spear so gently that you will last a long time.”

  Lady Claudia kept her eyes closed, and she shuddered.

  “But if he wants to hurry a little,” said the warder, “he will tie weights on your legs.”

  Lady Claudia sobbed.

  “How pretty you look, kneeling there, my dear, all tied up, and in your collar,” she said. “Do not fret. He will be here soon! You will then be taken to the spear! You do not have long to wait! You will look amusing, wriggling on it! Glory to Ar! Glory to Ar!”

  “Glory to Ar!” wept Lady Claudia.

  At that instant I lunged forward and the nearest guard had barely time to turn his head before I caught him, and his fellow, taking them together, striking them with great force, I sprinting, thrusting, they off balance, and blasted them back, one loosened, sprung quarrel skittering about the room like a frightened animal, the other smote from the guide into the straw, against the wall, and I snarled, the noise not in that moment seeming human, and it was the terribleness of the warrior’s exhilaration that was that instant in my heart, nostrils and mouth, and, one with each hand, struck back their heads against the stone. Had they not been helmeted their brains would have been on the stone. In the same moment I had freed the sword of one of them and I turned, crouching, snarling, to face the man near Lady Claudia. His face was white. Perhaps I seemed then to him more beast than man. I did not take my eyes from him. I was one who had fought Kurii and lived. I was between him and the door. The warder, cut off, too, from the door, had fled behind him. He weakly half drew his sword but before it could clear the sheath I was upon him, within his gua
rd. He released the hilt. The blade fell back, into the sheath. I turned and kicked back and he grunted, collapsing. The warder bolted for the door but I caught her at the portal by the back of the neck and lifted her up and turned, and then flung her stumbling back toward the far wall. I then returned to the fallen warrior, and bent over him. He was gasping. His eyes were wild. Not taking my eyes from the warder, who now crouched down, against the outside wall, her eyes wide with terror over the veil, I seized him by the back of the neck, below the helmet, and lifted his head a few inches from the floor. He could offer no resistance. I then struck his head, back, in the helmet, on the stones.

  “You have killed them, you have killed them all!” said the warder.

  “No,” I said. The first two had been in the greatest danger, but their helmets had saved them. It was not that I had lost control of myself in the rush of that first moment. I had not. It was rather that, in the exigencies of the situation, it had not been my intention to take any chances with them. But their helmets had saved them.

  “Lie down,” I said to the warder, “on your belly, in the straw, your head to the wall. Spread your legs as widely as you can. Cover your head with your hands and arms.”

  She sobbed, but did so. In this fashion she could not see what might transpire behind her, she could not easily rise, and she would have some protection from debris, if the outside of the cell wall should be struck.

  I then stripped the clothing and accouterments from the fellow I had just struck, and donned them. I did, however, exchange swords, removing his from its scabbard and placing therein the one I had taken from the other guard. It was a looser fit, which pleased me.

  There was an impacting on the side of the citadel, some hundred or so feet away. I could feel the jar, however, through the floor. The warder, over by the wall, moaned, her hands and arms over her head. I then put the three guards together, in a corner of the cell, and heaped straw over them. They could not be seen from the observation panel.

  I then turned to the Lady Claudia who still knelt as she had been placed. Her eyes were wide. There must have been fifty coils of rope wound tightly about her fair person. On her neck was the collar; from it dangled the leash.