Renegades of Gor
Page 57
“But perhaps you are from the west, and not the east,” he said.
“Master?” she said.
“Might you be from Cos?” he asked, his eyes narrow, his hands on the belt, near the buckle.
“No, Master!” she said.
“It is well for you, that you are not,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she whispered.
His voice had been low, but it had been terrible in its menace. He then removed his hands from his belt. Yakube shuddered. I was afraid for a moment that she might faint. The other girls, too, were frightened. There was no mistaking the menace, the fury, of the young warrior.
“I shall look for lodging for the night,” he said to me. “I wish you well.”
“I wish you well,” I said. I no longer ventured to suggest that we sup together, or pleasure ourselves with slaves.
We watched him depart.
“May we be dismissed, Master?” asked Roxanne.
“All but Yakube,” I said.
Gratefully Roxanne and Korinne leapt up and hurried away.
Yakube looked up at me.
“I will not hurt you,” I said.
She trembled, kneeling on the pier.
“Do you know him?” I asked.
“No!” she said. “No!”
I continued to look after him.
“Why does he hate me so?” she asked.
“I do not think he hates you,” I said. “I think, rather, you trouble him. I think, indeed, and am sure of it, that you are the sort of woman he finds inordinately exciting, maddeningly attractive.”
She shuddered.
“It is Cos he hates,” I said.
“I am pleased that I am not of Cos!” she said.
“You may go,” I said.
Quickly, gratefully, she drew her beads again about herself, before her, and then leapt up and hurried after her friends. I saw that they had waited at the end of the pier. When she had joined them, they hurried away together. They took care not to take the same street as that followed by the young warrior.
There was a cold wind now. It came from the east.
I thought of Dietrich of Tarnburg, holding Torcadino, of Ar, of Cos, of the expeditionary force in the north, of the forces of Ar, and the delta.
I was afraid.
I then turned my attention once more to the street which the young warrior had entered. It was one of those narrow streets leading up between buildings, leading up, away from the wharves. It was now empty.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1986 by John Norman
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ISBN 978-1-4976-0080-5
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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