John Norman - Counter Earth02 - Outlaw Of Gor

by Outlaw Of Gor(Lit)

  I smiled to myself, thinking of the teeth of the urt and the whip, both of which had found my flesh.

  'Why did you not kneel, Stranger?' asked the Tatrix of Tharna.

  'I am a warrior,' I responded.

  'You are a slave!' hissed Dorna the Proud from behind that expressionless mask. Then she turned to the Tatrix. 'Remove his tongue!' she said.

  'Do you give orders to she who is First in Tharna?' asked the Tatrix.

  'No, Beloved Tatrix,' said Dorna the Proud.

  'Slave,' said the Tatrix.

  I did not acknowledge the salutation.

  'Warrior,' she said.

  Beneath the yoke I raised my eyes to her mask. In her hand, covered with a glove of gold, she held a small, dark leather sack, half filled with coins. I assumed they were the coins of Ost and wondered where the conspirator might be. 'Confess that you stole these coins from Ost of Tharna,' said the Tatrix.

  'I stole nothing,' I said. 'Release me.'

  Thorn laughed unpleasantly from behind me.

  'I advise you,' said the Tatrix, 'to confess.'

  I gathered that, for some reason, she was eager that I plead guilty to the crime, but as I was innocent, I refused.

  'I did not steal the coins,' I said.

  'Then, Stranger,' said the Tatrix, 'I am sorry for you.'

  I could not understand her remark, and my back felt ready to snap under the weight of the yoke. My neck ached under its weight. The sweat poured down my body and my back still stung from the lash.

  'Bring in Ost!' ordered the Tatrix.

  I thought Dorna the Proud stirred uneasily in the curule chair. She smoothed the silver folds of her robes with a nervous hand, gloved in silver.

  There was a whimpering and a scuffling from behind me, and, to my astonishment, one of the guardsmen of the palace, the tiny silver mask blazed across the left temple of his helmet, flung Ost, the conspirator, yoked and sniveling, to the foot of the throne. Ost's yoke was much lighter than mine but, as he was a smaller man, the weight might have been as much for him.

  'Kneel to the Tatrix,' commanded Thorn, who still retained the whip.

  Ost, squealing with fear, tried to rise, but could not lift the yoke.

  Thorn's whip hand was raised.

  I expected the Tatrix to intervene on his behalf, as she had on mine, but, instead, she said nothing. She seemed to be watching me. I wondered what thoughts glittered behind that placid mask of gold.

  'Do not strike him,' I said.

  Without taking her eyes from me, Lara spoke to Thorn. 'Prepare to strike,' she said.

  The yellowish, purple-marked face split into a grin and Thorn's fist tightened on the whip. He did not take his eyes from the Tatrix, wanting to strike at the first instant she permitted the blow.

  'Rise,' said the Tatrix to Ost, 'or you will die on your belly like the serpent you are.'

  'I can't,' wept Ost. 'I can't.'

  The Tatrix coldly lifted her gloved hand. When it fell so too would the whip.

  'No,' I said.

  Slowly, every muscle straining to keep my balance, the cords in my legs and back like tortured cables, I reached out my hand to Ost's and, struggling in agony to keep my balance, added the weight of his yoke to mine as I drew him to his knees.

  There was a gasp from the silver-masked women in the room. One or two of the warriors, heedless of the proprieties of Tharna, acknowledged my deed by smiting their shields with the bronze heads of their spears.

  Thorn, in irritation, hurled the whip back into the hands of the man with wrist straps.

  'You are strong,' said the Tatrix of Tharna.

  'Strength is the attribute of beasts,' said Dorna the Proud.

  'True,' said the Tatrix.

  'Yet he is a fine beast, is he not?' asked one of the silver- masked women.

  'Let him be used in the Amusements of Tharna,' urged another.

  Lara held up her gloved hand for silence.

  'How is it,' I asked, 'that you spare a warrior the whip and would use it on so miserable a wretch as Ost?'

  'I had hoped you guiltless, Stranger,' said she. 'The guilt of Ost I know.'

  'I am guiltless,' I said.

  'Yet,' said she, 'you admit you did not steal the coins.'

  My brain reeled. 'That is true,' I said, 'I did not steal the coins.'

  'Then you are guilty,' said the voice of Lara, I thought sadly.

  'Of what?' I asked to know.

  'Of conspiracy against the throne of Tharna,' said the Tatrix.

  I was dumbfounded.

  'Ost,' said the Tatrix, her voice like ice, 'you are guilty of treason against Tharna. It is known that you conspire against the throne.'

  One of the guards, the fellow who had brought Ost in, spoke. 'It is as your spied reported, Tatrix. In his quarters were found seditious documents, letters of instruction pertaining to the seizure of the throne, sacks of gold to be used in obtaining accomplices.'

  'Has he confessed these things as well?' asked Lara.

  Ost blubbered helplessly for mercy, his thin neck wiggling in the yoke.

  The guardsman laughed. 'One sight of the white urt and he admitted all.'

  'Who, Serpent,' asked the Tatrix, 'supplied the gold? From whom came the letters of instruction?'

  'I do not know, Beloved Tatrix,' whined Ost. 'The letters and the gold were delivered by a helmeted warrior.'

  'To the urt with him!' sneered Dorna the Proud.

  Ost writhed, squealing for mercy. Thorn kicked him to silence him.

  'What more do you know of this plot against the throne?' asked Lara of the sniveling Ost.

  'Nothing, Beloved Lara,' he whimpered.

  'Very well,' said Lara, and turned the glittering mask to the guardsman who had hurled the yoked Ost to her feet, 'take him to the Chamber of the Urts.'

  'No, no, no!' whimpered Ost. 'I know more, more!'

  The silver-masked women leaned forward in their chairs. Only the Tatrix herself and Dorna the Proud sat straight. Although the room was cool I noted that Thorn, Captain of Tharna, was sweating. His hands clenched and unclenched.

  'What more do you know?' demanded the Tatrix.

  Ost looked about himself as well as he could, his eyes bulging with terror.

  'Do you know the warrior who brought you the letters and gold?' she demanded.

  'Him I do not know,' said Ost.

  'Let me,' begged Thorn, 'bloody the yoke.' He drew his sword. 'Let me end this wretch here!'

  'No,' said Lara. 'What more then do you know, Serpent?' she asked the miserable conspirator.

  'I know,' said Ost, 'that the leader of the conspiracy is a high person in Tharna - one who wears the silver mask, a woman.'

  'Unthinkable!' cried Lara, rising to her feet. 'None who wear the silver mask could be disloyal to Tharna!'

  'Yet it is so,' sniveled Ost.

  'Who is the traitress?' demanded Lara.

  'I do not know her name,' said Ost.

  Thorn laughed.

  'But,' said Ost, hopefully, 'I once spoke with her and I might recognise her voice if I were but allowed to live.'

  Thorn laughed again. 'It is a trick to buy his life.'

  'What think you, Dorna the Proud?' asked Lara of she who was Second in Tharna.

  But instead of answering, Dorna the Proud seemed strangely silent. She extended her silver-gloved hand, palm facing her body and chopped brutally down with it, as though it might have been a blade.

  'Mercy, Great Dorna!' screamed Ost.

  Dorna repeated the gesture, slowly, cruelly.

  But the hands of Lara were extended, palms up, and she lifted them slightly; it was a gracious gesture that spoke of mercy.

  'Thank you, Beloved Tatrix,' whimpered Ost, his eyes bursting with tears, 'Thank you!'

  'Tell me, Serpent,' said Lara, 'did the warrior steal the coins from you?'

  'No, no,' blubbered Ost.

  'Did you give them to him?' she demanded.

  'I did,' he said. '
I did.'

  'And did he accept them?' she asked.

  'He did,' said Ost.

  'You pressed the coins upon me and ran,' I said. 'I had no choice.'

  'He accepted the coins,' muttered Ost, looking at me malevolently, determined apparently that I would share whatever fate lay in store for him.

  'I had no choice,' I said calmly.

  Ost shot a venomous look in my direction.

  'If I were a conspirator,' I said, 'if I were in league with this man, why would he have charged me with the theft of the coins, why would he have had me arrested?'

  Ost blanched. His tiny, rodentlike mind scurried from thought to thought, but his mouth only moved uncontrollably, silently.

  Thorn spoke. 'Ost knew himself to be suspected of plotting against the throne.'

  Ost looked puzzled.

  'Thus,' said Thorn, 'to make it seem he had not given the money to this warrior, or assassin as the case may be, he pretended it had been stolen from him. In that way he might at one time appear free from guilt and destroy the man who knew of his complicity.'

  'That is true,' exclaimed Ost gratefully, eager to take his cue from so powerful a figure as Thorn.

  'How is it that Ost gave you the coins, Warrior?' asked the Tatrix.

  'Ost gave them to me,' I said, '... as a gift.'

  Thorn threw back his head and laughed.

  'Ost never gave anything away in his life,' roared Thorn, wiping his mouth, struggling to regain his composure.

  There was even a slight sound of amusement from the silver- masked figures who sat upon the steps to the throne.

  Ost himself snickered.

  But the mask of the Tatrix glittered upon Ost, and his snicker died in his thin throat. The Tatrix arose from her throne, and pointed her finger at the wretched conspirator. Her voice was cold as she spoke to the guardsman who had brought him to the chamber. 'To the mines with him,' she said.

  'No, Beloved Tatrix, no!' cried Ost. Terror, like a trapped cat, seemed to scratch behind his eyes, and he began to shake in his yoke like a diseased animal. Scornfully the guardsman lifted him to his feet and dragged him stumbling and whimpering from the room. I gathered the sentence to the mines was equivalent to a sentence of death.

  'You are cruel,' I said to the Tatrix.

  'A Tatrix must be cruel,' said Dorna.

  'That,' I said, 'I would hear from the mouth of the Tatrix herself.'

  Dorna stiffened at the rebuff.

  After a time the Tatrix, who had resumed her throne, spoke. Her voice was quiet. 'Sometimes, Stranger,' she said, 'it is hard to be First in Tharna.'

  I had not expected that answer.

  I wondered what sort of woman was the Tatrix of Tharna, what lay concealed behind that mask of gold. For a moment I felt sorry for the golden creature before whose throne I knelt.

  'As for you,' said Lara, her mask glittering down upon me, 'you admit that you did not steal the coins from Ost, and in this admission you admit that he gave them to you.'

  'He thrust them in my hand,' I said, 'and ran.' I looked at the Tatrix. 'I came to Tharna to obtain a tarn. I had no money. With Ost's coins I could have purchased one and continued my journey. Should I have thrown them away?'

  'These coins,' said Lara, holding the tiny sack in her hand, gloved in gold, 'were to buy my death.'

  'So few coins?' I asked skeptically.

  'Obviously the full sum would follow upon the accomplishment of the deed,' she said.

  'The coins were a gift,' I said. 'Or so I thought.'

  'I do not believe you,' she said.

  I was silent.

  'What full sum did Ost offer you?' she asked.

  'I refused to be a party to his schemes,' I said.

  'What full sum did Ost offer you?' repeated the Tatrix.

  'He spoke,' I said, 'of a tarn, a thousand golden tarn disks and provisions for a long journey.'

  'Golden tarn disks - unlike those of silver - are scarce in Tharna,' said the Tatrix. 'Someone is apparently willing to pay highly for my death.'

  'Not your death,' I said.

  'Then what?' she asked.

  'Your abduction,' I said.

  The Tatrix stiffened suddenly, her entire body trembling with fury. She rose, seemingly beside herself with rage.

  'Bloody the yoke,' urged Dorna.

  Thorn stepped forward, his blade raised.

  'No,' screamed the Tatrix, and, to the astonishment of all, herself descended the broad steps of the dais.

  Shaking with fury she stood before me, over me, in her golden robes and mask. 'Give me the whip!' she cried. 'Give it to me!' The man with the wrist straps hastily knelt before her, lifting it to her hands. She snapped it cruelly in the air, and its report was sharp and vicious.

  'So,' she said to me, both hands clenched on the butt of the whip, 'you would have me before you on the scarlet rug bound with yellow cords, would you?'

  I did not understand her meaning.

  'You would have me in a camisk and collar would you?' she hissed hysterically.

  The women of the silver masks recoiled, shuddering. There were exclamations of anger, of horror.

  'I am a woman of Tharna,' she screamed, 'First in Tharna! First!'

  Then, beside herself with rage, holding the whip in both hands, she lashed madly at me. 'It is the kiss of the whip for you!' she screamed. Again and again she struck me, yet through it all I managed to stay on my knees, not to fall.

  My senses reeled, my body, tortured by the weight of the silver yoke, now wrapped in the flames of the whip, shook with uncontrollable agony. Then, when the Tatrix had exhausted herself, by some effort I find it hard to comprehend, I managed to stand on my feet, bloody, wearing the yoke, my flesh in tatters - and look down upon her.

  She turned and fled to the dais. She ran up the steps and turned only when she stood at last before her throne. She pointed her hand imperiously at me, that hand wearing its glove of gold, now spattered with my blood, wet and dark from the sweat of her hand.

  'Let him be used in the Amusements of Tharna!' she said.

  Chapter Twelve: ANDREAS OF THE CASTE OF POETS

  I had been hooded and driven through the streets, stumbling under the weight of the yoke. at last I had entered a building and had descended a long, swirling ramp, through dank passages. When I was unhooded, my yoke had been chained to the wall of a dungeon.

  The place was lit by a small, foul tharlarion lamp set in the wall near the ceiling. I had no idea how far below ground it might be. The floor and the walls were of black stone, quarried in giant blocks of perhaps a tone apiece. The lamp dried the stone in its vicinity, but, on the floor and most of the walls, there was a dampness and the smell of mold. Some straw was scattered on the floor. From where I was chained, I could reach a cistern of water. A food pan lay near my foot.

  Exhausted, my body aching from the weight of the yoke and the sting of tha lash, I lay on the stones and slept. How long I slept I didn't know. When I awoke, each of my muscles ached, but now it was a dull, cold ache. I tried to move and my wounds tortured me.

  In spite of the yoke I struggled to a cross-legged sitting position, and shook my head. In the food pan I saw half a loaf of coarse bread. Yoked as I was, there was no way to pick it up and get it to my mouth. I might crawl to it on my belly, and if my hunger were great enough, I knew I must, but the thought angered me. The yoke was not simply a device to secure a man, but to humiliate him, to treat him as if he were a beast.

  'Let me help you,' said a girl's voice.

  I turned, the momentum of the yoke almost carrying me into the wall. Two small hands caught it, and struggling, managed to swing it back, keeping my balance.

  I looked at the girl. Perhaps she was plain, but I found her attractive. There was a warmth in her I would not have expected to find in Tharna. Her dark eyes regarded me, filled with concern. Her hair, which was reddish brown, was bound behind her head with a coarse string.

  As I gazed on her she lowered her e
yes shyly. She wore only a single garment, a long, narrow rectangle of rough, brown material, perhaps eighteen inches in width, drawn over her head like a poncho, falling in front and back a bit above her knees and belted at the waist with a chain.