John Norman - Counter Earth01 - Tarnsman Of Gor

by Tarnsman Of Gor(Lit)

  I knew that she spoke the truth or something much like it. A defenseless woman on the plains of Gor would not have much. chance.

  "How can I trust you?" I asked, weakening.

  "You can't," she admitted. "For I am of Ar and must remain your enemy."

  "Then it is to my best interest to abandon you," I said.

  "I can force you to take me," site said.

  "How?" I asked.

  "Like this," she responded, kneeling before me, lowering her head and lifting her arms, the wrists crossed. She laughed. "Now you must take me with you or slay me," she said, "and I know you cannot slay me."

  I cursed her, for she took unfair advantage of the Warrior Codes of Gor.

  "What is the submission of Talena, the daughter of the Ubar, worth?" I taunted.

  "Nothing," she said. "But you must accept it or slay me."

  Furious beyond reason, I saw in the grass the discarded slave bracelets, the hood and leading chains.

  To Talena's indignation, I snapped the slave bracelets on her wrists, hooded her, and put her on a leading chain.

  "If you would be.a captive," I said, "you will be treated as a captive. I accept your submission, and I intend to enforce it."

  I removed the dagger from her sash and placed it in my belt. Angrily I slung both bags of rations about her shoulders. Then I picked up the crossbow and left the glade, dragging after me, none too gently, the hooded, stumbling daughter of the Ubar. Beneath the hood, to my amazement, I heard her laugh.

  9

  Kazrak of Port Kar

  WE TRAVELED TOGETHER THROUGH THE night, making our way through the silvery yellow fields of Sa-Tarna, fugitives under the three moons of Gor. Soon after we had left the glade, to Talena's amusement, I had removed her hood and, a few minutes later, her leading chain and slave bracelets. As we crossed the grain fields, she explained to me the dangers we would most likely face, primarily from the beasts of the plains and from passing strangers. It is interesting, incidentally, that in the Gorean language, the word for stranger is the same as the word for enemy.

  Talena seemed to be animated, as if excited beyond comprehension at her escape from the seclusion of the Walled Gardens and the role of the Ubar's daughter.

  She was now a free though submitted person, at large on the plains of the empire. The wind shook her hair and tore at her gown, and she would throw back her head, exposing her throat and shoulders to its rough. caress, drinking it in as though it were Ka-la-na wine. I sensed that with me, nominal captive though she was, she was freer than she had ever been before; she was like a naturally wild bird which has been raised in a cage and at last escapes from the confining wire bars. Somehow her happiness was contagious, and, almost 1 as though we were not mortal enemies, we talked to one another and joked as we made our way across the plains.

  I was heading, as nearly as I could determine, in the " general direction of Ko-ro-ba. Surely Ar was out of the question. It would be death for us both. And, I supposed, a similar fate would await us in most Gorean cities.

  Impaling the stranger is a not unusual form of hospitality on Gor. Moreover, owing to the almost universal hatred borne to the city of Ar by most Gorean cities, it would be imperative in any case to keep the identity of my fair companion a secret. Theoretically, given the seclusion of the High Caste women of Ar, their gilded confinement in the Walled Gardens, it should be reason ably easy to conceal her identity. g

  But I was troubled. What would happen to Talena if, we did, by some outstanding stroke of fortune, reach Ko-ro-ba? Would she be publicly impaled, returned to the mercies of the Initiates of Ar, or would she perhaps spend the rest of her days in the dungeons beneath the cylinders? Perhaps she would be permitted to live as a slave?

  If Talena was interested in these remote considerations, she gave no sign of her concern. She explained to me what, in her opinion, would give us our best chance to travel the plains of Gor in safety.

  "I will be the daughter of a rich merchant whom you have captured," she explained. "Your taro was killed by my father's men, and you are taking me back to your city, to be your slave."

  I grudgingly assented to this fabrication, or much of it. It was a plausible story on Gor and would be likely to provoke little skepticism. Indeed, some such account seemed to be in order. Free women on Gor do not travel attended by only a single warrior, not of their own free will. Both Talena and I agreed that there was little danger of being recognized for what we really were. It would be generally assumed that the mysterious tarnsman who had stolen the Home Stone and disappeared with the daughter of the Ubar must long ago have reached whatever unknown city it was to which he had pledged his sword.

  Toward morning we ate some of the rations and refilled the water flasks at a secluded spring. I allowed Talena to bathe first, which seemed to surprise her. She was further surprised when I left her to herself.

  "Aren't you going to watch?" she asked brazenly.

  "No," I said.

  "But I may escape," she laughed.

  "That would be my good fortune," I remarked.

  She laughed again and disappeared, and I soon heard the sounds of her splashing delightedly in the water. She emerged a few minutes later, having washed her hair and the blue silk gown she wore. Her skin was radiant, the dried mire of the swamp forest at last washed away. She knelt and spread her hair to dry, letting it fall forward over her head and shoulders.

  I entered the pool and rejoiced in the invigorating, cleansing water. We slept afterward. To her annoyance, but as a safety measure I thought essential, I secured her a few feet from me, fastening her arms about a sapling by means of the slave bracelets. I had no wish to awake to a dagger being thrust into my breast.

  In the afternoon we moved on again, this time daring to use one of the wide paved highways that lead from Ar, highways built like walls in the earth, of solid, fitted stones intended to last a thousand years. Even so, the surface of the highway. had been worn smooth, and the ruts of tharlarion carts were clearly visible, ruts worn deep by centuries of caravans. We met very little on the highway, perhaps because of the anarchy in the city of Ar. If there were refugees, they must have been behind us, and few merchants were approaching Ar. Who would risk his goods in a situation of chaos? When we did pass an occasional traveler, we passed warily. On Gor, as in my native England, one keeps to the left side of the road. This practice, as once in England, is more than simple matter of convention. When one keeps to the left side of the road, one's sword arm faces the passing stranger.

  It seemed we had little to fear, and we had passed several of the pasang stones that fine the side of the highway without seeing anything more threatening than a line of peasants carrying brushwood on their backs, and a pair of hurrying Initiates. Once, however, Talena dragged me to the side of the road, and, scarcely able to conceal our horror, we watched while a sufferer from the incurable Dar-kosis disease, bent in his yellow shrouds, hobbled by, periodically clacking that wooden device which warns all within hearing to stand clear from his path "An Affected One," said Talena, gravely, using the expression common for such plagued wretches on Gor. The name of the disease itself, Darkosis, is almost never mentioned. I glimpsed the face beneath the hood and felt sick. Its one bleared eye regarded us blankly for a moment, and then the thing moved on.

  It gradually became clear that the road was becoming less traveled. Weeds were growing between cracks in the stone flooring of the highway, and the ruts of the Chalarion carts had all but disappeared. We passed several crossroads, but I kept moving generally in the direction of Ko-ro-ba. What I would do when we reached the Margin of Desolation and the broad Vosk River, I didn't know. The fields of SaTarna were thinning out.

  Late in the day we glimpsed a solitary tarnsman high above the road, a lonely image that depressed both myself and Talena.

  "We will never reach Ko-ro-ba," she said.

  That night we finished the rations and one of the water flasks. As I prepared to bracelet her for the night, she b
ecame practical once again, her optimism and good spirits apparently restored by the food.

  "We must make a better arrangement than this," she said, pushing away the bracelets. "It's uncomfortable."

  "What do you suggest?" I asked.

  She looked about and suddenly smiled brightly.

  "Here," she said, "I have it!" She took a lead chain from my pouch, wrapped it several times about her slim ankle and snapped it shut, placing the key in my hand. Then, carrying the chain, which was still attached to her ankle, she walked to a nearby tree, bent down, and looped the loose end of the chain around the trunk. "Give me the slave bracelets!" she ordered. I gave them to her, and she placed the bracelets through two links of the part of the chain that encircled the tree, snapping them shut and handing me the key. She stood up and jerked her foot against the chain, demonstrating that she was perfectly secured. "There, bold Tarnsman," she said, "I will teach you how to keep a prisoner. Now sleep in peace, and I promise I won't cut your throat tonight."

  I laughed and held her briefly in my arms. I suddenly sensed the rush of blood in her and in myself. I wanted never to release her. I wanted her always thus, so locked in my arms, mine to hold and love. Summoning all my strength, I put her from me.

  "So," she said contemptuously, "that is how a Warrior tarnsman treats the daughter of a rich merchant?"

  I rolled onto the ground, turning away from her, unable to sleep.

  In the morning we left our camp early. A swallow of water from the flask and small, dry berries gathered from the nearby shrubbery were our only sustenance. We had not been on the road long when Talena clutched my arm. I listened carefully, hearing the distant clank of a shod tharlarion on the road. "A warrior," I guessed.

  "Quick," she commanded. "Hood me."

  I hooded her and snapped her wrists together in the slave bracelets.

  The ringing of the tharlarion's shod claws on the road grew louder.

  In a minute the rider appeared in view-a fine, bearded warrior with a golden helmet and a tharlarion lance. He drew the riding lizard to a halt a few paces from me. He rode the species of tharlarion called the high tharlarion, which ran on its two back feet in great bounding strides. Its cavernous mouth was lined with long, gleaming teeth. -Its two small, ridiculously disproportionate forelegs dangled absurdly in front of its body.

  "Who are you?" demanded the warrior.

  "I am Tarl of Bristol," I said.

  "Bristol?" asked the warrior, puzzled.

  "Have you never heard of it?" I challenged, as if insulted.

  "No," admitted the warrior. "I am Kazrak of Port _ Kar," he said, "in the service of Mintar, of the Merchant

  Caste."

  I did not need to ask about Port Kar. It is a city in the delta of the Vosk and as much a den of pirates as anything else.

  The warrior gestured at Talena with his lance. "Who is she?" he asked.

  "You need not know her name or lineage," I said.

  The warrior laughed and slapped his thigh. "You would have me believe that she is of High Caste," he said. "She is probably the daughter of a goat keeper."

  I could see Talena move under the hood, her fists clenched in the slave bracelets.

  "What news of Ar?" I asked.

  "War," said the mounted spearman approvingly. "Now, while the men of Ar fight among themselves for the cylinders, an army is gathering from fifty cities, massing on the banks of the Vosk to invade Ar. There is a camp there such as you have never seen-a city of tents, pasangs of tharlarion corrals; the wings of the tarns sound like thunder overhead. The cooking fires of the soldiers can be seen two days' ride from the river."

  Talena spoke, her voice muffled in the hood. "Scavengers come to feast on the bodies of wounded tarnsmen." It was a Gorean proverb, which seemed to be singularly inappropriate, coming from a hooded captive.

  "I did not speak to the girl," said the warrior.

  I excused Talena. "She has not worn her bracelets long," I said.

  "She has spirit," said the warrior.

  "Where are you bound for?" I asked.

  "To the banks of the Vosk, to the City of Tents," said the warrior.

  "What news of Marlenus, the Ubar?" demanded Talena.

  "You should beat her," said the warrior, but responded to the girl. "None. He has fled."

  "What news of the Home Stone of Ar and the daughter of Marlenus?" I asked, feeling it would be the sort of thing the warrior would expect me to be interested in.

  "The Home Stone is rumored to be in a hundred cities," he said. "Some say it has been destroyed. Only the Priest-Kings know."

  "And the daughter of Marlenus?" I insisted.

  "She is undoubtedly in the Pleasure Gardens of the boldest tarnsman on Gor," laughed the warrior. "I hope he has as much luck with her as the Home Stone. I have.heard she has the temper of a tharlarion and a face',, to match!"

  Talena stiffened, her pride offended.

  "I have heard," she said imperiously, "that the daughter of the Ubar is the most beautiful woman on all Gor."

  "I like this girl," said the warrior. "Yield her to me!"

  "No," I said.

  "Yield her or I will have my tharlarion trample you," he snapped, "or would you prefer to be spitted on my lance?" 'g

  "You know the codes," I said evenly. "If you want ;_ her, you must challenge for her and meet me with the weapon of my choice."

  The warrior's face clouded, but only for an instant. He threw back his fine head and laughed, his teeth white in his bushy beard.

  "Done!" he cried, fastening his lance in its saddle sheath and slipping from the back of the tharlarion. "I, challenge you for her!"

  "The sword," I said.

  "Agreed," he said.

  We shoved Talena, who was now frightened, to the side of the road. Hooded, she cowered there, the prize, her ears filled with the sudden violent ringing of blade on blade as two warriors fought to the death to possess her. Kazrak of Port Kar was a superb swordsman, but in' the first moments we both knew that I was his master. 11 His face was white beneath his helmet as he wildly attempted to parry my devastating attack. Once I stepped back, gesturing to the ground with my sword, the symbolic granting of quarter should it be desired. But Kazrak would not lay his sword on the stones at my feet. Rather, he suddenly launched a vicious attack, forcing me to defend myself as best I could. He seemed to fight with new, fury, perhaps enraged that he had been offered quarter.

  At last, terminating a frenzied exchange, I managed to drive my blade into his shoulder, and, as his sword arm dropped, I kicked the weapon from his grasp. He stood proudly in the road, waiting for me to kill him.

  I turned and went to Talena, who was standing piteously by the side of the road, waiting to see who it was that would unhood her.

  As I lifted the hood, she uttered a small, joyful sound, her green eyes bright with pleasure. Then she saw the wounded warrior. She shuddered slightly. "Kill him," she commanded.

  "No," I replied.

  The warrior, who held his shoulder, blood streaming down from his hand, smiled bitterly. "It was worth it," he said, his gaze sweeping over Talena. "I'd challenge you again."

  Talena seized her dagger from my belt and raced to the warrior. I caught her braceleted hands as she was going to drive the dagger into his breast. He had not moved. "You must kill him," said Talena, struggling. Angrily I removed her bracelets and replaced them so that her wrists were bound behind her back.

  "You should use the whip on her," said the warrior matter-of-factly.

  I tore some inches from the bottom of Talena's gown to make a bandage for Kazrak's shoulder. She endured this in fury, her head in the air, not watching me. I had scarcely finished bandaging his wound when I was aware of a ringing on metal, and, lifting my head, I saw myself surrounded by mounted spearmen, who wore the same livery as Kazrak. Behind them, stretching into the distance, came a long line of broad tharlarions, or the four footed draft monsters of Gor. These beasts, yoked in braces, were drawing mi
ghty wagons, filled with merchandise protected under the lashings of its red rain canvas.

  "It is the caravan of Mintar, of the Merchant Caste," said Kazrak.

  10

  The Caravan

  "Do NOT HARM HIM," SAID Kazrak. "He is my sword brother, Tarl of Bristol." Kazrak's remark was in accord with the strange warrior codes of Gor, codes which were as natural to him as the air he breathed, and codes which I, in the Chamber of the Council of Ko-roba, had sworn to uphold. One who has shed your blood, or whose blood you have shed, becomes your sword brother, unless you formally repudiate the blood on your weapons. It is a part of the kinship of Gorean warriors regardless of what city it is to which they owe their allegiance. It is a matter of caste, an expression of respect for those who share their station and profession, having nothing to do with cities or Home Stones.