The Chieftan th-1

by John Norman

  “Our peoples,” said Ortog to the gladiator, “have been hereditary enemies for ten thousand years.”

  “I am Dog, of the festung village of Sim Giadini,” said the gladiator.

  After the first moment of crossing steel, no more than four or five touches, sensitive, exploratory, the gladiator stepped back. “Choose another weapon,” he said.

  “I am Ortog, prince of the Drisriaks, king of the Ortungs, of the Alemanni.”

  “Choose another weapon,” advised the gladiator.

  “Die, dog of an Otung!” cried the Ortung, and hurled himself at the gladiator, who stepped to one side and did not slip his blade into the side of the barbarian, who went past him.

  The barbarian fell to his knees in the sand.

  He turned about, on his knees, in fury. “You dare to humiliate one who is a prince and king?” he cried.

  “Forgive me, milord,” said the gladiator.

  The barbarian again charged the gladiator, who, again, evaded the charge. Such a charge might have been comprehensible with the mighty long sword, two-handled, like a weighty bolt of edged lightning, sweeping aside all before it, but it was not practical with the shorter blade.

  The gladiator looked to Pulendius.

  The disgust of Pulendius was evident.

  “Kill him,” said Pulendius.

  The barbarian once again engaged, but his every thrust was parried away harmlessly. He might have been trying to pierce a fence of steel.

  “Kill him,” said Pulendius.

  The barbarian thrust again, but the gladiator had drawn the thrust, by seeming to provide his opponent an opening, and Ortog extended his thrust, overextending it, the gladiator fading back. It was a mistake one more practiced with such a weapon would not have made. The gladiator’s blade, behind his guard, was against the side of his neck.

  Both men stood very still.

  “Kill him,” said Pulendius.

  The gladiator then stepped away from the barbarian.

  The barbarian then again, this time in mindless fury, rushed toward the gladiator and then, suddenly, was sprawled in the sand, on his back. The heel of the gladiator’s bootlike sandal crushed down on his wrist, and the sword left his hand, lost to the side, half buried in the sand, and then he lay there, sweating, gasping, in the sand, on his back, at the gladiator’s feet. The gladiator’s sword was at his heart.

  “You are an Otung of Otungs,” said the barbarian, looking up at the gladiator, in awe.

  “I am Dog, of the festung village of Sim Giadini,” said the gladiator.

  “Strike,” said the barbarian.

  “Kill him,” said Pulendius.

  The gladiator looked up to the tiers.

  “Let him live!” called a man in the tiers.

  “Kill him,” cried many of the women.

  “Kill him!” cried the woman in the pantsuit.

  “Kill him!” called the salesgirl.

  “Strike!” commanded the barbarian.

  But the gladiator stepped away from the figure in the sand, and lowered his weapon.

  “Kill him!” said Pulendius.

  “No,” said the gladiator.

  “Why not?” asked Pulendius.

  “He was much beaten,” said the gladiator, “he is weak, he does not know the weapon.”

  “Do not let one of lesser blood kill me!” said the barbarian.

  The gladiator did not understand this remark.

  “Fellow,” said the young naval officer.

  “Milord?” said the gladiator.

  “I am surprised you did not kill him,” said the officer.

  “Surely, milord,” said the gladiator, “only a king may kill a king.”

  “He is a barbarian,” said the officer.

  “But a king,” said the gladiator.

  The young naval officer picked up the keys which lay on the surface of the wooden rim circling the sand, and tossed them, on their cord, to the gladiator.

  “You are victorious,” he said.

  “My thanks, milord,” said the gladiator.

  He looked down at the slave, who, kneeling in the keb, it twisted about her body, was looking up at him, excitedly.

  “Look at her,” said the woman in the pantsuit. “She is like a pretty little animal.”

  “In heat,” said the minor officer beside her.

  “Yes,” said the woman in the pantsuit.

  The officer of the court trembled within the “same garb,” within the “frame-and-curtain.”

  A woman in heat, one with sexual needs, how fearful seemed such a thought!

  “Please unchain me, Master,” said the slave to the gladiator, “that I may render my obeisance!”

  The gladiator threw the keys, on their cord, to one of the sailors, who then bent to undo the locks, that on the collar, those on the cuffs, that the slave might be loosed from the pipe.

  The barbarian rose unsteadily to his feet, near the center of the sand. He did not pick up his sword, which still lay in the sand, half buried.

  Freed of her restraints, the cuffs, the collar and chain, the slave crawled to the feet of the

  gladiator, and then, kneeling before him, looked up at him. She then put down her head and began to lick and kiss his feet.

  “Who would permit a woman to do such a thing to him?” asked a woman.

  “Such as he!” said another.

  “And might command it!” said another.

  “One who is a master!” said another, thrilled.

  The gladiator did not seem surprised at the action of the slave.

  The officer of the court conjectured, to her chagrin, that this might not be the first time a woman had been thusly at his feet. She suspected then that slaves might be kept, secretly, in the schools.

  “Look at her,” said a woman nearby. “It is true. She is in heat.”

  “She had better be,” said a man.

  The officer of the court felt faint.

  “See her!” said another woman.

  “Such are born to lick the feet of men,” said another.

  “So are you all,” said a man.

  “Please!” protested the woman.

  The officer of the court blushed, hotly, muchly then again sensitive to the garments beneath her drab, bulky “same garb,” beneath the “frame-and-curtain.”

  The officer of the court trembled.

  “What would it be like to be a slave,” she wondered, “to be owned by a man, to be subject to punishment, even to death, if he pleased, having no choice but to obey him, immediately, perfectly, unquestioningly?”

  “She had better be in heat,” had suggested the man, some vulgar fellow.

  “If she were a slave,” she thought, “would she not, too, at least at times, have to be in heat? Would the master not require it?”

  “Too,” she thought, shuddering, “if I were owned, truly owned, I do not think I could help being in heat, at least sometimes, whether I wanted it or not.”

  The gladiator stepped back from the slave. Then he, and Pulendius, turned to face the barbarian. The barbarian, arms folded, stood near the center of the ring. The sword lay near his feet, unretrieved.

  The barbarian seemed to be listening, though it was not clear what he might be hearing, or thought he heard. Perhaps it was feet running in the passageway outside.

  “Kill him,” said Pulendius.

  “No,” said the gladiator. “Forgive me, milord.”

  Pulendius looked at him.

  “I am a free man, milord,” said the gladiator.

  Pulendius turned to the young naval officer.

  “It is quite all right,” said the young officer, rising. “Give me your pistol,” he said to one of the guards.

  The weapon was instantly surrendered to him.

  “Kill him!” cried the woman in the pantsuit, pointing to the barbarian.

  “Kill him!” cried the salesgirl.

  “Kill him!” cried others.

  “You are, at most, slaves!”
said the barbarian to the women.

  “Kill him!” cried yet more of the women.

  The young naval officer leveled the pistol at the heart of the barbarian.

  At that very moment there was a deafening, crashing sound and a screaming of metal. Tiers collapsed and sand, like a storm, swirled into the air. Everyone was thrown from his feet. There were screams and curses. The lights failed, and then came on again. Doubtless many were injured. The officer of the court, and others, were now on the steel floor of the hold, splintered planking about them. The young officer, on his knees, pistol in hand, looked wildly about. He could not see the barbarian. It was not clearly understood at the time, but in that first hit, one of the upper decks of the vessel had been opened, and tons of debris were blasted loose into space.

  The ship began to spin sickeningly.

  The second officer, followed by others, was staggering toward the door.

  CHAPTER 12

  The Alaria, as we may recall, was far from the customary lanes of commerce and traffic. We may speculate that her earlier orbiting at Tinos had something to do with taking aboard the young naval officer, who had had business on that world, it perhaps having to do with negotiations of a sort, that world serving sometimes as a neutral ground, a meeting place, between various barbarian nations in that area and the empire. Similarly, there were, here and there, trading worlds, or ports thereon, where commercial transactions, and various forms of intercourse and communication, between diverse, perhaps mutually suspicious worlds, could take place. The use of such points and worlds was to reduce the possibilities of espionage, terrorism, sabotage, contagion, and such. Too, it was at Tinos that the barbarian, Ortog, a prisoner, had been brought aboard. It is possible that he was given into the custody of the empire as some token of good faith, as a pledge of some sort. Later, however, as we may recall, contact had been lost with Tinos, or, at least, Tinos station, the small imperial base on Tinos. What had occurred was that the barbarian fleet, that of the Ortungs, or Ortungen, those ships loyal to Ortog, hearing of his capture, and his conveyance to Tinos, had set out in pursuit. It had been learned at Tinos station, from several imperial officials, subjected to lengthy tortures, best left undescribed, that Ortog had been taken aboard the Alaria. The officials had also, at last, under severe duress, provided the Ortungen with access to the charting codes which enabled them to establish the itinerary, and probable course, of the Alaria.

  We shall briefly sketch the events of the next four days. The Alaria, which was not purely a pleasure ship, as you may have suspected, gave a rather good account of herself, considering her speed, maneuverability and armament. One of the seven pursuing ships was destroyed, and another seriously damaged. Still, after the first moments, after the closing, which took place at a distance of some twenty-five hundred miles, the issue could not be seriously in doubt. The Alaria, twisted, scorched, portions of the upper decking lost, the hull opened, lighting dimmed, life-support systems out in many sections, spun slowly in space, powerless.

  In four places hollow “moles,” the boarding tubes, drilled into the hull, and then, just as the plating, in its gigantic burned circle, better than ten feet in diameter, was snapped free, torrents of fire burst inward, shearing away any possible resistance, melting even the lighter steel of the opposing walls, those lining corridors opposite the mole. Through these apertures then, hurrying through, rushing over the steaming steel, through that large glowing opening from which molten globules still descended, blasting left and right, poured armored warriors, Ortungen.

  There was resistance, of course, within the ship, but it was scattered, pathetic and doomed. On the first day the Ortungen established control of the middle decks, this dividing the defenders. On the second day they seized the commissaries, and the arsenal, which, in any event, had been available only to a small number of defenders. There was some fighting with crew members, from cabin to cabin, and corridor to corridor, but the passengers were, on the whole, in accord with imperial policies, not armed. Little quarter was given. Crew members were, on the whole, killed. Many prisoners were taken. These were stripped, and sorted through. Most were killed. The strongest, healthiest men tended to be spared, and the most attractive of the women. The male prisoners were then separated from the female prisoners and both were conducted through the moles to the barbarian ships, where they were placed in separate steel holds. They would be kept for slaves. There were many uses, heavy labor, work in the fields, and such, to which male slaves might be put, and there were, of course, many uses to which female slaves might be put, as well.

  On the third day the Ortungen secured access to central engineering, which gave them selective control, among other things, of all lighting, heating and life-support systems which were not self-contained, and designed for functioning on a temporary, emergency basis. Soon, one by one, overcome by darkness and cold, coughing, gasping for breath, the tiny pockets of resistance succumbed. They then emerged, as commanded, the men standing, their hands clasped on their heads, the women crawling, to be taken into custody. Again, the fates of these were decided, as had been that of their predecessors.

  Not all the passengers, and such, of course, fell to the barbarians.

  There were, naturally, many escape capsules, or lifeboats, on the Alaria. Some, we might recall, had been stored even in Section 19, of the hold.

  After the initial hit on the Alaria, one of several, the officer of the court, buffeted, and squirming, fighting with other passengers, had fled from Section 19, thinking of nothing else, in her terror, as many of the others, but of reaching her own cabin, as though there might be some safety there. She did reach it, through a bedlam of cries, of tearing metal, of warning klaxons and such, and locked herself within. After a few hours the light went out in the cabin, some cables doubtless cut somewhere. A little later she tried the lever in the washbasin, and found there was no water.

  Huddling inside the cabin, behind the steel door, she occasionally heard cries outside, and running feet. More than once she heard the hiss of a weapon.

  On the second day she heard pounding on cabin doors farther down the corridor, and harsh voices, ordering occupants to come forth, men standing, their hands clasped on their head, women on all fours.

  She heard a scream from outside, a woman’s scream. She also heard a blow, perhaps a kick, and a cry of pain.

  “Strip her,” she heard.

  “A pretty one,” said a man’s voice, after a moment.

  The officer of the court, incidentally, at this point, no longer wore the bulky “frame-and-curtain,” and she herself had unclasped it, fearfully, almost of necessity, in the press, in the rush and buffeting to escape from the hold, lest she be turned about by it, or even strangled in its confinement, and, in a moment, it had been torn away from her, lost and trampled somewhere below. She did, however, continue to wear the cumbersome, drab “same garb,” and, beneath it, of course, certain other garments, those of a sort which she would never have dared to show to one such as Tuvo Ausonius. He would never accept such garments on a free woman, only, if at all, on a slave. Indeed, he might command them of a slave.

  “They will keep her,” said the first man.

  The officer of the court wondered if she herself, under such circumstances, would be kept, if she would be found pleasing enough to be kept. She hoped so, desperately.

  “Crawl, to the end of the corridor, hurry!” commanded the second man.

  She heard weeping.

  “Hurry!” she heard, and another cry of pain.

  “Would they keep me?” wondered the officer of the court. “Would I be pleasing enough to be kept? Oh, I hope so. I hope so!”

  Then, in a moment, she heard pounding on her own door, ordering that it be opened, and that men were to come forth in one fashion, and women in another.

  She drew back from the door, terrified.

  The door was tried.

  “Bring the spike,” she heard.

  She heard something being put aga
inst the door, pressed against it. Then there was a sudden whirring sound, as of metal being shaved away. She then heard something drawn back, out of the door. She then heard another sound, as of something forced into an aperture. Faint, frightened, crouching by the door in the darkness, she reached out and felt it, something like a small conical nozzle. Then, in an instant, she heard a hiss of gas. She fled back into the cabin and behind the bed, and knelt there, terrified, distraught, hearing the gas entering the cabin. Then, knowing nothing else to do, terrified, she pressed herself beneath the bed, concealing herself there. There was very little room there, no more than in some devices for the confinement of slaves, some even, barred, beneath the master’s bed, in which a slave might be kept, until she was wanted for serving. More importantly the space was small enough not to seem to afford an obvious hiding place. The officer of the court, moreover, as we remember, was a slender young woman, and such might be kept in spaces even smaller. For example, magicians have used such women for certain “vanishing tricks,” in which the woman occupies a very small space, one so small that it occurs to few that that space, perhaps at the bottom of a trunk, could afford a concealment.

  She fought to retain consciousness.

  She heard the door break in.

  A light flashed about, in the room.

  “It is empty,” said a voice.

  “Look about,” said a voice. “Look in the closets, in the lavatory.”

  The officer of the court, naturally, had no mask. She could feel the harsh nap of the rug against her left cheek as she lay, her head toward the door. She saw the boots of a man, or the borders of them, illuminated for a moment, in the light.

  “Look under the bed,” said a man.

  Her fingers, in misery, cut at the rug.

  “There is no room there,” said a man.

  “Look,” said the other.

  She saw the light flash, the beam illuminating the gas in the room, under the side of the bed, that farthest from where she lay, that which was nearest the cabin door.

  “There is nothing there,” said a voice.

  It was possible he might have gone to the other side of the bed, or conducted a more thorough investigation, but, perhaps thinking it fruitless, he did not do so.