The Chieftan th-1

by John Norman

  “She wears the royal garments,” said a man.

  “We can hold her for ransom,” said a man.

  “He has Gerune,” said a man. “His rope is on her neck!”

  “We can use her to bargain with the Drisriaks,” said another.

  “It is not Gerune,” said the gladiator. He took the bundled garments from Janina, the jewelry wrapped inside. He handed this bundle to the fellow who had originally fetched it upward from below.

  “Gerune wears his rope on her neck,” said a man.

  “It is not Gerune,” insisted the gladiator.

  “Surely it is,” said Astubux.

  “How careless then,” said the gladiator, irritably, seizing Janina by the arm and turning her about, so that her left flank was to the men, “that the Drisriaks should have had their princess branded.”

  On Janina’s left thigh, high, just under the hip, a common branding site, was the small flower, the slave rose.

  “It is not Gerune,” said a man.

  “How came you then by the garments of Gerune?” asked a man.

  “I took them from her, on the ship,” said the gladiator. “She figured in my plan of escape. The garments were worn by this slave, that she might be mistaken for Gerune.”

  “And what of Gerune herself?” asked a man.

  “I marched her before me, gagged, naked, bound, on a rope, through the corridors of the captured ship, before hundreds of warriors of Ortog.”

  The men cried out with pleasure.

  “I think you had best kneel,” said the gladiator to Janina, who hastily, belatedly, knelt.

  “Hands on thighs, knees spread,” said the gladiator.

  Janina complied.

  “Keep your head down,” suggested the gladiator.

  Janina put down her head.

  “And what is Gerune, sister of Ortog, like?” asked a man.

  “I think you would find that her body would be that of a pleasing slave,” said the gladiator. “Before I left the ship her head was at my feet.”

  “It is the Drisriaks who take our women,” said a man.

  “Perhaps,” said the gladiator, “it should be you who take their women, for your naked slaves.”

  “Glory to the Wolfungs!” said a man.

  “It is a long time since we have tasted glory,” said a man.

  “You have no chieftain,” said the gladiator.

  “Of what avail are the blades of spears against fire from the stars?” asked a man.

  “I have a plan,” said the gladiator.

  “It is time a chieftain was proclaimed,” said a man.

  “It would be suicide for anyone to dare to be lifted upon the shields,” said a man.

  “He would be killed by the Drisriaks,” said a man.

  “Let such matters be the concern of the chieftain,” said the gladiator.

  “You are not a Wolfung,” said Astubux.

  “Choose then one of your own,” said the gladiator.

  The men looked at one another.

  “Astubux?” asked a man.

  “No,” said Astubux.

  “Would you deal with the Drisriaks?” asked a man of the gladiator.

  “Certainly,” said the gladiator.

  “And what would you offer them?” asked a man.

  “Defiance,” said the gladiator.

  “It is a hopeless matter,” said a man.

  “Nobility,” said the gladiator, “is most easily purchased in an impossible cause.”

  “What will our women say?” asked a man.

  “They will obey,” said the gladiator.

  “It has been a long time since we have had a chieftain,” said the grizzled man.

  “You have a plan?” asked a man.

  “Yes,” said the gladiator.

  “Let us return to the village,” said a man.

  And so the group left the summit of that high rock and assembled below. In leaving they trekked through the circle which had been scratched by the butt of the spear, that within which two men had done contest with staves. Astubux and the gladiator, with others of the leading warriors, led the group. Behind the gladiator, and to his left, in the heeling position, sometimes stumbling, came Janina, the rope wrapped still about her neck, bent under her burdens as before, including even the bundle of clothing and jewelry which had once graced the figure of Gerune, princess of the Drisriaks, sister of Ortog, king of the Ortungen. As she was a slave it was appropriate that she be laden. The others were, of course, free men. The party also crossed, at one point, a broad swath of blackened trees. The carcasses of incinerated animals lay here and there. An occasional scavenger looked up as the party passed. Birds had come to the area in hundreds, to peck out burned grubs and worms, and small animals, where the brush and leafy cover of the forest floor had been seared away. The ash was still warm to the bare feet of Janina.

  Toward evening they arrived at the village.

  That night, in the light of a great fire, blazing in the center of the village, amidst much shouting

  and the beating of weapons, a new chieftain was proclaimed, that by the Wolfungs, one of the lesser tribes of the Vandals, the gladiator being lifted upon the shields of warriors.

  CHAPTER 17

  “I have done more than my share of work,” said the officer of the court.

  “Would that you were a slave,” snapped the young naval officer. “Then you would know what work is!”

  “Well, I am not a slave,” she said, angrily.

  “Nor am I!” said the other young woman.

  “Be silent, lowly humiliora!” said the officer of the court.

  “You want to get out of all the work!” said the angry young woman who had just been addressed.

  “There is much work to be done,” said an older woman. “Let us help him.”

  “It is his fault that we are here!” said the officer of the court.

  “It was you,” he said, angrily, “who cried out in the Alaria, who alerted the barbarians, who compromised our escape.”

  “Do not speak to me so!” said the officer of the court. “I am a citizen, of the honestori, of the blood!”

  “What do such things matter here?” inquired the other young woman. “What does anything matter here?”

  “Be silent, shopgirl!” said the officer of the court.

  “Do not quarrel,” advised the older woman.

  This group, as you have doubtless conjectured, was that which had escaped the Alaria shortly before the somewhat improvised departure of the gladiator and the slave, Janina, in the second of the two escape capsules which had been stored in the hold. It consisted of the young naval officer and three women. One of these women was the officer of the court. She had been on her hands and knees, in her “same garb,” a rope on her neck, in the grasp of Janina, in the corridor near the lock where the gladiator was preparing the first capsule for launch. When the young naval officer had made his appearance in the corridor and appropriated the waiting vehicle, she had joined his party. Earlier the young naval officer had participated in the defense of the ship, which gradually, obviously, had become more and more hopeless. When a group with whom he had been fighting had surrendered, thence to meet diverse fates, he had fled, and later, seeing no prospect of recovering the vessel, had determined to seek out one of the escape capsules in the hold, hoping to make use of it to depart the vessel. It had been a great disappointment to him to discover that the lift mechanism had been inoperative, and he had been unable to get the vehicle to a lock. In the hold, he had encountered two women, who had fled there to hide, and were living on the supplies in the capsules. In a sense, we have heard of both these women, though they were strange companions, considering the hierarchies in the empire. One was the striking woman in the pantsuit, who had been in attendance at the contest, and who had invited the officer of the court to sit with her. The other was the salesgirl, or shopgirl, from whom the officer of the court had, earlier that same day, purchased certain surprising and uncha
racteristic garments. The officer of the court, as we may remember, had been scandalized that an individual of that class and station, and merely a lowly employee of the line, should have been admitted to the entertainments.

  “Fetch water,” said the young naval officer to the officer of the court.

  “No,” she said.

  “‘No’?” he asked.

  “I am of the blood,” she said. “Such as I do not draw water.”

  “Then you fetch it,” said the officer to the other young woman.

  “Not if she does not,” she said.

  “I will fetch it,” said the older woman.

  She left, to go to the small stream nearby.

  The capsule which had been appropriated, or commandeered, by the young naval officer, had been, as we recall, severely damaged in the incident of the pursuing missile, that which had been prematurely exploded against the jettisoned clearance thruster. As a result the capsule had been left much at the mercy of its momentum and position, lost in the winds of space, so to speak, subject to the numerous subtle forces, primarily gravitational, obtaining in that area at that time. It had eventually drifted into a scarcely tangible current, if one may so speak, and, some days later, had found itself, like a speck in an invisible whirlpool, caught in a rapidly degrading orbit, at the focus of which was a remote world, one on which they had managed, two days ago, to effect a successful landing, thanks largely to the skill of the young naval officer, the viability of certain viewing and measuring instrumentation, and the proper functioning of a manually responsive landing system.

  “We will need firewood,” said the young naval officer to the officer of the court.

  “Have you repaired the radio?” asked the officer of the court.

  She knew, of course, that it had been damaged beyond repair, various components shattered in the injury to the capsule, others literally melted and fused as a consequence of the short-circuiting attendant on the impact. That had been determined within an hour after the impact.

  “It cannot be repaired,” said the young naval officer.

  The officer of the court tossed her pretty head. Why then should he expect her to gather wood? Too, had he not insulted her, by responding as though her question might have been an honest, civil one, pretending to ignore the hint that he was somehow to blame for its damage? To be sure, it was he who had interposed, almost at the last moment, the clearance thruster. Might he not have jettisoned it earlier, perhaps a hundred miles earlier?

  “You go, then,” said the naval officer to the shopgirl.

  “I might crack my nails,” she said, looking at the officer of the court.

  “If you do not work,” said the young naval officer to the two young women, “you will not be fed.”

  “Do not amuse us,” said the officer of the court.

  The young naval officer clenched his fists.

  “You must feed us,” said the officer of the court. “We are citizens of the empire.”

  “Yes,” said the shopgirl.

  “It is our right to be fed,” said the officer of the court.

  “Yes!” said the shopgirl.

  “Better you had both been left on the Alaria,” said the young naval officer, “at the mercy of the Ortungen.”

  “Do not speak so!” chided the officer of the court.

  “Perhaps they could have gotten some good out of you,” he said.

  “Beware your speech!” said the officer of the court.

  “But they probably would not have found either of you of sufficient interest to be kept,” he said, “even as naked slaves.”

  The shopgirl gasped, putting her hand before her mouth.

  The officer of the court was furious, and, for a moment, speechless. Then she said, “Arrange for our rescue!”

  The young naval officer glared at her.

  “Put out a signal, or something!” she said.

  “Do you think you are on a beach, on some civilized world, with transports overhead every hour?” he asked.

  “Light a beacon,” said the officer of the court.

  “And who would see it?” he asked.

  “Surely there is someone on this world,” she said.

  “That is possible,” he said.

  “Surely someone!” she said.

  “But who?” he asked, meaningfully.

  The officer of the court, and the shopgirl, were silent.

  The young naval officer withdrew.

  The shopgirl stood up, and looked about herself. “This is a beautiful world,” she said.

  The officer of the court sniffed.

  “It is primeval,” said the girl, “untouched, unspoiled.”

  “I am glad you like it,” said the officer of the court. “You may spend the rest of your life here.”

  “What did he mean,” asked the shopgirl, “that he did not know who might see a beacon?”

  “I do not know,” said the officer of the court. “I am sure we are alone on this world.”

  “I am not so sure,” said the shopgirl.

  “Why do you say that?” asked the officer of the court.

  “I thought I saw something, yesterday,” she said.

  “What?” asked the officer of the court, apprehensively.

  “I do not know,” she said.

  “Perhaps it was a beast,” said the officer of the court, uneasily. Surely, last night, when they were locked in the capsule, they had heard things outside, prowling about. Too, there had been howling, roars, in the forest.

  “Perhaps,” said the shopgirl.

  “He took the pistol, of course!” said the officer of the court, angrily.

  “It has only a charge or two left, surely,” said the shopgirl.

  “What will protect us, if something comes?” said the officer of the court, looking about herself.

  “We can run to the capsule,” said the shopgirl.

  “Where is he?” asked the officer of the court.

  “Doubtless he has gone for firewood,” she said.

  “I’m hungry,” said the officer of the court.

  “I wonder if there are men here, on this world,” said the shopgirl, looking at the darkness of the trees.

  “I would not know,” said the officer of the court.

  “It there were, they would almost certainly be barbarians,” she said.

  “Undoubtedly,” said the officer of the court.

  “I wonder how they would view us,” she said.

  “As persons, as ladies,” said the officer of the court.

  “But if they were truly barbarians —” said the shopgirl.

  “I wonder where Oona is,” said the officer of the court. This was the name of the woman in the pantsuit, it now frayed and dirty, who had gone to fetch water.

  It seemed she should have returned by now.

  There was some cause, incidentally, for the guarded reply of the young naval officer, that having to do with his response to who might see a signal, or beacon, if one were set. He had, you see, seen earlier some signs of human habitation, footprints by a stream, and a broken spearblade. Too, yesterday they had smelled smoke, from afar. He had climbed a tree and discerned the fire, but it seemed no ordinary fire, centered in a locale, then spreading, much at the mercy of wind. Rather, though he had not called this to the attention of his companions, it had been a fire of unusual pattern, one seemingly in defiance of nature, surely nothing one would expect to result from a simple blast of lightning, and, too, from where would have come such a blast, out of a clear sky?

  “I am hungry,” said the officer of the court, and began to sort through the rations, put outside the capsule, to be sorted and divided. This was in connection with an inventory intended by the

  young naval officer. It was now miserably close in the capsule, the life-support systems shut down.

  “Do not touch the rations!” said the shopgirl.

  “Do not speak so to me, humiliora!” snapped the officer of the court.

  “You are fat
enough!” said the shopgirl.

  “I am not fat!” said the officer of the court. “It is the modesty of my garmenture!”

  “You look like a balloon and you smell!” said the shopgirl.

  “My garb is designed with a purpose in mind, one which you are incapable of appreciating, in your pretty little slacks and jacket!” said the officer of the court. “And you smell, too!” she added.

  The officer of the court and the salesgirl refrained from making further untactful allusions to certain odors, as this was a sensitive issue, and one in terms of which they were both clearly vulnerable. The young naval officer and the woman in the pantsuit had, yesterday, gratefully, after weeks in space, at respectfully separate intervals, washed in the nearby stream. The waters, however, had been much too cold for the likings of the officer of the court and the salesgirl. Too, who knew who might be watching? This consideration, in particular, alarmed the officer of the court. For example, could she truly trust the young naval officer? Too, they could always bathe tomorrow. It might be warmer then.

  “It is designed to conceal from others, and from yourself, that you are a woman!” said the shopgirl.

  “Insolent bitch!” said the officer of the court.

  “But then you are probably not a woman,” said the shopgirl.

  “I am a woman!” said the officer of the court, somewhat surprising herself by this declaration, one not really to be expected from a woman of Terennia.

  “Fat!” said the shopgirl.

  “I am not fat!” said the officer of the court.

  “If you were a slave,” said the shopgirl, “your figure would be trimmed until it was sexually stimulating to men!”

  “Do not dare to speak to me in that fashion,” cried the officer of the court. “I am an officer of a court, of the honestori! You are only an employee, a salesgirl, working in a shop on a cruise ship. You are only of the humiliori. Do not dare speak so to me, you meaningless little snip. I am of the blood itself!”

  “See if you speak so proudly when your hair is pulled out!” said the shopgirl, angrily.

  “Do not dare touch me!” said the officer of the court, alarmed.

  Angrily the salesgirl turned away. The least that might happen to her now would be that she would lose her position with the line. The humiliori were expected to exhibit a proper deference toward those of the honestori. Too, she might then find it difficult to locate another position. On certain worlds she could be fined, or sentenced to a penal brothel, even to being close-chained to her pallet. On many other worlds she could be simply remanded to slavery. Perhaps she would be purchased by the person whom she had offended.