Marauders of Gor coc-9

by John Norman

  In an alcove, after I had used her, she had begged me to buy her, to free her. It was a slave's act, like that of Talena. I left her slave in the paga tavern. Before I had left, I had informed her master, Sarpedon of Lydius, that, as he did not know, she was an exquisitely trained pleasure slave, and a most stimulating performer of slave dances. I had not returned that night to see her dance in the sand to please her customers. I had matters of business to attend to. She had not honored my will. She was only a female. She had cost me a tarn.

  She had told me that I had become harder, more Gorean. I wondered if it were true or not. A true Gorean, I speculated, would not have left her in the paga tavern. A true Gorean, I speculated, would have purchased her, and brought her back, to put her with his other women, a delicious new slave for his house. I smiled to myself. The girl, Elizabeth Cardwell, once a secretary in New York, was one of the most delicious wenches I had ever seen in slave silk. Her thigh bore the brand of the four bosk horns.

  No. I had not treated her as would have a true Gorean. I had not brought her back in my collar, to serve my pleasures.

  And, too, I knew that I had, in my fevered delirium attendant on my wounds, when I lay in the stern castle of the Tesephone, cried out her name.

  This had shamed me, and was weakness. Though I was half motionless, though I could not close the fingers of my left hand, I resolved that I must burn from myself the vestiges of weakness. There was still much in me that was of Earth, much shallowness, much compromise, much weakness. I was not yet in my will truly Gorean.

  I wondered how to live. "Do not ask how to live, but, instead, proceed to do so."

  I wondered, too, on the nature of my affliction. I had had the finest wound physicians on Gor brought to attend me, to inquire into its nature. They could tell me little. Yet I had learned there was no damage in the brain, nor directly to the spinal column. The men of medicine were puzzled. The wounds were deep, and severe, and would doubtless, from time to time, cause me pain, but the paralysis, given the nature of the injury, seemed to them unaccountable.

  Then one more physician, unsummoned, came to my door.

  "Admit him," I had said.

  "He is a renegade from Turia, a lost man," had said Thurnock.

  "Admit him," I had said.

  "It is Iskander," whispered Thurnock.

  I knew well the name of Iskander of Turia. I smiled. He remembered well the city that had exiled him, keeping still its name as part of his own. It had been many years since he had seen its lofty walls. He had, in the course of his practice in Turia, once given treatment outside of its walls to a young Tuchuk warrior, whose name was Kamchak. For this aid given to an enemy, he had been exiled. He had come, like many, to Port Kar. He had risen in the city, and had been for years the private physician to Sullius Maximus, who had been one of the five Ubars, presiding in Port Kar prior to the assumption of power by the Council of Captains.

  Sullius Maximus was an authority on poetry, and gifted in the study of poisons. When Sullius Maximus had fled the city, Iskander had remained behind. He had even been with the fleet on the 25th of the Se'Kara. Sullius Maximus, shortly after the decision of the 25th of Se'Kara, had sought refuge in Tyros, and had been granted it.

  "Greetings, Iskander," I had said.

  "Greetings, Bosk of Port Kar," he had said.

  The findings of Iskander of Turia matched those of the other physicians, but, to my astonishment, when he had replaced his instruments in the pouch slung at his shoulder, he said, "The wounds were given by the blades of Tyros."

  "Yes," I said, "they were."

  "There is a subtle contaminant in the wounds," he said.

  "Are you sure?" I asked.

  "I have not detected it," he said. "But there seems no other likely explanation."

  "A contaminant?" I asked.

  "Poisoned steel," he said.

  I said nothing.

  "Sullius Maximus," he said, "is in Tyros."

  "I would not have thought Saurus of Tyros would have used poisoned steel," I said. Such a device, like the poisoned arrow, was not only against the codes of the warriors, but, generally, was regarded as unworthy of men. Poison was regarded as a woman's weapon.

  Iskander shrugged.

  "Sullius Maximus," he said, "invented such a drug. He tested it, by pin pricks, on the limbs of a captured enemy, paralyzing him from the neck down. He kept him seated at his right side, as a guest in regal robes, for more than a week. When he tired of the sport he had him killed."

  "Is there no antidote?" I asked.

  "No," said Iskander.

  "Then there is no hope," I said.

  "No," said Iskander, "there is no hope."

  "Perhaps it is not the poison." I said.

  "Perhaps," said Iskander.

  "Thurnock," said I, "give this physician a double tarn, of gold."

  "No," said Iskander, "I wish no payment."

  "Why not?" I asked.

  "I was with you," he said, "on the 25th of Se'Kara."

  "I wish you well, Physician," I said.

  "I wish you well, too, Captain," said he, and left.

  I wondered if what Iskander of Turia had conjectured was correct or not.

  I wondered if such a poison, if it existed, could be overcome.

  There is no antidote, he had informed me.

  The refrain ran through my mind: "Do not ask how to live, but, instead, proceed to do so."

  I laughed bitterly.

  "Captain!" I heard. "Captain!" It was Thurnock. I could hear running feet behind him, the gathering of members of the household.

  "What is it?" I heard Luma ask.

  "Captain!" cried Thurnock.

  "I must see him immediately!" said another voice. I was startled. It was the voice of Samos, first slaver of Port Kar.

  They entered, carrying torches.

  "Put torches in the rings," said Samos.

  The hall was lit. Members of the house came forward. Samos appeared before the table. At his side was Thurnock, a torch still uplifted in his hand. Luma was present. I saw, too, Tab, who was captain of the Venna. Clitus, too, was present, and young Henrius.

  "What is wrong?" I Asked.

  Then one other stepped forward. It was Ho-Hak, from the marshes, the rencer. His face was white. No longer about his throat was clasped the collar of the galley slave, with short dangling chain. He had been a bred slave, an exotic. His ears were large, bred so as a collector's fancy. But he had killed his master, breaking his neck and escaped. Recaptured, he had been sentenced to the galleys, but had escaped, too, killing six men in his flight. He had, finally, succeeded in making his way into the marshes, in the Vosk's vast delta, where he had been taken in by rencers, who live on islands, woven of rence reeds, in the delta. He had become chief of one such group, and was much respected in the delta. He had been instrumental in bringing the great bow to the rencers, which put them on a military par with those of Port Kar, who had hitherto victimized and exploited them. Rencer bowmen were now used by certain captains of Port Kar as auxiliaries.

  Ho-Hak did not speak, but cast on the table an armlet of gold.

  It was bloodied.

  I knew the armlet well. It had been that of Telima, who had fled to the marshes, when I had determined to seek Talina in the northern forests.

  "Telima," said Ho-Hak.

  "When did this happen?" I asked.

  "Within four Ahn," said Ho-Hak. Then he turned to another rencer, one who stood with him. "Speak," said Ho-Hak.

  "I saw little," he said. "there was a tarn and a beast. I heard the scream of the woman. I poled my rence craft toward them, my bow ready. I heard another scream. The tarn took flight, low, over the rence, the beast upon it, hunched, shaggy. I found her rence craft, the pole floating nearby. It was much bloodied. I found there, too, the armlet."

  "The body?" I asked.

  "Tharlarion were about," said the rencer.

  I nodded.

  I wondered if the beast had struck for
hunger. Such a beast in the house of Cernus had fed on human flesh. Doubtless it was little other to them than venison would be to us.

  "Why did you not kill the beast, or strike the tarn? I asked.

  The great bow was capable of such matters.

  "I had no opportunity," said the rencer.

  "Which way did the tarn take flight?" I asked.

  "To the northwest," said the rencer.

  I was certain the tarn would follow the coast. It was extremely difficult, if not impossible, to fly a tarn from the sight of land. It is counter-instinctual for them. In the engagement of the 25th of Se'Kara we had used tarns at sea, but they had been kept below decks in cargo ships until beyond the sight of land. Interestingly, once released, there had been no difficulty in managing them. They had performed effectively in the engagement.

  I looked at Samos. "What do you know of this matter?" I asked.

  "I know only what I am told," said Samos.

  "Describe the beast," I said to the rencer.

  "I did not see it well," he said.

  "It could only have been one of the Kurii," said Samos.

  "The Kurii?" I asked.

  "The word is a Gorean corruption of their name for themselves, for their kind," said Samos.

  "In Torvaldsland," said Tab, "that means 'beasts'."

  "That is interesting," I said. If Samos were correct that "Kurii" was a Gorean corruption of the name of such animals for themselves, and that the word was used in Torvaldsland as a designation for beasts, then it seemed not unlikely that such animals were not unknown in Torvaldsland, at least in certain areas, perhaps remote ones.

  The tarn had flown northwest. It would, presumably, follow the coast north, perhaps above the forests, perhaps to the bleak coasts of forbidding Torvaldsland itself.

  "Do you surmise, Samos," I asked, "that the beast killed for hunger?"

  "Speak," said Samos to the rencer.

  "The beast," he said, "had been seen earlier, twice, on abandoned, half-rotted rence islands, lurking."

  "Did it feed?" I asked.

  "Not on those of the marshes," said the man.

  "It had opportunity?" I asked.

  "As much or more as when it made its strike," said the man.

  "The beast struck once, and once only?" I asked.

  "Yes," said the man.

  "Samos?" I asked.

  "The strike," said Samos, "seems deliberate. Who else in the marshes wore a golden armlet?"

  "But why?" I asked. "Why?"

  He looked at me. "The affairs of worlds," said Samos, "apparently still touch you."

  "He is crippled!" cried Luma. "You speak strangely! He can do nothing! Go away!"

  I put down my head.

  On the table I felt my fists clenched. I suddenly felt a hideous exhilaration.

  "Bring me a goblet," I said.

  A goblet was fetched. It was of heavy gold. I took it in my left hand. Slowly I crushed it.

  I threw it from me.

  Those of my house stood back, frightened.

  "I will go," said Samos. "There is work to be done in the north. I will seek the vengeance."

  "No, Samos," I said. "I will go."

  There were gasps from those about.

  "You cannot go," whispered Luma.

  "Telima was once my woman," I said. "It is mine to seek the vengeance."

  "You are crippled! You cannot move!" cried Luma.

  "There are two swords over my couch," said I to Thurnock. "One is plain, with a worn hilt; the other is rich, with a jewel-encrusted hilt."

  "I know them," whispered Thurnock.

  "Bring me the blade of Port Kar, swiftly, the one encrusted with jewels."

  He sped from the room.

  "I would have paga," I said. "and bring me the red meat of bosk."

  Henrius and Clitus left the table.

  The sword was brought. It was a fine blade. It had been carried on the 25th of Se'Kara. Its blade was figured, its hilt encrusted with jewels.

  I took the goblet, filled with burning paga. I had not had paga since returning from the northern forests.

  "Ta-Sardar-Gor," said I, pouring a libation to the table. Then I stood.

  "He is standing!" cried Luma. "He is standing!"

  I threw back my head and swilled down the paga. The meat, red and hot, was brought, and I tore it in my teeth, the juices running at the side of my mouth.

  The blood and the paga were hot and dark within me. I felt the heat of the meat.

  I threw from me the goblet of gold. I tore the meat and finished it.

  I put over my left shoulder the scabbard strap.

  "Saddle a tarn," said I to Thurnock.

  "Yes, Captain," he whispered.

  I stood before the captain's chair. "More paga," I said. Another vessel was brought. "I drink," said I, "to the blood of beasts."

  Then I drained the goblet and flung it from me.

  With a howl of rage I struck the table with the side of my fists, shattering the boards. I flung aside the blanket and the captain's chair.

  "Do not go," said Samos. "It may be a trick to lure you to a trap."

  I smiled at him. "Of course," I said. "To those with whom we deal Telima is of no importance." I regarded him. "It is me they want," I said. "They shall not fail to have their opportunity."

  "Do not go," said Samos.

  "There is work to be done in the north," I said.

  "Let me go," said Samos.

  "Mine," I said, "is the vengeance."

  I turned and strode toward the door of the hall. Luma fell back before me, her hand before her mouth.

  I saw that her eyes were deep, and very beautiful. She was frightened.

  "Precede me to my couch," I said.

  "I am free." She whispered.

  "Collar her," I said to Thurnock, "and send her to my couch."

  His hand closed on the arm of the thin blond scribe.

  "Clitus," I said, "send Sandra, the dancer, to my couch as well."

  "You freed her, Captain," smiled Clitus.

  "Collar her," I told him.

  "Yes, Captain," he said. I well remembered Sandra, with her black hair, brownish skin and high cheekbones. I wanted her.

  It had been long since I had had a woman.

  "Tab," said I.

  "Yes, Captain," said he.

  "The two females," I told him, "have recently been free. Accordingly, as soon as they have been collared, force them to drink slave wine."

  "Yes, Captain," grinned Tab.

  Slave wine is bitter, intentionally so. Its effect lasts for more than a Gorean month. I did not wish the females to conceive. A female slave is taken off slave wine only when it is her master's intention to breed her.

  "The tarn, Captain?" asked Thurnock.

  "Have it saddled," I told him. "I leave shortly for the north."

  "Yes, Captain." He said.

  Chapter 2 - THE TEMPLE OF KASSAU

  The incense stung my nostrils.

  It was hot in the temple, close, stifling. There were many bodies pressed about. It was not easy to see, for the clouds of incense hung heavy in the air.

  The High Initiate of Kassau, a town at the northern brink of the forest, sat still in his white robes, in his tall hat, on the throne to the right, within the white rail that separated the sanctuary of Initiates from the common ground of the hall, where those not anointed by the grease of Priest-kings must stand.

  I heard a woman sobbing with emotion to my right. "Praise the Priest-Kings," she repeated endlessly to herself, nodding her head up and down.

  Near her, bored, was a slender, blondish girl, looking about. Her hair was hung in a snood of scarlet yarn, bound with filaments of golden wire. She wore, over her shoulder, a cape of white fur of the northern sea sleen. She had a scarlet vest, embroidered in gold, worn over a long-sleeved blouse of white wool, from distant Ar. She wore, too, a long woollen skirt, dyed red, which was belted with black, with a buckle of gold, wrought in Cos. She wo
re shoes of black polished leather, which folded about her ankles, laced twice, once across the instep, once about the ankle.

  She saw me regarding her with interest, and looked away.

  Other wenches, too, were in the crowd. In the northern villages, and in the forest towns, and northward on the coast, the woman do not veil themselves, as is common in the cities to the south.

  Kassau is the seat of the High Initiate of the north, who claims spiritual sovereignty over Torvaldsland, which is commonly taken to commence with the thinning of the trees northward. This claim, like many of those of the Initiates, is disputed by few, and ignored by most.

  The men of Torvaldsland, on the whole, I knew, while tending to respect Priest-Kings, did not accord them special reverence. They held to old gods, and old ways. The religion of the Priest-Kings, institutionalized and ritualized by the caste of Initiates, had made little headway among the primitive men to the north. It had, however, taken hold in many towns, such as Kassau.

  Initiates often used their influence and their gold, and pressures on trade and goods, to spread their beliefs and rituals. Sometimes a Chieftain, converted to their ways, would enforce his own commitments on his subordinates. Indeed, this was not unusual. Too, often, a chief's conversion would bring with it, even without force, those of his people who felt bound to him in loyalty. Sometimes, too, the religion of the Priest-Kings, under the control of the Initiates, utilizing secular rulers, was propagated by fire and sword.

  Sometimes those who insisted on retaining the old ways, or were caught making the sign of the fist of the hammer, over their ale were subjected to death by torture. One that I had heard of had been boiled alive in one of the great sunken wood-lined tubs in which meat was boiled for retainers. The water is heated by placing rocks, taken from a fire, into the water. When the rock has been in the water, it is removed with a rake and then reheated. Another had been roasted alive on a spit over a long fire. It was said that he did not utter a sound. Another was slain when an adder forced into his mouth tore its way free through the side of his face.