over the heads of the animals. Two were saddled.
“Look there!” I cried. Two raiders had climbed to the roof, leaping from their
kaiila. Hassan and I met them, fiercely, forcing them back over the edge, into
the crowded, dark, screaming throng below. I saw a palm tree falling. Four
buildings were afire.
A woman screamed below.
More riders, slashing, pressed by, below us. “Their garments, their saddles,”
said Hassan, “are Kavar!”
From the roof we could see men and women, and children, running through the palm
groves and gardens.
Another building, this time to our left, caught fire. I smelled smoke.
“The inn is afire,” I said.
“Tarna!” we heard. “Tarna!”
Hassan went to the edge of the wall looking down into the now blazing stable
yard. “Follow them!” cried Hassan, indicating his two men below, to the rest of
his men, even to he who guarded the trap door. They vaulted the edge of the
roof, striking below in the stable yard. Hastily they saddled their kaiila. I
could now see fire, in a bright, geometrical, right-angled line, glowing from
below, about the trap door’s edge.
Hassan tore off his own burnoose and, putting it under Alyena’s arms, lowered
her from the roof to the arms of one of his men, mounted on his kaiila. Alyena
looked upward at Hassan, wildly. “Master!” she cried. But he had gone.
We ran again to the other edge of the roof. We could see more raiders coming
There were flights of them, paced out, perhaps hundreds altogether.
“On my signal,” said Hassan, “have them throw open the gate to the stable yard,
and ride!”
I went to the edge of the roof overlooking the burning yard. I saw the man to
whom Alyena had been lowered. She was now on her own kaiila. It was wedged in,
among the others.
“I relay the signal of Hassan,” said I. “Upon this signal, take flight!”
“Two kaiila are saddled for you,” said he, indicating two mounts.
“Upon the signal,” said I, “take flight.”
“What of you,” he cried “and Hassan!”
“Upon the signal.” I said, “take flight.”
“Prepare to open the gate.” said-the man to two of his fellows, who, mounted,
waited near it. Each would draw back one of the bars.
“Hassan!” screamed Alyena. “Hassan!”
One must watch, to see when the escape might best emerge, from the yard, another
must convey the signal.
“Hassan!” screamed Alyena, from below.
I smiled to myself. She had dared to soil the name of her master by putting it
on her lips which, though beautiful, were only those of a slave. Girls are not,
commonly, permitted to speak the name of their master. He is addressed as, or
responded to, as “Master” or “my Master.” If Hassan survived, he would. I
suspected, well beat her for this lapse. Some masters, it might be noted.
However, permit the girl to speak their name, if it is accompanied by an
acknowledgement of title, as in, say, “Hassan, Master,” or “Hassan, my Master.”
Hassan, however, was not so lenient: he had, as yet, not permitted his pretty
Alyena this liberty. I had little doubt, should he survive, the lovely, little
wench would be well whipped for her oversight, her agonized outburst, bordering
on insolence.
His hand was lifted. His bead was low, looking over the ledge. I heard a flight
of riders thunder by. His hand fell.
“Go!” I said.
The bars were withdrawn; the gates swung wide; the burnooses were thrown from
the heads of the animals, and the kaiila bolted from the blazing stable yard
into the suddenly illuminated street.
We heard men shouting.
In moments the kaiila and their riders had vanished down the street.
“There are two kaiila remaining, saddled,” I called to Hassan. “Hurry!”
“Take one!” he cried. “Be off! There is time! Be off!”
Instead I joined him at the edge of the roof.
Now another flight of the kaiila riders sped by beneath the roof. We kept our
heads low.
“Are you not coming?” I asked.
“Be off!” he whispered. “Wait!” he said.
Then, below, through the streets, in swirling purple and yellow burnooses, came
eleven riders.
“Tarna!” we heard. “Tarna!”
They reined in, almost below the edge of the roof. Several other riders,
raiders, were with them, behind.
“Tarna!” we heard.
The leader of the riders, in blue and purple burnoose, stood in the stirrups,
surveying the carnage.
Reports were made by lieutenants to this leader. Orders were issued to these men
and they, on their kaiila, sped away. The leader, graceful, slight, vital, stood
in the stirrups, scimitar in hand.
“The wells?” asked a man.
“Destroy them,” she said.
He sped away, followed by a cloud of riders. The leader sat back in the saddle,
burnoose swelling in the wind, light, wickedly curved scimitar across the
pommel.
“Destroy the palms, burn the buildings,” she said.
“Yes, Tarna said lieutenants, and they wheeled their mounts, going to their men.
The girl looked about and then, rapidly, with a scattering of dust, she moved
her kaiila in the direction of the kasbah. She was followed, swiftly, by the ten
riders who had accompanied her, and several others of the raiders.
“Get your kaiila, escape!” said Hassan. The roof was hot; the inn, below, was
burning; to our right, through the roof, flames licked upwards.
“Are you not coming?” I asked.
“Presently,” he said. “I am curious to see one of these Kavars.”
“I am coming with you,” I said.
“Save yourself,” said he.
“I am coming with you,” I said.
“We have not even shared salt,” he said.
“I shall accompany you,” I said.
He looked at me, for a long time. Then he thrust back the sleeve of his right
hand. I pressed my lips to the back of his right wrist, tasting there, in the
sweat, the salt. I extended to him the back of my right wrist, and he put his
lips and tongue to it.
“Do you understand this?” he asked.
“I think so,” I said.
“Follow me,” said he. “We have work to do, my brother.”
Hassan and I leaped from the roof, which was now partly aflame, to the stable
yard there, tethered, shifting, their nostrils stung with smoke, their heads
covered with saddle blankets, were our two kaiila. By the reins we led them from
the yard, once outside removing the saddle blankets. I saw the body of one of
the inn boys to one side, against the wall of the opposite building. It must
have been past the twentieth Gorean hour. The sand clock had not been turned. We
heard the roof of the inn fall. Far off there was screaming. We led the beasts
through the streets of the oasis. Twice we skirted pockets of fighting men.
Once, four Tashid soldiers sped by.
Once, looking through an alley, to the street at its end, we saw mounted men
fighting, There were some ten Tashid soldiers, on kaiila, attacking the command
group of the raiders. Then they were forced back, with lances, by
dozens of
raiders. They wheeled away, pursued by the raiders, the command group, in its
purple and yellow burnooses following. I saw Tarna, the leader of the raiders,
standing in her stirrups, scimitar high, urging her men forward, then joining in
the pursuit.
“Who are you?’’ cried a voice.
We spun about.
‘‘Aretai sleen!’’ cried the man. He, mounted on his kaiila, urged the beast
forward. We blocked the charge with our kaiila. The animals squealed and
grunted. None of us, because of the animals, could get a good stroke at the
other. The man, with a cry of rage, pulled his animal back, and sped into the
darkness. It was not unwise on his part. In the alley, with two of us, it might
not have gone well for him.
“We have lost him,” I said.
“There are others,” said Hassan.
In a few moments we came to a high, thick wall of red clay. Before this wall
were some six of the raiders, four with scimitars drawn. Against the wall,
kneeling, stripped, bellies pressed tight against it, points of the scimitars
against their backs, between their shoulder blades, chins high, against the
wall, hands high over their heads, palms pressed tight against the wall, were
four beautiful girls. One of the men with sheathed scimitar was preparing to
bracelet the first girl; the other man with sheathed scimitar was unlooping a
light slave chain with snaplocks to put the lovely prisoners in throat coffle.
“Tal,” said Hassan, greeting them.
They spun to face him. Each wore the garments, the agal cording of the Kavars.
The saddles on their nearby kaiila were Kavar.
They rushed toward us, the two with sheathed scimitars last, freeing their
weapons. By the time they reached us, the other four were down. They backed
away, then turned and ran. We did not pursue them.
The girls remained as they had been placed. They did not even dare to turn their
heads.
Hassan kissed one on the back of the neck. “Oh!” she cried.
“Are you female slaves?” he asked.
“No, Masters!” cried one.
“Run then to the desert,” said Hassan.
They turned about, crouching, by the wall, trying to cover themselves.
“But we are stripped,” cried one.
“Run!” said Hassan, smacking her smartly with the flat of his blade.
“Oh!” she cried and fled, the others following, into the darkness.
We laughed.
“They are pretty,” said Hassan. “Perhaps we should have kept them.”
“Perhaps,” I admitted. One, a wide-hipped little brunet, I thought, would have
looked well at my feet.
“Yet,” said Hassan, “this seems scarcely a time propitious for the braceleting
of wenches’’
“You are right’’ I observed.
“Besides,” said Hassan, “they were young. In two years or so they would be more
ripe for the picking.”
“Others may have them then,” I said.
He shrugged. “There are always young, beautiful wenches to make slaves,” he
said.
“True,” I said.
He looked at our fallen foes. We saw in the light of the moons, and in the light
of a torch in a ring on a wall opposite the wall.
“Here,” said Hassan, kneeling beside one of the fallen men. I joined him. Hassan
thrust up the left sleeve.
“He is Kavar,” I said. I saw on the man’s left forearm the blue scimitar.
“No,” said Hassan. “Look. The point of the scimitar curves inward, toward the
body.”
“So?” I asked.
“The Kavar scimitar,” be said, “points away from the body, to the outside,
toward the foe.”
I looked at him.
Hassan smiled. He thrust up his left sleeve. Startled, I saw the mark on his
left forearm.
“This,” said Hassan, smiling, “is the Kavar scimitar.”
I saw the point, as he had said, was curved away from the body, to the outside,
as be had said, toward foes.
“You are Kavar,” I said.
“Of course,” said Hassan.
We spun about. We heard the tiny noise. We looked up. We stood within a ring of
mounted warriors, with purple and yellow burnooses, others behind them in more
common desert garb. Lances threatened us, pinning us at the wall. Arrows, fitted
to bows, were trained upon our hearts.
“There they are.” said the man whom we had skirmished with earlier in the alley.
“Shall we kill them?” asked one of the men in the purple and yellow burnoose.
“Discard your weapons,” said Tarna.
We did so.
“Stand.” she said.
We did so.
“Shall we kill them?” asked the man.
“Lift your heads,” said the girl.
We did as she bad commanded.
“Tarna?” be asked.
“No,” she said. “They are handsome and strong. They are not without interest to
me. Take them as slaves.”
“Yes, Tarna,” said the man.
“This one,” said the girl, looking down at me, calmly, strip him, and chain him
to my stirrup.”
12 What Occurred in Tarna’s Kasbah; Hassan and I Decide to Take Our Leave
from that Place
I rolled about, on my back, splashing in the water.
It was quite pleasant. The temperature of the water, perhaps, was a bit warm.
Also, it was perfumed. Yet I did not mind. It had been weeks since I had had a
bath. I was appreciative of this hospitality in the male seraglio of the kasbah
of Tarna, bandit chieftain of the Tahari.
“Hurry, Slave,” said the tall, dark-haired girl, bare-armed, in an ankle-length,
flowing white garment. “The mistress will be ready for you soon.” She held four
large, heavy snowy towels, each of a different absorbency. To one side another
girl, clad similarly, was replacing bath oils in a rack, with which I had been
rubbed prior to entering the second sunken bath. I had now rinsed them from my
body, but I was not eager to leave the water. I reveled in it.
Hassan, in a brief, white-silk garment, sat cross-legged nearby.
“You do not appear too dismal,” said he to me.
“Is your mistress, Tarna, pretty?” I asked the tall dark-haired girl.
“Emerge and towel yourself,” said the girl.
“I can well use the bath,” I said to her, grinning.
“That is true,” she conceded. “Hurry!”
Four days ago, at dawn, Tarna, at the head of her men, left the Oasis of the
Battle of Red Rock in flames. Only its citadel, its kasbah, had been
impregnable. Its palm groves had been cut down, its gardens destroyed, four of
its five public wells caved in and filled. The other well, by two many men, had
been defended with too much vigor. There had been some four or five hundred
raiders. When they left Red Rock their kaiila had been heavy with loot. Some
forty female slaves, coffled, braceleted, had been taken. Two males, too, had
been taken, myself and Hassan. As Tarna had left Red Rock, not looking back,
straight in the saddle, burnoose swelling in the morning wind over the sand, I
had marched beside her, stripped, wrists manacled behind my back, chained by the
neck to her stirrup. Hassan, similarly secured, trudged at the stirrup of
one of
her lieutenants. Before the sun was high and the sands burning we reached her
loot wagons, kept in the desert. There, Hassan and I, locked in slave hoods, and
chained, were thrown into one of the wagons, with other loot. Even the female
slaves, when fastened in their wagons, were hooded. The location of the kasbah
of Tarna, bandit chieftain of the Tahari, her lair, was secret. We had reached
its vicinity this morning, shortly after dawn. We, and the other prisoners, had
been unhooded. Then, again, Hassan and I had been chained at stirrups. I at
Tarna’s own, by her boot. “Where are we?” I had asked Hassan. The kaiila crop of
a guard had struck me across the mouth. “I do not know,” had said Hassan. He,
too, was struck. The female prisoners were ranged, in coffle, between two
riders, one at the head and one at the foot of the chain, A chain from the neck
of the first, some ten feet in length, ascended to the pommel of the lead guard;
a chain from the neck of the last, some ten feet in length, ascended to the
pommel of the guard bringing up the rear. They were marched this way that
residents and the garrison of the kasbah, in the great yard, behind the gate,
regardless of the side on which they stood, might, with unimpeded vision, see
the flesh loot well displayed. The canvas covers of the wagons, too, were thrown
back, that the goods taken at Red Rock could be seen in their abundance and
richness.
As the raiders returned, from their column, by mirror, a signal was flashed to
the kasbah. On receipt of this signal a pennon, a victory pennon, was raised on
the gate tower. We saw the gate swinging open.
Suddenly Tarna kicked her kaii1a in the flanks and bolted from the column. The
chain tore at the back of my neck and I was thrown from my feet and dragged
through the brush and dust, twisting. She rode for a hundred yards and reined in
the kaiila. “Have you stamina? Can you run?” she asked. I looked at her,
coughing, covered with dust, cut by brush. “On your feet!” she said, her eyes
bright over the purple veil. “I will teach you to crawl,” she said. I struggled
to my feet. She walked the kaiila, then, widely circling, increased its pace,
gradually, smoothly. “Excellent!” she cried. I was of the warriors. She
increased the pace. “Excellent,” she cried, “excellent!” Even among warriors I
had been agile, swift. My heart pounded; I fought for breath. More than a pasang
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