Tribesmen of Gor

by Norman, John;

  Hassan then, carrying his saddle and other belongings, went into the inn. His men, and I, followed him. Last to enter the inn, head down, taking short, careful steps, bent under her burden, the heavy, bulging leather sack of water, was Alyena.

  “Here, Slave,” said one of the inn boys to her, indicating the way to the inn’s cistern. Alyena, slowly, half stumbling, followed him. He did not, of course, help her. She emptied the water into the cistern. Those of Hassan’s men who carried water, too, emptied the water into the cistern. Before Alyena returned to us, the boy brushed back her hood, revealing her hair and face. His hand was in her hair. “You are a pretty slave,” he said. “Thank you, Master,” whispered Alyena. He turned her head from side to side. Then he released her, snapping his fingers and pointing to his feet. She knelt before him, and kissed his feet, her hair falling over them. He then turned away. She rose to her feet and went to kneel beside Hassan, who was sitting at a bench before a table. She knelt perpendicular to his thigh, and put her head gently, sideways, on his left leg. He handled her head and hair with a rough gentleness, sometimes running his fingers, caressing her, between her throat and the collar.

  “Have you heard aught of a tower of steel?” Hassan was asking the master of the inn.

  * * * *

  None, it seemed, at Red Rock had either seen, or heard, of so strange an architectural oddity as a tower of steel in the desert.

  This was irritating to Hassan, and did not much please me either, for the oasis of the Battle of Red Rock was the last of the major oases of the Tahari for more than two thousand pasangs eastward; it lay, in effect, on the borders of the dreaded dune country; there are oases in the dune country but they are small and infrequent, and often lie more than two hundred pasangs apart; in the sands they are not always easy to find; among the dunes one can, unknowingly, pass within ten pasangs of an oasis, missing it entirely. Little but salt caravans ply the dune country. Caravans with goods tend to travel the western, or distant eastern edge of the Tahari; caravans do, it might be mentioned, occasionally travel from Tor or Kasra to Turmas, a Turian outpost and kasbah, in the southeastern edge of the Tahari, but even these commonly avoid the dune country, either moving south, then east, or east, then south, skirting the sands. Few men, without good reason, enter the dune country.

  I had little doubt, nor did Hassan, that it was within the dune country that lay the steel tower, if there was indeed such an unusual edifice.

  It seemed reasonably clear that if such were not the case someone, nomad or merchant, or innkeeper or drover, or guide or soldier, would have heard of it.

  But such a tower might exist in the dune country for ten thousand years, remote and undiscovered.

  The Others, the Kurii, had stopped slave runs from Earth to Gor. “Surrender Gor,” had been the ultimatum delivered to the Sardar. A Kur, alone, had been apprehended, apparently on his way to the dune country. A message had been inscribed on a rock: Beware the steel tower. And a message girl had been brought to Samos, of Port Kar. Her message, revealed in the shaving of her head, had been “Beware Abdul.” Only that portion of the mystery seemed well solved. Abdul had been the lowly water carrier in Tor, a minor agent, presumably of Others, the Kurii, who had wished to keep me from the Tahari. That part of the mystery only had I now well solved. Still, however, I did not know who had sent the message. I wondered on the Kur which had entered, invisible, my cell at Nine Wells. He had been much wounded. He had not killed me. Ibn Saran had told me the beast had been slain. There was much, yet, which I did not understand.

  “We shall leave in the morning,” said Hassan to me, stretching. “None here seem to know of a steel tower.”

  Indeed, to my surprise, word of the attack, putatively by Aretai, on the Bakah oasis of Two Scimitars, of some days ago, had not yet seemed to reach Red Rock. None here spoke of it. Had they known of the raid it would, surely, have been the topic of pervasive converse in the oasis. It seemed to me clear that none here, at least of the common population, knew of it. Had it truly been by Aretai I had no doubt but what the oasis would be preparing itself, even now, for Kavar reprisals. It was not odd, of course, for Red Rock not to have yet heard of the attack. It was explained so simply as by no man yet having brought them the news. No one had yet journeyed to them who knew of the attack, or knew of it and would tell them. Since Red Rock was an oasis under the governance of the Tashid, a vassal tribe of Aretai, of course, no Bakah, or other member of the Kavar confederation, would be likely, particularly in such times, to drop in and, in friendly fashion, convey this intelligence to them. Indeed, they would tend to avoid Aretai and Aretai-dominant oases, at least until they could come in force, paying the respects of the Tahari with steel.

  “I am weary,” said Hassan. “I shall retire.” Already he had sent Alyena up to his room. His men, too, were lodged on the second floor.

  Hassan looked about himself. “What is the hour?” asked Hassan.

  One of the inn boys, in an apron, sitting on a bench near the large, cylindrical sand clock, glanced at it. “Past the nineteenth hour,” he said. He yawned. He would stay up until the twentieth hour, the Gorean midnight, at which time he would turn the clock, and retire.

  “Are masters well content in my house?” asked the innkeeper.

  “Yes,” said Hassan. Then Hassan said, “Soldiers are returning.”

  I listened carefully. I had not noticed the sound. Hassan’s fingers, on the table, had caught the subtle vibration.

  I could now hear the drumming of galloping kaiila.

  “No soldiers are out,” said the innkeeper.

  Hassan leaped to his feet, throwing over the table. In a bound he had fled upstairs.

  “Do not go to the window!” I cried.

  But already the innkeeper had thrown back the shutters. I heard Hassan shouting upstairs. I heard the sound of feet. The innkeeper turned to face me, his face white; he fell rolling to the floor, snapping off the shaft of the arrow. “Kavars supreme!” I heard. I rushed to the window and my scimitar thrust through and the figure, in burnoose, screamed, clutched at the side of the window, and fell back, bloodied, into the darkness. I reached to close the shutters. Two arrows struck the wood, splintering needles of wood into my cheek; then the shutters were pulled closed, fastened; another arrow burst half through one, hanging on our side. The inn boy stood by the sand clock, looking wildly about. We heard the paws of kaiila, their squeals and snorts, and hisses. I heard a man cry out. Somewhere I heard a door splintering, though not, I thought, of the inn. “Kavars supreme!” I heard.

  “Upstairs!” cried Hassan. “To the roof!”

  I took the stairs four at a time, climbing to the second floor. The inn boy, terrified, fled through a door to the kitchen.

  Alyena, white faced, stood, her arm held in the grip of one of Hassan’s men.

  “Follow me,” said Hassan. Other guests at the inn fled downstairs. A woman screamed.

  We climbed a narrow ladder, pushing up a trap door to the roof. We stood under the three moons of Gor. The desert looked white. Beneath us, in the streets, people were running, some carrying belongings. “To the kasbah!” cried a man. “Seek safety in the kasbah!” Among the running people rode warriors, slashing about themselves, slaying and freeing for themselves a path for their mounts. “Kavars supreme!” they cried.

  “Kavars!” I cried.

  Hassan looked at me, wildly, angrily. “To the stable yard,” he said. We ran across the roof to the walled stable yard. He cried orders, swiftly. Saddles were fetched, two men leaped down from the roof to the ground below, then leaped up, running to the stables. I saw a fire arrow loop in the sky over palms. I heard the sounds of axes. There was, on the other side of the wall, much screaming. We heard the door of the inn splintering. Below us, in the stable yard, holding the reins of kaiila, came Hassan’s men. “Guard the trap door,” said Hassan to one of his men. Almost at that moment the trap door thrust up and a man’s face appeared; Hassan’s man thrust his scimitar thr
ough the jaw and wrenched it free, loose with blood and teeth and kicked shut the door.

  “To the kasbah!” cried a man below in the street, terrified.

  “Into the desert!” cried a woman. “The kasbah is bolted against raiders! People die at the gate, cut down, pounding to enter!”

  “Fire!” I cried. An arrow had fallen within the stable yard, striking through the straw in the storage stall at the right. We saw a man climbing over the gate to the stable yard. He fell back, thrust from the gate by a lance in the hands of one of Hassan’s men. The interior of the stable yard was now well lit, by the blazing straw. The kaiila squealed in fright. Hassan’s men threw their burnooses 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 him 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 acknowledgment 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 head 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 eleven riders, in purple and yellow 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.