Norman, John - Gor 23 - Renegades of Gor.txt

by Renegades of Gor [lit]

  fall from tarnback, hurried, seemingly alarmed, to the bricked platform beneath

  his tub and stirred the fire with the fire rake.

  “Build up the fire! Hurry, fellow!” said the bather.

  “Yes, Sir, yes, Sir,” rasped the hooded, cloaked fellow.

  I had been confident, of course, from what I had seen last night, that if the

  fellow were to bathe he would pick that first tub, and then, behind it, that

  second tub. Some, and he was apparently among them, regard such as the most

  prestigious tubs. It was natural, then, that he, such a fellow, should select

  them. Somehow, it seemed that the fire in the platform under the tub in which he

  now reclined had not been built up this morning. He who was now in attendance on

  the baths hurried now, of course, to do so. The fellow, thus, who seemingly was

  fond of his luxuries, would have to wait for a (pg.116) time, and then, when the

  water was comfortably warm, could presumably be counted upon, if only in

  compensation for his discomfort and inconvenience, to dally for a while.

  He in attendance on the baths, shuffling about, occasionally muttering to

  himself, tended the fire.

  I had anticipated that the fellow would wish to use the baths in the morning.

  For example, he had drunk heavily the night before and presumably could be

  counted upon to awaken in a few hours, thirsty and drenched with sweat. A

  horrifying hangover, too, considering the entire situation, was not too much to

  expect. In case he was less fastidious than we had anticipated, we had also

  taken the liberty of anointing the floor around his place with some

  representative elements extracted from the level’s wastes’ bucket. The presence

  of these in his area, particularly given the nature of his preceding evening, we

  naturally hoped he would explain to himself in the most natural way possible.

  “Ahhh,” said the bather, leaning back.

  “Is the temperature of the water satisfactory?” inquired he in attendance,

  hobbling over to the tub.

  “Yes,” growled the bather.

  He in attendance put an armload of wood and shavings near the bather’s tub, on

  the platform. In such a way, on a busy day at the baths, might some trips to the

  bins be saved. It is an old bath attendant’s trick. He in attendance, however,

  was somewhat clumsy in doing this. The striking of a piece of kindling on the

  tub, for example, rather on the left of the tub, seemed to cause distress to the

  bather.

  “Get out,” ordered the bather.

  “May I be of further service?” inquired he in attendance.

  “Get out!” said the bather. “Get out!”

  “Yes, Sir! Yes, Sir!” rasped the bent fellow, hobbling away quickly, as though

  frightened. Then, in a moment, he was on the other side of the latticework.

  On the other side of the latticework I looked back into the room of baths, not

  yet straightening up. beneath my cloak, of course, were the belt, scabbard and

  sword, his wallet, and the rectangular pouch, taken from the tub hook, under the

  (pg.117) diversion of the sound and blow of kindling to the left, on the tub.

  The bather, I noted, now lay back in the tub, his eyes closed. The real

  attendant was probably upstairs in the paga room, enjoying cakes and Bazi tea, a

  breakfast popular with Gorean on holidays. Certainly he had the means to do so.

  I had given him five copper tarsks.

  I removed the burly fellow’s helmet and clothing from the peg in the outer room.

  I then left the outer room of the baths.

  8 I Take my Leave of the Crooked Tarn

  (pg.118) I strode to the tarncot.

  I did not think I would have much time to waste. I now wore the blue of Cos, the

  uniform of one of the company of Artemidorus, and carried the blue helmet, these

  things having been removed from the peg in the outer room of the baths.

  I smote on the gate of the tarncot.

  My pack was on my back.

  There was only one tarn in the cot, obviously a warrior’s mount.

  An attendant emerged from a shed to the side.

  A wagon moved by, to the left. The tharlarion stables were in that direction.

  Folks were up, and stirring. I glanced up, to my right, at the high shedlike

  structure which would shelter the tarn beacon. It was not lit now, of course.

  The inn’s tarn gate, as I stood, within the inn’s grounds, was to its right. In

  this way, as one would approach the inn on tarnback, from outside the grounds,

  the gate would be on its left.

  “Ready the bird,” I ordered.

  It seemed he might hesitate a moment, but he took in my appearance, the blue of

  Cos, the insignia of the mercenaries of Artemidorus, the helmet, my weapons,

  indeed, two swords.

  “Now,” I said.

  He scurried back into the shed, where, doubtless, the burly fellow’s gear was

  stored, the saddle, tarn harness, and such. I (pg.119) think he did not wish to

  delay one of the company of Artemidorus. Perhaps he had done so before, to his

  sorrow.

  I looked back, towards the main building. I could see only normal signs of

  activity.

  The great sign, on its chains, hanging from the supported, horizontal beam on

  the huge pole was quiet now. Some wagons were leaving. The world about smelled

  fresh and clean from the rain. There were puddles here and there on the stone

  flooring of the inn yard, itself leveled from the living rock of the plateau.

  The attendant now came forth from the shed. He had the saddle, the cloth and

  other gear over his shoulder.

  “I trust the tarn gate is open,” I said.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Good,” I said.

  “Obviously I was in a hurry. He was doubtless accustomed to impatient guests. On

  the other hand he would presumably not suspect in how great a hurry I actually

  was.

  He then entered the cot, to ready the bird.

  I went about the shed and cot, and crossed the yard, moving between buildings. I

  wanted to make certain that the gate was indeed open. It was. It had not been

  opened to facilitate my departure, of course, but, as a matter of course, during

  the day, for the convenience of new arrivals. The two parts, or leaves, of the

  gate, within their supporting framework, of course, opened inward. They were now

  fastened back. In opening, they swung back across the landing platform, which

  was a foot or two above the level of the height of the palisade. An extension of

  this platform, retractable when the gate was closed, and probably braced with

  hinged, diagonal drop supports, would extend beyond the palisade. There was a

  ramp leading up to the platform on the inside, on the right. The leaves of the

  gate were very large, each being some thirty feet in height and some twenty-five

  feet in width. They were light, however, for their size, as they consist mostly

  of frames supporting wire. Whereas these dimensions permit ordinary saddle

  tarns, war tarns, and such, an entry in flight, the landing platform is

  generally used. It is always used, of course, by draft tarns carrying tarn

  baskets. The draft tarn makes a hovering landing. As s
oon as it senses the

  basket touch the ground it alights to one side. The sloping ramp, of (pg.120)

  course, makes it easy to take the tarn basket, on its leather runners, no longer

  harnessed to the tarn, down to the yard. It is also convenient for discharging

  passengers, handling baggage, and such.

  Not all tarn gates have this particular construction. In another common

  construction the two parts, or leaves, of the gate, within their supporting

  framework, lean back, at an angle of some twenty degrees. They are then slid

  back, in a frame, on rollers, each to its own side. This gives the effect of a

  door, opening to the sky. The structure supporting the gate, in such a case,

  with its beams, platforms, catwalks and mastlike timbers, is very sturdy. Narrow

  ladders, too, ascend it here and there, leading to its catwalks and platforms.

  Such a construction, of course, requires the more time-consuming, hovering

  landing of all birds, not simply draft tarns, carrying tarn baskets. It does,

  however, make the landing platform unnecessary. The construction of the Crooked

  Tarn, incidentally, was more typical of a military installation, in that it

  permitted the more rapid development and return of tarnsmen, coupled with the

  capacity to open and close the tarn gate in a matter of Ihn. The tarn gate’s

  construction here suggested that the Crooked Tarn might not always have served

  as an inn. Probably at one time or another, before the founding of Ar’s Station,

  it had served to garrison troops, perhaps concerned to monitor the more northern

  reaches of the Vosk Road. This was suggested, too, by its distance from the

  Vosk, which was approximately one hundred pasangs. The ordinary one-day march of

  the Gorean infantryman on a military road is thirty-five pasangs. The Crooked

  tarn, then, was almost exactly three days march from the river.

  I loosened my blade in my scabbard and returned to the vicinity of the tarncot.

  The tarn was ready.

  It was within the cot, tearing at a piece of meat, a haunch of tarsk, hung from

  a rope. The rope was some two inches thick. The suspension of the meat reminded

  me of the way peasant women sometimes cook roasts, tying them in a cord and

  dangling them before the fire, then spinning the meat from time to time. In this

  way, given the twisting and untwisting of the cord, the meat will cook rather

  evenly, for the most part untended, and without spit turning. The rope (pg.121)

  then, drawn tightly as it was, so tautly, so fiercely, toward the tarn,

  suddenly, a foot or so above the meat, snapped. The tarn then had the meat and

  the lower portion of the rope on the ground, the meat grasped in his talons,

  tearing it away from the bone.

  I spun suddenly about, the sword half drawn.

  The girl stopped, extremely frightened.

  She put her hand before her mouth, the back of her hand toward her face.

  She stepped back, faltering, frightened.

  She was slim, and extremely dark-haired, and very white-skinned. Her hair was

  drawn back behind her head and tied there with a yellow cord. Her breasts were

  bared. A black cord was knotted about her waist. Tucked over this cord in front

  was a long strip, some seven inches wide, of heavy, opaque, yellow cloth. It

  then passed under her body and was pulled up, snugly, and thrust over the cord

  in the back. The front and back ends of this cloth hung evenly, and fell about

  midway between her knees and ankles. the effect was much like that of the curla

  and charka, a portion of the garmenture, or livery, in which the wagon peoples

  of the south place most of their female slaves, save that the curla, the cord,

  was black and not red, and the chatka, the strip, was of cloth and yellow, not

  of black leather. She had nothing corresponding, of course, to the kalmak, or

  southern slave’s brief, open vest of black leather, and the cord binding her

  hair was quite different from the koora, the red band of cloth commonly used to

  confine the hair of the southern slave. In all then, since she wore cloth and

  not leather, and less than the southern slave, her appearance, if anything, was

  even more slavelike than hers.

  “Why are you not kneeling,’ I asked her, “and with your knees spread?” she was,

  after all, in the presence of a free man. Too, clad as she was, I assumed she

  must be a pleasure slave. Such kneel before men in the open-kneed position.

  She sank to her knees on the stone, and hastily spread them. The cloth looked

  well, fallen between her thighs, on the damp stone.

  I looked upon her.

  She was now in a position of subservience and respect, suitable for a woman

  before a man.

  (pg.122) I replaced the blade in the sheath.

  She looked up at me, frightened.

  I regarded her.

  She had a beautiful face, exquisitely and sensitively feminine.

  She lowered her eyes before my gaze.

  She was slimly beautiful.

  I regarded her garbing. It did afford her a nether closure, but it was, at

  least, a precarious one. In compensation it well bared her thighs.

  “Are you frightened?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  It seemed to me, interestingly enough, if I did not misread the matter, that she

  was extremely sensitive to, and timid concerning, the revealing nature of her

  garbing. I had the feeling, based on certain expressions and tiny movements,

  that she more than once resisted the impulse to huddle before me, her head down,

  covering herself with her hands. But she remained much as she was. Indeed, she

  even straightened herself, and lifted her body before me, timidly, as if for my

  consideration.

  “What is wrong?” I asked.

  It seemed she wanted to speak, but lacked the courage to do so.

  “What is that in your hand?” I asked. She had something clutched in her right

  hand.

  She opened her hand, holding it out a little, that I might see what she held.

  There, in the palm of her right hand, was a small sack, bulging, seemingly

  weighty for its size, from the look of it, a sack of coins. It was leather. It

  had strings.

  “Move your hand,” I said.

  She did so.

  “I see now why you were so frightened,” I said. “You have stolen a sack of

  coins.”

  “No, no!” she said.

  “Many masters,” I said, “do not permit a slave to so much as touch money. To be

  sure, they might let her carry coins in an errand capsule, or an errand sack,

  tied about her neck, instructions to a vendor perhaps also contained within it,

  her hands braceleted behind her.”

  She looked up, frightened.

  “And few masters, indeed, I assure you,” I said, “even if (pg.123) so lenient as

  to let her venture to a market with a coin or two in her mouth, on a specific

  errand, would permit her to scamper about with a trove such as that which now

  seems to be in your keeping.”

  “You do not understand,’ she said.

  “Kneel more straightly,” I said.

  She complied. I viewed her. I wondered what her master had paid for her.

  Probably a good
ly price. She was worth such.

  “How did you expect to escape the palisade?” I asked.

  She looked at me, agonized.

  “Were you approaching me, intentionally?’ I asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “It was your intention, I gather,” I said, “to attempt to bribe me, that I might

  abet your escape.”

  Tears sprang into her eyes.

  “But do you think I would do other then to carry you into my own chains?”

  She trembled. She clutched the tiny sack.

  “You have been caught,” I said. “You are a caught slave. I will now turn you

  over to an attendant, for binding and holding, pending what punishments your

  master might see fit to visit upon you.”

  “You do not understand,” she whispered.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “The coins are mine,” she said.

  “Surely you are an inn girl,” I said, “though your collar is now off.

  “I do not have a collar,’ she said.

  “That is surely an incredible oversight on the part of your master,” I said.

  “I do not have a master,’ she whispered.

  I looked at her, puzzled, such a woman.

  “Am I truly pretty enough to be an inn girl?’ she said.

  “Of course,” I said, “and a superb one.”

  She looked up at me, elatedly, gratefully,

  “Who is your master?” I asked.

  “I do not have a master,” she repeated.

  “Do you seek to compound your crime with deceit,” I said.

  (pg.124) “I am not a slave,” she whispered. “I am a free woman. Oh!”

  I had seized her, half lifted her, and turned her from side to side, examining

  her slim, attractive thighs for the tiny brand which would confirm the matter.

  The most common brand sites, that on the left thigh, the favorite, and that on

  the right thigh, lacked slave marks. This determination, given the nature of her

  garmenture, could be instantly made. I then put her on her feet. “Oh!’ she said.

  She was not branded on the lower left abdomen. That is perhaps the third most

  favored brand site. I then checked several other brand sites, such as the

  insides of the forearms, the left side of the neck, behind and below the left