Hunters of Gor coc-8

by John Norman

  He stood before us, without his chains. He rubbed his wrists. He looked at me, wonderingly.

  “I am Bosk,” I told him, “of the house of Bosk, of Port Kar. You are free. You may now come and go as your wish. In the morning, from the house of Bosk, in the far city, bordering the delta, I shall leave for the northern forests. If it pleases you, wait upon me there, near the great canal gate.” “Yes,” Captain,” said he.

  “Samos,” said I, “may I request the hospitality of your house for this man?” Samos nodded.

  “He will require food, clothing, what weapons he chooses, a room, drink.” I looked at the man, and smiled. The stink of the pens was still upon him. “And, too, I suggest,” said I, “a warm bath, and suitable oils.” I turned to the man.

  “What is your name?” I asked him. He now had a name, for he was free. “Rim,” he said proudly.

  I did not ask him his city, for he was outlaw. Outlaws do not care to reveal their city.

  He slave girl had now stepped back two or three more paces, edging away. She was frightened.

  “Stay!” I said to her sharply. She cowered.

  She was very beautiful in the bit of slave silk. I noted the bells locked on her left ankle. She was slender, dark-haired, dark-eyed. Her eyes were wide. She had exciting legs, well revealed by the slave-height of her brief silk. “What do you want for her?” I asked Samos.

  He shrugged. “Four pieces of gold,” he said.

  “I will buy here,” I said. I placed four pieces of gild in Samos’ hand. She looked at me, terrified.

  One of the guards fetched Rim a tunic, and he drew it on his body. He belted the broad belt, with its large buckle. He shook his shaggy black hair.

  He looked at the girl.

  She looked at me, her eyes pleading.

  My eyes were hard, and Gorean. She shook her head, trembling.

  I gestured with my head towards Rim. “You are his,” I told her.

  “No! No!” she cried and threw herself to my feet, weeping, her head to my sandals. “Please, Master! Please, Master!” When she looked up, she saw my eyes, and read in them the inflexibility of a Gorean male.

  Her lower lip trembled. She put her head down.

  “What is her name?” I asked Samos.

  “She will take whatever name I give her,” said Rim.

  She whimpered with anguish, bereft of a name. The Gorean slave, in the eyes of Gorean law, is an animal, with no legal title to a name.

  “In what room shall we lodge this man?” asked one of the two helmeted guards. “Take him,” said Samos, “to one of the large rooms, well appointed, in which we lodge slavers of high rank, of distant cities.” “The Torian room?” asked the guard.

  Samos nodded. Tor is an opulent city of the desert, well known for its splendors, its comforts and pleasures.

  Rim lifted the girl to the feet by the hair, twisting her head and bending her body. “Go to the Torian room,” he said, “and prepare me a bath, and foods and wines, and gather together whatever you might need, bells and cosmetics, and such, to please my senses.” “Yes, Master,” said the girl.

  He twisted her hair more. She winced, her back bent painfully. “Do you wish me to submit to you now?” she begged.

  “Do so,” said he.

  She fell to her knees before him, and lifted her head to regard him. “I will be your slave,” she said. Then, she knelt back on her heels, lowered her head, and lifted and extended her arms, wrists crossed, as though for binding. She was very beautiful. “I am your slave,” she said, “ — Master.” “Hasten to the Torian room,” said Rim, “In its privacy, I will have use for my slave.” “May I not beg a name?” she asked.

  He looked at her. “Cara,” he said.

  She had been named.

  “Go, Cara,” said he.

  “Yes,” she whispered, “Master.” She leaped to her feet and, weeping, fled from the room.

  “Captain,” said Rim, regarding me. “I thank you for the wench.”

  I nodded my head.

  “And no, noble Samos,” said Rim, boldly, “I would appreciate the arousal of one in your employ, a metal worker, to remove this collar.” Samos nodded.

  “Further,” said Rim, “I would appreciate your sending me the key to Lady Cara’s collar, that I may remove it, and providing another.” “Very well,” said Samos. “How shall it be inscribed?” “Let is say,” suggested Rim, “I am the slave Cara. I belong to Rim, the Outlaw.” “Very well,” said Samos.

  “And, too,” said Rim, “prior to my retiring to the Torian room, I would appreciate a sword, with sheath, a knife, and a bow, the great bow, with arrows.” Rim wished to be armed.

  “Were you once of the warriors?” I inquired.

  He smiled at me. “Perhaps,” he said.

  I tossed him the pouch of gold, from which I had drawn the coins to purchase his freedom, and the arrogant, slender, red-silked girl for him, to be his slave. He caught the purse, and smiled, and threw it to Samos, who caught it. He turned away. “Lead me to your armory,” said he, to one of the guards. “I require weapons.” He left, following the guards, not looking back.

  Samos weighed the gold in his hand. “He pays well for his lodging,” said Samos. I shrugged. “Generosity,” I said, “is the prerogative of the free man.” Gold had been nothing to Rim. I suspected then, he might once have been of the warriors.

  The torches burned.

  Samos and I looked down upon the board, with its hundred squares of red and yellow, the weighted, carved pieces.

  “Ubar to Ubar Nine,” said Samos. He looked at me.

  I had planned well. “Ubar to Ubar Two,” I said, and turned, robes swirling, and strode to the portal, whence I might leave the hall.

  At the broad, bronze-linteled portal I turned.

  Samos stood behind the board. He looked up at me, and spread his hands. “The game is yours,” he said.

  I regarded him.

  “You will not reconsider?” he asked.

  “No,” I told him.

  2 I Gather Information

  “There!” said Rim, pointing off the starboard bow. ”High on the beach!” His slave, Cara, in a brief woolen tunic, one-piece, woven of the wool of the Hurt, sleeveless, barefoot on the deck, graced by his collar, stood behind him and to his left.

  I shaded my eyes. “Glass of the Builders,” I said.

  Thurnock, of the Peasants, standing by me, handed me the glass.

  I opened it, and surveyed the beach.

  High on the beach, I saw two pairs of sloping beams. They were high, large and heavy structures. The feet of the beams were planted widely, deeply, in the sand; at the top, where they sloped together, they had been joined and pegged. They were rather like the English letter “A”, though lacking the crossbar. Within each “A”, her wrists bound by wrapped and taut leather to heavy rings set in the sloping sides, there hung a girl, her full weight on her wrists. Each were panther girls, captured. Their heads were down, their blond hair falling forward. Their ankles had been tied rather widely apart, each fastened by leather to iron rings further down the beams.

  It was an exchange point.

  It is thus that outlaws, to passing ships, display their wares.

  We were fifty pasangs north of Lydius, which port lies at the mouth of the Laurius River. Far above the beach we could see the green margins of the great northern forests.

  They were very beautiful.

  “Heave to,” said I to Thurnock.

  “Heave to!” cried he to my men.

  Men scrambled on the long yard of the lateen-rigged light galley, a small, swift ram-ship of Port Kar. Others, on the deck, hauled on the long brail ropes. Slowly, billow by billow, the sails were furled. We would not remove them from the yard. The yard itself was then swung about, parallel to the ship and, foot by foot, lowered. We did not lower the mast. It remained deep in its placement blocks. We were not intending battle. The oars were now inboard, and the galley, of its own accord, swung into the w
ind.

  “There is a man on the beach,” I said.

  He had his hand lifted. He, too, wore skins. His hair was long and shaggy. There was a steel sword at his side.

  I handed the glass of the Builders to Rim, who stood by the rail at my side. He grinned. “I know him,” he said, “He is Arn.” “Of what city?” I asked.

  “Of the forests,” said Rim.

  I laughed.

  Rim, too, laughed.

  Only too obviously the man was outlaw.

  Now, behind him, similarly clad in skins, their hair bound back with tawny strips of panther hide, were four or five other men, men doubtless of his band. Some carried bows, two carried spears.

  The man whom Rim had identified as Arn, an Outlaw, now came forward, passing before the two frames, closer down to the beach’s edge.

  He made the universal gesture for trading, gesturing as though he were taking something from us, and then giving us something in return.

  One of the girls in the frame lifted her head, and, miserable, surveyed our ship, off shore, on the green waters of Thassa.

  Cara looked at the girls tied helpless in the frames, and at the man coming down to the shore, and at the others, high on the beach, behind him, behind the frames.

  “Men are beasts,” she said. “I hate them!”

  I returned the trading gesture, and the man on the shore lifted his arms, acknowledging my sign, and turned back.

  Cara’s fists were clenched. There were tears in her eyes.

  “If it pleases you, Rim,” I said, “your slave might, from the sand in the lower hold, fetch wine.” Rim, the Outlaw, grinned.

  He looked upon Cara. “Fetch wine,” he told her.

  “Yes, Master,” she said, and turned away.

  This galley, one of my swiftest, the Tesephone of Port Kar, had forty oars, twenty to a side. She was single ruddered, the rudder hung on the starboard side. Like others of her class, she is of quite shallow draft. Her first hold is scarcely a yard in height. Such ships are not meant for cargo, lest it be treasure or choice slaves. They are commonly used for patrols and swift communication. The oarsmen, as in most Gorean war galleys, are free men. Slaves serve commonly only in cargo galleys. The oarsmen sit their thwarts on the first deck, exposed to the weather. Most living, and cooking, takes place here. In foul weather, if there is not high wind, or in excessive heat, a canvas covering, on poles, is sometimes spread over the thwarts. This provides some shelter to the oarsmen. It is not pleasant to sleep below decks, as there is little ventilation. The “lower hold” is not actually a hold at all, even of the cramped sort of the first hold. It is really only the space between the keel and the deck of the first hold. It is approximately an eighteen-inch crawl space, unlit and cold, and damp. This crawl space, further, in its center, rather amidships and toward the stern, contains the sump, or bilge. In it the water which is inevitably shipped between the calked, tarred, expanding, contracting, sea-buffeted wooden planking, is gathered. It is commonly foul, and briny. The bilge is pumped once a day in calm weather; twice, or more, if the sea is heavy. The Tesephone, like almost all galleys, is ballasted with sand, kept in the lower hold. If she carries much cargo in the first hold, forcing her lower in the water, sand may be discarded. Such galleys normally function optimally with a freeboard area of three to five feet. Sand may be added or removed, to effect the optimum conditions for either stability or speed. Without adequate ballast, of course, the ship is at the mercy of the sea. The sand in the lower hold is usually quite cool, and, buried in it, are commonly certain perishables, such as eggs, and bottled wines.

  “Bring us in,” I said to Thurnock. “But do not beach her.” Gorean galleys, with their shallow draft, are often beached. Night camps are frequently made on land. I had no desire, in this instance, to beach the galley. I wanted her free, some yards offshore. With the men at the oars, ready, and others with the thrusting poles, she might be swiftly sped, if need should arise, at a word, into deeper waters.

  Thurnock cried his orders.

  The wooden tarn head, surmounting the prow of the Tesephone, with its large, carved, painted eyes, turned slowly toward the beach.

  The two captured panther girls had now been removed from their frames. I removed the robes of the captain, and stripped to my tunic. In my hand I held my sword, n its sheath, the sword belt wrapped about the sheath.

  Rim similarly prepared himself.

  Cara not stood again beside us. She looked slightly ill, for she had been in the lower hold, but the air would revive her. There was a great deal of wet sand on her knees and lower legs, and on her hands, and up to her elbows. There was also sand on her brief, white woolen slave tunic.

  She carried two large bottles of wine, red Ka-la-na, from the vineyards of Ar. “Fetch, too,” said Rain, “a sack of cups.” “Yes, Master,” she said.

  Her hair was bound back with a white woolen fillet. She was beautiful, his slave.

  “Oars inboard!” called Thurnock. “Poles!”

  We were a few yards offshore. I heard the forty oars slide inboard. I saw two seamen, one on the starboard bow, the other on the port bow, hunch their weight into the two, long, black temwood poles, which curved with the stress set upon them.

  The Tesephone hesitated, backed a foot, and then, gently, rocked.

  Two further poles were set at the stern, that the lapping tide, seeking its beach, not turn her about.

  Another yard and we would have heard soft sand rub beneath her keel. Thurnock had done well.

  The tarn head at the prow, slightly rocking, scarcely moving, surveyed the beach.

  The Tesephone rested.

  I swung over the side, holding my sword, in its sheath, with the sword belt wrapped about the sheath, over my head.

  The water was very cold. It came to my waist.

  Another splash behind me informed me that Rim had followed me.

  I waded toward the shore.

  I glanced back to see Thurnock lowering Cara over the side, with the wine and sack of cups, into the waiting arms of her master, Rim.

  He did not carry her, but set her on her feet in the water, and then turned after me.

  Thurnock had tied the two bottles of wine about her neck, that it might be easier for her, and she held the sack of cups over her head, that they might not be washed with sea water. It was thus that she made her way to shore. I felt the sand of the beach, beneath my feet. I now slung the sword over my left shoulder, in the Gorean fashion.

  I climbed some yards up the beach.

  The sand was hot.

  The outlaws, I saw now there were six of them, including the leader, Arn, came down to meet us, bringing the girls.

  They still wore the skins of panther girls. Their wrists had been lashed behind their backs. They were fastened together with a thick, twice-drilled branch, of some five feet in length. It had been placed behind their necks. Each girl was fastened to it by the throat, by binding fiber, the fiber passing through one of the drilled holes, each placed about six inches in from its end of the branch. Arn’s strong hand, gripping the branch in its center, controlled both girls. We met some yards up the beach, on the hot sand.

  Arn, with the branch, forced both girls to their knees. He them put his foot on the branch, forcing their heads down to the sand. When he removed his foot, they remained as he had placed them.

  “Rim!” laughed Arn. “I see that you had fallen to women!” He laughed. Rim had not chosen to wear a cap, or headgear of any kind, even a helmet, to conceal his shame. The hair was now better grown, but it was clear now, and it would remain clear, for some weeks, what had once been done to him. Rim, and I admired him for this, had not chosen to deny the shame that had been placed upon him.

  “Shall we discuss the matter with the sword?” he asked Arn.

  “No!” laughed Arn. “There are more important matters to discuss!”

  We sat down cross-legged in the sand, Cara kneeling to one side.

  “Wine,” said Rim.

/>   Immediately the slave girl prepared to serve us.

  “What is the news?” asked Arn.

  “We have been abroad on Thassa,” said Rim. “We are but ignorant seamen.” “But four days ago,” said Arn, “in the guise of a peddler, I was in Lydius.” “Did your trade go well?” inquired Rim.

  “I managed to exchange the threat of steel for some paltry baubles of gold,” said Arn.

  “Times are good,” said Rim.

  Cara knelt beside Rim, and poured wine into his cup. He took it, without noticing her.

  She similarly served the others, then went to one side, where she knelt. “But I met, in a tavern,” said Arn, “a brief-tunicked girl. Though free, small, black-haired, named Tina, with a notched ear.” Some free girls, without family, keep themselves, as best they can, in certain port cities. That her ear had been notched indicated that, by a magistrate, she had been found thief. Ear notching is the first penalty for a convicted thief in most Gorean cities, whether male or female. The second offense, by a male, is punished with removal of the left hand, the third offense by the removal of the right. The penalty for a woman, for her second offense, if she is convicted, is to be reduced to slavery.

  “She,” Arn continued, “smelling my gold, and pretending it irresistible desire, begged to serve me in an alcove.” Rim laughed.

  “The drink she gave me,” said Arn, smiling, “was well drugged. I awakened at dawn, with a great headache. My purse was gone.” “Times are hard,” said Rim.

  “I complained to a magistrate,” said Arn, laughing, “but, unfortunately, there was on present who well recalled me, one with whom I had had prior dealings.” He slapped his knee. “Soldiers were set upon me, and over the roofs and into the forests, I barely escaped.” “Times are indeed hard,” said Rim.

  “True,” said Arn.

  He held out his cup to Cara, and she hastened to him, to refill his cup. She, too, filled again the cups of the others. When she had finished, Rim indicated with his head that she should kneel at his side, and behind him. She did so, still with the wine.

  “Well,” said Arn, “I gather that you have come to do some trading with us.” He looked at me.