Assassin of Gor

by Norman, John;

  The demands of Cernus for repayment of moneys owed to him by the Hinrabians became increasingly persistent and unavoidable. Claiming need, he was implacable. The citizens of Ar, generally, found it distasteful that the private fortunes of the Hinrabians should be in such poor state. Then, as I would have expected, within the month, there were rumors of peculation, and an accounting and investigation, theoretically to clear the name of the Hinrabian, was demanded by one of the High Council, a Physician whom I had seen upon occasion in the house. The Scribes of the Central Cylinder examined the records and, to their horror, discrepancies were revealed, in particular payments to members of the Hinrabian family for services it was not clear had ever been performed; most outstandingly there had been a considerable disbursement for the construction of four bastions and tarncots for the flying cavalry of Ar, her tarnsmen; the military men of Ar had waited patiently for these cylinders and were now outraged to discover that the moneys had actually been disbursed, and had apparently disappeared; the parties, presumably of the Builders, to which the disbursements had been made were found to be fictitious. Further, at this time, the Odds Merchants of the Stadium of Tarns made it known that the Administrator was heavily in debt, and they, not to be left out, demanded their dues.

  It seemed almost to be a foregone conclusion that Minus Tentius Hinrabius would surrender the brown robes of office. He did so late in spring, on the sixteenth day of the third month, that month which in Ar is called Camerius, in Ko-ro-ba Selnar. The day before he surrendered his robes the High Initiate, reading the liver of a sacrificial bosk, had confirmed what all by then were anticipating, that the omens stood strongly against the Hinrabian dynasty.

  The High Council receiving the promise of Minus Tentius Hinrabius to depart from the city, did not inflict officially the penalty of exile. He, with his family and retainers, left the city on the seventeenth day of Camerius. By the end of that month the other Hinrabians of Ar, in the face of widespread public anger, hastily liquidated their assets at considerable loss and fled from the walls of Ar, joining Minus Tentius Hinrabius some pasangs beyond the city. Then, together, the Hinrabians, with an armed retinue, set forth in caravan for Tor, envoys of which city had granted their petition for refuge. Unfortunately the caravan, not more than two hundred pasangs from the Great Gate of Ar, was attacked and plundered by a large armed force, but of unknown origin. Strangely, with perhaps one exception, each of the Hinrabians had had his throat cut, even the women; this was unusual, for the women of a captive caravan, regarded as portions of its booty, are almost always enslaved; the one Hinrabian whose body was not found among the dead, scattered on the plains and among the burning remains of the wagons, was, interestingly, Claudia Tentia Hinrabia.

  On the twentieth day of Camerius the great signal bars suspended about the walls of the city rang out the enthronement of a Ubar of Ar. Cernus had been proclaimed, as the Taurentians lifted their swords in salute and the members of the High Council had stood on the tiers of the Council Chamber and cried out and applauded, Ubar of Ar. Processions took place on the bridges; there were tournaments of the game organized; poets and historians vied in praising the day, each more ecstatically than the last; but, perhaps most importantly, holiday was declared, and great games and races were sponsored without cessation for the next several days, extending even through the Third Passage Hand.

  I saw more in this, of course, than the work of Cernus. I saw in his elevation a portion of the plan of Others being unfolded; with one of their own on the throne of Ar, they would have a remarkable base in Ar for the advancement of their schemes, in particular the influencing of men, the recruitment of partisans in their cause; as Misk had pointed out, a human being, armed with a significant weapon, can be extremely dangerous, even to a Priest-King.

  There was one point, however, in this strange summer which seemed to give me clear and adequate reason to rejoice. Elizabeth, with Virginia and Phyllis, would be extricated from the house and carried to safety. Caprus, who had become more affable, and apparently somewhat bolder, following the enthronement of Cernus, perhaps because Cernus was less often then in the House, informed me that he had made contact with an agent of Priest-Kings. The girls, even though I had not yet received the documents and maps, would be rescued.

  His plan was a simple one, but ingenious. The plan was to arrange to have the girls purchased by an agent of Priest-Kings on the Love Feast, which began tomorrow, an agent who would have the resources to outbid any conceivable competition. They would then be as naturally and neatly removed from the House as Elizabeth had originally been introduced into it. It was true that Elizabeth was no longer needed in the House, nor had she been for a long time; Caprus had located the important materials and was copying them; I was needed, of course, to take the documents and Caprus from the house. Elizabeth, predictably, did not care to leave without me, but she recognized the plan as a good one; if she could be independently removed from the House there would be less for Caprus and me to worry about; further, she naturally wished Virginia and Phyllis to have the same opportunity for freedom as she had for herself, an opportunity they might not be likely to obtain elsewhere; further, of course, she recognized that it might well be complex and difficult for me to attempt to convey the documents, Caprus, herself and myself, and two others as well, from the house.

  All things considered, Caprus’ plan seemed not only suitable, but ideal. Neither Elizabeth nor I, of course, said anything to Virginia or Phyllis. The fewer people who knew of the plan the better. Surely, if kept in ignorance, their behavior would be more natural. Let them think that they were to be sold from the block. It would be a fine surprise for them later to discover that they were actually being whisked to safety and freedom. I chuckled. I was further cheered by the thought that Caprus had informed me his work was coming along very well and he hoped to have the documents and maps copied by the beginning of Se’Kara; I gathered that now with Cernus spending much of his time in the Central Cylinder as Ubar, Caprus’ opportunities for work had been substantially increased. Se’Kara was, of course, a long wait. Still it was better than nothing. Other dates he had set similarly, I reminded myself, had not turned out. But still I was pleased. Elizabeth, with Virginia and Phyllis, would be rescued. And Caprus seemed in a good humor; that perhaps was significant, betokening an end in sight for my mission. In thinking about this I realized what a brave man Caprus was, and how little I had respected his courage and his work. He had risked much, probably much more than I. I felt ashamed. He was only a Scribe, and yet what he had done had taken great courage, probably more courage than that possessed by many Warriors.

  I found myself whistling. Things were working out. I regretted only that I had not yet learned who it was that had slain the Warrior from Thentis.

  * * * *

  Cernus, upon occasion, though Ubar of Ar, would return to sit table in his own house, where, as he had invariably done before, he would play with Caprus, losing himself in the movements of the red and yellow pieces on the large board of red and yellow squares.

  This was the evening of Kajuralia.

  There was much hilarity in the hall of the House of Cernus, and, though it was early in the evening, paga and full-strength Ka-la-na were flowing.

  Ho-Tu threw down his spoon in disgust, grinning at me wryly.

  His gruel had been salted to the point of being inedible; he stared disgustedly down at the wet mash of porridge and salt.

  “Kajuralia, Master,” said Elizabeth Cardwell to Ho-Tu, smiling sweetly, as she passed by with a pitcher of Ka-la-na. Ho-Tu seized her by the wrist.

  “What is wrong, Master?” inquired Elizabeth innocently.

  “If I thought it was you,” growled Ho-Tu, “who dared to salt my porridge, you would spend the night sitting on a slave goad.”

  “I would never think of such a thing,” protested Elizabeth, wide-eyed.

  Ho-Tu grunted. Then he grinned. “Kajuralia, Little Wench,” said he.

  Elizabeth smiled. “Kaj
uralia, Master,” said she, and turning quickly about, still smiling, went on with her work.

  “Little pock-face,” called Relius. “I would be served!”

  Virginia Kent, with her pitcher of Ka-la-na, ran light-footedly to Relius, guard in the House of Cernus.

  “Let Lana serve Relius wine,” said another girl, a Red Silk Girl, first to the guard, leaning toward him, lips parted.

  Relius put out his cup but before the girl could pour the wine she seemed suddenly to fly off the back of the dais, the seat of her tunic firmly grasped in the small hand of Virginia Kent. Lana landed with a considerable bump on the stones of the hall, the wine flying backward.

  “Relius guards Virginia,” the young slave girl from Earth informed collared Red Silk Lana.

  Lana scrambled to her feet, angry, her pitcher of wine set aside on the wet, red stones. The two girls stood facing one another.

  “I wear the leash of Relius,” said Virginia. “I wear his bracelets!”

  Lana looked at Relius. “Leash Lana,” she said. “Lana is Red Silk.” She extended her wrists provocatively to Relius. “Put your bracelets on Lana. She is Red Silk. She will serve you better than a silly little White Silker.”

  “No!” cried Virginia.

  Lana turned and faced her contemptuously. “Why should you,” she asked, “wear the leash of a man such as Relius?”

  “He has chosen to guard me,” said Virginia.

  Lana turned and looked at Relius. “Guard Lana,” she said.

  At this point Virginia Kent put down her pitcher of wine, seized Lana by the shoulder, spun her about and struck her a rather severe blow near the left eye. Several of the men and girls at and about the tables approvingly observed the two girls rolling and scratching, biting and tearing on the floor, first White Silk on top, and then Red Silk, and then White Silk again. At last Virginia Kent, to the cheers of several of those present, sat atop Lana and was pummeling her mercilessly, until Lana, throwing up her arms and shrieking, crying out, begged for mercy.

  “Who wears the leash of Relius?” demanded Virginia.

  “Ginia!” screamed Lana.

  “And who his bracelets?”

  “Ginia!”

  “And who does Relius guard?”

  “Ginia! Ginia!” wept Lana, trying to cover her face. “Ginia!”

  Then Virginia Kent, breathing hard, climbed to her feet.

  Lana scrambled up and stood some feet from her, tears in her eyes. “You will be sold tomorrow!” cried Lana. “Then Relius will guard another!” Then the girl looked at Relius. “I hope it will be Lana who will wear the leash of Relius,” she said, and then, as Virginia Kent cried out and leaped toward her, Lana turned about and sped as though for her life from the room.

  “It seems I am not going to be served,” said Relius, as though rather bored with the whole matter.

  Virginia Kent straightened herself, bent down and picked up her pitcher of Ka-la-na, smiled shyly, and approached her guard.

  He put forth his goblet but, suddenly, unexpectedly, she drew back the pitcher.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he cried.

  “Kajuralia!” she laughed.

  “Will you not serve me?” asked Relius in anger.

  Virginia Kent, to my amazement, put aside the pitcher of wine.

  “I would serve you,” she said, and put her hands behind his neck and suddenly pressed her lips, to the delight of those present, boldly to his.

  “Kajuralia,” she whispered.

  “Kajuralia,” mumbled he, closing his arms upon her, devouring her.

  But when he permitted her to draw back her lips there were tears in her eyes.

  “What is wrong, little pock-face?” asked Relius.

  “Tomorrow,” she said, “I will be sold.”

  “Perhaps you will find a kind master, Little Slave,” said Relius.

  The girl put her head to his shoulder and wept. “I do not want Virginia to be sold,” she wept, “unless it be Relius who will buy her.”

  “Do you wish truly to be my slave, little pock-face?” asked Relius.

  “Yes,” wept Virginia, “yes!”

  “I cannot afford you,” said Relius, holding her head against him.

  I turned away.

  Near the pit of sand several slave girls, dancers, in Pleasure Silk were kneeling back on their heels and clapping their hands with glee. In the pit of sand one of the guards, utterly drunk, was performing a ship dance, the movement of his legs marvelously suggesting the pitch and roll of a deck, his hands moving as though climbing rope, then hauling rope, then splicing and knotting it. I knew he had been of Port Kar. He was a cutthroat but there were drunken tears in his eyes as he hopped about, pantomiming the work of one of the swift galleys. It is said that men once having seen Thassa are never willing to leave it again, that those who have left the sea are never again truly happy. A moment later another guard leaped into the pit of sand and, to the amusement of the girls, began a dance of larl hunters, joined by two or three others, in a file, dancing the stalking of the beast, the confrontation, the kill.

  The man who had been dancing the ship dance had now left the pit of sand and, over against one wall, in the shadows of the torchlight, largely unnoted, danced alone, danced for himself the memories of gleaming Thassa and the swift black ships, the Tarns of the Sea, as the galleys of Port Kar are known.

  “Serve me wine,” Ho-Sorl ordered Phyllis Robertson, though she was far across the room, and there were several girls nearer. This was not unusual, however, for Ho-Sorl invariably demanded that the proud Phyllis, who professed to despise him, serve him as table slave, which service she would ultimately, irritably, head in the air, have to render him, whether it be merely the pouring of his wine or the offering of a grape held delicately between her teeth.

  I heard Caprus say, as though marveling, “I shall capture your Home Stone in three moves!”

  Cernus grinned and clapped his hands on the Scribe’s shoulders.

  “Kajuralia!” he laughed. “Kajuralia!”

  “Kajuralia,” mumbled Caprus, rather depressed, making the first essential move, but now without zest.

  “What is this?” cried Ho-Sorl.

  “It is bosk milk,” Phyllis informed him. “It is good for you.”

  Ho-Sorl cried out in rage.

  “Kajuralia,” said Phyllis, and turned and moved away, with a triumphant twitch that might have shocked even Sura.

  Ho-Sorl bounded over the table and caught her four paces from the dais, spilling the milk about. He threw her bodily over his shoulder, her small fists pounding on his back, and carried her to Ho-Tu’s place.

  “I will pay,” said Ho-Sorl, “the difference between what she will bring as Red Silk and White Silk.”

  Phyllis shrieked in fear, wiggling on his shoulder, pounding.

  Ho-Tu apparently gave the matter very serious thought.

  “Don’t you want to be Red Silk?” he asked Phyllis, who, from her position, could not see him.

  “No, no, no!” she cried.

  “By tomorrow night,” pointed out Ho-Sorl, neatly, “she may be Red Silk anyway.”

  “No, no!” wept Phyllis.

  “Where would you make her Red Silk?” asked Ho-Tu.

  “The pit of sand will do,” said Ho-Sorl.

  Phyllis shrieked with misery.

  “Would you not like Ho-Sorl to make you Red Silk?” asked Ho-Tu of Phyllis.

  “I detest him!” she screamed. “I hate him! I hate him! I hate him!”

  “I wager,” said Ho-Sorl, “I can have her leaping to my touch in a quarter of an Ahn.”

  That seemed to me like not much time.

  “An interesting wager,” mused Ho-Tu.

  Phyllis shrieked for mercy.

  “Put her in the sand,” said Ho-Tu.

  Ho-Sorl carried the struggling Phyllis Robertson to the square of sand, and flung her to his feet. He then stood over her, hands on hips. She could roll neither to the left nor right.
She lay on her back between his sandals, one knee slightly raised, as though she would flee, and lifted herself on her elbows, terrified, looking up at him. He laughed and she screamed and tried to escape but he took her by the hair and, crouching over her, pressed her back weeping to the sand.

  His hand moved to the disrobing loop and she shuddered, turning her head away.

  But instead of tugging on the loop, he simply, holding her under the arms, lifted her up, and then dropped her on her seat in the sand, where she sat foolishly, bewildered, looking up at him.

  “Kajuralia!” laughed Ho-Sorl and turned, and, to the laughter of all, returned to his place at the table.

  Ho-Tu was laughing perhaps the loudest of all, pounding the table with his fists. Even Cernus looked up from his game and smiled.

  Phyllis had now struggled to her feet, blushing a red visible even under the torches, and, unsteady, trembling slightly, was trying to brush the sand from her hair, her legs and her slave livery.

  “Don’t look so disappointed,” said a Red Silk Girl passing near her, carrying Ka-la-na.