by John Norman
But Msaliti’s plan had not succeeded.
“Kill him,” said Msaliti, pointing to me.
Two askaris drew back the short stabbing spears to drive them into my chest.
“No,” said Bila Huruma.
They lowered the stabbing spears.
“Do you speak the Ushindi speech?” asked Bila Huruma of me.
“Only a little,” I said. Ayari, with whom I had shared the rogues’ chain in the canal, had been generous in his help. We both knew Gorean and so I had made rapid progress with the lexicon. The grammar, of course, was much more difficult. I spoke the inland speech very poorly, but, as would be expected, thanks to Ayari, I could follow a reasonable amount of what was going on.
“Who hired you?” asked Bila Huruma.
“No one hired me,” I said. “I did not know this was your chamber.”
One by one, slowly, almost tenderly, on their strings, Bila Huruma lifted the tiny osts from the floor of the pit and placed them, one by one, in the basket near the foot of the sleeping platform.
“Are you of that caste called assassins?” he asked.
“No,” I said.
He held the last of the osts on its string, suspended, about five feet from the floor of the pit.
“Bring him near,” he said.
I was dragged to the edge of the pit. Bila Huruma extended his arm. I saw the small ost, red with its black stripes, on its string, near my face. Its tiny forked tongue slipped rapidly back and forth between the tiny jaws.
“Do you like my pet?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “I do not.”
The snake twisted on the string.
“Who hired you?” he asked.
“No one hired me,” I said. “I did not know this was your chamber.”
“You do not know, probably, who it was who truly hired you,” he said. “Doubtless they would not do so, openly.”
“He is white,” said a man nearby. “Only those in Schendi might hire such a killer. They are familiar with the sleen of the north.”
“Perhaps,” said Bila Huruma.
I now saw the snake lifted until it was level with my eyes. “Is Jambia, who was my guard, known to you?” asked Bila Huruma.
“No,” I said.
“Why did you wish to kill me?” asked Bila Huruma.
“I had no wish to kill you,” I said.
“Why were you here?” he asked.
“I came to find something of value,” I said.
“Ah,” said Bila Huruma. Then he spoke rapidly to an askari. I could not follow what he said then.
Bila Huruma took the tiny snake and then, carefully, placed it in the hanging basket. He then placed the lid on the basket. I breathed more easily.
Suddenly a necklace of gold, heavy, with solid links, was looped about my neck. It had been taken from a coffer to one side.
“You were a guest in my house,” he said. “If you wished something of value you should have asked for it. I would then have given it to you.”
“My thanks, Ubar,” I said.
‘Then, if I thought you should not have asked for it,” he said, “I would have had you killed.”
“I see,” I said.
“But I give you this freely,” he said. “It is yours. If you are an assassin, take it in lieu of the pay which you would not otherwise receive. If you are, as I suspect, a simple thief, take it as a token of my admiration of your boldness, for it must have taken courage to enter the chamber of a Ubar.”
“I did not even know this was your chamber,” I said.
“Keep it then as a memento of our meeting,” he said.
“My thanks, Ubar,” I said.
“Wear it in the canal,” he said. “Take him away.”
Two askaris turned me about and thrust me toward the door. At the door I stopped, startling the askaris. I turned about, dragging them with me, to again face Bila Huruma.
Our eyes met.
I then, truly, for the first time looked into the eyes of Bila Huruma.
He sat upon the high platform, above the others, solitary and isolated, the necklace of panther teeth about his neck, the lamps below him.
I sensed then, for a moment, what it must be to be a Ubar. It was then, in that instant, that I first truly saw him, as he was, and as he must be. I looked the. on loneliness and decision, and power. The Ubar must contain within himself dark strengths. He must be capable of doing, as many men are not, what is necessary.
Only one can sit upon the throne, as it is said. And, as it is said, he who sits upon the throne is the most alone of men.
It is he who must be a stranger to all men, and to whom all men must be strangers.
The throne indeed is a lonely country.
Many men desire to live there but few, I think, could bear its burdens.
Let us continue to think of our Ubars as men much like ourselves, only perhaps a bit wiser, or stronger, or more fortunate. That way we may continue to be comfortable with them, and, to some extent, feel ourselves their superior. But let us not look into their eyes too closely, for we might see there that which sets them apart from us.
It is not always desirable to look deeply into the eyes of a Ubar.
The askaris again turned me about. I saw, briefly, the face of Msaliti.
Then I was conducted from the chamber of Bila Huruma, his gift, a necklace of gold, about my neck. I remembered him behind me, sitting on the high platform, a sleeping platform from which hung a basket of osts.
20. I Do Not Kill Kisu
“That is pretty,” said the askari.
“Yes,” I said.
He reached for it and I thrust back his hands, “I want it,” he said.
“It was a gift from Bila Huruma,” I said.
He backed away from me. I thought he would trouble me no more.
“It is pretty,” said Ayari.
“At least it wilt not rust in the rain,” I smiled. I looked at the heavy linkage of the gold chain, slung over the iron collar and work chain I wore.
“Now there is something really pretty,” said Ayari.
We stood near the mud raft, that raft of logs and liana vines on which we placed our shovelfuls of mud. In this place, in this great irregular marsh, the water was only to our knees. In some places there were risings above the marsh and hills of relatively dry land. In some places, in pockets, the water was so high as our chests, in others, shallow places, as low as our ankles.
I looked in the direction which Ayari, with his head, had indicated.
I gripped the shovel, startled.
“I heard yesterday, from an askari,” he said, “that they would pass here today. They are gifts from Bila Huruma to Tende, daughter of the high chieftain, Aibu, of the Ukungu villages, serving slaves. It is his intention to take Tende into companionship.”
“The companionship,” said one of the men, “will consolidate the relation of the Ukungu villages with the ubarate.”
“I would not mind receiving such lovely gifts,” said another man.
“Too bad Tende is a woman,” said another.
The two girls were on a raft, being drawn through the marsh by five chained slaves. Four askaris waded beside the raft. The girls were standing. A pole, mounted on two tripods, had been fastened some six feet above the surface of the raft, and parallel to its long axis. The girls stood beneath this pole, their small wrists locked in slave bracelets, fastened above their head and about the pole. Both were barefoot. About their left ankles and throats were wound several strings of white shells. Each, about her hips, wore a brief, wrap-around skirt, held in place by tucking at the left hip, of red-and-black-printed rep-cloth.
“Ho!” I cried, striding toward the raft, as far as the chain on my neck would permit me.
“Master!” cried the blond-haired barbarian.
Both girls were blond, blue-eyed, white, bare-breasted slaves. They were a matched set, selected to set off the dark beauty of Tende, daughter of Aibu. high chieftain of the Ukungu
villages.
“Sasi and I were taken almost immediately,” cried the blond-haired barbarian. “We were put up for sale!”
“Where is Sasi?” I called.
“Silence!” said one of the askaris near me, lifting his stabbing spear in my direction.
“She was sold to a tavern keeper in Schendi,” called the girl, “one called Filimbi.”
One of the askaris wading beside the raft climbed angrily to its surface. The girl then stood very straight, frightened, looking straight ahead. But he, holding his shield and stabbing spear with his left hand, struck her twice, snapping her head back and forth, with his right hand. Blood was at her mouth. She had spoken without permission. The askari near to me, one supervising the chain, thrust me back with his shield and I fell in the water, and he hit me four times with the handle of the stabbing spear. I then regained my feet, angrily. He threatened me with the blade of the spear. I twisted my head, angrily, in my collar. Other askaris, too, stood about. I stood still in the water. On the surface of the raft the askari who had administered slave discipline to the blond-haired barbarian for her outburst thrust a slave whip, crosswise, in her mouth, thrusting it back between her teeth. This would keep her quiet. If she dropped it, of course, she would be beaten with it.
I saw the raft, slowly, being pulled beyond our chain. The blond-haired barbarian did not now dare look back. She looked straight ahead, the whip between her teeth. The other girl, also blond-haired and blue-eyed, did look back, once. I think she was puzzled to see one on the rogues’ chain who wore a necklace of gold. I supposed she, too, was a barbarian, for they were a matched set, possibly also from Earth, though doubtless brought to the shores of Gor, like most, as a simple girl for the markets.
“Dig,” said the askari who had struck me,
I would have thought that Sasi might have been able to elude capture longer than she had, but I had been mistaken. Apparently both girls had been taken again almost immediately as slaves. Soon thereafter, apparently, they had been put up for sale. They had been good merchandise, it seemed. Certainly both had been promptly vended, Sasi to Filimbi, whom I had heard of, the owner of a paga tavern, and the blond-haired barbarian directly or indirectly to an agent of Bila Huruma, quite possibly with the immediate object in mind of being used as a component in a matched set of girls, white, serving slaves, gifts for Tende, another projected political companion for the inland Ubar.
“Dig,” said the askari, menacingly.
Naturally there had been on the raft, besides the girls, a chest of riches for Tende, riches which, according to the askaris, with whom Ayari took pains to be on good terms, would include such things as bolts of cloth, jewelries, cosmetics, coins and perfumes. This made good sense, of course, and made clear the generosity of the Ubar, Bila Huruma. His gifts to her would surely have been demeaning had they been limited to the presentation of two half-naked, white slaves.
The handle of the short stabbing spear struck down, viciously, across my shoulder.
“Dig!” said the askari.
“Very well,” I said, and thrust the shovel again into the mud at my feet.
“You, too!” cried the askari to a man further down the line. “Dig! Dig!”
The fellow on the chain, tall, regal, regarded him contemptuously. Then he turned again, to look after the raft, bearing the gifts for Tende. The askari struck him about the shoulders and chest, repeatedly. Then, without deigning to look upon the askari, he began again to dig.
That man was Kisu, who had been the leader of the Ukungu rebels.
After a time, when the askaris had withdrawn a few yards, I said to Ayari, “Convey my greetings to Kisu.” I had seen him look after the raft, and had read the cold rage, the fury like iron, in his body.
We waded, dragging the chain on our necks, toward Kisu. The men behind us, at our sign, moved with us.
Ayari spoke to Kisu, and he lifted his head, regarding me disdainfully.
“I have conveyed your greetings to Kisu,” said Ayari, speaking to me in Gorean.
“He did not respond,” I said.
“Of course not,” said Ayari. “He is Mfalme of Ukungu. He does not speak to commoners.”
“Tell him he is no longer the Mfalme of Ukungu,” I said. “Tell him he was deposed. If there is any longer a Mfalme of Ukungu it is Aibu, the wise and noble.”
Actually Aibu would become a district administrator, as high chieftain of Ukungu, under the sovereignty of Bila Huruma.
“Have your shovel ready,” said Ayari to me, in Gorean.
“I will,” I said.
But Kisu did not, upon receipt of my message, attack. He stiffened, and regarded me with fury, but he did not move to strike me with the shovel. For a proud man, and one both high-strung and powerful, he restrained himself creditably.
‘Tell him I wish to talk with him,” I said. “If necessary, he may, as Mfalme of Ukungu, elevate me to the nobility.”
Ayari conveyed this cheerfully to Kisu.
Again Kisu restrained himself. Then he turned away. He began to dig.
“Tell him,” said I, “that Bila Huruma, his own Ubar, speaks to commoners. Tell him that a true Mfalme listens to, and speaks with, all men.”
Kisu straightened up, and turned to face me. His knuckles were white on the shovel.
“I have told him what you said,” said Ayari. The speech of Kisu was closely related to the inland speech, and Ayari had no difficulty in communicating with him. It was harder for me, of course, for I was not that familiar with the inland speech. The inland and Ukungu speech, I suppose, would have been regarded linguistically as two dialects of the same mother tongue. The distinction between a dialect and a language is, at times, a conceptual one. In a series of villages, each village may be able to understand those proximate to it, but perhaps those in the first village cannot understand at all the speech of the tenth village. Thus one would think that the first village and the tenth speak different languages. Yet where shall the lines be drawn between them?
“Tell him,” I said, “that he would do well to take lessons in leadership from a truly great leader, Bila Huruma.”
This was conveyed to Kisu.
With a cry of rage Kisu leaped toward me, the shovel swinging toward my head. I blocked the blow and, bringing about the long handle of my own shovel, struck him a heavy blow alongside of the face. It would have staggered a kailiauk. To my amazement he did not go down. I then, smartly, began to deflect and parry blows. One slash or blow of the shovel would have finished me. I thrust him back twice with the handle of the shovel, the second time plunging the handle into his solar plexus. He stopped, paralyzed by the latter blow. But he did not fall. He could not then defend himself. I was breathing heavily. I did not, of course, strike him. That precise point of the body is one of the target areas taught to warriors. Such a blow is usually given with a thrust of the butt of a spear, generally in the crowding of close combat when you cannot bring the weapon about.
Kisu was, I had little doubt, quite similar in strength to myself. He was not, however, a trained warrior. It was little wonder that he and his forces had been defeated by the askaris of Bila Huruma.
He lifted his head, looking at me in amazement. He did not understand how such a blow could have stopped one of his strength. Then he threw up in the marsh.
The askaris waded to us, shouting angrily. They struck both of us with the handles of their stabbing spears.
We were separated and each thrust back to our own places, the chain line being then again strung out.
After a time Kisu turned about and called to Ayari. Ayari then spoke to me. “He wants to know why you did not kill him,” he asked.
“I did not want to kill him,” I said. “I only wanted to talk with him.”
This was conveyed to Kisu. He then, again, said something.
“He is Mfalme of Ukungu,” said Ayari to me. “He cannot speak to commoners.”
“Very well,” I said. This assent was conveyed then to Kisu.
“Dig!” called the nearest askari.
We returned then to our digging.
21. What I Saw One Night In The Marsh, While I Was Chained In The Rogues’ Cage
“Awaken,” said Ayari. nudging me.
I rolled over in the chain, on the raft.
“Something is coming,” he said.
“Raiders?” I asked.
“I do not think so,” he said.
I struggled to a crouching position, the iron ring, with its chain, heavy on my neck. The raft on which the rogues’ chain was kept was a long one, covered by a barred cage, locked.
I peered into the darkness.
“I do not see anything,” I said.
“I saw the brief glint of a dark lantern, momentarily unshuttered,” said Ayari.
“Whoever it is, then, moves in stealth,” I said. Raiders, of course, would not possess such lanterns.
“Listen,” said Ayari.
Suddenly the snout of a tharlarion, half lying on the edge of the raft, thrust against the bars. I drew back. It grunted. It kept its snout for a time on the edge of the raft. Then, with a soft splash, it slipped back in the dark, shallow water.
“Listen,” said Ayari.
“I hear it now,” I said. “Oars, muffled, several of them.”
“How many vessels?” asked Ayari.
