by John Norman
"I will sell you all in Port Kar," I said.
She smiled. "Of course," she said, "you may do what you please with us." I looked upon her in fury. I held the blade of the short sword at her throat. Her head was up. She did not flinch.
"Do I so displease my Ubar?" she asked.
I slammed the blade back in the sheath.
I seized her by the arms and lifted her, bound, to face me. I looked down into her eyes. "I could kill you," I said. "I hate you." How could I tell her that it had been by her instrumentality that I had been destroyed in the marshes. I felt myself suddenly transformed with utter fury. It was she who had done this to me, who had cost me myself, teaching me my ignobility and my cowardice, who had broken the image, casting it into the mud of the marsh, that I had for so many years, so foolishly, taken as the substance and truth of my own person. I had been emptied; I was now a void, into which I could feel the pourings, the dark flowings, of resentment and degradation, of bitterness and self-recrimination, of self-hatred. "You have destroyed me!" I hissed to her, and flung her from me down the steps of the tiller deck. The woman with the child screamed, and the boy cried out. Telima rolled and then, jerked up short, half choked, by the tether, sha lay at the foot of the stairs. She struggled again to her knees. There were now tears in her eyes.
She looked up at me. She shook her head. "You have not been destroyed," said she, "my Ubar."
Angrily I took again my seat on the chair of the oar-master.
"If any has been destroyed," said she, "it was surely I."
"Do not speak foolishly," I commanded her, angrily. "Be silent!"
She dropped her head. "I am at the pleasure of my Ubar," she said.
I was ashamed that I had been brutal with her, but I would not show it. I knew, in my heart, that it had been I, I myself, who had betrayed me, I who had fallen short of the warrior codes, I who had dishonored my own Home Stone, and the blade I bore. It was I who was guilty. Not she. But everything in me cried out to blame some other for the treacheries and the defections that were my own. And surely she had most degraded me of all. Surely, of all, she had been the most cruel, the one before whom I had groveled most slave. It was in my mouth, black and swollen, that she had put the kiss of the Mistress.
I dismissed her from my mind.
Thurnock, the peasant, and Clitus, the fisherman, approached, holding between them Ho-Hak, bound hand and foot, the heavy collar of the galley slave, with its dangling chain, still riveted about his neck.
They placed him on his knees, on the rowing deck, before me.
I removed my helmet.
"I knew it would be you," he said.
I did not speak.
"There were more than a hundred men," said Ho-hak.
"You fought well, Ho-hak," said I, "on the rence island, with only an oar-pole." "Not well enough," said he. He looked up at me, from his bonds. His great ears leaned a bit forward. "Were you alone?" he asked.
"No," I said. I nodded to Telima, who, head down, knelt at the foot of the stairs.
"You did well, Woman," said Ho-Hak.
She lifted her head, tears in her eyes. She smiled at him.
"Why is it," asked Ho-Hak, "that she who aided you kneels bound at your feet?" "I do not trust her," I said, "nor any of you."
"What are you going to do with us?" asked Ho-Hak.
"Do you not fear that I will throw you bound to the tharlarion?" I asked. "No," said Ho-Hak.
"You are a brave man," I said. I admired him, so calm and strong, though before me naked and bound, at my mercy.
Ho-Hak looked up at me. "It is not," he said, "that I am a particularly brave man. It is rather that I know you will not throw me to tharlarion." "How can you know that?" I asked.
"No man who fights a hundred," said he, "with only a girl at his side, could act so."
"I shall sell you all in Port Kar!" I cried.
"Perhaps," said Ho-Hak, "but I do not think so."
"But I have won you and your people, and all these slaves," I told him, "that I might have my vengeance on you, for making me slave, and come rich with cargo to Port Kar!"
"I expect that is not true," said Ho-Hak.
"He did it for Eechius," said Telima.
"Eechius was killed on the island," said Ho-Hak.
"Eechius had given him rence cake when he was bound at the pole," said Telima. "Ti was for him that he did this."
Ho-Hak looked at me. There were tears in his eyes. "I am grateful, Warrior," said he.
I did not understand his emotion.
"Take him away!" I ordered Thurnock and Clitus, and they dragged Ho-Hak from my presence, taking him back somewhere on the second barge, among other bound slaves.
I was angry.
Ho-Hak had not begged for mercy. He had not demeaned himself. He had shown himself a dozen times more man than me.
I hated rencers, and all men, saving perhaps the two who served me. Ho-Hak had been bred a slave, a degraded and distorted exotic, and had served even in the darkness of the stinking rowing holds of cargo vessels of Port Kar, and yet, before me, he had shown himself a dozen times more man than me. I hated him, and rencers.
I looked at the slaves chained at the benches. Any of them, in rags sheared and shackled, beaten and half-starved, was greater than I.
I was no longer worthy of the love of two women I had know, Talena, who had once foolishly consented to be the Free Companion of one now proved to be ignoble and coward, and Vella, Elizabeth Cardwell, once of Earth, who had mistakenly granted her love to one worthy raother only of her contempt and scorn. And, too, I was no longer worthy of the respect of my father, Matthew Cabor, Administrator of Ko-ro-ba, and of my teacher at arms, the Older Tarl, nor of he who had been my small friend, Torm, the Scribe. I could never again face those I had known, Kron of Tharna, Andreas of Tor, Kamchak of the Tuchuks, Relius and Ho-Sorl of Ar, none of them. All would despise me now.
I looked down on Telima.
"What will you do with us, my Ubar?" she asked.
Did she mock me?
"You have taught me," I said, "that I am of Port Kar."
"You have perhaps, my Ubar," said she, "misunderstood the lesson."
"Be silent!" I cried.
She put down her head. "If any here," she said, "is of Port Kar, it is surely Telima."
Furious at her mockerly I leaped from the chair of the oar-master and struck her with the back of my hand, snapping her head to one side.
I felt shamed, agonized, but I would show nothing.
I returned to my seat.
There was a streak of blood across her face where her lip had been cut by her teeth.
She put down her head again. "If any," she whispered, "surely Telima." "Be silent!" I cried.
She looked up. "Telima," she whispered, "is at her Ubar's pleasure." I looked at Thurnock and Clitus.
"I am going to Port Kar," I said.
Thurnock crossed his great arms on his chest, and nodded his head. Clitus, too, gave assent to this.
"You are free men," I said. "You need not accompany me."
"I," said Thurnock, in a booming voice, "would follow you even to the Cities of Dust."
"And I," said Clitus, "I, too."
Thurnock was blue-eyed, Clitus gray-eyed. Thurnock was a huge man, with arms like the oars of the great galleys; Clitus was slighter, but he had been first oar; he would have great strength, beyond what it might seem.
"Build a raft," I said, "large enough for food and water, and more than two men, and what we might find here that we might wish to take with us."
They set about their work.
I sat, alone, on the great chair of the oar-master. I put my head in my hands. I was Ubar here, but I found the throne a bitter one. I would have exchanged it all for Tarl Cabot, the myth, and the dream, that had been taken from me. When I raised my head from my hands I felt hard and cruel.
I was alone, but I had my arm, and its strength, and the Gorean blade. Here, on this wooden land los
t in the delta marshes, I was Ubar.
I knew now, as I had not before, what men were. I had in misery learned this in myself. And I now saw myself a fool for having espoused codes, for having set above myself ideals.
What could there be that could stand above the steel blade?
Was not honor a sham, loyalty and courage a deceit, an illusion of the ignorant, a dream of fools?
Was not the only wise man he who observed carefully and when he might took what he could?
The determinants of the wise man could not be such phantoms.
There was only gold, and power, and the bodies of women, and steel. I was a strong man.
I was such that might make a place for himself in a city such as Port Kar. "The raft is ready," said Thurnock, his body gleaming sweat, wiping a great forearm across his face.
"We found food and water," said Clitus, "and some weapons, and gold." "Good," I said.
"There is much rence paper," said Thurnock. "Did you want us to put some on board?"
"No," I said. "I do not want rence paper."
"What of slaves?" asked Thurnock.
I looked to the prow of the first barge, where was bound the lithe, dark-haired beauty, she who had been so marvelously legged in the brief rence tunic. Then I looked to the second prow, and the third, where were tied the large girl, blond and gray-eyed, who had held marsh vine against my arm, and the shorter girl, dark-haired, who had carried a net over her left shoulder. These had danced their insolence, their contempt of me. They had spat upon me, when I had been bound helpless, and then whirled away laughing into the circle of the dance. I laughed.
They had earned for themselves the chains and brands of slave girls. Thurnock and Clitus regarded me.
"Bring the girls at second and third prow," I told them.
A grin broke across the face of Thurnock. "They are beauties," he said, shaking that great shaggy head of yellow hair, sheared at the base of his neck. "Beauties!"
He and Clitus went to fetch the slaves.
I myself turned and walked slowly down the gangway between the rowers' benches, and then climbed the stairs to the foredec of the barge.
The girl, her back bound over the curved prow, facing forward, heard me, but could not see me. My head, as I stood on the foredeck, was about a foot below her fastened ankles. Her wrists, facing me, had been bound cruelly behind the prow.
"Who is it?" she asked.
I said nothing.
"Please," she begged. "Who is it?"
"Be silent," said I, "Slave."
A small cry of anguish escaped her.
With a movement of the Gorean blade I cut the fiber at her ankles.
Then, standing on the rail of the foredeck, my left had on the prow, I cut first the fiber binding her at the throat, and then that binding her at the waist. Then, resheathing my sword, I eased her, wrists bound, down the prow, until her feet at last stood on the rail, on which, beside her, I stood.
I turned her about.
She saw me, the black, swollen mouth, the eyes, and screamed helplessly. "Yes," I said, "it is I."
Then, cruelly, I took her head in my hands and pressed my lips upon hers. Never had I seen a woman so overcome with utter terror.
I laughed at her misery.
Then, contempuously, I removed my blade from the sheath. I put the point under her chin, lifting her head. Once, when I had been bound at the pole, she had pushed up my head, that she might better assess the features of a slave. "You are a beauty, aren't you?" I commented.
Her eyes looked at me with terror.
I dropped the point to her throat, and she turned away her head, shutting her eyes. For a moment I let her feel the point in hte delicacy of her throat, then I dropped the blade and slashed the binding fiber that fastened her wrists together about the prow.
She fell to the foredeck, on her hands and knees.
She struggled to her feet, half crouching, half mad with fear, and the pain of being bound at the prow.
With the point of my blade I pointed to the deck.
She shook her head, and turned, and ran to the rail, and held it, looking over. A huge tharlarion, seeing the image on the water, half rose from the marsh, jaws clashingin, and then dropped back into the water. Two or three more tharlarion then churned there beneath her.
She threw back her head and screamed.
She turned to face me, shaking her head.
The tip of my blade still pointed inexorably to a place on the deck. "Please!" she wept.
The blade did not move.
She came and stood before me, and then dropped ot her knees, resting back on her heels. She lowered her head and extended her arms, wrists crossed, the submission of the Gorean female. I did not immediately bind her, but walked about her, examining her as prize. I had not hitherto understood her as so beautiful, and desirable. At last, after I had well stisfied myself as to her quality, I took a bit of binding fiber that had fastened her ankles at the prow, and lashed her wrists together.
She raised her head and looked up at me, her eyes searching mine, pleading. I spat down in her face, and she lowered her head, shoulders shaking, sobbing. I turned away and descended the foredeck, and returned between the slaves to the steps below the tiller deck.
The girl followed me, unbidded.
Once I turned, and saw that she wiped, with the back of her right wrist, my spittal from her face. She lowered her bound hands and stood on the planking, head down.
I took again my chair, that of the oar-master, in this domain.
The large, blond, gray-eyed girl and the shorter girl, dark-haired, who had carried the net, knelt before the chair on the rowing deck.
My girl then knelt to one side, head down.
I surveyed the two girls, the blond one and the shorter one, and looked to Thurnock and Clitus.
"Do you like them?" I asked.
"Beauties!" said Thurnock. "Beauties!"
The girls trembled.
"Yes," said Clitus, "though they are rence girls, they would bring a high price."
"Please!" said the blond girl.
I looked at Thurnock and Clitus. "They are yours." I said.
"Ha!" cried Turnock. And then he seized up a length of binding fiber. "Submit!" she boomed at the large, blond girl and, terrified, almost leaping, she lowered her head, thrusting forward her hands, wrists crossed. In an instant, with peasant knots, Thurnock had lashed them together. Clitus bent easily to pick up a length of binding fiber. He looked at the shorter girl, who looked up at him with hate. "Submit," he said to her, quietly. Sullenly, she did so. Then, startled, she looked up at him, her wrists bound, having felt the strength of his hands. I smiled to myself. I had seen that look in the eyes of girls before. Clitus, I expected, would have little difficulty with his short rence girl. "What will masters do with us?" asked the lithe girl, lifting her head. "You will be taken as slave girls to Port Kar," I said.
"No, no!" cried the lithe girl.
The blond girl screamed, and the shorter girl, dark-haired, began to sob, putting her head to the deck.
"Is the raft fully ready?" I asked.
"It is," boomed Thurnock. "It is."
"We have tied it with the rence craft," said Clitus, "abeam of the starboard bow of this barge."
I picked up the long coil of binding fiber from which I had, earlier, cut three lengths, to bind Telima. I tied one eand about the throat of the lithe girl. "What is your name?" I asked.
"Midice," said she, "if it pleases master."
"It does not displease me," I said. "I am content to call you by that name." I found it a rather beautiful name. It was pronounced in three syllables, the first accented.
Thurnock then took the same long length of binding fiber, one end of which I had fastened about Midice's neck, and, without cutting it, looped and knotted it about the neck of the large, blond, gray-eyed girl, handling the coil then to Clitus, who indicated that the short rence girl should take her place in the coffle.
"
What is your name?" boomed Thurnock to the large girl, who flinched. "Thura," she said, "-if it pleases Master."
"Thura!" he cried, slapping his thigh. "I am Thurnock!"
The girl did not seem much pleased by this coincidence.
"I am of the peasants," Thurnock told her.
She looked at him, rather in horror. "Only of the peasants?" she whispered. "The Peasants," cried out Thurnock, his voice thundering over the marsh, "are the ox on which the Home Stone rests!"
"But I am of the Rencers!" she wailed.
The Rencers are often thought to be a haigher caste that the Peasants. "No," boomed Thurnock. "You are only Slave!"
The large girl wailed with misery, pulling at her bound wrists.
Clitus had already fastened the short rence girl in the coffle, the binding fiber looped and knotted about her neck, the remainder of the coil fallen to the deck behind her.
"What is your name?" he asked the girl.
She looked up at him, shyly. "Ula," she said, "-if it pleases master." She lowered her head.
I turned to the woman and the child I had freed earlier, and had made to stand to one side.
Telima, haltered, bound hand and foot at the bottom of the stairs to the tiller deck, addresed herself to me. "As I recall," she said, "you are going to take us all to Port Kar, to be sold as slaves."
"Be silent," I told her.
"If not," she said, "I expect you will have the barges sunk in the marsh, that we may all be fed to tharlarion."
I looked upon her in irritation.
She smiled at me.
"That," she said, "is what one would do who is of Port Kar."
"Be silent!" I said.
"Very well," said she, "my Ubar."
I turned again to the woman, and the child. "When we have gone," I said, "free your people. Tell Ho-hak that I have taken some of his women. It is little enough for what was done to me."
"A Ubar," pointed out Telima, "need give no accounting, no explanation." I seized her by the arms, lifting her up and holding her before me. She did not seem frightened.
"This time," she asked, "will you perhaps throw me up the stairs?"
"The mouth of rence girls," commented Clitus, "are said to be as large as the delta itself."
