Nomads of Gor

by John Norman

  I sat cross-legged under the wagon, my sword across my knees, watching the paws and legs of the swirling kaiila bounding past. I heard the hiss of crossbow quarrels and one rider and his mount stumbled off the wagon top, falling and rolling to one side, others bounding over him. Then I heard the twang of the small horn bows of Tuchuks. Somewhere, off on the other side of the wagon, I heard the heavy grunting of a tharlarion and the squealing of a kaiila, the meeting of lances and shields. I saw a woman, unveiled, hair streaming behind her, twisting, buffeted, among the kaiila, somehow managing to find her way among them and rush between two buildings. The tolling of the alarm bars was now fearful throughout the city. I could hear screaming some hundred yards away. The roof of a building on the left was afire and smoke and sparks were being hurled into the sky and swept by the wind across the adjoining buildings. Some dozen dismounted Tuchuks were now at the great windlass on its platform slowly opening the gates to their maximum width, and when they had done so the Tuchuks, howling and waving their lances, entered the city in ranks of twenty abreast, thus only five ranks to the Hundred. I could now see smoke down the long avenue leading from the gate, in a dozen places. Already I saw a Tuchuk with a dozen silver cups tied on a string to his saddle. Another had a screaming woman by the hair, running her beside his stirrup. And still more Tuchuks bounded into the city. The wall of a building off the main avenue collapsed flaming to the street. I could hear in three or four places the clash of arms, the hiss of the bolts of crossbows, the answering feather-swift flight of the barbed Tuchuk war arrows. Another wall, on the other side of the avenue, tumbled downward, two Turian warriors leaping from it, being ridden down by Tuchuks, leaping over the burning debris on kaiilaback, lance in hand.

  Then in the clearing inside the gate, on his kaiila, lance in his right fist, turning and barking orders, I saw Kamchak of the Tuchuks, waving men to the left and right, and to the roof tops. His lance point was red. The black lacquer of his shield was deeply cut and scraped. The metal net that depended from his helmet had been thrown back and his eyes and face were fearful to behold. He was flanked by officers of the Tuchuks, commanders of Thousands, mounted as he was and armed. He turned his kaiila to face the city and it reared and he lifted his shield on his left arm and his lance in his right fist. "I want the blood of Saphrar of Turia," he cried.

  22

  Kamchak's Feast

  It had, of course, been the Tuchuk turn.

  One makes a pretext of seriously besieging a city, spending several days, sometimes weeks, in the endeavor, and then, apparently, one surrenders the siege and withdraws, moving away slowly with the wagons and bosk for some days—in this case four—and then, the bosk and wagons removed from probable danger, swiftly, in a single night, under the cover of darkness, sweeping back to the city, taking it by surprise.

  It had worked well.

  Much of Turia was in flames. Certain of the Hundreds, delegated the task, had immediately, almost before the alarm bars could sound, seized many of the wells, granaries and public buildings, including the very palace of Phanius Turmus itself. The Ubar, and Kamras, his highest officer, had fallen captive almost immediately, each to a Hundred set that purpose. Most of the High Council of Turia, too, now reposed in Tuchuk chains. The city was largely without leadership, though here and there brave Turians had gathered guardsmen and men-at-arms and determined civilians and sealed off streets, forming fortresses within the city against the invaders. The compound of the House of Saphrar, however, had not fallen, protected by its numerous guardsmen and its high walls, nor had the tower elsewhere that sheltered the tarn cots and warriors of Ha-Keel, the mercenary from Port Kar.

  Kamchak had taken up quarters in the palace of Phanius Turmus, which, save for the looting and the ripping down of tapestries, the wanton defacing of wall mosaics, was unharmed. It was from this place that he directed the occupation of the city.

  Harold, after the Tuchuks had entered the city, insisted on squiring the young woman home whom he had encountered under the wagon, and, for good measure, the wine vendor and potter as well. I accompanied him, stopping only long enough to rip away most of the upper portions of the baker's tunic and rinse the dye from my hair in a street fountain. I had no wish to be brought down with a Tuchuk arrow in the streets as a Turian civilian. Also I knew many of the Tuchuks were familiar with my perhaps too-red hair and might, seeing it, generously refrain from firing on its owner. It seemed to me that for once my hair might actually prove useful, a turnabout I contemplated with pleasure. Do not take me wrong—I am rather fond, on the whole, of my hair—it is merely that one must, to be objective about such matters, recognize that it has, from time to time, involved me in various difficulties—beginning about my fourth year. Now, however, it might not hurt at all to be promptly and accurately identified by means of it.

  When I lifted my head from the fountain in the Turian street Harold cried out in amazement, "Why you ARE Tarl Cabot!"

  "Yes," I had responded.

  After we had taken the girl and the potter and wine vendor to whatever safety their homes might afford, we set out for the House of Saphrar, where, after some examination of the scene, I convinced myself there was nothing immediately to be done. It was invested by better than two of the Thousands. No assault of the place had yet begun. Doubtless rocks and large pieces of building stone had already been piled behind the gates. I could smell tharlarion oil on the walls, waiting to be fired and poured on those who might attempt to dig at the walls or mount ladders against them. Occasional arrows and crossbow bolts were exchanged. One thing troubled me. The standing wall about the compound kept the Tuchuk bowmen far enough from the roof of the keep within that tarns might, without too great a danger, enter and leave the compound. Saphrar, if he chose, could escape on tarnback. As yet, cut off, he probably had no way of knowing how serious his danger was. Within he undoubtedly had ample food and water to withstand a long siege. It seemed to me he could fly with safety when he chose, but that he had merely not yet chosen.

  I then wished to proceed immediately to the palace of Phanius Turmus, where Kamchak had set up his headquarters, to place myself at his disposal, but Harold insisted rather on trooping about the city, here and there examining pockets of Turian resistance.

  "Why?" I asked.

  "We owe it to our importance," he said.

  "Oh," I said.

  At last it was night and we were making our way through the streets of Turia, sometimes between burning buildings.

  We came to a high, walled structure and began walking about it.

  I could hear occasional shouts inside. Also, at one point, the wailing of women carried to my ears.

  "What place is this?" I asked.

  "The palace of Phanius Turmus," he said.

  "I heard the crying of women," I said.

  "Turian women," said Harold, "taken by Tuchuks." Then he added, "Much of the richest booty of Turia lies behind these walls."

  I was astonished when, at the gate to the palace of Phanius Turmus, the four Tuchuk guards smote their lances three times on their leather shields. The lance strikes the shield once for the commander of a Ten; twice for the commander of a Hundred; three times for the commander of a Thousand. "Pass, Commanders," said the chief of the four guards, and they stepped aside.

  Naturally I inquired of Harold, shortly after entering, the meaning of the guards' salutation. I had expected to be challenged and then perhaps, if all went well, wrangled inside on some stratagem dreamed up by Harold on the spur of the moment.

  "It means," remarked Harold, looking about the courtyard, "that you have the rank of a Commander of a Thousand."

  "I don't understand," I said.

  "It is a gift of Kamchak," said Harold. "I suggested it as appropriate in view of your manly, if somewhat clumsy, efforts at the gate."

  "Thank you," I said.

  "I of course recommended the same rank for myself," said Harold, "inasmuch as I am the one who really carried the thing off."


  "Naturally," I said.

  "You do not, of course, have a Thousand to command," pointed out Harold.

  "Nonetheless," I said, "there is considerable power in the rank itself."

  "That is true," he said.

  Indeed it was true, for the next level beneath a Ubar among the Wagon Peoples is that of the Commander of a Thousand.

  "Why did you not tell me?" I asked.

  "It did not seem to me important," remarked the young man.

  I clenched my fists and considered punching him in the nose, moderately hard.

  "Korobans, though," remarked Harold, "are probably more impressed with such things than Tuchuks."

  By this time I had followed Harold over to a corner of the courtyard wall, which was heaped high, banked into the corner, with precious metals, plates, cups; bowls of jewels; necklaces and bracelets; boxes of coins and, in heavy, wooden crates, numerous stacked cubes of silver and gold, each stamped with its weight, for the palace of a Ubar is also the mint of a city, where its coins are struck one at a time by a hammer pounding on the flat cap of a die. Incidentally, Gorean coins are not made to be stacked and accordingly, because of the possible depth of the relief and the consequent liberties accorded to the artist, the Gorean coin is almost always more beautiful than the machine-milled, flat, uniform coins of Earth. Some Gorean coins are drilled, incidentally, to allow stringing, the coins of Tharna, for example; Turian coins, and most others, are not.

  Further on down the wall there were great piles of cloth, mostly silk; I recognized them as Robes of Concealment. Beyond them, again in a large heap, were numerous weapons, saddles and harnesses. Beyond them I saw numerous rugs and tapestries, rolled, for transport from the city.

  "As a commander," said Harold, "you may take what you want of any of this."

  I nodded.

  We now entered yet another courtyard, an inner courtyard, between the palace and the inside wall of the outer courtyard.

  Here I saw, along one wall, a long line of Turian women, unclothed, who were kneeling, fastened together in various ways, some by chains, some by thongs. The wrists of each, however, were bound, one girl's before her body and the next behind her back, alternately. It was these women whom I had heard outside the wall. Some were sobbing, others wailing, but most were silent, numb with shock, staring at the ground. Two Tuchuk guards stood over them. One carried a slave whip and, occasionally, should the cries of one of the girls grow too obtrusive, he would silence her with the lash.

  "You are the commander of a Thousand," said Harold. "If one of the girls pleases you, let the guard know and he will mark her for you."

  "No," I said. "Let us proceed directly to Kamchak."

  At that moment there was a scuffle and commotion at the gate to the inner courtyard and two Tuchuks, one laughing and with a bloody shoulder, were dragging a fiercely resisting, unveiled but clothed girl between them.

  It was Dina of Turia!

  The laughing Tuchuk, he with the bloody shoulder, hauled her before us.

  "A beauty," said he, "Commander!" He nodded to his shoulder. "Marvelous! A fighter!"

  Suddenly Dina stopped pulling and kicking and scratching. She flung up her head and looked at me, breathing hard, startled.

  "Do not add her to the chain," I said. "Neither remove her clothing nor put her in bonds. Permit her to veil herself if she wishes. She is to be treated in all respects as a free woman. Take her back to her home and while we remain in the city, guard her with your lives."

  The two men were startled, but Tuchuk discipline is relentless. "Yes, Commander!" they both cried, releasing her. "With our lives!"

  Dina of Turia looked at me, gratitude in her eyes.

  "You will be safe," I assured her.

  "But my city burns," she said.

  "I am sorry," I said, and turned swiftly away, to enter the palace of Phanius Turmus.

  I knew that while the Tuchuks remained in Turia there would be in all the city no woman more safe than lovely Dina, she only of the Caste of Bakers.

  I sprang up the steps, followed by Harold, and we soon found ourselves in the marbled entry hall of the palace. Kaiila were stabled there.

  Directed by Tuchuks we soon made our way to the throne room of Phanius Turmus, where, to my surprise, a banquet was in progress. At one end of the room, on the throne of the Ubar, a purple robe thrown over his black leather, sat dour Kamchak of the Tuchuks, his shield and lance leaning against the throne, an unsheathed quiva on the right arm of the throne. At the low tables, perhaps brought from various places in the palace, there sat many Tuchuk officers, and even some men without rank. With them, now freed of collars, were exuberant Tuchuk girls bedecked in the robes of free women. All were laughing and drinking. Only Kamchak seemed solemn. Near him, in places of honor, at a long, low table, above the bowls of yellow and red salt, on each side, sat many of the high men of Turia, clad in their finest robes, their hair oiled, scented and combed for the banquet. I saw among them Kamras, Champion of Turia, and another, on Kamchak's right hand, a heavy, swollen, despondent man, who could only have been Phanius Turmus himself. Behind them stood Tuchuk guards, quivas in their right hands. At a sign from Kamchak, as the men well knew, their throats would be immediately cut.

  Kamchak turned to them. "Eat," he said.

  Before them had been placed large golden dishes heaped with delicacies prepared by the kitchens of the Ubar, tall precious goblets filled with Turian wines, the small bowls of spices and sugars with their stirring spoons at hand.

  The tables were served by naked Turian girls, from the highest families of the city.

  There were musicians present and they, to the best of their ability under the circumstances, attempted to provide music for the feast.

  Sometimes one of the serving girls would be seized by an ankle or arm and dragged screaming to the cushions among the tables, much to the amusement of the men and the Tuchuk girls.

  "Eat," ordered Kamchak.

  Obediently the captive Turians began to put food in their mouths.

  "Welcome, Commanders," said Kamchak, turning and regarding us, inviting us to sit down.

  "I did not expect to see you in Turia," I said.

  "Neither did the Turians," remarked Harold, reaching over the shoulder of one of the high council of Turia and taking a candied verr chop.

  But Kamchak was looking away disconsolately toward the rug before the throne, now stained with spilled beverages, cluttered with the thrown garbage of the feast. He hardly seemed aware of what was taking place. Though this should have been a night of triumph for him, he did not seem pleased.

  "The Ubar of the Tuchuks does not appear happy," I observed.

  Kamchak turned and looked at me again.

  "The city burns," I said.

  "Let it burn," said Kamchak.

  "It is yours," I said.

  "I do not want Turia," he said.

  "What is it you seek?" I asked.

  "Only the blood of Saphrar," said he.

  "All this," I asked, "is only to avenge Kutaituchik?"

  "To avenge Kutaituchik," said Kamchak, "I would burn a thousand cities."

  "How is that?" I asked.

  "He was my father," said Kamchak, and turned away.

  During the meal, from time to time, messengers, from various parts of the city, and even from the distant wagons, hours away by racing kaiila, would approach Kamchak, speak with him and hastily depart.

  More foods and wines were served, and even the high men of Turia, at quiva point, were forced to drink heavily and some began to mumble and weep, while the feasters grew, to the barbaric melodies of the musicians, ever more merry and wild. At one point three Tuchuk girls, in swirling silks, switches in their hands, came into the room dragging a wretched, stripped Turian girl. They had found a long piece of rope and tied her hands behind her back and then had wound the same rope three or four times about the girl's waist, had securely knotted it, and were leading her about by it. "She was our mistress!" cried
one of the Tuchuk girls leading the Turian girl, and struck her sharply with the switch, at which information the Tuchuk girls at the tables clapped their hands with delight. Then, two or three other groups of Tuchuk girls straggled in, each leading some wretched wench who had but hours before owned them. These girls they forced to comb their hair and wash their feet before the tables, performing the duties of serving slaves. Later they made some of them dance for the men. Then one of the Tuchuk girls pointed to her ex-mistress and cried out, "What am I offered for this slave!" and one of the men, joining in the sport, would cry out a price, some figure in terms of copper tarn disks. The Tuchuk girls would shriek with delight and each joined in inciting buyers and auctioning their mistresses. One beautiful Turian girl was thrown, weeping and bound, into the arms of a leather-clad Tuchuk for only seven copper tarn disks. At the height of such festivities, a distraught messenger rushed to Kamchak. The Ubar of the Tuchuks listened impassively and then arose. He gestured at the captive Turian men. "Take them away," he said, "put them in the Kes and chain them—put them to work." Phanius Turmus, Kamras and the others were dragged from the tables by their Tuchuk guards. The feasters were now watching Kamchak. Even the musicians were now silent.