Avengers of Gor

by John Norman

  I regarded the slave. “How beautiful are women,” I thought, “so extraordinarily different from men, almost another form of life, so precious, desirable, and exciting. It is no wonder that men wish to own them.”

  And what woman does not wish to be collared and owned by the Master of her dreams?

  “Are you angry?” I asked the slave.

  She half reared up, and shook her head fiercely, affirmatively.

  “Do you object to having had your sandals removed?” I asked.

  Again she nodded, fiercely, affirmatively.

  “Remove her clothing,” I said, “even the ribbon binding her hair, and spread her hair out, widely, and brush it behind her shoulders. And kneel her before me, back on her heels, her knees widely spread.”

  This was done.

  My hand reached to my belt.

  I saw fear come into her eyes, not the fear of a free woman, but slave fear.

  At that point, a small gong rang, the sound emanating from behind a closed door farther down the corridor. A moment after, we heard a man’s angry voice cry out. “The slave, where is the slave?”

  “Glaukos,” whispered Thurnock.

  I looked down at the frightened slave. “As I recall,” I said, “you had been summoned.” I then held my left hand open, at my left hip.

  She struggled to her feet and, bending over, placed her head at my left hip, and I fastened my hand firmly, deeply, in that pelt, by means of which such a lovely beast may be easily, conveniently, and efficiently guided and controlled.

  The gong, sharply, rang again.

  “The slave! Where is the slave?” demanded Glaukos, the voice angry, half muffled, coming from behind the door.

  Thurnock, Clitus, and I, then, the slave beside me, conducted, bent over in leading position, made our way toward the door from behind which had come the sound of the gong and the voice of Glaukos, proprietor of the tavern, The Living Island.

  “It is very loud, is it not,” had asked Thurnock, “the music, the cheering, and all?”

  “Quite,” I had said, being shoved about somewhat, as a fellow squeezed by, intent on getting more to the front of the crowd.

  “Too noisy,” said Thurnock.

  “Parades are seldom quiet, sedate affairs,” I assured him.

  “It is not every day,” said a fellow near me, “that the fleet of the notorious Bosk of Port Kar is sunk and its very commander, the cruel and monstrous Bosk of Port Kar himself, is apprehended.”

  “I would suppose not,” I said.

  “See the ribbons and streamers from the windows,” said Sakim, “the flowers, the observers lining the roofs.”

  “They have a better vantage than ours,” I said, being jostled.

  “How many bands have you counted?” asked Clitus.

  “Eleven,” I said.

  “I saw at least thirty-seven floats,” said Thurnock.

  Many of these, drawn by draft tharlarion, were surmounted by tableaux, several showing valiant Cosians, mariners and ground forces, triumphant over a variety of perhaps once-formidable, but now whimpering and cringing, foes. One float judiciously portrayed grateful citizens acclaiming an enthroned figure representing Lurius of Jad, the Ubar of Cos, presumably expressing their thanks for the privilege of flourishing under so just and beneficent a rule. Some others celebrated and advertised various organizations and businesses. One establishment advertised was The House of the Golden Urt, which was now, apparently, under new management. It had once been managed, as I recalled, by three women, the ‘Three Ubaras’, Melete, Iantha, and Philomena. Interestingly, there was no float, at least as far as we now had noted, for The Living Island, which was surely one of the better-known taverns of Sybaris. Too, interestingly, no float, at least as yet, had proclaimed the glory of the governor of Sybaris, Archelaos. Two of the ‘business floats’ advertised slave markets, The Golden Shackle and The Ta-Teera. In each of these, samples of the merchandise were displayed in such a way that there could be little doubt about its charms. Also, apparently unwilling to be left out, certain castes had contributed their own floats to the parade, among them, the Shipwrights, Bakers, Distillers, and Metal Workers.

  “Captain,” said Sakim, who now stood at my elbow.

  “How are things at the wharf?” I asked.

  Recently the Dorna and Tesephone, in dry dock, after having been repaired, had been repainted.

  “Rigged and provisioned,” said Sakim, “a whisper and both can slip free.”

  “I hope both may do so, and soon,” I said.

  “You missed the free maidens casting flowers,” said Clitus.

  “There will be more toward the end,” said Thurnock.

  “How were they?” asked Sakim.

  “Too young,” said Thurnock. “Give them five years.”

  “Remember they are free, even then,” I cautioned him.

  “They are town girls,” said Thurnock.

  “That is true,” I admitted.

  “I smell perfume,” said Sakim.

  “That is not surprising,” said Clitus. “It drenches the streets. It runs like rain water in the gutters.”

  I thought that something of an exaggeration, but it was clearly detectible. It was perhaps a bit more obtrusive after the passing of the slave-market floats.

  “Drums, trumpets!” said Thurnock.

  “Nicomachos is near!” said a fellow nearby.

  “I see pennons and banners,” I said.

  I heard a roar from the crowd, some hundred paces or so to our right.

  “What now?” I asked.

  “Some noble citizens of Sybaris,” said a fellow near me, “freed from captivity, liberated by Admiral Nicomachos from the foul clutches of Bosk of Port Kar.”

  Shortly thereafter a festooned float trundled by.

  On it were some ten or twelve fellows, dressed in celebratory garments.

  “Ctesippus!” said Thurnock.

  “Laios!” said Clitus.

  “Amongst others,” I said. I presumed that the ‘liberated prisoners’ were high men amongst the corsairs. As the net of Nicomachos had drawn tight, it seemed probable that they had somehow managed to portray themselves, perhaps even to having themselves laden with chains, as captives of the corsairs. This would be most easily managed if some of the corsairs had managed to reach the coast of Chios near Mytilene, and then fallen into the power of locals, or the armed Peasantry, which had lifted the siege of Mytilene.

  “Another float approaches,” said Thurnock.

  “What is it?” pressed Clitus, who was nearly a foot shorter than Thurnock.

  “I do not know,” said Thurnock.

  Cheering now shifted, like a mood of mighty, capricious, rolling, thundering Thassa, into cries of rage and voluble threatening imprecation, into violent jeering and hooting, into torrents of insult and ridicule, into a storm of scorn and mockery.

  “I see little but chains,” said Thurnock, “and two soldiers, with shields.”

  “It is the villain, Bosk of Port Kar,” cried a man near us.

  He shook his fist at the approaching float.

  The crowd roared with hate.

  The central figure on the float was swathed with chains. It was difficult to see how more chains could be placed on a single body. The two soldiers with the prisoner on the float shook their shields warningly, menacingly, at the crowd, presumably to discourage it from clambering onto the float and tearing the prisoner apart. The shields did little, however, to protect the prisoner from the fruit, garbage, and debris which was cast upon him.

  “In Sybaris,” said Sakim, “it seems there are many zealots after justice.”

  “Guard him well!” cried a man.

  “What is to be done with him?” I asked the man.

  “Torture and impalement,” he said. “Lengthy to
rture and slow, gradual impalement, lasting perhaps five days.”

  “Tear him to pieces!” screamed another man.

  “No, no!” cried another. “Let not the torturers be cheated of their sport! Let not the impaling spear be denied its due!”

  “He seems to be crying out something,” I said.

  “Over and over,” said Thurnock.

  “It is hard to make out,” said a man.

  “The float passes,” said a man.

  “I am not Bosk of Port Kar!” cried the figure on the float. “I am Bombastico, an actor. I am not Bosk of Port Kar! I am Bombastico, an actor, an actor!”

  “What is he saying?” asked a man.

  “He is denying he is Bosk of Port Kar,” said another man.

  “Who could blame him?” said another man.

  “What a meretricious coward, what a loathsome, lying coward,” said the first.

  “Should he not have a trial?” I asked.

  “Of course,” said a man. “We are a civil society.”

  “It will not take long,” said another man.

  “It should be over by supper,” said another.

  “When one is guilty, a trial is a waste of time,” said a man.

  “I have unwelcome, grim news for you,” said yet another. “He is to be transported to Jad, on Cos, for his trial, sentencing, and execution.”

  “No, no!” cried men about me.

  “Not Cos, but Thera, Sybaris!” screamed a fellow, clearly distraught.

  “His blood belongs on the Farther Islands,” said another. “It is here he indulged his roguery! Let him suffer torture and execution here, one ugly, villainous corpuscle at a time! Thera, Daphna, Chios will have it no other way!”

  “Yes!” cried a man.

  “Seize him,” cried another. “Drag him from the float!”

  “The float has passed,” said another.

  “There are only two guards,” said a man. “Spread the word!”

  “Look,” said Thurnock, pulling at my sleeve. “The last float approaches!”

  “Hail, Nicomachos!” cried a man.

  I heard the jangling of instruments and the beating of drums, and then a fanfare of trumpets.

  “Here, friend Sakim,” said Clitus, “are more free maidens, joyously dancing in flowing garments, casting flowers, mostly dinas, talenders, and veminium, before the wheels of the final float. Do not miss these.”

  “Are these as good as the earlier ones?” asked Sakim.

  “Better,” said Clitus.

  “Town girls,” scoffed Thurnock. “It would take four to pull a plow.”

  “Or one,” said Clitus, “if the tiller had a whip.”

  “These are older, somewhat,” I said.

  “Excellent stock,” said Thurnock, “seizable and marketable.”

  “They are free,” I reminded him.

  “That is a defect in a woman,” said Thurnock. “It can be remedied.”

  I reminded myself that Thurnock did not share a Home Stone with the lissome dancers.

  “Look!” said Clitus. “The float is constructed to look like a ship, with a prow and all!”

  “And Nicomachos on the seeming stem castle, bowing and smiling, lifting his hands to the crowd.”

  Cheers were deafening.

  “Hail, Nicomachos!” cried men.

  I saw tears of gladness shed.

  The last float was followed by several ranks of Cosian spearmen.

  “I hope there is free food and drink in the taverns,” said a man.

  “It is easy enough to see,” said another.

  “A fine parade,” said Thurnock, “—for the Farther Islands.”

  “Better than most put forth in a peasant village, even on the continent,” said Clitus.

  “Listen!” I said.

  “What?” asked Sakim.

  I pointed to my left. “Down there!” I said.

  “I hear it,” said Thurnock.

  About us the crowd had begun to dissipate, men wending about, in one direction or another, but farther down to our left, we could still see clusters of people, some sort of roiling crowd.

  “Disturbance,” said Clitus.

  “Rioting!” said Thurnock.

  “What is going on?” asked Sakim.

  “A float is being stopped,” I said. “Men swarm to its surface! It is being stormed! The crowd is out of hand!”

  “I see confusion, I hear shouts and cries!” had said Clitus.

  “Turmoil,” had said Sakim.

  “Follow me,” I had said, hurrying toward the disturbance.

  I kicked open the door in the narrow, dimly lit corridor in the private precincts of the tavern, The Living Island, from behind which had come the sound of the small gong. Startled, Glaukos, short and thick-bodied, thick-legged, proprietor of the The Living Island, spun about to face me.

  “Touch a weapon and die,” I said.

  I hurled Sylvia, stripped, bound and gagged, to her knees. “Head to the floor,” I said.

  She needed not see what men would do. Rather, she, a slave, would wait to see what would be done with her.

  Glaukos still clutched the small hammer which he had applied to the gong. I looked at it. He dropped it to the floor and backed away.

  “You have no right here,” he said. “Who are you? What are you doing here? What do you want?”

  “My presence here,” I said, “is by right of the sword. I am known variously. Perhaps you do not recall me. You knew me once by the name, ‘Fenlon of Ti’.”

  In his eyes I saw quick recollection, and apprehension.

  “I was drugged in your tavern,” I said, “and a map was stolen.”

  “I know nothing of that,” he said.

  “I see,” I said, “that the sword must speak for me.”

  “No!” he said. “The map was worthless!”

  “I will declare its worth,” I said.

  He cast his eyes on the kneeling slave, her head pressed to the floor.

  “Why is the slave stripped?” he asked.

  “It pleased me,” I said. “She is beautiful enough to be stripped.”

  “I am not accustomed to seeing her so,” he said.

  “How is that?” I asked.

  “Kneeling so,” he said, “head to the floor, naked, well gagged, hands tied behind her, so small, so soft, so vulnerable, so helpless, so submissive, so slave.”

  I nudged the slave’s thigh with the toe of my boot. “Whimper, she-tarsk,” I said.

  She whimpered, instantly, fearfully.

  “Ahh,” said Glaukos, softly.

  “You can get much from a female,” I said, “once she learns her collar.”

  “Perhaps,” said Thurnock, “she has not been much hitherto in the hands of a true Master.”

  Glaukos threw an angry glance at Thurnock.

  “Shall I break his neck now?” asked Thurnock.

  Glaukos turned white.

  “No,” I said, “at least not yet.”

  “I shall call for help,” said Glaukos.

  “There will be none capable of assisting you,” I said. “That has been seen to.”

  “The map was useless, and was burned, in fury and chagrin,” he said. “But, as you say, it is yours to declare its worth. It was a meaningless scrap of rence paper, but I will compensate you for its loss. I trust that a hundred gold staters of Brundisium, or a dozen gold tarns of Ar, will be acceptable.”

  “How much is your life worth?” I asked.

  “More than I can pay,” he said.

  “Let the cost be,” I said, “a single gold stater of Brundisium.”

  Relief flooded the countenance of Glaukos, but, almost instantly, this expression changed to one of fear.

 
“Then,” he said, “you have not come here to rob me, have not come for gold?”

  “No,” I said.

  “For what then?” he asked.

  “Information,” I said.

  “I know little or nothing,” he said.

  “Ctesippus, Laios, and others,” I said, “are now in Sybaris.”

  “Happily, liberated from the corsairs,” he said.

  “They were one with the corsairs,” I said. “It seems they succeeded in deceiving Nicomachos, perhaps on a beach of Chios, presenting themselves as prisoners of the corsairs.”

  “Surely you are mistaken,” he said.

  “Your life will be in less jeopardy,” I said, “if you are candid.”

  “You are interested in such men?” he asked.

  “Only indirectly,” I said. “They were your employees and they stood high amongst the corsairs. Through them you are linked with the corsairs.”

  “No,” said Glaukos.

  “Shall I break his neck now?” asked Thurnock.

  “Wait,” I said.

  “I was given no choice,” said Glaukos, sweating. “Strong dark forces lurk in the shadows of Sybaris.”

  “Through Ctesippus and Laios, you are linked to the corsairs,” I said. “But with whom are you linked?”

  “Let us forget such matters,” he said. “The corsairs are defeated. Bosk of Port Kar was captured and later torn to pieces by an angry crowd. All is done.”

  “The body was not found,” I said.

  “He was chained, and heavily so,” said Glaukos. “There could be no escape.”

  “Still,” I said, “the body was not found.”

  I recalled an incident in Ar. It had taken place long ago. In that case, too, no body had been found. That had been of interest, later, to a friend, on the Plains of the Wagon Peoples, Kamchak, of the Tuchuks.

  “I know nothing,” said Glaukos.

  “Perhaps you might recall,” I suggested.

  “I know nothing,” said Glaukos.

  “Very well,” I said to Thurnock. “You may break his neck.”

  Thurnock, wide hands open, took a sudden, savage step toward Glaukos.

  “No!” cried Glaukos. “I recall! Archelaos, Archelaos!”

  “Of course,” I said, “but it is pleasant to hear it from a minion’s mouth.”

  “I was threatened, I am blameless!” said Glaukos.