by John Norman
“Turn about, Tula,” said the man. “You are on your way back to your master.”
As I heard them leaving, I looked about the corner of my hiding place. I saw two large men. Preceding them, her hands locked behind her in slave bracelets, was a beautifully shaped little slave. She had dark hair. Her slave tunic, which was extremely short, was red.
I followed the men down the passageway. I stopped once, when they stopped, to extinguish the lantern.
Following them I came to an opening between the boxes, through which they had taken their way.
They had led me out of the maze.
I then saw many wagons and could smell tharlarion, and straw. I made my way swiftly through this area.
I then stopped, startled. The great cry of a tarn smote the air.
I fell to my hands and knees as two men passed, on the other side of a wagon.
I rose up and sped as furtively and swiftly as I could toward the area from which I had heard the bird’s scream. I stopped, seeing a bird take to the air, a tarn basket, on long ropes, trailing behind it.
I put out my hands. There seemed to be a platform in front of me. It must have been fifty yards long. On it there seemed to be two broad, leather skids. On these skids, some twenty yards or so in front of me, there were four or five tarn baskets.
I heard the snapping of wings. I crouched down beside the platform. A tarn, with its rider, alighted on the platform. There were men there, one fellow with a board and papers, and two others, who seemed to be aides.
I saw ropes being fastened between the tarn and the basket now first in the line. I crawled forward and, as the men were concerned with the tarn, it moving about and occasionally stretching and snapping its wings, crawled into the last basket. Within that basket was a blanket, one which had probably been used to cover some cargo brought to the camp. I drew the blanket over me and lay quietly in the bottom of basket.
It was becoming lighter now, and I was becoming more
and more afraid.
I gave myself little chance to escape, but I could do nothing more. I had done all that I could.
It seemed I lay there for an Ahn. The heavy fiber of the
basket cut into my skin. I did not, however, so much as move.
Then other tarns were brought, one by one, to the
platform. The other baskets were lofted away. Mine only, it seemed, remained.
“So where is Venaticus?” said a man.
“Sleeping one off,” said another fellow.
“Tangled up in the chains of some slave,” suggested another.
“I think it will be another warm day,” said a fellow.
“Good,” said one of the men. “Then they may have the covers down on the slave wagons.”
“When we dismantle,” said a man, “you could always drift back in the march and see Lady Sheila. She is a pretty little vulo in her cage.”
“They are all pretty in chains and behind bars,” said another man.
“I hate to think of them shoving an impaling spear up her ass,” said a man.
“I know an impaling spear I’d like to shove up her ass,” said another man.
There was laughter.
Men may do with us what they wish, I thought. Our only chance is to turn them against themselves, and use them for our purposes. But in this we frustrate nature, that of men and of ourselves. How can we win, then? Perhaps, I thought, only by losing.
But these thoughts were more appropriate to Earth than Gor. It did not seem possible to turn the men of Gor against themselves. Perhaps they were less simple than the men of Earth, or more simple, more basic and natural. They had, at any rate, never permitted themselves to be tricked out of their natural rights and powers. The conniving woman on Gor, she who would seek to control and manipulate men, is likely to soon find herself at the feet of her would-be victim naked, kissing them, locked in his collar.
There seemed suddenly a storm of wings in the air, and I heard the striking of tarn talons on the platform. Men, almost immediately, began to work about the basket. I felt the basket move as ropes were fastened on it and jerked tight. There was a tiny space between two folds of the blanket, through which I could see, looking then through an opening in the weaving of the basket. With two fingers I drew the blank more together.
“Your face is smeared with lipstick,” said a man, “and you stink of slaves and paga.”
“I cannot explain that,” said a fellow, as though puzzled, “for all night I have rested comfortably in the tent of cargo riders.”
“The company will not be pleased,” said a fellow. “If you slept a wink last night I am a purple urt.”
“It is lucky for you then,” said the newcomer, concernedly, “that indeed I neglected to slumber.”
“Are you in a condition to fly?” asked a man.
“I shall sleep in the saddle,” said the man.
“You have a long flight, of several stages,” said a man.
“I shall be well rested then by the time of my arrival Ar,” said the newcomer.
“I am sure the paga slaves will be pleased,” said a man. “all several hundred of them.”
“Do not neglect to fasten your safety strap,” said a man.
“I shall do so, unless perhaps I chance to fall asleep first,” the newcomer assured the fellow.
“What is that sound?” asked a man.
“It sounds like an alarm bar, back in the south part of the camp,” said a man.
“I wonder what is wrong,” said another.
“Will I see Bemus in Ar, or Torquatus?” asked the new comer.
“No, luckily for the paga slaves,” said a man. “You are the only rider this morning bound for Ar. Bemus has a pickup to make in Lydius, and Torquatus in Bazi.”
“It is an alarm bar,” said a man, “clearly.”
“I hear another, too, now,” said a man.
“I wonder what is going on,” said the newcomer.
“You will rendezvous with us in ten days, on the south bank of the Issus,” said a man. “You will be bringing another shipment of Ka-la-na for the officers.”
“I wonder what is going on,” said the newcomer.
“You are late,” said a man, with a rustle of papers.
“I am never late,” said the newcomer. “It is only that sometimes it takes me longer to be on time than others.”
“I hear other alarm bars, too, now,” said a man.
“Do you think the camp is under attack?” asked a man.
“No,” said a man.
“It is probably a fire,” said a man.
“I do not see any smoke,” said a man.
“Perhaps Lady Sheila has escaped,” suggested a fellow, lightly.
This suggestion was greeted with raucous laughter. The little vulo, doubtless, was still safe in her cage.
“It is probably a fight between companies or platoons,” said a man, “probably over gambling or a slave.”
“I think I will go see,” said the newcomer.
“Into the saddle!” said a man.
“But a fight!” said the newcomer.
“Venaticus,” cautioned the man.
“Very well,” he said.
“It must be important,” said a man. “Hear the alarm bars now.”
“If it were only a fight, there would not be that many alarm bars, said a man. “Indeed, there probably would not be any. It would not be necessary to alarm the whole camp over an incident of that sort.”
“It is probably a drill,” said a man.
“That is it,” said another. “It must be a drill.”
Suddenly there was a storm of wings and the basket, a moment later, was jerked forward, slipping along the leather skids and then, in another instant, taking my breath away for an instant, it was lofted like the others high into the air.
Through tiny cracks between the woven fibers of the deep, sturdy basket I could see the ground slipping away beneath us. Wind seemed to tear through the fibers of the basket. I clutched the b
lanket, it being torn in the wind, more closely about me. The ropes and the basket creaked.
The rider took the tarn once about the camp, doubtless to satisfy his curiosity. He could make out little, however, I suspected, from the air. I could see men below moving about in the camp, emerging from tents and such, but there seemed to be no clear pattern to their activity. Certainly the camp was not under attack, nor did there seem to be any fire. The absence of a clear pattern to the activity, too, suggested that a drill, or at least a general drill, was not in progress. Perhaps it was merely a testing of the crews of the alarm bars.
He then turned the tarn about and began to take his way toward the northwest. I lay in the bottom of the basket. I pulled my legs up, and pulled the blanket about me. I was cold. I hoped that I would not freeze. I was frightened. I saw the camp disappearing in the distance. Only faintly now could I hear the ringing of the alarm bars. The fiber of the basket would be temporarily imprinting its pattern on my skin. I hoped that the ropes would hold.
Chapter 16 - I AM ON THE VIKTEL ARIA, IN THE VICINITY OF VENNA
I felt a hand on my shoulder. It shook me, gently. I could also feel the warm sun on my back. There was grass under my belly. I had been awakened on an incline. There was muddy water about my feet.
I had been three days the unsuspected guest of the tarnsman from the camp of Miles of Argentum. On the first two nights he had camped in the open. On the first night I had crept forth and, from his pack, after he was asleep, stole some meat and Sa-tarna bread. I also took a drink from his canteen. I partook sparingly in these things for fear of being discovered. If he detected any tiny shortages in his supplies perhaps he put them to the accounts of straying vagrants.
On the second day I noticed, to my uneasiness, more dwellings below us. Too, I noted more tended fields. On the second night I stole fruit from an orchard and drank from a pool. I decided to risk a third day in the basket, to put even more hundreds of pasangs between me and Argentum and Corcyrus. On this third day, however, to my dismay, I could see roads below, and many dwellings and fields. We passed over, even, two towns. On the third night, frightening me, he landed within the palisade of a fortified inn. The tarn basket was left within the palings of a special enclosure within this general palisade. Now it was time, I knew, to take my leave. Surely I was not interested in being delivered to Ar, the very ally of Argentum, where, presumably, it would be impossible to escape detection.
I could not, however, to my consternation, climb the palings of the enclosure or find a space between them to squeeze through. I hid among the tarn baskets, of which there were several there. When a new basket, that of a late arrival, unhitched from its tarn, was being dragged within the palings from the landing area outside, within the larger palisade, while it was being put in its numbered space, I slipped out. I hid among garbage boxes behind the inn. No sleen patrolled the inner yard, probably because of the danger to guests. I fed from the garbage, ravenously. It had rained recently and there was water in various discarded containers and lids. I drank greedily.
Muchly did I envy the people in the inn, with their viands and beverages, their clean rooms, their clothing and warm beds. I envied even the slaves that might be within. They, at least, were secure and well fed. What had they to worry about, other than being pleasing to their masters? I cried out, suddenly, softly, as the fur of a scurrying urt brushed my leg. I crawled about the inn, keeping to the brush at its side.
I moved leaves out of the way with my hand. Leaves brushed my back.
Then I could see the main gate of the palisade. A wagon, drawn by a tharlarion, was entering. It tipped to the left, its wheels sinking into the ruts, on the left almost to the hubs, in the soft ground, from the rains.
The driver cracked the whip and called out to the tharlarion. “Do not make so much noise,” he was cautioned by the porter. “People are sleeping.” The porter then went to the tharlarion and pushing at it and striking it, urged it forward. The great beast grunted and threw itself forward, against the harness. The wagon was drawn through the gate, water from the ruts dripping from its wheels. To my dismay I then saw the porter close the gates and thrust the great beam across, through its brackets, behind them. This he secured in place with a lock and key.
He then accompanied the teamster to the stables. I hurried forward and ran to the gate. I felt under the palings of the gate. I began to dig there in the softness of the ground, and in the muddy water pooled in the ruts. I tried to thrust my body down, under the gate. There was not enough room. I heard the creaking of another wagon, this one coming about the inn. I hid back in bushes to the side. In moments the porter had returned to the gate.
I was in misery. I could not slip under the gate, or dig out under it, if the porter was there. He was a man and would simply stop me, and capture me. I did not know when, or if, another wagon would arrive before daylight, one that might take the porter again from his post, giving me time to dig out under the gate. Risking much I slipped back to the enclosure where the tarn baskets were. As I feared, it was now once more locked. I hurried back about the inn. The porter was engaged in a discussion, and not a particularly amiable one, with the driver. The driver had apparently criticized the porter for not being at the gate, and the porter, in response, was being officiously careful about checking the driver’s ostrakon of payment. “I am not sure that is the mark of Leucippus,” said the porter. “It does not look much like his mark.”
“Awaken him, then,” said the driver “and certify that it is so.”
“I do not care to awaken him at this Ahn.”
“I am to be on the road by dawn.”
“You will have to wait.”
“I do not have time to wait!” In the end the porter opened the gate and let the man proceed. By that time I was in the back of the wagon. An Ahn or so later, when it was nearly dawn, I eased myself silently from the back of the wagon and crouched down on the road. It continued on its way. I then left the road and ran across the fields.
***
“Are you awake?” asked a voice.
The hand on my shoulder shook me again, again gently.
My body stiffened. “Yes,” I whispered.
I lay on the slope of a ditch, as it ascended to a road.
There was a trickle of water at my feet. The grass was very green here, because of the water.
When I had left the wagon, by means of which I had accomplished my escape from the inn, I had fled across the fields. I had run and walked until perhaps noon, and had then, fearful of discovery, hidden near a small pool in a brake of ferns until nightfall. I had washed in the pool and drunk from it. I had set out again in the moonlight.
I had eaten almost nothing and I was terribly hungry. I had been afield for only an Ahn or so when the winds had risen and clouds had obscured the moons. Rain had begun to fall, as it apparently had the night before. I stumbled on through the darkness, my legs lashed to the thighs by the knives of the wind-whipped grass. I soon grew weak and exhausted. I sought a dwelling, or a road, which I might follow to a dwelling, that I might there, like an urt, skulk about and, as at the inn, piteously seek some sustenance from their refuse. Twice I fainted, probably from hunger. The second time I recovered consciousness the storm had worsened and the sky was bursting with lightning and thunder.
As I crouched in the grass I saw, in a valley below me, in a flash of lightning, like a wet stone ribbon, a road. I crawled toward it. At its edge there was a deep ditch. Had I not been crawling, I might, in the darkness, between flashes of lightning, have come on the ditch unawares and fallen into it. As it was I lowered myself down its slope with the intention of then climbing the other side and attaining the surface of the road. In the bottom of the ditch there was, at that time, a flow of water some six inches deep, from the storm. I knelt in this, the cold fluid rushing about my legs, and, cupping my hands, drank from it.
I then started to climb toward the road. I was suddenly frightened. The incline was steeper than I had antic
ipated. I slipped back, into the water. I tried again, inching myself upward. Grass pulled out of the slope, clutched in my hands. I slipped back. I was weak and miserable. I waded at the bottom of the ditch and, in two or three places, again tried to climb out of it. I was not successful.
The storm, meanwhile, had subsided. I could now see the moons. In the moonlight I found an ascent which I, though with difficulty, could manage. Gasping, holding at the grass, inching my way upward, I drew my body from the grass to the road. I looked at the road, from my belly. I felt out with my hands. It seemed constructed of large, square stones. It was not an ordinary road, I thought. Like most Gorean roads, however, a single pair of ruts marked its center. Gorean vehicles, commonly slow moving, tend to keep to the center of a road, except in passing.
In the distance I heard the sound of bells, harness bells. It might be a wagon, or a set of wagons, which had pulled to the side of the road during the storm and now, with the passing of the storm, had resumed its journey. It must be near morning, I thought, that they are on the road. Gorean roads are seldom traveled at night. The bells were coming closer. I moaned and slid back from the road, again into the ditch. I slipped back a yard or so down the grassy slope, and then, clinging to grass, held my position. I could not see the surface of the road. I would wait here until the wagons had passed. They would not, I was sure, at night, in the moonlight and shadows, detect my presence. I clung there until the first wagon had passed. I could hear others approaching, too. I let myself slip down further in the ditch. I must not be discovered. I put my cheek against the wet grass. I was very tired.
It was a good hiding place, the ditch. In the darkness, in the moonlight and shadows, I would not be detected. I was safe.
I dreaded the climb again to the surface of the road. The ditch was so steep. I did not understand the need for such a ditch at the side of the road. But I was safe now. There were other wagons, too, coming. There must be many wagons. I must wait. I would rest, just a little bit. It would not hurt to close my eyes, only for a moment. I was so hungry. I was so tired. I was so miserable. I would rest, just for a little bit. I would close my eyes, only for a moment.