Mercenaries of Gor coc-21

by John Norman

  "Yes," I said.

  "No, no!" she cried. "Do not untie my ankles!"

  Hurtha dropped the ankle cords to one side. She clenched her ankles tightly together. She pulled desperately, futilely, against the thongs that held her wrists to the spokes. Hurtha left the vicinity of the wagon.

  "Relax, Boabissia," I encouraged her. "You have serious sexual needs, which you have been frustrating for too long. This has been evident in your temper, and in your demeanor and attitudes. This will do you a great deal of good." "I am not a slave!" she said, weeping, struggling. "I am a free woman! I do not have sexual needs!"

  "Perhaps not," I said. To be sure, it was difficult, and probably fruitless, to argue with a free woman about such matters. Too, I might have misread what seemed to be numerous and obvious signs of need in her. Perhaps free women neither needed nor wanted sexual experience. That, I supposed, was their business. On the other hand, if they did not want or need sex, the transformation between the free woman and the slave becomes difficult to understand. To be sure, perhaps it is merely the collar, and the uncompromising male domination, which so unlocks, and calls forth, the passion, service and love of a female.

  "What are you doing?" she asked, weeping.

  "Doubtless men will be here soon," I said.

  "What are you doing?" she wept.

  I put the opaque sack over her head and tied it, with its own strings, under her chin, close about her neck, rather like a slave hood. "This will make it easier for you," I said. "I am veiling you. Too, this will enable you, by shutting out certain extraneous factors, to concentrate more closely on the exact nature of your sensations.

  "Release me!" she wept.

  "No," I said.

  I heard a fellow near me. I looked about. "She is certified free?" he asked. "Yes," I said. "Examine her."

  He thrust Boabissia's dress up, high over her breasts. He examined her thighs, and the usual brand sites on a Gorean female slave.

  "How much?" he asked.

  "She is only a free woman," I said. I put a copper bowl on the ground, beside her, at her left. "She is not trained. Only a tarsk bit," It was the smallest, least significant Gorean coin, at least in common circulation.

  "In advance," I said. Men are commonly disappointed in free women, and almost certainly if they have experienced the alternative. They are not slaves, trained in the giving of pleasure to men. Some free women believe their role in lovemaking consists primarily in lying down. Should they become slaves the whip soon teaches them differently.

  "Of course," he said. The coin rattled into the copper bowl.

  "No,!" wept Boabissia. She clenched her ankles tightly together. Then her ankles, one in each hand of the fellow, were parted.

  It was now late in the evening.

  Hurtha happily shook the copper bowl. In it were several coins. I had not kept track. We were now, at any rate, once again solvent.

  "How do you feel?" I asked Boabissia.

  She twisted in the thongs and turned to the side. She whimpered, softly.

  We had kept Tula and Feiqa under the blanket in the back of the wagon. We had not wanted them to distract our visitors.

  I looked at Boabissia. She made another small, soft, whimpering noise. Some of the men, in their intense excitement, I feared, had been somewhat stronger, or ruder, with her than might have been appropriate for a free woman. Indeed, some had handled her almost as though she might have been a slave. We had not cautioned them to gentleness, however. After all, they had paid their tarsk bits.

  "Are you all right?" I asked.

  "Yes," she whispered.

  I put my ear down close to her. Her head in the sack, it tied on her, fastened under her chin, she did not know my nearness. I listened to the tiny, soft noises she made. It was like a soft moaning or tiny whimpering. It was almost inaudible. I knew such sounds. I smiled. She was still feeling, even now, wonderingly perhaps, the results of her havings. Perhaps she was trying, even now, in her depth of her femininity, to understand what had been done to her, to come to grips with her feelings, with those sensations which men had seen fit to induce in her.

  I leaned back. "You are sure you are all right?" I asked.

  "Yes," she said. I pulled down her dress, and freed her wrists. They were ringed with thong marks.

  She, her palms on the dirt, half knelt, half lay, by the wheel. Her head, still in the sack, was down.

  "Did you take me?" she asked.

  "No," I said.

  "Did Hurtha have me?" she asked.

  "No," I said.

  "Why not?" she asked.

  "You are a free woman," I told her. I then removed the sack from her head. Her face was red, and broken out. Her hair was damp. I turned the sack inside out, that it might dry and air. Boabissia turned away from me, apparently not wanting to meet my eyes. I do not think she wanted us to see her face. She was afraid, I think, of what we might see there. We would respect this. She was, after all, a free woman. We would, similarly, in deference to her feelings, keep Feiqa and Tula under the blanket for a time, lest their eyes suddenly, inadvertently, meet hers, and women read in one another's eyes truths which might be deeper than speech.

  "Good night," I said to her.

  "Good night," she said.

  I watched her pull her blanket about her. She suddenly shuddered. "Oh!" she said. Then she pulled the blanket more tightly about her shoulders. We would not chain her. She was not a slave. She was a free woman. She might leave, if she wished.

  12 It Is a Standard, That of a Silver Tarn

  "The city is taken!" I heard. "The city is taken!"

  I lay absolutely still for an instant. I heard no clash of weapons. There were no sounds of rushing feet, of flight. No cries of pain, of men cut in their blankets.

  I did hear the ringing of an alarm bar in the distance.

  My eyes might have appeared closed to a careless observer. They were open. Peripheral vision is important at such times. In that first instant, every sense suddenly alert, I appeared to be still asleep. There was the wagon. There were the remains of the fire. I detected no movement in my immediate vicinity.

  The first object that moves is often that which attracts the immediate attention of the predator. Too, the swiftest moving object, particularly that which moves silently and with obvious menace or purpose, is often construed, and generally correctly, by the attacker as the most dangerous, that to be dealt with first. Those overcome with surprise, those expostulating or cursing, those stunned, may be left for the instants later. There is a dark mathematics in such matters, in the subtle equations balancing reaction times against the movements of blades. One gambles. Is the instant one waits, that instant of fearful reconnoitering, that instant in which one hopes to convince a foe that one is temporarily harmless, an instant of loss, or of gain? Does it grant him his opportunity, or does it obtain you yours? Much depends on the actual situation. If one is roused by known voices, one generally rises quickly. The defensive is being assumed. If one does not know what is occurring, it is sometimes wise to find out before leaping up, perhaps into the weapons of enemies who might be as close as one's elbow. My right hand was on the hilt of my sword, my left on the sheath, its straps wrapped about it, to steady its draw. Doubtless I appeared to be still asleep. But no sounds of carnage rang about me.

  I sat up quickly, freeing myself from the blankets. I did not draw the weapon. I saw no immediate need to do so. I slung it, on its strap, over my left shoulder. The scabbard can be discarded more quickly in this suspension than in one which crosses the body.

  "Hurtha," I said, "wake up." I moved to his shoulder.

  "What is it?" he said. "Is it not early?"

  "Something strange is going on," I said. "Get up. There was an alarm bar ringing."

  "I hear nothing," he said, sitting up.

  To be sure, the bar had now stopped ringing.

  "I do not understand it," I said. "A fellow was crying out that the city had been taken. I do not hear him now.
Too, the alarm bar was ringing. I heard it." "It is very early," said Hurtha.

  "Get up," I said.

  I looked over at Boabissia. Her eyes were open. She was looking at me, frightened.

  "Did you hear the alarm bar?" I asked.

  "Yes," she said.

  "Get up Hurtha," I said. He had once again returned to his blankets.

  "It is too early," he said. Actually it was not all that early. Some other folks were now up, too, about the camp.

  "You may be in jeopardy of your life," I informed him.

  "At this hour?" he asked, horrified.

  "Yes," I said. "The enemy may be near."

  "What enemy?" he asked.

  "I do not know," I said.

  "Report to me when you learn," he said, rolling over.

  "I am not joking," I said.

  "I feared not," he grumbled.

  "Get up," I said.

  "One cannot begin to fight until the fight has begun, can one?" he asked. "I hope it does not follow from that that fighting is impossible," I said.

  "Of course not," he said. I began to sense and dread a lesson in Alar logic. "Well, in a sense," I said, "maybe not."

  "Has the fight begun?" he inquired.

  "No," I said.

  "Then you cannot expect me to begin fighting," he said.

  "Of course not," I said, hesitantly.

  "When the fray begins," said he, "awaken me."

  "Do you wish to be murdered in your bed?" I asked.

  "I had never thought much about it," said Hurtha, "but now that I reflect actively upon the matter, no. Why? Who is going to murder me in my bed?" "I am considering it," I said.

  "You will not do so," he informed me.

  "Why?" I asked, genuinely interested.

  "Among other things," he said, "your respect for poetry is to great." "You must be prepared for combat," I told him.

  "I am preparing even now," he said, rolling over.

  "How is that?" I asked.

  "I am pacing myself," he said. "I am conserving my strength. Surely you are aware that a well-rested body and clear mind are two among several of the soldier's best friends."

  "Perhaps," I granted him.

  "They are important, too, to poetry," he said, "of the sturdy, manly sort, that is, not to the neurasthenic drivel of mere poetasters and versifiers."

  "Doubtless," I said. He was then again asleep. Hurtha was one of the few folks I had ever known who had the capacity to fall asleep like lightning. Doubtless this was connected with a clear conscious. Alars, incidentally, are renowned for their capacity to wreak havoc, conduct massacres, chop off heads, and such, and then get a good night's sleep afterwards. They just do not worry about such things. I hoped that the enemy, if there was one, would not now fall upon the camp like a storm. Still, if they did, Hurtha might have escaped, sleeping through the slaughter. "Did you hear the alarm bar?" asked Mincon, coming over to me, his blanket over his arm.

  "Yes," I said.

  "I thought I might have dreamed it," he said.

  "Boabissia heard it too," I said.

  "It is not now ringing," he said.

  "No," I said.

  "The camp is pretty quiet," he said.

  "Yes," I said. We could see folks going about their business, folding their blankets, seeking out the latrines, starting up their morning fires.

  "It was a false alarm," he said.

  "Apparently," I said.

  "You are not certain?" he asked.

  "No," I said.

  "What could of happened?" he asked.

  "I heard a fellow crying out that the city had fallen," I said.

  "That is impossible," he said. "No enemy is within hundreds of pasangs. Torcadino is garrisoned. It is impregnable. It lies even, in these times, in the midst of allied armies."

  "It could be done." I said.

  "You would have to move an army through armies to take the city," he said. "Or over armies," I said.

  "You would have to smuggle and army into the city," he said.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Impossible," he said.

  "With some modest collusion, not really," I said.

  "You're joking," he said.

  "No, I said."

  "If there were such a thing," he said, "we would hear of it. There would be great fighting,"

  "It is quiet here," I said. "That does not mean, however, that somewhere else in the city, even now, there might not be fighting. A few blocks away, unknown to us, men may be dying. The streets may be running with blood." "I see no smoke," he said. "There seem no signs of flames." "That could mean little," I said. "Perhaps it is desired to keep the city intact, to maintain the integrity of its walls, to preserve its resources." "Perhaps," he smiled.

  "I looked at him, suddenly, surprised.

  "There is one way to find out," he said.

  "How?" I asked.

  "Climb up here," he said, "to the wagon box,"

  I joined him on the height of the wagon box. He pointed over the wagons, over the camp, over the buildings about the camp.

  "Do you see the cylinder there?" he asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "That is the central cylinder of Torcadino" he said, "the administrative headquarters of her first executive, whether it be Administrator or Ubar." "Yes," I said.

  "Look to its summit," he said.

  I did so.

  "Do you know the flag of Torcadino?" he asked.

  "No," I said.

  "It does not matter," he said, "for of recent months what has flown there has not been the flag of Torcadino, but another flag, that of Cos."

  "There is no flag there," I said. "I know the flag of Cos. I have seen it frequently. But there is no flag whatsoever there."

  "Do you not find that interesting?" he asked.

  "You are not a simple wagoner," I said.

  "What do you see there?" he asked.

  "I see a standard," I said.

  "What sort of standard?" he asked.

  "A military standard, I suppose," I said.

  "Describe it," he said.

  "It is silver," I said. "It is far off. It is hard to make out. The sun is glinting on it."

  "It is the standard of the silver tarn," he said. "It is mounted on a silver pole. Near the top of the pole there is a rectangular plate on which there is writing. Surmounting this plate, clutching it in its talons, is a tarn, done in silver, its wings outstretched."

  "You can see that," I asked, "at this distance?"

  "No," he said. "But I know the standard. I have seen it before."

  I regarded him.

  "Do you know the standard?" he asked.

  "No," I said.

  "You are an astute fellow," he said. "The city has indeed fallen. Furthermore, if I am not mistaken, you understand how this could of taken place."

  "Through the aqueducts," I said.

  "Of course," he said. "They were entered, one near the Issus, the other in the Hills of Eteocles, more than a hundred pasangs away. Soldiers in double file, wading, moving sometimes even over the heads of Cosian troops, traversed them." "Brilliant," I said.

  "Guards of one watch were purchased by gold," he said. "Those of another had their throats cut by partisans within the city."

  "Whose standard is it?" I asked.

  "It is the standard of my captain," he said, "Dietrich of Tarnburg."

  13 We Proceed to the Semnium

  I heard the crying of confused, frightened children, the lamentations of women. "That way, go that way," said a soldier, closing off a street.

  In the streets there was much movement, much of it between soldiers, directed movement, movement toward the great gate of Torcadino. Many folks had packs on their backs.

  "Look out, fellow!" said a voice.

  I moved aside, to let a two-wheeled cart, laden with baggage, drawn by a fellow, pass. The streets were crowded, filled with refugees.

  "Follow me," said Mincon. "You will be safe. Keep closely together."
"I want my ax," said Hurtha.

  "Keep closely together," I said. "Do not get separated."

  A number of dwellings along the way had been roped off. We could catch occasional glimpses within them, through opened doors, and sometimes, through windows. Too, we could hear shouts, and other sounds, such as furniture being broken. Within these buildings, soldiers were looting. From the high, opened windows of another building, some four or five feet below the sill, some forty feet or so above the street, its back against the stuccoed surface of the wall, there hung a body.

  "What is that?" I asked Mincon.

  "I cannot read," said Mincon. "There is a sign on its neck, What does it say?" " "Looter, " I said. "Then that is what it was," said Mincon.

  "There is much looting going on," I said. "In more than a dozen buildings we have seen it."

  "That was a civilian," said Mincon. "It is illegal for such to loot. They are not authorized to do so."

  "I see," I said.

  "There must be order in Torcadino," said Mincon.

  "Of course," I said.

  "I want my ax," said Hurtha.

  "Just keep close to us," I said.

  We had surrendered our weapons at the entrance to the wagon camp, as, in the company of Mincon, we had left it a few Ehn ago. A strict weapon control had been instituted in Torcadino. Possession of an unauthorized weapon could be construed as a capital offense, the penalty for which, at the discretion of any soldier, could be exacted in place, instantly and without recourse or appeal. The talons of the silver tarn did not grasp weakly. Yet this had been done in a legalistic fashion. In my wallet was a scrap of paper with a number on it, a number which matched another, that left with my weapons, left behind near the weapons table, that set up at the entrance of the camp.

  We were jostled in the throngs.

  "That way," said a soldier, gesturing. "That way."

  In the streets there was no smell of smoke. Smoke, like stifling clouds, did not block the sun, turning the day to choking dusk. Our eyes did not sting and water. One could breathe without difficulty. Sometimes, when a town is taken, you can feel the heat of burning buildings even blocks away. But Torcadino was not aflame.

  "That way," said another soldier.

  We hurried along in the crowds, following Mincon.