Witness of Gor coc-26

by John Norman

  “Gito?” said the peasant.

  The leader of the black-tunicked men turned sharply back, to regard the peasant.

  The cell was very quiet.

  Gito began to tremble.

  “Gito?” said the peasant.

  “He knows him!” said the lieutenant.

  “Yes?” said Gito, backing away.

  “Is it you?” asked the peasant.

  “Yes,” said Gito.

  “He heard the name before. You spoke it yourself,” said the pit master.

  “Be silent!” said the leader of the black-tunicked men.

  The peasant lifted his eyes, seemingly vacant, toward the leader of the strangers.

  “You wear black,” he said.

  “Do you know the meaning of such habiliments?” inquired the leader of the strangers, eagerly.

  “No,” said the peasant.

  “You remember them, such habiliments?” said the leader of the strangers.

  “I do not know,’ said the peasant.

  “Think, think!” said the leader of the strangers.

  “Perhaps,” said the peasant.

  “It was long ago,” urged the leader of the strangers.

  “Perhaps,” said the peasant. “Long ago,”

  “Where is your holding?” asked the leader of the strangers.

  “I do not know,” said the peasant.

  “Near Ar?”

  But the peasant was looking on Gito, who shrank back, among several of the men in black.

  “Are you not my friend Gito?” asked the peasant.

  “He knows him!” said the lieutenant.

  “Is your holding not near Ar?” asked the leader of the strangers.

  “Perhaps,” said the peasant. “I do not know.”

  “Dow with Ar!” said the leader of the strangers.

  “No,” said the peasant, very slowly.

  “Yes,” said the leader of the strangers, “down with Ar!”

  “Down with Ar’?” said the peasant.

  “Yes, down with her!” said the leader of the strangers.

  The peasant seemed puzzled.

  “Ar is nothing to you,” said the pit master.

  “I spit upon the Home Stone of Ar!” said the leader of the strangers.

  “Ar is nothing to you,” insisted the pit master.

  “Be silent!” said the leader of the strangers.

  “Is she in danger?” asked the peasant.

  “Yes!” said the leader of the strangers.

  “Then those who are of Ar must defend her,” said the peasant.

  “I am sure it is he!” said the lieutenant, delightedly.

  “And what of you?” urged the leader of the helmeted men. “Are you not of Ar?” must you, too, not defend her?”

  “Is it time for the planting?” asked the peasant.

  “Must you not defend Ar?” asked the leader of the black-tunicked men.

  “Why?” asked the peasant.

  “Are you not of Ar?”

  “I do not know.”

  The leader of the helmeted men stepped back.

  “It is he,” insisted the lieutenant.

  “I agree,” said the leader of the helmeted men. He then, with two hands, removed his helmet. A gasp escaped me, and several of the other girls, too, for, on the forehead of the leader, fixed there, presumably this morning, was the image of a black dagger. It was such a thing, it seemed, that these men had placed on their foreheads this morning. The leader of the black tunicked men now handed his helmet to one of the others. He also drew his dagger. “Bring the sack forward,” he said to the fellow with the sack. It was brought forward, and opened.

  “He is chained!” said the pit master.

  The peasant looked out, as he often did, seeming to see nothing.

  He called Gito turned his face away.

  “You have played a clever game of double Kaissa,” said the leader of the black-tunicked men. “leading us to believe, as though falsely, this was he whom we seek, when it was in truth he, but the game has been penetrated.”

  “This is not he whom you seek!” said the pit master.

  “And whom do we seek?” asked the leader of the black-tunicked men.

  The pit master was silent.

  “He whom we seek surely could not be confessedly in Treve,” laughed the leader of the black-tunicked men.

  “This is not he,” said the pit master.

  “Then it will not matter that he is killed,” said the leader of the black-tunicked men.

  The lieutenant and several of the others with them laughed. It was the only time I had heard them laugh.

  I saw the hand of the pit master steal toward his tunic.

  “Someone is coming,” said one of the men outside the door.

  The pit master drew his hand quickly away from his tunic.

  The figures of the officer of Treve appeared in the doorway, he whom knew well, and he who had, in the manner of these men, known me well, and as a slave.

  “We have found he whom we seek,” said the leader, “and we will brook no interference.”

  “I do not come to offer you any,” said the officer. “Your papers are in order.”

  “Where have you been?” said the pit master.

  “I have set guards at all exits to the city,” he said.

  “For what purpose?” asked the leader of the strangers.

  “To prevent the possible escape or improper removed of a prisoner,” he said.

  “You take great pains to guard the honor of your keeping,” said the pit master.

  “Yes, and of yours,” he said.

  “I have not betrayed my trust,” said the pit master.

  “And I am here to see that you do not,” said the officer.

  “It seems we have different senses of honor,” said the pit master.

  “Honor has many voices, and many songs,” said the officer.

  “It would seems o,” said the pit master.

  “He does not even know what we will do with him,” said the leader of the black-tunicked men.

  “Your papers are for transfer, for extradition,” said the pit master, “only that.”

  “They do not specify that the prisoner is to be removed alive, or in his entirety,” said the leader.

  “I am not fond of those of the black caste,” said the officer.

  “Nor we of those of the scarlet caste,” said the leader.

  “At least we have the common sense to go armed,” said the lieutenant.

  “You do not share our Home Stone,” said the pit master. “You should not be armed in our city.”

  “We have the authorization of the administration,” said the leader of the black-tunicked men.

  “Who would disarm us?” asked the lieutenant.

  “Stand back,” said the leader of the black tunicked men.

  “I am reluctant to permit this,” said the officer of Treve. “It is one thing, in the honor of a keeping, your papers in order, to surrender a prisoner. It is another to see this done within our walls. I fear lest the Home Stone be stained.”

  “Is it your intention to interfere?” inquired the leader of the back-tunicked men.

  “It does not seem that I could,” said the officer. “Such would seem to constitute betrayal of my post.”

  “It would, clearly,” the leader of the strangers assured him.

  The leader of the strangers then returned his attention to the peasant.

  “Is it time for the planting?” asked the peasant.

  “Perhaps you would have us put more chains on him first?’ said the pit master, bitterly.

  “That will not be necessary,” said the leader of the black tunicked men.

  “You!” cried the pit master, addressing himself to the fellow called Gito. “He is not the one you know. Tell the captain!”

  “Where is my friend Gito?” asked the peasant.

  “Here,” said Gito, from back among those in the black tunics.

  “Are
you well, Gito?” asked the peasant.

  “Yes,” said Gito.

  “I am pleased to hear this,” said the peasant, approvingly, distantly.

  “There is no doubt about it,” said the lieutenant. “He remembers him. He knows him.”

  “He should,” said the leader of the strangers. “He once, on a hunting expedition, saved Gito from brigands who were torturing him. He took him, half dead, burned, defaced, into his own house, showered him with gifts, improved his fortunes, treated him as a kinsman. He loved few and trested few, as he loved and trusted Gito.”

  Gito turned away.

  “It is he, is it not?” said the lieutenant.

  Gito covered his face with his hands.

  “No!” said the pit master.

  The lieutenant smiled.

  The leader of the black-tunicked men then motioned the fellow with the sack to advance.

  “No!” said the pit master, thrusting his own body between the knife and the peasant.

  The leader of the black-tunicked men looked to the officer of Treve. “Order this obtuse brute to stand aside,” he said.

  “Stand aside,” said the officer of Treve.

  “No!” said the pit master.

  “He is armed!” said the lieutenant.

  The pit master, from within his tunic, had drawn forth the stiletto which I had seen yesterday in his quarters, that which he had concealed beneath the papers.

  The leader of the black-tunicked men stepped back, carefully, slowly, not taking his eyes from the pit master. He made no quick moves. When he was a few feet back he stopped. He then transferred the dagger he carried to his left hand and drew his sword with his right. It left the sheath almost soundlessly. It was a typical blade of this world, small and wicked. Such blades are favored by those who prefer to work close to their men. They are also designed in such a way that they may, by a skilled swordsman, in virtue of their lightness, speed and flexibility, be worked within the guard of longer, heavier weapons. Their design is such, in short, as to overreach shorter weapons and yet, in virtue of the weights involved, penetrate the defenses of less wieldy blades. The lieutenant had also drawn his weapon.

  “Please stand aside,” invited the leader of the strangers.

  “Stand aside!” said the officer of Treve.

  “No!” said the pit master.

  Fina, amongst us, kneeling in the damp straw, bound, moaned.

  The pit master did not glance at her. His eyes were on the leader of the strangers.

  “Bowmen,” said the leader of the black-tunicked men.

  Two black tunicked, helmeted fellows who had their bows set, quarrels ready within the guides, stepped forward.

  “No!” screamed Fina.

  “Do not lift your bows,” said the officer of Treve.

  “He is armed!” said the lieutenant.

  From within his robes the officer had drawn forth a blade. It had apparently been slung beneath his left arm. It had not been sheathed.

  “The first man to lift a bow dies,” said the officer of Treve.

  “Why do you interfere?” inquired the leader of the strangers.

  “It will take only a moment to kill them both,” said the lieutenant.

  “You are a captain,” said the leader of the strangers to the officer of Treve. “You hold rank in this city. Why would you defend this monster?”

  “We share a Home Stone,” said the officer.

  “Is it time for the planting?” inquired the peasant.

  “Yes!” suddenly cried the pit master, over his shoulder. “It is time for the planting!”

  “You have been kind to me,” said the peasant. “But I must now leave. It is time for the planting.”

  “You may not leave,” said the pit master, speaking to the giant behind him, not taking his eyes from the leader of the strangers.

  “I must,” said the peasant, simply.

  “They will not let you!” said the pit master. “These men will not let you!”

  “I am sorry,” said the peasant. “I must go.”

  “You cannot!” cried the pit master, “They will not let you!”

  “Not let me?” said the peasant, dully, uncomprehendingly.

  “No, they will not let you!” said the pit master.

  “Look,” said the lieutenant, amused. “He is getting up.”

  There was laughter from the helmeted men.

  The peasant now stood. He looked down at the chains, from one side to the other, on his wrists, and ankles.

  He pulled at them a little, not seeming to comprehend the impediment they imposed upon him.

  “Free yourself!” said the lieutenant.

  The peasant pulled against the chain on his left wrist. The links of the chain went straight, lifting the ring from the wall. He similarly tried the chain on his right wrist.

  There was laughter from the men present.

  “They mock you! They laugh at you! They will not let you do the planting!” said the pit master, not looking back.

  “They are not my friends?” asked the peasant.

  “No!” said the pit master. “They are not your friends! They would stop you from the planting.”

  “I must do the planting,” he said.

  “They will not let you!” cried the pit master.

  Suddenly a strange, ugly, total, eerie transformation seemed to cove over the gigantic body of the peasant.

  “Free yourself!” taunted another man.

  “He is growing angry,” said another.

  Suddenly the veins in the forehead of the giant seemed to swell with blood, like ropes under the skin. His eyes seemed suddenly inhuman, inflamed like those of a mad animal.

  The men grew silent, uneasy.

  He threw himself again and again against the chains. His wrists bled.

  He uttered a low, terrible sound, not like anything even an animal might manage. More like something that might have sprung from the depths of the earth, a rumbling, as of a volcano.

  There was an uneasy laugh from one of the helmeted men. The girls, keeling in the straw, bound, neglected, to the side, I among them, were tense. We shrank back a little. Our knees moved in the straw. It seemed we might be in the presence of a force of nature.

  He strained against the chains, uttering terrible sounds, like no human.

  “Ai,” said a man, watching.

  Then it was suddenly, oddly, as though he grew in stature, in power, and strength.

  Doubtless it was an optical illusion, given the confinement of the cell, his now being upright, not sitting, his pulsing to his full stature, then bending down, like a ball, straining, muscles bulging, pulling outward. Then straightening up, then again bending down, again pulling forward.

  “He will tear his limbs from his body,” said a man.

  But I did not think the peasant, that violent giant, that simple, outraged behemoth of a man, in his present state of mind, in his agitation, in the singleness of his purpose, in this ferocious, puissant concentration of all of his force, his power, against iron and rock, was troubled by pain, or even capable of feeling it.

  Again and again the chains drew against the rings. It seemed that a draft beast of enormous size could have exerted little more stress on that metal.

  Some of the men then laughed.

  But almost at the same time there was heard the slippage of a bolt, and we saw, on his left, our right, as we looked upon him, the plate to which the ring was attached, jerk outward an inch.

  “Ai,” said a man, in awe.

  The men were then silent.

  In the light I saw, on his right, our left, one of the links of the chain stretch a little, bending. I do not know if others saw this. The links there could have been slipped apart, but the peasant took no note of this, rather he continued to force himself against the chain, the link bending more.

  “I have never seen anything like this,” said one of the black tunicked men, in awe.

  “He is amazingly strong,” said anothe
r.

  “The bolts are weak,” said another.

  “They have been filed from the other side,” said another.

  The peasant reached down and seized the chain on his right ankle with both his right and left hand. He then crouched down and then began, slowly, to straighten his legs.

  “He will break his legs,” said a man.

  Suddenly the chain snapped from the ring.

  “It was rusted in the dampness,” said a man.

  “We have seen enough of this,” said the leader of the black tunicked men.

  “You know he cannot free himself,” said the pit master. “You know he cannot do that!”

  “Bowmen,” said the leader of the strangers.

  But the gaze of the bowmen seemed fixed, in awe, on the straining giant. Their bows, the quarrels set, were not elevated to fire, with a vibrating rattle of cable, to the heart. I did not think they even heard their captain.

  “Bowmen!” said the leader of the strangers.

  His cry shook the bowmen.

  “Spare the pit master or die!” cried the officer of Treve.

  “Hold your fire,” said the leader of the strangers. They had not, however, mindful of the proximity of the officer’s blade, raised their weapons, either to the pit master, or to the officer. One could presumably manage to fire. The other, whichever it was to be, would presumably die. The lieutenant moved a little to his left.

  “Remain where you are,” cautioned the officer of Treve.

  He could be outflanked by a thrust from his right.

  “You have one stroke, that is all,” said the lieutenant.

  “Remain where you are,” said the officer of Treve.

  The lieutenant stayed where he was. He himself had not been authorized to strike by his captain, and the single stroke which the officer might be expected to initiate might well be intended for him.

  “You have no objection, I trust,” said the leader of the strangers to the officer of Treve, “to the simple removed of your disobedient subordinate from the line of fire?”

  “If he is unharmed,” said the officer.

  “Stand with me!” said the pit master.

  “Stand aside,” said the officer. “Their papers are in order. You know that as well as I. Be mindful of your post, its honor, and your duty.”

  “Honor has many voices, many songs,” said the pit master.

  “Get him out of the way,” said the leader of the strangers.