Norman, John - Gor 25 - Magicians of Gor.txt

Norman, John - Gor 25 - Magicians of Gor.txt Page 14

by Magicians of Gor [lit]

  Myron, from the package held by one of the two fellows who had ascended the ramp

  with him, drew forth a shimmering veil. He shook this out and displayed it to

  the crowd.

  “It is the veil of a free woman!” said a man.

  Myron handed this to Talena, who accepted it.

  “I do not understand,” said Marcus.

  “It will be all she will be given,” said a man, angrily.

  “A Cosian joke,” said another, “then to be removed from her when they wish.”

  “Cosian sleen,” said a man.

  “We must fight,” said another.

  “We cannot fight,” said another. “It is hopeless.”

  Another fellow moaned.

  Myron then, however, from the same package, drew forth a set of the ornate robes

  of concealment, displaying these to the crowd, as he had done with the veil.

  These, too, he then delivered to Talena.

  “Why are they giving her such garments?” asked a man.

  (pg. 93) “They are Cosian garments,” said a man.

  “Perhaps it is that Lurius of Jad is to be the first to look upon her fully, in

  his pleasure chambers,” said a man.

  “Woe is Talena,” whispered a man.

  “Woe is us, woe is Ar!” said another.

  “We must fight,” said the man, again.

  “No, it is hopeless!” said the other.

  “No, see!” said another. “He again bows before her. Myron, the polemarkos, bows

  before our Talena!”

  Talena then bowed her head, too, as though shyly, gratefully, before the

  polemarkos.

  “She accepts his respects!” said a man.

  “It seems she now wishes to withdraw,” said a man.

  “Poor modest little Talena!” said another.

  To be sure, it seemed that Talena now, overcome with modesty, clutching the

  garments to her gratefully with one hand and with the other seeming to try to

  pull down the white robes, to more cover her bared feet, wished to leave the

  platform.

  The hand of Seremides however gently stayed her.

  “Modest Talena!” exclaimed a man.

  “She is not a slave,” said another, glaring angrily at Phoebe who, frightened,

  in her slave tunic, pressed herself more closely against Marcus.

  “Myron will speak,” said a man.

  The polemarkos, or him I took to be he, then advanced to the front of the

  platform. Gnieus Lelius, chained, was kneeling to his right.

  At the front of the platform, after a pause, Myron began to speak. He spoke in a

  clear, strong, resounding voice. His accent was Cosian, of course, but it was a

  high-caste Cosian accent, intelligible to all. Too, he spoke deliberately, and

  slowly. “I bring greetings,” said he, “from my ubar, your friend, Lurius of

  Jad.” He then turned to Talena, who stood somewhat behind him, the hand of

  Seremides on her arm, as though to supply her with perhaps much-needed kindly

  support in these trying moments. “First,” said Myron, “I bring greetings from

  Lurius of Jad to Talena of Ar, daughter of Marlenus of Ar, Ubar of Ubars!”

  Talena inclined her head, accepting these greetings.

  “Hail Cos!” cried a fellow in the crowd.

  Myron now turned to the crowd.

  The impressiveness of greeting Talena first, I had no doubt, had its

  significance. Also, I noted that she was being accepted as the daughter of

  Marlenus of Ar by Cos, in spite of the fact that Marlenus had disowned her. In

  accepting her as the daughter of Marlenus, of course, Cos had made it reasonably

  clear (pg. 94) that they would not be likely to challenge any claims she, or

  others on her behalf, might make with respect to the succession in Ar. Also,

  though I did not think Lurius of Jad himself would have approved of Marlenus

  being spoken of as the ubar of ubars, as he perhaps thought that he himself

  might better deserve that title, the reference seemed a judicious one on the

  part of Myron. It was a clear appeal to patriotic sentiment in Ar. And,

  naturally, this sort of reference to Marlenus would scarcely be expected to

  tarnish the image of Talena, who was thus implicitly being characterized as the

  daughter of the ubar of ubars.

  “And greetings, too,” called Myron, “to our friends and brothers, the noble

  people of Ar!”

  The crowd looked at one another.

  “Today,” said Myron, “you are free!”

  “Hail Cos! Hail Ar!” cried a fellow in the crowd.

  “The tyrant, our common enemy,” cried Myron, gesturing to Gnieus Lelius, “has

  been defeated!”

  “Kill him!” cried men in the crowd.

  “To the walls with him!” cried a fellow.

  “Fetch an impaling spear!” cried another.

  “Peace, friendship, joy and love,” called Myron, “to out brothers in Ar!”

  One of the members of the High Council, presumably its executive officer, who

  would have had been directly subordinate to Gnieus Lelius, the regent, in a

  civilian capacity, as Seremides would have been in a military capacity, stepped

  forth to respond to Myron, but he was warned back by Seremides. “I speak on

  behalf of Talena of Ar, daughter of Marlenus of Ar, Ubar of Ubars,” called

  Seremides. “She, in her own name, and of the name of the people and Home Stone

  of Ar, gives thanks to our friends and brothers of Cos, for the delivery of her

  city from the tyranny of Gnieus Lelius and for the liberation of her people!”

  At this point, doubtless by a prearranged signal, the great bars of the Central

  Cylinder began to ring, and, in moments, so, too, did the other bars about the

  city, near and far. But it seemed, too, then, for a time, one could scarcely

  hear the bars, so loud, so unrestrained, so wild, so grateful, so elated and

  tumultuous, were the cheers of the crowd.

  “Hail Cos! Hail Ar!” we heard.

  The cries seemed deafening.

  On the platform Myron then, and the fellows with him, now reached into the

  second package, seizing out handfuls of coins, even silver tarsks, and showered

  them into the crowd. Men seized them as they could. Taurentians stepped back

  from the (pg. 95) crowd’s perimeter. No longer was there danger of seething,

  ignitable surgency. I noted that while Myron and his fellows scattered these

  coins about, Seremides, waving to the crowd, and Talena, lifting her hand, too,

  and the High Council, withdrew from the surface of the platform. Also, almost

  unnoticed a squad of fellows from Cos ascended to the platform. The head of

  Gnieus Lelius was pushed down to the platform. A chain, about two feet Gorean in

  length, was put on his neck and attached to the short chain on his neck he could

  not stand upright, but must, rather, remain bent over, deeply, from the waist. A

  Taurentian then freed his neck of the heavy collar with the radiating chains, by

  means of which the children had conducted him to the height of the platform.

  Gnieus Lelius, then, former regent of Ar, in the motley rags suitable to a

  comedic mime, his ankles shackled, his up
per body wrapped in chains, bent far

  over, held in this fashion by the short chain between his neck and ankles,

  trying to keep his balance, taking short steps, was dragged by Cosians from the

  platform on the leash. He fell twice in my view, after which incidents he was

  struck by spear butts and pulled rudely again to his feet, to be again hastened,

  with more blows, on his way south on the Avenue of the Central Cylinder. Some in

  the crowd, seeing him as he passed, so clad, so hobbled, so helpless, so

  conducted, pointed and roared with mirth; others cried out hatred and insults,

  shrieked imprecations upon him, spat upon him, and tried to strike him. “Fool!”

  cried some. “Buffoon!” cried some. “Tyrant! Tyrant!” cried others. Dressing

  Gnieus Lelius in the garments of a comedic mime, in effect, a fool, a buffoon,

  seemed to me a politic decision on the part of the party of treachery in Ar.

  This would almost certainly preclude not only his return to power, if he should

  manage to regain his freedom, but even the formation of a party that might favor

  this. Indeed, even his closest supporters were inclined to grant his dupery.

  Too, the party of treachery must have realized that many in Ar would know, or

  surely eventually come to understand, that Gnieus Lelius, whatever might have

  been his faults as a leader in a time of crisis, was a far cry from a tyrant. If

  anything, his faults had been on the lines of tolerance, compromise and

  permissiveness, policies which had allowed Cos and her partisans to operate

  almost unopposed in the city, policies which had allowed Ar to be taken from

  him, and from herself. No, they would be likely to say to themselves, he was not

  a tyrant, but, indeed, he was perhaps a fool.

  “Tyrant! Tyrant!” cried men.

  Lurius of Jad, of course, would know that Gnieus Lelius was not a tyrant.

  “Tyrant!” cried men. “Tyrant!”

  I looked after Gnieus Lelius.

  I assumed he would be taken to Cos.

  Perhaps he would eventually adorn the court of Lurius of Jad, as a chained fool.

  Perhaps he might eventually entertain at banquets, pretending on his leash to be

  a dancing sleen.

  The coins cast forth, Myron lifted his arms to the crowd.

  Muchly he was cheered.

  Then he, with his fellows, descended the ramp and were in a moment again,

  utilizing the mounting rings, in the saddle. They then wheeled their mounts and

  began to move south. His helmet bearer, on his own beast, followed him. showing

  his face to the crowd was judicious, I thought. It suggested openness, candor,

  trust, rejoicing. Too, the common Gorean helmet, with its “Y”-shaped aperture,

  of which his helmet was a variant, tends to have somewhat formidable appearance.

  He smiled. He waved. Peals of rejoicing rang from the signal bars about the

  city. The crowds, on both sides of the avenue, cheered. Then the musicians

  struck up a martial air, and the standards turned about. The forces of Cos, too,

  about-faced. Then they withdrew, south on the avenue, between cheering crowds.

  Girls rushed out to give flowers to the soldiers. Some of the men tied them on

  their spears. “Hail Cos! Hail Ar!” cried hundreds of men. “We are free!” cried

  others. “Hail our liberators!” called others. “Gratitude to Cos!” cried others.

  “Hail Lurius of Jad!” cried others. Children were lifted on shoulders to see the

  soldiers. Thousands of small Cosian pennons, together with pennons of Ar,

  appeared, waving. Both sides of the street were riots of color and sound. “Hail

  Lurius of Jad!” cried men. “Hail Seremides!” cried others. “Hail Talena!” cried

  others. “Hail Talena!”

  I looked at Marcus.

  Phoebe had her head down, her eyes shut, covering her ears with her hands, so

  great was the din.

  But, in a few Ehn, with the passage of the Cosians south on the avenue, the

  crowd melted away from us.

  Phoebe opened her eyes and removed her hands from her ears, but she kept her

  head down.

  We could trace the withdrawal of the Cosians by the sounds of the crowd, even

  farther away.

  I looked at the platform, deserted now. On that platform, barefoot, Talena had

  stood. She had worn the robe of a penitent or suppliant. She should have been by

  custom naked beneath (pg. 97) that robe, but I doubted that she had been. I

  wondered what might have occurred had things turned out differently, and not as

  planned, say, had Myron removed that robe and found her clothed. I smiled to

  myself. She might have been killed. At the least she would have soon learned the

  lash of a man’s displeasure, in detail and liberally. But I did not think that

  she, or Seremides, had feared that eventuality. Surely she was of more use to

  the party of treachery, in which she doubtless stood high, and to the Cosians,

  on the throne of Ar than as merely another woman, naked and in chains, gracing a

  conqueror’s triumph. Seremides, too, and Myron, as well, I though, had played

  their parts well.

  As I pondered these things some workmen came forth to dismantle the platform. It

  had served its purpose. Too, at this time the great bars in the Central Cylinder

  ceased their ringing. We could still hear the ringing of other bars elsewhere in

  the city, farther away. Too, far off now, like the sounds of Thassa breaking on

  a distant shore, we could hear the crowds.

  I again considered the platform. On it Talena, of Ar, had stood barefoot. I

  trusted that she had not injured her feet.

  Phoebe now knelt beside Marcus, her head down.

  “It is strange,” I said to Marcus. “The war betwixt Cos and Ar has ended.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “It is done,” I said. “It is over.”

  “With victory for Cos,” said Marcus.

  “Complete victory,” I said.

  Marcus looked down at Phoebe. “You have won,” he said.

  “Not I,” she said.

  “Cos has won,” he said.

  “Cos,” she said. “Not I.”

  “You are Cosian,” he said.

  “No longer,” she said. “I am a slave.”

  “But doubtless you rejoice in her victory,” he said.

  “Perhaps Master rejoices,” she said, “that Ar, who refused to succor Ar’s

  Station, the city of the slave’s master, had now fallen?”

  Marcus looked down upon her.

  “Am I to be now slain?” she asked, trembling.

  “No,” he said.

  She looked up at him.

  “You are only a slave,” he said.

  Swiftly, weeping, she put down her head to his feet. She laughed and cried, and

  kissed his feet. Then she looked up at him, through her tears. “But am I no

  longer to be your little “Cosian”? she asked, laughing.

  (pg. 98)”You will always be my little Cosian,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  “Spread your knees, Cosian,” he said.

  “Yes, Master!” she laughed.

  “More wid
ely!” said he.

  “Yes, Master!” she said.

  “Slave,” said he.

  “Your slave, my Master!” she said.

  I heard the sound of hammers as the workmen struck boards from the platform.

  “We should seek lodging,” said Marcus.

  “Yes,” I said.

  Phoebe rose to her feet beside her master, clinging to him, pressing herself to

  him, soft, her head down. He nestled her in his arms. How must she was his!

  “Tomorrow,” said Marcus. “I would conjecture that Myron will have a triumph.”

  “More likely the Ubar of Cos, by proxy,” I said.

  “Doubtless its jubilation and pomp will dwarf the celebrations of this morning.”

  “Ar will do her best, I am sure, to officially welcome, and express her

  gratitude to, her liberator, the great Lurius of Jad,” I said.

  “Represented by his captain, and cousin, Myron, polemarkos of Temos,” he said.

  This was Myron’s exact title, incidentally. Temos is one of the major cities on

  the island of Cos. The crowd, of course, or many in it, regarded him simply as

  the polemarkos, or, say, understandably enough, and, I suppose, correctly

  enough, as the polemarkos of Cos.

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Seremides will doubtless participate in the triumph,” he said.

  “He should,” I said. “It is his, as well. He has doubtless worked hard and long

  to realize such a day.”

  “And Talena,” he said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “You sound bitter,” he said.

  “Perhaps,” I said.

  “Myron did not accept the sword of Seremides,” he said.

  “That is understandable,” I said.

  “I suppose so,” he said.

  “Certainly,” I said.

  The acceptance of the sword would have constituted a public token of the

  surrender of Ar’s forces, foot and cavalry, both tarn and tharlarion. That Myron

  had refused to accept it publicly on the platform was fully in keeping with the

  pretense of liberation.

  (pg. 99) “It is my speculation,” I said, “that the sword was surrendered

  yesterday, in the tent of Myron, or, more likely, before his troops, outside the

  city, and then, later, privately returned.”

  “Yes!” said Marcus. “I wager you are right!”

 

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