by John Norman
“Such things have not been done for a thousand years,” said Ortog.
“I have issued the challenge,” said Otto.
“Such challenges can only be between chieftains of tribes,” said the clerk to Ortog. “He is chieftain of the Wolfungs, of the Vandals. He has seen fit to accord you this challenge. Seize this opportunity, milord. It is a rare one. In accepting it, you are acknowledged chieftain of the Ortungs, and the Ortungs a tribe, that in the eyes not only of the Wolfungen, an acknowledged tribe of the Vandals, but in those of all the Vandal peoples, and of a hundred other peoples, as well.”
“Does milord hesitate?” asked Ortog’s shieldsman.
“What is your origin, your true people?” asked Ortog of Otto.
“I do not know,” said Otto. “I was raised in the festung village of Sim Giadini. It is on Tangara.”
“You are only a peasant,” said Ortog. “How could I, a chieftain, in honor and propriety, accept a challenge from one such as you?”
“I have been lifted upon the shields,” said Otto.
“He has the look of an Otung,” said one of the men from the side.
Ortog was silent. He had, himself, long ago, on the Alaria, vouchsafed a similar speculation.
Julian looked closely at the first fellow who had spoken, and then at Ortog.
The Otungs, or Otungen, were the largest, and fiercest, tribe of the Vandal peoples.
“No matter, milord,” said the clerk. “He has been lifted upon the shields. Accept the challenge.”
“Do not hesitate, milord!” called a man from the fellows to the left of the dais.
“Such a thing would consolidate the people, milord,” said the clerk.
“Your sister,” said Otto, “is well curved, and would bring a high price upon a slave block.”
Men cried out with rage.
“Beware,” said Ortog.
Otto shrugged. “She is only a woman,” he said.
“You permitted yourself to be captured,” said Ortog, angrily, to Gerune.
“I could not help it, milord,” said Gerune. “I was overpowered.”
“I see,” snarled Ortog.
“I am a woman,” said Gerune.
“Only a woman,” snarled Ortog.
“I am a princess!” she said.
“And you were taken as easily as any woman. You could have been made a slave.”
“I am a princess!” she cried.
“Only a woman,” snarled Ortog.
“And that becomes clearer,” said Otto, “if her regal robes were to be again removed.”
“Beware, Wolfung!” said Ortog.
“Accept the challenge!” urged the clerk.
“Accept the challenge!” said the shieldsman.
“As I have issued the challenge,” said Otto, “you may, as is the custom of our two peoples, choose the weapons.”
Ortog looked down at the garments, the jewelry, and such, of the princess Gerune, which had been removed from her on the Alaria, and returned to Hendrix and Gundlicht on Varna, some days ago. These various items still lay across his knees.
“You have shamed me, and the Ortungs,” said Ortog to Gerune.
“I am sorry, milord,” said Gerune, tears in her eyes.
“You may, of course,” said Otto, “choose a champion.”
“I have a mind,” said Ortog to Gerune, “to keep you in the tents from now on, to conceal you from the eyes of those you shamed.”
Gerune looked at him, stricken.
“You would have less freedom than a slave girl,” said Ortog.
“Please, no, milord,” wept Gerune.
“And it would be fitting to force you to wear these soiled rags, which have been put upon the body of a slave girl, until they stink and rot, and fall off your body,” he said, “as a badge of your shame.”
“It would be better,” said Otto, “to have her keep her body washed and perfumed, and clad as that of a slave, as such a garmenture is enhancing to the beauty of a woman.”
Gerune looked at him, startled. Perhaps she had never realized that men might speculate as to what she, or, indeed, other women, might look like, clad as slaves.
She wrung her hands, then, wildly, in misery, and looked down, at just that time, at the three slaves to her left, kneeling there, chained in their place. There were all regarding her. Then they looked away, frightened, crying out, for Gerune, in hysterical helplessness, in rage, in fury, that they should dare look upon her, and as though they might share some smug, common sisterhood with her, they only slaves, leapt to her feet and, sobbing, seized a whip, from a keeper, and threw herself down, amongst them, sobbing wildly, striking wildly, hysterically, about. At a sign from Ortog the keeper wrenched the whip away from Gerune. Ortog then, as she stood there to the left, on the rush-strewn earthen floor, below the dais, amongst the cowering, beaten slaves, she half bent over, weeping helplessly, indicated that she should resume her seat.
She turned suddenly, defiantly, and fled toward the side entrance of the tent but her way, there, was blocked by two warriors, those who had conducted her to the tent.
She turned about, and then ascended, again, to the surface of the dais, resuming her seat.
There was laughter from among the men.
The free women in the tent, some of them her own women, looked down.
Even their lofty mistress, to such men, Ortungs, and others, was only a woman.
“I have issued the challenge,” said Otto.
Ortog angrily seized up the jewelry and robes from where they lay, across his knees, and then held them before himself for a moment, and then, wadding them together, hurled them angrily to his left, to the floor, to the foot of the dais.
“Take those things,” said Ortog to a frightened free woman.
She hurried to gather up the items.
“Put them among the stores from which we clothe slaves for our pleasure,” said Ortog.
“The robes, too, milord?” asked the woman, from her knees. She was not more than a yard or two from Otto.
“But first, of course,” said Ortog, “they must be cut into revealing rags.”
“Yes, milord!” said the women.
In a moment she had gathered together the jewelry, the bracelets, the necklaces, the chains and such, and the robes, and hurried from the tent.
“That was not necessary, milord,” said Gerune.
“You have shamed me, and the Ortungs,” said Ortog.
“The challenge has been issued,” Otto said.
“Accept it, milord,” said the clerk.
“Accept it, milord,” said the shieldsman, with the golden helmet.
“You,” said Ortog, paying no attention to the others about him, “you, step forward.”
He was pointing at Julian.
Julian, reluctantly, stepped forward, from where he had been standing, rather behind the left shoulder of Otto.
“I see you have with you,” said Ortog to Otto, “a lowly, and despicable thrall.”
“He is, of course,” said Otto, “a free man, of the empire.”
“Step forward,” said Ortog to Julian.
Julian took another step forward.
“I think we have met before,” said Ortog.
“Yes,” said Julian.
“You are an officer in the imperial navy,” said Ortog, “but, I take it, no ordinary officer. I saw you on the Alaria, and noted your place of honor, and the deference accorded to you.”
“Who is he, milord?” inquired his shieldsman.
“As you see,” said Ortog, “a worthless dog, clad in rags.”
“Milord?” said the clerk.
“He has some relation to the imperial family,” said Ortog. “I am sure of it.”
Men gasped. Some even stepped back, so dreaded and awesome seemed the mysterious empire. It was one thing to mock and scorn the empire, but they were only too well aware of its power. Seldom would they stand against its ships. It would not have occurred to them to meet it in
force. Its history, its deeds, its terrors, its terribleness, loomed large in their imagination and fears. One of the most potent defenses of the empire was its simple presence, so extensive and subtle, looming so mightily in titanic legend.
“Rope him, like a pig, and put him on his knees,” said Ortog.
Julian was rudely seized and bound, and thrown on his knees before Ortog.
Men breathed easier.
“You were, when last I saw you, as I recall, leveling a pistol at me, on an imperial ship,” said Ortog to Julian.
“Unfortunately,” said Julian, “I did not receive an opportunity to fire.”
It was at that time that the ship had been first struck by the pursuing Ortung fleet.
“I think you will bring an excellent ransom,” said Ortog.
Otto had not attempted to interfere with Julian’s discomfiture.
He did not care to be diverted from his purpose.
“The challenge has been issued,” Otto reminded Ortog.
“That is true, milord,” said the clerk to Ortog.
“On our camp world,” said Ortog to Julian, “you will tend pigs, but, as you are of high birth, your chains will be of gold.”
“On what world do you think it would be appropriate for your sister to be sold as a slave girl?” asked Otto.
Ortog regarded him, irritably.
“Her particular form of beauty might bring a higher or lower price on certain worlds,” speculated Otto.
This was true. Certain worlds preferred blondes, and certain worlds redheads, and so on. The princess Gerune was, as we have noted, blond. This tended to be a popular hair color on many worlds, for slaves.
“Take him away,” said Ortog, pointing to Julian. “It will take some time to arrange for his ransom.”
Julian was dragged to his feet, and rudely conducted, stumbling, from the tent.
“Secure recognition for us,” said a man, pleading, from the side.
“Such a recognition, by tribal custom, must carry weight even with your father, Abrogastes,” said a man.
“Accept the challenge,” urged the clerk.
“Accept the challenge,” urged the shieldsman, he with the golden helmet in his grasp.
“Accept the challenge,” pressed others.
Ortog regarded Otto, evenly. “The challenge, of course,” he said, “is accepted.”
CHAPTER 8
The blade of the adz, the larger adz, one of the sort with which we are concerned here, is better than a foot in length. The handle, in which the blade is fixed, socketed, crosswise, is some four feet, or approximately so, in length. It can be wielded efficiently only by a very strong man, or a creature of some comparable, or greater, strength. This instrument has a place in the traditions of numerous peoples, in particular, as one would suppose, those of the forests. Indeed, the adz, as the ax and the spear, and, later, the sword, is, in a sense, a symbol of such peoples.
The particular adz we have in mind is now enclosed in a leather case. In the same compartment in which we find the adz, on a shallow bronze plate, and covered with a purple cloth, was a heavy, sturdy, muchly scarred, peeled stump, indeed, one which had been brought, some time ago, from the home world of the Alemanni peoples.
We beg the indulgence of the reader, in reminding him of these things.
It may also be recalled, though it is not recounted in this manuscript, that some days ago, while Hendrix and Gundlicht were entertained in the hut of Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs, one of their radios, that of the Ortungs, was surreptitiously used to broadcast a message to an imperial fleet, supposed to be in the quadrant, presumably having come in response to distress calls from the Alaria, which vessel had been destroyed after the Ortungs had taken their leave of her.
One of the risks of transmitting such a message, of course, is that one does not know who or what may hear it.
This message had, in fact, been overheard.
The vessels, however, did not turn toward Varna, which was speculated to be its source.
Their objective was other than Varna.
They themselves traveled in radio silence.
CHAPTER 9
“I have been sent to you, and have been commanded to address you as ‘Milord’,” she said.
The two warriors, behind her, withdrew from the threshold of the waiting tent, closing the flap behind her.
She was enveloped in a dark cloak and hood, and her head was down. She spoke softly.
Otto could barely hear her.
He approached her and brushed back the hood, and she raised her head.
“Gerune!” he cried.
“Yes,” she said, angrily.
“It is the princess,” said Julian. His limbs were confined in chains of gold.
“You stink of swine,” she said to him, angrily.
Julian had been permitted to come to the tent of Otto, that he might there, on the morrow, render him service, that in the manner of the second. Otto had brought none other with him, that by his own will.
“Why have you been brought to the tent?” asked Julian.
Gerune looked at him, in fury.
Then she lifted her chin, disdainfully, as Otto undid the string at the throat of the cloak and, gently, parted it, and lifted it back.
Gerune was quite beautiful.
About her neck, on a string, was a tiny key.
“Do not dare to look upon me!” Gerune hissed to Julian.
But his eyes marveled at her loveliness, relishing it in the full, exciting glory of masculine passion.
Gerune could not resist, had she been so minded, the lifting away of the dark cloak.
Otto put the cloak over his arm, and turned her about. Her tiny wrists were confined behind her body, in the delicate, tasteful, but efficient, inflexible cuffs of a female slave.
Doubtless it was to these devices that the tiny key at her throat, on its string, answered.
“It seems your brother thinks highly of you,” said Otto.
“I have shamed the Ortungs,” she said.
“It is for that that you have been sent here, on this night,” said Otto.
“Yes,” she said. “It is my punishment. I am to serve you, as might a female slave. Then, suitably chastened, after the morrow’s combat, I am to be sequestered, put from public view, and, though free, will be less free even than a female slave.”
“It is unfortunate,” said Julian. “You would make an excellent female slave.”
“Dog!” she cried.
“You are a woman,” said Julian. “You would learn quickly enough, under the whip.”
She viewed him with fury.
“Naked dog!” she snarled.
Julian was not naked but his tunic had been muchly torn away, considerably baring the young aristocrat’s form. This had amused the herders in whose keeping he had been placed.
“Naked, chained dog,” she snarled.
His wrists were before his body, confined in golden manacles. His ankles were shackled, in shackles of gold, these joined by a short chain, that, too of gold.
“Free your wrists,” said he, “female.”
She looked away.
“Your necklace is fetching,” he said.
She tossed her head, causing the tiny key on its string to dance at her throat.
“And your ensemble,” said he, “is stunning, doubtless the latest fashion for barbarian princesses-being displayed in imperial markets.”
“For the evening,” said Gerune to Otto, “I am yours. Do with me as you wish.”
“Is it true?” said Otto.
“Yes,” she said.
Then she added, “Yes, milord.”
Otto reached for the key on its string. It was looped, and tied, rather closely about her neck, that she could not slip it. Fear entered briefly into her eyes. She drew back a bit from his hand, as it was near her beauty.
He lowered his hand.
“Perhaps you should cry out,” suggested Julian.
She looked at
him, in fury.
“But then your cries would doubtless be disregarded by those outside,” he said.
“Yes, they would be,” she said.
“And then perhaps,” suggested he, “as you are subdued, and vanquished, your soft cries, your moans of helpless ecstasy, suitable for a slave girl, might be reported to your brother.”
She paled.
“Forgive me, milady,” said Otto. And he reached to the string about her neck and took it with two hands, gently. He then broke it.
She looked at him, startled.
She had not expected to be freed.
To be sure, the hands of slave girls are often freed, that they may the better serve.
But he had not simply jerked the string loose, taking it in one hand, snapping it free, peremptorily, against the back of her neck. He had freed her of the string carefully, but surely.
He turned her about and as she trembled, his hands so near her, inserted the tiny key in the locks.
In a moment she rubbed her wrists, her hands freed.
“Milord?” she inquired.
He tossed the cuffs to one side, with the key.
“Garb yourself,” said he.
She took the cloak and drew it, closely, wonderingly, about her.
“I do not understand,” she said.
He regarded her.
“Milord,” she added.
“You are a free woman, and a princess,” he said. “You will be treated with honor.”
She looked at him, wonderingly.
He pointed to a corner of the tent, where some blankets were strewn on the ground. “There will be your place, milady,” he said. “I advise you this night to be essentially silent and unobtrusive, for you are beautiful, and we are but men.”
“Yes, milord,” she whispered.
She then went to the place which Otto had indicated and knelt there. She made certain the cloak covered her, save for her throat and head, which were bared.
“Perhaps you should not kneel,” said Otto. This posture, in a woman, can enflame a man.
“Yes, milord,” she smiled.
She then half knelt, half sat. Julian had often seen women in that posture in slave markets, chained by an ankle against a wall. She pulled the cloak up, about her throat. Then she looked down, demurely. A shapely ankle, with it small foot, peeped out from beneath the cloak, and then, as though self-consciously, with a superior smile at Julian, she drew it back, removing it from sight beneath the cloak.