by John Norman
“Free him,” said Abrogastes. “I have need of such a shieldsman.”
The shieldsman was freed of his bonds and he stood, unsteadily, his eyes wild.
He went to kneel before Ortog.
“I forswear you,” said Ortog. “You are no more my shieldsman.” Tears ran down the face of Ortog.
“Milord!” wept the shieldsman.
Then he rose up to go before the dais and knelt before Abrogastes.
“I am your man,” he said.
“You are my man,” said Abrogastes.
Abrogastes then turned to regard Ortog.
“How is it that you can inspire such loyalty in a man?” asked Abrogastes.
“Surely it is no different from what your men feel for you,” said Ortog.
“Such loyalty might well be learned by a son,” said Abrogastes.
“It might have been better taught by a father!” cried Hendrix, from the side.
“No!” said Ortog. Then he turned, again, to face Abrogastes. “I am too much like you, to follow you,” said Ortog.
“You left the Drisriaks,” said Abrogastes.
“In such ways tribes begin,” said Ortog.
“But you have lost,” said Abrogastes.
“Yes,” said Ortog, “I have lost.”
“And there are costs to be paid, penalties to be exacted,” said Abrogastes.
“I am ready,” said Ortog.
“You are a traitor to the Alemanni, to the Drisriaks,” said Abrogastes.
Ortog did not respond.
“You should have been your own champion, or have chosen another, fairly,” said Abrogastes.
Ortog looked at the slave, lying at the side of the chair of Abrogastes, but then looked away.
She did not meet his eyes.
“He can kill you?” asked Abrogastes, indicating Otto, who stood back, Julian a little behind him.
“Yes,” said Ortog, angrily.
“I would see what a traitor can do,” said Abrogastes.
“Wolfung!” he cried, rising up from the chair, and pointing to Otto.
“Milord?” asked Otto.
“You will fight,” said Abrogastes.
“Am I invited to do so?” asked Otto.
“Yes,” said Abrogastes.
“It will be my pleasure to accept,” said Otto.
“He is no executioner!” cried Julian to Abrogastes.
“Be silent,” said Otto.
Julian, startled, stepped back.
“Let the king of the Ortungs choose his weapon,” said Otto.
“The prince of the Drisriaks may choose his weapon,” said Abrogastes.
“Free me,” said Ortog.
His bonds were severed.
“I choose the ax,” said Ortog.
“You may choose the ax, or some comparable weapon, one neither clearly superior to nor inferior to the ax,” said Abrogastes to Otto.
“This,” said Otto, striding angrily to the workman and tearing from his startled grasp the bloody adz, “is my weapon!” He brandished it, angrily.
“That is not a weapon!” cried Abrogastes.
“I have chosen it as my weapon,” said Otto, “and the challenge has begun!”
“It is a weapon, so chosen, milord!” said the spared clerk to Abrogastes.
Abrogastes turned an angry glance upon him, and the clerk put down his head.
“He is right, milord,” said a man.
“You are a clever rogue, Wolfung,” said Abrogastes, resuming his seat.
“It is a weapon!” cried a man.
“Those who perished by the adz feast now in the halls of Kragon!” said another.
The Drisriak warriors lifted their hands, and weapons, and cheered.
Abrogastes looked about himself, scowling.
“It is so, milord!” cried men, joyfully.
“It seems only fair, milord,” said Otto, “that if you would permit your son to perish by a weapon, for you did not know what he or I might choose, then, so, too, you should be willing to permit his followers to have similarly perished.”
“Yes, milord!” cried men, eagerly.
“I have chosen the adz,” said Otto. “Is it a weapon, milord?”
Abrogastes looked at Ortog, narrowly.
“It seems, my father,” said Ortog, “that you bear me love still.”
“Yes,” said Abrogastes. “It is a weapon.”
Men cheered.
An ax was brought and placed in the hands of Ortog.
“I am grateful to you, Wolfung,” said Ortog.
“It is controversial,” said Abrogastes, angrily, “the matter of weapons and such.”
“Some claim, milord,” said the clerk, “that only those who die in battle are worthy of the halls of Kragon.”
“Others, milord,” said a man, “that only those who die with a weapon in their grasp.”
“And in such things, milord,” said a man, “it is said that it is only warriors who may enter the halls of the gods.”
“Perhaps they will need their clerks,” said the clerk.
There was laughter.
“And what of women, Father,” asked Gerune, suddenly. “Have they no place in the halls of the gods?”
“Doubtless some serve there,” said a man.
There was laughter.
“But they cannot earn their way there?” asked Gerune.
“No,” said a man. “Those who are there are selected to be there, as choiceless as women purchased at a market, to serve as cupbearers and slaves.”
“I see,” said Gerune.
“Perhaps the gods have no concern with us,” said Abrogastes.
“Perhaps there are no gods,” said Ortog, bitterly.
“What think you, Wolfung?” asked Abrogastes. “Are there gods?”
“I do not know, milord,” said Otto.
“What think you, little Huta?” asked Abrogastes, looking downward, to his right.
“I do not know, Master,” she said, frightened. “I am only a slave.”
“It is a suitable answer,” said Abrogastes. “Do not cover yourself,” he said.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Much is obscure,” said the clerk.
“The adherents of Floon claim to know the answers to all,” said a man.
Floon was a gentle, itinerant teacher, a humble salamanderlike creature, from a largely aqueous world, who had preached peace and love, and such things. He had died in an electric chair, or, perhaps better, a burning rack. Already the first wars in his name had been waged.
“They are fools,” said another man.
“They grow stronger,” said another man.
“Let us consider the suns, and rocks, and iron, and ships, and the blades of weapons, and gold!” said Abrogastes.
“Yes!” said men.
And then he looked down at Huta, to his right, “And the bodies of women!” he added.
Huta looked down, frightened.
Gerune stiffened.
“Yes!” said men.
“They are real,” said Abrogastes.
“Yes, yes!” said men.
“Fight!” said Abrogastes to Ortog and Otto.
“When have I obeyed you, Father?” asked Ortog.
Then he turned to Otto. “I salute you, Wolfung,” he said, “for the honor you have shown me, undeserving though I have been, and for the respect you have shown my people, the Ortungs, unworthy though we may have been.” Then he struck down at the stump with the ax, half burying the blade in the stump. Then he turned to Otto. “Strike,” he said. “I am ready.”
But Otto lifted the adz and with a mighty blow drove the head of the adz deeply into the stump, to the very socket of the weapon. Men cried out with wonder, seeing the force of such a blow.
Hendrix and Gundlicht cried out with joy.
Ortog turned to Abrogastes. “I bid recognition for the Ortungs, my father,” he said. “Let the Ortungs be. I would be reconciled with you.”
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��Come to my arms,” said Abrogastes, rising.
Ortog, tears in his eyes, advanced to his father, his arms open.
He stepped to the height of the dais.
Huta screamed.
Ortog fell back, stumbling from the dais.
Abrogastes, on the height of the dais, his eyes terrible, looked down upon his son, now fallen to the earth.
In the hand of Abrogastes, gripped there, was a bloody knife.
“Do you think I am so easily cheated?” asked Abrogastes of those within the tent.
“My brother!” cried Gerune, and fled from the dais, to kneel beside Ortog.
“He was your son!” cried a man.
“I have many sons,” said Abrogastes.
“He wanted reconciliation!” said another.
“Now we are reconciled,” said Abrogastes, wiping his weapon on his thigh, then sheathing it.
“A blade was used,” said a man.
“Even now Ortog enters the halls of Kragon,” said another.
“It is for the best,” said another.
“Perhaps we will meet again, each in the beauty of our youth, in the halls of Kragon, my son,” said Abrogastes. “And we may then dispute these matters properly.”
“And afterwards,” said a man, “lift cups together, feasting in joy.”
“Who will win?” asked a man.
“I will win,” said Abrogastes.
“To whom in the hall will go the hero’s portion?” asked another man.
“It will be mine,” said Abrogastes.
Gerune knelt beside Ortog, weeping.
“Thus perishes a traitor,” said Abrogastes.
“Remove him,” said Abrogastes.
“Bring spears,” said a man. “Lash a cloak between them.”
“Release those two,” said Abrogastes, pointing to Hendrix and Gundlicht.
“Take your lord to the grove,” said Abrogastes.
“Yes, milord,” said Hendrix and Gundlicht.
“I would precede them, with a candle, if I may, milord,” said the clerk.
“He was not your lord,” said Abrogastes.
“You are devoted to him?” said Abrogastes.
“Then precede him, as you will,” said Abrogastes.
“I would follow them, if I may, milord,” said the shieldsman.
“Why?” asked Abrogastes.
“He was my lord,” said the shieldsman.
“Do so,” said Abrogastes.
“Thank you, milord,” said the shieldsman.
It was now late in the day, and it was half dark in the tent.
In a short time the simple bier, of two spears, with a cloak lashed between them, was prepared.
Ortog was placed upon the bier.
Otto threw his own cloak over the body.
The bier was lifted to the shoulders of Hendrix and Gundlicht. It was then carried from the tent. Preceding the bier was the clerk, who carried a lighted candle. Following it, some paces behind, his sword upon his shoulder, was the shieldsman. Gerune was left behind, kneeling where she had been, sobbing, before the dais.
Abrogastes, who had resumed his seat during the preparation of the bier, had now again risen.
“Stand up,” said Abrogastes to Huta.
“Yes, Master,” she said. “Oh!” she said, as her wrists were lashed together, tightly, behind her back.
“Prepare the ships,” said Abrogastes to a man.
“Yes, milord,” he said.
Then, from the dais, he looked down on Gerune.
“We are not yet done here,” said Abrogastes. “There is one more to deal with, the traitress, Gerune.”
Gerune looked up, frightened.
“Take her to the block,” said Abrogastes.
“She is your daughter!” cried a man.
“I have many daughters,” said Abrogastes.
“Please, no, Father!” cried Gerune.
But she was dragged by a warrior to the stump. There she was placed on her knees and a warrior, crouching beside her, tied her hands behind her back. The workman worked the ax and adz free from the stump. Gerune’s head, by the hair, was drawn forward, and down. She whimpered. The workman seized the adz and lifted it.
“No,” cried Julian. “No!”
“Silence,” said Otto.
Julian stepped back, uncertain, confused.
“It seems a simple end for her, milord,” said Otto. “Is it not quick, and honorable?”
“How speak you, Wolfung?” asked Abrogastes.
Abrogastes made a sign to the workman, and he lowered the adz, and stood back.
Gerune could lift her head only a little from the block, held there by the hair as she was.
She looked to Otto, and then to her father.
“She is only a female,” said Otto. “And it is said that she was marched naked, bound, through the corridors of an imperial ship, the Alaria, thus muchly shaming the Drisriaks.”
“Yes?” said Abrogastes.
“Surely then some other end might be more appropriate for her,” said Otto.
“Something more terrible and shameful?” asked Abrogastes.
“Yes,” said Otto.
“Something suitable for a traitress?”
“Yes,” said Otto.
“Remove her clothing and throw her to the mud,” said Abrogastes.
“Please, no, Father!” cried Gerune.
But it was done, as Abrogastes had commanded.
Gerune then lay in the mud, stripped, her hands still tied behind her back.
“Traitress!” said Abrogastes.
“Forgive me!” wept Gerune.
“For treachery there is no forgiveness!” said Abrogastes.
“Mercy!” she wept.
“There is none for a traitress,” said Abrogastes.
“You cannot treat me in this fashion!” cried Gerune. “I am a princess!”
“Lie in the mud, traitorous princess, as naked and bound as a slave!” said Abrogastes.
“No, no!” cried Gerune.
“And when I pronounce my next words,” said Abrogastes, “you will no longer be a princess!”
“Please, no, Father!” wept Gerune.
“You are no longer a princess,” he said.
She sobbed, no longer a princess.
“What think you, Huta?” asked Abrogastes.
“I am only a slave, Master!” said Huta.
“Do not forget it,” said Abrogastes.
“No, Master!” said Huta.
“I am your daughter!” cried Gerune.
“When I pronounce my next words,” said Abrogastes, “you will no longer be my daughter.”
“No,” she cried, “no!”
“You are no longer my daughter,” said Abrogastes.
She sobbed, disowned, forsworn.
Men cried out with approbation.
“Do not treat me thusly!” she wept. “If I am no longer a princess or your daughter, show me at least the respect that is my due as a free woman!”
“Prepare!” said Abrogastes.
“No, Father!” she cried.
“Traitress,” he said.
“Please, no, Father!” she cried.
“When I speak my next words,” said Abrogastes, “you will no longer be a free woman.”
“No, no!” she cried.
“You are a slave,” he said.
She sobbed wildly, lying bound in the mud, a slave.
Drisriaks cheered.
Surely it was suitable punishment for one who had once been a traitorous princess.
“She is subject to claimancy,” said Abrogastes.
Men drew back, looking upon the slave with contempt.
“Who wants her?” asked Abrogastes.
Men regarded her with disgust.
“None wants her?” asked Abrogastes.
No one spoke.
“Surely her body is not without some interest,” said Abrogastes. “And I speculate that she would bring a reasonable price in a market.
”
Doubtless these things were true, for the slave was quite beautiful, but yet none spoke.
“Would she not look well under the whip?” asked Abrogastes. Then he looked at Huta. Huta quickly lowered her head.
Men laughed.
“I think, milord,” said a man, “that we do not find her of interest.”
“The adz!” cried a man.
“The adz!” cried another.
“Send her to the block!” cried another.
A warrior appeared in the entrance of the tent, the front entrance, behind the Drisriaks, the merchants, the warriors, Otto, Julian, and others. He made a sign to Abrogastes.
Abrogastes lifted his hand, for silence.
“There is little time,” he said. “We are going to the ships.”
Julian and Otto exchanged glances.
Those in the tent who were merchants and ambassadors, and artisans, craftsmen, and such, who had been at the court of Ortog began to tremble.
Abrogastes waved his hand toward them.
“Go your ways,” said he.
“Thank you, milord!” they cried and, freed, hurriedly, undetained, unobstructed, left the tent.
“Let the signal for the return to the ships be sounded,” said Abrogastes.
A warrior quickly left the tent.
“Take this slave,” said Abrogastes, indicating Huta, “and see that she is placed, well bound and helpless, in my hoverer.”
“Yes, milord,” said a warrior, and seized Huta by the upper left arm, and conducted her rudely, in her collar, with her hands tied behind her back, from the tent.
“Wolfung,” said Abrogastes.
“Milord?” asked Otto.
“We will come soon for the tribute,” said Abrogastes.
“I think you will not find it, milord,” said Otto.
“We shall see,” said Abrogastes.
“Kill him, now, while you may,” urged a man.
“He may not,” said Otto, “for I am come here for a challenge, in which matter I have been successful.”
“I shall not detain you,” said Abrogastes.
Otto nodded.
“Beware in the future, Wolfung,” said Abrogastes.
“And may you beware as well, milord,” said Otto.
“He has the audacity of an Otung!” cried a man.
“See that the tribute is ready, when it is called for,” said Abrogastes.
“Do not delay, milord,” said a man. “Time is short. Cut off the head of the slave.”
“Cut off her head!” cried others.
“No!” cried Julian, loudly, stepping out from behind Otto.
“‘No’?” inquired Abrogastes.