Vagabonds of Gor coc-24

by John Norman

  "There is the sand," said Plenius.

  "There is not so much of it," I said, "really, and we may, if you wish, go roped together, and closely enough to one another that even soft cries may be heard, to summon succor."

  I cut into the small tharlarion I had killed, its leathery hide already stripped away. I had brought it with me, over my shoulder, when I had announced myself at the camp's periphery, calling Plenius forward to assure my safe entry into the camp. It had been my supposition the men of Ar might be appreciative of food, even of such a nature.

  I took a bit of the raw flesh and held it toward the fellow who had expressed his disinclination to believe in the delta's ready provender.

  "No," he said.

  "You are hungry," I said.

  "I cannot eat that," he said.

  I ate the bit of meat myself, and cut another.

  "It is not even cooked," said another.

  "You will make no fires," I said. "A line of smoke can mark a camp. At night the flame of a tharlarion-oil lamp can be seen hundreds of yards away, even the flash of a fire-maker. Such things, spotted from the air, for example, I assure you, will not be neglected by a tam scout."

  "Who wishes this viand?" I asked, holding up the next piece of tharlarion meat.

  "Not I," said a fellow, warily.

  "Nor I," said another.

  "It makes me sick to look at it," said another.

  "I cannot eat that," said another.

  Perhaps if they were hungrier, I thought, they might be less fastidious. Yet I reminded myself that men had tragically starved where abounded food aplenty, perhaps from ignorance, perhaps from fear, perhaps from an irrational reluctance to seize the necessities of survival.

  "Do you think you can bring us out of the delta?" asked Labienus, sitting on the rock. He was staring ahead, out over the marsh.

  "I think so," I said.

  "There are fifteen of us," he said.

  "I do not think it will be easy," I said.

  "Yet you would give us hope?" asked Labienus, looking out, over our beads.

  "Yes," I said.

  "There is no hope," said a man.

  "Eat," I said, proffering him the morsel I had most recently severed from the tharlarion.

  "No," he said, drawing back.

  "We are doomed," said another.

  "Yes," agreed another.

  "Such sentiments," said I, "do not bespeak the spirit that made Ar the glory and menace of Gor."

  "Ar," said one, "is no more."

  "She perished in the delta," said another.

  "I am surprised to hear such sentiments," I said, "from those who must once have held and kissed the Home Stone of Ar." This was a reference to the citizenship ceremony which, following the oath of allegiance to the city, involves an actual touching of the city's Home Stone. This may be the only time in the life of a citizen of the city that they actually touch the Home Stone. In Ar, as in many Gorean cities, citizenship is confirmed in a ceremony of this sort. Nonperformance of this ceremony, upon reaching intellectual majority, can be a cause for expulsion from the city. The rationale seems to be that the community has a right to expect allegiance from its members.

  "Ar is not dead," said a man.

  "She did not perish in the delta," said another.

  "No," said another. "Ar lives on."

  "It is not Ar who is dead," said a fellow, wearily. "It is we who are dead."

  "You are not dead," I said.

  "Ar cannot be Ar without her armies," said a man.

  "Without her military might," said a man, "Ar can be little more than a cultural beacon, a recollection of a golden time, something to look back on, a school to others, a lesson to men."

  "Perhaps she, in defeat, can culturally conquer her conquerors," said another fellow, gloomily.

  "That sort of thing has happened often enough," said a fellow.

  "In that way," said a fellow, "the final victory will be hers."

  There was something to what these fellows were saying. It is a common occurrence that barbarians sweep down on a softer civilization only to later, in their own turn, be softened, for the encroachments of new barbarians, with new whips and chains. To avoid this fate, of course, some barbarians take care to preserve their barbaric heritage, training their male youth in arms and hardship, and keeping themselves aloof from the subject population, that as befits its sovereign overlords, indeed, keeping the subject population much as herdsmen might keep herds, commanding and controlling them, helping themselves to their riches, taking those of its women who might please them for themselves, and so on.

  "With all due respect," I said, "there are a few other cities and towns on this planet, and some of them hold their own culture in higher esteem than that of Ar."

  Some of the fellows looked at me, skeptically.

  "Ko-ro-ba," I said, "Telnus and Jad, on Cos, Turia, in the south." To be sure, the cultures of the high cities were much the same. To find truly different cultures one might have to travel to Torvaldsland, to the Tahari, to the Barrens, to the Land of the Wagon Peoples, to the interior, east of Schendi, and so on.

  "Such places cannot compare with Ar," said a man.

  "I beg to differ," I said.

  "What do you know," said a man. "You are a Cosian."

  "I am not Cosian," I said.

  "Why have you come here to torment us in our misery?" asked a man.

  "Have some tharlarion," I said, offering him the piece of meat.

  He drew back.

  "Many folks," I said, "think of Ar not in terms of her musicians, her poets, and such, but in terms of administrators, engineers and soldiers."

  "That, too, is Ar," granted a fellow, generously.

  "Kill him," suggested a man.

  "The Cosians say the laws of Cos march with the spears of Cos," said a fellow.

  "So, too, it is with Ar," said a fellow.

  "But today it is Cos who marches," said the first man.

  "Ar is doomed," said a man.

  "No," said another fellow, "it is only we who are doomed."

  "You are not doomed," I said.

  "Her Home Stone survives," said another.

  "We do not know that," observed another.

  "Ar lives," insisted another.

  "Ar must live!" said another.

  "The immediate problem," I suggested, "is not profound historical speculations but survival."

  "That problem," said one of the men, "has already been solved for us, by the delta."

  "Not at all," I said. "Have a piece of meat."

  "No thank you," said he.

  "Do you bear us ill will?" asked Labienus, staring toward the marsh.

  "Yes," I said, "I bear you considerable ill will."

  "Why have you come here then?" he asked. "My reasons, of whatever value they might be, and I think their value may be slight, are my own."

  "Are you of the Warriors?" asked Labienus.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Hear," said Labienus to his men. "He is of the Warriors."

  "He says he is," said a fellow, glumly.

  "What is the 97th Aphorism in the Codes?" inquired Labienus.

  "My scrolls may not be those of Ar," I said. To be sure, the scrolls should be, at least among the high cities, in virtue of conventions held at the Sardar Fairs, particularly the Fair of En'Kara, much in agreement.

  "Will you speak?" asked Labienus.

  "Remove the female," I said.

  "He is a Warrior," said one of the men.

  One of the men lifted the bound Ina in his arms, one hand behind the back of her knees, and the other behind her back, and carried her from where we were gathered. In a few moments he returned.

  "The female is now out of earshot?" inquired Labienus, staring ahead.

  "Yes," said the fellow, "and she will stay where I left her, on her back, as I tied her hair about the base of a stout shrub."

  "The 97th Aphorism in the Codes I was taught," I said, "is in the form of a riddl
e: "What is invisible but more beautiful than diamonds?"

  "And the answer?" inquired Labienus.

  "That which is silent but deafens thunder."

  The men regarded one another.

  "And what is that?" asked Labienus.

  "The same," said I, "as that which depresses no scale but is weightier than gold."

  "And what is that?" asked Labienus.

  "Honor," I said.

  "He is of the Warriors," said a man. Plenius turned away, stricken.

  "But I have, in my time," I said, "betrayed such codes." Plenius turned back, to regard me, a strange expression on his face.

  "I think it is easy enough to do," I said.

  "Yes," smiled Labienus. "I think that we all, here and there, in our time, have managed that."

  "You are very kind," I said.

  "Do you think you could bring us out of this place?" asked Labienus.

  "I think so," I said. I then, despairing of interesting any of the fellows about in the bit of tharlarion I had cut, put it in my mouth and began to chew it."

  "What are you doing?" asked Labienus.

  "Eating," I said.

  "Give me some," asked Labienus.

  I cut a piece and placed it in his hand.

  His men watched in awe as he performed the simple act of eating.

  "It is not unlike vulo," he said.

  "True," I said. I supposed there was an evolutionary explanation for this similarity in tastes.

  I cut another piece.

  I offered it to Plenius, and he took it. Then the other men, too, began to crowd about. Soon there was little left of the tharlarion but the bones and hide.

  "It could have used salt," said a fellow.

  "You are now less hungry," I observed.

  "Yes," he said.

  "You have salt, do you not?" I asked.

  "Yes," he said, "but we had nothing to put it on. Then we had something to put it on, and we did not think of it."

  "Such is hunger," I said.

  "In the future," said he, "we shall recollect it, you may be sure."

  "You speak of a future," I observed.

  "Yes," he said, thoughtfully. "I spoke of a future."

  "That is the first step out of the delta," I said. The men looked at one another.

  "The delta," I said, "is rich in the resources of life. Were it not for rencers and Cosians, patrols, and such, you might remain here indefinitely. Indeed, in small groups you might manage it anyway. But you wish, I take it, to withdraw from the delta, and, if possible, return to Ar."

  "Glorious Ar," said a fellow, longingly.

  "Do you think there is a chance?" asked a man.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Perhaps you are a spy," said a fellow, licking a tharlarion bone, "sent to lead us into ambush."

  "Why would I come among you then, if I had already located you," I said. "Would it not be simpler and less dangerous for me to simply report your position to rencers or Cosians? Shouldn't you have been attacked already?"

  "But perhaps they are not yet in position to do so, and you are with us to track us, to mark our location and facilitate their attack."

  "Would it not be simpler to leave you here to perish in the delta?" I asked.

  "But perhaps you intend to lead us into an ambush at the delta's edge, and deliver us for bounty gold?"

  "That is an excellent idea," I said. "I shall have to give it some thought."

  "If you decide on that," he said, "I trust that you will let us know."

  "You may count on it," I said.

  "That is fair," he said.

  "Certainly," I said.

  "There is much you must teach the men," said Labienus. "At least one man, at all times, is to be vigilant to the sky," I said. "Too, with him, and with scouts and points, and whoever may wish to alert the others, there must be natural signals by means of which to communicate with the others."

  "Rencers," said a man, "use such signals."

  "So, too, do the savages of the Barrens," I said.

  "And so, too, will we," said a fellow.

  "You shall learn many things," I said. "One important item is to break the outlines of the human body. This may be done with brush, with coverings, and such. Similarly the face can be irregularly darkened, to reduce reflection, to blend with shadows, to distort its outlines. We shall move rather separately and each shall have contact with at least two others, at all times. If this contact is broken this is to be communicated as quickly as possible to the others. Open spaces, when it is necessary to cross them, will be crossed one at a time, at intervals, when signals of safety are uttered or displayed. Often one will not walk upright, but move in a stoop or crouch. Sometimes one will crawl, on all fours, sometimes on the stomach. One will make use of available cover. One will never cross high ground but use it, circling it, well below its ridge, that one is never seen outlined against the sky."

  "There is much to keep in mind," said a fellow.

  "There are many small things, too," I said. "Consider, for example, the homely fact that the sound of urination carries well at night. It is important then to soften the sound of such relief, by, say, urinating into sand, by crouching, by using slanting surfaces, such things."

  "Garbage, feces, the signs of camps, too, should be considered," said a fellow.

  "Yes," I said.

  "There is much to remember," said a fellow.

  "These things will become second nature," I said.

  "It will be almost as though we were not here," said a fellow, wonderingly.

  "As soft as the wind, as silent as shadows," I said.

  "Aii," said a man.

  The men looked at one another. Transformed it seemed they were to me then. I marveled that so much could have been done, with no more than a bit of food, and a morsel of hope. How marvelous are men that they can grow so great upon so little! And yet have not kingdoms risen from the mire, and ubarates from the dust, on no more?

  "We will leave with the coming of darkness," said Labienus, looking over our heads.

  "Yes, Captain!" said more than one man.

  "Let your enthusiasm be guarded," I said. "The journey is long and difficult, the dangers profound and numerous. We must be extremely careful. We must be extremely patient."

  "I can be very patient," said Labienus, looking out over the marsh. He smiled. It seemed to me that there had been a strange note in his words, one I did not understand. "Can we not all, lads?" asked he then, in the accents of an officer.

  "Yes, Captain!" said the men.

  "I think it might now be acceptable for the female to be brought back into our presence," I said.

  "Bring back the female," said Labienus.

  In a few moments Ina was brought back, carried in the soldier's arms, as before. I indicated that she should be placed on her knees before Labienus.

  "She is before you," I informed him.

  "A mute rence girl?" he said.

  "Yes," I said.

  Ina looked wildly about. No longer was she tucked away inconspicuously in the background, a largely ignored, largely unnoticed captive. She was now in the center of us. I considered the fiber on her wrists, its close circles making her helpless, and that extension of it running to her ankles, pulling them up, confining them. Ina looked at me, frightened. Not only was she now in the midst of us, but, more importantly, there was now a different ambiance in the camp. Ina, even though a free woman, could detect the difference in the men now, intuitively, unmistakably. She was now being looked upon quite differently than she had been before. These men had fed, and they now had hope. No longer were they the ragged, defeated stragglers among whom she, even though an attractive female, would have been safe. I wondered if she had now become much more acutely aware of the fact that she was in slave strips, that she was bound, that she was on her knees. I wondered if she had now, suddenly, become much more aware, and perhaps fearfully so, of her own attractions, of the luscious curves of her body, of the excitements of her figur
e, of the soft perfections of her breasts, so perfectly formed, of her graspable waist, of the flaring of her hips and the sweetness of her love cradle, with its softly rounded belly, like a stove ready for the stoking of slave fires, of her thighs, calves, or her small feet and hands, of those lovely shoulders, and that lovely neck, and the beautiful head and face, now so sensitive, now so softened by her emergent femaleness, and the hair, that might have been the envy of a paga slave, like a sheen of tawny gold, loose about her back and shoulders.

  "Is she tall?" asked Labienus.

  "No," I said. "She is perhaps a bit less than medium height for a female."

  "You call her 'Ina'?" asked Labienus.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Is she pretty?" he asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Beautiful?" he asked.

  "Yes," I said. "I would think so."

  "What color is her hair," he asked.

  "She is a blonde," I said.

  "Is she slave desirable?" he asked.

  "She is not a slave," I said.

  "But if she were a slave?" he asked.

  "If she were actually a slave," I said, "I think then, yes, she would be slave desirable."

  "So attractive?" he asked.

  "Yes," I said.

  "And you call her 'Ina'?" he asked, again.

  "Yes," I said.

  He put forth his hand and I held Ina in place, my hand in her hair, as his fingers lightly touched her face.

  He then drew back his hand, and sat upright again, on the rock.

  I then, by the hair, flung Ina to her stomach in the sand before Labienus. She lay there then, her ankles up behind her, her wrists, by the fiber linking them to her ankles, pulled back, toward them.

  "She bellies to you," I said.

  I then, by the back of the neck, moved Ina's head over Labienus' feet. She pressed her lips to them, kissing them.

  "Aiii!" cried a fellow.

  I then, she wincing, pulled her up, by one arm and her hair.

  "She now, again, kneels before you," I said. "Ina," I said, "do you beg to please the captain?" She cast me a wild look.

  "One whimper for 'Yes'," I said, "two for 'No'." She turned to the captain, and whimpered once.

  "Aiii," cried more than one man.

  But Labienus, smiling, waved his hand, dismissing her. I thrust her to her side, to the side, in the sand. She looked back at me, startled. She had been dismissed. She had been rejected.