The Chieftan th-1

by John Norman

  Astubux reached out and touched the hand of the blonde, who put the trencher before him.

  She drew her hand back, frightened, but then, quickly, put it forth again, that he might touch her, if he wished, for she was slave.

  Too, she trembled, a little. She was an intelligent woman and was not unaware that Astubux had several times looked upon her.

  When the free men had come to the hut, Janina, head bowed, had welcomed them. The lower serving slaves, in their revealing kebs, had knelt, putting their heads down to the rush-strewn floor of the hut. When the ensign had entered, unaccompanied, his ankles no longer shackled, clad now in a rough cloth tunic, the brunette had looked up at him, and then, quickly, put down her head. She had blushed scarlet. It was the first time he had seen her thusly, as a slave.

  “You do not have a radio?” said the ensign to the chieftain.

  “No,” said Otto. “But the Drisriaks, the Ortungs, will have a radio. Do you think you could use it?”

  “I think so,” said the ensign. “Their radios may even be stolen radios of the empire, or copies of such designs. At the very least I should be able to transmit some sort of primitive message.”

  “Drink,” said Otto, lifting a drinking horn.

  The brunette, head down, hastened to serve him.

  Otto drained the drinking horn. He put it to one side.

  “Your plan seems to depend on many variables,” said the ensign.

  “On some, and on honor,” said the chieftain.

  “Honor is a frail reed on which to rest hopes,” said the ensign.

  “We are not dealing with those of the empire,” said Otto.

  “Once we knew honor,” said the ensign.

  “Timing is important,” said Otto. “We must buy time. It is certain that the Drisriaks will not accept the secession of the Ortungs.”

  “Your plan is to buy such time with what you call ‘the challenge’?” asked the ensign.

  “Yes,” said Otto.

  Otto regarded the brunette. She was beautiful in the keb, barefoot on the rush-strewn floor of the hut. Timidly, questioningly, she lifted the vessel she carried, just a little, that from which the drinking horn might be replenished. But he looked away from her.

  “Things might be much speeded up if a radio signal could be sent,” said the ensign.

  “Precisely,” said Otto.

  “What is a radio?” asked Astubux.

  “It is a device,” said the ensign, “which enables one to speak to those who are far away.”

  “It must be very loud,” said Astubux.

  “You understand, of course,” said the ensign, “that I will attempt to contact an imperial ship.”

  “I am counting on it,” said Otto, grinning.

  “You do not fear that?”

  “It is part of my plan,” he said.

  “But the Drisriaks will surely intercept such a signal,” said the ensign.

  “Yes,” said Otto, “and they are likely to be much closer than any imperial ship.”

  “You are devious,” said Julian.

  “The chieftain has long thoughts,” said Axel.

  “Enough of that,” said Otto.

  “What weapons do you have?” asked the ensign.

  “From the Alaria a rifle and a pistol,” said Otto, “but both are without ammunition.”

  “There is the pistol taken from me in the forest,” said the ensign.

  “It contains only one charge,” grinned Otto.

  “I know,” said the ensign.

  “Slave!” snapped Otto.

  Quickly the brunette hastened to him.

  “Turn about,” he said.

  The slave complied.

  “You do not mind?” he asked the ensign.

  “No, of course not,” said the ensign.

  The chieftain removed the keb, tossing it to the side.

  “Turn about,” he said.

  The slave turned to face him.

  Otto then lifted his drinking horn. “Drink,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” said the slave.

  “I, too, would have drink,” said the ensign.

  “Yes, Master,” she said, and filled, too, the drinking horn of the ensign.

  “She is a pretty slave,” said the chieftain. “Do you not think so?”

  “Yes,” said the ensign.

  “Would you like to have her tonight?” asked the chieftain. “I could send her crawling to your hut, with a whip in her teeth.”

  The girl, in consternation, in mute, frightened, helpless protest, viewed the chieftain.

  She trembled.

  She knew, of course, that she could be assigned to whomever, and whenever and however, her master might please.

  “Perhaps, sometime,” said the ensign. “But tomorrow I must be up early, for I have a long day in the fields.”

  “I hear you work well,” said Otto.

  “You have seen to it,” said the ensign.

  “My chieftain!” called a voice.

  “Enter,” said Otto.

  One of the Wolfungs entered, carrying a small bird. He brought the bird to the table, where Astubux removed a tiny message, a single sign, inscribed on a bit of leather, bound to the bird’s left leg.

  “What is its meaning?” asked Otto.

  “The Ortungs will be here tomorrow,” said Astubux.

  CHAPTER 21

  “You have fed us well,” said Hendrix, envoy of the Ortungs.

  Otto nodded, accepting the compliment.

  “The metal, the furs, the pelts piled here,” said Gundlicht, second envoy of the Ortungs, “the grain, the vegetables heaped outside, are better than we expected to find.”

  “But we have brought chains, too,” said Hendrix. “We would not care to return with them empty.”

  “How many women do you want?” asked Otto.

  “Assemble your women naked within the palisade, all of them,” said Hendrix, “and we will pick fifty.”

  “‘Fifty’!” cried Astubux.

  “You hid in the forest,” said Hendrix. “Too, the markets are depressed now, with the wars, many women falling to the collar. We need more, to make up the difference. Too, it is a long way to take them to a world where they will fetch a good price.”

  “Fifty is too many,” said Astubux.

  “We will leave you enough to produce more,” said Hendrix.

  “The Wolfungs are good breeders,” said Gundlicht.

  Astubux sprang to his feet.

  But a pistol, suddenly produced from the holster of Gundlicht, the Ortung, was aimed at his heart.

  “How is it,” asked Otto, “that you speak to Astubux, and not to me?”

  Astubux sat down.

  Gundlicht holstered the pistol.

  “He is spokesman for the Wolfungs,” said Hendrix.

  “I am chieftain of the Wolfungs,” said Otto.

  “They have no chieftain,” said Gundlicht.

  “I am he,” said Otto.

  “You have prepared, so far, excellent tribute, and you have fed us well, and your beer is good,” said Hendrix. “So we are prepared to ignore the fact that you have, for a little while, pretended to be a chieftain.”

  “I am chieftain,” said Otto.

  “Give up the chieftainship,” said Hendrix.

  “No,” said Otto.

  “We do not permit the Wolfungs to have a chieftain,” said Hendrix, menacingly.

  “Perhaps you would care to see a sample of the women in our village?” asked Otto.

  Hendrix grinned. “Why not?” he asked. The proposal seemed clearly to be a conciliatory one, a concessionary, disarming one, one offered to ease a tense moment.

  What was there to be feared, then, from the Wolfungs?

  “Ho!” cried Otto, to men outside.

  Some men entered, and spread pelts over the rushes on the floor of the chieftain’s hut.

  Hendrix and Gundlicht watched with interest.

  The men then remained within the hu
t.

  “Ho!” called Otto, and then there entered the chieftain’s hut a slim blond woman. She stood upon the pelts. She stood before the men. She wore a long wraparound garment fashioned from the cloth used for dresses and cloaks by the Wolfung women.

  Hendrix and Gundlicht leaned forward.

  She slipped the garment down to her hips, and turned away. Then she let it fall.

  “Ai!” said Hendrix, softly.

  “Ah!” said Gundlicht.

  Then she lay on the pelts, to the left of the men, as one would face them.

  “Ho!” called Otto, and a second woman, an exquisite brunette, entered, and turned before the men, and disrobed gracefully, similarly.

  Then she, too, lay on the pelts, but to the right of the men, as one would face them.

  “Ho!” called Otto, and the third of the women, who was Janina, entered. She came well forward and then turned away, and then, some feet from the men, slipped the garment away.

  “Turn about!” cried Hendrix.

  She did so, seemingly demurely, her head down and to the side, one foot toward them, the other to the right, this turning her hip out.

  “Come closer!” cried Hendrix.

  “Aii!” said Gundlicht.

  Janina, you see, was a trained slave.

  Then she lowered herself to the pelts before them, and looked first to her left, to the blonde, this being the signal for Ellen to move upon the pelts, and as a slave.

  Astubux almost cried out with pleasure.

  Ellen’s movements had been to some extent rehearsed, and coached by Janina, of course, but she was in her own right a man’s dream of pleasure, and one who, now liberated by bondage, and joyfully choiceless in the matter, was excitedly and meaningfully one with her sexuality. No longer, as a slave, need she be forced to fight her sexuality, or fear it, or suspect it, or feel anxiety about it, or guilt. She could now utilize it, revel in it, express it, joyfully, to her heart’s content.

  Then she lay again on the pelts, seductively, as one might have in the sawdust on a large, rounded, smoothed slave block, hearing the bids, and knowing oneself an unusually attractive object of desire.

  Janina then turned her head to her right, to the brunette who lay there, and the brunette, too, casting first a glance at the chieftain, began to move on the pelts, and as a slave.

  Her movements, in a sense, were directed to the chieftain, constituting in one sense a brazen, shameless exhibition of slave charms, but perhaps in another, a secret plea for his attention. The former officer of the court, now a stripped slave, performed on the pelts before her master, writhing, twisting, turning, displaying his property to him in its manifold, luscious aspects. In one instant their eyes had met, but only for a moment, and doubtless not noted by others. “I am yours,” had said her eyes. “I beg to be wanted.”

  “Excellent!” said Hendrix.

  “Superb!” said Gundlicht.

  Then the brunette lay upon the pelts, on her stomach, her head down, it turned to the side.

  She was breathing heavily.

  Janina then performed before the men.

  “Marvelous!” breathed Hendrix.

  “Aiii!” cried Gundlicht, in disbelief, in mad pleasure.

  Then Janina, too, lay before the men, she on her back, breathing heavily, her left knee raised, the soft palms of her hands upward.

  “Are not such women worth ten of the normal sort?” asked Astubux.

  “Do not think we will take less than fifty!” said Hendrix.

  “But those three will be among the fifty!” said Gundlicht.

  “Certainly,” said Hendrix to Gundlicht.

  “And,” inquired the chieftain, “does not even the normal free woman undergo a remarkable transformation when she becomes a slave?”

  “Yes,” said Hendrix. “They do.”

  Astubux clenched his fists.

  “They are women,” Otto reminded Astubux.

  “We will take these three, and others, fifty others, of your most beautiful women,” said Hendrix.

  “That would be fifty-three,” said Astubux.

  “True,” said Hendrix.

  “These three,” said Gundlicht, indicating the slaves on the pelts, “have already been branded, doubtless with our irons.”

  “One, she most before you, was already branded,” said Otto. “We used your irons for the other two.”

  “Our thanks,” said Hendrix. “You have saved us the trouble of marking them.”

  “Would you like the blonde, for yourself?” asked Otto of Hendrix, who was the first among the two envoys.

  “Yes!” said Hendrix.

  “Astubux,” said Otto, “I give her to you.”

  “Thank you, my chieftain!” said Astubux.

  Hendrix regarded the chieftain, startled.

  “Hurry to your master,” said Otto to Ellen.

  Quickly she sprang up and ran to kneel beside Astubux. She looked up at him, frightened. She did not know what sort of master he would be. She did know she belonged to him, totally. She put down her head and kissed his feet.

  “Is this some joke?” asked Hendrix.

  “The other two, she most before you, and the other, the small brunette,” said Otto, “are both mine. They will continue to wear my disk.”

  Janina looked gratefully at the chieftain. So, too, did the brunette, so small and helpless, stripped before the men, on the pelts.

  “I do not understand,” said Gundlicht.

  “I have shown you hospitality,” said Otto. “It is now time for you to return to your camp.”

  “But the women, the tribute,” said Hendrix.

  “There is no more tribute,” said Otto. “We have brought these things here, the furs and such, and outside, the produce, and such, merely to give you some understanding of the wealth of the Wolfungs, to indicate to you that we might pay an excellent tribute if we were so minded, but we are no longer so minded.”

  “No tribute?” said Hendrix, incredulously.

  “No tribute,” said Otto.

  “It seems,” said Hendrix to Gundlicht, “that the Wolfungs have had a chieftain long enough.”

  “Before you pull the trigger,” said Otto, regarding the pistol in Gundlicht’s hand, “I suggest you look to your right and left.”

  Glancing about Hendrix and Gundlicht saw, to their left, a fellow with a Telnarian rifle. The Wolfungs on the other side of the hut moved well away, out of the range of fire, for a blast from the rifle would take the wall itself from the hut, in a blaze of fire. On the other side Hendrix and Gundlicht saw two men, each armed with a fire pistol.

  “We can destroy your village,” said Hendrix. “Your villages.”

  “But of course you would both be dead then,” said Otto.

  “Where did you get such things?” asked Hendrix.

  “From our source of supply,” said Otto.

  “They are not with charges,” said Hendrix. “They are empties, discarded weapons. They have no ammunition.”

  “Give me a pistol,” said Otto.

  He put out his hand toward one man. He knew, of course, the pistol he needed.

  Otto took the pistol in hand, and held it to the head of Hendrix, who began, suddenly, to sweat.

  “Shall I pull the trigger?” he asked.

  “Do as you wish,” said Hendrix, sweating.

  The chieftain then moved the gun away from Hendrix and aimed it at the floor of the hut. He pulled the trigger, and there was a sudden torrent of fire which fell between Janina and the brunette slave, both of whom screamed and spun away. Between where they had lain there was now a deep, narrow, smoking hole. The charge had burned through the pelts there, and the rushes, and tore down, into, and through, the floor of the hut itself. Some small rocks glistened in the sides of the trench. Some others, like droplets, now cooling, lay in the bottom of the trench where, for an incandescent moment, they had been molten. There was the smell of burned hair from the pelts, strong in the hut. The charge fired, of course,
had been the single remaining charge in the village, that which had remained in the ensign’s pistol.

  Again Otto held the pistol to the head of Hendrix.

  “Shall I pull the trigger?” he asked.

  “No,” said Hendrix.

  Otto handed the pistol to the fellow who had held it before.

  “Take this message to your lord, Ortog, prince of the Drisriaks, who calls himself king of the Ortungs,” said Otto. “Tell him that there is no more tribute from the Wolfungs, but if he wishes to have a reconciliation, he may send us gifts, gold, weapons, and women. We shall then consider such a reconciliation.”

  “Reconciliation?” said Hendrix. “The Alemanni and the Vandals have been hereditary enemies for ten thousand years!” It may be recalled that the Drisriaks were one of the tribes of the Alemanni, of which, traditionally, there were eleven, that number not including, of course, the Ortungen. The Wolfungs were one of the five tribes normally taken to constitute the Vandal nation. The largest and fiercest tribe of the Vandals was, or was once, the Otungs, but this tribe, in wars with the empire, had been muchly decimated, and its remnants had been scattered here and there throughout the empire, sometimes as little more than castaways, sometimes as federates.

  “As you wish,” said Otto.

  Hendrix and Gundlicht rose to their feet.

  “Before you go,” said Otto. “Leave your weapons.” He indicated one of the Wolfungs, a man standing to one side.

  Hendrix and Gundlicht glanced about themselves, and then, angrily, handed their belts, with the

  holstered pistols, to the indicated Wolfung.

  “One more thing,” called Otto, addressing the departing pair, when they neared the portal.

  They turned, in fury, to regard him.

  “Ortog, your chieftain, who calls himself king of the Ortungs, is put under challenge by Otto, chieftain of the Wolfungs.”

  “You are mad,” said Hendrix.

  “We can destroy your forests, your world,” said Gundlicht.

  “He is put under challenge to personal combat,” said Otto.

  “That is absurd,” said Hendrix.

  “Chieftain to chieftain, as in days of old, not forgotten,” said Otto.

  “Such things have not been done for a thousand years,” said Gundlicht.

  “The challenge is issued,” said Otto.