I saw the girl ahead, through a break in the rushes, some fifty yards beyond.
Almost at the same time she looked up, startled.
She was standing on a small skiff of rence, not larger than my own rush craft, about seven feet long and two feet wide, fastened together, as mine was, with marsh vine; it, like mine, had a slightly curved stern and prow.
In her hand was a curved throwing stick, used for hunting birds. It is not a boomerang, which would be largely useless among the sedges and rushes, but it would, of course, float, and might be recovered and used indefinitely. Some girls are quite skilled with this light weapon. It stuns the bird, which is then gathered from the water and tied, alive, in the craft. The birds are later, on the rence islands, killed and cooked.
I moved the rush craft toward her, but not swiftly. Then, letting it drift, I put the tem-wood paddle across the craft, resting my hands on it, and watched her.
The cries of marsh gants were about us now. I saw that her hunting had been successful. There were four of the birds tied in the stern of the craft.
She looked upon me, but did not seem particularly frightened.
Her gaze was clear; she had dark blondish hair and blue eyes; her legs were a bit short, and her ankles somewhat thick; her shoulders were a bit wide perhaps, but lovely. She wore a brief, sleeveless garment of yellowish-brown rence cloth; it was worn well away from both shoulders to permit her freedom of movement; the brief skirt had been hitched up about her thighs that it might in no way bind her in her hunting. Her hair was tied behind her head with a strip of purple cloth, dyed rep-cloth. I knew then she came of a community that had contact to some degree, direct or indirect, with civilized Goreans. Rep is a whitish fibrous matter found in the seed pods of a small, reddish, woody bush, commercially grown in several areas, but particularly below Ar and above the equator; the cheap rep-cloth is woven in mills, commonly, in various cities; it takes dyes well and, being cheap and strong, is popular, particularly among the lower castes. The girl was doubtless the daughter of a rence grower, hunting for gants. I supposed the rence island, on which such communities lived, might be nearby. I also supposed it might be her community which had placed the warning markers.
She stood well in the light, slightly shifting skiff of rence, moving almost imperceptibly, unconsciously, to maintain an easy balance. I myself found it difficult to stand in a rush craft.
She did not lift the throwing stick against me, nor did she attempt to flee, but simply stood looking at me, watching me. She had no paddle, but, thrust in the mud near her, was a long pole which she would use to propel her light craft.
"Do not be frightened," I said to her.
She did not respond to me.
"I will not hurt you," I said.
"Did you not see the warning marks," asked she, "the white marks, and the blood mark?"
"I mean you," I said, "and your people, no harm." I smiled. "I want only as much of your marsh as the width of my craft," I said, "and that only for as long as it takes to pass." This was a paraphrase of a saying common on Gor, given by passing strangers to those through whose territories they would travel: Only the span of the wings of my tarn, only the girth of my tharlarion, only the width of my body, and no more, and that but for the time it takes to pass.
In Gorean, incidentally, the word for stranger and enemy are the same.
"Are you of Port Kar?" she asked.
"No," I said.
"What is your city?" she inquired.
I wore no insignia on my garments, nor on my helmet or shield. The red of the warrior which I wore was now faded from the sun and stained with the salt of the marsh.
"You are an outlaw," she pronounced.
I did not reply.
"Where are you bound?" she asked.
"Port Kar," I said.
"Take him!" she cried.
Instantly there was a great cry from all sides, and, breaking through the rushes and sedge, dozens of rence craft, bound with marsh vine, thrust into view, each poled by one man, with another in the prow, a two- or three-pronged marsh spear uplifted.
It was pointless to unsheath my sword, or to take up a weapon. From the safety of the yards of marsh water separating me from my enemies I could have been immediately slain, lost in a thicket of the two- or three-pronged marsh spears.
The girl put her hands on her hips, threw back her head and laughed with pleasure.
My weapons were taken. My clothing was removed. I was thrown forward on my face in the rush craft. I felt my wrists pulled behind my back, and crossed; they were instantly lashed together with marsh vine; then my ankles were crossed, and they, too, were lashed securely together with vine.
The girl stepped lightly onto my craft and stood with one foot on either side of my body. She was handed the pole with which she had propelled her own craft, which craft was now tied to another of the rence craft of the men who had come from the rushes and sedge. With the pole she began to propel my rush craft through the sedge, the several other craft accompanying us, on one or the other side, or following.
At one point the girl stopped the craft, and the others did, too. She and one or two of the others then put back their heads and uttered a kind of piping whistle, the call of the marsh gant. This was answered from various points about us, most of which were several yards away. Soon other rence craft, with their curved prows and sterns, had joined us.
The rence growers, I had learned, communicate by means of such signals, disguised as the cries of marsh gants.
3
Ho-Hak
The rence islands, on which the communities of rence growers dwell, are rather small, seldom more than two hundred by two hundred and fifty feet. They are formed entirely from the interwoven stems of the rence plants and float in the marsh. They are generally about eight to nine feet thick and have an exposed surface above the water of about three feet; as the rence stems break and rot away beneath the island, more layers are woven and placed on the surface. Thus, over a period of months, a given layer of rence, after being the top layer, will gradually be submerged and forced lower and lower until it, at last, is the deepest layer and, with its adjacent layers, begins to deteriorate.
To prevent an unwanted movement of the island there are generally several tethers, of marsh vine, to strong rence roots in the vicinity. It is dangerous to enter the water to make a tether fast because of the predators that frequent the swamp, but several men do so at a time, one man making fast the tether and the others, with him beneath the surface, protecting him with marsh spears, or pounding on metal pieces or wooden rods to drive away, or at least to disconcert and confuse, too inquisitive, undesired visitors, such as the water tharlarion or the long-bodied, nine-gilled marsh shark.
When one wishes to move the island, the tethers are simply chopped away, and the community divides itself into those who will handle the long poles and those who will move ahead in rence craft, cutting and clearing the way. Most of those who handle the poles gather on the edges of the island, but within the island there are four deep rectangular wells through which the long poles may gain additional leverage. These deep center wells, actually holes cut in the island, permit its movement, though slowly when used alone, without exposing any of its inhabitants at its edges, where they might fall easier prey to the missile weapons of foes. In times of emergency the inhabitants of the island gather behind wickerlike breastworks, woven of rence, in the area of the center wells; in such an emergency the low-ceilinged rence huts on the island will have been knocked down to prevent an enemy from using them for cover, and all food and water supplies, usually brought from the eastern delta where the water is fresh, will be stored within; the circular wickerlike breastworks then form, in the center of the island, a more or less defensible stronghold, particularly against the marsh spears of other growers, and such. Ironically, it is not of much use against an organized attack of well-armed warriors, such as those of Port Kar, and those against whom it might be fairly adequate, other rence g
rowers, seldom attack communities like their own. I had heard there had not been general hostilities among rence growers for more than fifty years; their communities are normally isolated from one another, and they have enough to worry about contending with "tax collectors" from Port Kar, without bothering to give much attention to making life miserable for one another. Incidentally, when the island is to be moved under siege conditions, divers leave the island by means of the wells and, in groups of two and three, attempt to cut a path in the direction of escape; such divers, of course, often fall prey to underwater predators and to the spears of enemies, who thrust down at them from the surface. Sometimes an entire island is abandoned, the community setting it afire and taking to the marsh in their marsh skiffs. At a given point, when it is felt safe, several of these skiffs will be tied together, forming a platform on which rence may be woven, and a new island will be begun.
"So," said Ho-Hak, regarding me, "you are on your way to Port Kar?"
He sat upon a giant shell of the Vosk sorp, as on a sort of throne, which, for these people, I gather it was.
I knelt before him, naked and bound. Two ropes of marsh vine, besides my other bonds, had been knotted about my neck, each in the hands of a man on either side of me. My ankles had been unbound only long enough to push me stumbling from the rush craft, among the shouting women and men and children, to the throne of Ho-Hak. Then I had been forced to my knees, and my ankles had again been lashed together.
"Yes," I said. "It was my intention to go to Port Kar."
"We are not fond of the men of Port Kar," Ho-Hak said.
There was a rusted, heavy iron collar riveted about the neck of Ho-Hak, with a bit of chain dangling from it. I gathered that the rence growers did not have the tools to remove it. Ho-Hak might have worn it for years. He was doubtless a slave, probably escaped from the galleys of Port Kar, who had fled to the marshes and been befriended by rence growers. Now, years later, he had come to a position of authority among them.
"I am not of Port Kar," I said.
"What is your city?" asked he.
I did not speak.
"Why do you go to Port Kar?" asked Ho-Hak.
Again I did not speak. My identity, that I was Tarl Cabot, and my mission, that I served the Priest-Kings of Gor, was not for others to know. Coming from the Sardar, I knew only that I was to travel to Port Kar and there make contact with Samos, first slaver of Port Kar, scourge of Thassa, said to be trusted of Priest-Kings.
"You are an outlaw," said Ho-Hak, as had the girl before him.
I shrugged.
It was true that my shield, and my clothes, now taken from me, bore no insignia.
Ho-Hak looked at the garb of the warrior, the helmet and shield, the sword with its scabbard, and the leather-wrapped bow of supple Ka-la-na wood, with its roll of sheaf and flight arrows. These things lay between us.
Ho-Hak's right ear twitched. His ears were unusual, very large, and with extremely long lower lobes, drawn lower still by small, heavy pendants set in them. He had been a slave, doubtless, and, doubtless, judging by the collar, and the large hands and broad back, had served on the galleys, but he had been an unusual slave, a bred exotic, doubtless originally intended by the slave maters for a destiny higher than that of the galley bench.
There are various types of "exotics" bred by Gorean slavers, all of whom are to be distinguished from more normal varieties of bred slaves, such as Passion Slaves and Draft Slaves. Exotics may be bred for almost any purpose, and some of these purposes, unfortunately, seem to be little more than to produce quaint or unusual specimens. Ho-Hak may well have been one so bred.
"You are an exotic," I said to him.
Ho-Hak's ears leaned forward toward me, but he did not seem angry. He had brown hair, and brown eyes; the hair, long, was tied behind his head with a string of rence cloth. He wore a sleeveless tunic of rence cloth, like most of the rence growers.
"Yes," said Ho-Hak. "I was bred for a collector."
"I see," I said.
"I broke his neck and escaped," said Ho-Hak. "Later I was recaptured and sent to the galleys."
"And you again escaped," I said.
"In doing so," said Ho-Hak, looking at his large hands, heavy and powerful, "I killed six men."
"And then you came to the marshes," said I.
"Yes," he said, "I then came to the marshes."
He regarded me, the ears leaning slightly toward me. "And I brought to the marshes with me," said he, "the memory of a dozen years on the galleys, and a hatred for all things of Port Kar."
There were various rence growers gathered about, the men with their marsh spears. Almost at my side stood the blondish girl I had seen, she who had been primarily effectual in my capture, herself acting as the bait, the lure to which I had been drawn. She stood proudly beside me, straight, her shoulders back, her chin high, as does a free woman beside a miserable slave, naked and kneeling. I was conscious of her thigh at my cheek. Over her shoulder were slung the four birds she had caught in the marshes; their necks were now broken and they were tied together, two in front and two over her back. There were other women about as well, and, here and there, peering between the adults, I could see children.
"He is either of Port Kar," she said, shifting the gants on her shoulder, "or he was intending to be of Port Kar. For what other reason would one go to Port Kar?"
For a long time Ho-Hak said nothing. He had a broad head, with a heavy, calm face.
I heard the squealing of a domestic tarsk running nearby, its feet scuttling in the woven rence of the island, as on a mat. A child was crying out, chasing it.
I heard some domestic marsh gants making their piping call. They wandered freely on the island, leaving it to feed, then returning to it later. Wild marsh gants, captured, even as young as gantlings, cannot be domesticated; on the other hand, eggs, at the hatching point, gathered from floating gant nests, are sometimes brought to the island; the hatchlings, interestingly, if not permitted to see an adult gant for the first week of their life, then adopt the rence island as their home, and show no fear of human beings; they will come and go in the wild as they please, feeding and flying, but will always, and frequently, return to the rence island, their hatching place; if the rence island, however, should be destroyed, they revert entirely to the wild; in the domesticated state, it might be mentioned, they will often come to whistles, and will invariably permit themselves to be picked up and handled.
There were several reasonably important looking individuals gathered about, and, as it turned out, these were headmen from various other rence islands in the vicinity. A given rence island usually holds about fifty or sixty persons. The men from several of these islands had cooperated in my pursuit and capture. Normally, as I may have mentioned, these communities are isolated from one another, but it was now near the Autumnal Equinox, and the month of Se'Kara was shortly to begin. For rence growers, the first of Se'Kara, the date of the Autumnal Equinox, is a time of festival. By that time most of the year's rence will have been cut, and great stocks of rence paper, gathered in rolls like cord wood and covered with woven rence mats, will have been prepared.
Between Se'Kara and the winter solstice, which occurs on the first of Se'Var, the rence will be sold or bartered, sometimes by taking it to the edge of the delta, sometimes by being contacted by rence merchants, who enter the delta in narrow barges, rowed by slaves, in order to have first pick of the product.
The first of Se'Var is also a date of festival, it might be mentioned, but this time the festival is limited to individual, isolated rence islands. With the year's rence sold, the communities do not care to lie too closely to one another; the primary reason is that, in doing so, they would present too inviting a target for the "tax collectors" of Port Kar. Indeed, I surmised, there was risk enough, and great risk, coming together even in Se'Kara. The unsold stores of rence paper on the islands at this time would, in themselves, be a treasure, though, to be sure, a bulky one.
But I felt ther
e was something strange going on, for there must have been five or six headmen on the island with Ho-Hak at this time. It is seldom, even in Se'Kara, that so many rence islands would gather for festival. Usually it would be two or three. At such times there is drinking of rence beer, steeped, boiled and fermented from crushed seeds and the whitish pith of the plant; singing; games; contests and courtship, for the young people of the rence islands too seldom meet those of the other communities. Why should there be so many rence islands in the same vicinity, even though it was near the first of Se'Kara? Surely the capture of one traveler in the delta did not warrant this attention, and, of course, the islands must have been gathered together even before I had entered the area.
"He is a spy," said one of the other men present, who stood beside Ho-Hak. This man was tall, and strong looking. He carried a marsh spear. On his forehead there was tied a headband formed of the pearls of the Vosk sorp.
I wondered what in particular there might be to spy about on the rence islands.
Ho-Hak still did not speak, but sat on the shell of the Vosk sorp, looking down at the weapons, mine, before him.
I squirmed a bit in the marsh vine that constrained me.
"Do not move, Slave," snapped the girl, who stood beside me.
Immediately the two loops of marsh vine knotted about my neck tightened, each taut, pulling against the other.
The girl's hands were in my hair and she yanked my head back.
"He is of Port Kar," she said, her hands in my hair, "or intended to be of Port Kar!" She glared at Ho-Hak, as though demanding that he speak.
But Ho-Hak did not speak, nor did he seem particularly to notice the girl.
Angrily she removed her hands from my hair, thrusting my head to one side.
Ho-Hak seemed intent on regarding the leather-wrapped bow of supple Ka-la-na wood.
The women of rence growers, when in their own marshes, do not veil themselves, as is common among Gorean women, particularly of the cities. Moreover, they are quite capable of cutting rence, preparing it, hunting for their own food and, on the whole, of existing, if they wish it, by themselves. There are few tasks of the rence communities which they cannot perform as well as men. Their intelligence, and the work of their hands, is needed by the small communities. Accordingly they suffer little inhibition in the matters of speaking out and expressing themselves.
Raiders of Gor Page 2