by John Norman
Suddenly she seemed strangely docile.
"Yes," she said. "Stranger, I, the daughter of the Ubar of Ar, ask your favor. I ask you to protect me."
"You tried to kill me," I said. "For all I know, you may still be an enemy."
There was a long pause in which neither of us spoke.
"I know what you are waiting for," said the daughter of the Ubar, strangely calm after her earlier fury—unnaturally calm, it seemed to me. I didn't understand her. What was it she thought I was waiting for? Then, to my astonishment, the daughter of the Ubar Marlenus, daughter of the Ubar of Ar, knelt before me, a simple warrior of Ko-ro-ba, and lowered her head, lifting and extending her arms, the wrists crossed. It was the same simple ceremony that Sana had performed before me in the chamber of my father, back at Ko-ro-ba—the submission of the captive female. Without raising her eyes from the ground, the daughter of the Ubar said in a clear, distinct voice: "I submit myself."
Later I wished that I had had binding fiber to lash her so innocently proffered wrists. I was speechless for a moment, but then, remembering that harsh Gorean custom required me either to accept the submission or slay the captive, I took her wrists in my hands and said, "I accept your submission." I then lifted her gently to her feet.
I led her by the hand toward Nar, helped her to the glossy, hairy back of the spider, and climbed up after her. Wordlessly Nar moved rapidly through the marsh, his eight delicate feet scarcely seeming to dip into the greenish water. Once he stepped into quicksand, and his back tilted suddenly. I held the daughter of the Ubar tightly as the insect righted himself, floating in the muck for a second, and then managing to free himself with his eight scrambling legs.
After a journey of an hour or so Nar stopped and pointed ahead with one of his forelegs. About three or four pasangs distant, through the thinning swamp trees, I could see the verdant meadows of Ar's Sa-Tarna land. The mechanical voice of Nar spoke. "I do not wish to approach nearer to the land. It is dangerous for the Spider People."
I slid from his back and helped the daughter of the Ubar down. We stood together in the shallow water at the side of the gigantic insect. I placed my hand on Nar's grotesque face, and the gentle monster lightly closed his mandibles on my arm and then opened them. "I wish you well," said Nar, using a common Gorean phrase of farewell.
I responded similarly and further wished health and safety to his people.
The insect placed his forelegs on my shoulders. "I do not ask your name, Warrior," he said, "nor will I repeat the name of your city before the Submitted One, but know that you and your city are honored by the Spider People."
"Thank you," I said. "My city and I are honored."
The mechanical voice spoke once more. "Beware the daughter of the Ubar."
"She has submitted herself," I replied, confident that the promise of her submission would be fulfilled.
As Nar raced backward, he lifted a foreleg in a gesture that I interpreted as an attempt to wave. I waved back at him, touched, and my grotesque ally disappeared into the marshes.
"Let's go," I said to the girl, and I made for the fields of Sa-Tarna. The daughter of the Ubar followed, some yards behind.
We had been wading for about twenty minutes when the girl suddenly screamed, and I spun around. She had sunk to her waist in the marsh water. She had slipped into a pocket of quicksand. She cried out hysterically. Cautiously I tried to approach her, but felt the ooze slipping away beneath my feet. I tried to reach her with my sword belt, but it was too short. The tarn-goad, which had been thrust in the belt, dropped into the water, and I lost it.
The girl sank deeper in the mire, the surface of the water circling her armpits. She was screaming wildly, all control lost in the face of the slow, ugly death awaiting her. "Don't struggle!" I cried. But her movements were hysterical, like those of a mad animal. "The veil!" I cried. "Unwind it, throw it to me!" Her hands tried to tear at the veil, but she was unable to unwind it, in her terror and in the moment of time left to her. Then the muck crept upward to her horrified eyes, and her head slipped under the greenish waters, her hands clutching wildly at the air.
I frantically looked about, caught sight of a half-submerged log some yards away, protruding upward out of the marsh water. Regardless of the possible danger, not feeling my way, I splashed to the log, jerking on it, hauling on it with all my might. In what seemed like hours but must have been a matter of only a few seconds, it gave, leaping upward out of the mud. I half-carried, half-floated it, shoving it toward the place where the daughter of the Ubar had slipped under the water. I clung to the log, floating in the shallow water over the quicksand, and reached down again and again into the mire.
At last my hand clutched something—the girl's wrist—and I drew her slowly upward out of the sand. My heart leaped with joy as I heard her whimpering, choking gasps, her lungs spasmodically sucking in the fetid but vivifying air. I shoved the log back and finally, carrying the filthy body soaked in its absurd garments, made my way to a ledge of green, dry land at the edge of the swamp.
I set her down on a bed of green clover. Beyond it, some hundred yards away, I could see the border of a yellow field of Sa-Tarna and a yellow thicket of Ka-la-na trees. I sat beside the girl, exhausted. I smiled to myself; the proud daughter of the Ubar in all her imperial regalia quite literally stank, stank of the swamps and the mud and of the perspiration exuded beneath that heavy covering, stank of heat and fear.
"You have saved my life again," said the daughter of the Ubar.
I nodded, not wanting to talk about anything.
"Are we out of the swamp?" she asked.
I assented.
This seemed to please her. With an animal movement, contradicting the formality of her garments, she lay backward on the clover, looking up at the sky, undoubtedly as exhausted as I was. Moreover, she was only a girl. I felt tender toward her. "I ask your favor," she said.
"What do you want?" I asked.
"I'm hungry," she said.
"I am, too," I laughed, suddenly aware that I had not eaten anything since the night before. I was ravenous. "Over there," I said, "are some Ka-la-na trees. Wait here and I'll gather some fruit."
"No, I'll come with you—if you permit me," she said.
I was surprised at this deference on the part of the daughter of the Ubar, but recalled that she had submitted herself.
"Surely," I said. "I would be pleased with your company."
I took her arm, but she drew back. "Having submitted myself," she said, "it is my part to follow."
"That's silly," I said. "Walk with me."
But she dropped her head shyly, shaking it. "I may not," she said.
"Do as you please," I laughed, and set out for the Ka-la-na trees. She followed, meekly, I thought.
We were near the Ka-la-na trees when I heard a slight rustle of brocade behind me. I turned, just in time to seize the wrist of the daughter of the Ubar as she struck savagely down at my back with a long, slender dagger. She howled with rage as I twisted the weapon from her hand.
"You animal!" I yelled, blind with fury. "You dirty, filthy, stinking, ungrateful animal!"
Wild with anger, I picked up the dagger and for an instant felt tempted to plunge it into the heart of the treacherous girl. Angrily I shoved it in my belt.
"You submitted," I said to her.
In spite of my hold on her wrist, which must have been tight and painful, the daughter of Marlenus straightened herself before me and said arrogantly, "You tharlarion! Do you think that the daughter of the Ubar of all Gor would submit to such as you?"
Cruelly I forced her to her knees before me, the filthy, proud wench.
"You submitted," I said.
She cursed me, her greenish eyes blazing with hatred. "Is this how you treat the daughter of a Ubar?" she cried.
"I will show you how I treat the most treacherous wench on all Gor," I exclaimed, releasing her wrist. With both hands I wrenched the veil back from her face, thrusting my hand under it
to fasten my fist in her hair, and then, as if she were a common tavern girl or a camp slut, I dragged the daughter of the Ubar of all Gor to the shelter of the Ka-la-na trees. Among the trees, on the clover, I threw her to my feet. She tried frantically to readjust the folds of her veil, but with both hands I tore it fully away, and she lay at my feet, as it is said on Gor, face-stripped. A marvelous cascade of hair, as black as the wing of my tarn, loosened behind her, falling to the ground. I saw magnificent olive skin and those wild green eyes and features that were breathtakingly beautiful. The mouth, which might have been magnificent, was twisted with rage. "I like it better," I said, "being able to see the face of my enemy. Do not replace your veil."
In fury she glared up at me, shamed as my eyes boldly regarded the beauty of her face. She made no move to replace the veil.
As I looked upon her, incredibly perhaps, my rage dissipated and with it the vengeful desires that had filled me. In anger I had dragged her, helpless, mine by all the Codes of Gor, to the shelter of the trees. Yet now once again I saw her as a girl, this time as a beautiful girl, not to be abused.
"You will understand," I said, "that I can no longer trust you."
"Of course not," she said. "I am your enemy."
"Accordingly I can take no chances with you."
"I am not afraid to die," she said, her lip trembling slightly. "Be quick."
"Remove your clothing," I said.
"No!" she cried, shrinking back. She rose to her knees before me, putting her head to my feet. "With all my heart, Warrior," she pleaded, "the daughter of a Ubar, on her knees, begs your favor. Let it be only the blade and quickly."
I threw back my head and laughed. The daughter of the Ubar feared that I would force her to serve my pleasure—I, a common soldier. But then, shamefacedly, I admitted to myself that I had, while dragging her to the trees, intended to take her and that it had only been the sudden spell of her beauty which, paradoxically enough, had claimed my respect, forced me to recognize that selfishly I was about to injure or dominate what Nar would have referred to as a rational creature. I felt ashamed and resolved that I would do no harm to this girl, though she was as wicked and faithless as a tharlarion.
"I do not intend to force you to serve my pleasure," I said, "nor do I intend to injure you."
She lifted her head and looked at me wonderingly.
Then, to my amazement, she stood up and regarded me contemptuously. "If you had been a true warrior," she said, "you would have taken me on the back of your tarn, above the clouds, even before we had passed the outermost ramparts of Ar, and you would have thrown my robes to the streets below to show my people what had been the fate of the daughter of their Ubar." Evidently she believed that I had been afraid to harm her and that she, the daughter of a Ubar, remained above the perils and obligations of the common captive. She looked at me insolently, angry that she had so demeaned herself as to kneel before a coward. She tossed her head back and snorted. "Well, Warrior," she said, "what would you have me do?"
"Remove your clothing," I said.
She looked at me in rage.
"I told you," I said, "I am not going to take any more chances with you. I have to find out if you have any more weapons."
"No man may look upon the daughter of the Ubar," she said.
"Either you will remove your robes," I said, "or I shall."
In fury the hands of the Ubar's daughter began to fumble with the hooks of her heavy robes.
She had scarcely removed a braided loop from its hook when her eyes suddenly lit with triumph and a sound of joy escaped her lips.
"Don't move," said a voice behind me. "You are covered with a crossbow."
"Well done, Men of Ar," exclaimed the daughter of the Ubar.
I turned slowly, my hands away from my body, and found myself facing two of the foot soldiers of Ar, one of them an officer, the other of common rank. The latter had trained his crossbow on my breast. At that distance he could not have missed, and if he had fired at that range, most probably the quarrel would have passed through my body and disappeared in the woods behind. The initial velocity of a quarrel is the better part of a pasang per second.
The officer, a swaggering fellow whose helmet, though polished, bore the marks of combat, approached me, holding his sword to me, and seized my weapon from its scabbard and the girl's dagger from my belt. He looked at the signet on the dagger hilt and seemed pleased. He placed it in his own belt and took from a pouch at his side a pair of manacles, which he snapped on my wrists. He then turned to the girl.
"You are Talena," he said, tapping the dagger, "daughter of Marlenus?"
"You see I wear the robes of the Ubar's daughter," said the girl, scarcely deigning to respond to the officer's question. She paid her rescuers no more attention, treating them as if they were no more worthy of her gratitude than the dust beneath her feet. She strode to face me, her eyes mocking and triumphant, seeing me shackled and in her power. She spat viciously in my face, which insult I accepted, unmoving. Then, with her right hand, she slapped me savagely with all the force and fury of her body. My cheek felt as though it had been branded.
"Are you Talena?" asked the officer, once again, patiently. "Daughter of Marlenus?"
"I am indeed, Heroes of Ar," replied the girl proudly, turning to the soldiers. "I am Talena, daughter of Marlenus, Ubar of all Gor."
"Good," said the officer, and then nodded to his subordinate. "Strip her and put her in slave bracelets."
8
I Acquire a Companion
I lunged forward, but was checked by the point of the officer's sword. The common soldier, setting the crossbow on the ground, strode to the daughter of the Ubar, who stood as though stunned, her face drained of color. The soldier, beginning at the high, ornate collar of the girl's robes, began to break the braided loops, ripping them loose from their hooks; methodically he tore her robes apart and pulled them down and over her shoulders; in half a dozen tugs the heavy layers of her garments had been jerked downward until she stood naked, her robes in a filthy pile about her feet. Her body, though stained with the mire of the swamp, was exquisitely beautiful.
"Why are you doing this?" I demanded.
"Marlenus has fled," said the officer. "The city is in chaos. The Initiates have assumed command and have ordered that Marlenus and all members of his household and family are to be publicly impaled on the walls of Ar."
A moan escaped the girl.
The officer continued: "Marlenus lost the Home Stone, the Luck of Ar. He, with fifty tarnsmen, disloyal to the city, seized what they could of the treasury and escaped. In the streets there is civil war, fighting between the factions that would master Ar. There is looting and pillaging. The city is under martial law."
Unresisting, the girl extended her wrists, and the soldier snapped slave bracelets on them—light, restraining bracelets of gold and blue stones that might have served as jewelry if it had not been for their function. She seemed unable to speak. In a moment her world had crumbled. She was nothing now but the abominated daughter of the villain in whose reign the Home Stone, the Luck of Ar, had been stolen. Now she, like all other members of the household of Marlenus, slave or free, would be subjected to the vengeance of the outraged citizens, citizens who had marched in the processions of the Ubar in the days of his glory, carrying flasks of Ka-la-na wine and sheaves of Sa-Tarna grain, singing his praises in the melodious litanies of Gor.
"I am the one who stole the Home Stone," I said.
The officer prodded me with the sword. "We presumed so, finding you in the company of the offspring of Marlenus." He chuckled. "Do not fear—though there are many in Ar who rejoice in your deed, your death will not be pleasant or swift."
"Release the girl," I said. "She has done no harm. She did her best to save the Home Stone of your city."
Talena seemed startled that I had asked for her freedom.
"The Initiates have pronounced their sentence," said the officer. "They have decreed a sacrifice to th
e Priest-Kings to ask them to have mercy and to restore the Home Stone."
In that moment I detested the Initiates of Ar, who, like other members of their caste throughout Gor, were only too eager to seize some particle of the political power they had supposedly renounced in choosing to wear the white robes of their calling. The real purpose of the "sacrifice to the Priest-Kings" was probably to remove possible claimants to the throne of Ar and thereby strengthen their own political position.
The officer's eyes narrowed. He jabbed me with his sword. "Where," he demanded, "is the Home Stone?"
"I don't know," I said.
The blade was at my throat.
Then, to my amazement, the daughter of the Ubar spoke. "He tells the truth."
The officer regarded her calmly, and she blushed, realizing her body was no longer sacred in his sight, no longer protected by the power of the Ubar.
She raised her head and said quietly, "The Home Stone was in the saddle pack of his tarn. The tarn escaped. The Stone is gone."
The officer cursed under his breath.
"Take me back to Ar," said Talena. "I am ready." She stepped from the pile of filthy garments at her feet and stood proudly among the trees, the wind slightly moving her long dark hair.
The officer looked her over, slowly, carefully, his eyes gleaming. Without glancing at the common soldier, he ordered him to leash me, to fasten around my throat the leading chain often used on Gor for slaves and prisoners.
The officer sheathed his sword, not taking his eyes from Talena, who drew back. "This one I'll leash myself," he said, drawing a leading chain from his pouch and approaching the girl. She stood still, not quivering.
"The leash will not be necessary," she said proudly.
"That is for me to decide," said the officer, and laughed as he snapped the chain on the throat of the girl. It clicked shut. He gave it a playful tug. "I never thought that I would have my chain on Talena, the daughter of Marlenus," he said.
"You beast!" she hissed.