Norman, John - Gor 10 - Tribesmen of Gor.txt
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“But is there no guard?” I asked.
“He was outside,” said Ibn Saran. “We have slain him for you.”
“Ah,” I said.
“We will drag the body into the cell when you have made good your swift escape.”
The manacles on my wrists and ankles were lock shackles. Hamid thrust the key
in, unsnapping them. “And Hamid,” I said, “by intent, did not strike Suleiman to
the death, but feigning clumsiness, wounded him only.”
“Precisely,” said Ibn Saran.
“Had I wished to kill,” hissed Hamid, “the blow would have told.”
“Doubtless,” I said.
“It was essential for us, to protect appearances with Kurii, to appear to
attempt to delay you, to forestall you in the completion of your inquiry for
Priest-Kings.”
“Of course,” I said. “But now, appearances kept, you free me to continue my
work.”
“Precisely,” said Ibn Saran.
From within his cloak Hamid produced a chisel and hammer.
“Open the collar,” I told him, “rather than merely break the links. It will take
more time, but it will be more comfortable.”
“Someone will hear!” said Ibn Saran.
“I am confident,” I told him, “none will hear.” I smiled. “It is late.”
I had a special reason for wishing to delay my escape some quarter of an Ahn.
“Open the collar,” said Ibn Saran, angrily.
“It is a lovely moonlight night,” I observed. “It will thus, in my escape, make
it easier for me to see my way.
Ibn Saran’s eyes flashed. “Yes,” he said.
“I am pleased,” I said, “to learn that you labor in the service of
Priest-Kings.”
Ibn Saran inclined his head.
“Will my escape not require an explanation?” I asked.
“The guard was bribed,” said Ibn Saran. “Then you, in treachery, in your escape,
slew him.”
“We will leave the body here, with the tools,” said Hamid.
“You are thorough,” I admitted.
I eased my neck from the collar, it scraping the sides of my neck. It hung
against the stones, on the two chains. It caused me great pain to stand. I moved
my arms and legs. I wondered how far I was supposed to get. If it were true that
a saddled kaiila, my own, awaited, I gathered the strike would be made in the
desert, probably just outside the oasis.
It must be well planned. It must be, in their opinion, foolproof, far surer than
the likelihood, which would be high, of my reaching Klima in penal caravan.
I left the cell. On a table outside was clothing. I donned it. It was my own. I
checked the wallet. It contained even the gems which I had placed there, after
removing them from my interior belt, when I had been negotiating with Suleiman.
“Weapons?” I asked.
“The scimitar, at the saddle,” said Ibn Saran.
“I see,” I said. “And water?”
“At the saddle,” he said.
“It seems,” I said, “that it is twice I owe you my life. You have saved me this
afternoon from the beast’s attack, and tonight you free me, rescuing me from the
brine pits of Klima. I am indebted to you, it seems.”
“You would do as much for me,” he said.
“Yes,” I said.
His eyes clouded.
“Hurry,” said Hamid. “The guard will be soon changed.”
I climbed the stairs. I strode through the outer rooms, and out the portal, onto
the sand.
“Be less bold. Be more careful,” said Ibn Saran.
“No one is watching,” I assured him. I smiled. “It, is late,” I said.
I saw the kaiila. It was my own. It was saddled: water bags were at its flanks;
a scimitar sheath, with weapon, on straps, hung at a saddle ring on the right. I
checked the girth straps, the kaiila rein. They were in order. I hoped that the
beast had not been drugged. I lifted my hand near its eye; it blinked, even to
the third lid, the transparent lid; very lightly I touched its flank; the skin
shook, twitching, beneath the finger.
“What are you doing?” asked Ibn Saran.
“T am greeting my kaiila,” I said.
The reflexes of the beast seemed fit. I doubted then that it had been drugged.
If it had been drugged with a quick-acting agent, the quarter of an Ahn I had
purchased, delaying my escape, in demanding that the collar be removed, rather
than the links broken, would have given the drug time to be evident in the
behavior of the beast. I doubted that a slow drug would have been used, because
time would be significant in these matters. Ibn Saran would not have cared to
risk giving me an Ahn’s start on a fast kaiila. I was pleased that the animal
had not, apparently, been drugged.
It suddenly occurred to me that perhaps Ibn Saran, as he proclaimed, was indeed
an agent for Priest-Kings. Perhaps Hamid, too, was such an agent.
If so, my dalliance, increasing their risks, had jeopardized their lives.
I mounted.
“May your water bags be never empty,” said Ibn Saran. “May you always have
water.” He put his hand on the bulging water bag, which hung behind the saddle,
on the left side of the beast, balanced by another on the right. One drinks
alternately from the bags, to maintain the weight distribution. Such weight, of
course, slows the kaiila, but, in the desert, one must have much water.
“May your water bags be never empty,” I said. “May you always have water.”
“Ride north,” said Ibn Saran.
“My thanks,” I said, and, kicking the beast in the flanks, sand scattered back
from its claws, I pressed the beast to the north.
As soon as I was out of earshot of Ibn Saran and Hamid, and among tile walls of
the oasis buildings, I reined in, I looked back and noted, high, lofting in the
moonlight night, an arrow, with a silver pennon attached to it. It climbed more
and more slowly to the height of its are, seemed to pause, and then, gracefully,
turned and looped down, faster and faster, the moonlight sparkling on the
fluttering, silvered pennon.
I examined the paws of the kailla. I found that for which I searched inserted in
the right forepaw of the animal. I removed from its paw the tiny, rounded ball
of wax, held in place by threads: within the wax, which would soon, in the
riding and pounding, and by the heat of the animal’s body, disintegrate,
concealed. I found a needle; I smelled it; it was smeared with kanda, a deadly
toxin, prepared from the ground roots of the kanda bush. I wiped the needle,
with a ripping from my shirt sleeve, cleaning it, and discarded needle and cloth
in a refuse pile.
I sampled the water in the two water bags. It was, as I expected, heavily
salted. It was not drinkable.
I removed the scimitar from its sheath. It was not mine. I examined the blade
and found the flaw, neatly filed, under the hilt, concealed by the guard. I
tapped the blade into the sand: it fell from the hilt, which I retained in my
hand, concealed both blade and hilt in the refuse pile.
I drew the kaiila back into the shadows. Two men rode by, Ibn Saran and Hamid.
I poured the salt water into the sand. It was late. I decided I would seek an
inn for the night. It was late.
&n
bsp; 8 I Become Guest of Hassan the Bandit
I did not sleep as well as I might have that night, for from time to time,
clouds of riders, with bows and lances, swept through the streets of Nine Wells,
returning from one sortie into the desert or another. For better than fifty
pasangs about the terrain was apparently combed, again and again, but yielding
not even a trail.
I did, however, get several hours of uninterrupted sleep toward morning, when,
worn, exhausted, thirsty, slack in their saddles, the bulk of the search parties
returned to Nine Wells.
I patronized an unimportant, rather poor sort of establishment, whose
proprietor, I suspected, would have had better things to do than attend trials
at the chamber of justice. Fortunately this was true. He was, however, informed
on the public news. “The assassin fled last night, into the desert,” he told me,
“escaping!”
“Incredible,” I said. My response was appropriate, for I, for one, did not
believe it.
I had arisen about the ninth hour, which, on Gor, is the hour before noon.
The kaiila I fed in the stable, where he occupied a rear stall, I watered it,
too, deeply.
While at breakfast I sent a stableboy on small errands. When I finished
breakfast the lad, a sprightly young fellow, had returned.
In my new burnoose and sash, a rather ostentatious yellow and purple, befitting,
however, a local merchant, or peddler, who wishes to call attention to himself,
I myself went about the shops, making purchases. I obtained a new scimitar. I
did not need a sheath and belt. I obtained, too, a set of kaiila bells, and two
sacks of pressed-date bricks. These are long, 134 rectangular bricks, weighing
about a stone apiece, or, in Earth weight, about four pounds.
In a short while, at the public well near the chamber of justice, I had filled
my water bags and collected the latest gossip. “Out of my way,” said a soldier,
reaching down to splash water in his face. I deferred to him, which it seemed to
me was advisable for a local date merchant. Besides he had had a difficult night
of it in the desert. “Have you found the assassin yet?” I asked. “No,” he
growled. “Sometimes I fear I am not safe,” I said. “Do not fear, Citizen,” said
he. “Very well,” I said.
The search parties would recuperate during the afternoon and night, I had
learned. There was little chance of picking up a subtle trail by moonlight. It
was impractical to begin again, the men and animals exhausted, until morning.
That would give me a start, I speculated, of some fifteen Gorean hours.
It would be more than sufficient.
In the neighborhood of noon, moving slowly, in the yellow and purple striped
burnoose, with sash, water bags at the flanks of my kaiila, sacks of
pressed-date bricks tied across the withers, kaiila bells ringing, calling
attention to myself and my wares, I left the oasis. Once, the lofty palms small
behind me, I had to turn aside, to avoid being buffered by the return of the
last of the search parties.
On a hill, more than two hundred pasangs north and east of Nine Wells, two days
after I had left the oasis, I reined in, the kaiila turning on the graveled
crest.
Below, in the valley, between the barren, rocky hills, I observed the small
caravan being taken.
Two kurdahs were seized in the hand of a rider, by their frames, and jerked to
the side on the kaiila, spilling their occupants, free girls, in a flurry of
skirts, to the gravel.
Drovers and merchants were being herded, at lance point, to a side. A guard,
holding his right shoulder, hurried by a lance tip, was thrust with them.
The packs of kaiila were being slashed, to determine the value of the
merchandise carried, and whether it would be of value to raiders.
Some of these kaiila were pulled together, their reins in the hands of a rider.
One of the burdens tied among others on the back of one of the pack kaiila was
transferred to another beast, one whose rein was held by the rider.
The hands of the free girls were bound before their bodies.
Their hands were bound at the end of long straps. The lengthy, free end of these
tethers, then, was, by their captor, looped and secured about his pommel.
One man tried to break and run. A rider, wheeling after him, struck him in the
back of the neck with the butt of his lance. He fell sprawling in the dust and
rocks.
I saw a water bag being slashed, the water dark on the side of a kaiila it
shifting and fearing, the water falling, soaking into the dust.
I saw other water bags thrown to the ground, before the cornered man.
Packs were cut from kaiila, their contents spilling on the ground. These were
goods not desired. The kaiila, then, freed of reins and harness, with the flat
of scimitars, and cries, were driven into the desert.
The two girls now stood naked in the dust, stripped by the blade of their
captor. One of the girls had her hands, wrists bound, in her hair, pulling at
it, crying out with misery. The other girl seemed angry. She looked at her bound
wrists, her tether, as though she could not believe herself secured to the
pommel. Her head was high. She had long, dark hair.
Their captor, who seemed to be chief of the raiders, mounted. He stood in his
stirrups. He shouted directions to his men. The raiders, then, as one man,
turned their kaiila, and, unhurried, rode slowly from the trail. Two of the men
held the reins of two pack kaiila; another man, by the rein, pulled another
beast, shambling after him. The leader, his scimitar across his saddle, rode
first, his burnoose gentle, swelling in the hot wind, behind him. Tied to his
pommel, stumbling, followed his two fair captives.
Behind, the men shouted. Some dared to raise their fists. Others went to the
water bags.
On foot, on the trail, they would have only enough water to reach the tiny oasis
of Lame Kaiila, where there would be for them doubtless sympathy, but little aid
in the form of armed men. Indeed, it lay in a direction away from Nine Wells,
which was the largest, nearest oasis where soldiers might be found. By the time
word of the raid reached Nine Wells the raiders might be thousands of pasangs
away.
I turned my kaiila and dropped below the crest of the hill. I had scouted the
camp of the raiders last night.
I would meet them there. I had business with their leader.
“You work well,” I told the slave girl. The camp was abandoned, save for her.
She cried out. The heavy, round-ended pestle some five feet in height, more than
five inches wide at the base, dropped. It weighed some thirty pounds. When it
dropped, the heavy wooden howl, more than a foot deep and eighteen inches in
diameter tipped. Sa-Tarna grain spilled to the ground. I held her by the arms,
from behind.
Like the camps of many nomads the camp was on high ground, which commanded the
terrain, but was itself concealed among scrub brush and boulders. There was a
corral of thorn brush, uprooted and woven together, which served for kaiila.
Within it, now, were four pack kaiila. There were five tents, each of tawny,
inconspicuous kaiila-hair cloth, each pegged down on three sides, each with the
front, facing east, for the warmth of the morning sun, left open. These tents,
typical nomad tents, were small, some ten feet in depth, some ten to fifteen
feet wide; they were supported on wooden frames; the ground, within them,
leveled off, was covered by mats. At the back the tents were low, stretching to
the ground. It is at the backs that goods are stored. In a normal family
situation the household articles and the possessions of the women are kept on
the left side of the area, and the goods of the men, blankets, weapons, and
such, are kept on the right. These goods, both of men and women, are kept in
leather bags of various sizes. These, made by the women, are often fringed, and
of various colors, and beautifully decorated.
I looked about; there was little difference between this camp and a typical
nomad camp. One crucial difference, of course, was the absence of free women and
small children. In this camp there was only a slave girl, left behind to pound
grain and watch kaiila.
I smiled. This was a camp of raiders.
I released the girl.
She turned about. “You!” she cried. Alyena was fully dressed. She wore a long,
bordered skirt, with scarlet thread at its hem, which swirled as she turned; she
wore a jacket, tan, of soft kaiila-hair cloth, taken from the animal’s second
coat, which had a hood, which she had thrown back; beneath the jacket she wore a
cheap, printed blouse of rep-cloth, blue and yellow, which well clung to her.
At her throat was a metal collar, no longer mine.
I observed the drape of the skirt on her hips, the sweet, delicate, betraying
candor of her blouse.
Her master had not given her undergarments. What need has a slave for such? She
wore slippers.
She looked at me, frightened, her eyes very blue, the hair loose and lovely.
“I see, pretty Alyena,” I said, “you now wear earrings.”
They were golden loops, large, barbaric. They fell beside her neck.
“He did it to me,” she said. “He pierced my ears with a saddle needle.”
I did not doubt it, in this out-of-the-way place. The operation, usually, of
course, is performed by one of the leather workers.
“He put them on me,” she said. She lifted her head, and brushed one. I could see
she was proud. “They are from his plunder,” she said.