Savages of Gor

by John Norman

  "It is part of the loot from the wagon train, it seems," I said. The cloth was white. It did not seem to be trade cloth.

  "You are probably right," said Grunt. "But do you not see what it is?"

  I looked more closely. "It is a woman's dress," I said.

  "Yes," said Grunt.

  I returned to the pack kaiila, and restored the water bag to its place.

  "We must be on our way," said Grunt, nervously. "There have been Waniyanpi about, from various compounds," he said.

  I recalled that we had obtained this information earlier from the Waniyanpi with whom we had conversed. Then, too, this had seemed to disturb Grunt. Its significance, as I now recognize, was clear. Interestingly, at the time, I did not fully appreciate its import.

  "What are you doing!" said Grunt.

  "We cannot leave him here like this," I said. I crouched beside the lad, my knife drawn.

  "Do not kill him," said Grunt. "That is the business of the prairie, of thirst, of hunger, or roving sleen."

  "Stop!" said Grunt.

  My knife was at the leather thongs binding the lad's left ankle to its stake.

  "You understand nothing of the Barrens," said Grunt. "Leave him alone. Do not interfere!"

  "We cannot leave him here like this," I said.

  "The Waniyanpi would have done so," said Grunt.

  "I am not of the Waniyanpi," I said.

  "See the lance, the dress," said Grunt.

  "What are their significance?" I asked.

  "He did not support his comrades in arms," said Grunt. "He did not join them on the warpath."

  "I see," I said. He who refuses to fight, of course, permits others to do his fighting for him. He lets others take the risks, sometimes grievous and perilous, which it is his duty to accept and share. Why are others less special and precious than he? The moral stature of such an individual I leave to the conjecture of others. The heinous exploitation of others implicit in such a behavior, incidentally, seems seldom to have been noticed. All things considered, it does not really take much courage to be a coward. Such a behavior, generalized, of course, means the destruction of the community. Thus, paradoxically, only in a community of the brave can the coward thrive. His very prosperity he owes to the community he betrays.

  "But the lance is not broken," I said.

  "No," said Grunt.

  "Of what tribe is the lance?" I asked.

  "Kaiila," he said. "This may be told by the binding, and by the lateral red marks near the head of the shaft."

  "I see," I said.

  My knife then finished cutting the thongs at the lad's left ankle.

  I then went to the thongs at his right ankle.

  "Stop," said Grunt.

  "No," I said.

  I heard the cable of a crossbow being drawn above and behind me. It was then fixed in place. The quarrel was then laid in the guide.

  "Will you truly loose your shaft at me?" I asked Grunt, not turning about.

  "Do not force me to fire," he said.

  "We cannot leave him here like this," I said.

  "I do not wish to fire," said Grunt.

  "Do not fear," I told him. "You will not do so."

  I heard the quarrel removed from the guide, and the cable's surcease of tension.

  "We cannot leave him here like this," I said.

  I then went to the thongs on the boy's left wrist.

  "Your friend must care for you deeply," he said, in Gorean. "He did not kill you."

  "You speak Gorean," I smiled.

  "You are fortunate to have such a friend," said the lad.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Do you know what you are doing?" asked the lad.

  "Probably not," I said.

  "I did not take the warpath," he said.

  "Why not?" I asked.

  "I had no quarrel with the Fleer," he said.

  "That is between you and your people," I said.

  "Do not free me," he said.

  My knife paused.

  "Why not?" I asked.

  "I have not been staked out in order to be freed," he said.

  I did not respond to this. Then my knife finished cutting through the thongs on his left wrist. In a moment I had cut through the thongs, too, at his right wrist.

  "I am a slave," he said. "Now I am your slave."

  "No," I said. "You are free."

  "Free?" he asked.

  "Yes," I said. "I free you. You are free."

  "Free?" he asked, numbly.

  "Yes," I said.

  He rolled to his side, scarcely able to move.

  I stood up, and sheathed my knife.

  "Now you have done it," said Grunt, glumly.

  "You knew we could not simply leave him here like that," I said.

  "I?" asked Grunt.

  "Yes," I said. "Why else would you have come to this hill?"

  "Do you think I am weak?" he asked.

  "No," I said. "I think you are strong."

  "We are fools," he said.

  "Why?" I asked.

  "Look," he said.

  Approaching from three directions were groups of mounted warriors, some fifteen or twenty in each group, lofty on their kaiila, barbarous in their paint and feathers.

  "Sleen, and Yellow Knives," said Grunt, "and Kaiila, too."

  "You are Kaiila, aren't you?" I asked the lad.

  "Yes," said he. I had thought he would be. I did not think that Dust Legs, from whom he had been purchased by whites, near the Ihanke, would have sold one of their own tribe into slavery. The lance near him, too, that about which was wound the white dress, was, according to Grunt, a lance from that tribe. It was Kaiila, thus, presumably, who had fastened him down.

  "I feared this," said Grunt. "There were other groups of Waniyanpi about. We heard that. Naturally, then, keepers for them would be in the vicinity, in force. Too, coming to this place, we saw smoke. Too, to the southeast, now, there is smoke."

  "Yes," I said, now noticing it.

  "That is camp smoke," said Grunt, "cooking for the evening meal."

  I nodded. I now, for the first time, fully, understood Grunt's earlier noticed lack of ease.

  "Surely we have broken no law," I said.

  "They have superior advantages in numbers and arms," said Grunt. "I do not think they need more law than that."

  "And you have freed me," said the lad, sitting on the grass, rubbing his wrists and ankles. I was surprised that he could sit up.

  "You are strong," I observed.

  "I am Kaiila," he said.

  "Surely there is no law to the effect that you should not be freed," I said.

  "There is no law specifically to that effect," he said, "but I would not count on their being much pleased about it."

  "I can understand that," I said. Scanning, I noted the approaching groups of riders. I counted fifty-one riders, in all.

  "If there were such a law," asked the youth, "would you have broken it?"

  "Yes," I said.

  "The nearest are Sleen," said Grunt. "Those to the south are Yellow Knives. From the east approach Kaiila."

  The lad tried to climb to his feet, but fell. Then, again, he struggled upwards. He then stood. I supported him. He seemed to be very strong for one so young.

  "You are Kaiila," said Grunt.

  "Yes," said the youth.

  "We will expect you, then," said Grunt, "to intercede for us with the Kaiila."

  "It was they who staked me out," he said.

  "Oh," said Grunt.

  I smiled to myself. I had feared as much.

  "They may want only gifts," said Grunt. I watched the unhurried advance of the groups of riders. They were giving us time to consider their approach. There seemed a subtle menace in this leisured advance, in this time and in this place.

  "Only generous gifts, hopefully," said Grunt.

  "It will be my people who will be the most dangerous," said the youth, with pride.

  I was not at all sure that that was
the case.

  "What is your name?" asked Grunt.

  "Your people called me 'Urt'," he said. "The Dust Legs called me 'Nitoske'."

  "Woman's Dress," said Grunt. "Quick, Lad, what do the Kaiila call you? We cannot call you 'Woman's Dress.'"

  "Cuwignaka," said the lad.

  Grunt spit disgustedly into the grass.

  "What is wrong?" I asked.

  "It means the same, only in Kaiila," said Grunt. "Moreover, in both dialects, it is actually the word for a white woman's dress."

  "Wonderful," I said. "What shall we call you?" I asked the lad.

  "Cuwignaka," he said. "Woman's Dress."

  "Very well," I said.

  "It is my name," he said.

  "Very well," I said.

  Then the savages were about us. With a rattle of chain the girls in the coffle, whimpering, huddled together. I was prodded in the shoulder with the butt of a lance. I stood my ground as well as I could. I knew they were looking for the least sign of anger or resistance.

  "Smile," said Grunt. "Smile."

  I could not smile, but, too, I did not offer resistance.

  19

  In the Distance there is the Smoke of Cooking Fires

  Evelyn cried out with misery as the tether was knotted about her neck. Her small wrists pulled futilely at the bonds which held her hands confined behind her back. Then, stumbling, she was thrust beside Ginger, and Max and Kyle Hobart. All had been stripped.

  "Hi," cried the Sleen warrior, a high warrior in their war party, and kicked back into the flanks of his kaiila. The animal squealed and snorted, moving to the side and then forward. In a moment it was following the line of withdrawing warriors, led by their war-party leader, he followed by the banner-bearer, carrying the crooklike, feathered staff, used in giving directions in battle, and then the others.

  It was he, it seemed, who would lead them in triumph into their camp. He held the tethers of the Hobarts, and Ginger and Evelyn. Two other Sleen, too, then followed, who would bring up the rear, riding behind the column, some yards behind the captives.

  Grunt stood behind, his fists clenched.

  Near Grunt, on their stomachs, stripped, lying in a standard binding position, their ankles crossed and their wrists held crossed behind them, placed in a tandem line, head to feet, one after the other, were Corinne, Lois, Inez and Priscilla. Priscilla made a tiny noise and winced as a Yellow-Knife warrior, kneeling across her body, tied her wrists behind her back. One ties the last girl in such a tandem line first. That way the other girls are less likely to bolt. A girl, thus, does not see the girl before her bound until she herself has been bound.

  I watched the withdrawal of the Sleen war party. They were well pleased with their share of the loot. Ginger and Evelyn were lovely prizes and the Hobarts would doubtless prove useful in heavy work and, as boys, minding the kaiila herds.

  The Yellow-Knife warrior now tied Inez's hands behind her back.

  The coffle chains and the manacles which had bound the Hobarts lay discarded in the grass.

  The red-haired girl was on her hands and knees in the grass, naked, warriors, some on foot, some astride kaiila, Yellow Knives and Kaiila, gathered about her.

  Lois's hands were tied behind her back.

  "Hopa," said one of the Kaiila warriors, one mounted, a tall, broad-shouldered fellow, with long braids, tied with red cloth, looking down on the red-haired girl. He touched her on the left arm with his long-bladed lance, the blade of tapering, bluish, chipped flint. She looked up at him, frightened, and then, unable to meet his eyes, quickly lowered her head. "Wihopawin," commented the warrior.

  A Yellow Knife crouched near the girl.

  The mounted Kaiila warrior said something to Pimples, whom, it had been quickly established, in the interchanges, was conversant in Kaiila. "Ho, Itancanka," said Pimples. She then quickly went to the red-haired girl and knelt her, with her hands behind the back of her head and her head back. "Breasts out," she told her in Gorean. The red-haired girl then knelt in this fashion, with her elbows back and her breasts thrust forward. Tears came to her eyes. It is a common position for slave assessment.

  Corinne's hands were tied behind her back.

  "Hopa," said more than one Kaiila, looking at the red-haired girl.

  I wondered if the former debutante from Pennsylvania had ever dreamed, in the bed in her mansion, that she would one day kneel in the grass of a distant world, a helpless slave brazenly posed for the assessment of masters.

  Tethers were now being tied on the necks of Corinne, Lois, Inez and Priscilla.

  "Hopa," said a Kaiila, looking at the red-haired girl.

  "Waste," said another.

  "Hopa," said the mounted Kaiila warrior, approvingly. "Hopa, Wihopawin!"

  "Howe," said another.

  One of the Yellow Knives standing about put his hand on the hair of the kneeling girl.

  Then the lance blade of bluish, chipped flint was at the Yellow Knife's neck. He stood up, quickly, angrily, brushing the lance away, his hand at the handle of his knife, in the beaded sheath at his hip. The lance point, brushed away, returned to threaten him, as easily as a branch, shifted by the wind, might return to its original position. The Kaiila warrior's legs tensed. At a kick backward the kaiila would bolt forward, driving the lance into the Yellow Knife. Yellow Knives and Kaiila, hereditary enemies, tensed.

  Corinne, Lois, Inez and Priscilla were pulled by their neck tethers to their feet.

  One of the Yellow Knives near the fellow threatened with the lance said something to him. The Yellow Knife at whose chest the lance point was poised then stepped angrily backward. He glanced to the four girls now pulled to their feet. Their tethers were being handed to another Yellow Knife, one mounted. The leader of the Yellow-Knife party said something to the fellow. The fellow then turned away, angrily, and mounted his own kaiila. The Yellow Knives had their share of the loot. Too, because of the recent battle, this area would be, for a time, truce ground.

  Urt, or Cuwignaka, Woman's Dress, as he seemed to wish to be called, had been sitting in the grass, breathing deeply and rubbing his wrists and ankles. I gathered that it must be very difficult and painful for him to move his body. He now struggled to his feet and went to the lance, fixed butt down in the turf. He held momentarily to the lance, his head down, keeping his balance. He then unwound the dress from the lance shaft and pulled it on, over his head. He then ripped away the lower portion of the dress, until it hung somewhat above his knees. Too, he ripped it at the left side, to allow himself more freedom of movement. He then uprooted the lance and then, unsteady for a moment, shaken by these exertions, he clutched the lance, supporting himself with it.

  "Sleen, tarsks, all of them," said Grunt, in Gorean, looking after the retreating Yellow Knives.

  "What were the yellow lances on the flanks of the kaiila of the Sleen?" I asked.

  "The Sun Lances," said Grunt, "a warrior society of the Sleen."

  "The painted prints on the flanks of the kaiila of the Yellow Knives?" I asked.

  "The sign of the Urt Soldiers," said Grunt, "a society of the Yellow Knives."

  I nodded. It was common for the members of a given society to take the warpath together.

  "Two societies are represented among the Kaiila here," said Grunt. "Most belong to the All Comrades, and one belongs to the Yellow-Kaiila Riders. The fellow in the background, with his war shield in its case, is a member of the Yellow-Kaiila Riders. That may be told by the stylized yellow kaiila print, outlined in red, on the flanks of his beast, over the red horizontal bars."

  I nodded. The red horizontal bar, or bars, as the case is, is commonly associated with the Kaiila, the Cutthroat tribe. There were many coup marks, I noted, on the snout and forequarters of the fellow's kaiila.

  "That is a prestigious society," said Grunt. "Only tried and proven warriors, with many coups, and many expeditions of war and kaiila stealing, are admitted to it."

  "The sign for the All Comrades," I said, "is
the heart and lance."

  "Yes," said Grunt. "They are sometimes known, too, from the sign, as the Fighting Hearts. The society name, however, more strictly, translates as the All Comrades."

  "I see," I said. The weapon ingredient in the insignia left little doubt in my mind as to the sort of enterprise in which such fellows were most likely to be comrades.

  "Cheerfulness is indicated by the height of the heart, alongside the lance," said Grunt.

  "I see," I said. A heart placed on a horizontal base line, of course, suggested a heart on the ground, or sadness. Grunt had taught me much in the last few days. I could even, now, pick up a little of what was said in Kaiila.

  "Let them alone," said Grunt to me, quickly, putting his hand on my arm. Two of the Kaiila were beginning to rummage through our trade goods.

  "Very well," I said.

  "The Yellow-Kaiila Rider," said Grunt, "is Kahintokapa, One-Who-Walks-Before, of the Casmu, or Sand, Band."

  "He is the leader?" I asked.

  "It is not likely," he said, "not of a group of All Comrades like this. I think he is more in the nature of an observer, probably sent along to advise and tutor the younger men."

  I nodded.

  "He is not in the forefront, as you note," said Grunt.

  "The leader is the young man, he regarding the red-haired girl?" I asked.

  "That, I gather, is the case," said Grunt. "I do not know him. He is of the Isbu Band, the Little Stones."

  "You knew the other fellow," I said.

  "Yes," said Grunt, "when last I was in the land of the Kaiila, I met him in general council, with Black Clouds, Mahpiyasapa, civil chief of the Isbu."

  "You do not anticipate great difficulty with the Kaiila, then?" I asked.

  "I do not think so," said Grunt. "It is for Black Clouds, Mahpiyasapa, that I have brought the red-haired girl into the Barrens. For such a woman, sufficiently pleasing to him, he has promised me five hides of the yellow kailiauk."

  "I had wondered what disposition you had in mind for her," I said.

  "That is it," he said.

  "She is to be sold to a chieftain," I said.

  "Yes," he said.

  "Did you make that clear to our young friend?" I asked.

  "Yes," said Grunt.

  "Why, then, is she at the paws of his kaiila?" I asked.

  "No!" cried Grunt. He then hurried toward the young mounted savage, and the other Kaiila gathered about. Two of them, seeing his angered approach, seized him. Grunt struggled futilely in their grasp. The girl, frightened, on her belly, continued her work, with her lips, her teeth and tongue, biting, and licking and sucking, at the paws and nails of the kaiila.