Nomads of Gor coc-4

by John Norman

  Occasional arrows and crossbow bolts were exchanged. One thing troubled me. The standing wall about the compound kept the Tuchuk bowmen far enough from the roof of the keep within that tarns might, without too great a danger, enter and leave the compound. Saphrar, if he chose, could escape on tarnback. As yet, cut off, he probably had no way of knowing how serious his danger was. Within he undoubtedly had ample food and water to withstand a long siege. It seemed to me he could fly with safety when he chose, but that he had merely not yet chosen.

  I then wished to proceed immediately to the palace of Phanius Turmus, where Kamchak had set up his headquarters, to place myself at his disposal, but Harold insisted rather on trooping about the city, here and there examining pockets of Turian resistance.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “We owe it to our importance,” he said.

  “Oh,” I said.

  At last it was night and we were malting our way through the streets of Turia, sometimes between burning buildings.

  We came to a high, walled structure and began walking about it.

  I could hear occasional shouts inside. Also, at one point, the wailing of women carried to my ears.

  “What place is this?” I asked.

  “The palace of Phanius Turmus,” he said.

  “I heard the crying of women,” I said.

  “Turian women,” said Harold, “taken by Tuchuks.” Then he added, “Much of the richest booty of Turia lies behind these walls.”

  I was astonished when, at the gate to the palace of Phanius Turmus, the four Tuchuk guards smote their lances three times on their leather shields. The lance strikes the shield once for the commander of a Ten; twice for the commander of a Hundred; three times for the commander of a Thousand. “Pass, Commanders,” said the chief of the four guards, and they stepped aside.

  Naturally I inquired of Harold, shortly after entering, the meaning of the guards’ salutation. I had expected to be challenged and then perhaps, if all went well, wrangled inside on some stratagem dreamed up by Harold on the spur of, the moment.

  “It means,” remarked Harold, looking about the courtyard, “that you have the rank of a Commander of a Thousand.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “It is a gift of Kamchak,” said Harold. “I suggested it as appropriate in view of your manly, if somewhat clumsy, efforts at the gate.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “I of course recommended the same rank for myself,” said Harold, “inasmuch as I am the one who really carried the thing off.”

  “Naturally,” I said.

  “You do not, of course, have a Thousand to command,” pointed out Harold.

  “Nonetheless,” I said, “there is considerable power in the rank itself.”

  “That is true,” he said.

  Indeed it was true, for the next level beneath a Ubar among the Wagon Peoples is that of the Commander of a Thousand.

  “Why did you not tell me?” I asked.

  “It did not seem to me important,” remarked the young man.

  I clenched my fists and considered punching him in the nose, moderately hard.

  “Korobans, though,” remarked Harold, “are probably more impressed with such things than Tuchuks.”

  By this time I had followed Harold over to a corner of the courtyard wall, which was heaped high, banked into the, corner, with precious metals, plates, cups; bowls of jewels; necklaces and bracelets; boxes of coins and, in heavy, wooden crates, numerous stacked cubes of silver and gold, each; stamped with its weight, for the palace of a Ubar is also the mint of a city, where its coins are struck one at a time by a hammer pounding on the flat-cap of a die. Incidentally, Gorean coins are not made to be stacked and accordingly, because of the possible depth of the relief and the consequent liberties accorded to the artist, the Gorean coin is almost always more beautiful than the machine-milled, flat, uniform coins of Earth. Some Gorean coins are drilled, incidentally, to allow stringing, the coins of Tharna, for example; Turian coins, and most others, are not.

  Further on down the wall there were great piles of cloth, mostly silk; I recognized them as Robes of Concealment.

  Beyond them, again in a large heap, were numerous weapons, saddles and harnesses. Beyond them I saw numerous rugs and tapestries, rolled, for transport from the city.

  “As n commander,” said Harold, “you may take what you want of any of this.”

  I nodded.

  We now entered yet another courtyard, an inner courtyard, between the palace and the inside wall of the outer courtyard.

  Here I saw, along one wall, a long line of Turian women, unclothed, who were kneeling, fastened together in various ways, some by chains, some by thongs. The wrists of each, however, were bound, one girl’s before her body and the next behind her back, alternately. It was these women whom I had heard outside the wall. Some were sobbing, others wailing, but most were silent, numb with shock, staring at the ground. Two Tuchuk guards stood over them. One carried a slave whip and, occasionally, should the cries of one of the girls grow too obtrusive, he would silence her with the lash.

  “You are the commander of a Thousand,” said Harold. “If one of the girls pleases you, let the guard know and he will mark her for you.”

  “No,” I said. “Let us proceed directly to Kamchak.”

  At that moment there was a scream and commotion at the gate to the inner courtyard and two Tuchuks, one laughing and with a bloody shoulder, were dragging a fiercely resisting, unveiled but clothed girl between them.

  It was Dina of Turia!

  The laughing Tuchuk, he with the bloody shoulder, hauled her before us.

  “A beauty,” said he, “Commander!” He nodded to his shoulder. “Marvellous! A fighter!”

  Suddenly Dina stopped pulling and kicking and scratching.

  She flung up her head and looked at me, breathing hard, startled.

  “Do not add her to the chain,” I said. “Neither remove her clothing nor put her in bonds. Permit her to veil herself if she wishes. She is to be treated in all respects as a free woman.

  Take her back to her home and while we remain in the city, guard her with your lives.”

  The two men were startled, but Tuchuk discipline is relentless. “Yes, Commander!” they both cried, releasing her.

  “With our lives!”

  Dina of Turia looked at me, gratitude in her eyes.

  “You will be safe,” I assured her.

  “But my city burns,” she said.

  “I am sorry,” I said, and turned swiftly away, to enter the palace of Phanius Turmus.

  I knew that while the Tuchuks remained in Turia there would be in all the city no woman more safe than lovely Dina, she only of the Caste of Bakers.

  I sprang up the steps, followed by Harold, and we soon found ourselves in the marbled entry hall of the palace.

  Kaiila were stabled there.

  Directed by Tuchuks we soon made our way to the throne room of Phanius Turmus, where, to my surprise, a banquet was in progress. At one end of the room, on the throne of the Ubar, a purple robe thrown over his black leather, sat dour Kamchak of the Tuchuks, his shield and lance leaning against the throne, an unsheathed quiva on the right arm of the throne. At the low tables, perhaps brought from various places in the palace, there sat many Tuchuk officers, and even some men without rank. With them, now freed of collars, were exuberant Tuchuk girls bedecked in the robes of free women. All were laughing and drinking. Only Kamchak seemed solemn. Near him, in places of honour, at a long, low table, above the bowls of yellow and red salt, on each side, sat many of the high men of Turia, clad in their finest robes, their hair oiled, scented and combed for the banquet. I saw among them Kamras, Champion of Turia, and another, on Kamchak’s right hand, a heavy, swollen, despondent man, who could only have been Phanius Turmus himself. Behind them stood Tuchuk guards, quivas in their right hands. At a sign from Kamchak, as the men well knew, their throats would be immediately cut.

&n
bsp; Kamchak turned to them. “Eat,” he said.

  Before them had been placed large golden dishes heaped with delicacies prepared by the kitchens of the Ubar, tall precious goblets filled with Turian wines, the small bowls of spices and sugars with their stirring spoons at hand.

  The tables were served by naked Turian girls, from the highest families of the city.

  There were musicians present and they, to the best of their ability under the circumstances, attempted to provide music for the feast.

  Sometimes one of the serving girls would be seized by an ankle or arm and dragged screaming to the cushions among the tables, much to the amusement of the men and the Tuchuk girls.

  “Eat,” ordered Kamchak.

  Obediently the captive Turians began to put food in their mouths.

  “Welcome, Commanders,” said Kamchak, turning and regarding us, inviting us to sit down.

  “I did not expect to see you in Turia,” I said.

  “Neither did the Turians,” remarked Harold, reaching over the shoulder of one of the high council of Turia and taking a candled verr chop.

  But Kamchak was looking away disconsolately toward the rug before the throne, now stained with spilled beverages, cluttered with the thrown garbage of the feast. He hardly seemed aware of what was taking place. Though this should have been a night of triumph for him, he did not seem pleased.

  “The Ubar of the Tuchuks does not appear happy,” observed.

  Kamchak turned and looked at me again.

  “The city burns,” I said.

  “Let it burn,” said Kamchak.

  “It is yours,” I said.

  “I do not want Turin,” he said.

  “What is it you seek?” I asked.

  “Only the blood of Saphrar,” said he.

  “All this,” I asked, “is only to avenge Kutaituchik?”

  “To avenge Kutaituchik,” said Kamchak, “I would burn a thousand cities.”

  “How is that?” I asked.

  “He was my father,” said Kamchak, and turned away.

  During the meal, from time to time, messengers, from various parts of the city, and even from the distant wagons, hours away by racing kaiila, would approach Kamchak, speak with him and hastily depart.

  More foods and wines were served, and even the high men of Turia, at quiva point, were forced to drink heavily and some began to mumble and weep, while the feasters grew, to the barbaric melodies of the musicians, ever more merry and, wild. At one point three Tuchuk girls, in swirling silks, switches in their hands, came into the room dragging a wretched, stripped Turian girl. They had found a long piece of rope and tied her hands behind her back and then had wound the same rope three or four times about the girl’s waist, had-securely knotted it, and were leading her about by it. “She was our mistress!” cried one of the Tuchuk girls; leading the Turian girl, and struck her sharply with the switch, at which information the Tuchuk girls at the tables clapped their hands with delight. Then, two or three other groups of Tuchuk struggled in, each lending some wretched wench who had but hours before owned them.

  These girls they forced to comb their hair and wash their feet before the tables, performing the duties of serving slaves.

  Later they made some of them dance for the men. Then one of the Tuchuk girls pointed to her ex-mistress and cried out, “What am I offered for this slave!” and one of the men, joining in the sport, would cry out a price, some figure in terms of copper tarn disks. The Tuchuk girls would shriek with delight and each joined in inciting buyers and auctioning their mistresses. One beautiful Turian girl was thrown, weeping and bound, into the arms of a leather-clad Tuchuk for only seven copper tarn disks. At the height of such festivities, a distraught messenger rushed to Kamchak. The Ubar of the Tuchuks listened impassively and then arose. He gestured at the captive Turian men. “Take them away,” he said, “put them in the Kes and chain them put them to work.” Phanius lilrmus, Kamras and the others were dragged from the tables by their Tuchuk guards. The feasters were now watching Kamchak. Even the musicians were now silent.

  “The feast is done,” said Kamchak.

  The guests and the captives, led by those who would claim them, faded from the room.

  Kamchak stood before the throne of Phanius Turmus, the purple robe of the Ubar over one shoulder, and looked at the overturned tables, the spilled cups, the remains of the feast. Only he, Harold and I remained in the great throne room.

  “What is the matter?” I asked him.

  “The wagons and bosk are under attack,” he said.

  “By whom?” cried Harold.

  “Paravaci,” said Kamchak.

  Chapter 23

  THE BATTLE AT THE WAGON

  Kamchak had had his flying columns followed by some two dozen of the wagons, mostly containing supplies. On one of these wagons, with the top removed, were the two tarns Harold and I had stolen from the roof of Saphrar’s keep.

  They had been brought for us, thinking that they might be of use in the warfare in the city or in the transportation of goods or men. A tarn can, incidentally, without difficulty, carry a knotted rope of seven to ten men.

  Harold and I, mounted on kaiila, rascal toward these wagons. Thundering behind each of us was a Thousand, which would continue on toward the main Tuchuk encampment, several Ahn away. Harold and I would take a tarn each and he would go to the Kassars and I to the Kataii, begging their help. I had little hope that either of these; peoples would come to the aid of Tuchuks. Then, on the path, to the main Tuchuk encampment, Harold and I were each to join our Thousand, subsequently doing what we could to protect the bosk and wagons. Kamchak would meanwhile marshal his forces within the city, preparing to withdraw, Kutaituchik unavenged, to ride back against the Paravaci.

  I had learned to my surprise that the Ubars of the Kassars, Kataii and Paravaci were, respectively, Conrad, Hakimba and Tolnus, the very three I had first encountered with Kamchak on the plains of Turia when first I came to the Wagon Peoples. What I had taken to be merely a group of four outriders had actually been a gathering of Ubars of the Wagon Peoples. I should have known that no four common warriors of the four peoples would have ridden together.

  Further, the Kassars, the Kataii and the Paravaci did not reveal their true Ubars with any greater willingness than the Tuchuks had. Bach people, as the Tuchuks had, had its false Ubar, its decoy to protect the true Ubar from danger or assassination. But, Kamchak had assured me, Conrad, Hakimba and Tolnus were indeed the true Ubars of their peoples.

  I was nearly slain by arrows when I dropped the fern amidst the startled blacks of the Kataii, but my black jacket with the emblem of the four bosk horns, emblem of the Tuchuk courier, soon proved its worth and I was led to the dais of the Ubar of the Kataii. I was permitted to speak directly to Hakimba, when I made it clear to my escort that I knew the identity of their true Ubar and that it was with him I must speak.

  As I expected, Haldmba’s brown eyes and richly scarred countenance showed little interest in my presentation of the plight of the Tuchuks.

  It was little to him, apparently, that the Paravaci should raid the herds and wagons of the Tuchuks when most of the Tuchuk warriors were engaged in Turia. He did not, on the other hand, approve of the fact that the raid had taken place during the Omen Year, which is a time of general truce among the Wagon Peoples. I sensed, however, that he was angry when I spoke of the probable complicity of the Paravaci with the Turians, striking when and how they did, even during the Omen Year, presumably to draw the Tuchuks away from Turia. In short, though Hakimba did not approve of the Paravaci action and was incensed at their presumed league with the Turians, he did not feel sufficiently strongly to invest his own men in a struggle that did not seem to concern him directly.

  “We have our own wagons,” said Hakimba, at last. “Our wagons are not the wagons of the Tuchuks or of the Kassars or of the Paravaci. If the Paravaci attack our wagons, we will fight. We will not fight until then.”

  Hakimba was adamant and
it was with a heavy heart that I climbed once more to the saddle of my tarn.

  In the saddle I said to him, “I have heard that the Paravaci are killing bosk.”

  Hakimba looked up. “Killing bosk?” he asked, sceptically.

  “Yes,” I said, “and cutting out the nose rings to sell In Turia after the Tuchuks withdraw.”

  “Will you help?” I asked.

  “We have our own wagons,” said Hakiba. “We will watch our own wagons.”

  “What will you do,” I asked, “if in another year the Paravaci and the Turians turn on the Kataii and kill their bosk?”

  “The Paravaci,” said Hakimba slowly, “would like to be the one people and own the grass of all the prairie and all the bosk.”

  “Will you not fight?” I demanded.

  “If the Paravaci attack us,” said Hakimba, “then we will fight.” Hakimba looked up. “We have our own wagons,” he said. “We will watch our own wagons.”

  I drew on the one-strap and took the tarn into the air, striking out across the prairie skies to intercept my Thousand on its way to the wagons of the Tuchuks.

  In my flight I could see at one point the Omen Valley, where the haruspexes were still working about their numerous, smoking altars. I laughed bitterly.

  In a few Ehn I had overtaken my Thousand and given the tarn over to five men, who would keep it until its wagon I should, following the tracks of the riders, reach them.

  Within perhaps the Ahn a grim, angry Harold brought his tarn down between the-two columns, that of his Thousand and of mine. It took only a moment for him to give the tarn into the keeping of some five warriors and leap on the back of his kaiila. I had noted, to my satisfaction, that he now handled the tarn rather well. He had apparently, in the past several days since our escape from Saphrar’s keep, been familiarizing himself with the saddle straps and the bird’s habits and responses. But he was not elated as he rode beside me nor did he speak lightly.