by John Norman
I thought this might signal the beginning of the storming of the compound, but none of the men below moved.
Rather, to my astonishment, a gate of the compound itself opened and wary men-at-arms, their weapons ready, each carrying a cloth sack, emerged. They filed before us in the street below, each under the contemptuous eyes of the warriors of the Wagon Peoples, each in turn going to a long table whereon were placed many pairs of scales, and each at that table was weighed out four Gorean stone of gold, about six Earth pounds, which he put in his cloth sack and scurried away, through an avenue opened for him between the warriors. They would be escorted beyond the city. Four Gorean stone of gold is a fortune.
I was utterly startled, overcome. I was shaking. Hundreds upon hundreds of men must have passed thus before us.
“I, I do not understand,” I stammered to Kamchak.
He did not turn to face me, but continued to stare at the compound. “Let Saphrar of Turia die by gold,” he said.
Only then did I understand with horror the depth of Kamchak’s hatred of Saphrar of Turia.
Man by man, stone by stone of gold. Saphrar was dying, his walls and defences being taken grain by grain from him, slipping away. His gold could not buy him the hearts of men.
Kamchak, in his Tuchuk cruelty, would stand quietly to one side and, coin by coin, bit by bit, buy Saphrar of Turia.
Once or twice I heard swords ringing from within the walls, as perhaps some men, loyal to Saphrar, or to their codes, attempted to prevent their fellows from leaving the compound, but I gather, judging from the continued exodus from the walls, that those who were this loyal were scattered and few in number. Indeed, some who might have fought for Saphrar, seeing their fellows deserting in such numbers, undoubtedly realized their own imminent danger, now increased a hundred fold, and hastened to join the deserters. I even saw some slaves leaving the compound, and these, though they were slave, were given the four stone of gold as well, perhaps the more to insult those free men who had accepted the babes of Tuchuks. I gathered that Saphrar, in the years he had built his power in Tuna, had for his own purposes gathered such men about him, and now he would pay the pace — with his own life.
Kamchak’s face was impassive.
At last, perhaps an Ahn after daylight, no more men came from the compound and the gates were left open.
Kamchak then descended from the roof and mounted his kaiila. Slowly, at a walk, he rode toward the main gate of the compound. Harold and I, on foot, accompanied him. Behind us came several warriors. On Kamchak’s right there walked a master of sleen, who held two of the vicious, sinuous beasts in check by chain leashes.
About the pommel of Kamchak’s saddle were tied several bags of gold, each weighed out to four stone. And following him, among the warriors, were several Turian slaves, dad in chains and the Kes, among them Kamras, Champion of Turia, and Phanius Turmus, the Turian Ubar, all of whom carried large pans filled with sacks of gold.
Inside the gate of the compound I saw that it seemed deserted, the walls emptied of defenders. The clear ground between the walls and the first buildings was similarly empty, though here and there I saw some litter, pieces of boxes, broken arrows, patches of cloth.
Kamchak stopped inside the compound and looked about, his dark, fierce eyes looking from building to building, examining with great care the roof tops and windows.
Then he gently moved his kaiila toward the main portal. I caught sight of two warriors standing before it, ready to defend it. Behind them I was startled to see suddenly a currying figure in white and gold, Saphrar of Turia. Then he stood back from the door, holding something large in his arms, wrapped in purple cloth.
The two men prepared to defend the portal.
Kamchak stopped the kaiila.
Behind me I heard hundreds of ladders and grappling hooks strike against the wall, and, turning, I saw, climbing over the walls, as well as entering through the open gates, hundreds and hundreds of men, until the walls were swarming with Tuchuks, and others of the Wagon Peoples. Then, on the walls and within the compound, they stood, not moving.
Astride his kaiila Kamchak announced himself. “Kamchak of the Tuchuks, whose father Kutaituchik was slain by Saphrar of Turia, cads upon Saphrar of Turia.”
“Strike him with your spears,” screamed Saphrar from within the doorway.
The two defenders hesitated.
“Give greetings to Saphrar of Turia from Kamchak of the Tuchuks,” said Kamchak calmly.
One of the guards turned woodenly. “Kamchak of the Tuchuks,” he said, “gives greetings to Saphrar of Turia.”
“Kill him!” screamed Saphrar. “Kill him!”
Silently a dozen Tuchuk bowmen, with the short horn bow, stood afoot before Kamchak’s Kaiila, their arrows trained on the hearts of the two guards.
Kamchak untied two of the sacks of gold from the pommel of his saddle. He threw one to one side for one guard, and the other to the other side for the other guard.
“Fight!” cried Saphrar.
The two guards broke from before the door, each picking up his sack of gold and fled through the Tuchuks.
“Sleen!” cried Saphrar, and turned and ran deeper within the house.
Not hurrying Kamchak walked his kaiila up the stairs of the house and, on kaiilaback, entered the main hall of the House of Saphrar.
In the main had he looked about and then, Harold and I following, and the man with the two Sleen, and the slaves with gold, and his archers and other men, he began to walk his kaiila up the broad marble stairs, following the terrified Saphrar of Turia.
Again and again we encountered guards within the House but each time, when Saphrar took refuge behind them, Kamchak would throw gold to them and they would dissipate and Saphrar, panting, puffing, clutching the large, purple-wrapped object in his arms, would on his short legs hurry off again. He would lock doors behind himself but they were forced open. He would throw furniture down stairs towards us, but we would step around it. Our pursuit carried us from room to room, through hall after hall, in the great house of Saphrar of Turia. We passed through the banquet hall, where long before we had been entertained by the fleeing merchant.
We passed through kitchens and galleries, even through the private compartments of Saphrar himself, where we saw the multitudinous robes and sandals of the merchant, each worked predominantly in white and gold, though often mixed with hundreds of other colours. In his own compartments the pursuit had seemed to end, for it seemed Saphrar had disappeared, but Kamchak did not show the least irritation or annoyance.
He dismounted and picked up a lounging garment from He vast sleeping platform in the room, holding it to the noses of the two sleen. “Hunt,” said Kamchak.
The two sleen seemed to drink in the scent of the robe and then they began to tremble, and the claws on their wide, soft feet emerged and retracted, and their heads lifted and began to sway from side to side. As one animal they turned and pulled their keeper by the chain leashes to what appeared to be a solid wall, where they rose on their back two legs and set their other four legs against it, snarling, whimpering.
“Break through the wall,” said Kamchak. He would not bother to search for the button or lever that might open the panel. In a few moments the wall had been shattered, revealing the dark passage beyond.
“Bring lamps and torches,” said Kamchak.
Kamchak now gave his kaiila to a subordinate and, on foot, carrying torch and quiva, began to prowl down the passage, beside him the two snarling sleen, behind him Harold and I, and the rest of his men, several with torches, even the slaves with gold. Guided by the sleen we had no difficulty in following the track of Saphrar through the passage, though often it branched variously. The passage was, on the whole dark, but where it branched there was often set a mall, burning tharlarion oil lamp. I supposed Saphrar of Curia must have carried lamp or torch, or perhaps that he knew the passage by heart.
At one point Kamchak stopped and called for planks, The door of the
passage had been dropped, by the release of a bolt, for an area of its width and for a length of about twelve feet. Harold tossed a pebble into the opening and it took about ten Ihn before we heard it strike water far below.
Kamchak did not seem disturbed at the wait, but sat like a rock, cross-legged before the opening, looking across it, until planks were brought, and then he, and the Sleen, were the first to cross.
Another time he warned us back and called for a lance, with which he tripped a wire in the passage. Four spears, with bronze heads, suddenly burst across the passage, emerging from circular openings, their tips striking into other small openings across the passage. Kamchak, with his boot, broke the spear shafts and we moved between them.
At last we emerged into a large audience room, with a domed ceiling, heavily carpeted and hung with tapestries. I recognized it immediately, for it was the room in which Harold and I had been brought prisoner before Saphrar of Turia.
In the room there were four persons.
Sitting in the place of honour, cross-legged, calm, on the merchant’s cushions, on his personal dais, applying a bit of oil to the blade of his sword, sat the lean, scarred Ha-Keel, once of Ar, now a mercenary tarnsman of squalid, malignant Port Karl
On the floor below the dais were Saphrar of Turia, frantic, clutching the purple-wrapped object, and the Paravaci, he who still wore the hood of the Clan of Torturers, he who would have been my assassin, he who had been with Saphrar of Turia when I had entered the Yellow Pool of Turia.
I heard Harold cry out with delight at the sight of the fellow, and the man turned to face us, a quiva in his hand.
Beneath his black mask I wager he turned white at the sight of Harold of the Tuchuks. I could sense him tremble.
The other man with them was a young man, dark-haired and eyed, a simple man-at-arms, perhaps not more than twenty. He wore the scarlet of a warrior. He carried a short sword and stood between us and the others.
Kamchak regarded him, and I thought with the merest trace of amusement.
“Do not interfere, Lad,” said he, quietly. “There is the business of men afoot in this place.”
“Stand back, Tuchuk,” cried the young man. He held his sword ready.
Kamchak signalled for a bag of gold, and Phanius Turmus was kicked forward, and from a large, bronze pan which he carried, Kamchak removed a sack of gold and threw it to one side.
The young man did not move from his place, but set himself to take the charge of the Tuchuks.
Kamchak threw another sack of gold to his feet, and then another.
“I am a warrior,” said the young man proudly.
Kamchak signalled his archers and they came forward, their arrows trained on the young man.
He then threw, one after another, a dozen bags of gold to the floor.
“Save your gold, Tuchuk sleep,” said the young man. “I am a warrior and I know my codes.”
“As you wish,” said Kamchak and raised his hand to signal the archers.
“Do not” I cried.
In that moment, uttering the Turian war cry, the young man rushed forward with his sword on Kamchak and the dozen arrows flew simultaneously, striking him a dozen times, turning him twice. Yet did he try still to stagger forward and then another arrow and another pierced his body until he fell at Kamchak’s feet.
To my astonishment I saw that not one of the arrows had penetrated his torso or head or abdomen, but that each had struck only an arm or leg.
It had been no accident.
Kamchak turned the young man over with his boot. “Be a Tuchuk,” he said.
“Never,” wept the young man in pain, between clenched teeth. “Never, Tuchuk sleen, never!”
Kamchak turned to certain of the warriors with him.
“Bind his wounds,” he said. “See that he lives. When he can ride teach him the saddle of the kaiila, the quiva, the bow and lance Put him in the leather of a Tuchuk. We have need of such men among the wagons.”
I saw the astonished eyes of the young man regarding Kamchak, and then he was carried away.
“In time,” said Kamchak, “that boy will command a Thousand.”
Then Kamchak lifted his head and regarded the other three men, seated Ha-Keel, calm with his sword, and the frantic Saphrar of Turia, and the tall Paravaci, with the quiva.
“Mine is the Paravaci!” cried Harold.
The man turned angrily to face him, but he did not advance, nor hurl his quiva.
Harold leaped forward. “Let us fight!” he cried.
At a gesture from Kamchak Harold stepped back, angry, a quiva in his hand.
The two sleen were snarling and pulling at their collar.
The tawny hair hanging from their jaws was flecked with the foam of their agitation. Their eyes blazed. The claws when they emerged and retracted and emerged again tore at the rug.
“Do not approach!” cried Saphrar, “or I shall destroy the golden sphere!” He tore away the purple cloth that had enfolded the golden sphere and then lifted it high over his head. My heart stopped for the instant. I put out my hand, to touch Kamchak’s leather sleeve.
“He must not,” I said, “he must not.”
“Why not?” asked Kamchak. “It is worthless.”
“Stand back!” screamed Saphrar.
“You do not understand!” I cried to Kamchak.
I saw Saphrar’s eyes gleam. “Listen to the Koroban!” he said. “He knows! He knows!”
“Does it truly make a difference,” asked Kamchak of me, “whether or not he shatters the sphere?”
“Yes,” I said, “there is nothing more valuable on all Gor it is perhaps worth the planet itself.”
“Listen to him!” screamed Saphrar. “If you approach I shall destroy this!”
“No harm must come to it,” I begged Kamchak.
“Why?” asked Kamchak.
I was silent, not knowing how to say what had to be said.
Kamchak regarded Saphrar. “What is it that you hold?” he asked.
“The golden sphere!” cried Saphrar.
“But what is the golden sphere?” queried Kamchak.
“I do not know,” said Saphrar, “but I know that there are men who will pay half the wealth of Gor for this”
“I,” said Kamchak, “would not give a copper tarn disk for it.”
“Listen to the Koroban!” cried Saphrar.
“It must not be destroyed,” I said.
“Why?” asked Kamchak.
“Because,” I said, “It is the last seed of Priest-Kings an egg a child the hope of Priest-Kings, to them all — everything, the world, the universe.”
The men murmured with surprise about me. Saphrar’s eyes seemed to pop. Ha-Keel looked up, suddenly, seeming to forget his sword and its oiling. The Paravaci regarded Saphrar.
“I think not,” said Kamchak. “I think rather it is worthless.”
“No, Kamchak,” I said, “please.”
“It was for the golden sphere, was it not,” asked Kamchak, “that you came to the Wagon Peoples?”
“Yes,” I said, “it was.” I recalled our conversation in the wagon of Kutaituchik.
The men about us shifted, some of them angrily.
“You would have stolen it?” asked Kamchak.
“Yes,” I said. “I would have.”
“As Saphrar did?” asked Kamchak.
“I would not have slain Kutaituchik,” I said.
“Why would you steal it?” asked Kamchak.
“To return it to the Sardar,” I said.
“Not to keep it for yourself, nor for riches?”
“No,” I said, “not for that.”
“I believe you,” said Kamchak. He looked at me. “We knew that in time someone would come from the Sardar. We did not know that you would be the one.”
“Nor did I,” I said.
Kamchak regarded the merchant. “Is it your intention to buy your life with the golden sphere?”
“If necessary,” said Saphrar, �
��yes”
“But I do not want it,” said Kamchak. “It is you I want.”
Saphrar blanched and held the sphere again over his head.
I was relieved to see that Kamchak signalled his bowmen not to fire. He then waved them, and the others, with the exception of Harold and myself, and the Sleen keeper and his animals, back several yards.
“That is better,” wheezed Saphrar.
“Sheath your weapons,” ordered the Paravaci.
We did so.
“Go back with your men” cried Saphrar, backing away from us a step. “I will shatter the golden sphere!”
Slowly Kamchak, and Harold and I, and the sleen keeper, dragging the two sleen, walked backwards. The animals raged against the chain leashes, maddened as they were drawn farther from Saphrar, their prey.
The Paravaci turned to Ha-Keel, who had now resheathed his sword and stood up. Ha-Keel stretched and blinked once.
“You have a tarn,” the Paravaci said. “Take me with you. I can give you half the riches of the Paravaci Bosk and gold and women and wagons!”
“I would suppose,” said Ha-Keel, “that all that you have is not worth so much as the golden sphere and that is Saphrar of Turia’s.”
“You cannot leave me here” cried the Paravaci.
“You are outbid for my services,” yawned Ha-Keel.
The Paravaci’s eyes were white in the black hood and his head turned wildly to regard the Tuchuks clustered in the far end of the room.
“Then it will be miner” he cried and raced to Saphrar, trying to seize the sphere.
“Miner Mine” screamed Saphrar, trying to retain the sphere.
Ha-Keel looked on, with interest.
I would have rushed forward, but Kamchak’s hand reached out and touched my arm, restraining me.
“No harm must come to the golden sphere!” I cried.
The Paravaci was much stronger than the fat, tiny merchant and he soon had his hands well on the sphere and west tearing it out of the smaller man’s clutching hands. Saphrar was screaming insanely and then, to my astonishment, he bit the Paravaci’s forearm, sinking the two golden upper canine teeth into the hooded man’s flesh. The Paravaci suddenly cried out in uncanny fear and shuddered and, to my horror, the golden sphere, which he had succeeded in wresting from Saphrar, was thrown a dozen feet across the room, and shattered on the floor.