"No!" wailed the merchant.
"If your story is true," said the officer, thrusting over a rack of ceramics, and a cabinet, "why were these goods not destroyed, as well?" He hurled a kylix to the wall. In his anger, his destructive fury, doubtless the belated eruption of precedent frustrations, he kicked articles about, and trod even on bowls. Even his ankles and legs were bloodied.
"They did not come so far," said the merchant. "But you, it seems, are determined to complete their work."
"Do you have rope, or hammers and nails?" asked the officer.
"Of course, Captain," said the man.
"Strip her," said the captain to one of the men.
"No!" cried the merchant. He was restrained by two guardsmen.
The girl, crying out, shrieking, pulled half from the chest, had her veil and clothing torn from her.
She was then thrust down again, now naked, trembling, in the chest.
"No!" wept the shopkeeper, throwing himself to his knees before the officer.
"This will teach you to put her on the registries," said the officer.
"She is on the registries!" wept the merchant.
"I have found hammers, and nails," said the other of the guardsmen.
"Please, no!" cried the merchant.
"Is this where free men of Ar belong," asked the captain, "at the feet of Cos?"
"Get off your knees!" said one of the guardsmen.
The merchant could not move, but sobbed helplessly.
"Nail shut the chest," said the officer.
"I will say anything you want," said the shopkeeper, looking up piteously at the officer, "anything! I will render whatever testimony you desire. I will sign anything, anything!"
The room rang with the blows of the hammers.
"It will not be necessary," said the officer. The merchant collapsed.
The lid was now hammered shut on the chest.
The officer left the fellow on the floor of the rear room, and signaled for two of his men to pick up the chest and follow him. He then, followed by the rest of us, including the two fellows with the chest, threaded his way through the front of the shop and to the street outside.
"Captain!" said one of the men outside, pointing to the exterior wall of the building.
There, on the wall, scratched on the stone, was a delka.
The captain cried out with rage.
"I am sure that was not there when we entered, Captain," said one of the guardsmen.
"No, it was not," said the captain.
That was true. As it might be recalled, Marcus and I had entered the shop after the captain and his men, having been on our rounds in the neighborhood.
Some men were about, but seeing the captain and his men, and Marcus and myself, hurried away, perhaps fearing that the delka might be blamed on them.
I did not doubt but what some of these folks had peeped within the shop and seen the bodies about. That would have been easy enough to do when we were in the back of the shop.
The two fellows carrying the chest put it down.
"I fear they are everywhere," said the captain.
"Who?" I asked.
"The Delta Brigade," he said.
I myself, in a paga tavern or two, some days ago, had dropped this expression, mentioning it as though it were one I had heard somewhere, and was curious to understand. I was pleased to note that it was now common currency in Ar. Such are the wings of rumors.
"You think this afternoon's attack was the work of this Delta Brigade?" I asked.
"Surely," he said.
"Who are they?" I asked.
"Dissidents, or renegades, doubtless," said the captain, "traitors to both Cos and Ar."
"I see," I said.
"I suspect veterans of the delta campaign," he said, "or scions of disaffected cities, such as Ar's Station."
"I am from Ar's Station," said Marcus.
"But you are an auxiliary," said the captain.
"True," said Marcus.
"Perhaps Marlenus of Ar has returned," I said. I thought that an excellent rumor to start.
"No," said the captain. "I do not think so. Marlenus was not, as far as we know, in the delta. I think it is more likely to be veterans of the delta, of which there are many in the city, or fellows from the north, from Ar's Station or somewhere."
"Perhaps you are right," I said. The captain was a shrewd fellow, and thusly an unlikely candidate to enlist in my efforts to initiate rumors, or at least this particular one. To be sure, even a fellow of genuine probity, one who is unlikely to nourish, reproduce, transmit, or credit a rumor in its infancy, may find himself uncritically accepting it later on, when it becomes "common knowledge," so to speak. Are we not all the victims of hearsay, even with respect to many of our most profound "truths"? Of our thousands, and hundreds of thousands, of such "truths," how many have we personally earned? How many of us can determine the distance of a planet or the structure of a molecule?
"I will have a wagon sent for the bodies," said the captain.
"Yes, Captain," I said.
The captain regarded the delka, scrawled on the wall, with anger.
"It is only a scratching, a mark," I said.
"No," he said. "It is more. It is a defiance of Cos, and of Ar!"
"Of Ar?" I asked.
"As she is today," he said.
"But perhaps not of the old Ar," I said.
"Perhaps not," he said.
"You have met men of Ar in battle?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "And it is a mark of the old Ar, the Ar I knew in war, the Ar of spears and standards, of rides and marches, of dust and trumpets, of tarns and tharlarion, the Ar of imperialism, of glory, of valor, and pride. That is why it is so dangerous. It is a recollection of the old Ar."
"The true Ar?"
"If you wish," he said. Then he exclaimed, angrily. "They have been defeated! She is dead! She is gone! How dare they remember her?"
He looked up and down the street. It now seemed deserted. I did not doubt but what word of what had occurred had spread.
"How dare they resist?" he asked.
"There seem few here now," I said.
"They are here, somewhere," he said.
"Perhaps," I said.
"Guard yourselves," he said.
"Thank you, Captain," I said.
"They may be anywhere," he said.
"Surely there are only a few," I said, "perhaps a few madmen who cannot understand the barest essentials of the most obvious realities, political and prudential."
"They are verr, verr, those of Ar," he said. "But not all of them. Some pretend to be verr. Some are sleen, disguised in the skins of verr."
"Or larls," I said, "patient, unreconciled, dangerous, capable of action."
"Cos, too, has her larls," said the captain.
"I do not doubt it," I said.
"Had I my way," he said, "we would have finished Ar. She would have been done with then, forever. There would be nothing here now but ashes and salt. Even her name would be excised from the monuments, from the documents, from the histories. It would be as though she had not been."
"It is hard for a man to be great who does not have great enemies," I said.
"And so Cos and Ar require one another, that each may be greater than they could otherwise be?" he asked.
"Perhaps," I said.
"There was no glory here," he said. "We did not win this victory in storm and fire, surmounting walls, breaching gates, winning Ar street by street, house by house. It was not we who defeated Ar. It was her putative own who betrayed her, in jealousy and intrigue, in ambition and greed. Ideas and lies defeated Ar. It was done through the sowing of confusion, the propagation of self-doubt and guilt, all suitably bedizened in the meretricious rhetorics of morality. We taught them that evil was good, and good evil, that strength was weakness, and weakness strength, that health was sickness, and sickness health. We made them distrust themselves, and taught them to believe that their most basic instincts a
nd elemental insights, the most essential and primitive promptings of their blood, were to be repudiated in favor of self-denial and frustration, in favor of vacuous principles, used by us as weapons against them, in favor of stultifying verbalisms, used to cripple and bleed them, and entrap them in our toils. And thus, betrayed by those who sought advancement in the destruction and dissolution of their own community, abetted by the well-intentioned, the simple-minded, the idealists, the fools, they put themselves at our mercy, at that of another community, one not so foolish, or not so sickened, as theirs. I saw strong men gladly setting aside their weapons. I saw citizens of Ar singing as their gates burned, as they tore down their walls with their own hands. That is no honest victory for Cos, won at the walls, at the gates, in the streets. That is not a victory of which we can be proud. That is a victory not of steel, but by poison."
"You are a warrior," I said.
"Once," he said.
He turned and looked at the shop. "When the bodies are removed," he said, "I think I shall have this shop burned."
"There are adjoining buildings," I said.
"Ah, yes," he said. "We must avoid incidents. We must keep the verr pacified, lest they learn how they are milked and shorn."
"Surely you do not believe the merchant is involved with the Delta Brigade," I said.
"No," he said. "I do not really believe that."
"And the slain men?" I asked.
"Well-known brigands," he said, "insults to the armbands they wear."
"And what report will you make of this?" I asked.
"Heroes, of course," said he, "slain by overwhelming odds."
"I see," I said.
"There is a game here," he said, "which I shall play. I have no wish to lose my post. You see, the sickness of Ar infects even her conquerors. We must pretend to believe the same lies."
"I understand," I said.
"And even if I did not make such a report I do not doubt but what it would be something to that effect which would eventually reach the tent of Myron, my polemarkos."
"He is a good officer," I said.
"Yes," said the captain. I had always heard this of Myron. To be sure, I had gathered that he had once been too much under the influence of a woman, a mere slave, who had been named Lucilina. She had been captured and was now owned by a common soldier in the retinue of Dietrich of Tarnburg. No longer was she a high slave, pampered and indulged. She was now a low slave, and amongst the lowest of the low, and was worked hard. She must now often kneel and fear whipping. It was said, too, that in the arms of her master, well handled, as a slave is handled, and well mastered, as a slave is mastered, she had discovered her womanhood. I doubted that Myron, for his part, would again make the mistake he had made with her. I did not doubt but what his women would now be kept in their place, and well kept there, at his feet. They would kneel there, I did not doubt, in all trembling and subservience, and be in no doubt as to their collaring.
Again the captain looked angrily at the furrowed wall, the tracing of that triangle, the delka.
"Captain?" I said.
"How many do you think are in the Delta Brigade?" he asked.
"I do not know," I said. "Surely no more than a few."
"A few today may become a regiment tomorrow, and after that, who knows?"
"The merchant spoke of only two men," I reminded him.
"There had to be more than that," said the captain, "though how many it is difficult to say, perhaps ten, perhaps twelve."
"Why do you say that?" I asked.
"The victims were not civilians, not tradesmen, not potters or bakers. They were skilled swordsmen," he said.
"Perhaps then there are ten in the Delta Brigade," I said.
"I am sure there are many more," he said.
"Oh?" I said, interested.
"This sign turns up frequently in the city, and more often from day to day," he said. "It is a symbol of resistance, smeared on a wall, scratched on a flagstone, carved into a post, found inscribed on an unfolded napkin."
I had not known these things. I myself had not seen much evidence of this sort of thing. To be sure, Marcus and I usually prowled in the darkness, protected from suspicion by our armbands, as though we might be on duty. And during the day we had normal duties, guarding portals and such, or, when assigned them, rounds, usually in public areas, as today, where the inscribing of the delka would be more likely to be noticed. I suspected these delkas were mostly to be found in the alleys and the back streets of Ar.
"The scratching of the delka," I said, "might even be permitted, as an outlet for meaningless defiance, as a futile token of protest from those too helpless or weak to do more."
"I am sure you are right, for the most part," said the captain.
"Then I would not concern myself with them," I said.
"Four soldiers were found murdered this morning," said the officer, "off the Avenue of Turia. The delka was found there, too."
"I see," I said. I had certainly known nothing of this. Marcus and I, it seemed, had allies.
The officer's men, the guardsmen, looked at one another. I gathered that this was information to them, too.
"Do you wish for us to remain on duty here, my fellow and myself," I asked, "until the arrival of the wagon?"
"No," he said.
"Is there any way we may be of service?" I asked.
"We have our rounds," said the officer. He glanced at the chest on the street, outside the door of the shop.
"Yes, Captain?" I said.
"What do you think of the contents of this chest?" he asked.
"A pretty lass," I said, "though young."
"Do you think she would look well in slave silk and a collar?"
I thought about it. "Yes," I said. "But perhaps more so in a year or so."
"Did you not see how, when the lid of the chest was held open, her veil had been disarranged, that her lips and mouth might be visible?"
"It was impossible not to notice it," I said. I recalled her father had chided her about this. Such a lapse I was sure, had not been inadvertent, not on Gor, with a free woman. If it had not been overtly intentional, consciously arranged, so to speak, it had surely been covertly so, unconsciously so, a pathetic sign manifested outwardly of a dawning sexuality and an innate need whose first powerful promptings were doubtless felt even now.
"Do you think she would make a slave?" he asked.
"I assume you do not mean as a child might be a slave," I said, "carried into bondage to be trained as a mere serving girl or page, to be in effect held for true bondage later, say, to be auctioned as a pleasure object, if a female, or say, to be sent to the fields or quarries, if a male."
"No," he said.
"Yes," I said, "I suppose she is ready for the block now."
"Do you think she is on the registries?" he asked.
"Probably," I said.
"But it does not really matter one way or another," he said, "as she is a girl of Ar."
"True," I said. Ar, and its contents, belonged to Cos.
"Do you know where the loot area is," he asked, "that in the district of Anbar?"
"Yes," I said.
"I would be obliged if you would see to the chest, and the slave," he said.
I suppose the young woman within the chest could hear our conversation. I would have supposed that she would then have pounded and wept, and scratched at the inside of the chest, begging mercy, but she did not. Slaves, those fit by nature for this elegant disposition, and whose minds and bodies crave it profoundly, and will not be happy without it, pretending that they are actually free women, commonly do such things. They are often among the most express in their protestive behaviors, the most demonstrative in their lamentations, and such, believing such things are expected of them, fearing only that they will be taken seriously. But this girl was actually very quiet, lying like a caressable, silken little urt in the chest. Indeed, for a moment, I feared there might be insufficient air in the chest and that she might have
fainted, or otherwise lost consciousness. But then I noted that the chest was well ventilated, as made sense, considering it had probably been prepared to conceal her days ago, if not months ago. She had doubtless not, however, expected to have its lid nailed shut, and to find herself helplessly, nakedly, at the mercy of strong men, imprisoned within it. It interested me that she lay as quietly within her small, stout wooden prison as she did. I suspected she was trembling within it, and perhaps timidly, fearfully, trying to understand her feelings.
"My fellow and I," I said, "if you wish, will see to the chest, and the girl."
"The slave," he said.
"Yes," I said, "the slave."
"I wish you well," said the captain.
"I wish you well," I said.
He then, and his men, took their leave.
"Why did you not wish the bodies placed outside the shop?" Marcus asked of me, when the officer with his small squad had departed.
I motioned him to one side, that the girl in the chest might not overhear our conversation.
"Surely it would have been better if the bodies had been put outside," said Marcus, "that the strength of the Delta Brigade, as it is spoken of, and the effectiveness of its work, might seem displayed."
I spoke softly. "No, dear friend," I said. "Better that the carnage wrought within the shop should seem such that those of Cos feared it to be known, that they were concerned to conceal it from the public."
"Ah!" said Marcus.
"But, too," I said, "do not fear that it is not known. The shop is muchly open. The door was ajar. I am confident men have spied within and seen what lies strewn upon its tiles. And even if they have not, the bodies will presumably be removed and be seen then. And, too, if not this either, surely we may depend upon the tradesman to speak of such things."
"That the bodies were not put outside," said Marcus, "makes it seem as though Cos feared the Delta Brigade, and did not wish that the effectiveness of its work be known, and that is much more to the advantage of the Brigade."
"Yes," I said. "I think so."
"Accordingly," said Marcus, "its work is known, or likely to be known, but it is also made to seem that Cos fears the making broadcast of such intelligence."
"Precisely," I said.
"Thusly increasing the reputation of the Delta Brigade," he said.
Magicians of Gor Page 24