As soon as Mip entered the cot he picked a tarn goad from a hook on the wall over a small table with a lamp and papers on it. He then took a second goad, from a hook nearby, and handed it to me. I accepted it. Few dare to walk in a tarncot without a goad. Indeed, it is foolish to do so. Mip, receiving and acknowledging the salutations of his men, made his rounds. With an agility that could come only from years in the cots he clambered about the tem-wood beams, sometimes forty feet from the floor, checking this bird and that; perhaps because I was slightly drunk I followed him; at last we had come to one of the four great round portals which give access to the open air from the tarncot. I could see the large, beamlike tarn perch extending from the portal, out over the street far below. The lights of Ar were beautiful. I stepped out on the tarn perch. I looked up. The roof was only about ten feet above. A person could, I noted, if sufficiently bold or foolish, leap from the roof, seize the tarn perch and enter the tarncot. I have always been amazed at the grandeur of Ar at night, the bridges, the lanterns, the beacons, the many lamps in the windows of countless cylinders. I stepped farther out on the tarn perch. I could sense Mip a bit behind me, back in the shadows, yet also on the perch. I looked down and shook my head. The street seemed to loop and swing below me. I could see the torches of two or three men moving together far below. Mip moved a bit closer.
I turned about and smiled at him, and he stepped back.
“You’d better come in from there,” he said, grinning. “It’s dangerous.”
I looked up and saw the three moons of Gor, the large moon and the two small ones, one of the latter called the Prison Moon, for no reason I understood.
I turned about and walked back on the perch and again stood on the thick, beamed framework of tem-wood that formed the vast housing for numerous racing birds.
Mip was fondling the beak of one bird, an older bird I gathered. It was reddish brown; the crest was flat now; the beak a pale yellow, streaked with white.
“This is Green Ubar,” said he, scratching the bird’s neck.
I had heard of the bird. It had been famous in Ar a dozen years ago. It had won more than one thousand races. Its rider, one of the great ones in the tradition of the greens, had been Melipolus of Cos.
“Are you familiar with tarns?” asked Mip.
I thought for a moment. Some Assassins are, as a matter of fact, skilled tarnsmen. “Yes,” I said, “I am familiar with tarns.”
“I am drunk,” said Mip, fondling the bird’s beak. It thrust its head forward.
I wondered why the bird, as is usual, it now being rather old, surely past its racing prime, had not been destroyed. Perhaps it had been preserved as an act of sentiment, for such is not unknown among the partisans of the factions. On the other hand, the business managers of the factions have little sentiment, and an unprofitable tarn, like an unprofitable or useless slave, is customarily sold or destroyed.
“The night,” I said, “is beautiful.”
Mip grinned at me. “Good,” he said. He moved over the tem-wood beams until he came to two sets of racing saddles and harness, and he threw me one, indicating a brown, alert racing tarn two perches away. The racing harness, like the common tarn harness, works with two rings, the throat ring and the main saddle ring, and six straps. The major difference is the tautness of the reins between the two rings; the racing saddle, on the other hand, is only a slip of leather compared to the common tarn saddle, which is rather large, with saddle packs, weapon sheaths and paired slave rings. I fastened the saddle on the bird and, with a bit of difficulty, the bird sensing my unsure movements, the tarn harness. Mip and I, moving the lock levers, removed the hobble and chain from the two birds and took the saddle.
Mip rode Green Ubar; he looked well in the worn saddle; his stirrups were short.
We fastened the safety straps.
On the racing saddle there are two small straps, rather than the one large strap on the common saddle; both straps fasten about the rider and to the saddle, in a sense each duplicating the work of the other; the theory is that though smaller straps can break more easily the probability of both straps breaking at the same time is extremely small; further the two straps tend to divide strain between them, thereby considerably lessening the possibility of either breaking; some saving in weight, of course, is obtained with the two smaller straps; further, the broad strap would be a bit large to fasten to the small saddle; even beyond this, of course, since races take place largely and most often over a net there is normally not as much danger in a fall as there would be in common tarn flight; the main purpose of the straps is simply to keep the rider in the saddle, for the purpose of his race, not primarily to protect his life.
“Do not try to control the tarn until you are out of the cot,” said Mip. “It will take time to accustom yourself to the harness.” He smiled. “These are not war tarns.”
Mip, scarcely seeming to touch the one-strap with his finger, almost a tap, took the old bird from the perch and in a whiplike flurry of its wings it struck the outside perch and stood there, its old head moving alertly, the wicked black eyes gleaming. My bird, so suddenly I was startled, joined the first.
Mip and I sat on tarnback on the lofty perch outside the tarncot. I was excited, as I always was, on tarnback. Mip too seemed charged and alive.
We looked about, at the cylinders and lights and bridges. It was a fresh, cool summer evening. The stars over the city were clear and bright, the coursing moons white with splendor against the black space of the Gorean night.
Mip took his tarn streaking among the cylinders and I, on my tarn, followed him.
The first time I attempted to use the harness, though I was aware of the danger, I overdrew the strap and the suddenness of the bird as it veered in flight threw me against the two narrow safety straps; the small, broad, rapid-beating wings of the racing tarn permit shifts and turns that would be impossible with a larger, heavier, longer-winged bird. With a tap on the two-strap I took the bird in a sudden breathtaking sweep to the high right and in an instant had joined Mip in flight.
The lights of Ar, and the lanterns on the bridges, flew past below me, the roofs of cylinders looming up out of the darkness of the streets far below.
Then Mip turned his bird and it seemed to veer and slide through the air, the cylinders below slicing to the right, and he brought it to rest on a great rail above and behind the highest tier on Ar’s Stadium of Tarns, where that afternoon I had watched the races.
The stadium was empty now. The crowds had gone. The long, curving terraces of tiers gleamed white in the light of Gor’s three moons. There was some litter about in the tiers, which would be removed before the races of the next day. The long net under the rings had been removed and rolled, placed with its poles near the dividing wall. The painted, wooden tarn heads, used for marking laps of the race, stood lonely and dark on their poles. The sand of the stadium seemed white in the moonlight, as did the broad dividing wall. I looked across to Mip. He was sitting on his tarn, silent.
“Wait here,” he said.
I waited on the height of the stadium, looking down into that vast, open structure, empty and white.
Mip on his tarn, Green Ubar, seemed a swift, dark movement against the white sand and tiers, the shadow coursing behind them, seeming to break geometrically over the tiers.
I saw the bird stop on the first perch.
They waited there for a moment. The judge’s bar, hanging on its chain from a pole on the dividing wall, was silent.
Suddenly with a snap of its wings I could hear more than two hundred yards away the tarn exploded from the perch, Mip low on its back, and streaked toward the first “ring,” the first of three huge metal rectangles, before the round “rings” mounted at the corners and at the end of the dividing wall. Startled, I saw the bird flash through the three first rings, veer and speed through the first of the round “rings,” and in the same motion, still turning, pass through the second and third of the round “rings,” and then, wings beating w
ith incredible velocity, its beak forward, Mip low on its back, pass in a moment through the three rectangular “rings” on the other side of the dividing wall, then whip about the end of the dividing wall, negotiating the three round “rings” in one swift, fierce trajectory and alight, wings snapping, talons extended, on the last perch of the line, that of the winner.
Mip and the bird remained there for some moments, and then I saw the bird lift itself and turn toward me. In a moment Mip had alighted beside me on the high rail circling the top of the stadium.
He stayed there for a moment, looking back over the stadium. Then he took his bird from the rail and I followed him. In a few Ehn we had returned to the perch outside the portal of the tarncot.
We returned the birds to their perches and put the tarn hobble on them there. We removed the small saddles and control straps from the birds, and hung them on vertical beams, a portion of the perch framework.
When we were finished I stepped again out onto the perch extending from the portal in the cot, that perch fixed far above the street below. I wanted once more to feel the air, the beauty of the night.
Mip stood somewhat behind me and I walked out to the end of the perch.
“I have enjoyed myself this night,” said I, “Mip.”
“I am pleased,” said Mip.
I did not face him. “I shall ask you a question,” I said, “but do not feel obliged to answer if you do not wish.”
“Very well,” said Mip.
“You know I hunt,” I said.
“Those of the black caste often hunt,” said Mip.
“Do you know of any,” I asked, “of the Greens who were in Ko-ro-ba in En’Var this year.”
“Yes,” said Mip.
I turned to face him.
“Only one that I know of,” said Mip.
“And who would he be?” I asked.
“I,” said Mip. “I was in Ko-ro-ba in En’Var this year.”
In Mip’s hand I saw a small dagger, a throwing knife, of a sort manufactured in Ar; it was smaller than the southern quiva; it was tapered on only one side.
“It is an interesting knife,” I said.
“All Tarn Keepers carry a knife,” said Mip, playing with the blade.
“This afternoon,” I said, “at the races, I saw a rider cut the safety straps and free himself from a falling bird.”
“It was probably with such a knife as this,” said Mip. He now held it by the tip.
I felt the breeze pick up, moving past me, cool and fresh that summer evening.
“Are you skilled with such a knife?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Mip. “I think so. I could hit the eye of a tarn at thirty paces.”
“You are skilled indeed,” I said.
“Are you familiar with such knives?” asked Mip.
“Not particularly,” I said. My body was apparently relaxed, but each nerve was alive and ready. I knew he could throw the knife before I could reach him, before I could hope to unsheath the sword at my side. I was keenly aware of the height of the perch, the street far below. I heard two men hailing one another below. The sound drifted up.
“Would you like to examine the knife?” asked Mip.
“Yes,” I said. I tensed myself.
Mip tossed the knife underhanded to me, and I caught it. My heart had nearly stopped beating.
I examined the knife, the balance of it, the hilt, the tapered blade.
“You had better come in from the tarn perch,” said Mip. “It is dangerous.”
I tossed him back the knife and retraced my steps along the narrow perch. In a few Ehn I had left the cylinder and was returning to the House of Cernus.
14
The Prisoner
When I had returned to the House of Cernus I passed the heavy, bolted door which led to the hallway off which was the luxurious cell in which Cernus was accustomed to keep his Special Captures, which cell had been shown to me earlier by Ho-Tu. I was surprised to see that now four guards were posted at this door.
When I returned to our compartment I found Elizabeth sleeping on a mat, wrapped in a rep-cloth blanket, under the slave ring. The collar and chain had been snapped about her throat. It is a rule in the House of Cernus that all slaves, save those who may be on house business, be secured by the eighteenth bar. This precaution is implemented by guards who make the rounds shortly before that bar. When I was in the compartment, however, as I normally was at that time, she would not be secured, my presence being taken as a sufficient guarantee of her custody. On such nights we would double beam the door and sleep in one another’s arms.
I entered the compartment, closed the door and put the beams in place.
Elizabeth, with a rustle of chain, sat up, rubbing her eyes.
She was attired in a brief gown of red Pleasure Silk, prescribed for her because she was a Red Silk Girl and in training. Virginia and Phyllis, in their cells, would wear similar gowns, but of white silk.
Elizabeth’s collar had also been changed. She now wore a red-enameled collar. Virginia and Phyllis, however, Elizabeth had told me, still wore the simple iron collars which had been hammered about their necks by the smith days before.
I turned up the lamp and noted that the floor of the compartment had been washed down with sponge and towel, that the chests and cabinets had been dusted and straightened, that cleaned furs lay neatly folded on the stone couch. I had insisted that the girl keep the compartment spotless. I think it was not so much I minded an occasional bit of silk lying on the floor as that I derived great pleasure from the fact that the lovely Miss Elizabeth Cardwell, slave in the House of Cernus, must keep my quarters. Elizabeth’s puttering about, dusting, a cloth about her hair, serving me with these small domesticities, was a sight I relished. She had had the temerity to suggest that such chores be shared but, when threatened with thong and slave ring, she had irritably understood that she must conform to my wishes. Interestingly, one evening, after learning that she would be forced to do these things, and alone, she had been unusually submissive, responsive, passionate. Women, I suspected, even proud, beautiful, intelligent women like Elizabeth Cardwell, secretly wish their men to be strong, and upon occasion to prove it to them, commanding them as mere females, giving them no choice but to do precisely as he wishes.
I released Elizabeth from the slave ring, the chain and collar.
She sniffed suspiciously. “You have been to the baths again,” she said.
“It is true,” I said.
“The Pool of Blue Flowers?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Are the girls pretty there?” she asked.
“Not so pretty as you,” I said.
“You are a sweet beast,” she said. She looked up at me. “You will take me to the Pool of Blue Flowers sometime, will you not?”
“There are many lovely pools in the Capacian,” I said.
“But you will take me to the Pool of Blue Flowers, won’t you?” she asked.
“Perhaps,” I said.
“You beast,” she smiled, kissing me. Then she knelt down on the mat, and I sat across from her cross-legged. “While you were sporting about at the Pool of Blue Flowers,” she said, “I was spoken to by Caprus.”
I was immediately attentive. To this point the tall, angular, dour Scribe had given us no information.
“He tells me,” said she, “that he has at last bribed the chamber slave in the compartments of Cernus to allow him access to the compartments at given times. The records you seek are not, of course, kept in the office of Caprus.”
“It will be extremely dangerous,” I said.
“He says he may need time,” she said. “He has found numerous notes and maps, but it may take months to copy them. He does not wish to appear to be absent from his duties for long periods.”
“Are the maps clear?” I asked. “Are the notes in Gorean?”
“He says they are,” she said.
“That is interesting,” I said. I did not mention it to Eliz
abeth but I would have expected the maps to be oriented only by key, and the notes to have been in some form of code.
“Our problem,” said Elizabeth, “will be to get the copies to the Sardar.”
“That should not be difficult,” I said, “for I have free exit from the house and you, when you are working with Caprus after your training, may upon occasion leave.”
“I did not realize the matter would be so easy,” she said.
“Nor did I,” I said. The reason that Elizabeth and I had been placed in the House of Cernus had been because Caprus, according to report, could not obtain the documents we believed must exist in the house. It was thought that I, as a mercenary in the house, or Elizabeth, as a staff slave, might be able to locate and seize the documents in question. This was prior to the slaying of the Warrior of Thentis, who resembled me, which had given me independent reason for coming to Ar, and in the guise of an Assassin.
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