Assassin of Gor

by Norman, John;

  Then Elizabeth herself strode to the front of the block. “And me!” she laughed. “Which of you would like to put me in steel?”

  The crowd roared and stamped, and its men rose to their feet, shouting, pounding their right fists on their left shoulder, in Gorean acclaim.

  “I am, I think,” cried Elizabeth, laughing, “a not unworthy wench.”

  There were shouts of agreement.

  She pointed her finger at a fine-looking fellow, grinning in the audience, a Saddlemaker. “Would you not like to own me?” she asked.

  He slapped his knees with his hands and laughed. “That I would!” he cried.

  “You!” cried Elizabeth, pointing to a merchant in rich robes in the fifth tier. “Would you not be pleased to have me submit to you?”

  “Indeed, Wench,” he laughed.

  “Is there a man here,” asked Elizabeth, “who would not wish to take me in his arms?”

  The deafening response, “No!” shouted from thousands of voices, shook the amphitheater.

  “Who wants me?” she cried.

  “I!” came the thousands of responses, making the very walls ring with their pleasure.

  “But,” wailed Elizabeth, “I am only a miserable girl without a master.” She held her wrists together and out to the crowd, as though they had been braceleted. “Who will buy me?” she wailed.

  The thunder of bids was deafening.

  Elizabeth backed to the other girls and took each by an arm, and together they came to the front of the block.

  “Who will buy us?” called Elizabeth.

  “Eight hundred gold pieces!” came one cry.

  “Eight hundred and fifty,” came another. Then we heard nine hundred and fifty bid, and then, incredibly, a thousand, and then a bid for the astounding sum of fourteen hundred pieces of gold.

  The auctioneer signaled to the Musicians again and once more, to the shouts of the crowd, while he held open his hand, not yet closing it, taking bids, the girls performed the last moments of Ar’s dance of the newly collared slave girl, who dances her joy at the thought that she will soon be in the arms of a strong master. When the dance ended the three girls, slaves, knelt in the position of submission, arms extended, heads lowered, wrists crossed as though for binding; Elizabeth knelt facing the crowd and, perpendicular to her, on her left and right, knelt Virginia and Phyllis, a vulnerable, submitted flower of slave girls.

  The auctioneer waited for some minutes for the acclaim of the crowd to subside. The last bid he had received had been an astounding fifteen hundred pieces of gold. To my knowledge never in the Curulean had a set of three girls brought such a price. The investment of Cernus had been, it seemed, a good one.

  The auctioneer called out to the crowd, now silent. “I will close my fist!”

  “Do not close your fist,” said Samos, First Slaver of Port Kar.

  Deferentially the auctioneer regarded the Slaver of squalid, malignant Port Kar, mistress and scourge of gleaming Thassa.

  “Does Samos, First Slaver of Port Kar, mistress and jewel of gleaming Thassa, now care to express interest?”

  “He does,” said Samos, dispassionately.

  “What is the Curulean bid?” inquired the auctioneer.

  “It is bid,” said the man, “by Samos, First Slaver of Port Kar, for the wenches now on the block three thousand pieces of gold.”

  There was an audible gasp throughout the audience in the swirling amphitheater.

  The auctioneer stepped back, astonished. Even the girls lifted their heads, startled, breaking the discipline of the submitted flower. Then, smiling, Elizabeth lowered her head again, and so, too, did Virginia and Phyllis. I felt sick. Doubtless Elizabeth thought Samos the agent of Priest-Kings, sent to purchase them and carry them to safety and freedom.

  Cernus was chuckling.

  The fist of the auctioneer closed, as though grasping a handful of golden coins. “The women are sold!” he cried. The crowd shouted its pleasure, its delight.

  The girls were now on their feet and whip slaves were braceleting their wrists before their bodies and attaching the lead chains to the bracelets, preparing to conduct the purchased merchandise from the block.

  “More barbarians!” cried the crowd. “Let us see more barbarians!”

  “You shall!” cried the auctioneer. “You shall! We have many sets of barbarians to present for your consideration and pleasure! Do not be disappointed! There are more! There are many more barbarians to be sold, beautiful and splendid lots, superbly trained!”

  The crowd trembled with excitement.

  Elizabeth and the other two girls had now been secured, braceleted and on their leashes. The ordeal of the sale over, Virginia and Phyllis were weeping. Elizabeth, by remarkable contrast, seemed exceedingly well pleased. When they had turned and were being led from the block by the whip slaves who held their leashes, Cernus spoke to two of the guards behind me. “Throw the fool on his feet,” said he. “Let her see him!”

  I struggled but could not resist the men who hauled me to my feet.

  “Behold an enemy of Cernus!” cried Philemon to the block.

  The girls turned and then Elizabeth, peering out into the crowd, for the first time, saw me, in the rag of a slave, my wrists bound behind my back in steel, the helpless captive of Cernus, Slaver, Ubar of Ar.

  Her eyes were wide. She stood as though stunned. She put her braceleted hands before her mouth. She shook her head disbelievingly. Then, by the chain and bracelets, she was rudely turned about. She looked back over her shoulder, her eyes wide with horror. Then, fighting the chain and bracelets, she was dragged stumbling down the steps. It was then she understood herself sold. She cried out wildly, helplessly, a long screaming wail of misery and understanding. I heard the sound of a slave whip below the block, the hysterical, wild sobbing and screaming of a slave girl. Then, as she was dragged away, the sound of the whip and of her cries grew more distant, and then I could hear them no more.

  “Before she is delivered to Samos,” Cernus was saying, “I think I will have her returned to the house and use her. She intrigued me this evening. Since she is Red Silk Samos will not object.”

  I said nothing.

  “Take him away,” said Cernus.

  In a moment, manacled, a guard holding each arm, I was being conducted from the amphitheater.

  The lights of the amphitheater briefly went out, and then flashed on again.

  I heard the crowd cry out.

  I heard the auctioneer making his call for the first bid. I knew that behind me, on the block, there would be a new lot for sale, more to please the buyers of Ar.

  20

  A Game Is Played

  “This,” cried Cernus, lifting his cup aloft, is a night for rejoicing and amusement!”

  Never had I seen the customarily impassive Slaver so elated as on this night, following the sales in the Curulean. The feast was set late in the hall of Cernus and the wine and paga flowed freely. The girls chained at the wall for the amusement of his guards clutched drunkenly, ecstatically, at those who used them. Guards stumbled about with goblets in their hands. The Warriors of Cernus sang at the tables. Roasted tarsks on long spits were borne to the tables on the shoulders of nude slave girls. Girls still in training, unclothed as well, served wine this night of feasting. Musicians wildly, drunkenly, picked and pounded at their instruments.

  Hooded, stripped to the waist, chained, I had been beaten from one end of the room to the other with sticks.

  Now, unhooded, but chained, I knelt bloody before the dais of Cernus.

  A few feet from me, wretched, dazed, chained like I before the dais of Ar’s Ubar, knelt Elizabeth Cardwell, her only garment the chain of Cernus, with its medallion of the tarn and slave chains, about her throat.

  To one side, to my dismay, I saw Relius and Ho-Sorl chained. Near them, kneeling, her wrists and ankles bound with slender, silken ropes, knelt Sura, head forward, her hair touching the floor.

  The doll which she had
so loved, which she had had from her mother, which she had so jealously protected in her compartment that she had attacked me with the slave goad at the Kill Point, lay on the tiles before her, torn asunder, destroyed.

  “What is their crime?” I had asked Cernus.

  “They would have freed you,” laughed Cernus. “The men we apprehended after severe fighting, trying to cut their way to you when you lay in the dungeon. The woman tried, with paga and jewels, to bribe your guards.”

  I shook my head. I could not understand why Relius and Ho-Sorl would make my cause theirs, nor why Sura, though I knew she cared for me, would so risk her life, now doubtless lost. I had done little to deserve such friends, such loyalty. I felt now in my plight that I had betrayed not only Elizabeth, and the other girls, and the Priest-Kings, but perhaps allies even unknown to me, among them perhaps Relius, Ho-Sorl, Sura, others. How overcome I felt, with fury, with rage, with helplessness. I looked across to Elizabeth, the chain of Cernus looped about her neck, staring numbly, woodenly, down at the tiles of the hall, half in shock.

  I had failed them all.

  “Bring Portus!” called Cernus.

  The Slaver who had been chief competitor to the House of Cernus was brought forward, doubtless from the dungeons of the Central Cylinder of Ar, on order of its Ubar, Cernus, once of the Merchants, now of the Caste of the Warriors.

  Portus, half wasted now, his skin hanging about his frame, was brought, manacled, stripped to the waist, to the square of sand.

  His manacles were removed and a naked hook knife was thrust in his trembling hand.

  “Please oh mighty Cernus!” he whined. “Show mercy!”

  The slave whom I had originally seen victorious in the sport of hook knife sprang to the sand and began to stalk Portus.

  “Please, Cernus!” cried Portus as a long line of blood burst open across his chest. “Please! Please! Caste Brother!” he cried, as the slave, swift, eager, laughing, struck him again and again, with impunity. Then Portus tried to fight but, weakened, unskilled, clumsy, he stumbled about, being again and again streaked with blood, no cut mortal. At last he fell into the sand covered with blood at the feet of the laughing slave, quivering, whining, unable to move.

  “Feed him to the beast,” said Cernus.

  Whimpering, Portus was dragged from the sand, leaving blood across the tiles, and was taken from the hall.

  “Bring the Hinrabian!” called Cernus.

  I was startled. The entire Hinrabian family, in caravan, had been ambushed, months ago, shortly after leaving the vicinity of Ar enroute to the desert city of Tor. It was assumed the entire family had been destroyed. The only body not recovered had been that of Claudia Tentia Hinrabia, who had been originally the unfortunate victim of the intrigues of Cernus, the means whereby was brought about the downfall of the house of Portus.

  I heard, far off, a weird scream, that of Portus, and a wild, savage cry, almost a roar.

  Those in the hall trembled.

  “The beast has been fed,” said Cernus, chuckling, drinking wine, spilling some of it down his face.

  A slave girl was brought, a slim girl, in yellow Pleasure Silk, with short black hair, dark eyes, high cheekbones.

  She ran timidly and knelt before the dais.

  I gasped, for it was Claudia Tentia Hinrabia, once the spoiled daughter of a Ubar of Ar, now a rightless wench in bondage, not unlike thousands of others in Glorious Ar.

  She looked about herself, with wonder. I doubted that she had been before in that room.

  “You are the slave girl Claudia?” asked Cernus.

  “Yes, Master,” said the girl.

  “Do you know what city you are in?” asked Cernus.

  “No, Master,” whispered the girl. “I was brought hooded to your house.”

  “By what men?” inquired Cernus.

  “I do not know, Master,” whispered the girl.

  “It is said you claim to be Claudia Tentia Hinrabia,” said Cernus.

  The girl lifted her head wildly. “It is true!” she cried. “It is true, Master!”

  “I know,” said Cernus.

  She looked at him in horror.

  “What city is this?” she asked.

  “Ar,” said Cernus.

  “Ar?” she gasped.

  “Yes,” said Cernus, “Glorious Ar.”

  Hope sprang in her eyes. She almost rose to her feet. There were tears in her eyes. “Ar!” she cried. “Oh free me! Free me!” She lifted her hands to Cernus. “I am of Ar! I am of Ar! I am Claudia Tentia Hinrabia of Ar! Free me, Master!”

  “Do you know me?” asked Cernus.

  “No, Master,” said the girl.

  “I am Cernus,” said he, “Ubar of Ar.”

  She gazed upon him, thunderstruck. “Noble Cernus,” she whispered, “if you be my Master, free me, free me!”

  “Why?” asked Cernus.

  “I am Claudia Tentia Hinrabia,” she said, “of Ar!”

  “You are a slave girl,” said Cernus.

  She looked at him in horror. “Please, Ubar,” she wept. “Please noble Cernus, Ubar of my city, free me!”

  “Your father owed me moneys,” said Cernus. “You will remain my slave.”

  “Please!” she wept.

  “You are alone,” said Cernus. “Your family is gone. There is no one to protect you. You will remain my slave.”

  She buried her head in her hands, weeping. “I have been in misery,” she wept, “since I was stolen by the men of the house of Portus and enslaved.”

  Cernus laughed.

  The girl looked at him, not understanding.

  “How could the men of Portus enter the Central Cylinder and carry you away?” he inquired.

  “I do not know,” she admitted.

  “You were hooded and abducted by Taurentians,” said Cernus, “the palace guard itself.”

  She gasped.

  “Saphronicus, their Captain,” said Cernus, “is in my hire.”

  She shook her head numbly.

  “But the House of Portus—” she said. “I saw the collar on a slave girl—”

  Cernus laughed.

  He strode from the dais to stand over her.

  “Stand, Slave,” said he.

  The Hinrabian did so.

  She regarded him with horror. He parted the Pleasure Silk and threw it from her.

  He then took the heavy chain with its medallion from the neck of Elizabeth Cardwell and placed it about the throat of the Hinrabian girl.

  “No! No!” she cried, throwing her hands to the side of her head, and fell screaming and weeping to her knees at the feet of Cernus.

  He laughed.

  She raised her horror-stricken eyes to him. “It was you!” she whispered. “You!”

  “Of course,” said Cernus. He then took back from her his medallion and chain, and placed it about his own neck. He then returned to his place on the dais.

  The room roared with laughter.

  “Bind her arms and wrists tightly,” said Cernus to a guard.

  This was done to the Hinrabian girl, who, stricken with horror, seemed scarcely able to move.

  “We have another surprise for you, my dear Claudia,” said Cernus.

  She looked at him blankly.

  “Bring the pot wench,” said Cernus to a subordinate and the man, grinning, sped from the room.

  “Claudia Tentia Hinrabia,” said Cernus to those assembled, while he quaffed yet another goblet of Ka-la-na, “is well known throughout Ar as a most strict and demanding mistress. It is said that once, when a slave dropped a mirror, she had the poor girl’s ears and nose cut off, and then sold the then worthless wench.”

  There were shouts of commendation from the men at the tables.

  Claudia was held on her knees by two guards, her arms and wrists tied tightly behind her. Her face began to turn white.

  “I searched long in the kitchens of Ar until I found that wench,” said Cernus.

  I recalled that in his kitchen, seeming
ly months ago, though only a handful of days past, I had seen a mutilated girl.

  “And purchased her,” said Cernus.

  There was a shout of pleasure from the tables.

  Claudia Tentia Hinrabia, in her bonds, seemed frozen, horror-stricken, unable to move.

  A girl came in from the kitchens, followed by the man who had gone to fetch her. It was the girl to whom I had, some days ago, on the evening of my capture, tossed a bottle of paga. Her ears had been cut from her, and her nose. She might otherwise have been beautiful.

  When the girl entered the room Claudia was turned by her guards, still on her knees, bound, to face her.

  The girl stopped stunned. Claudia’s eyes regarded her, wide with horror.

  “What is your name?” asked Cernus of the girl kindly.

  “Melanie,” said she, not taking her eyes from the Hinrabian, startled, astonished that she should so find her former mistress.

  “Melanie,” said Cernus, “do you know this slave?”

  “She is Claudia Tentia Hinrabia,” whispered the girl.

  “Do you remember her?” asked Cernus.

  “Yes,” said the girl. “She was my mistress.”

  “Give her a hook knife,” said Cernus to one of the men near him.

  A hook knife was pressed into the hands of the mutilated girl.

  She looked at the knife, and then at the bound Hinrabian, who shook her head slightly, tears in her eyes.

  “Please, Melanie,” whispered the Hinrabian, “do not hurt me.”

  The girl said nothing to her, but only looked again from the hook knife to the bound Hinrabian.

  “You may,” said Cernus, “remove the ears and nose of the slave.”

  “Please, Melanie!” cried the Hinrabian. “Do not hurt me! Do not hurt me!”

  The girl approached her with the knife.

  “You loved me,” whispered the Hinrabian. “You loved me!”

  “I hate you,” said the girl.

  She took Claudia’s hair in her left hand and held the razor-sharp hook knife at her face. The Hinrabian burst into tears, hysterically weeping, begging for mercy.

  But the pot girl did not touch the knife to the Hinrabian’s face. Rather, to the wonderment of all, she let her hand drop.

  “Cut off her ears and nose,” ordered Cernus.