by John Norman
Perhaps in time, however, the undisciplined but courageous bands of slaves would have been scattered and destroyed by the units of Tharna, save that the very revolution which had begun in the mines and spread to the Great Farms now flamed in the city itself. Not only slaves of the city raised the banner of defiance but men of low caste, whose brothers or friends had been sent to the mines or used in the Amusements, now dared at last to seize the instruments of their trade and turn on guardsmen and soliders. It was said the rebellion in the city was led by a short, powerful man with blue eyes and short-cropped hair, formerly of the Caste of Metal Workers. Certain portions of the city had been burned to exterminate the rebellious elements and this cruel act of repression had only rallied confused and undecided men to the side of the rebels. Now it was said that entire portions of the city were in rebel hands. The silver masks of Tharna, when they were able, had escaped to the porions of the city still in the command of the soldiers. Many were reported to cower in the confines of the royal palace itself. The fate of those who had nor escaped rebel hands was not clear.
It was late in the afternoon of the fifth day that we saw in the distance the grey walls of Tharna. We were not threatened nor investigated by patrols. It was true that we could see tarnsmen and their mounts here and there among the cylinders, but none came to challenge us.
At several places in the city long ropes of smoke spiraled upward and then unravelled into vague, dark strands.
Down below a door hung open on its hinges, and small isolated figures scurried in and out. There were no tharlarion wagons or lines of woodsmen or pedlars making their way to or from the city. Outside the walls several small buildings had been burned. On the wall itself over the gate in huge letters there was scrawled the legend "Sa" ng- Fori", literally "Without Chains" but perhaps better translated simply as «Freedom» or «Liberty». We brought the tarn down on the walls near the gate. I freed the bird. There was no tarn cot at hand in which to enclose him, and moreover, even if there had been, I would not have trusted him to the tarn-keepers of Tharna. I did not know who was and who was not in rebellion. Perhaps mostly I wanted the bird to be free in case my hopes met with disaster, in case the Tatrix and I were to perish in some back street of Tharna. On the summit of the wall we encountered the crumpled form of a fallen guardsman. It moved slightly. There was a small sound of pain. He had apparently been left for dead and was only now recovering consciousness. His grey garment with its scarlet strip of cloth on the shoulder was stained with blood. I unbuckled the helmet strap and gently removed the helmet.
One side of the helmet had been cracked open, perhaps by the blow of an axe. The helmet straps, the leather inside, and the blond hair of the soldier were soaked with his blood. He was not much more than a boy. As he felt the wind on the walls reach his head he opened his greyish blue eyes. One hand attempted to clutch his weapon but the sheath had been emptied.
"Don" t struggle," I said to him, looking at the wound. The helmet had largelt absorbed the blow but the blade of the striking instrument had creased the skull, accounting for the flow of blood. Most likely the force of the blow had rendered him unconscious and the blood had suggested to his assailant that the job was finished. His assailant had apparently not been a warrior.
With a portion of Lara" s cloak I bound the wound. It was clean and not deep.
"You" ll be all right," I said to him.
His eyes looked from one of us to the other. "Are you for the Tatrix?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
"I fought for her," said the boy, lying back against my arm. "I did my duty."
I gathered that he had not enjoyed the performance of his duty, and that perhaps his heart lay with the rebels, but the pride of his caste had kept him at his post. Even in his youth he had the blind loyalty of the warrior, a loyalty which I respected and which was perhaps no more blind than some I myself had felt. Such men made fearsome antagonists, eben though their swords might be pledged to the most despicable of causes.
"You did not fight for your Tatrix," I said evenly.
The young warrior started in my arms. "I did," he cried.
"No," I said, "you fought for Dorna the Proud, pretender to the throne of Tharna — a usurper and traitress."
The eyes of the warrior widened as they regarded us.
"Here," I said, gesturing to the beautiful girl at my side, "is Lara, the true Tatrix of Tharna."
"Yes, brave Guardsman," said the girl, placing her hand gently on his forehead as though to soothe him, "I am Lara."
The guardsman struggled in my arms, and then fell back, shutting his eyes with pain.
"Lara," he said, through closed lids, "was carried away by the tarnsmen in the Amusements."
"I am he," I said.
The greyish blue eyes slowly opened and gazed at my face for a long time, and gradually recognition transformed the features of the young guardsman. "Yes," said he, "I remember."
"The tarnsman," said Lara, speaking softly, "returned me to the Pillar of Exchanges. There I was seized by Dorna the Proud and Thorn, her accomplice, and sold into slavery. The tarnsman freed me and has now returned me to my people."
"I fought for Dorna the Proud," said the boy. His greyish blue eyes filled with tears. "Forgive me, true Tatrix of Tharna," he begged. And had it not been forbidden that he, a man of Tharna should touch her, a woman of Tharna, I think he would have reached his hand toward her.
To his wonder Lara took his hand in hers. "You did well," she said. "I am proud of you, my guardsman."
The boy closed his eyes and his body relaxed in my arms.
Lara looked at me, her eyes frightened.
"No," I said, "he is not dead. He is just young and he has lost much blood."
"Look!" cried the girl, pointing down the length of the wall.
Some six shapes, grey, carrying spears and shields were moving rapidly in my direction.
"Guardsmen," I said, drawing my sword.
Suddenly I saw the shields shift, facing us obliquely, and saw the right arms raise, spears high, with no change in the rapid pace of the men. In another dozen steps the six spears would fly hurled from that swift even pace.
Losing not a moment I thrust my sword into my belt and seized Lara by the waist. As she protested I turned and forced her to run at my side. "Wait!" she pleaded. "I will speak to them!"
I swept her to my arms and ran.
No sooner had we reached the spiraling stone stairwell which led down from the wall than the six spears, their points describing a circle of perhaps a yard in diameter, struck the wall over our head with a splintering of rock. Once we reached the bottom of the wall we kept close to its base so as not to afford a target for further spear play. On the other hand I did not believe the guardsmen would cast their weapons from the wall. If they missed, or if they did not, it would necessitate descending from the wall to retrieve the weapons. It was unlikely a small party like that above would freely lose the height of the wall to pursue two rebels. _
We began to work our tortuous way through the grim, bloodstained streets of Tharna. Some of the buildings had been destroyed. Shops had been boarded up. Litter was everywhere. Rubbish burned in the gutters. Largely the streets were deserted save that here and there lay a body, sometimes that of a warrior of Tharna, more often one of its grey-clad citizens. On many of the walls the legend "Sa" ng- Fori" could be read.
On occasion terrified eyes scrutinised us fearfully from behind the shutters of windows. I suspected there was not a door in Tharna but was not barred that day.
"Halt!" cried a voice, and we stopped.
From in front of us and behind us a group of men had seemed to materialise. Several of them held crossbows; at least four others had spears poised; some boasted swords; but many of them carried nothing more than a chain or a sharpened pole.
"Rebels!" said Lara.
"Yes," I said.
We could read the sullen defiance, the resolve, the capacity to kill in those eyes, bloodshot with
loss of sleep, the desperate carriage of those grey-clad bodies, hungry and vicious with the strain of street fighting. There were wolves in the streets of Tharna.
I slowly drew my sword, and thrust the girl to the side of the street against the wall.
One of the men laughed.
I too smiled for resistance was useless, yet I knew that I would resist, that I would not be disarmed until I lay dead on the stones of the street. What of Lara?
What would be her fate at the hands of this pack of maddened, desperate men? I regarded my ragged foes, some of whom had been wounded. They were filthy, savage, exhausted, angry, perhaps starving. She would probably be slain against the wall by which she stood. It would be brutal but quick, on the whole merciful.
The spear arms drew back, the crossbows leveled. Chains were grasped more firmly; the few swords lifted toward me; even the sharpened poles inclined toward my breast. "Tarl of Ko-ro-ba!" cried a voice, and I saw a small man, thin with a wisp of sandy hair across his forehead, press through the ragged band of rebels that confronted us.
It was he who had been first on the chain in the mines, he who had of necessity been first to climb the shaft from the slave kennel to freedom. His face was transfigured with joy and he rushed forward and embraced me. "This is he!" the man cried. "Tarl of Ko-ro-ba!"
At this point, to my wonder, the ragged band lifted their weapons and uttered a wild cheer. I was swept from my feet and thrown to their shoulders. I was carried through the streets and others of the rebels, appearing from doorways and windows, almost from the very stones of the street, joined what turned into a procession of triumph.
The voices of these haaggard but transformed men began to sing. I recognised the tune. It was a ploughing song I had first heard from the peasant in the mines. It had become the anthem of the revolution. Lara, as mystified as I, ran along with the men, staying as close to me as the jostling crowds permitted.
Thus borne aloft, from street to street, in the midst of joyous shouting, wepaons raised on all sides in salute, my ears ringing with the ploughing song, once a song of the freeholds of Tharna, long since supplanted by the Great Farms, I found myself brought to that fateful Kal-da shop I remembered so well, where I had dined in Tharna and had awakened to the treachery of Ost. It had become a headquarters of the revolution, perhaps because men of Tharna recalled that it was there they had learned to sing. There, standing before the low doorway, I looked once more upon the squat, powerful figure of Kron, of the Caste of Metal Workers. His great hammer was slung from his belt and his blue eyes glistened with happiness. The huge, scarred hands of a metal worker were held out to me.
Beside him, to my joy, I saw the impudent features of Andreas, that sweep of black hair almost obliterating his forehead. Behind Andreas, in the dress of a free woman, unveiled, her throat no longer encircled by the collar of a state slave, I saw the breathless, radiant Linna of Tharna. Andreas bounded past the men at the door and rushed to me. He seized me by the hands and dragged me to the street, roughly grappling my shoulders and laughing with joy.
"Welcome to Tharna!" said he. "Welcome to Tharna!"
"Yes," said Kron, only a step behind him, seizing my arm. "Welcome to Tharna."
Chapter Twenty-Four: THE BARRICADE
I ducked my head and shoved open the heavy wooden door of the Kal-da shop. The sign KAL-DA SOLD HERE had been repainted in bright letters. Also, smeared across the letters, written with a finger, was the defiant rallying call of the rebellion — "Sa'ng-Fori".
I descended the low, wide steps to the interior. This time the shop was crowded. It was hard to see where to step. It was wild and noisy. It might have been a Paga Tavern of Ko- ro-ba or Ar, not a simple Kal-da shop of Tharna. My ears were assailed by the din, the jovial uproar of men no longer afraid to laugh or shout.
The shop itself was now hung with perhaps half a hundred lamps and the walls were bright with the caste colours of the men who drank there. Thick rugs had been thrown under the low tables and were stained in innumerable places with spilled Kal-da.
Behind the counter the thin, bald-headed proprietor, his forehead glistening, his slick black apron stained with spices, juices and wine, busily worked his long mixing paddle in a vast pot of bubbling Kal-da. My nose wrinkled. There was no mistaking the smell of brewing Kal-da. From behind three or four of the low tables, to the left of the counter, a band of sweating musicians sat happily cross- legged on the rug, somehow producing from those unlikely pipes and strings and drums and disks and wires the ever intriguing, wild, enchanting — beautiful — barbaric melodies of Gor.
I wondered at this for the Caste of Musicians had been, like the Caste of Poets, exiled from Tharna. Theirs, like the Caste of Poets, had been a caste regarded by the sobre masks of Tharna as not belonging in a city of serious and dedicated folk, for music, like Paga and song, can set men" s hearts aflame and when men" s hearts are aflame it is not easy to know where the flame may spread.
As I entered the room the men rose to their feet and shouted and lifted their cups in salute.
Almost as one they cried out, "Tal, Warrior!"
"Tal, Warriors!" I responded, raising my arm, addressing them by all by the title of my caste, for I knew that in their common cause each was a warrior. It had been so determined at the Mines of Tharna.
Behind me down the stairs came Kron and Andreas, followed by Lara and Linna.
I wondered what impression the Kal-da shop would have on the true Tatrix of Tharna.
Kron seized my arm and guided me to a table near the centre of the room. Holding Lara by the hand I followed him. Her eyes were stunned but like a child" s were wide with curiosity. She had not known the men of Tharna could be like this.
From time to time as one of them regarded her too boldly she dropped her head and blushed.
At last I sat cross-legged behind the low table and Lara, in the fashion of the Gorean woman, knelt beside me, resting on her heels.
When I had entered the music had briefly stopped but now Kron clapped his hands twice and the musicians turned to their instruments.
"Free Kal-da for all!" cried Kron, and when the proprietor, who knew the codes of his caste, tried to object, Kron flung a golden tarn disk at him. Delightedly the man ducked and scrambled to pick it up from the floor. "Gold is more common here than bread," said Andreas, sitting near us. To be sure the food on the low tables was not plentiful and was coarse but one could not have known this from the good cheer of the men in the room. It might have been to them food from the tables of the Priest-Kings themselves. Even the foul Kal-da to them, reveling in the first intoxication of their freedom, was the rarest and most potent of beverages. Kron clapped his hands again and to my surprise there was a sudden sound of bells and four terrified girls, obviously chosen for their beauty and grace, stood before our table clad only in the scarlet dancing silks of Gor. They threw back their heads and lifted their arms and to the barbaric decadence set by the musicians danced before us.
Lara, to my surprise, watched them with delight.
"Where in Tharna," I asked, "did you find Pleasure Slaves?" I had noted that the throats of the girls were encircled by silver collars. Andreas, who was stuffing a piece of bread in his mouth, responded, his words a cheery mumble. "Beneath every silver mask," he averred sententiously, "there is a potential Pleasure Slave."
"Andreas!" cried Linna, and she made as if to slap him for his insolence, but he quieted her with a kiss, and she playfully began to nibble at the bread clenched between his teeth.
"Are these truly silver masks of Tharna?" I asked Kron, skeptically. "Yes," said he. "Good, aren" t they?"
"How did they learn this?" I asked.
He shrugged. "It is instinctive in a woman," he said. "But they are untrained of course."
I laughed to myself. Kron of Tharna spoke as might any man of any city of Gor — other than a man of Tharna.
"Why are they dancing for you?" asked Lara.
"They will be whipped if they do not," sai
d Kron.
Lara" s eyes dropped.
"You see the collars," said Kron, pointing to the slender graceful bands of silver each girl wore at her throat. "We melted the masks and used the silver for the collar."
Other girls now appeared among the tables, clad only in a camisk and a silver collar, and sullenly, silently, began to serve the Kal-da which Kron had ordered. Each carried a heavy pot of the foul, boiling brew and, cup by cup, replenished the cups of the men.
Some of them looked enviously at Lara, others with hatred. Their look said to her why are you not clad as we are, why do you not wear a collar and serve as we serve?
To my surprise Lara removed her cloak and took the pot of Kal-da from one of the girls and began to serve the men.
Some of the girls looked at her in gratitude for she was free and in doing this she showed them that she did not regard herself as above them. "That," I said to Kron, pointing out Lara, "is the Tatrix of Tharna." As Andreas looked upon her he said softly, "She is truly a Tatrix." Linna arose now and began to help with the serving.
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When Kron had tired of watching the dancers he clappped his hands twice and with a discordant jangle of their ankle bells they fled from the room. Kron lifted his cup of Kal-da and faced me. "Andreas told me you intended to enter the Sardar," he said. "I see that you did not do so." Kron meant that if I had entered the Sardar I would not have returned. "I am going to the Sardar," I said, "but I first have business in Tharna." "Good!" said Kron. "We need your sword."
"I have come to place Lara once more on the throne of Tharna," I said. Kron and Andreas looked at me in wonder.
"No," said Kron. "I do not know how she has bewitched you but we will have no Tatrix in Tharna!"
"She is everything that we fight against," protested Andreas. "If she again ascends the throne, our battle will have been lost. Tharna would once more be the same."