Outlaw of Gor coc-2

by John Norman

  "Tharna," I said, "will never again be the same."

  Andreas shook his head as if trying to comprehend what I might mean. "How can we expect him to make sense?" asked Andreas of Kron. "After all, he is not a poet."

  Kron did not laugh.

  "Or a metal worker," added Andreas hopefully.

  Still Kron did not laugh.

  His dour personality formed over the anvils and forges of his trade did not take lightly to the enormity of what I had said. "You would have to kill me first," said Kron.

  "Are we not still of the same chain?" I asked.

  Kron was silent. Then regarding me evenly with those steel- blue eyes he said, "We are always of the same chain."

  "Then let me speak," I said.

  Kron nodded curtly.

  Several other men had by now crowded about the table.

  "You are men of Tharna," I said. "But the men you fight are also of Tharna."

  One of the men spoke. "I have a brother in the guards."

  "Is it right that the men of Tharna lift their weapons against one another, men within the same walls?"

  "It is a sad thing," said Kron. "But it must be."

  "It need not be," I protested. "The soldiers and guardsmen of Tharna are pledged to the Tatrix, but the Tatrix they defend is a traitress. The true Tatrix of Tharna, Lara herself, is within this room.

  Kron watched the girl, who was unconscious of the conversation. Across the room she was serving Kal-da to the men whose cups were lifted to her. "While she lives," said Kron, "the revolution is not safe."

  "That is not true," I said.

  "She must die," said Kron.

  "No," I said. "She too has felt the chain and whip."

  There was a murmur of astonishment from the men about the table. "The soldiers of Tharna and her guardsmen will forsake the false Tatrix and serve the true Tatrix," I said. "If she lives — " agreed Kron, looking at the innocent girl across the room.

  "She must," I urged. "She will bring a new day to Tharna. She can unite both the rebels and the men who oppose you. She has learned how cruel and miserable are the ways of Tharna. Look at her!"

  And the men watched the girl quietly pouring the Kal-da, willingly sharing the labours of the other women of Tharna. It was not what one would have expected of a Tatrix.

  "She is worthy to rule," I said.

  "She is what we fought against," said Kron.

  "No," I said, "you fought against the cruel ways of Tharna. You fought for your pride and your freedom, not against that girl."

  "We fought against the golden mask of Tharna," shouted Kron, pounding his fist on the table.

  The sudden noise attracted the attention of the entire room and all eyes turned toward us. Lara, her back graceful and straight, set down the pot of Kal-da and came and stood before Kron.

  "I no longer wear the golden mask," she said.

  And Kron looked on the beautiful girl who stood before him with such grace and dignity, with no trace of pride or cruelty, or fear.

  "My Tatrix," he whispered.

  ____________________

  We marched through the city, the streets behind us filled like grey rivers with the rebels, each man with his own weapon, yet the sound of those rivers, converging on the palace of the Tatrix was anything but grey. It was the sound of the ploughing song, as slow and irresistible as the breaking of ice in frozen rivers, a simple, melodic paean to the soil, celebrating the first breaking of the ground.

  At the head of that splendid, ragged procession five marched; Kron, chief of the rebels; Andreas, a poet; his woman, Linna of Tharna, unveiled; I, a warrior of a city devastated and cursed of the Priest-Kings; and a girl with golden hair, a girl who wore no mask, who had known both the whip and love, fearless and magnificent Lara, she who was true Tatrix of Tharna. It was clear to the defenders of the palace, which formed the major bastion of Dorna" s challenged regime, that the issue would be decided that day and by the sword. Word had swept ahead as if on the wings of tarns that the rebels, abandoning their tactics of ambush and evasion, were at last marching on the palace.

  I saw before us once again that broad, winding but ever narrowing avenue which led to the palace of the Tatrix. Singing, the rebels began to climb the steep avanue. The black cobblestones could be felt clearly through the leather of our sandals.

  Once more I noted that the walls bordering the avenue rose as the avenue narrowed, but this time, long before we neared the small iron door, we saw a double rampart thrown across the avenue, the second wall topping the first and allowing missiles to be rained down on those who might storm the first wall. The rampart was thrown between the walls where they stood at perhaps fifty yards from each other. The first rampart was perhaps twelve feet high; the second perhaps twenty.

  Behind the ramparts I could see the blaze of weaponry and the movement of blue helmets.

  We were within crossbow range.

  I motioned to the others to remain back and, carrying a shield and spear in addition to my sword, approached the rampart.

  On the roof of the palace beyond the double rampart I could occasionally see the head of a tarn and I heard their screams. Tarns, however, would not be too effective against the rebels in the city. Many of them had cut long bows and many of them were armed with the spears and crossbows of fallen warriors. It would be risky business coming close enough to bring talons into play.

  And should the warriors have attempted to use the tarns merely to fire down on the crowd, they would have suddenly found the streets deserted, until the shadow of the bird had passed and the rebels could move another hundred yards closer to the palace. Trained infantry, incidentally, might move rapidly through the streets of a city with shields locked over their heads, much in the fashion of the Roman testudo, but this formation requires discipline and precision, martial virtues not to be expected in high degree of the rebels of Tharna.

  About a hundred yards from the rampart I put down the shield and spear, signifying a temporary truce.

  A tall figure appeared on the rampart and did as I had done.

  Though he wore the blue helmet of Tharna I knew that it was Thorn. Once again I began to approach the rampart.

  It seemed a long walk.

  Step by step I climbed the black avenue wondering if the truce would be respected. If Dorna the Proud had ruled upon that rampart rather than Thorn, a Captain, and a member of my own caste, I was certain that a bolt from some crossbow would have pierced my body without warning. When at last I stood unslain on the black cobblestones at the foot of the double rampart I knew that though Dorna the Proud might rule in Tharna, though it might be she who sat upon the golden throne of the city, that it was the word of a warrior that ruled on those ramparts above me. "Tal, Warrior," said Thorn, removing his helmet.

  "Tal, Warrior," I said.

  Thorn" s eyes were clearer now than I remembered them, and the large body which had been tending to corpulence had, in the stress of fighting, hardened into muscular vigour. The purplish patches that marked his yellowish face seemed less pronounced now than before. Two strands of hair still marked his chin in parallel streaks and on the back of his head his long hair was still bound in a Mongol knot. The now clear, oblique eyes regarded me.

  "I should have killed you on the Pillar of Exchanges," said Thorn. I spoke loudly so that my voice might carry to all who manned the double rampart.

  "I come on behalf of Lara, who is true Tatrix of Tharna. Sheathe your weapons. No more shed the blood of men of your own city. I ask this in the name of Lara, and of the city of Tharna and its people. And I ask it in the name of the codes of your own caste, for your swords are pledged to the true Tatrix — Lara — not Dorna the Proud!"

  I could sense the reaction of the men behind the rampart.

  Thorn too now spoke loudly for the benefit of the warriors. "Lara is dead. Dorna is Tatrix of Tharna."

  "I live!" cried a voice behind me and I turned and to my dismay I saw that Lara had followed me to the rampart. If
she were killed the hopes of the rebels might well be blasted, and the city plunged interminably into civil strife.

  Thorn looked at the girl and I admired the coolness with which he regarded her. His mind must have been in tumult for he could not have expected that the girl produced by the rebels as the true Tatrix would actually be Lara. "She is not Lara," he said coldly.

  "I am," she cried.

  "The Tatrix of Tharna," sneered Thorn, looking on the unconcealed features of Lara, "wears a golden mask."

  "The Tatrix of Tharna," said Lara, "no longer chooses to wear a mask of gold."

  "Where did you get this camp wench, this imposter?" asked Thorn. "I purchased her from a slaver," I said.

  Thorn laughed and his men behind the barricade laughed too. "The slaver to whom you sold her," I added.

  Thorn laughed no longer. I called out to the men behind the barricade. "I returned this girl — your Tatrix — to the Pillar of Exchanges where I gave her into the hands of Thorn, this Captain, and Dorna the Proud. Then treacherously I was set upon and sent to the Mines of Tharna, and Dorna the Proud and Thorn, this captain, seized Lara, your Tatrix, and sold her into slavery — sold her to the slave Targo, whose camp is now at the Fair of En" Kara, sold her for the sum of fifty silver tarn disks!"

  "What he says is false," shouted Thorn.

  I heard a voice from behind the barricade, a young voice. "Dorna the Proud wears a necklace of fifty silver tarn disks!"

  "Dorna the Proud is bold indeed," I cried, "to flaunt the very coins whereby her rival — your true Tatrix — was delivered into the chains of a slave girl!"

  There was a mutter of indignation, some angry shouts from the barricade. "He lies," said Thorn.

  "You heard him," I cried, "say to me that he should have killed me on the Pillar of Exchanges! You know that it was I who stole your Tatrix at the Amusements of Tharna. Why should I have gone to the Pillar of Exchanges if not to surrender her to the envoys of Tharna?"

  A voice cried out from behind the barricade. "Why did you not take more men with you to the Pillar of Exchanges, Thorn of Tharna?"

  Thorn turned angrily in the direction of the voice.

  I responded to the question. "Is it not obvious?" I asked. "He wanted to protect the secret of his plan to abduct the Tatrix and put Dorna the Proud upon her throne."

  Another man appeared at the top of the barricade. He removed his helmet. I saw that it was the young warrior whose wound Lara and I had tended on the wall of Tharna.

  "I believe this warrior!" he cried, pointing down at me.

  "It is a trick to divide us!" cried Thorn. "Back to your post!" Other warriors in the blue helmets and grey tunics of Tharna had climbed to the top of the barricade, to see more clearly what befell.

  "Back to your posts!" cried Thorn.

  "You are warriors!" I cried. "Your swords are pledged to your city, to its walls, to your people and your Tatrix! Serve her!"

  "I shall serve the true Tatrix of Tharna!" cried the young warrior. He leaped down from the barricade and laid his sword on the stones at Lara" s feet.

  "Take up your sword," she said, "in the name of Lara, true Tatrix of Tharna."

  "I do so," he said.

  He knelt on one knee before the girl and grasped the hilt of the weapon. "I take up my sword," he said, "in the name of Lara, who is true Tatrix of Tharna."

  He rose to his feet and saluted the girl with the weapon. "Who is true Tatrix of Tharna!" he cried.

  "That is not Lara!" cried Thorn, pointing to the girl.

  "How can you be so certain?" asked one of the warriors on the wall. Thorn was silent, for how could he claim to know that the girl was not Lara, when presumably he had never looked upon the face of the true Tatrix? "I am she," cried the girl. "Are there none of you here who have served in the Chamber of the Golden Mask? None of you who recognise my voice?" "It is she!" cried one of the men. "I am sure!" He removed his helmet. "You are Stam," she said, "first guardsman of the north gate and can cast your spear farther than any man of Tharna. You were first in the military games of En" Kara in the second year of my reign."

  Another warrior removed his helmet.

  "You are Tai," said she, "a tarnsman, wounded in the war with Thentis in the year before I ascended the Throne of Tharna."

  Yet another man took from his head the blue helmet.

  "I do not know you," she said.

  The men on the wall murmured.

  "You could not," said the man, "for I am a mercenary of Ar who took service in Tharna only within the time of the revolt."

  "She is Lara!" cried another man. He leaped down from the wall and placed his sword also on the stones at her feet.

  Once again she graciously requested that the weapon be lifted in her name, and it was.

  One of the blocks of the barricade tumbled into the street. The warriors were dismantling it.

  Thorn had disappeared from the wall.

  Slowly the rebels, waved ahead by me, approached the wall. They had cast down their weapons and, singing, they marched to the palace.

  The soldiers streamed over the barricade and met them in the avenue with joy. The men of Tharna seized one another in their arms and claspled their hands in concord. Rebels and defenders mingled gladly in the street and brother sought brother among those who had minutes before been mortal foes. My arm about Lara, I walked through the barricade, and behind us came the young warrior, others of the defenders of the barricade, and Kron, Andreas, Linna and many of the rebels.

  Andreas had brought with him the shield and spear which I had put down in token of truce, and I took these weapons from him. We approached the small iron door that gave access to the palace, I in the lead.

  I called for a torch.

  The door was loose and I kicked it open, covering myself with the shield. Within there was only silence and darkness.

  The rebel who had been first on the chain in the mines thrust a torch in my hands.

  I held this in the opening.

  The floor seemed solid, but this time I knew the dangers it concealed. A long plank from the scaffolding of the barricade was brought and we laid this from the threshold across the floor.

  The torch lifted high, I entered, careful to stay on the plank. This time the trap did not open and I found myself in a narrow unlit hallway opposite the door to the palace.

  "Wait here," I commanded the others.

  I did not listen to their protests but saying no more began my torchlit journey through the now darkened labyrinth of the palace corridors. My memory and sense of direction began to carry me unerringly from hall to hall, guiding me swiftly toward the Chamber of the Golden Mask. I encountered no one.

  The silence seemed uncanny and the darkness startling after the bright sunlight of the street outside. I could hear nothing but the quiet, almost noiseless sound of my own sandals on the stones of the corridor. The palace was perhaps deserted.

  At last I came to the Chamber of the Golden Mask.

  I leaned against the heavy doors and swung them open.

  Inside there was light. The torches on the walls still burned. Behind the golden throne of the Tatrix loomed the dull gold mask, fashioned in the image of a cold and beautiful woman, the reflection of the torches set in the walls flickering hideously on its polished surface.

  On the throne there sat a woman clad in the golden robes and mask of the Tatrix of Tharna. About her neck was a necklace of silver tarn disks. On the steps before the throne there stood a warrior, fully armed, who held in his hands the blue helmet of his city.

  Thorn lowered his helmet slowly over his features. He loosened the sword in its scabbard. He unslung his shield and the long, broad-headed spear from his left shoulder.

  "I have been waiting for you," he said.

  Chapter Twenty-Five: THE ROOF OF THE PALACE

  The war cries of Tharna and Ko-ro-ba mingled as Thorn hurled himself down the stairs toward me and I raced toward him. Both of us cast our spears at the same instant and the t
wo weapons passed one another like tawny blurs of lightning. Both of us had in casting our weapon inclined our shields in such a way as to lessen the impact of a direct hit. Both of us cast well and the jolt of the massive missile thundering on my shield spun me half about.

  The bronze head of the spear had cut through the brass loops on the shield and pierced the seven hardened concentric layers of bosk hide which formed it. The shield, so encumbered, was useless. Hardly had my shield been penetrated when my sword leaped from its sheath and slashed through the shoulder straps of the shield, cutting it from my arm.

  Only an instant after myself Thorn" s shield too was flung to the stones of the chamber floor. My spear had been driven a yard through it and the head had passed over his left shoulder as he crouched behind it.

  His sword too was free of its sheath and we rushed on one another like larls in the Voltai, our weapons meeting with a sharp, free clash of sound, the trembling brilliant ring of well-tempered blades, each tone ringing in the clear, glittering music of swordplay.

  Seemingly almost impassive, the golden-robed figure on the throne watched the two warriors moving backward and forward before her, one clad in the blue helmet and grey tunic of Tharna, the other in the universal scarlet of the Gorean Caste of Warriors.

  Our reflections fought one another in the shimmering surface of the great golden mask behind the throne.

  Our wild shadows like misformed giants locked in combat against the lofty walls of the torchlit chamber.

  Then there was but one reflection and but one gigantic, grotesque shadow cast upon the walls of the Chamber of the Golden Mask.

  Thorn lay at my feet.

  I kicked the sword from the hand and turned over the body with my foot. Its chest shook under the stained tunic; its mouth bit at the air as if trying to catch it as it escaped its throat. The head rolled sideways on the stones.

  "You fought well," I said.

  "I have won," he said, the words spit out in a sort of whisper, a contorted grin on his face.

  I wondered what he might mean.

  I stepped back from the body and looked to the woman upon the throne. Slowly, numbly, she descended the throne, step by step, and then to my amazement she fell to her knees beside Thorn and lowered her head to his bloody chest weeping.