by John Norman
"Be patient," giggled Saphrar. "Be patient, my impetuous young friend. Your turn will come!"
I stood as still as I could. My feet and legs felt cold and yet as if they were burning—presumably the acids of the pool were at work. As nearly as I could determine the pool was thick, rubbery, gelatinous, only in the area near to my body. I could see it rippling, and splashing a bit against the edge of the marbled basin. Indeed, it was even lower toward the edge now, and had humped itself in my vicinity, as though in time it might climb my body and, in some hours perhaps, engulf me. But doubtless by then I would have been half digested, much of me little more than a cream of fluids and proteins then mixing with and nourishing the substance of my devourer—the Yellow Pool of Turia.
I pushed now, with all my might, not toward the edge of the marbled basin, but rather toward the deepest part of the pool. To my satisfaction I found that I could move, though barely, in this direction. The pool was content that I should enter it more deeply, perhaps it even desired that I do so, that its meal might be even more readily obtained.
"What is he doing?" cried the Paravaci.
"He is mad," said Saphrar.
Each inch I moved toward the center of the pool my journey became easier. Then suddenly, the yellow, encircling cementlike substance had oozed from my limbs and I could take two or three free steps. The fluid was now, however, to my armpits. One of the luminescent, white spheres floated by, quite close to me. To my horror I saw it change its shade as it neared the surface, more closely approaching the light. As it had risen toward the surface, just beneath which it now rested, its pigmentation had changed from a luminescent white to a rather darkish gray. It was clearly photosensitive. I reached out and slashed at it with the quiva, cutting it, and it withdrew suddenly, rolling in the fluid, and the pool itself seemed suddenly to churn with steam and light. Then it was quiet again. Yet somehow I knew now the pool, like all forms of life, had some level of irritability. More of the luminescent, white orbs now floated about me, circling me, but none of them now approached closely enough to allow me to use the quiva.
I splashed across the center of the pool, literally swimming. As soon as I had crossed the center I felt the fluids of the pool once again begin to gel and tighten. By the time I had reached the level of my waist on the opposite side I could, once again, no longer move toward the edge of the pool. I tried this twice more, in different directions, with identically the same result. Always, the luminescent, photosensitive orbs seemed to float behind me and around me in the fluid. Then I was swimming freely in the yellow fluid at the center of the pool. Beneath me, vaguely, several feet under the surface, I could see a collection, almost like threads and granules in a transparent bag, of intertwined, writhing filaments and spheres, imbedded in a darkish yellow jelly, walled in by a translucent membrane.
Quiva in my teeth I dove toward the deepest part of the Yellow Pool of Turia, where glowed the quickness and substance of the living thing in which I swam.
Almost instantly as I submerged the fluid beneath me began to jell, walling me away from the glowing mass at the bottom of the pool but, hand over hand, pulling at it and thrusting my way, I forced my way deeper and deeper into it. Finally I was literally digging in it feet below the surface. My lungs began to scream for air. Still I dug in the yellow fluid, hands and fingernails bleeding, and then, when it seemed my lungs would burst and darkness was engulfing me and I would lose consciousness, I felt a globular, membranous tissue, wet and slimy, recoil spasmodically from my touch. Upside down, locked in the gelling fluid, I took the quiva from my mouth and, with both hands, pressed down with the blade against that twitching, jerking, withdrawing membrane. It seemed that the living, amorphous globe of matter which I struck began to move away, slithering away in the yellow fluids, but I pursued it, one hand in the torn membrane and continued to slash and tear at it. Crowded about my body now were entangling filaments and spheres trying, like hands and teeth, to tear me from my work, but I struck and tore again and again and then entered the secret world beneath the membrane slashing to the left and right and suddenly the fluid began to loosen and withdraw above me and within the membranous chamber it began to solidify against me and push me out—I stayed as long as I could but, lungs wrenching, at last permitted myself to be thrust from the membranous chamber and hurled into the loose fluid above. Now below me the fluid began to gel swiftly almost like a rising floor and it loosened and withdrew on all sides and suddenly my head broke the surface and I breathed. I now stood on the hardened surface of the Yellow Pool of Turia and saw the fluids of the sides seeping into the mass beneath me and hardening almost instantly. I stood now on a warm, dry globular mass, almost like a huge, living shell. I could not have scratched the surface with the quiva.
"Kill him!" I heard Saphrar cry, and there was suddenly the hiss of a crossbow quarrel which streaked past me and shattered on the curving wall behind me. Standing now on the high, humped dried thing—lofty on that protective coating—I leaped easily up and seized one of the low hanging vines and climbed rapidly toward the blue ceiling of the chamber. I heard another hiss and saw a bolt from the crossbow shatter through the crystalline blue substance. One of the crossbowmen had leaped to the now dry floor of the marble basin and stood almost beneath me, his crossbow raised. I knew I would not be able to elude his quarrel. Then suddenly I heard his agonized cry and saw that beneath me, once again, there glistened the yellow fluids of the pool, moving about him, for the thing—perhaps thermotropic—had again, as rapidly as it had hardened, liquefied and swirled about him, the luminescent spheres and filaments visible beneath its surface. The crossbow bolt went wild, again shattering the blue surface of the dome. I heard the wild, eerie cry of the luckless man beneath me and then, with my fist, broke the blue surface and climbed through, grasping the iron of a reticulated framework supporting numerous energy bulbs.
Far off, it seemed, I could hear Saphrar screeching for more guards.
I ran over the iron framework until, judging by the distance and curve of the dome, I had reached a point above where Harold and I had waited at the edge of the pool. There, quiva in hand, uttering the war cry of Ko-ro-ba, feet first, I leaped from the framework and shattered through the blue surface landing among my startled enemies. The crossbowmen were each winding their string tight for a new quarrel. The quiva had sought and found the heart of two before even they realized I was upon them. Then another fell. Harold, wrists still bound behind his back, hurled himself against two men and, screaming, they pitched backward into the Yellow Pool of Turia. Saphrar cried out and darted away.
The remaining two guardsmen, who had no crossbows, simultaneously whipped out their swords. Behind them, quiva poised in his fingertips, I could see the hooded Paravaci.
I shielded myself from the flight of the Paravaci quiva by rushing towards the two guardsmen. But before I reached them my quiva, with the underhand hilt cast, had struck the guardsman on my left. I moved to his right and from his strengthless hand, even before he fell, tore his weapon.
"Down!" cried Harold, and I fell to the floor barely sensible of the silverish quiva of the Paravaci speeding overhead. I took the attack of the second guardsman by rolling on my back and flinging up my blade in defense. Four times he struck and each time I parried and then I had regained my feet. He fell back from my blade, turned once and fell into the glistening, living liquid of the Yellow Pool of Turia.
I spun to face the Paravaci but he, weaponless, with a curse, turned and fled from the room.
From the breast of the first guardsman I removed the quiva, wiping it on his tunic.
I stepped to Harold and with one motion severed the bonds that constrained him.
"Not badly done for a Koroban," he granted.
We heard running feet approaching, those of several men, the clank of arms, the high-pitched, enraged screaming of Saphrar of Turia.
"Hurry!" I cried.
Together we ran about the perimeter of the pool until we came to a tangle of vines dependin
g from the ceiling, up which we climbed, broke through the blue substance, and cast wildly about for an avenue of escape. There would be such, for the ceiling had been unbroken by a door or panel, and there must surely be some provision for the rearrangement and replacement of energy bulbs. We quickly found the exit, though it was only a panel some two feet by two feet, of a size for slaves to crawl through. It was locked but we kicked it open, splintering the bolt from the wood, and emerged on a narrow, unrailed balcony.
I had the guardsman's sword and my quiva, Harold his quiva alone.
He had, running swiftly, climbed up the outside of a dome concentric to the one below, and was there looking about.
"There it is!" he cried.
"What?" I demanded. "Tarns! Kaiila!"
"No," he cried, "Saphrar's Pleasure Gardens!" and disappeared down the other side of the dome.
"Come back!" I cried.
But he was gone.
Angry, I sped about the dome, not wishing to silhouette myself against the sky on its curve, lest there be enemy bowmen within range.
About a hundred and fifty yards away, over several small roofs and domes, all within the vast compound that was the House of Saphrar of Turia, I saw the high walls of what was undoubtedly a Pleasure Garden. I could see, here and there, on the inside, the tops of graceful flower trees.
I could also see Harold bounding along, from roof to roof, in the light of the three moons.
Furious I followed him.
Could I have but put my hands on him at the time I might have wrung a Tuchuk neck.
I now saw him leap to the wall and, scarcely looking about, run along and then leap to the swaying trunk of one of the flower trees and descend swiftly into the darkness of the gardens.
In a moment I followed him.
19
Harold Finds a Wench
I had no difficulty finding Harold. Indeed, coming down the segmented trunk of the flower tree, I almost landed on top of him. He was sitting with his back to the tree, puffing, resting.
"I have formed a plan," he said to me.
"That is good news indeed," I responded. "Does it include some provision for escaping?"
"I have not yet formed that part of it," he admitted.
I leaned back against the tree, breathing heavily. "Would it not have been a good idea to reach the streets immediately?" I asked.
"The streets will be searched," puffed Harold, "—immediately—by all the guardsmen and men-at-arms in the city." He took two or three deep breaths. "It will never occur to them to search the Pleasure Gardens," he said. "Only fools would try to hide there."
I closed my eyes briefly. I felt ready to concede his last point.
"You are aware, of course," I mentioned, "that the Pleasure Gardens of so rich a man as Saphrar of Turia may contain a large number of female slaves—not all of whom might be trusted to keep silent—and some of whom will undoubtedly notice something as unusual as two strange warriors wandering about among the shrubs and ferns?"
"That is true," said Harold, "but I do not expect to be here by morning." He picked up a stalk of a patch of violet grass, one of several hues used in such gardens, and began to chew on it. "I think," said he, "an hour or so will be sufficient—perhaps less."
"Sufficient for what?" I asked.
"For tarnsmen to be called in to aid in the search," he said. "Their movements will undoubtedly be coordinated in the house of Saphrar—and some tarns and their riders, if only messengers or officers—will surely be available."
Suddenly there seemed to me a real possibility in Harold's plan. Undoubtedly tarnsmen, mounted, would come from time to time during the night to the House of Saphrar.
"You are clever," I said.
"Of course," he said, "I am a Tuchuk."
"But I thought you told me," I said, "that your plan did not yet contain a provision for escape."
"At the time," he said, "it did not—but while sitting here I formed it."
"Well," I said, "I am glad."
"Something always comes to me," he said. "I am a Tuchuk."
"What do you suggest we do now?" I asked.
"For the time," said Harold, "let us rest."
"Very well," I said.
And so we sat with our backs against the flower tree in the House of Saphrar, merchant of Turia. I looked at the lovely, dangling loops of interwoven blossoms which hung from the curved branches of the tree. I knew that the clusters of flowers which, cluster upon cluster, graced those linear, hanging stems, would each be a bouquet in itself, for the trees are so bred that the clustered flowers emerge in subtle, delicate patterns of shades and hues. Besides several of the flower trees there were also some Ka-la-na trees, or the yellow wine trees of Gor; there was one large-trunked, reddish Tur tree, about which curled its assemblage of Tur-Pah, a vinelike tree parasite with curled, scarlet, ovate leaves, rather lovely to look upon; the leaves of the Tur-Pah incidentally are edible and figure in certain Gorean dishes, such as sullage, a kind of soup; long ago, I had heard, a Tur tree was found on the prairie, near a spring, planted perhaps long before by someone who passed by; it was from that Tur tree that the city of Turia took its name; there was also, at one side of the garden, against the far wall, a grove of tem-wood, linear, black, supple. Besides the trees there were numerous shrubs and plantings, almost all flowered, sometimes fantastically; among the trees and the colored grasses there wound curved, shaded walks. Here and there I could hear the flowing of water, from miniature artificial waterfalls and fountains. From where I sat I could see two lovely pools, in which lotuslike plants floated; one of the pools was large enough for swimming; the other, I supposed, was stocked with tiny, bright fish from the various seas and lakes of Gor.
Then I became aware of the flickerings and reflections of light from over the wall, against some of the higher buildings about. I also heard the running of feet, the sound of arms. I could hear someone shouting. Then the noise, the light, passed.
"I have rested," said Harold.
"Good," I said.
"Now," said he, looking about, "I must find myself a wench."
"A wench!" I cried, almost a shout.
"Shhhh," said he, cautioning me to silence.
"Have we not enough troubles?" I inquired.
"Why do you think I came to Turia?" he asked.
"For a wench," I said.
"Certainly," said he, "and I do not intend to depart without one."
I gritted my teeth. "Well," I said, "I am sure there are many about."
"Doubtless," said Harold, getting to his feet, as though he must now be back to work.
I, too, got to my feet.
He had no binding fiber, no slave hood, no tarn. Yet this absence of equipment did not deter him, nor did he seem to regard his deprivations in these particulars as worthy of note.
"It may take a moment to pick out one I like," he apologized.
"That is all right," I assured him, "take your time."
I then followed Harold along one of the smooth, stone paths leading among the trees, brushing our way through the clusters of blossoms, skirting the edge of the nearer blue pool. I could see the three moons of Gor reflected in its surface. They were beautiful shining among the green and white blossoms on the water.
The masses of flowers and vegetation in Saphrar's Pleasure Gardens filled the air with mingled, heavy sweet fragrances. Also the fountains had been scented and the pools.
Harold left the walk and stepped carefully to avoid trampling a patch of talenders, a delicate yellow flower, often associated in the Gorean mind with love and beauty. He made his way across some dark blue and yellowish-orange grass and came to the buildings set against one wall of the gardens. Here we climbed several low, broad marble steps and passed down a columned porch and entered the central building, finding ourselves in a dim, lamp-lit hall, bestrewn with carpets and cushions and decorated, here and there, with carved, reticulated white screening.
There were seven or eight girls, clad in Pl
easure Silks, sleeping in this hall, scattered about, curled up on cushions. Harold inspected them, but did not seem satisfied. I looked them over and would have thought that any one of them would have been a prize, presuming it could be safely transported somehow to the wagons of the Tuchuks. One poor girl slept naked on the tiles by the fountain. About her neck was a thick metal collar to which a heavy iron chain had been fastened; the chain itself was attached to a large iron ring placed in the floor. I supposed she was being disciplined. I immediately began to worry that that girl would be the one who would strike Harold's eye. To my relief, he examined her briefly and passed on.
Soon Harold had left the central hall and was making his way down a long, carpeted, lamp-hung corridor. He entered various rooms off this corridor and, after, I suppose, inspecting their contents, always emerged and trekked off again.
We then examined other corridors and other rooms, and finally returned to the main hall and started off down another way, again encountering corridors and rooms; this we did four times, until we were moving down one of the last corridors, leading from one of the five main corridors off the central hall. I had not kept count but we must have passed by more than seven or eight hundred girls, and still, among all these riches of Saphrar, he could not seem to find the one for which he searched. Several times, one girl or another would roll over or shift in her sleep, or throw out an arm, and my heart would nearly stop, but none of the wenches awakened and we would troop on to the next room.
At last we came to a largish room, but much smaller than the main hall, in which there were some seventeen beauties strewn about, all in Pleasure Silk. The light in the room was furnished by a single tharlarion-oil lamp which hung from the ceiling. It was carpeted by a large red rug on which were several cushions of different colors, mostly yellows and oranges. There was no fountain in the room but, against one wall, there were some low tables with fruits and drinks upon them. Harold looked the girls over and then he went to the low table and poured himself a drink, Ka-la-na wine by the smell of it. He then picked up a juicy, red larma fruit, biting into it with a sound that seemed partly crunching as he went through the shell, partly squishing as he bit into the fleshy, segmented endocarp. He seemed to make a great deal of noise. Although one or two of the girls stirred uneasily, none, to my relief, awakened.