Nomads of Gor

by John Norman

  "The feast is done," said Kamchak.

  The guests and the captives, led by those who would claim them, faded from the room.

  Kamchak stood before the throne of Phanius Turmus, the purple robe of the Ubar over one shoulder, and looked at the overturned tables, the spilled cups, the remains of the feast. Only he, Harold and I remained in the great throne room.

  "What is the matter?" I asked him.

  "The wagons and bosk are under attack," he said.

  "By whom?" cried Harold.

  "Paravaci," said Kamchak.

  23

  The Battle at the Wagons

  Kamchak had had his flying columns followed by some two dozen of the wagons, mostly containing supplies. On one of these wagons, with the top removed, were the two tarns Harold and I had stolen from the roof of Saphrar's keep. They had been brought for us, thinking that they might be of use in the warfare in the city or in the transportation of goods or men. A tarn can, incidentally, without difficulty, carry a knotted rope of seven to ten men.

  Harold and I, mounted on kaiila, raced toward these wagons. Thundering behind each of us was a Thousand, which would continue on toward the main Tuchuk encampment, several Ahn away. Harold and I would take a tarn each and he would go to the Kassars and I to the Kataii, begging their help. I had little hope that either of these peoples would come to the aid of Tuchuks. Then, on the path to the main Tuchuk encampment, Harold and I were each to join our Thousand, subsequently doing what we could to protect the bosk and wagons. Kamchak would meanwhile marshal his forces within the city, preparing to withdraw, Kutaituchik unavenged, to ride back against the Paravaci.

  I had learned to my surprise that the Ubars of the Kassars, Kataii and Paravaci were, respectively, Conrad, Hakimba and Tolnus, the very three I had first encountered with Kamchak on the plains of Turia when first I came to the Wagon Peoples. What I had taken to be merely a group of four outriders had actually been a gathering of Ubars of the Wagon Peoples. I should have known that no four common warriors of the four peoples would have ridden together. Further, the Kassars, the Kataii and the Paravaci did not reveal their true Ubars with any greater willingness than the Tuchuks had. Each people, as the Tuchuks had, had its false Ubar, its decoy to protect the true Ubar from danger or assassination. But, Kamchak had assured me, Conrad, Hakimba and Tolnus were indeed the true Ubars of their peoples.

  I was nearly slain by arrows when I dropped the tarn amidst the startled blacks of the Kataii, but my black jacket with the emblem of the four bosk horns, emblem of the Tuchuk courier, soon proved its worth and I was led to the dais of the Ubar of the Kataii. I was permitted to speak directly to Hakimba, when I made it clear to my escort that I knew the identity of their true Ubar and that it was with him I must speak.

  As I expected, Hakimba's brown eyes and richly scarred countenance showed little interest in my presentation of the plight of the Tuchuks.

  It was little to him, apparently, that the Paravaci should raid the herds and wagons of the Tuchuks when most of the Tuchuk warriors were engaged in Turia. He did not, on the other hand, approve of the fact that the raid had taken place during the Omen Year, which is a time of general truce among the Wagon Peoples. I sensed, however, that he was angry when I spoke of the probable complicity of the Paravaci with the Turians, striking when and how they did, even during the Omen Year, presumably to draw the Tuchuks away from Turia. In short, though Hakimba did not approve of the Paravaci action and was incensed at their presumed league with the Turians, he did not feel sufficiently strongly to invest his own men in a struggle that did not seem to concern him directly.

  "We have our own wagons," said Hakimba, at last. "Our wagons are not the wagons of the Tuchuks—or of the Kassars—or of the Paravaci. If the Paravaci attack our wagons, we will fight. We will not fight until then."

  Hakimba was adamant and it was with a heavy heart that I climbed once more to the saddle of my tarn.

  In the saddle I said to him, "I have heard that the Paravaci are killing bosk."

  Hakimba looked up. "Killing bosk?" he asked, skeptically.

  "Yes," I said, "and cutting out the nose rings to sell in Turia after the Tuchuks withdraw."

  "That is bad," said Hakimba, "killing bosk."

  "Will you help?" I asked.

  "We have our own wagons," said Hakimba. "We will watch our own wagons."

  "What will you do," I asked, "if in another year the Paravaci and the Turians turn on the Kataii—and kill their bosk?"

  "The Paravaci," said Hakimba slowly, "would like to be the one people—and own the grass of all the prairie—and all the bosk."

  "Will you not fight?" I demanded.

  "If the Paravaci attack us," said Hakimba, "then we will fight." Hakimba looked up. "We have our own wagons," he said. "We will watch our own wagons."

  I drew on the one-strap and took the tarn into the air, striking out across the prairie skies to intercept my Thousand on its way to the wagons of the Tuchuks.

  In my flight I could see at one point the Omen Valley, where the haruspexes were still working about their numerous, smoking altars. I laughed bitterly.

  In a few Ehn I had overtaken my Thousand and given the tarn over to five men, who would keep it until its wagon should, following the tracks of the riders, reach them.

  Within perhaps the Ahn a grim, angry Harold brought his tarn down between the two columns, that of his Thousand and of mine. It took only a moment for him to give the tarn into the keeping of some five warriors and leap on the back of his kaiila. I had noted, to my satisfaction, that he now handled the tarn rather well. He had apparently, in the past several days since our escape from Saphrar's keep, been familiarizing himself with the saddle straps and the bird's habits and responses. But he was not elated as he rode beside me nor did he speak lightly.

  Like my own mission to the Kataii, Harold's mission to the Kassars had been fruitless. For much the same reasons as the Kataii, Conrad was unwilling to commit his forces to the defense of Tuchuk herds. Indeed, as we rode together, we wondered that Kamchak had even sent us on an errand so unlikely of success, an errand in its way, considering the temper of the Wagon Peoples, so foolish.

  Our kaiila were spent when we reached the wagons of the Tuchuks and the herds, and we were only two thousand. Hundreds of the wagons were burning and fighting was taking place among them. We found thousands of bosk slain in the grass, their throats cut, their flesh rotting, the golden nose rings chopped or torn away.

  The men behind us cried out with rage.

  Harold took his Thousand into the Wagons, engaging the Paravaci wherever he could find them. I knew that in little more than fifteen or twenty Ehn his forces would be lost, dissipated among the wagons, and yet surely the Paravaci must be met and fought there as well as on the prairie. I swept with my Thousand about the outskirts of the herds until we found some hundred or two hundred Paravaci engaged in the grisly work of destroying Tuchuk bosk. These two hundred, afoot, suddenly looking up with their quivas and axes, startled, screaming, were ridden down in a matter of an Ehn. But then we could see, forming on the crest of a hill, thousands of Paravaci warriors, apparently held in readiness in case reinforcements should come. Already they were mounting their fresh, rested kaiila. We could hear the bosk horns forming their Hundreds, see the movements of the sunlight on their arms.

  Raising my arm and shouting, I led the Thousand toward them, hoping to catch them before they could form and charge. Our bosk horns rang out and my brave Thousand, worn in the saddle, weary, on spent kaiila, without a murmur or a protest, turned and following my lead struck into the center of the Paravaci forces.

  In an instant we were embroiled among angry men—the half-formed, disorganized Hundreds of the Paravaci—striking to the left and right, shouting the war cry of the Tuchuks. I did not wish to remain on the crest of the hill long enough to allow the left and right flanks of the Paravaci—rapidly assembling—to fold about my men and so, in less than four Ehn—as their disorganiz
ed, astonished center fell back—our bosk horn sounded our retreat and our men, as one, withdrew to the herds—only a moment before the left and right flanks of the Paravaci would have closed upon us. We left them facing one another, cursing, while we moved slowly back through our bosk, keeping them as a shield. We would remain close enough that small parties would not be able to approach the bosk with impunity again. If they sent archers forth to slay the beasts, we could, from within the herd, answer their fire, or, if we wished, open the herd and ride forth, scattering the archers.

  Among the bosk I ordered my men to rest.

  But the Paravaci neither sent forth small groups nor contingents of archers, but formed and, en masse, riding over the bodies of their fallen comrades, began to approach the herd slowly, to move through it, slaying them as they went, and close with us.

  Once again our bosk horns sounded and this time my Thousand began to cry out and jab the animals with their lances, turning them toward the Paravaci. Thousands of animals were already turned toward the approaching enemy and beginning to walk toward them when the Paravaci suddenly realized what was happening. Now the bosk began to move more swiftly, bellowing and snorting. And then, as the Paravaci bosk horns sounded frantically, our bosk began to run, their mighty heads with the fearsome horns nodding up and down, and the earth began to tremble and my men cried out more and jabbed animals, riding with the flood and the Paravaci with cries of horror that coursed the length of their entire line tried to stop and turn their kaiila but the ranks behind them pressed on and they were milling there before us, confused, trying to make sense out of the wild signals of their own bosk horns when the herd, horns down, now running full speed, struck them.

  It was the vengeance of the bosk and the frightened, maddened animals thundered into the Paravaci lines goring and trampling both kaiila and riders, and the Paravaci who could manage turned their animals and rode for their lives.

  In a moment, maintaining my saddle in spite of the leaping and stumbling of my kaiila over the slain bosk, fallen kaiila and screaming men, I gave orders to turn the bosk back and reform them near the wagons. The escaping Paravaci could now, on their kaiila, easily outdistance the herd and I did not wish the animals to be strung out over the prairie, at the mercy of the Paravaci when they should at last turn and take up the battle again.

  By the time the Paravaci had reformed my Tuchuks had managed to swing the herd, slow it, get it milling about and then drive it back to a perimeter about the wagons.

  It was now near nightfall and I was confident the Paravaci, who greatly outnumbered us, perhaps in the order of ten or twenty to one, would wait until morning before pressing the advantage of their numbers. When, on the whole, the long-term balance of battle would seem to lie with them, there would be little point in their undertaking the risk of darkness.

  In the morning, however, they would presumably avoid the herd, find a clear avenue of attack, and strike, perhaps even through the wagons, pinning us against our own herd.

  That night I met with Harold, whose men had been fighting among the wagons. He had cleared several areas of Paravaci but they were still, here and there, among the wagons. Taking council with Harold, we dispatched a rider to Kamchak in Turia, informing him of the situation, and that we had little hope of holding out.

  "It will make little difference," said Harold. "It will take the rider, if he gets through, seven Ahn to reach Turia and even if Kamchak rides with his full force the moment the rider comes to the gates of the city, it will be eight Ahn before their vanguard can reach us—and by then it will be too late."

  It seemed to me that what Harold said was true, and that there was little point in discussing it much further. I nodded wearily.

  Both Harold and I then spoke with our men, each issuing orders that any man with us who wished might now withdraw from the wagons and rejoin the main forces in Turia. Not a man of either Thousand moved.

  We set pickets and took what rest we could, in the open, the kaiila saddled and tethered at hand.

  In the morning, before dawn, we awakened and fed on dried bosk meat, sucking the dew from the prairie grass.

  Shortly after dawn we discovered the Paravaci forming in their Thousands away from the herd, preparing to strike the wagons from the north, pressing through, slaying all living things they might encounter, save women, slave or free. The latter would be driven before the warriors through the wagons, both slave girls and free women stripped and bound together in groups, providing shields against arrows and lance charges on kaiilaback for the men advancing behind them. Harold and I determined to appear to meet the Paravaci in the open—before the wagons—and then, when they charged, to withdraw among the wagons, and close the wagons on their attacking front, halting the charge, then at almost point-blank range hopefully taking heavy toll of their forces by our archers. It would be, of course, only a matter of time before our barricade would be forced or outflanked, perhaps from five pasangs distant, in an undefended sector.

  The battle was joined at the seventh Gorean hour and, as planned, as soon as the Paravaci center was committed, the bulk of our forces wheeled and retreated among the wagons, the rest of our forces then turning and pushing the wagons together. As soon as our men were through the barricade they leaped from their kaiila, bow and quiver in hand, and took up prearranged positions under the wagons, between them, on them, and behind the wagon box planking, taking advantage of the arrow ports therein.

  The brunt of the Paravaci charge almost tipped and broke through the wagons, but we had lashed them together and they held. It was like a flood of kaiila and riders, weapons flourishing, that broke and piled against the wagons, the rear ranks pressing forward on those before them. Some of the rear ranks actually climbed fallen and struggling comrades and leaped over the wagons to the other side, where they were cut down by archers and dragged from their kaiila to be flung beneath the knives of free Tuchuk women.

  At a distance of little more than a dozen feet thousands of arrows were poured into the trapped Paravaci and yet they pressed forward, on and over their brethren, and then, arrows spent, we met them on the wagons themselves with lances in our hands, thrusting them back and down.

  About a pasang distant we could see new forces of the Paravaci forming on the crest of a sweeping gradient.

  The sound of their bosk horns was welcome to us, signaling the retreat of those at the wagons.

  Bloody, covered with sweat, gasping, we saw the living Paravaci draw back, falling back between the newly forming lines on the gradient above.

  I issued orders swiftly and exhausted men poured from beneath and between the wagons to haul as many of the fallen kaiila and riders as possible from the wagons, that there might not be a wall of dying animals and men giving access to the height of our wagons.

  Scarcely had we cleared the ground before the wagons when the Paravaci bosk horns sounded again and another wave of kaiila and riders, lances set, raced towards us. Four times they charged thus and four times we held them back.

  My men and those of Harold had now been decimated and there were few that had not lost blood. I estimated that there was scarcely a quarter of those living who had ridden with us to the defense of the herds and wagons.

  Once again Harold and I issued our orders that any wishing to depart might now do so.

  Again no man moved.

  "Look," cried an archer, pointing to the gradient.

  There we could see new thousands forming, the standards of Hundreds and Thousands taking up their position.

  "It is the Paravaci main body," said Harold. "It is the end."

  I looked to the left and right over the torn, bloody barricade of wagons, at the remains of my men, wounded and exhausted, many of them lying on the barricade or on the ground behind it, trying to gain but a moment's respite. Free women, and even some Turian slave girls, went to and fro, bringing water and, here and there, where there was point in it, binding wounds. Some of the Tuchuks began to sing the Blue Sky Song, the refrain
of which is that though I die, yet there will be the bosk, the grass and sky.

  I stood with Harold on a planked platform fixed across the wagon box of the wagon at our center, whose domed framework had been torn away. Together we looked out over the field. We watched the milling of kaiila and riders in the distance, the movement of standards.

  "We have done well," said Harold.

  "Yes," I said, "I think so."

  We heard the bosk horns of the Paravaci signaling to the assembled Thousands.

  "I wish you well," said Harold.

  I turned and smiled at him. "I wish you well," I said.

  Then again we heard the bosk horns and the Paravaci, in vast ranks, like sweeping crescents, like steel scythes of men and animals and arms, far extending beyond our own lines, began to move slowly towards us, gaining steadily in momentum and speed with each traversed yard of stained prairie.

  Harold and I, and those of our men that remained, stood with the wagons, watching the nearing waves of warriors, observing the moment when the chain face guards of the Paravaci helmets were thrown forward, the moment when the lances, like that of a single man, were leveled. We could now hear the drumming of the paws of the kaiila, growing ever more rapid and intense, the squealing of animals here and there along the line, the rustle of weapons and accouterments.

  "Listen!" cried Harold.

  I listened, but seemed to hear only the maddeningly intensifying thunder of the Paravaci kaiila sweeping towards us, but then I heard, from the far left and right, the sound of distant bosk horns.

  "Bosk horns!" cried Harold.

  "What does it matter?" I asked.

  I wondered how many Paravaci there could possibly be.

  I watched the nearing warriors, lances ready, the swiftness of the charge hurtling into full career.

  "Look!" cried Harold, sweeping his hand to the left and right.

  My heart sank. Suddenly rising over the crest of rolling hills, like black floods, from both the left and the right, I saw on racing kaiila what must have been thousands of warriors, thousands upon thousands.