by John Norman
“I wish you well, Slave Girl,” I smiled.
“And I, too, wish you well, Master,” she said.
I then left the tavern. Outside, looking about, I saw a burly, crouched figure, one crouching near some bundles by the tavern wall. I grinned. I approached the figure, and it lifted its head. It growled, and opened its hands, warning me not to approach more closely.
“Krondar!” I said.
The heavy head, scarred, whitishly streaked in the moonlight by the wall, looked at me, puzzled. On its throat was a heavy metal collar. “Master?” it asked.
“Do not call me ‘Master’,” I said. “I am Jason, now free. Once near Vonda we fought.”
“Free?” asked the brute. Then it knelt.
I drew him to his feet “I am Jason,” I said. “Can you remember Jason?” I asked.
It looked at me, in the moonlight. Then there was a heavy chuckle in its throat. “It was a good fight,” he said.
In the moonlight, then, we embraced. We had shared the fellowship of the pit of leather and blood.
“It is good to see you, Krondar,” I said.
“It is good to see you Jason,” said he.
I turned suddenly for I heard steel slipping from a sheath behind me.
Miles of Vonda, angry, stood there, his sword drawn. Behind him, frightened, in her brief gray slave tunic, stood his lovely slave, Florence.
I stepped away from Krondar, and backed up a step. Miles of Vonda, sword ready, advanced a step.
“In the tavern,” said Miles of Vonda, “was it not you who accosted my slave?”
“I spoke with her,” I said.
“Draw your weapon,” said he.
“Do you not know me?” I asked.
“You are Jason,” said he, “who was once a fighting slave.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Draw your weapon,” said he.
“Please, Master,” begged the slave. “He meant no harm! Please!”
“Be silent, Slave,” he snapped.
“Yes, Master,” she said, miserably.
Two or three other men had now gathered about.
“Will it be necessary to slay you with your sword in your sheath?” inquired Miles of Vonda.
“Please, no, Master!” wept Florence, falling to her knees beside him, clutching at him. He spurned her to the side with his foot. She lay there, then, on the stones, weeping. She had spoken without permission. She had sought to interfere in the affairs of men. Tonight she would doubtless be whipped.
“Draw your weapon,” said Miles of Vonda.
More men had now gathered about. One of them had muttered something angrily, when Miles of Vonda had spoken as he had. I saw the hands of several on their swords. I suddenly realized, with a certain amount of gratification, that these fellows were not pleased with what was ensuing. I had learned from Peggy that I was not unknown in Victoria. Men, I now gathered, knew me from the docks. Too, perhaps they had learned of my dismissal of Grat, the Swift, the thief, from Victoria, and how I had entered the tavern of Hibron to extract Miss Henderson from her danger there, though in this I had been unsuccessful. Perhaps they knew, too, of my outspoken displeasure at the wharves when the pirates had looted and burned there, punishing Victoria, for having at that time refused their demands for tribute. With some of these fellows I had drunk, and worked.
“Draw,” said Miles of Vonda.
I do not think Miles of Vonda knew the danger he was in. My major concern now was to save his life.
“I had thought you a man of honor,” I said.
“It is my hope that I am so,” said Miles of Vonda.
“I work on the docks,” I said. Out of the corner of my eye I noted Krondar squaring about, to face several of the men tensed about us. He, at least, knew the danger in which his Master stood. I had little doubt Krondar would charge against several of these men, though he might take five swords in his chest doing so. “How then, as I am a worker on the docks, could I have had the leisure to develop skills with the blade which might be the match of yours?”
Angrily, Miles of Vonda thrust his sword back in its sheath. He need not know that I had taken the leisure, and much of it, as it pleased me, to develop blade skills, nor need he know I was, for my times of training, reasonably adept with the blade. Callimachus was a master and he had lavished intelligence and time on my development. Too, I had discovered, as did not displease me, perhaps as a result of my reflexes and aggressions, that I possessed something of an aptitude for the manipulation of that wicked Gorean blade. Indeed, I suspected that I might find myself at no disadvantage in bladed contest with the proud Vondan. Indeed, I was curious to know if I might kill him. On the other hand, I had no wish to do him injury. And beyond these things, I did not wish for those of Victoria to know of my skills with the blade. Jason, the worker on the docks, and a fellow of some popularity in Victoria, was not thought to be skilled with the blade. As Callimachus pretended still to dereliction to further our projects so, too, I must pretend to ineptness with the blade.
“I shall not kill you,” said Miles of Vonda, irritably.
“That is welcome news,” I said.
I saw the men about relax. Miles of Vonda, although he did not know it, had just saved his own life, and that of Krondar, and possibly that of the slave. Before he could have reached me a dozen blades might have cut him down.
I felt a fondness then for the men of Victoria.
“Krondar,” said Miles of Vonda, indicating me, “beat him.”
“I shall attack him if you wish, Master,” said Krondar, “but I cannot beat him.”
“How then,” asked Miles of Vonda, looking at me, “is my honor in this matter to be satisfied?”
“I do not know,” I said.
He walked up to me and, with the flat of his right hand, gave me a stinging slap. He then drew back and spit upon me. Men cried out angrily. Krondar gasped. Florence cried out with misery. I tensed, but did not respond.
Miles of Vonda then turned about and, gesturing to Krondar to shoulder the burdens he had been guarding, left, walking down the avenue of Lycurgus, followed by Florence, and then later, a few feet behind, by Krondar, bearing his gear.
I wiped my tunic, and then wiped my hand on my thigh.
“Why didn’t you break his neck?” asked one of the men about.
“He is really a good fellow,” I said. “Besides,” I added, “look at the slave girl.” We looked after her, the, scantily clad, auburn-haired beauty heeling her master. “Who would not be jealous of such a slave?” I asked.
“Perhaps you are right,” grinned the man beside me.
Chapter 27 - WHAT OCCURRED ON THE WHARVES, SHORTLY BEFORE MIDNIGHT
It was now the nineteenth Ahn, an Ahn before the twentieth Ahn, the Gorean midnight.
I was more careless than I should have been. I had been thinking of Miles of Vonda and the slave he owned, who had once been the Lady Florence of Vonda. I was pleased with her happiness, and regarded him as a fortunate fellow.
“Hold!” said a voice, menacingly.
I spun about, near a pile of lumber on the wharves. It was lonely there now.
I had no opportunity to draw my sword. The point of the other’s blade was entered into my gut. I backed against the lumber.
“So you have followed me, Miles of Vonda,” I said. He did not respond.
“The mask is not necessary,” I said. “It is dark here, and we are alone.”
The blade drew back a few inches. “Hold your hands at your sides, and kneel, very slowly,” said the man.
I did so.
“Now, slowly, very slowly, place your sword belt and scabbard on the boards,” said the voice.
I slowly slipped the belt and scabbard, with the sheathed blade, from my shoulder, and placed them on the boards.
“You are not Miles of Vonda,” I said. I could now tell that it was not his voice. “Who are you,” I asked, “a brigand?”
He said nothing. I watched the sword.
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“I have some money with me,” I said. “I will give it to you. You do not need to slay me.”
“Do not be a fool,” he said “Where is it?” he said.
“What?” I asked.
“The topaz,” he said.
“You are the courier of Ragnar Voskjard,” I said. It would have been he who would have, to protect himself during the search of the tavern of Cleanthes, by the guardsmen of Ar’s Station, placed the topaz in my pouch. I had not been searched within the tavern because I, like certain others, had been searched outside the tavern, but moments before. He would presumably be an important man, and the security of his identity a closely guarded secret.
“Where is the topaz?” he pressed.
“It was you, was it not,” I asked, “who raided my house, who ransacked it, and put the Lady Beverly under interrogation in the matter of the topaz?”
“I did not find it there,” he said, menacingly.
“But you received something for your trouble,” I reminded him. “You tied the Lady Beverly as a slave and made her beg for her rape, after which you courteously acceded to her request.”
“She was not displeasing,” he said.
“The rape of a free woman is a serious offense,” I said.
“I know women,” he said. “She was a natural slave.”
“I cannot gainsay it,” I said. I had learned in the stronghold of Policrates, the pirate, that the beautiful Miss Henderson was, in her heart, a slave among slaves. It was not inappropriate, thus, but quite appropriate, that she had been subjected to merciless slave rape.
“The guardsmen of Port Cos, who, too, searched your house, and the gardens, upon the informings of the Lady Beverly, who turned against you, were no more successful.”
“You are well informed,” I said.
“Where then is the topaz?” he asked.
“Safe,” I said. He surely need not know I had delivered it, in accord with a plan, to Policrates myself.
“Do you wish to be slain now?” he asked.
“If you slay me,” I said, “how, then, will you find the topaz?”
He drew back the sword a little. “I have watched you,” said he. “I have been patient. But you have not led me to the topaz. You must understand I cannot wait indefinitely. There are those to whom I must answer.”
“I am sensitive to such matters,” I said.
“Where is the topaz?” he said, angrily.
“If I give it to you,” I said, “of what value, then, would be my life to you?”
“None,” he said.
“Under such circumstances,” I said, “I think you can easily understand that I might not be eager to surrender it to you.”
“I, myself,” he said, menacingly, “if I do not deliver the topaz, may be slain.”
“Your identity is known, of course, to Ragnar Voskjard,” I said.
“Of course,” he said.
“Your situation is not an enviable one either,” I admitted.
“In such a situation,” he pointed out, “I have little to lose by slaying you.”
“That point has not eluded me,” I admitted.
“But there is a simple solution to our mutual difficulty,” he said, “one which is in our common interest.”
“That you will spare me, if I give you the topaz,” I said.
“Of course,” said he.
“But what guarantee have I,” I asked, “that you will abide by the terms of such a bargain?”
“I give you my word,” said he, “in it pledging my honor.”
“With all due respect,” I said, “pirates, and those in league with them, are not noted for their honor.”
“Do you have a choice?” he asked. The sword drew back.
“I will show you where I put the topaz,” I said.
“Rise slowly,” he said. “And walk slowly. Do not pick up your sword.”
I got to my feet, not hurrying, leaving the sword, with the belt and scabbard, on the boards. I began to walk, slowly, among the materials on the wharves. He was behind me, sword drawn. If I were to turn on him I was sure he could cut me down before I could get my hands on him. Similarly, before I could dodge or run, it seemed to me not unlikely that he could strike at the back of my neck.
“Slowly,” he said. “Slowly.”
“Very well,” I said.
“It is here,” I said, “that I put the topaz.” It was true that I had put it there. I had also, of course, removed it later from that place when I had carried it to the holding of Policrates. Carefully, I removed one of the heavy granite blocks of stone, building stone, rectangular, some six inches by six inches, by eighteen inches, from the tiered pile of stones. It was building stone brought in by a quarry galley several weeks ago. The intended purchaser had defaulted on his contract and the stone was to be stored over the winter, beside the quarry warehouse, until the following spring, when it was to be auctioned. In the spring prices tend to be highest on such materials. In virtue of the temporary commercial inertness of the stone, and its weight and cheapness, it had seemed to me to provide an ideal hiding place for the topaz. Also it lay no more than four hundred yards from the hiring yard on the wharves, to which I often went in seeking work.
“None would expect that the topaz would be hidden in such a place,” I speculated.
“Do you have it yet?” asked the fellow behind me, masked, with the sword. He was a tall, spare man. Originally I had taken him to be Miles of Vonda.
I realized I had little time. Carefully I moved another stone. Then I took another stone in my hands, seeming to struggle with it.
“I am to be spared, if I give you the topaz,” I reminded him.
“Yes, yes,” he said.
“It is here,” I said.
He struck down with the sword and I, turning, thrust up the block of granite to block the blow. Sparks showered off the stone, and particles of rock. I kicked him back from the stone, which I still held in my hands. He staggered back. I waited until he was upright, in the moment he had caught his balance. Then, underhanded, with two hands, I slung the block of granite at him. It caught him in the left shoulder. He gasped, and spun about, turned by the stone. I lunged toward him, but, he turning swiftly, stopped. The thrust of the sword was short by a foot. I stepped back a foot. He did not advance. He breathed heavily. His left arm and hand hung beside him. I suspected that his left shoulder and side must be ringing with numbness.
“It was not there after all,” I said. “It seems I was mistaken.”
Gasping, he staggered toward me, and I turned and, swiftly, fled from the place, making my way swiftly back to the piled lumber. It was there that I, in a moment, bending down, seized up the sword which I had left there. I turned, then, to see him, painfully, following. When he saw that I now held my blade ready, he stopped. That action convinced me that whoever he was, he was not of Victoria. In Victoria it was thought I did not know the blade. Thus, had he been of Victoria I think that he, even in pain, might have advanced. As it was, not knowing my capacity with the sword, I not being known to him, and knowing himself better than I how his injury might have impeded his swordplay, he hesitated. I saw he did not know what to do.
“Treacherous sleen!” he said.
“It was not I who struck down at you,” I pointed out.
“Sleen!” he said.
“Ho, there!” I cried out, loudly. “Ho, there! What are you doing here? Who are you! Get away from there! We do not permit pilfering on these wharves!”
The man trembled with rage. He advanced a step.
“Begone, Thief!” I cried. “Begone!”
“Be silent, you fool!” said the man.
“Thief! Thief!” I cried. “You may not steal here, Fellow! This is Victoria, you know!”
“What is going on there?” called a voice, from along the wharves, behind me.
“A thief!” I cried. “Assistance! Assistance!”
Glancing back I saw a lantern approaching. Two men were there, advan
cing with slaves.
“Sleen!” said the fellow with the mask, and then he turned and made his way rapidly away.
“Is that you, Jason?” asked one of the men.
“Yes,” I said, sheathing my sword.
“What is it?” asked the other man.
“Some fellow prowling about the docks,” I said, “doubtless not up to much good.”
“He seems to be gone now,” said the first man.
“Yes,” I said. “Before he was over by the quarry warehouse. He was busying himself about the granite there, that of the defaulted shipment.”
“There is nothing of value there,” said the second man.
“That is true,” I said.
Chapter 28 - TWO CAPTAINS COME TO THE TAVERN OF TASDRON; WE PREVENT BLOODSHED
“It is the second Ahn,” said Callimachus. “Surely they are not coming.”
Peggy knelt with her head to the feet of Tasdron, her master. The heavy chain, with the girl bell and coin box, was still locked on her neck.
I pulled her head up by the hair. I lifted up the chain and Tasdron put his collar again on her neck.
“Did you do as Jason told you?” asked Tasdron.
“Yes, Master,” she said, her neck now again locked in Tasdron’s collar.
I thrust the key to the chain in the chain lock and opened it, pulling away the apparatus of the Coin Girl from her neck.
“I sought out Aemilianus, Captain of the Guardsmen of Ar’s Station,” she said. “I put myself naked before him, kneeling, and humbly began to lick and kiss about his feet.”
“Yes,” said Tasdron.
“I then, in seeming to try to please him, whispered to him of the topaz, and that I had been sent to his feet by those who knew its whereabouts. If he wished information as to its location he was to come to the tavern this night at the twentieth Ahn.”
“You yourself,” said Tasdron, “did not return until the first Ahn.”
“I did not even find Aemilianus,” she said, “until near the twentieth Ahn.”
“Why?” asked Tasdron, not pleasantly.
“I was detained by men,” she said. “I was naked. I wore the bell and coin box.”