Avengers of Gor

by John Norman

  I surmised, from the stealthy, furtive darknesses within the darkness, figures scarcely discernible, that there might be something like fifty in the party issuing forth from the domicile of benign Tarchon, amiable and respected member of the council of Mytilene. Surely that was considerably more than would be needed to overcome the handful of men commonly posted to guard the gate. In the vicinity, awaiting my signal, were some three hundred men, mostly citizens of Mytilene, armed with pikes, knives, spears, stones, axes, hammers, chains, and clubs.

  I sensed some surprise, some consternation, at the gate. Where were the guards?

  “Question not!” said a voice near the gate. “The fools suspect nothing. They do not even have the sense to watch their own gate.”

  “It is too easy,” said another voice.

  “Get the gate open,” said the first voice. “Our troops are waiting. When the gate is open, they will rush forward, from the near ditch.”

  This was to have been expected, of course, that enemy troops would have been marshaled in, and concealed within, the closest of the two ditches encircling Mytilene. In this way, as soon as the gate was open, they would presumably clamber forth in a thick column matched to the width of the opened portal, and hurry into the city. The ditch in question was some fifty yards from the great gate. This distance and the likely width of the advancing column were both of interest.

  “The beams are heavy,” said a voice.

  “To reinforce the gate against the pounding ram,” said the first voice.

  “None defend the gate,” said a man.

  “Gratitude to the fools of Mytilene,” said a man. “They serve us well. They make our business easy.”

  “Now, we need not the ram,” said a man, pleased.

  “It is unpleasant to use it under fire,” said another voice.

  “How stupid are those of Mytilene,” said another man.

  “Talk not,” said the first voice. “Move the beams, both! Now!”

  The enemy was uneasy, milling near the gate, while some four or five men addressed themselves to the first beam.

  Each beam, in its brackets, stretched across the portal and was anchored, on each side, within a brick-lined bracing, part of the wall itself.

  I waited until the first beam, in its brackets, was thrust aside, fully to the right, deep into its brick-lined bracing.

  When the second beam was moved to the left, fully within its own bracing, the portal would be cleared, and the two heavy leaves of the gate could be swung inward.

  When I heard the second beam begin to move, slowly, and heavily, in its brackets, I called, “Lamps!”

  At this point a dozen men on the wall above the gate thrust the wicks of tharlarion-oil lamps into the flames of their then unshuttered dark lanterns, and lowered the lamps, on their cords to a height of some eight or ten feet above the ground.

  This illuminated the gate area.

  “Vengeance for Mytilene!” hissed better, I conjecture, than two hundred voices.

  Corsairs turned about, startled, dismayed, terrified.

  They impeded one another, pressed back, trapped against the wall and gate. Many, crowded together, could not wield their weapons. The irate, half-starved citizens of Mytilene fell upon them, slaughtering them like penned verr.

  In their hearts there was no mercy.

  “No cries of gladness or triumph,” I called. “Emulate the sleen. Kill in silence. Do not alarm the herd!”

  Men lost their footing in the red mud at the gate.

  I thrust my blade into the side of a corsair who sought, half mad with fear, to brush past me.

  Thurnock picked three targets, which then moved no more.

  Behind our men torches were lit, by means of which any who might break our lines and attempt to escape, say, into the town, might be dealt with. A dozen men, at my cry “Lamps!” had simultaneously invaded the house of Tarchon, to seize him, if he were there, and prevent any fugitives from retreating through the tunnel.

  “Clear the portal,” I called.

  Bodies, many of which had been struck repeatedly, were dragged to the sides.

  “It is victory,” said Thrasymedes, breathing heavily, two hands grasping the long handle of a double-bladed ax, one blow of which might have split the common shield or cleaved a helmet to the chest, “victory, quick and terrible.”

  “It is not victory,” I said, “until the sword’s work is done.”

  “Tonight it may sleep easily in its sheath,” said Thrasymedes.

  “As in kaissa,” I said, “momentum is to be exploited.”

  “I do not understand,” he said.

  “In war,” I said, “there is much confusion. Corsairs waiting in the ditch, to climb forth and hurry through an opened gate, know little of what has occurred. They know there was resistance, and little else. Should the gate be opened, what would they think?”

  “That their fellows have been successful,” said Thrasymedes.

  “Remove the second beam,” I said. “Extinguish the lamps and torches, and prepare, on my signal, to light them again.”

  The second beam was slid to the left, deep into its brick-lined housing, this clearing the portal.

  “By the gate, listen!” I called. “When I order the gate opened, open it to the width of four men. When I cry out, ‘There is danger, stop, go back’, or such, close the gate.”

  “Surely we will not open the gate,” said Thrasymedes.

  “Briefly and narrowly,” I said. “Enough to admit numbers we can deal with easily, enough to mass confused others before the soon shut gate, where, crowded together, they will be vulnerable to stones cast down from the wall over the gate.”

  “Still?” asked Thrasymedes.

  “The corsairs do not know what has occurred,” I said. “When they see the gate opened, they will assume that all is well, that their fellows have secured the gate and that the town is at their mercy. Then they will discover otherwise. Confusion will reign, inside and outside the gate.”

  “And all is in darkness,” said Thrasymedes.

  “And darkness,” I said, “is the house of terror.”

  “Until the lamps and torches are lit,” said Thrasymedes.

  “At that point those trapped inside the gate will discover that their terror was well founded, and those outside the gate, still in darkness, will withdraw in disarray, fleeing a rain of stones.”

  “I see,” said Thrasymedes.

  “Surely your ax is still thirsty,” I said.

  “It is,” said Thrasymedes. “But I suspect that there is more in your plan than the shedding of more blood.”

  “Yes,” I said. “One desires to confuse and unsettle the enemy, so that he will not know what is going on, will not know what to expect, or when; one wishes to reduce his confidence, to make him suspect the competence of his leaders, to make him doubt the value of his cause or the likely success of his efforts. Let him understand that things are not going according to plan, and not know why this is so.”

  “Ah,” said Thrasymedes.

  “Much of war,” I said, “is fought in the mind. Why else the drums and trumpets? Why else the songs and chants? Why else the Pyrrhic dances? The very name of a Marlenus of Ar can rouse a city to revolt. Is not the reputation of a Dietrich of Tarnburg worth a thousand troops? Whose hand does not shake on the pieces if, across the kaissa board, he sees a Centius of Cos, a Scormus of Ar? An army believing itself doomed does not hurry to the field. What soldier does not fight well, bravely and gallantly, for a commander he deems invincible?”

  “Proceed,” said Thrasymedes.

  “Open the gate,” I called, softly, “but open it carefully, and slowly, as though it was done with stealth, and open it so that only a column of four can enter.”

  This was done, the sound of the hinges of the leaves of the great gate
almost inaudible.

  “The gate is open,” I heard someone say, a hushed voice, outside in the darkness.

  “Convey the word,” said another voice, one farther off.

  “Back, fellows,” I said. “Let the enemy not encounter immediate resistance. Let the net first be full; then draw its cords. Be quiet, be patient, be ready.”

  I counted Ihn to myself. I had little doubt that, by now, corsairs had begun to climb from the ditch.

  I took it that traversing the distance between the ditch and the partially opened gate, given the darkness and the danger of footing, might take something over an Ehn. Too, the first of the visitors would be likely to enter cautiously and attempt to make contact with their fellows, presumed to be inside, with the gate secured.

  It was not a long time, but it seemed long.

  I sensed Thrasymedes and others beside me.

  I heard a voice, whispering, from the darkness, from the vicinity of the gate.

  “Publius?” it said, “Publius?”

  “Enter,” I whispered. “Be silent! Be cautious!”

  I heard soft sounds, the shuffling of high-laced marching sandals.

  I counted ten Ihn.

  I sensed bodies were before me, within perhaps three or four yards.

  “Stop!” I cried, suddenly. “Danger!”

  The progress of the visitors was abruptly arrested. There was a cry of alarm. The two leaves of the great gate, slowly, began to close. Visitors sensing the huge, slow, heavy movement of the gate, scrambled wildly, crying out, to be inside or outside the leaves, anything to avoid being caught between them. There was, also, almost immediately, cries of anguish as limbs or bodies were crushed between the leaves. “What is going on?” cried a voice from somewhere near the gate. I heard pounding on the gate, both from outside and within. There was a sound as of crushed fruit and breaking wood and a miserable cry was cut short. I then heard the sound of the two heavy gate beams slid through their brackets, one from the right, one from the left.

  “Publius! Publius?” cried a voice.

  “Light!” I called. “Lamps!”

  Even before the lamps were lit, and dangling on their cords, the men of Mytilene, with cries of rage, rushed toward the gate, brandishing their miscellany of weapons, including those taken from the fallen mercenaries slain in our earlier action, stabbing and striking.

  Outside the gate I could hear, too, cries of consternation, as our men on the wall, those above the gate, hurled heavy stones down upon the startled mercenaries, crowded together outside the gate.

  What occurred within the gate was much what had occurred before. It was a butchery of men crowded together, who could scarcely lift their weapons to defend themselves.

  Three mercenaries had been trapped between the leaves of the great gate. One arm was thrust through from the outside. There was a scream from the other side as Thrasymedes, with a single blow of his double-edged ax, cut it off. “No! No!” cried another mercenary, on his belly, looking up, much of whose body lay within the gate, his foot caught between the leaves. “Yes,” said Thrasymedes. “Yes, for Mytilene.” He then struck the foot off. He then stood there with the bloody ax, looking down, breathing heavily, watching, watching. “It is enough,” I said to him. “Let your weapon rest. It has done its work.” “He is not yet dead,” said Thrasymedes. “He is,” I said. “Look, he is still. He does not move.” “How can he be dead?” asked Thrasymedes. “He has bled to death,” I said.

  Another body had been caught between the leaves of the closing gate. It was muchly compressed. The head and torso dangled on our side of the gate, suspended by a rope or ribbon of muscle and tissue.

  I stepped to the side, and back, past another body.

  “Publius?” it said.

  “I am not Publius,” I said.

  Then it was still.

  Thrasymedes joined me then, some yards back from the gate. “Victory, again,” he said.

  “Momentum is to be exploited,” I said.

  “I do not understand,” he said.

  “Kaissa,” I said. “The kaissa of blood.”

  “Surely not,” said Thrasymedes. “Not now. Our steel no longer thirsts. Even my ax has drunk its fill.”

  “The leadership of the enemy,” I said, “will not yet be fully apprised as to what has occurred. If what I contemplate now comes to fruition, I think he will have no choice but, if he wishes to bring this business to a quick conclusion, to mount a scaling attack on the walls which, I suspect, will prove costly to him and, given the unruly and reluctant nature of his troops would not be likely to be repeated.”

  “What is your plan,” he asked.

  “I have selected thirty men,” I said, “three groups of ten each; I shall command one group, Thurnock another, and Clitus the last. Each group will have dark lanterns, axes, and quantities of tharlarion oil.”

  “Unusual supplies,” said Thrasymedes.

  “Not for what I have in mind,” I said.

  “And what do you have in mind?” asked Thrasymedes.

  “Paying our friends a surprise visit,” I said.

  “We are vastly outnumbered,” said Thrasymedes. “Do not do so. The clouds thin. The yellow moon will soon be in the sky. It will soon be morning. You would be noted as soon as you left the gate.”

  “We will not leave by the gate,” I said. “Our friends have left us a fine road, their own road, whereby we may approach them unseen and emerge in their midst.”

  “The tunnel,” said Thrasymedes.

  “Has the noble Tarchon,” I asked, “been taken into custody?”

  “No,” said Thrasymedes, “but he is surely somewhere within the town.”

  “Hiding,” I said.

  “You suspect he is involved in this, that he was aware of the tunnel, which was opened within his domicile?” asked Thrasymedes.

  “Certainly,” I said. “See the metal rod which he sank in his floor, used to convey sound into the earth, to mark the point where the tunnel might be safely opened.”

  “We will seek him,” said Thrasymedes.

  “Do so,” I said.

  “You are serious about your plan, about going visiting?” asked Thrasymedes.

  “Of course,” I said.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  How the Remainder of a Busy Night Was Spent

  “I do not care for this,” said Thurnock, a yard or so behind me, crouched down.

  “It was not dug for fellows of your size,” I said, lifting the now-unshuttered dark lantern a little. Its light was dim, but extended some feet ahead, illuminating the tunnel.

  “My back hurts,” he said.

  “I would not care to meet the enemy in these confines,” said Clitus, behind Thurnock.

  “Nor they us,” I said.

  “What does the enemy know of what occurred?” asked Clitus.

  “I suspect,” I said, moving ahead, “very little. Their informants will be confused, distraught mercenaries, fled back in the darkness from the closed gate of Mytilene. What they know will be little more than the fact that something, as they see it, had gone terribly wrong.”

  “Will they send more men through the tunnel?” asked Clitus.

  “Not immediately,” I said. “They will wish to gather intelligence.”

  “The opening of the tunnel in the corsair camp will be guarded,” said Thurnock.

  “It should be,” I said, “but it might not be. We are dealing here with raiders, with looters, cutthroats, and killers, not trained, disciplined troops.”

  I brushed aside a handful of dirt, fallen from the roof of the tunnel.

  “There should be more reinforcement, more bracing, more timbers,” said Thurnock, uneasily.

  “We are not mining silver here, as in Tharna or Argentum,” I said. “This is not intended for the work
of several men over an indefinite period of time. This was doubtless expected to be used but once, to allow a small force to access a single point.”

  “We must be past the first ditch by now,” said Thurnock.

  “I think so,” I said.

  “Where will the opening be?” asked Clitus.

  “Think carefully, my friend,” I said.

  “One supposes,” said he, “between the inner ditch and the camp, close to the inner ditch, to shorten the tunnel.”

  “It must be farther away,” said Thurnock. “From the walls of Mytilene we saw no evidence of digging.”

  “There you have the matter, my friends,” I said. “What would satisfy the desiderata of concealment and the shortest tunnel?”

  “The inner ditch,” said Thurnock, “where digging and the removal of dirt might take place unseen.”

  “I think so,” I said. “Too, the inner ditch is a more secure location, more so than the outer ditch, one easier to defend, lest an excursion take place from within the walls of Mytilene.”

  “True,” said Thurnock.

  “In any event,” I said, “we shall soon know.”

  “Shutter the dark lanterns,” I whispered.

  I slid shut the panel on my own lamp, and this action was copied, one by one, for several lanterns behind me, the tunnel progressively growing darker and darker. There are beasts, such as the sleen, which can see in situations in which a human being could see nothing, situations in which a human being would find itself in pitch blackness. On the other hand, if there is no light whatsoever, then, of course, as in certain caves, even the sleen would be unable to see.

  “Be silent,” I whispered. “Ahead, there are voices.”

  I proceeded in great stealth, and the voices, though soft, became louder and louder. In a few moments I saw the edging of the tunnel, that rimmed in a dim light, apparently that of a small tharlarion-oil lamp outside, and to the right. I arrested my progress and those behind me did the same. Beyond the opening of the tunnel I could see what seemed a wide trench.

  From the voices I did not think there were more than two or three men in the vicinity of the tunnel opening.

  I coughed, softly.