Prize of Gor (60 page)

Such things, Ellen gathered, were not permitted by the laws of the Cosian occupation.

A tyrant state always attempts to disarm its citizens, invariably on the pretext of doing this for their own good. And thus are the necks of men bent to the yoke of the state.

Fel Doron passed her again, this time carrying supplies from the kitchen, bread, biscuits, dried fruit, a bulging sack of meal, which supplies he placed in a nearby tarn basket.

“Arm yourselves,” said Portus.

Tersius and Fel Doron came to the sprawl of weapons on the floor. Each took a sword and a crossbow, and a bundle of quarrels.

“Seven tarns are ready harnessed for cargo,” said Selius Arconious, emerging from the tarn cage, and two others are haltered, ready for tandem, trailing flight. What is this all about?”

Two tarns, it seemed, were to be left behind.

“Do you care to arm yourself?” asked Portus.

“Surely you know such things are forbidden,” said Arconious.

Portus rerolled the bundle, tied it shut and placed it in one of the tarn baskets, one of seven taken from the nearby stacks and put near the great, lofty exit from the loft.

“You are leaving?” said Arconious. “What is going on?”

“You have heard of the Delta Brigade,” said Portus.

“It is a myth,” said Arconious.

“What do you know of it?” asked Portus.

“Little, if anything,” said Arconious.

“It is an organization,” said Portus, “formed largely, but not entirely, from veterans of the great disaster of the Vosk delta, where they were betrayed by treason in high places, denied supplies, abandoned, left to die, who muchly suffered in their retreat from the delta, and found themselves despised and humiliated when they returned to their city, held in contempt, and spat upon, despite their sharing of its Home Stone. Later, as you know, the gates of Ar were opened to the Cosians and their mercenary allies, again by insufferable treason in high places, under delusory pretenses of friendship and alliance.”

“Such could never have occurred,” said Selius Arconious, bitterly, “had Marlenus, our Ubar, he, the Ubar of Ubars, been in the city.”

“We must do what we can without him,” said Portus.

“I do not understand,” said Arconious.

“The Delta Brigade is not a myth, as you may have supposed,” said Portus. “I assure you of that. I, and Tersius, and Fel Doron, have been of the brigade. But we have now left it. It is too small, it is dilatory, it is unready to act. There are things that can be done now. We must do them. We will take independent action.”

“What can you do, alone?” asked Arconious. “Ambush and kill a Cosian sentry, precipitate the taking of hostages and reprisals by Cos? They could burn districts, slay thousands.”

“Some things can be done, and must be done,” said Portus. “We are not alone in these matters. There are others, too, who were of the Brigade, who feel similarly. Tonight, though we are less than ready, we will begin to act.”

“The city,” said Arconious, “must rise as a whole.”

“There is no rallying point,” said Portus.

“What can you do?” asked Arconious.

“The forces of occupation are not all Cosian,” said Portus. “Indeed, the greater portion of these forces are mercenaries in the pay of Cos. Their loyalty is not to the Home Stones of Jad or Temos but to the purse of their paymaster, gross Lurius of Jad. They have been supported largely by the routine, methodological looting of Ar, but the mercenaries are many and impatient and Ar grows poorer, and there is only so much silver, so much gold, so many women, only so much wealth which can be seized and distributed.”

“So?” said Arconious.

“Cos, in consort with Tyros, she under the Ubarate of Chenbar, the Sea-Sleen, extend their hegemonies, and lay tribute on more than a dozen cities.”

“Yes?” said Arconious.

“Portions of this wealth will come to Ar, to content the mercenaries,” said Portus.

“Cosians themselves could hold the city,” said Arconious. “They no longer need their mercenary allies. Their war is won.”

“Do you think the mercenaries, and their captains, will simply submit to being dismissed?” asked Portus. “That would be like turning larls loose in the streets. Denied their pay who knows what they will do. They might turn their weapons against Cos and Tyros.”

“That is a problem I am pleased to leave to Cos,” said Arconious.

“A caravan of gold is on its way to Ar,” said Portus. “It left Brundisium the last passage hand. It is pay for the mercenaries, and it is intended that it will be delivered to them on the feast of the accession of Lurius of Jad to the throne of Cos.”

“That is better than fifty days from now,” said Arconious.

“But already,” said Fel Doron, bitterly, “banners have been hung proclaiming the imminence of this joyous festival.”

“Your plan, I take it,” said Arconious, “is to interfere with, or delay, the arrival of the pay caravan.”

Portus grinned.

“Do not attempt this, I beg of you,” said Arconious. “The caravan will be well-guarded.”

“Are you with us?” asked Portus.

“It is foolish,” said Arconious.

“Are you with us?” asked Portus, again.

“No,” said Arconious.

“I wish you well,” said Portus. He extended his hand and the two men clasped wrists, each the wrist of the other. This is the strongest of grips, for otherwise hands may be pulled apart. In this fashion each has his own grip, and if one hand should slip, the other will hold. It is a grip common to mariners, it seems, and may have been derived from maritime practice. It is useful, it seems, in their dangerous work, where a lost grip might be the prelude to catastrophe, a fall from a yard, a plunge into cold, stormy seas. It has its value, too, of course, among tarnsmen, tarnkeepers, tarnsters, and such, who must occasionally move from saddle to saddle, or from basket to basket, and such, while in flight. The normal Gorean handshake, it seems, at least those which this slave has seen commonly exchanged amongst free men, is the same as, or rather like, that of Earth, from which world it is doubtless derived, the clasping of two right hands, thus the giving of the expected weapon hand to the other, a grant indicative of respect, trust and friendship, one supposes.

“I urge you to reconsider,” said Arconious.

“We do not,” said Portus, smiling.

“You are brave fools,” said Selius Arconious. “I wish you well.”

The tarns, interestingly, were arranged in order within the loft area, rather than outside, on the platform. Portus would lead, controlling the first tarn with its basket. Fel Doron would follow with the second tarn and basket. Tersius Major would come third, with the third basket, but, from his tarn’s harness, a long line extended to the fourth tarn and basket, and from the harness of that tarn, with its basket, there ran another line to the fifth tarn, and so, too, to the sixth and seventh tarn, this forming a string of tarns with their cargo baskets. The eighth and ninth tarns were in harness but bore no baskets. They did form, as they too were joined to the others by a line, a part of the tandem progress of attached tarns. There were thus two free tarns, so to speak, with baskets, and then a line of seven tarns, strung together, five with baskets, two without. This left behind, in their barred housing, two of the eleven tarns which had been originally in the loft. These two tarns were left in the care of Selius Arconious, who had chosen to remain behind.

Cosians would presumably be less suspicious if some tarns remained in the loft. Business, presumably, might have taken the others on their various ways. There might be problems, of course, when a slaver, or slaver’s man, came to collect a slave. Selius Arconious, of course, a lowly employee, could not be expected to be of much help in such matters. Too, what would the slaver, or slaver’s man, when he arrived with his whip and leash, know? Orders might have been countermanded. Or perhaps Portus might have been ordered to deliver the slave himself to some designated location. It was hard to know about such things. The important thing was to be courteous, and as helpful as possible.

Ellen had lain on the floor amidst this bustle, naked there, on the straw-strewn boards, bound hand and foot, neglected, the small, now-damp, folded tunic clenched between her teeth.

Portus entered the first basket, and Fel Doron and Tersius Major entered the second and third baskets, respectively. Draft tarns are usually controlled from the basket. They may, however, be controlled from the saddle. Ellen supposed that a tarn progress of this sort, tarnsters abasket, might attract less attention than one in which tarnsters might be in the saddle. Might that not be a disguise for roving tarnsmen, who might then jettison the baskets and wing their way free to whatever mischief they might portend?

“Untie the slave,” Portus called to Selius, “and put her in the last basket.” Selius turned Ellen to her belly and bent to free her of her several-times-looped, narrow pinions. He unbound her ankles first and then, kneeling across the backs of her thighs, undid the thongs which confined her wrists. She continued to clench the folded tunic between her teeth, not having been permitted to release it. It touched the floor, as she lay. Then she turned her head to the right, the left side of her face then on the boards. She could feel straw beneath the side of her face. “Ellen!” called Portus. She turned, as she could, lifting her head, rising a bit on the palms of her hands, to view her master, her body still pinned in place by Selius, who was kneeling across the back of her legs. “Though your hands are free,” said Portus to Ellen, “you will retain your gag until we have passed, if we pass, over the walls of the city.”

Ellen nodded, tears in her eyes.

Ellen did not understand Portus’s qualification ‘if we pass’. What could he have meant by that?

It frightened her.

“Put her in the last basket,” said Portus.

Ellen, her mouth stuffed with her own tunic, serving as a gag, moaned in dismay. She was terrified of tarns, and frightened of heights. And what if the narrow ropes by which the basket was suspended from the harness should break? She would not have dared to protest, of course, even if she had been permitted speech. She did not wish to be beaten. She knew it would be done with her as masters wished, as it would be with a verr or a sack of sa-tarna flour.

Selius picked her up and put her on his left shoulder, her head to the rear.

Well she knew the meaning of that carry.

“When Portus addressed you,” said Selius Arconious, “you merely shook your head in understanding, and affirmation.”

Ellen moaned, a tiny noise.

“Surely you know gag signals, slut,” said Selius.

Ellen whimpered once.

“Would you like to be thrown from the platform?” asked Selius.

Ellen whimpered twice, miserably, two tiny, pathetic noises.

“Good,” said Selius.

Ellen had been taught gag signals in her training, of course. The small tunic she now held between her teeth was not typical of Gorean gags, which often involve packing and stout mouth binding. It is important for a girl to know gag signals, for it is not unusual for her to be gagged by her master. This is useful in discipline, and it is also useful merely to remind her that she is a slave. They are also subject to blindfolds and hoods. In such encumbrances they must learn to respond to a variety of signals, for example, mere touches on an arm, guiding them, or, alternatively, verbal commands which, even though they can see nothing, they must obey with alacrity. The least hesitation or tentativeness is cause for discipline. In this way, it is possible to conduct a frightened, blindfolded slave even through narrow, twisting, intricate passages at a brisk pace.

Ellen was then lowered into the last basket. In it, other than herself, there was only a blanket, a small loaf of bread, flat, and round, like most Gorean loaves, and a small bota, presumably filled with water.

The basket, as it was a cargo basket, had no seat or bench. It was woven of stout fibers, generally an inch or better in width. It was something like five by five feet wide, and had a depth of something like four feet. Ellen stood within the basket, holding to its rim. She stood there, looking at Selius Arconious, she within the basket, he standing on the floor beside it, the small, folded tunic between her teeth. Tears burst into her eyes. She wanted to cry out that she loved him and she wanted to be his slave, but she could not speak. Surely she would never see him again, he for whose collar she longed to beg, he at whose feet she craved to kneel, he before whom she desired to fling herself, kissing his feet, he whose whip she longed to lick lovingly, obediently, he whose sandals she wished to bring to him in her teeth, on all fours, he to whom she desired to be the most abject and devoted of love slaves. Bind and whip me, she wanted to cry out to him. In this way she could have no doubt but what he was concerned with her, that she was an object of his attention. Bind me and whip me, she wanted to cry out to him. Teach me with the lash that I am, and that you claim me as, your slave. Bind and whip me, she wanted to cry out to him, that I might cry out in my bonds, in ecstasy, knowing myself at last yours, fully yours, your claimed slave!

But she could say nothing.

“Remember,” he said, “that you begged and were rejected, that you were scorned, that you were dismissed, as poor slave meat.”

She whimpered once, piteously.

In his eyes she saw only contempt, and hatred.

“The cargo is stowed,” Selius called to Portus.

Tears burst anew into Ellen’s eyes. The prints of her small teeth were deep in the damp layers of the tunic.

Portus lifted his arm, and Fel Doron, and Tersius Major, behind him, acknowledged this signal.

“Selius!” called Portus.

Selius turned his contemptuous gaze from the distraught, rejected, tearful slave. “Portus?” he asked.

“You were below,” said Portus. “Did you learn the origin of the disturbance in the city, the cause of such shouting, of such commotion, in the streets?”

“Yes,” said Selius Arconious. “Talena has disappeared from the palace.”

Portus then gestured ahead, and urged his tarn forth, out of the loft area, to the platform. In a moment the tarn had leapt from the platform, spread its wings, soared for a brief moment, swooping downward, and had then, with a sudden snapping of those mighty wings, begun to fly. The tarn basket attached to the bird’s harness, having slid on its leather runners from the platform, swung darkly on its ropes beneath the bird. Portus kept the bird low, and it moved in relative silence amongst the cylinders of the city. In a moment Fel Doron, with his tarn and basket, had left the platform. Then followed the train of tarns led by Tersius Major. All kept their birds low, moving swiftly and silently through the forest of cylinders, toward the walls, none visible against the three moons.