Blood Brothers of Gor

Chapter 26 ONCE MORE TO TREAD DISPUTED, BLOODY DUST

"Well done!" I called to Cuwignaka.

His kaiila in the clash of shield and lances had lost its footing, spinning and falling back to its haunches. Cuwignaka had retained his position on the animal. As it scrambled up he had caught a passing Yellow Knife under the shield. The momentum of the Yellow Knife had wrenched Cuwignaka to the side but, again, he had kept his postion. The same momentum, in its force, blood leaping from his side, carried the Yellow Knife from the point of the lance. In a few yards he had been unable to cling to the animal and had slipped from its back, under the paws of other beasts.

I looked about myself.

Hci and Cuwignaka, to my right, were almost side by side.

I buffeted aside the attack of a Yellow-Knife lance, it furrowing the hide of the shield I bore. There were men afoot amonst us, too, both Yellow Knives and Kaiila. The Yellow Knife whirled his kiila about, as I did mine. Lances struck on shields. We were then apart from one another. Ear-splitting shrieks and cries filled the air. Red savages are not wont to conduct their altercations in dignified silence. There is a purpose to such things, of course. They serve to heighten aggression and ventilate emotion. They may also have a rold to play in the intimidation, and consequent inhibition, of the enemy, perhaps in virtue of making one seem a more fearsome or terrible foe. Most interestingly, such cries, particularly if unexpected, may freeze, or startle, the enemy, thus, for a brief, valuable moment, providing the aggressor with a relatively inactive, stationary target for a particular stab or thrust. This sort of thing occurs in the animal world, incidentally, as when the cry of the male larl freezes game for the coordinated attack of his mate, the she-larl. Too, those who have been trained in the use of the bayonet will not find such things unfamiliar.

"Beware!" I cried.

A Kaiila turned, catching the canhpi of a Yellow Knife on his shield.

I yanked back my leg, bloody. I struck down to my right with the butt of my lance. A Yellow Knife, afoot, reeled back. He was struck by the forequarters of another Yellow Knife's kaiila and fell to the ground. There a Kaiila warrior leapt upon him, knife rising and falling.

Suddenly my lance was pinned between my mount and that of another warrior, one of the Kaiila. For an instant I could not free it of the press of the animals and then I wrenched it free.

I saw Cuwignaka fend away an attack against Hci, thrusting his kaiila, his shield lifted, litterally between that of Hci and his assailant. Hci himself was thrusting away an attacker on his right.

In feeling I was not really much aware of the cut on my leg but I inspected it, visially, to ascertain its depth and nature. It is important to be objective about such matters. In particular, if the flow of blood is considerable or steady, it must be stanched. Some men have bled to death from wounds of which they, in the heat of battle, in the excitement and press of combat, were scarcely aware. The blood from the wound, however, was shallow and run from the cut itself. Already its flow was slowing. It was not dangerous. There were neither veins nor arteries in the area.

I kicked back my heels into the flanks of my kaiila and it lunged ahead. My lance dug into the chest of a Yellow Knife afoot. I jerked loose the lance. The thrust is made with the blade parallel to the ribs. This facilitates its removal.

Men clashed on either side of me.

I saw a white female slave, nude, terrified, running, buffeted, among the men and animals.

It made no sense to me that she should be loose on the field.

She was beautiful.

I saw a young Kaiila warrior, his lance transferred to his left hand, reached down to seize her by the hair, to appropriate her for himself.

"No!" I cried. "No!"

The young warrior looked up, startled.

Bearing down on him, lance leveled, was a painted Yellow Knife.

I brought my kaiila about and, desperately, thrust the lance into the charging Yellow Knife, to my right. It went half though him, his force driving his body about the wood. His gut struck my hand and the lance, in his scream and the twisting of the kaiila, was lost. Behind him, as I had feared, came his flankers, thos working with him, to protect him in his charge, those who would gie him time to free his lance. The short sword of Port Kar leapt forth from my sheath. I met the lance of the man on my left with the shield, turning its stroke. The other fellow, who had been to the left of the lead warrior, pulled his kaiila toward me. I turned, taking his lance thrust, too, on the shield. As he thrust at me again I struck off the end of the lance. Such blades are, for most part, unknown in the Barrens. They can part silk dropped upon them. Startled, crying out, he pulled his kaiila back, and turned, and fled. I struck out at the fellow on my left and a segment, cleaved, flew from his shield. Wide-eyed, he, too, withdrew.

Such blades, of course, are infantry weapons. Their weight and length is designed to achive a desiderated optimum. Tey are heavy enought to ahve considerable striking force in saberlike trajectories and light enough to ahve something of the swiftness and play of the foil. They are long enough to outreach a dagger-armed opponent and short enough, and maneuverable enough, to work their way, beating and thrusting, behind the guard of longer, heavier weapons. They are not, however, a good weapon for use from either the back of a kaiila or a tarn. That sabers are not used more widely on Gor is, I think, a function of the tendency of many mounted warriors to rely too exclusively, in my opinion, on their skills with the lance. The scimitar of the Tahari, a useful weapon from kaiilaback, is an interesting exception to this general tendency.

Here and there, some leaning awry, thrust in the dirt, were lances.

I rode to one and, sheathing my sword, took it in hand. It was also a Yellow-Knife lance.

I turned about on the kaiila and saw the girl who had been running through the men and beasts. She was standing still, bewildered, shuddering, a few yards away. I rold the kaiila to where she stood.

"Do you understand Gorean?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Are you the slave of Yellow Knives?" I asked.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"You are mistaken," I said. "You are the slave of Kaiila."

"Yes, Master," she said, shuddering.

"Open your mouth," I said, "widely."

I laid the point of the lance in her mouth, well in her mouth, depressing her tongue. She looked at me, frightened. The slightest thrust would drive it through the back of her neck.

The young man whom I had protected rode up beside us. She regarded him in terror, her eyes wide, unable to move, her mouth about the lance.

"I think you know this woman," I said to the young man.

"Yes," he said. "We met recently."

"She is now a Kaiila slave," I said.

"Yes," he said.

"You understand how she was used, do you not?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, bitterly.

"It will now be decided, my dear," I told the girl, "whether you will live or die."

She whimpered piteously, her eyes wide, unable to speak, the lance point depressing her tongue.

"Do you find her of intrest?" I asked the young man.

"Yes," he said.

"What is your name?" I asked.

"Cotanka," said he, "of the Wismahi." As is often the case with the names of the red savages they do not translate simply and directly into a different language. The expression 'cotanka' usually designates a fife or flute, but it may also be used more broadly to refer to any wind instrument whatsoever. Given the cultural milieu involved and the narrower understanding of that expression within that milieu perhaps the best translation, supplying connotations familiar to the red savages, might be 'Love Flute'.

"It seems," I told the girl, "that you may be permitted to live, at least for a time."

she looked at me, wildly, piteously, gratefully, her tongue still unable to move, because of the lance point.

"The young man finds you, at least at present, of some interest," I said.

She whimpered, the sharpened metal in her mouth.

"Do you understand what it means," I asked, "when a man finds a woman of interest?"

She nodded, a timy motion, but desperate, fervent.

"I think it would be in your best interest," I said, "to strive to be pleasing, fully."

She nodded again, tears in her eyes, desperately, fervently.

"When I give you the word," I said, "you will turn about and run to the lines of the Kaiila. There you will find a white man, who wears a broad-brimmed hat. His name is Grunt. You will thorw yourself to your belly before him and tell him that you are the slave of Cotanka, of the Wismahi."

She nodded, her eyes wide.

I removed the point of the lance from her mouth. It was wet and muddy, from her saliva and from the dust, in which it had been thrust, point down, to the binding, from which I had retrieved it. She coughed and spit. She ran her tongue out, at the side of her mouth, leaving a stain of mud at the corner of her mouth.

She stepped back, terrified, shuddering. She wiped her forearm across her mouth.

"What is your name?" I asked.

"I have no name," she said. "Cotanka, my master, of the Wismahi, has not yet given me one."

"It is a suitable answer," I said. "Who are you?"

"The slave of Contanka, of the Wismahi," she said.

"What are you to do?" I asked.

"I am to seek out one called Grunt," she said, "and tell him who I am, that I am the slave of Contanka, of the Wismahi."

"And how are you to do this?" I asked.

"Lying on my belly before him," she said.

"As befits a slave," I said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Go, Slave," I said.

"Yes, Master!" she cried. She then turned about and ran, stumbling, back toward the Kaiila lines.

"I think she will make you a suitable slave," I said to the young man.

"I think so," he said.

"Let us return to the fray," I suggested.

"Let us do so," he agreed.

We then wheeled our kaiila about, once more to tread disputed, bloody dust.