Explorers Of Gor

23
Escape; Kisu Pays A Call On Tende

"Is she not beautiful?" whispered Ayari.

"Yes," I said.

"Be quiet," said an askari.

"Stand straight," said another askari. "Hold your heads up. Keep the line straight."

"Which is the one called Kisu?" asked an askari, wading up to us.

"I do not know," I said.

"That is he," said Ayari, indicating tall Kisu a few places from us.

Slowly the state platform was drawn toward us. It, fastened planks, extending across the thwarts of four long canoes, like pontoons, moved slowly toward us, drawn by chained slaves. On the platform, shaded by a silk canopy, was a low dais, covered with silken cushions.

"Why did you tell him which one of us was Kisu?" I asked.

"She would know him, would she not?" he asked.

"That is true," I said.

On the cushions, reclining, on one elbow, in yellow robes, embroidered with gold, in many necklaces and jewels, lay a lovely, imperious-seeming girl.

"It is Tende," whispered one of the men, "the daughter of Aibu, high chief of the Ukungu district."

We had known this, for the message of the drums, coming from the east, had preceded her.

On either side of Tende knelt a lovely white slave girl, strings of white shells about her throat and left ankle, a brief, tucked, wrap-around skirt of red-and-black-printed rep-cloth, her only garment, low on her belly, high and tight on her thighs. Both slaves were sweetly bodied. Each had marvelously flared hips. I found it hard to take my eyes from them. They were among the gifts which Bila Huruma had sent ahead to his projected companion, Tende. I smiled and licked my lips. Though they had been bought to be the serving slaves of a woman I had little doubt that their purchase had been effected by a male agent. In the hands of each of the slaves was a long-handled fan, terminating in a semicircle of colorful feathers. Gently, cooling her, they fanned their mistress.

I looked at the blond-haired barbarian, she who had been Janice Prentiss, who knelt now to my right, at Tende's left. She did not meet my eyes. Her lower lip trembled. She did not dare to give any sign that she recognized me.

About Tende's right wrist, I noted, fastened to it by a loop, was a whip.

"Stand straighter," said an askari.

We stood straighter.

On the raft, near Tende and her two lovely, bare-breasted white slaves, stood four askaris, men of Bila Huruma, in their skins and feathers, with golden armlets. Like most askaris they carried long, tufted shields and short stabbing spears. The daughter of Aibu, I gathered, was well guarded. Other askaris, too, waded in the water near the platform.

One other man, too, other than the askaris, stood upon the platform. It was Mwoga, wazir to Aibu, who was now conducting Tende to her companionship. I recognized him, having seen him earlier in the palace of Bila Huruma. He, like many in the interior, and on the surrounding plains and savannahs, north and south of the equatorial zone, was long-boned and tall, a physical configuration which tends to dissipate body heat. His face, like that of many in the interior, was tattooed. His tattooing, and that of Kisu, were quite similar. One can recognize tribes, of course, and, often, villages and districts by those tattoo patterns. He wore a long black robe, embroidered with golden thread, and a flat, soft cap, not unlike a common garb of Schendi, hundreds of pasangs distant. I had little doubt but what these garments had been gifts to him from the court of Bila Huruma. Bila Huruma himself, of course, in spite of the cosmopolitan nature of his court, usually wore the skins, and the gold and feathers, of the askari. It was not merely that they constituted his power base, and that he wished to flatter them. It was rather that he himself was an askari, and regarded himself as an askari. In virtue of his strength, skill and intelligence, he was rightfully first among them. He was an askari among askaris.

"Behold, Lady," said Mwoga, indicating Kisu, "the enemy of your father, and your enemy, helpless and chained before you. Look upon him and inspect him. He opposed your father. Now, on a rogues' chain, he digs in the mud for your future companion, the great Bila Huruma."

The Ukungu dialect is closely related to the Ushindi dialect. Ayari, softly, translated the conversation for me. Yet, had he not done so, I could have, by now, followed its drift.

Kisu looked boldly into the eyes of the reclining Tende.

"You are the daughter of the traitor, Aibu," he said.

Tende did not change her expression.

"How bravely the rebel speaks," mocked Mwoga.

"I see, Mwoga," said Kisu, "that now you are wazir, that you have risen high from your position of a minor chief's lackey. Such, I gather, are the happy fortunes of politics."

"Happier for some than others," said Mwoga. "You, Kisu, were too dull to understand politics. You are headstrong and foolish. You could understand only the spear and the drums of war. You charge like the kailiauk. I, wiser, bided my time, like the ost. The kailiauk is contained by the stockade. The ost slips between its palings."

"You betrayed Ukungu to the empire," said Kisu.

"Ukungu is a district within the empire," said Mwoga. "Your insurrection was unlawful."

"You twist words!" said Kisu.

"The spear, as in all such matters," smiled Mwoga, "has decided wherein lies the right."

"What will the stories say of this?" demanded Kisu.

"It is we who will survive to tell the stories," said Mwoga.

Kisu stepped toward him but the askari at his side forced him back.

"No people can be betrayed," said Mwoga, "who are not willing to be betrayed."

"I do not understand," said Kisu.

"The empire means security and civilization," said Mwoga. "The people tire of tribal warfare. Men wish to look forward in contentment to their harvests. How can men call themselves free when, each night, they must fear the coming of dusk?"

"I do not understand," said Kisu.

"That is because you yourself are a hunter and a killer," said Mwoga. "You know the spear, the raid, the retaliation, the seeking of vengeance, the shadows of the forest. Steel is your tool, darkness your ally. But this is not the case with most men. Most men desire peace."

"All men desire peace," said Kisu.

"If this were true, there would be no war," said Mwoga.

Kisu regarded him, angrily. "Bila Huruma is a tyrant," he said.

"Of course," said Mwoga.

"He must be resisted," said Kisu.

"Then resist him," said Mwoga.

"He must be stopped," said Kisu.

"Then stop him," said Mwoga.

"You style yourself a hero, who would lead my people into the light of civilization?" asked Kisu.

"No," said Mwoga, "I am an opportunist. I serve myself, and my superiors."

"Now you speak honestly," said Kisu.

"Politics, and needs and times, calls forth men such as myself," said Mwoga. "Without men such as myself there could be no change."

"The tharlarion and the ost have their place in the palace of nature," said Kisu.

"And I will have mine at the courts of Ubars," said Mwoga.

"Meet me with spears," said Kisu.

"How little you understand," said Mwoga. "How naively you see things. How your heart craves simplicities."

"I would have your blood on my spear," said Kisu.

"And the empire would endure," said Mwoga.

"The empire is evil," said Kisu.

"How simple," marveled Mwoga. "How dazed and confused you must be when, upon occasion, you encounter reality."

'The empire must be destroyed," said Kisu.

"Then destroy it," said Mwoga.

"Go, serve your master, Bila Huruma," said Kisu. "I dismiss you."

"We are grateful for your indulgence," smiled Mwoga.

"And take these slave girls with you, gifts for his highness. Bila Huruma," said Kisu, gesturing to Tende and her two servitors.

"Lady Tende, daughter of Aibu, high chief of Ukungu," said Mwoga, "is being conveyed in honor to the ceremony of companionship, to be mated to his majesty, Bila Huruma."

"She is being sold to seal a bargain," said Kisu. "How could she be more a slave?"

Tende's face remained expressionless.

"Of her own free will," said Mwoga, "the Lady Tende hastens to become Ubara to Bila Huruma."

"One of more than two hundred Ubaras!" scoffed Kisu.

"She acts of her own free will," averred Mwoga.

"Excellent," said Kisu. "She sells herself!" he said. "Well done, Slave Girl!" he commended.

"She is to be honored in companionship," said Mwoga.

"I have seen Bila Huruma," said Kisu. "No woman could be other than a slave to him. And I have seen luscious slaves, black, and white, and oriental, in his palace, girls who know truly how to please a man, and desire to do so. Bila Huruma has his pick of hot-blooded, trained, enslaved beauties. If you do not wish to remain barren and lonely in your court you will learn to compete with them. You will learn to crawl to his feet and beg to serve him with the unqualified and delicious abandon of a trained slave."

Still Tende's face did not change expression.

"And you will do so, Tende," said Kisu, "for you are in your heart, as I can see in your eyes, a true slave."

Tende lifted her hand, her right hand, with the whip, on its loop, fastened to her wrist. She moved her hand indolently. Her two slaves, tense, frightened, desisted from fanning her.

Tende rose gracefully to her feet and descended from the cushions and dais, to stand at the edge of the platform, over Kisu.

"Have you nothing to say, my dear Tende, beautiful daughter of the traitor, Aibu?" inquired Kisu.

She struck him once with the whip, across the face. He had shut his eyes that he not be blinded.

"I do not speak to commoners," she said. She then returned to her position, her face again expressionless, and looking straight ahead.

She lifted her hand, indolently, and again her two slaves began, gently, to fan her.

Kisu opened his eyes, a diagonal streak of blood across his face. His fists were clenched.

"Continue on," said Mwoga to one of the askaris on the platform.

The fellow called out sharply to the chained slaves drawing the platform, pointing ahead with his spear. They then began to wade forward, drawing the canoes, with the platform of state affixed athwart them.

We watched the platform, with its passengers, and canopy, moving west.

I looked at Kisu. I did not think, now, I would have long to wait.

"Dig," said a nearby askari.

With a feeling of satisfaction, and pleasure, I then thrust the shovel deep into the mud at my feet.

We sat in the long cage, bolted on the extended raft. I ran my finger under the collar, to move it a bit from my neck. I could smell the marshes about.

With a movement of chain, he crawled toward me in the darkness. With my fingernail I scratched a bit of rust from the chain on my collar. Far off, across the marsh, we could hear the noises of jungle birds, the howling of tiny, long-limbed primates. It was about an Ahn after the late evening rain, somewhere about the twentieth Ahn. The sky was still overcast, providing a suitable darkness for the work which must soon be at hand.

"I must speak with you," he said, in halting Gorean.

"I did not know you could speak Gorean," I said, looking ahead in the darkness.

"When a child," he said, "I once ran away. I lived for two years in Schendi, then returned to Ukungu."

"I did not think a mere village would content you," I said. "It was a long and dangerous journey for a child."

"I returned to Ukungu," he said.

"Perhaps that is why you are such a patriot of Ukungu," I said, "because once you fled from it."

"I must speak with you," he said.

"Perhaps I do not speak with members of the nobility," I said.

"Forgive me," he said. "I was a fool."

"You have learned, then," I said, "from Bila Huruma, who will speak to all men."

"How else can one listen?" he asked. "How else can one understand others?"

"Beggers speak to beggers, and to Ubars," I said.

"It is a saying of Schendi," he said.

"Yes," I said.

"Do you speak Ushindi?" he asked.

"A little," I said.

"Can you understand me?" he asked, speaking in the dialect of the court of Bila Huruma.

"Yes," I said. Gorean was not easy for him. Ushindi, I was sure, was no easier for me. Ayari, to my right, knew Ushindi well enough to transpose easily into the related Ngao dialect spoken in the Ukungu district, but I did not. "If I cannot understand you, I will tell you," I said. I had little doubt but what, between his Gorean and my understanding of the Ushindi dialect spoken at the court of Bila Huruma, we could communicate.

"I will try to speak Gorean," he said. "That, at least, is not the language of Bila Huruma."

"There are other things in its favor as well," I said. "It is a complex, efficient language with a large vocabulary."

"Ukungu," he said, "is the most beautiful language in all the world."

"That may well be," I said, "but I cannot speak it." I, personally, would have thought that English or Gorean would have been the most beautiful language in all the world. I had met individuals, however, who thought the same of French and German, and Spanish, and Chinese and Japanese. The only common denominator in these discussions seemed to be that each of the informants was a native speaker of the language in question. How chauvinistic we are with respect to our languages. This chauvinism can sometimes be so serious as to blind certain individuals to the natural superiority of English, or, perhaps, Gorean. Or perhaps French, or German. or Spanish, or Chinese, or Japanese, or, say, Bassa or Hindi.

"I will try to speak Gorean," he said.

"Very well," I said, generously. I breathed more easily.

"I want to escape," he said. "I must escape."

"Very well," I said. "Let us do so."

"But how?" he asked…

"The means," I said, "have long lain at our disposal. It is only that I have lacked the cooperation necessary to capitalize on them."

I turned to Ayari. "Pass the word down the chain," I said, "in both directions, in various languages, that we shall escape tonight."

"How do you propose to do this?" asked Ayari.

"Discharge your duties, my friendly interpreter," I said. "You will see shortly."

"What if some fear to escape?" asked Ayari.

"They will then be torn alive out of the chain," I told him.

"I am not sure I am in favor of this," said Ayari.

"Do you wish to be the first?" I asked him.

"Not me," said Ayari. "I am busy. I have things to do. I am passing the word down the chain."

"How can we escaper asked Kisu.

I reached out and measured the chain at his collar, and slipped my hands down the chain until, about five feet later, it lifted to the collar of the next man. I pushed them closely together, to drop the chain, in a loop, to the log floor of the extended raft. By feeling I dropped the loop between the ends of two logs and drew it back, about two feet in from the end of the log it was now looped beneath. The bottom of the loop was then under water and about one log. I put one end of the chain in the hands of the powerful Kisu and took the other end in my own hands.

"I see," said Kisu, "but this is an inefficient tool."

"You could ask the askaris for a better," I suggested.

We then began, smoothly and firmly, exerting heavy, even pressures, to draw the chain back and forth under the log. In moments, using this crude saw, or cuffing tool, we had cut through the bark of the log and had begun, rhythmically, to gash and splinter the harder wood beneath. The spacing and twisting of the links, in the motion of the metal, served well in lieu of teeth. There was an occasional squeak of the metal on the wet wood but the work, for the most part, was accomplished silently, the sound being concealed under the surface of the water. It was a mistake on the part of the askaris to have left us in neck chains in a cage mounted on a log platform. We ceased work, once, when a canoe of askaris, on watch, paddled by.

My hands began to bleed on the chain. Doubtless Kisu's hands, too, were bloodied.

One man crept close to us. "This is madness," he said. "I am not with you."

"You must then be killed," I told him.

"I have changed my mind," he said. "I am now with you, fully."

"Good," I said.

"The sound will carry under the water," said another man. Sound does carry better under water than above it, indeed, some five times as well. The sound, of course, does not well break the surface of the water. Thus the sound, though propagated efficiently either beneath or above the surface, is not well propagated, because of the barrier of the surface, either from beneath the surface to above the surface, or from above the surface to beneath the surface.

"It will attract tharlarion, or fish, and then tharlarion," he said.

"We will wait for them to investigate and disperse," I said.

Ayari was near to me. "It is dark," he said. "It is a good night for raiders."

A bit of wood, moved by the chain, splintered up by my feet.

I slid the loop of chain down toward the end of the log, near the end of the other log, to which it was adjacent.

The chain, thus positioned, might exert more leverage. "Pull," I said. Kisu and I, drawing heavily on the chain, splintered the log upward, breaking off some inches of it. With my foot and hands I snapped off some sharp splinters.

"We will now wait for a time," I said.

We heard a tharlarion, a large one, rub up against the bottom of the raft.

I looped the chain in my bloody hands, to strike at it if it should try to thrust its snout through the hole.

"Cover the log. Seem asleep," whispered a man.

We sat about the piece of log, our heads down, some of us lying on the floor of the log raft. I saw the light, a small torch, in the bow of another canoe pass us, one containing ten armed askaris.

They did not pay us much attention.

"They fear raiders," said Ayari.

After a time, when it seemed quiet, I said, "Bring the first man on the chain forward."

He, not happy, was thrust toward me. "I will go first," I said, "but I cannot, as I am toward the center of the chain."

"What about the fellow at the end of the chain?" he inquired.

"An excellent idea," I said, "but he, like you, might be reluctant, and it is you, not he, whose neck is now within my reach."

"What if there are tharlarion?" he asked.

"Are you afraid?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"You should be," I said. "There might be tharlarion."

"I am not going," he said.

"Take a deep breath," I told him, "and keep moving, for others must follow. Make for the mud raft. There are shovels there."

"I am not going," he said.

I seized him and thrust him head first downward through the hole. The next man slid feet first through the hole. The next, heavy, squeezed with difficulty through the aperture between the logs. Another man slipped through. The first man's head broke the surface sputtering. He started toward the mud aft. One after another, I and Kisu, and Ayari, toward the center of the chain, the same forty-six prisoners of the cage slipped free.

"Take shovels and bring the raft," I said.

"Which way shall we go?" asked Ayari.

"Follow me," I said.

"You are going west!" said Ayari.

"We must free ourselves," I said. "In the chain we cannot long escape. If we go west we may deceive inquiring askaris. And west, only a pasang away, lies the smiths' island, where men are added to the chain."

"There will be tools there," said Ayari.

"Precisely," I said.

"Let us go east, or toward the jungles north or south," said a man.

Kisu struck him on the side of the head, knocking him sideways.

I looked at Kisu. "Does it not seem wise to you, Mfalme," I asked him, "to proceed westward?"

He straightened himself. "Yes," he said. "We will go westward,"

His agreement pleased me. Without his cooperation, and the significance of his prestige and status, it would be difficult, if not impossible, to enforce my will on the chain. Without his aid and influence I do not think it would have been possible to have escaped the cage. I had seen, from his striking the fellow in the chain, that he had been in agreement with me as to the advisability of proceeding westward. I had then, using the title of Mfalme, asked him to make this concurrence explicit. His declaration had helped to reassure the men. In asking him I had also, of course, indicated my respect for his opinion, which, incidentally, I did respect, and, in using the title of Mfalme, I had acknowledged that I, for one, would continue to recognize his lofty status in Ukungu. Had I not anticipated his agreement I do not know what I would have done. I suppose then one or the other of us would have had to beat or kill the other.

Soon, leading the chain from the center, its ends behind and on either side of us, I, and Kisu, and some others between us, were wading westward, shovels in hand. Some men behind, on either side, thrust the mud raft along with us.

"You are a clever fellow," said Kisu to me.

"Surely you do agree that our best direction at the moment is west?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"They will not expect us to head west, and there are tools there."

"There is something else there, too," he said, "which I want."

"What is that?" I asked.

"You will see," he said.

"Askaris!" said Ayari. "Ahead!"

"We have been released by other askaris, and sent westward for safety," I told him. "We were even given our tools. There were raiders."

"Who is there? Stop!" called an askari.

We stopped, obediently. Nervously I saw that there were several askaris about, more than I had originally realized, some twenty of them, with their shields and stabbing spears. The white feathers of the headdresses marked their positions. In raids askaris sometimes remove these headdresses. When actually engaged in combat in darkness, of course, it helps them keep their formations and tell friend from foe. Although doubtless there are advantages and disadvantages to the headdress it is, tactically, in my opinion, a liability. Like the shako of the hussar, it makes too good a target.

"Raiders!" called out, Ayari, pointing backward. "We were released by askaris and commanded to march west for protection."

"Raiders!" cried one of the askaris.

"It is a good night for them," said another.

"You will protect us, will you not?" begged Ayari.

"Where are the askaris who released you?" demanded one askari.

"Fighting!" said. Ayari.

"Sound the drums," said the man. An askari rushed away. "Prepare to relieve the beleaguered section," said the man.

"Column of twos!" called another.

The askaris formed themselves into a double column.

"Who will stay to protect us?" inquired Ayari.

"March to the rear," said the officer. "You will be safe there."

"There is a relief," said Ayari.

"Hurry!" said the officer.

We immediately began to wade westward again. The askaris hurriedly began to wade east. Soon we could hear a drum. Its sound would marshal new askaris.

"Hurry," said Ayari.

Twice in our march west we were passed by columns of askaris, and then by two canoes filled with such troops.

"They will soon discover it is a false alarm," said Kisu.

"Hurry," I said.

In a few moments we clambered onto the smiths' island. Askaris moved past us.

"What is going on?" asked one of the smiths, holding a torch, standing outside his sleeping shelter.

He, and his fellows, in the shelter, were then ringed with desperate men.

"Remove our chains," I told him.

"Never," said one.

"We can do it ourselves," said Ayari. Shovels were lifted. The smiths, threatened, hurried, escorted by chained men, to their anvils.

The collars, swiftly, were opened and the heavy bands, struck with sharp, expert blows, were bent wide. We thrust the smiths back into their sleeping shed and threw them to their bellies. We tied them hand and foot, gagging them with choking wads of marsh grass, forced into their mouths and fastened in place with wide strips of leather. I tied shut the door of the wooden shelter, to keep it from being pushed inward by tharlarion which might crawl to the surface of the small island.

"Disperse," I said to the men. "It is now each man for himself."

They disappeared into the darkness, making their way in various directions.

Kisu, I, and Ayari, remained on the island.

"Where are you going?" asked Kisu.

"I must go east," I said. "I follow one called Shaba. I seek the Ua River."

"That will suit my purposes well," he said, grimly.

"I do not understand," I said.

"You will, in time," he said.

"Do you menace me?" I asked.

He put his hands on my shoulders. "By the crops of Ukungu, no," he said.

"Then I do not understand you," I said.

"You will," he said.

"I must be on my way," I said. "Time is short."

"You are not facing east," he said. "I have a stop to make first," I said.

"I, too, have some business to attend to," he said.

"That is in accord with some plan of yours?" I asked.

"Exactly," he said. "It is my intention to recover a lost slave," I said. I recalled the lovely blond-haired barbarian, Janice Prentiss. I wanted her at my own feet.

"That is why you brought along the mud raft," smiled Kisu.

"Of course," I said.

"I think I, too, will take a slave," he said.

"I thought you might," I said.

"I do not understand why the askaris have not yet returned," said Ayari. "By now they must understand it to be a false alarm."

"I would think so," I said.

"Let us hurry," said Kisu.

We set off through the darkness, westward, pushing the mud raft with us, our shovels placed upon it.

"Why are you not with the other askaris, fighting in the east?" asked Ayari.

"I am guarding the Lady Tende," he said. "Who are you? What is that?"

"Where is the rogues' chain?" asked Ayari.

"I do not know," he said. "Who are you? What is that raft?"

"I am Ayari," said Ayari. "This is the mud raft used by the rogues' chain."

"The rogues' chain is to the east," said the man. "We passed it earlier today."

"What is going on here?" asked Mwoga, returning from the eastern edge of the platform of planks fixed over the four canoes.

"It is a worker, looking for the rogues' chain," said the askari.

Mwoga peered into the darkness. He could not see Ayari well. Obviously the man was a worker, for he was not chained. Probably the mud raft had broken loose and the worker was intent upon returning it, if unwisely in the darkness.

"One askari," called Ayari, "is not enough to guard so great a personage as the Lady Tende."

"Have no fear, fellow," said Mwoga. "There is another about."

"That is all I wanted to know," said Ayari.

Kisu and I bad located one guard apiece. The others had apparently joined in the investigation to the east.

"I do not understand," said Mwoga.

With the flats of our shovels Kisu and I struck the two guards senseless.

Mwoga had informed us that there were only two to concern ourselves with, and that we might proceed with dispatch. He had been quite helpful.

Mwoga looked from his left to his right. Without speaking further, or attempting to draw his dagger, he leaped from the planks into the water, falling, scrambling up, and plunging away into the darkness.

The chained slaves who drew the platform and were sitting and crouching forward, on its surface, bad, cautioned by Ayari, remained silent.

The darkness was loud with the drums.

"I cannot sleep," said the Lady Tende, emerging from the small, silken shelter, one of two, one for her and her slaves, and one for Mwoga, pitched aft on the platform.

Then she saw Kisu.