Fighting Slave of Gor

25 I FIGHT KRONDAR, SLAVE OF MILES OF VONDA; TARNSMEN

The leather slave hood was pulled from my head. I heard the cry of the crowd. Barns rubbed my back. Kenneth was wrapping the long strips of leather about my hands. I saw slave girls, in their brief rags and collars, at the gate, some standing on the bars of the gate. "Jason! Jason!" some of them called. "Krondar!" cried several of the free persons in the crowd. "Jason!" cried others.

There was a new cry from the crowd as a burly, short, thick-bodied man was led into the sand-floored, circular pit. He pulled against the manacles which confined his hands behind his back. "He is eager," I thought.

"Krondar! Krondar!" cried men in the crowd.

"I have not heard of this slave," I said to Kenneth. "Is Gort not the champion of the stables of Miles of Vonda?"

"Here," cried one of the referee's men, pointing to me, "is Jason, champion of the stables of the Lady Florence of Vonda!" There was a cheer at this. "Jason! Jason!" cried several of the slave girls. The women present at the pit of sand, whether at the gate leading into it, or in the tiers looking down upon it, were excited. Women grow excited when men are to do battle. This is because they know that they are the natural spoils of the wars of men. This is obvious in any woman, whether slave or free, but it is particularly and almost pathetically obvious among female slaves, who already know themselves explicitly and legally as properties and spoils. Too, their half-naked bodies, collared and branded, make it difficult for them to conceal their excitement, or other emotions and feelings.

"He seems strong," I said to Kenneth.

"Yes," said Kenneth, not looking back, but continuing to wrap the leather about my hands.

"His body," said I, "is muchly scarred."

"It should be," said Kenneth. I did not understand his remark.

"Krondar!" cried free persons in the tiers.

"Jason!" cried others.

I looked to the tiers and there saw the proud and regal figure of Miles of Vonda. He was smiling. I recalled that he had once been one of the rejected suitors of the Lady Florence of Vonda. He was one of the main tharlarion ranchers in the area. I did not think so proud a man would have taken his rejection cooly. The Lady Florence was not this day present at the bouts. For no reason that was generally clear to her employees and slaves she had claimed to be currently indisposed, and had chosen to remain in seclusion in her house. When I had asked Kenneth about this, he had merely grinned, and asked, "Do you not know?" "Perhaps," I had smiled.

Miles of Vonda gestured to one of the referee's men, and he removed the slave hood from the head of the burly man opposite me, across the sand.

"Aiii," I whispered.

There was a gasp of horror from the crowd.

"This," called another of the referee's men, pointing to the burly fellow, whose seconds were now removing the manacles from his wrists, freeing his hands from behind his back, "is Krondar, newly purchased slave to Miles of Vonda, and new champion of his stables!"

Krondar struggled, but was held by his seconds. One of the referee's men whipped forth steel, a Gorean blade, short and wicked, and, leveling it, thrust it a quarter of an inch into the burly man's gut. Krondar ceased struggling. He well knew the meaning of Gorean steel. Such a blade, with little effort, can disappear into a body and divide flesh.

But Krondar's eyes sought mine. They were small, under hanging brows. His face was a mass of scar tissue.

"That is no ordinary fighting slave," I told Kenneth.

"No," said Kenneth, not looking back. "That is Krondar. He is a famous fighting slave of Ar."

"His face," I said, half in awe.

"In the pits of Ar," he said, "he has fought with the spiked leather, and with the knife gauntlets."

"Doubtless he has cost Miles of Vonda much," said Barus, rubbing my back.

"Why should Miles of Vonda have purchased such a slave?" I asked. "Can the championship of the local stables mean so much to him?"

"More is at stake here," said Barus, "than a local championship. Miles is not pleased at having had you best Gort, his former champion. He is not pleased, so to speak, to have had his stables lose to those of the Lady Florence, whom he once courted in vain. Too, it is well known you were once a silk slave to Lady Florence. Thus I think he would not be entirely displeased were you to be humiliated and crushingly defeated in the pit, perhaps even broken, disfigured and maimed.

"Surely he could not be jealous of me," I said. "He is a free person, and I am only a collared slave."

Kenneth laughed.

Across the pit, Krondar's seconds were wrapping leather about his hands.

"Do not delude yourself," said Kenneth, "he will rejoice in each blow that is struck upon your body. When you fall broken and bloody at the feet of Krondar, unable to move and at his mercy, will that not be a sweet vengeance for him, against you, and, in its way, against the Lady Florence?"

"Doubtless," I said.

"Beat and mark his face well, Krondar!" called Miles of Vonda to his slave.

"Yes, Master," growled the slave.

"When Krondar is through with him," laughed a man in the tiers, "a she-tharlarion would not have him for a silk slave!" There was laughter at this.

"Krondar seems a formidable antagonist," I said.

Batas laughed.

"He is one of the finest fighting slaves of Ar," said Kenneth.

"It seems he could tear me to pieces," I smiled.

"I do not think it is impossible," said Kenneth, finishing with the leather on my hands.

I began to feel sick. "Do you think I can win?" I asked.

"Of course not," said Kenneth.

"Why then am I fighting?" I asked.

"You are champion," said Kenneth. "You must fight."

"Have you bet upon me?" I asked.

"No," said Kenneth.

"Have you bet on Krondar?" I asked.

"No," said Kenneth.

"Why not?" I asked

"Such a bet would cast suspicion on the honesty of the bouts," said Kenneth.

"Such a bet could be placed secretly, through agents," I said.

"Doubtless," said Kenneth.

"But you have not done so?" I asked.

"No," he said.

"Why not?" I asked.

"I will not bet against my own men," said Kenneth.

"Does Master speak the truth?" I asked.

"A bold question," he smiled.

"Its answer?" I asked.

"Yes," smiled Kenneth, striking me on the shoulder. "I speak the truth!"

"Bet," I told him.

"Bet?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, grinning. "I am going to win."

"You are mad," said Barus.

"After the first few blows," said Kenneth, "feign disorientation, then when another is struck, fall to the sand."

"And then?" I asked.

"Why pretend unconsciousness," said Kenneth, "or inability to rise."

I regarded him.

"Krondar will probably kick you a few times, that your ribs may be broken, or pull you by the hair to your knees, that he may break loose your teeth or shatter your jaw, but you will live."

"As an overwhelmingly humiliated and defeated slave," I said.

"Of course," said Kenneth.

"Does Master command me," I asked, "as the collared slave I am?",

"I advise you," said Kenneth, "to adopt that course of actiontion which is in your own best interest."

"Does Master command me," I asked, "as the collared slave I am?"

"I have watched you, Jason," said Kenneth. "The collar does not belong on your throat. You are not a woman, born to lie licking and loving at a man's feet. In you there is the stuff of masters."

"I am not then commanded," I said.

"No," said Kenneth. "I do not command you."

"Thank you, Master," I said. I measured Krondar across the sand.

"The bar will soon be struck," said Barus.

Krondar was eager. I was pleased at this. I decided that I would make short work of him.

"I have done all that I can do," said Kenneth.

"Not all," I said.

"What else can I do?" asked he.

"Why bet," said I.

"You are indeed mad," said Kenneth.

The bar then suddenly sounded and I leaped to my feet and moved quickly onto the sand.

I was not before him, however, when Krondar, raging, hurled himself toward me. He reeled, struck in the side of the head, against the wooden palings at the side of the pit of sand.

The crowd seemed stunned.

I did not pursue my advantage. "There are fighters other than in Ar," I told Krondar. "I hope that you understand this clearly."

He glared at me.

"A golden tarn disk on Jason!" I heard Barus cry.

"Taken!" called a man in the tiers.

"But ten to one!" called Barus.

"Granted!" called the man. "Let me bet, too," cried another.

Furious Krondar head down lunged at me. He was thus not in a position to protect against the upward stroke with which I caught him. Fortunately we did not engage with knife gauntlets or his head might have been torn from him. Even the cruel cestae of the low pits might have cut away his lower jaw. I still felt the shock in my right arm and shoulder. He staggered backward and to one side. I did not, again, pursue my advantage. "I tell you," I said, "that there are fighters, too, in what you might consider the wilderness or the outlands." He was breathing heavily. "Even in the stables of Vonda," I said, "there are champions." There was a cheer at this from many in the tiers. Even the slave girls, in their rags and collars, cried out with pleasure.

"A golden tarn disk on Jason!" cried Barus. "At ten to one!" There was silence. "Eight to one!" cried Barus. "Five to one!"

"Taken," said a man, uncertainly.

Again, maddened, Krondar, again head down, hurled himself toward me. This time I did not strike him, but let him, sand kicking behind him, plunge past me. He. turned quickly, startled, at the palings. He knew that I had not struck him.

"Let us take one another seriously," I said.

"A golden tarn disk on Jason!" called Barus. "Five to onel Five to one? Three to one? Two to one? Even odds! Even odds!"

"Taken!" said a man. "Taken!" said another.

In that squarish, hideously scarred countenance of Krondar there was, for a moment, a sudden understanding that though he were now in the vicinity of Vonda he with whom he shared that shallow pit of sand, collared and slave, too, might be one perhaps not unworthy to be called a fighter.

"A golden tarn disk on Jason!" cried Barus. "Even odds! Even odds!"

There were no answers from the crowd.

Again Krondar charged, as though maddened, but I had earlier seen his understanding that I might be dangerous. This time I stood to the right and, as he thrust forth his hands to seize me, I struck upward with my left fist. I then struck him crosswise with my right fist, and then similarly again with my left fist, this time to the gut. This brought his head into position for the upward stroke of my right first again. The combination was swift and delivered at close range. The crowd was screaming. I could conceive of the post in the training barn shattering. Krondar shook his head, backing away. I followed him, warily. Swiftly, with his right foot he dug into the sand to hurl its granular shower at me, but I was too quickly upon him. Such an action puts a man off balance. I struck him four times before he struck against the palings and twisted away.

"You would not try that trick, surely, in the pits of Ar," I chided him. "Do you think you can dare to put yourself so off balance with me? Do you think to shame me? Next time I will press my advantage with severity."

Krondar grinned, and wiped blood from his face. He shrugged. "You are fast," he said.

"There are champions in Vonda!" cried a man in the tiers. "Yes!" cried others.

"A silver tarsk on Jason!" called Barns. "Even odds! Even odds!"

But no one responded to his proposal.

Krondar came carefully toward the center of the sand. He beckoned to me. "Come here," he said. "Let us become better acquainted."

"Do you think I fear to close with you?" I asked.

He suddenly lunged toward me and we, our hands even bound in leather, grappled. He grunted savagely trying to hurl me off balance into the palings. We stood locked together, swaying, breathing heavily, on the sand.

The slave girls screamed.

Krondar struck brutally against the palings. They shook. There was blood on them.

There was screaming and cries from the crowd. Krondar shook his head. He was still conscious.

"A silver tarsk on Jason!" cried Barns. "Odds of two to one in favor of Jason! Four to one? Ten to one in favor of Jason!"

The bar then rang and the first fighting period was terminated.

The crowd was screaming.

I stood unsteadily in the center of the sand. It was in the fourth fighting period. Kenneth and Barus ran to me. I felt my bloody, leather-bound fists raised in victory. Gold showered into the pit. Half-naked slave girls knelt at my feet, weeping, pressing their lips to my feet and body. I saw free women in the tiers, their eyes wild, half glazed, over their veils. Men were cheering. Many were pounding their left shoulders in Gorean applause. I saw that Miles of Vonda had left. I broke loose from the crowd and lifted Krondar, bloody, to his feet. We embraced. "You could fight in Ar," he said. Then he was pulled from me, and hooded and shackled. Kenneth and Barus drew me from the fighting area. We forced our way through the crowd. Slave girls clung about me. Even free women reached out to touch me, my body covered with sweat and sand.

Soon, at the gate leading to the stalls used as dressing rooms, the men of the bouts interposed themselves between us and the crowd. "Back! Back!" they cried. "Back, you collared she-sleen!" they cried to the slave girls, drawing their whips. And the leather of their whips, to cries of dismay and pain, fell liberally on the half-stripped bodies of the imbonded beauties. Even free women among them cried out in misery, struck. Then the women, bond and free, fell back, crying and frightened, for all women, whether slave or free, understand the whip. The gate closed behind us. Barns threw a towel about my shoulders and began to dry me. Kenneth thrust me happily down the corridor and into the straw-filled stall.

"Well done, Jason!" he exclaimed. Barus reached to a peg in the stall to get my slave hood and shackles.

"I want a woman," I gasped. I felt my hands pulled behind me. "I want a woman," I said. I felt the manacles, heavy and obdurate, snapped shut on my wrists. "I want a woman," I said.

"Would that I could throw you a wench," said Kenneth. "You have well earned her."

"But the Mistress would not approve?" I asked.

"I do not think so," said Kenneth.

"What of the `new slave,'" I smiled, "she who was sent to me in the tunnel?"

Kenneth grinned. "I do not think the Mistress would approve," he said.

"I want a woman," I said.

"I am sorry," he said. Then the slave hood was drawn over my head and its strap looped twice about my throat and then buckled shut under my chin.

I was not then to speak. I was a slave.

Barns continued then to towel and dry my body. I heard cries from the area of the bouts, but they were not the usual cries, those of excitement or exultation which often accompany the bouts.

"What is going on?" called Kenneth.

"Men of Cos, tarnsmen, have struck at the suburbs of Ar!" cried a man.

"It will mean war!" cried another man.

"Infantrymen from Vonda and Ar have engaged north of Venna!" called another man.

"It will be war," said Barns.

"By what right have the men of Vonda intruded so far to the south?" asked a man.

"It is done," said another.

"The entire Salerian Confederation may become involved," said Kenneth.

"Tyros, too," said another man.

"It is a grim Kaissa that is being played," said a man.

"Are the reports accurate?" asked Kenneth.

"There seems little doubt about them," said a man.

"The first steel has been bloodied," said Kenneth, grimly. "It has come at last. It is war."

"Ar and Venna are faraway," said a man.

"That is fortunate for us," said another.

Barus continued to dry and towel my body. In a few minutes I heard again the usual cries coming from the area of the bouts.

"Our men are finished," said Kenneth. "Let us get them in the wagon."

"I will first collect our bets," said Barus.

"Join us at the wagon," said Kenneth.

"I will do so," said Barns.

I felt Kenneth's hand on my arm and I felt myself being guided from the stall toward the slave wagon in which I and my fellows, other fighting slaves, were brought to the bouts.

"The fighting is faraway," I heard a man say. "We have nothing to fear."

We had been some two Alin upon the road, returning to the lands of the Lady Florence of Vonda.

I do not know the identity of the fellow who hailed us. He may have been a peasant or a tharlarion rancher, or perhaps even a patrolling guardsman. "Beware of brigands!" he cried. "They are in the vicinity. They have already struck at the holdings of Gordon and Dorto!"

"Our thanks, Friend," called Kenneth to him. To Barns he said, "Keep watch. Have the keys ready."

"I will do so," said Barus.

I stirred uneasily in the chains.

There are varieties of slave wagons on Gor. A common type, used to transport female slaves, is covered with blue and yellow canvas. A central metal bar, hinged at one end, near the wagon box, and locked at the other, near the wagon bed's gate, usually occurs in such wagons. The girls' ankles are then chained about this bar. When the bar is freed and lifted they may then, still in their shackles, be removed through the rear of the wagon, the wagon gate being lowered. Another common type of wagon used generally in the transportation of women is the flat-bedded display wagon, with its mounted iron framework. The girls chained and manacled in various positions within and to this framework, sometimes compellingly attractive positions, are then visible. Sometimes buyers follow such wagons to the markets toward which they are bound. Sometimes, however, the girls are sold directly from such wagons, the wagons being in effect themselves traveling markets. In such cases usually one side of the flat wagon bed is used as an auction platform, a small but suitable scaffolding on which may be well displayed the lineaments of the girl's beauty, and on which may be exacted from her the provocative performances demanded by cruel and merciless vendors of their beautiful, degraded merchandise. Another common type of slave wagon on Gor is the cage wagon which, depending on the stoutness of its bars and security, may be used for either men or women. The particular slave wagon in which I was fastened combined the features of the cage wagon and common slave wagon. It was a converted tharlarion wagon and, with bars and extra planking, was unusually stout, probably because its purpose was to transport fighting slaves. It was a heavy wagon, with high sides and covered with a brown canvas. About the whole a cage had been built, with heavy bars, which opened by means of a small door in the back. Within the wagon, in low-sided, heavy stalls, by means of rings at the front and back of the stall, and on the side of the stall near our necks, we were chained by the ankles, wrists and neck. We had, thus, far less freedom of movement than is commonly accorded to females. On the other hand this additional security was only to be expected. We were male slaves, and fighting slaves. I pulled against the chains. They held me well. Gorean masters, for most practical purposes, simply do not lose slaves.

"Do you think there is danger?" asked Barus of Kenneth.

"I do not know," said Kenneth.

The wagon then began to move again. I heard chains near me move. One of my fellows struggled angrily. He, too, of course, was absolutely helpless. We were both only Gorean slaves, efficiently chained by masters.

"Look to the right," said Barus, after a time.

"I see it," said Kenneth.

"And to the right of there," said Barus.

"Yes," said Kenneth.

I did not understand this conversation, and, I suppose, neither did my fellows.

"Look there," suddenly said Barns. "In the sky!"

"I see!" said Kenneth. The wagon stopped.

I heard someone descend from the wagon box. In moments I heard the lock rattling at the rear of the wagon. I then heard keys, swiftly, being inserted into locks. "Get out of the wagon," I heard Barus ordering someone down the line from me. In moments I felt a key being thrust into the locks on my ankle shackles, and then, an instant later, I felt my manacles, fastening my hands behind my back, freed of the ring to which they were attached. My neck chain, a moment later, was pulled loose of my collar ring and fell against the side of the wagon, behind me. "Out of the wagon!" ordered Barus.

"Hurry!" called Kenneth. "He will return with others in moments!"

Barus half pulled me from the stall and pushed me toward the end of the wagon. I was still hooded. Still were my wrists confined behind my back.

"Our of the wagon!" I heard Barus order another man.

I struck against the bars at the end of the wagon. I then lowered myself to the floor and, feet first, slipped through the small, barred gate. It is made so as to admit the entrance or exit of only one man at a time. I then stood barefoot in the dust of the road.

To my amazement I felt Kenneth thrusting a key into the locks on my manacles.

"He is coming now, with others!" said Kenneth.

"Out of the wagon!" Barus ordered another man.

The manacles were pulled away from my wrists and cast through the bars into the wagon.

"Unhood yourselfl" said Kenneth. He was then opening the manacles of another man. I fumbled with the buckles and then drew the hood away. The fresh air felt cold and wonderful. "Unhood yourself!" said Kenneth to another man.

"They will be here in an Ehn or less," cried Kenneth.

"Out of the wagon!" ordered Barns, addressing himself to the last man.

I looked back and to the right. There were two columns of smoke in that direction, far off. I also saw what I took, at first glance, to be a flock of birds in the sky, back and to the right.

"They are coming quickly!" said Kenneth.

I then realized that what I saw in the sky, in the distance, were birds, indeed, but tarns, and that doubtless mounted upon them, armed and purposeful, were men.

"What is going on?" cried one of the slaves.

Kenneth pointed to the sky. "Tarnsmen!" he said.

"Men or Ar?" asked a slave.

"That, or worse," said Kenneth. He then freed the last man. "Unhood yourself," he ordered him. The man, blinking, did so.

I watched the approaching riders, some pasang or so distant, some four or five hundred feet in the air.

"What do you think they will do with you?" asked Kenneth.

We stood there, uncertain, confused.

"Do you think you are lovely women, naked and alluring, whom they will simply chain up and take back to their camp, to be fitted with slave collars?"

We looked at him.

"Run!" said Kenneth. "Scatter!"

Confused, startled, we fled, scattering in various directions.

I looked back once and saw Kenneth and Barus, too, hurrying from the vicinity of the wagon. I did not look back again until I had attained the refuge of an extended, linear terrain of trees and brush bordering a small stream. I saw the wagon burning. The tarnsmen then, in a moment or two, again took flight. They did not pursue us. They returned toward the twin columns of smoke in the distance. I saw the tharlarion which had drawn the wagon, cut loose and stampeded, lumbering away. I was breathing heavily. My heart was pounding wildly. I felt with my fingers the heavy collar of iron, with its ring, fastened on my neck.