Hunters of Gor

19 The Stockade of Sarus of Tyros

“Who goes there?” challenged the guard.

I stood in the darkness, on the beach, clad in the yellow of Tyros. His spear, held in two hands, faced me.

“I am your enemy,” I told him. “Summon Sarus. I would speak with him.” “Do not move!’ he said.

“If I move,” I told him, “it will be to kill you. Summon Sarus. I would speak with him.” The guard took a step backward.

“Sarus!” he cried. “Sarus!”

We stood some hundred yards from the palisade erected by the men of Tyros, south of it, on the beach.

From where I stood I could feel the heat of Sarus’ great beacon.

It was now the night following that on which I had, by my will, forced Tina to deliver herself to the men of the Rhoda and Tesephone.

I saw men of Tyros pouring from the palisade, and, too, some of the women of Hura.

Many of them took up positions about the palisade; others scouted the beach to the north, and the nearby forest edges. They were wary. It was wise for them to be so.

I could see a group of five men, one with a torch, making their way toward me across the beach.

The palisade was no longer a rude semicircle, fronted by animal fires. It had now, in the preceding day, been closed. There was even a rough gate, hung on rope hinges, which was now open.

The group of five men picked their way across the stones toward me. They carried weapons. Sarus was among them. Men now streamed past me, to scout the beach to the south.

Today, concealed in the forest, I had seen men cutting more logs. These they trimmed, and dragged to the sand between the stockade and the shore. Obviously Sarus was growing impatient for the Rhoda and Tesephone. Perhaps he thought them overdue. As the men had worked on these logs, fastening them into rafts, slaves, Marlenus and the others, male and female, had been forced to stand between the rafts and the forests.

There was little opportunity to use the great bow, either against the stockade or to prevent the building of the rafts. I could have slain some men cutting in the forest, but little would have been accomplished. I would have informed them that they again stood in danger, which I did not wish them to know. Further, they might then have shielded their work with slaves, or, perhaps, used selected wood from the front of the palisade. The sea and the beach, with their openness, gave them protection. They could shield themselves, either with wood or slaves, from the forest. The most of them, though I could have made some kills, were now substantially safe from the great bow. I could not pin them inside the stockade without exposing myself, and doing so from the beach or shore, and then, of course, they might depart from the stockade secretly from the rear. I did not wish to expose myself on the beach, permitting them the cover of the forest. It would be too easy for them, after a time, to bring me within the range of their steel-leaved crossbows.

It had been my intention to permit Sarus to reach the sea.

I had anticipated, however, that he would make camp and wait for the appointed rendezvous with the Rhoda and Tesephone.

I had not anticipated that he might not choose to keep this scheduled rendezvous.

I had apparently miscalculated.

Perhaps I had not understood the degree of terror which I had apparently, unwittingly, induced in my enemies.

Perhaps Sarus, was unnerved, too, by the escape, the day before yesterday, of Cara and Tina.

This may have precipitated his decision.

Perhaps, too, Mira had informed him that he was stalked by hundreds of panther girls, claiming to have seen evidences of this in the trek. She would dare not reveal her role in the affair of the wine, but she might well convince him of what she believed mistakenly having inferred this from her experiences in the forest, while blindfolded, while being interrogated by Vinca. She need only have claimed to have glimpsed such women, following them, hunting them.

Perhaps Sarus was frightened that the stockade would be stormed.

For whatever reason, Sarus, it seemed, was determined soon, doubtless in the morning, to take his rafts south. It would be dangerous, and perhaps futile, to follow them under the cover of the forest. For one thing, I would have to pass the exchange points. Further, if they kept slaves on the shoreward side of the rafts, as they would, and did not put into land to make camp, there was little that could be done. It was not unlikely that I would lose them.

I was bitter. We had missed the rendezvous with the Rhoda and Tesephone by only a matter of hours.

There was little time to act. I was bitter.

“I am Sarus,” said the long-boned man.

I saw a torch lifted higher, that they might better look upon my face. I carried only my sword, in its sheath, and a short sleen knife, balanced. “He is alone,” said a man, reporting back from the beach to the south. “Keep watch,” said Sarus.

He was not shaved. He looked at me. He seemed a strong man, hard, a leader. “You were the yellow of Tyros,” he said.

“I am not of Tyros,” I told him.

“Of that I am sure,” said Sarus.

“What are you doing here?” asked one of the men, crowding close.

I looked at Sarus. “I am you enemy,” I said. “I would speak with you.” “The beach is clear to the north,” said another man, coming up to Sarus. “I found no one in the forest,” said another. Two other men, too, stood with him.

The men of Tyros looked at one another.

“Shall we speak?” I asked.

Sarus looked at me. “Let us return to the stockade,” he said.

“Excellent,” I said.

Sarus turned to his men. “Return to the stockade!” he called. He regarded me. “We shall keep watch from within the stockade,” he said. “We may not be easily surprised.” “Excellent,” I said.

I led the way to the stockade, the men of Sarus falling into step beside me. Before I entered the stockade I heard Sarus speak to two of his men. “Keep the beacon burning,” he said, “Build it high.” I entered the stockade and looked about.

“It is not a bad stockade,” I told him, “for having been swiftly built.” The gate swung shut behind me.

I must wait until the two men who tended the beacon returned to the interior. “Do not stand close to me,” I told two men of Tyros. They moved back a few feet. Inside the stockade I was the immediate center of attention. I looked from face to face, particularly those of the men. Some seemed alert, swift. Other’s hands seemed well fitted to the hilts of blades. I noted which pommels were worn. Two carried crossbows. I noted them.

“Do not press me closely,” I told them.

I was the center of a circle. The women, too, of Hura, stood at the edge of the circle, among the men of Sarus. The women, who had seen me, long ago at the camp of Marlenus, did not recognize me. But Mira did. She stood there, behind two men of Tyros.

Her eyes were wide. Her hand was before her mouth. It was I to whom she had submitted herself in the forest. It was I who had used her, a mere slave, insolently, before returning her, with the drugged wine, to the camp of Sarus. I was her master. Had I come for her? “I think I know him,” said Hura, the tall girl, long-legged, with black hair, leader of the panther girls. She stood boldly before me, in the brief skins of the panther girls, in her golden ornaments.

I drew her swiftly to me, and she cried out, frightened. I held her helplessly, and raped her lips with a kiss, an insolent kiss, such as a master might use to dismiss a slave girl, and then threw her from me, against the feet of the men of Tyros. The women of Hura gasped, and cried out with indignation. They screamed their rage. The men of Tyros were startled.

“Kill him!’ screamed Hura, her dark hair before her eyes, crouching at the edge of the circle, to which, after my kiss, I had spurned her.

“Be silent, Woman,” said Sarus.

Hura struggled to her feet, and swept her hair back from her face. She regarded me with rage. Her women, too, cried out with fury.

“Be silent,” said Sarus.

Angrily, the panther girls, breathing heavily, eyes flashing, restrained themselves.

I gathered that Hura, and her girls, proud panther women, were not popular among the men.

Moreover, I gathered that they feared the men, as well as hated them. Little love, or respect was lost between them. They were strange allies, the men of Tyros, the women of Hura.

“I claim vengeance!’ cried Hura.

Again, behind her, her girls shouted.

“Be silent.” Said Sarus, sharply, “or we will put you all in bracelets!” The girls gasped, and were silent.

The mood of the men of Tyros toward them was not pleasant. They shrank back. At a word from Sarus they might be enslaved, and would be then no different from the poor wenches, bound head to foot, lying behind them.

The slaves in the stockade, the twenty-two wenches behind the circle of the men of Tyros, and the women of Hura, and beyond them, lying on their stomachs, chained, facing the back wall of the stockade, Marlenus and the twenty others, could know little or nothing of what was transpiring.

I did, however, as well as I could, note the positions of Sheera and Verna among the tied, prone slave girls.

I might have need of them.

“Entrance,” called one of the two men who had been outside, adding fuel to the beacon fire.

The gate was opened and the two men were admitted. All the men of Sarus, then, were within the stockade.

The gate was shut again.

I was pleased to see the beam slid into place, thrust by two men, securing it. There was no catwalk about the interior of the stockade.

A man of Tyros threw more wood on a fire inside the stockade, well illuminating the interior.

“I have heard,” said Sarus, folding his arms, “that you would speak with me.” “That it true,” I said.

I measured Sarus. He would be quick. He was intelligent. He was hard. His accent bespoke a low caste. He had doubtless risen through the ranks to a position of prominence, which, given the aristocracies of Tyros, was unusual. Family was important on the cliffed island, as, indeed it was, on the terraces of Cos. Island ubarates, with their relatively stable populations, over a period of generations, tend to develop concentrations of wealth and power among successful families, which wealth and power, first producing oligarchy, becomes gradually invested with the prestige of dynastic tradition, at which point, one supposes, one may fairly speak of aristocracy. Most Gorean cities are, in effect, governed by the influence, direct or indirect, of several important families. In the city of Ar, one of the great families was once the Hinrabians.

But Sarus did not owe his authority, his responsibility, to his family. He had achieved it against great odds, on the isle of Tyros. He would be quite dangerous.

He reminded me a bit of Chenbar of Tyros, her Ubar, also of lowly origin. Perhaps it was to the influence of Chenbar, some years ago, that Sarus had been advanced. Chenbar, as far as I knew, lay chained in a dungeon of Port Kar. There had been much warfare in Tyros over the succession to the throne of the Ubar. Five families, with their followers, had fought for the medallion. I did not know, now, how things stood in Tyros.

I did know, however, that Sarus and his men had engaged in a well-organized mission to capture Marlenus of Ar and one called Bosk of Port Kar.

I found that of interest.

It seemed to me unusual that with the succession in doubt such an expedition had been launched.

Then I knew what must be the case.

“I had not known,” I said, “that Chenbar of Tyros has escaped.”

Sarus looked at me, warily. “Men of Torvaldsland,” he said. “They were not suspected. Their fees were large. With their axes they broke though to him, shattered the rings from the stones, and carried him safe to Tyros. Many men were killed. Hey escaped at night. An hour after his arrival on Tyros, the Rhoda, under my command, raised mast and dipped oars for Lydius.” “What was your mission?” I asked.

“It is not of your business,” said Sarus.

“I note,” I said, “that you have taken slaves.”

“Some,” said Sarus.

The escape of Chenbar would have taken place directly shortly after I had left the city.

“Who, of Torvaldsland,” I asked, “dared to free Chenbar of Tyros?”

“A madman,” laughed Sarus. “Ivar Forkbeard.”

“A madman?” I asked.

“Who else?’ said Sarus. “Who but a madman would have attempted such work? Who but a madman could have succeeded in it?” “His fees were large?” I asked.

“To be sure,” said Sarus wryly. “The weight of Chenbar in the sapphires of Shendi.” “His price,” I said, “was high for one afflicted with madness.” “All those of Torvaldsland are mad,” said Sarus. “They have no sense. They fear only that they will die in war.” “I trust,” I said, “that you, and men of Tyros, are less mad.” “It is my hope that that is true,” smiled Sarus. Then his eyes grew hard. “Why have you come to this stockade? What is it that you wish?” “Kill him,” cried Hura.

Sarus paid her no attention.

“I had come to negotiate,” I said.

“I do not understand,” said Sarus.

I looked about, noting the position of the men, and the women of Hura, and where Sheera and Verna, hidden behind the feet of those at the circle, lay bound. “It is my wish,” I said, “that you surrender to me, without dispute, those whom you now hold as slave.” “I see now,” smiled Sarus,” that Ivar Forkbeard, of Torvaldsland, was sane.” I shrugged.

“Do you understand what these slaves have cost us?’ asked Sarus.

“I am sure their price was high,” I granted.

“Kill him! Hill him!” cried certain of Hura’s women.

“How many men do you have outside the stockade?” asked Sarus.

I did not speak.

“Obviously,” said Sarus, “you would not have approached us without a considerable force.” I did not respond to him.

“Doubtless you come as a representative of those who have followed us in the forest.” “That is an intelligent supposition of your part,” I said.

“I am not an irrational man,” said Sarus, “but on some matters I cannot compromise.” “Oh,” I said.

“Are you a slaver?” he asked.

“I have taken slaves,” I admitted.

“What will satisfy you?” he asked.

“What do you offer?” I queried.

“There are twenty-two female slaves here, lying bound,” said Sarus. “it does not please me to give them to up, but, if that is your price, we will do so.” I shrugged.

“Would you like to examine them?” asked Sarus.

“I have seen them,” I said.

“Of course,” said Sarus. “In the forest.”

“Yes,” I said. I did not wish to be seen closely by the slaves, for fear of reaction among them, which would give my identity away. Sheera, for example, and Verna, and Grenna, well knew me.

The slave girls lay bound in the shadows, head to foot, behind the men of Tyros, the women of Hura. They knew little of what was occurring.” “It is not enough,” I told Sarus, sternly.

“How many men do you have?” he asked, angrily. “let us be reasonable. You cannot take us without losing men, many men!” “It is true,” I said, “that you have a defensive stockade.” “Yes!’ said Sarus. “Take the slave girls and be satisfied.” I looked at Sarus. My eyes were hard. “I want more,” I told him.

“Kill him! Kill him quickly, you fool!” screamed Hura.

Sarus looked at her. “Strip her,” he said, “and the others, and bind them as slaves.” As I looked on, unmoved, Hura, and her women, screaming and struggling, seized from behind by the men of Tyros, were thrown to their bellies in the dirt. The men then, in a standard Gorean procedure, knelt across their bodies, pinning the girl’s arms to their sides, leaving their own hands free. Then cut the skins from them, and their weapons, and then, tightly, fastened the wrists of each behind her body. Hura, and the others, struggled to their feet, stripped, wrists secured behind their backs.

“Kill him!” she wept. “He is your enemy! Not us! Do not give us up! We are your allies, your allies!” “You are only females,” said Sarus. “And we are weary of you.” Hura looked at him, in horror and rage.

Sarus examined her, closely. He was impressed. “You will look well on the block, my dear,” he said.

“Beast!” screamed Hura. “Beast!”

“Put them in coffle,” I told Sarus.

Hura and her twenty-one girls, including Mira, were tied, neck to neck. “You fool!” cried Hura to Sarus.

“He has no men!” cried Mira, suddenly. “He has no men!”

“How is this known to you?” inquired Sarus.

“I was captured by him and taken to the forest,” wept Mira. “He and others made me give drugged wine to our women!” Hura turned on her, like a she-panther. “She-sleen!” she screamed. “She-sleen!” “He made me do it!” she cried. “I had no choice!” “She-sleen!” Screamed Hura. “I will tear out your eyes! I will cut your throat! She-sleen! She-sleen!” Sarus struck Hura, with the back of his hand, suddenly, knocking her head to one side, splattering blood across her teeth. She slipped to her knees, her eyes glazed, a chastened slave.

He stood before Mira. “Tell us what you know!” he demanded.

“He captured me,” she wept. “He took me into the forest. He made me serve drugged wine! I had no choice!” “How many women does he have?” demanded Sarus, angrily.

“Hundreds!” wept Mira.

Sarus slapped her. She looked at him, terrified. “Fool!” he said.

Mira lowered her head.

“How many did you see?” he asked. “Remember! How many did you see?” “I didn’t see any,” she wept.

There was an angry cry for the girls, from the men.

“I was blindfolded!” she wept.

Sarus laughed.

“I heard hundreds!” she wept.

The blindfold is a simple and common device of slave control. It is inferior, of course, to the slave hood.

Sarus turned to face me. He was now smiling. “If you possessed hundreds of allies,” he said, “it would have been wise for you to make certain our lovely Mira, our beautiful little traitress, well practiced in treachery, could see them.” “Perhaps,” I admitted.

“She was blindfolded,” said Sarus, “because you had no allies, or only a handful?” “That seems,” said I, “an intelligent supposition on your part.” “I heard women!” wept Mira. “I hear many women!” “Or two or three women,” snarled Sarus, “who repeatedly passed you.” Suddenly Mira looked at me, her face agonized. “You tricked me,” she whispered. “You tricked me.” Sarus was not facing me. “You,” he said, “have few or no allies.” “Please, Sarus,” said Hura, who was now on her feet. “Please free us now.” She spoke humbly. She did not wish to be struck again. She had felt a man’s blow, though, a light, swift one, suitable for the disciplining of women. Sarus looked at the coffle. “You will make excellent slaves,” he told them. “Please help us,” begged the women of the men of Tyros.

“Be silent, Slaves,” said Sarus.

The girls stopped struggling. They stood quietly, bound.

“I think,” said Sarus, facing me, “that you owe us something of an explanation.” “I think that is true,’ I admitted.

“For what purpose have you come here?”

“Primarily,” I said, “to obtain the release of slaves. In particular I am interested in obtaining one spoken of as Rim, and another as Arn. I would also like the one called Sheera.” “Your desires are simple,” said Sarus. “Do you not know whom we hold slave in this camp?” “Who?’ I asked.

“Marlenus of Ar,” smiled Sarus.

“Ah,” I said. “I will take him, too, then, and the others as well.” Sarus and his men laughed. I stood with my back to the gate.

I need have no fear at the moment of the bows of panther girls. They stood helpless, bound in coffle. Sarus had been willing to surrender them for the safety of himself, his men and those slaves he regarded as important. I noted where the two men with crossbows were. I noted the number of feet I stood from the fire.

Both crossbows were set.

“What is your interest in the men called Rim and Arn?” asked Sarus. “They are my men,” I told him.

“Your men?” he asked, slowly.

“I know him!” cried Hura. “I know him!”

I looked at her.

“He is Bosk of Port Kar!” she cried. “He is Bosk of Port Kar!”

I heard a stirring among the slaves behind the men of Tyros. The bound girls, prone, struggled. They had been bedded for the night, and so were gagged, but they could hear. That Bosk of Port Kar was among them resulted in much movement. I heard, too, beyond hem, the rattle of chains. Marlenus and the others, their ankles not yet tied, were struggling to their knees. I heard a whip crack, twice, as a man of Tyros ran amongst them, to force them down again. Then there was silence.

“Yes,” I said, “it is true.”

“You are insane to come here,” said Sarus.

“I do not think so,’ I said. There was no catwalk about the interior of the palisade. It would take two men to throw the bean, opening the gate. “We sought you,’ said Sarus. “We wanted you, as well as Marlenus of Ar.” “I am honored,” I said.

“You are a fool,” cried Sarus. Then he looked at me. “it is our great good fortune,” said he, that you have, of your own free will, delivered yourself to us. We did not count on such fortune.” “But I am not here,” I said, “to surrender myself.” “Your ruse has failed,” said Sarus.

“How is that?” I asked. “Your allies stand immobilized.”

“Free us!” begged Hura. “Free us!” begged Mira.

“Silence the slaves,” said Sarus.

A slave lash struck again and again. The women, one by one, did not seem to understand what was happening, but each, in turn, was struck twice, at an interval of a few Ihn, that the pain of the first blow be truly felt and understood before the second was delivered. At the first blow, the girls fell to their knees, eyes glazed, choking, unable to believe their pain. Then, trembling, shuddering, weeping some begging for mercy, they thrust their heads to the ground. Then, one by one, the second blow fell. They wept, crying out, belief in their eyes. Hura regarded Sarus after the first blow, disbelief in her eyes. She had not understood what it was to feel the lash. She shook her head, numbly, and fell to her knees. She looked at Sarus “Please Sarus,” she begged, “do not have me struck again.” “Strike her again,” said Sarus.

She put down her head and again the blow fell. She wept.

“Again!” said Sarus.

“Please, no, Master!” screamed Hura.

Again the lash fell. Hura was on her knees, head down, a piteous, lashed slave girl. “No, Master,” she wept. “Please, no Master.” The entire coffle, whipped, was on its knees, heads down, weeping. “Please, Masers,” they wept.

“The men of Tyros,” I said, “are harsh in their disciplining of women.” “I have heard,” said Sarus, “that the chains of a slave girl are heaviest in Port Kar.” I shrugged.

“Your ruse has failed,” said Sarus.

“Your allies,” I reminded him, “are immobilized.”

He looked at me, puzzled. “We do not need them,” he said.

“It is just as well,’ I said. “I would not car to have to slay them.” “Consider yourself, Bosk of Port Kar,” said he, “my prisoner.” “I offer you your life, and the lives of your men,” I said, “if you depart now, leaving behind all slaves.” Sarus looked about at his men, and they laughed, all of them.

The girls in the coffle looked up, with tears in their eyes.

“You may surrender your weapons,” I told them.

They looked at one another. Two laughed, not easily.

I heard the male slaves in the shadows rising to their feet. No one whipped them. No one paid them attention. In the shadows, in the background, by the light of the fire, two paces from me, I saw the tall, mighty frame of Marlenus of Ar. Standing beside him were Rim, and Arn. I could see the neck chains fastening them together, and to the others.

I met the eyes of Marlenus.

“Surrender,” said Sarus to me. “Surrender!”

“I do not think so,” I said.

“You are outnumbered,” said Sarus. “You have no chance.”

“He is mad,” whispered one of Sarus’ men.

“You are a fool to have come here,” whispered Sarus.

“I do not think so,” I said.

He looked at me.

“How many men do you have?” I asked.

“Fifty-five,” he said.

“I was not always of the merchants,” I told him.

“I do not understand,” said Sarus.

“Once,” I said, “long ago, I was of the warriors.”

“There are fifty-five of us,” said Sarus.

“My city,” I said, “was the city of Ko-ro-ba. It is sometimes called the Towers of Morning.” “Surrender,” whispered Sarus.

“Long ago,” I said, “I dishonored my caste, my Home Stone, my blade. Long ago, I fell from the warriors. Lone ago, I lost my honor.” Sarus slowly drew his blade, as did those behind him.

“But once,” I said, “I was of the city of Ko-ro-ba. Hat must not be forgotten. That cannot be taken from me.” “He is mad,” said one of the men of Tyros.

“Yes,” I said, “once long ago, in he delta of the Vosk, I lost my honor. I know that never can I find it again. That honor, which was to me my most precious possession, was lost. It is gone, and gone forever. It is like a tarn with wings of gold, that sits but once upon a warrior’s helm, and when it departs, it returns no more. It is gone, and gone forever.” I looked at them, and looked, too, upward at the stars of the Gorean night. They were beautiful, like points of fire, marking the camps of armies in the night. “Yes,” I said, again regarding the men of Tyros. “I have lost my honor, but you must not understand by that that I have forgotten it. On some nights, on such a night as this, sometimes, I recollect it.” “We are fifty-five men!” screamed Sarus.

“Marlenus!” I called. “Once, on the sands of an arena in Ar, we fought, as sword companions.” “It is true!” he called.

“Silence!” cried Sarus.

“And once I saw you remove your helm in the stadium of tarns, and claim again the throne of Ar.” “It is true!” called Marlenus.

“Let me hear again, now,” said I, “the anthem of Ar.”

The strains of the great song of Ar’s victories broke from the Ubar’s collared throat, and, too, from the throats of the men of Ar beside him.

“Silence!” cried Sarus.

He turned to face me, wildly. He saw that my blade was no drawn.

“You are not of Ar!” he cried.

“It would be better for you,” said I, “if I were.”

“You are mad,” he cried. “Mad!”

“My Home Stone,” I told him, “was once the Home Stone of Ko-ro-ba. Will it be you, Sarus, who will come first against me?”