Nomads Of Gor

12. The Quiva

In the next days I several times wandered into the vicinity of the huge wagon of Kutaituchik, called Ubar of the Tuchuks. More than once I was warned away by guards. I knew that in that wagon, if the words of Saphrar were correct, there lay the golden sphere, doubtless the egg of Priest-Kings, which he had, for some reason, seemed so anxious to obtain.

I realized that I must, somehow, gain access to the wagon and find and carry away the sphere, attempting to return it to the Sardar. I would have given much for a tarn. Even on my kaiila I was certain I could be outdistanced by numerous riders, each leading, in the Tuchuk fashion, a string of fresh mounts. Eventually my kaiila would tire and I would be brought down on the prairie by pursuers. The trailing would undoubtedly be done by trained herd sleen.

The prairie stretched away for hundreds of pasangs in all directions. There was little cover.

It was possible, of course, that I might declare my mission to Kutaituchik or Kamchak, and see what would occur but I knew that Kamchak had said to Saphrar of Turia that the Tuchuks were fond of the golden sphere and I had no hopes that I might make them part with it, and surely I had no riches comparable to those of Saphrar with which to purchase it and Saphrar's own attempts to win the sphere by purchase, I reminded myself, had failed.

Yet I was hesitant to make the strike of a thief at the wagon of Kutaituchik for the Tuchuks, in their bluff way, had made me welcome, and I had come to care for some of them, particularly the gruff, chuckling, wily Kamchak, whose wagon I shared. It did not seem to me a worthy thing to betray the hospitality of Tuchuks by attempting to purloin an object which obviously they held to be of great value. I wondered if any in the camp of the Tuchuks realized how actually great indeed was the value of that golden sphere, containing undoubtedly the last hope of the people called Priest-Kings.

In Turia I had learned nothing, unfortunately, of the answers to the mystery of the message collar or to the appearance of Miss Elizabeth Cardwell on the southern plains of Gor. I had, however, inadvertently, learned the location of the golden sphere, and that Saphrar, a man of power in Turia, was also interested in obtaining it. These bits of information were acquisitions not negligible in their value. I wondered if Saphrar himself might be the key to the mysteries that confronted me. It did not seem impossible. How was it that he, a merchant of Turia, knew of the golden sphere? How was it that he, a man of shrewdness and intelligence, seemed willing to barter volumes of gold for what he termed merely a curiosity? There seemed to be something here at odds with the rational avarice of mercan- tile calculation, something extending even beyond the often irresponsible zeal of the dedicated collector which he seemed to claim to be. Yet I knew that whatever Saphrar, merchant of Turia, might be, he was no fool. He, or those for whom he worked, must have some inkling or perhaps know of the nature of the golden sphere. If this was true, and I thought it likely, I realized I must obtain the egg as rapidly as possible and attempt to return it to the Sardar. There was no time to lose. And yet how could I succeed? I resolved that the best- time to steal the egg would be during the days of the Omen Taking. At that time Kutai- tuchik and other high men among the Tuchuks, doubtless in- cluding Kamchak, would be afield, on the rolling hills sur- rounding the Omen Valley, in which on the hundreds of smoking altars, the haruspexes of the four peoples would be practicing their obscure craft, taking the omens, trying to determine whether or not they were favorable for the elec- tion of a Ubar San, a One Ubar, who would be Ubar of all the Wagons. If such were to be elected, I trusted, at least for the sake of the Wagon Peoples, that it would not be Kutaituchik. Once he might have been a great man and warrior but now, somnolent and fat, he thought of little save the contents of a golden kanda box. But, I reminded myself, such a choice, if choice there must be, might be best for the cities of Gor, for under Kutaituchik the Wagons would not be likely to move northward, nor even to the gates of Curia. But, I then reminded myself even more strongly, there would be no choice there had been no Ubar San for a hundred years or more the Wagon Peoples, fierce and independent, did not wish a Ubar San.

I noted, following me, as I had more than once, a masked figure, one wearing the hood of the Clan of Torturers. I supposed he was curious about me, not a Tuchuk, not a merchant or singer, yet among the Wagons. When I would look at him, he would turn away. Indeed, perhaps I only imagined he followed me. Once I thought to turn and ques- tion him, but he had disappeared.

I turned and retraced my steps to the wagon of Kamchak. I was looking forward to the evening.

The little wench from Port Kar, whom Kamchak and I had seen in the slave wagon when we had bought Paga the night before the games of Love War, was this night to perform the chain dance. I recalled that he might have, had it not been for me, even purchased the girl. She had surely taken his eye and, I shall admit, mine as well.

Already a large, curtained enclosure had been set up near the slave wagon. For a fee, the proprietor of the wagon would permit visitors. These arrangements irritated me somewhat, for customarily the chain dance, the whip dance, the love dance of the newly collared slave girl, the brand dance, and so on, are performed openly by firelight in the evening, for the delight of any who care to watch. Indeed, in the spring, with the results of caravan raids already accumu- lating, it is a rare night on which one cannot see one or more such dances performed. I gathered that the little wench from Port Kar must be superb. Kamchak, not a man to part easily with a tarn disk, had apparently received inside word on the matter. I resolved not to wager with him to see who would pay the admission.

When I returned to the wagon I saw the bask had already been tended, though it was early in the day, and that there was a kettle on an outside fire boiling. I also noted that the dung sack was quite full.

I bounded up the stairs and entered the wagon.

The two girls were there, and Aphris was kneeling behind Elizabeth, combing Elizabeth's hair.

Kamchak, as I recalled, had recommended a thousand strokes a day.

The pelt of the larl which Elizabeth wore had been freshly brushed.

Both girls had apparently washed at the stream some four pasangs away, taking the opportunity to do so while fetching water.

They seemed rather excited. Perhaps Kamchak would per- mit them to go somewhere.

Aphris of Turia wore bells and collar, about her neck the Turian collar hung with bells, about each wrist and ankle, locked, a double row of bells. I could hear them move as she combed Elizabeth's hair. Aside from the bells and collar she wore only several strings of diamonds wrapped about the collar, some dangling from it, with the bells.

"Greetings, Master," said both girls at the same time. "Ow!" cried Elizabeth as Aphris' comb apparently sudden- ly caught in a snarl in her hair.

"Greetings," I said. "Where is Kamchak?"

"He is coming," said Aphris.

Elizabeth turned her head over her shoulder. "I will speak with him," she said. "I am First Girl."

The comb caught in Elizabeth's hair again and she cried out.

"You are only a barbarian," said Aphris sweetly.

"Comb my hair, Slave," said Elizabeth, turning away. "Certainly slave," said Aphris, continuing her work. "I see you are both in a pleasant mood," I said. Actually, as a matter of fact, both were. Each seemed rather excited and happy, their bickering notwithstanding.

"Master," said Aphris, "is taking us tonight to see a Chain Dance, a girl from Port Karl"

I was startled.

"Perhaps I should not go," Elizabeth was saying, "I would feel too sorry for the poor girl."

"You may remain in the wagon," said Aphris.

"If you see her," I said, "'I think you will not feel sorry for her." I didn't really feel like telling Elizabeth that no one ever feels sorry for a wench from Port Karl They tend to be superb, feline, vicious, startling. They are famed as dancers throughout all the cities of Gor.

I wondered casually why Kamchak was taking the girls, for the proprietor of the slave wagon would surely want his fee for them as well as us.

"Ho!" cried Kamchak, stomping into the wagon. "Meat!" he cried.

Elizabeth and Aphris leaped up to tend the pot outside. He then settled down cross-legged on the rug, not far from the brass and copper grating.

He looked at me shrewdly and, to my surprise, drew a tospit out of his pouch, that yellowish-white, bitter fruit, looking something like a peach but about the size of a plum. He threw me the tospit.

"Odd or even?" he asked.

I had resolved not to wager with Kamchak, but this was indeed an opportunity to gain a certain amount of vengeance which, on my part, would be sorely appreciated. Usually, in guessing tospit seeds, one guesses the actual number, and usually both guessers opt for an odd number. The common tospit almost invariably has an odd number of seeds. On the other hand the rare, long-stemmed tospit usually has an even number of seeds. Both fruits are indistinguishable outwardly. I could see that, perhaps by accident, the tospit which Kamchak had thrown me had had the stem twisted off. It must be then, I surmised, the rare, long-stemmed tospit. "Even," I said.

Kamchak looked at me as though pained. "Tospits almost always have an odd number of seeds," he said.

"Even," I said.

"Very well," said he, "eat the tospit and see."

"Why should I eat it?" I asked. The tospit, after all, is quite bitter. And why shouldn't Kamchak eat it? He had suggested the wager.

"I am a Tuchuk," said Kamchak, "I might be tempted to swallow seeds."

"Let's cut it up," I proposed.

"One might miss a seed that way," said Kamchak.

"Perhaps we could mash the slices," I suggested.

"But would that not be a great deal of trouble," asked Kamchak, "and might one not stain the rug?"

"Perhaps we could mash them in a bowl," I suggested. "But then a bowl would have to be washed," said Kamchak.

"That is true," I admitted.

"All things considered," said Kamchak, "I think the fruit should be eaten."

"I guess you are right," I said.

I bit into the fruit philosophically. It was indeed bitter. "Besides," said Kamchak, "I do not much care for tospit "I am not surprised," I said.

"They are quite bitter," said Kamchak.

"Yes," I said.

I finished the fruit and, of course, it had seven seeds. "Most tospits," Kamchak informed me, "have an odd number of seeds."

"I know," I said.

"Then why did you guess even?" he asked.

"I supposed," I grumbled, "that you would have found a long-stemmed tospit."

"But they are not available," he said, "until late in the summer."

"Oh," I said.

"Since you lost," pointed out Kamchak, "I think it only fair that you pay the admission to the performance." "All right," I said.

"The slaves," mentioned Kamchak, "will also be coming." "Of course," I said, "naturally."

I took out some coins from my pouch and handed them to Kamchak who slipped them in a fold of his sash. As I did so I glowered significantly at the tankards of jewels and chests of golden tarn disks in the corner of the wagon.

"Here come the slaves," said Kamchak.

Elizabeth and Aphris entered, carrying the kettle-between them, which they sat on the brass and copper grating over the fire bowl in the wagon.

"Go ahead and ask him," prompted Elizabeth, "Slave." Aphris seemed frightened, confused.

"Meat)" said Kamchak.

After we had eaten and the girls had eaten with us, there not being that night much time for observing the amenities, Elizabeth poked Aphris, "Ask him," she said.

Aphris lowered her head and shook it.

Elizabeth looked at Kamchak. "One of your slaves," she said, "would like to ask you something."

"Which one?" inquired Kamchak.

"Aphris;" said Elizabeth firmly.

"No," said Aphris, "no, Master."

"Give him Ka-la-na wine," prompted Elizabeth.

Aphris got up and fetched not a skin, but a bottle, of wine, Ka-la-na wine, from the Ka-la-na orchards of great Ar itself. She also brought a black, red-trimmed wine crater from the isle of Cos.

"May I serve you?" she asked.

Kamchak's eyes glinted. "Yes," he said.

She poured wine into the crater and replaced the bottle. Kamchak had watched her hands very carefully. She had had to break the seal on the bottle to open it. The crater had been upside down when she had picked it up. If she had poisoned the wine she had certainly done so deftly. Then she knelt before him in the position of the Pleasure Slave and, head down, arms extended, offered him the crater. He took it and sniffed it and then took a wary sip. Then he threw back his head and drained the crater. "Hah!" said he when finished.

Aphris jumped; "Well," said Kamchak, "what is it that a Turian wench would crave of her master?"

"Nothing," said Aphris.

"If you do not ask him, I shall," said Elizabeth.

"Speak, Slave!" shouted Kamchak and Aphris went white and shook her head.

"She found something today," said Elizabeth, "that some- one had thrown away."

"Bring it!" said Kamchak.

Timidly Aphris rose and went to the thin rep-cloth blanket that was her bedding near the boots of Kamchak. Hidden in 'the blanket there was a faded yellow piece of cloth, which she had folded very small.

She brought it to Kamchak and held it out to him.

He took it and whipped it out. If was a worn, stained Turian camisk, doubtless one that had been word by one of the Turian maidens acquired in Love War.

Aphris had her head to the rug, trembling.

When she looked up at Kamchak there were tear" in her eyes. She said, very softly, "Aphris of Turia, the slave girl, begs her master that she might clothe herself."

"Aphris of Turia," laughed Kamchak, "begs to be per- mitted to wear a camisk"

The girl nodded and swiftly put her head down.

"Come here, Little Aphris," said Kamchak.

She came forward.

He put his hands in the strings of diamonds on her throat. "Would you rather wear diamonds or the camisk?" he asked. "Please, Master," she said, "the camisk."

Kamchak jerked the diamonds from her collar and threw them to the side of the room. Then he withdrew from his pouch the key to her collar and bells and, lock by lock, removed them from her. She could hardly believe her eyes. "You were very noisy," Kamchak said to her, sternly. Elizabeth clapped her hands with pleasure and began to consider the camisk.

"A slave girl is grateful to her master," said Aphris, tears in her eyes.

"Properly so," agreed Kamchak.

Then, delighted, Aphris, assisted by Elizabeth Cardwell, donned the yellow camisk. Against her dark almond eyes and long black hair the yellow camisk was exceedingly lovely. "Come here," commanded Kamchak, and Aphris ran light- ly to him, timidly.

"I will show you how to wear a camisk," said Kamchak, taking the cord and adjusting it with two or three pulls and jerks that just about took the wind out of the Turian girl. He then tied it tightly about her waist. "There," he said, "that is how a camisk is worn." I saw that Aphris of Turia would be marvelously attractive in the garment.

Then, to my surprise, she walked a bit in the wagon and twirled twice before Kamchak. "Am I not pretty, Master?" she asked.

"Yes," said Kamchak, nodding.

She laughed with delight, as proud of the worn camisk as she might have been once of robes of white and gold. "For a Turian slave," added Kamchak.

"Of course," she laughed, "for a Turian slave!"

"We will be late for the performance," said Elizabeth, "if we do not hurry."

"I thought you were staying in the wagon," said Aphris. "No," said Elizabeth, "I have decided to come."

Among them even some Kassars and Paravaci, and one of the rare Kataii, seldom seen in the encampments of the other peoples. The Tuchuks, of course, were most in evidence, sitting cross-legged in circles rather about a large fire near the center of the enclosure. They were in good humor and were laughing and moving their hands about as they regaled one another with accounts of their recent deeds, of which there were plainly a great many, it being the most active season for caravan raiding. The fire, I was pleased to note, was not of boskdung but wood, timber and planking, I was less pleased to note, torn and splintered from a merchant's wagon.

To one side, across a clearing from the 'fire, a bit in the background, was a group of nine musicians. They were not as yet playing, though one of them was absently tapping a rhythm on a small hand drum, the kaska; two others, with stringed instruments, were tuning them, putting their ears to the instruments. One of the instruments was an eight-stringed czehar, rather like a large flat oblong box; it is held across the lap when sitting cross-legged and is played with a horn pick; the other was the kalika, a six-stringed instrument; it, like the czehar, is flat-bridged and its strings are adjusted by means of small wooden cranks; on the other hand, it less resembles a low, flat box and suggests affinities to the banjo or guitar, though the sound box is hemispheric and the neck' rather long; it, too, of course, like the czehar, is plucked; I have never seen a bowed instrument on Gor; also, I Night mention, I have never on Gor seen any written music; I do not know if a notation exists; melodies are passed on from father to son, from master to apprentice. There was another kalika player, as well, but he was sitting there holding his instrument, watching the slave girls in the audience. The three flutists were polishing their instruments and talking together; it was shop talk I gathered, because one or the other would stop to illustrate some remark by a passage on his flute, and then one of the others would attempt to correct or improve on what he had done; occasionally their discus- sion grew heated. There was also a second drummer, also with a kaska, and another fellow, a younger one, who sat very seriously before what appeared to me to be a pile of objects; among them was a notched stick, played by sliding a polished "em-wood stick across its surface; cymbals of vari- ous sorts; what was obviously a tambourine; and several other instruments of a percussion variety, bits of metal on wires, gourds filled with pebbles, slave bells mounted on hand rings, and such. These various things, from time to time, would be used not only by himself but by others in the group, probably the second kaska player and the third flutist. Among Gorean musicians, incidentally, czehar players have the most prestige; there was only one in this group, I noted, and he was their leader; next follow the flutists and then the players of the kalika; the players of the drums come next; and the farthest fellow down the list is the man who keeps the bag of miscellaneous instruments, playing them and parceling them out to others as needed. Lastly it might be mentioned, thinking it is of some interest, musicians on Gor are never enslaved; they may, of course, be exiled, tortured, slain and such; it is said, perhaps truly, that he who makes music-must, like the tarn and the Vosk gull, be free. Inside the enclosure, over against one side, I saw the slave wagon. The bask had been unhitched and taken elsewhere. It was open and one could go in and purchase a bottle of Paga if one cared to do so.

"One is thirsty," said Kamchak.

"I'll buy the Paga," I said.

Kamchak shrugged. He had, after all, bought the admission- sions.

When I returned with the bottle I had to step through, over, and once or twice on, Tuchuks. Fortunately my clum- siness was not construed as a challenge. One fellow I stepped on was even polite enough to say, "Forgive me for sitting where you are stepping." In Tuchuk fashion, I assured him that I had taken no offense, and, sweating, I at last made my way to Kamchak's side. He had rather good seats, which hadn't been there before, obtained by the Tuchuk method of finding two individuals sitting closely together and then sitting down between them. He had also parked Aphris on his right and Elizabeth on his left. I bit out the cork in the Paga and passed it past Elizabeth to Kamchak, as courtesy demanded. About a third of the bottle was missing when Elizabeth, looking faint at having smelled the beverage, returned it to me.

I heard two snaps and I saw that Kamchak had put a hobble on Aphris. The slave hobble consists of two rings, one for a wrist, the other for an ankle, joined by about seven inches of chain. In a right-handed girl, such as either Aphris or Elizabeth, it locks on the right wrist and left ankle. When the girl kneels, in any of the traditional positions of the Gorean woman, either slave or free, it is not uncomfortable. In spite of the hobble, Aphris, in the yellow camisk, black hair flowing behind her, was kneeling alertly by Kamchak's side, looking about her with great interest. I saw several of the Tuchuks present eye her with admiration. Female slaves on Gor, of course, are used to being eyed boldly. They expect this and relish it. Aphris, I discovered, to my delight, was no exception.

Elizabeth Cardwell also had her head up, kneeling very straight, obviously not unconscious that she herself was the object of a look or two.

I noted that, in spite of the fact that Aphris had now been in the wagon for several days, Kamchak had not yet called for the Iron Master. The girl had neither been branded nor had the Tuchuk nose ring been affixed. This seemed to me of interest. Moreover, after the first day or two he had hardly- cuffed the girl, though he had once beaten her rather severely when she had dropped a cup. Now I saw that, though she had been only a few days his slave, already he was permitting her to wear the camisk. I smiled rather grimly to myself and took a significant swallow of Paga. "Wily Tuchuk, eh?" I thought to myself.

Aphris, for her part, though the quivas were still available, seemed, shortly after having begun to sleep at Kamchak's boots, for some reason to have thought the better of burying one in his heart. It would not have been wise, of course, for even were she successful, her consequent hideous death at the hands of the Clan of Torturers would probably, all things considered, have made her act something of a bad bargain. On the other hand she may have feared that Kamchak would simply turn around and seize her. After all, it is difficult to sneak up on a man while wearing collar and bells. Also, she may have feared more than death that if she failed in an attempt to slay him she would be plunged in the sack again which lay ever ready near the back, left wheel of the wagon. That seemed to be an experience which she, no more than Elizabeth Cardwell, was not eager to repeat.

Well did I recall the first day following the first night of Aphris as the slave of Kamchak. We had slept late that day and finally when Kamchak managed to be up and around, after a late breakfast served rather slowly by Elizabeth, and had recollected Aphris and had opened the end of her sleep- ing quarters and she had crawled out backward and had begged, head to boot, to be allowed to draw water for the bask, though it was early, it seemed evident to all that the lovely wench from Turia would not, could she help it, spend a night again similar to her first in the encampment of Tuchuks. "Where will you sleep tonight, Slave?" Kamchak had demanded. "If my master will permit," said the girl, with great apparent sincerity, "at his feet." Kamchak laughed. "Get up, Lazy Girl," said he, "the bask need watering." Gratefully Aphris of Turia had taken up the leather buckets and hurried away to fetch water.

I heard a bit of chain and looked up. Kamchak tossed me the other hobble. "Secure the barbarian," he said. This startled me, and startled Elizabeth as well.

How was it that Kamchak would have me secure his slave? She was his, not mine. There is a kind of implicit claim of ownership involved in putting a wench in slave steel. It is seldom done save by a master.

Suddenly Elizabeth was kneeling terribly straight, looking ahead, breathing very quickly.

I reached around and took her right wrist, drawing it behind her body. I locked the wrist ring about her wrist. Then I took her left ankle in my hand and lifted it a bit, slipping the open ankle ring under it. Then I pressed the ring shut. It closed with a small, heavy click.

Her eyes suddenly met mine, timid, frightened.

I put the key in my pouch and turned my attention to the crowd. Kamchak now had his right arm about Aphris. "In a short time," he was telling her, "you will see what a real woman can do."

"She will be only a slave such as I," Aphris was respond- ing.

I turned to face Elizabeth. She was regarding me, it seemed, with incredible shyness. "What does it mean," she asked, "that you have chained me?"

"Nothing," I said.

Her eyes dropped. Without looking up, she said, "He likes her.

"Aphris the Slave?" I asked.

"Will I be sold?" she asked.

I saw no reason to hide this from the girl. "It is possible," I said.

She looked up, her eyes suddenly moist. "Tart Cabot," she said, whispering, "if I am to be sold buy me."

I looked at her with incredulity.

"Why?" I asked.

Kamchak reached across Elizabeth and dragged the Paga bottle out of my hand. Then he was wrestling with Aphris and had her head back, fingers pinching her nose, the neck of the bottle thrust between her teeth. She was struggling and laughing and shaking her head. Then she had to breathe and a great draught of Paga burned its way down her throat making her gasp and cough. I doubt that she had ever before experienced a drink stronger than the syrupy wines of Turia. She was now gasping and shaking her head and Kamchak was pounding her on the back.

"Why?" I again asked Elizabeth.

But Elizabeth, with her free left hand had seized the Paga bottle from Kamchak, and, to his amazement, had thrown back her head and taken, without realizing the full import of her action, about five lusty, guzzling swallows of Paga. Then, as I rescued the bottle, her eyes opened very wide and then blinked about ten times. She exhaled slowly as if fire might be sizzling out instead of breath and then she shook, a delayed reaction, as if she had been thumped five times and then began to cough spasmodically and painfully until I, fearing she might suffocate, pounded her several times on the back. At last, bent over, gasping for breath, she seemed to be coming around. I held her by the shoulders and suddenly she turned herself in my hands and, as I was sitting cross-legged, threw herself on her back across my lap, her right wrist still chained to her left ankle. She stretched insolently, as well as she could. I was astounded. She looked up at me. "Because I am better than Dina and Tenchika," she said.

"But not better than Aphris," called Aphris.

"Yes," said Elizabeth, "better than Aphris."

"Get up, Little She-Sleen," said Kamchak, amused, "or to preserve my honor I must have you impaled."

Elizabeth looked up at me.

"She's drunk," I told Kamchak.

"Some men might like a barbarian girl," Elizabeth said. I hoisted Elizabeth back up on her knees. "No one will buy me," she wailed.

There were immediate offers from three or four of the Tuchuks gathered about, and I was afraid that Kamchak might, if the bids improved, part with Miss Cardwell on the spot.

"Sell her," advised Aphris.

"Be quiet, Slave," said Elizabeth.

— Kamchak was roaring with laughter.

The Paga had apparently hit Miss Cardwell swiftly and hard. She seemed barely able to kneel and, at last, I per- I misted her to lean against me, and she did, her chin on my j right shoulder.

"You know," said Kamchak, "the Little Barbarian wears your chain well."

"Nonsense," I said.

"I saw," said Kamchak, "how at the games when you thought the men of Turia charging you were prepared to rescue the wench."

"l wouldn't have wanted your property Kamchak," I said. "You like her," announced Kamchak.

"Nonsense," I said to him.

"Nonsense," said Elizabeth, sleepily.

"Sell her to him," recommended Aphris, hiccuping.

"You only want to be First Girl," said Elizabeth.

"I'd give her away myself," said Aphris. "She is only a barbarian."

Elizabeth lifted her head from my shoulder and regarded me. She spoke in English. "My name is Miss Elizabeth Cardwell, Mr. Cabot," she said, "would you like to buy me?" "No," I said, in English.

"I didn't think so," she said, again in English, and put her head back on my shoulder.

"Did you not observe," asked Kamchak, "how she moved and breathed when you locked the steel on her?"

I hadn't thought much about it. "I guess not," I said. "Why do you think I let you chain her?" asked Kamchak. "I don't know," I said.

"To see," he said. "And it is as I thought your steel kindles her."

"Nonsense," I said.

"Nonsense." said Elizabeth.

"I suppose," said Elizabeth, "I could hop all the way on one foot."

I myself doubted that this would be feasible, particularly In her condition.

"You probably could," said Aphris, "you have muscular legs"

I did not regard Miss Cardwell's legs as muscular. She was, however, a good runner.

Miss Cardwell lifted her chin from my shoulder. "Slave," she said.

"Barbarian," retorted Aphris.

"Release her," said Kamchak.

I reached into the pouch at my belt to secure the key to the hobble.

"No," said Elizabeth, "I will stay."

"If Master permits," added Aphris.

"Yes," said Elizabeth, glowering, "if Master permits." "All right," said Kamchak.

"Thank you, Master," said Elizabeth politely, and once more put her head on my shoulder.

"You should buy her" said Kamchak.

"No," I said.

`'I will give you a good price," he said.

Oh, yes, I said to myself, a good price, and ho, ho, ho. "No," I said.

"Very well," said Kamchak.

I breathed more easily.

About that time the black-clad figure of a woman ap- peared on the steps of the slave wagon. I heard Kamchak hush up Ahpris of Turia and he gave Elizabeth a poke in the ribs that she might bestir herself. "Watch, you miserable cooking-pot wenches," he said, "and learn a thing or two!" A silence came over the crowd. Almost without meaning to, I noticed, over to one side, a hooded member of the Clan of Torturers. I was confident it was he who had often followed me about the camp.

But this matter was dismissed from my mind by the performance which was about to begin. Aphris was watching intently, her lips parted. Kamchak's eyes were gleaming. Even Elizabeth had lifted her head now from my shoulder and was rising on her knees a bit for a clearer view. The figure of the woman, swathed in black, heavily veiled, descended the steps of the slave wagon. Once at the foot of the stairs she stopped and stood for a long moment. Then the musicians began, the hand-drums first, a rhythm of heartbeat and flight.

To the music, beautifully, it seemed the frightened figure ran first here and then there, occasionally avoiding imaginary objects or throwing up her arms, ran as though through the crowds of a burning city alone, yet somehow suggesting the presence about her of hunted others. Now, in the back- ground, scarcely to be seen, was the figure of a warrior in scarlet cape. He, too, in his way, though hardly seeming to move, approached, and it seemed that wherever the girl might flee there was found the warrior. And then at last his hand was upon her shoulder and she threw hack her and lifted her hands and it seemed her entire hotly was wretchedness and despair. He turned the figure to hen and, with both hands, brushed away hood and veil.

There was a cry of delight from the crowd.

The girl's face was fixed in the dancer's stylized moan of terror, but she was beautiful. I had seen her before, of course, as had Kamchak, but it was startling still to see her thus in the firelight her hair was long and silken black, her eyes dark, the color of her skin tarnish.

She seemed to plead with the warrior but he did not move. She seemed to writhe in misery and try to escape his grip but she did not.

Then he removed his hands from her shoulders and, as the crowd cried out, she sank in abject misery at his feet and performed the ceremony of submission, kneeling, lowering the head and lifting and extending the arms, wrists crossed. The warrior then turned from her and held out one hand. Someone from the darkness threw him, coiled, the chain and collar.

He gestured for the woman to rise and she did so and stood before him, head lowered.

He pushed up her head and then, with a click that could be heard throughout the enclosure, closed the collar a Turi- an collar about her throat. The chain to which the collar was attached was a good deal longer than that of the Sirik, containing perhaps twenty feet of length.

Then, to the music, the girl seemed to twist and turn and move away from him, as he played out the chain, until she stood wretched some twenty feet from him at the chain's length. She did not move then for a moment, but stood crouched down, her hands on the chain.

I saw that Aphris and Elizabeth were watching fascinated. Kamchak, too, would not take his eyes from the woman. The music had stopped.

Then with a suddenness that almost made me jump and the crowd cry out with delight-the music began again but this time as a barbaric cry of rebellion and rage and the wench from Port Kar was suddenly a chained she-larl biting and tearing at the chain and she had cast her black robes from her and stood savage revealed in diaphanous, swirling yellow Pleasure Silk. There was now a frenzy and hatred in the dance, a fury even to the baring of teeth and snarling. She turned within the collar, as the Turian collar is designed to permit. She circled the warrior like a captive moon to his imprisoning scarlet sun, always at the length of the chain. Then he would take up a fist of chain, drawing her each time inches closer. At times he would permit her to draw back again, but never to the full length of the chain, and each time he permitted her to withdraw, it was less than the last. The dance consists of several phases, depending on the gener al orbit allowed the girl by the chain. Certain of these phases are very slow, in which there is almost no movement, save perhaps the turning of a head or the movement of a hand; others ate defiant and swift; some are graceful and pleading; some stately, some simple; some proud, some piteous; but each time, as the common thread, she is drawn closer to the caped warrior. At last his fist was within the Turian collar itself and he drew the girl, piteous and exhausted, to his lips, subduing her with his kiss, and then her arms were about his neck and unresisting, obedient, her head to his chest, she was lifted lightly in his arms and carried from the firelight. Kamchak and I, and others, threw coins of gold into the sand near the fire.

"She was beautiful," cried out Aphris of Turia.

"I never knew a woman," said Elizabeth, her eyes blazing, showing few signs of the Paga, "could be so beautiful!" "She was marvelous," I said.

"And I," howled Kamchak, "have only miserable cooking- pot wenches!"

Kamchak and I were standing up. Aphris suddenly put her head to his thigh, looking down. "Tonight," she whispered, "make me a slave."

Kamchak put his fist in her hair and lifted her head to stare up at him. Her lips were parted.

"You have been my slave for days," said he.

"Tonight," she begged, "please, Master, tonight!"

With a roar of triumph Kamchak swept her up and slung her, hobbled as she was, over his shoulder and she cried out and he, singing a Tuchuk song, was stomping away with her from the curtained enclosure.

At the exit he stopped briefly and, Aphris over his shoul- der, turned and faced Elizabeth and myself. He threw up his right hand in an expansive gesture. "For the night," he cried, "the Little Barbarian is yours!" Then he turned again and, singing, disappeared through the curtain.!

I laughed.

Elizabeth Cardwell was staring after him. Then she looked up at me. "He can do that, can't he?" she asked.

"Of course," I said.

"Of course," she said, numbly. "Why not?" Then suddenly she jerked at the hobble but could not rise and nearly fell, and pounded her left fist into the dirt before her. "I don't want to be a slaver" she cried. "I don't want to be a slave!" "I'm sorry," I said.

She looked up at me. There were tears in her eyes. "He has no right!" she cried.

"He has the right," I said.

"Of course," she wept, putting her head down. "It is like a book, a chair, an animal. She is yours! Take her! Keep her until tomorrow! Return her in the morning when you are finished with her!"

Head down she laughed and sobbed.

"I thought you wished," I said, "that I might buy you." I thought it well to jest with her.

"Don't you understand?" she asked. "It could have been anyone to whom I was given, not just to you, but to anyone, anyone!"

"That is true," I said.

"To anyone!" she wept. "Anyone! Anyone!"

"Do not be distraught," I said.

She shook her head, and looked up at me, and through the tears smiled. It seems, Master," she said, "that for the hour I am yours." "It would appear so," I said.

"Will you carry me over your shoulder to the wagon;" she asked, lightly, "like Aphris of Turia?"

"I'm sorry," I said.

I bent to the girl's shackles and removed them.

She stood up and faced me. "What are you going to do with me?" she asked. She smiled. "Master?"

I smiled. "Nothing," I told her. "Do not fear."

"Oh?" she asked, one eyebrow rising skeptically. Then she dropped her head. "Am I truly so ugly?" she asked. "No," I said, "you are not ugly."

"But you do not want me?" she asked.

"No," I said.

She looked at me boldly, throwing back her head. "Why not?" she asked.

What could I tell her? She was lovely, but yet in her condition piteous. I felt moved on her behalf. The little secretary, I thought to myself, so far from her pencils, the typewriter, the desk calendars and steno pads so far from her world so helpless, so much at Kamchak's mercy and this night, should I choose, at mine.

"You are only a little barbarian," I said to her. Somehow I thought of her still as the frightened girl in the yellow shift caught up in games of war and intrigue beyond her comprehension and, to a great extent, mine. She was to be protected, sheltered, treated with kindness, reassured. I could not think of her in my arms nor of her ignorant, timid lips on mine for she was always and would remain only the unfortunate Elizabeth Cardwell, the innocent and unwitting victim of an inexplicable translocation and an unexpected, unjust reduction to shameful bondage. She was of Earth and knew not the flames which her words might have evoked in the breast of a Gorean warrior nor did she understand herself truly nor the relation in which she, slave girl, stood to — a free man to whom she had been for the hour given I could not tell her that another warrior might at her-very glance, have dragged her helpless to the darkness between the high wheels of the slave wagon itself. She was gentle, not understanding, naive, in her way foolish a girl of Earth but not on Earth not a woman of Gor female on her own barbaric world she would always be of Earth the bright, pretty girl with the stenographer's pad like many girls of Earth, not men but not yet daring to be woman. "But," I admitted to her, giving her head a shake, "you are a pretty little barbarian."

She looked into my eyes for a long moment and then suddenly dropped her head weeping. I gathered her into my arms to comfort her but she pushed me away, and turned and ran from the enclosure.

I looked after her, puzzled.

Then, shrugging, I too left the enclosure, thinking that perhaps I should wander among the wagons for a few hours, before returning.

I recalled Kamchak. I was happy for him. Never before had I seen him so pleased. I was, however, confused about Elizabeth, for it seemed to me she had behaved strangely this night. I supposed that, on the whole, she was perhaps dis- traught because she feared she might soon be supplanted as first girl in the wagon; indeed, that she might soon be sold. To be sure, having seen Kamchak with his Aphris, it did not seem to me that either of these possibilities were actually unlikely. Elizabeth had reason to fear. I might, of course, and would, encourage Kamchak to sell her to a good master, but Kamchak, cooperative to a point, would undoubtedly have his eye fixed most decisively on the price to be obtained. I might, of course, if I could find the money, buy her myself and attempt to find her a kind master. I thought perhaps Conrad of the Kassars might be a just Master.He had, however, I, knew recently won a Turian girl in the games. Moreover, not every man wants to own an untrained barbarian slave, for much, even if given to them, must be fed crawl under the rope that joined them, my assailant was gone. All I received for my trouble were the angry shouts of the man leading the kaiila string. Indeed, one of the vicious beasts even snapped at me, ripping the sleeve on my shoul- der.

Angry I returned to the wagon and drew the quiva from the boards. By this time the owner of the wagon, who was naturally curious about the matter, was beside me. He held a small torch, lit from the fire bowl within the wagon. He was examining, not happily, the cut in his planking. "A clumsy throw," he remarked, I thought a bit ill-humoredly. "Perhaps," I admitted.

"But," he added, turning and looking at me, "I suppose under the circumstances it was just as well."

"Yes," I said, "I think so."

I found the Paga bottle: and noted that there was a bit of liquid left in it, below the neck of the bottle. I wiped off the neck and handed it to the man. He took about half of it and then wiped his mouth and handed it back. I then finished the bottle. I flung it into a refuse hole, dug and periodically cleaned by male slaves.

"It is not bad Paga," said the man.

"No," I said, "I think it is pretty good."

"May I see the quiva?" asked the man.

"Yes," I said.

"Interesting," said he.

"What?" I asked.

"The quiva," said he.

"But what is interesting about it?" I asked.

"It is Paravaci," he said.

In the morning, to my dismay, Elizabeth Cardwell was not to be found.

Kamchak was beside himself with fury. Aphris, knowing the ways of Gor and the temper of Tuchuks, was terrified, and said almost nothing.

"Do not release the hunting sleep," I pleaded with Kamchak.

"I shall keep them leashed," he responded grimly.

With misgivings I observed the two, six-legged, sinuous, tawny hunting sleen on their chain leashes. Kamchak was holding Elizabeth's bedding a rep-cloth blanket for them to smell. Their ears began to lay back against the sides of their triangular heads; their long, serpentine bodies trembled; I saw claws emerge from their paws, retract, emerge again and then retract; they lifted their heads, sweeping them from side to side, and then thrust their snouts to the ground and began to whimper excitedly; I knew they would first follow the scent to the curtained enclosure within which last night we had observed the dance.

"She would have hidden among the wagons last night," Kamchak said.

"I know," I said, "The herd sleep." They would have torn the girl to pieces on the prairie in the light of the three Gorean moons.

"She will not be far," said Kamchak.

He hoisted himself to the saddle of his kaiila, a prancing and trembling hunting sleen on each side of the animal, the chains running to the pommel of the saddle.

"What will you do to her?" I asked.

"Cut off her feet," said Kamchak, "and her nose and ears, and blind her in one eye, then release her to live as she can among the wagons."

Before I could remonstrate with the angry Tuchuk the hunting sleen suddenly seemed to go wild, rearing on their hind legs, scratching in the air, dragging against the chains. It was all Kamchak's kaiila could do to brace itself against their sudden madness.

"Hahl" cried Kamchak.

I spied Elizabeth Cardwell approaching the wagon, two leather water buckets fastened to a wooden yoke she carried over her shoulders. Some water was spilling from the buck- ets.

Aphris cried out with delight and ran to Elizabeth, to my astonishment, to kiss her and help with the water. "Where have you been?" asked Kamchak.

Elizabeth lifted her head innocently and gazed at him frankly. "Fetching water," she said.

The sleen were trying to get at her and she had backed away against the wagon, watching them warily. "They are vicious beasts," she observed.

Kamchak threw back his head and roared with laughter.

Elizabeth did not so much as look at me.

Then Kamchak seemed sober and he said to the girl. "Go into the wagon. Bring slave bracelets and a whip. Then go to the wheel."

She looked at him, but did not appear afraid. "Why?" she asked.

Kamchak dismounted. "You were overly long in fetching water," he said.

Elizabeth and Aphris had gone into the wagon.

"She was wise to return," said Kamchak.

I agreed with him but would not say so. "It seems she was fetching water," I pointed out.

"You like her, don't you?" asked Kamchak.

"l feel sorry for her," I said.

"Did you enjoy her yesterday?" asked Kamchak.

"I did not see her after she left the enclosure of the dance," I said.

"If I had known that," said Kamchak, "I would have had the sleen out last night."

"Then," I said, "it is fortunate for the girl that you did not know it.

"Agreed," smiled Kamchak. "Why did you not make use of her?" he inquired.

"She is only a girl," I said.

"She is a woman," said Kamchak, "with blood."

I shrugged.

By this time Elizabeth had returned with the whip and bracelets, and had handed them to Kamchak. She then went to stand by the left, rear wheel of the wagon. There Kamchak braceleted her wrists thigh over her head about the rim and over one of the spokes. She faced the wheel. "There is no escape from the wagons," he said.

Her head was high. "I know," she said.

"You lied to me," he said, "saying you went to fetch water."

"I was afraid," said Elizabeth.

"Do you know who fears to tell the truth?" he asked. "No," she said.

"A slave," said Kamchak.

He ripped the larl's pelt from her and I gathered that she would wear the garment no longer.

She stood well, her eyes closed, her right cheek pressed against the leather rim of the wheel. Tears burst from be- tween the tightly pressed lids of her eyes but she was superb, restraining her cries.

She had still uttered no sound when Kamchak, satisfied, had released her, but fastening her wrists before her body with the bracelets. She stood trembling, her head down. Then he took her braceleted hands and with one hand raised her hands over her head. She stood so, her knees slightly flexed, head down.

"You think," said Kamchak to me, "she is only a girl." I said nothing.

"You are a fool, Tarl Cabot," said he.

I did not respond.

Coiled, in his right hand, Kamchak still held the slave whip. "Slave," said Kamchak.

Elizabeth looked at him.

"Do you wish to serve men?" he asked.

Tears in her eyes she shook her head, no, no, no. Then her head fell again to her breast.

"Observe," said Kamchak to me.

Then, before I could realize what he intended, he had subjected Miss Cardwell to what, among slavers, is known as the Whip Caress. Ideally it is done, as Kamchak had, unex- pectedly, taking the girl unawares. Elizabeth suddenly cried out throwing her head to one side. I observed to my amaze- ment the sudden, involuntary, uncontrollable response to the touch. The Whip Caress is commonly used among Slavers to force a girl to betray herself.

"She is a woman," said Kamchak. "Did you not see the secret blood of her? That she is eager and ready that she is fit prize for the steel of a master that she is female, and," he added, "slave?"

"Nor" cried Elizabeth Cardwell. «Nor» But Kamchak was pulling her by the bracelets toward an empty sleen cage mounted on a low cart near the wagon, into which, still braceleted, he thrust her, then closing the door, locking it. She could not stand in the low, narrow cage, and knelt, wrists braceleted, hands on the bars. "It is not truer" she screamed.

Kamchak laughed at her. `'Female slave," he said. She buried her head in her hands and wept. She knew, as well as we, that she had showed herself that her blood had leaped within her and its memory must now mock the hysteria of her denial that she had acknowledged tows and to herself, perhaps for the first time, the incontrovertible splendor of her beauty and its meaning.

Her response had been that of an utter woman.

"It's not true!" she whispered over and over, sobbing as she had not from the cruel strokes of the whip. "It's not truer"

Kamchak looked at me. "Tonight," lie said, "I shall call the Iron Master."

"Don't," I said.

"I shall," he said.

'Why?" I asked.

He smiled at me grimly. "She was too long in fetching water."

I said nothing. Kamchak, for a Tuchuk, was not unkind. The punishment of a runaway slave is often grievous, some- times culminating in death. He would do no more to Elizabeth Cardwell than was commonly done to female slaves among the wagons, even those who had never dared to speak back or disobey in the least particular. Elizabeth, in her way, was fortunate. As Kamchak might have said, he was permitting her to live. I did not think she would be tempted to run away again. I saw Aphris sneaking to the cage to bring Elizabeth a dipper of water. Aphris was crying.

Kamchak, if he saw, did not stop her. "Come along," he said. "There is a new kaiila I want to see near the wagon of Yachi of the Leather Workers' Clan."

It was a busy day for Kamchak.

He did not buy the kaiila near the wagon of Yachi of the Leather Workers though it was apparently a splendid beast. At one point, he wrapped a heavy fur and leather robe-about his left arm and struck the beast suddenly on the snout with his right hand. It had not struck back at him swiftly enough to please him, and there were only four needlelike scratches in the arm guard before Kamchak had managed to leap back and the kaiila, lunging against its chain, was snapping at him. "Such a slow beast," said Kamchak, "might in battle cost a man his life." I supposed it true. The kaiila and its master fight in battle as one unit, seemingly a single savage animal, armed with teeth and lance. After looking at the kaiila Kamchak visited a wagon where he discussed the crossing of one of his cows with the owner's bull, in exchange for a similar favor on his own part. This matter was arranged to their mutual satisfaction. At another wagon he haggled over a set of quiva, forged in Ar, and, obtaining his price, ar- ranged to have them, with a new saddle, brought to his wagon on the morrow. We lunched on dried bask meat and Paga and then he trooped to the wagon of Kutaituchik, where he exchanged pleasantries with the somnolent figure on the robe of gray boskhide, about the health of the bask, the sharpness of quivas and the necessity of keeping wagon axles greased, and certain other matters. While near Kutaituchik's wagon, on the dais, he also conferred with several other high men among the Tuchuks. Kamchak, as I had learned before, held a position of some importance with the Tuchuks. After seeing Kutaituchik and the others, Kamchak stopped by an Iron Master's wagon, and, to my irritation, arranged for the fellow to come by the wagon that very night. "I can't keep her in a sleen cage forever," Kamchak said. "There is work to be done about the wagon." Then, to my delight, Kamchak, borrowing two kaiila, which he seemed to have no difficulty doing from a Tuchuk warrior I had not even seen before rode with me to the Omen Valley.

Coming over a low, rolling hill, we saw a large number of tents pitched in a circle, surrounding a large grassy area. In the grassy area, perhaps about two hundred yards in diameter, there were literally hundreds of small, stone altars. There was a large circular stone platform in the center of the field. On the top of this platform was a huge, four-sided altar which was approached by steps on all four sides. On one side of this altar I saw the sign of the Tuchuks, and on the others; that of the Kassars, the Kataii and the Paravaci. I had not mentioned the matter of the Paravaci quiva which had al- most struck me last night, having been in the morning dis- turbed about the disappearance of Elizabeth Cardwell and in the afternoon busy following Kamchak about in his rounds. I resolved to mention the matter to him sometime but not this evening for I was convinced this would not be a good evening for anyone in the wagon, except perhaps for Kamchak, who seemed pleased about the arrangements he had made with the herder pertaining to crossing livestock and the bargain, it seemed, he had contracted with the fellow with the quivas and saddle.

There were a large number of tethered animals about the outer edge of the circle, and, beside them, stood many haruspexes. Indeed, I supposed there must be one haruspex at least for each of the many altars in the field. Among the animals I saw many verrs; some domestic tarsks, their tusks sheathed; cages of flapping vulos, some sleen, some kaiila, even some bask; by the Paravaci haruspexes I saw manacled male slaves, if such were to be permitted; commonly, I understood from Kamchak, the Tuchuks, Kassars and Kataii rule out the sacrifice of slaves because their hearts and livers are thought to be, fortunately for the slaves, untrustworthy in registering portents; after all, as Kamchak pointed out, who would trust a Turian slave in the kes with a matter so important as the election of a Ubar San; it seemed to me good logic and, of course, I am sure the slaves, too, were taken with the cogency of the argument. The animals sac- rificed, incidentally, are later used for food, so the Omen Taking, far from being a waste of animals, is actually a time of feasting and plenty for the Wagon Peoples, who regard 'the Omen Taking, provided it results that no Ubar San is to be chosen, as an occasion for gaiety and festival. As I may have mentioned, no Ubar San had been chosen for more than a hundred years.

As yet the Omen Taking had not begun. The haruspexes had not rushed forward to the altars. On the other hand on each altar there burned a small bosk-dung fire into which, like a tiny piece of kindling, had been placed — an incense stick.

Kamchak and I dismounted and, from outside the circle, watched the four chief haruspexes of the Wagon Peoples approach the huge altar in the center of the field. Behind them another four haruspexes, one from each People, carried a large wooden cage, made of sticks lashed together, which contained perhaps a dozen white vulos, domesticated pigeons. This cage they placed on the altar. I then noted that each of the four chief haruspexes carried, about his shoulder, a white linen sack, somewhat like a peasant's rep-cloth seed bag. "This is the first Omen," said Kamchak, "The Omen to see if the Omens are propitious to take the Omens." "Oh," I said.

Each of the four haruspexes then, after intoning an in- volved entreaty of some sort to the sky, which at the time was shining beneficiently, suddenly cast a handful of some- thing doubtless grain to the pigeons in the stick cage. Even from where I stood I could see the pigeons pecking at the grain in reassuring frenzy.

The four haruspexes turned then, each one facing his own minor haruspexes and anyone else who might be about, and called out, "It is propitious!"

There was a pleased cry at this announcement from the throng.

"This part of the Omen Taking always goes well," I was informed by Kamchak.

"Why is that?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said. Then he looked at me. "Perhaps," he proposed, "it is because the vulos are not fed for three days prior to the taking of the Omen."

"Perhaps," I admitted.

"I," said Kamchak, "would like a bottle of Paga."

"I, too," I admitted.

"Who will buy?" he asked.

I refused to speak.

"We could wager," he suggested.

"I'll buy it," I said.

I could now see the other haruspexes of the peoples pouring with their animals toward the altars. The Omen Taking as a whole lasts several days and consumes hundreds of animals. A tally is kept, from day to day. One haruspex, as we left, I heard cry out that he had found a favorable liver. Another, from an adjoining altar had rushed to his side. They were engaged in dispute. I gathered that reading the signs was a subtle business, calling for sophisticated interpretation and the utmost delicacy and judgment. Even as we made our way back to the kaiila I could hear two more haruspexes crying out that they had found livers that were clearly unfavorable. Clerks, with parchment scrolls, were circulate ing among the altars, presumably, I would guess, noting the names of haruspexes, their peoples, and their findings The four chief haruspexes of the peoples remained at the huge central altar, to which a white bask was being slowly led. It was toward dark when Kamchak and I reached the slave wagon to buy our bottle of Paga.

On the way we passed a girl, a girl from Cos taken hundreds of pasangs away in a raid on a caravan bound for Ar. She had been bound across a wagon wheel lying on the ground, her body over its hub. Her clothing had been re- moved. Fresh and clean on her burned thigh was the brand of the four bosk horns. She was weeping. The Iron Master affixed the Turian collar. He bent to his tools, taking up a tiny, open golden ring, a heated metal awl, a pair of pliers. I turned away. I heard her scream.

"Do not Korobans brand and collar slaves?" asked Kamchak.

"Yes," I admitted, "they do."

I could not rid my mind of the image of the girl from Cos weeping bound on the wheel. Such tonight, or on another night, would be the lovely Elizabeth Cardwell. I threw down a wild swallow of Paga. I resolved I would somehow release the girl, somehow protect her from the cruelty of the fate decreed for her by Kamchak.

"You do not much speak," said Kamchak, taking the bottle, puzzled.

"Must the Iron Master be called," I asked, "to the wagon of Kamchak."

Kamchak looked at me. "Yes," he said.

I glared down at the polished boards of the wagon floor. "Have you no feeling for the barbarian?" I asked.

Kamchak had never been able to pronounce her name, which be regarded as of barbarian length and complexity. "E-liz-a-beth-card-vella" he would try to say, adding the «a» sound because it is a common ending of feminine names on Gor. He could never, like most native speakers of Gorean, properly handle the «w» sound, for it is extremely rare in Gorean, existing only in certain unusual words of obviously barbarian origin. The «w» sound, incidentally, is a complex one, and, like many such sounds, is best learned only during the brief years of childhood when a child's linguistic flexibility is at its maximum those years in which it might be trained to speak any of the languages of man with native fluency a capacity which is, for most individuals at least, lost long prior to attaining their majority. On the other hand, Kamchak could say the sound I have represented as «vella» quite easily and would upon occasion use this as Elizabeth's name. Most often, however, he and I simply referred to her as the Little Barbarian. I had, incidentally, after the first few days, re- fused to speak English to her, thinking it would be more desirable for her to learn to speak, think and hear in Gorean as rapidly as possible. She could now handle the language rather well. She could not, of course, read it. She was illiterate.

Kamchak was looking at me. He laughed and leaned over and slapped me on the shoulder. "She is only a slaver" he chuckled.

"Have you no feeling for her?" I demanded.

He leaned back, serious for a moment. "Yes," he said, "I am fond of the Little Barbarian."

"Then why?" I demanded.

"She ran away," said Kamchak.

I did not deny it.

"She must be taught."

I said nothing.

"Besides," said Kamchak, "the wagon grows crowded and she must be readied for sale."

I took back the Paga bottle and threw down another swallow.

"Do you want to buy her?" he asked.

I thought of the wagon of Kutaituchik and the golden sphere. The Omen Taking had now begun. I must attempt this night or some other in the near future to purloin the sphere, to return it somehow to the Sardar. I was going to say, "No," but then I thought of the girl from Cos, bound on the wheel, weeping. I wondered if I could meet Kamchak's price. I looked up.

Suddenly Kamchak lifted his hand, alert, gesturing for silence.

I noted, too, the other Tuchuks in the wagon. Suddenly they were not moving.

Then I too heard it, the winding of a bask horn in the- distance, and then another.

Kamchak leaped to his feet. "The camp is under attack!" he cried.

Outside, as Kamchak and I bounded down the steps of the slave wagon, the darkness was filled with hurrying men, some with torches, and running kaiila, already with their riders. War lanterns, green and blue and yellow, were already burn- ing on poles in the darkness, signaling the rallying grounds of the Oralus, the Hundreds, and the Oralus, the Thousands. Each warrior of the Wagon Peoples, and that means each able-bodied man, is a member of an Or, or a Ten; each ten is a member of an Oralus, or Hundred; each Oralus is a member of an Oralus, a Thousand. Those who are unfamiliar with the Wagon Peoples, or who know them only from the swift raid, sometimes think them devoid of organization, sometimes con- ceive of them as mad hordes or aggregates of wild warriors, but such is not the case. Each man knows his position in his Ten, and the position of his Ten in the Hundred, and of the Hundred in the Thousand. During the day the rapid move- meets of these individually maneuverable units are dictated by bask horn and movements of the standards; at night by the bask horns and the war lanterns slung on high poles carried by riders.

Kamchak and I mounted the kaiila we had ridden and, as rapidly as we could, pressed through the throngs toward our wagon.

When the bask horns sound the women cover the fires and prepare the men's weapons, bringing forth arrows and bows, and lances. The quivas are always in the saddle sheaths. The bosk are hitched up and slaves, who might otherwise take advantage of the tumult, are chained.

Then the women climb to the top of the high sides on the wagons and watch the war lanterns in the distance, reading them as well as the men. Seeing if the wagons must move, and in what direction.

I heard a child screaming its disgust at being thrust in the wagon.

In a short time Kamchak and I had reached our wagon. Aphris had had the good sense to hitch up the bask. Kam- chak kicked out the fire at the side of the wagon. "What is it?" she cried.

Kamchak took her roughly by the arm and shoved her stumbling toward the sleen cage where, holding the bars, frightened, knelt Elizabeth Cardwell. Kamchak unlocked the cage and thrust Aphris inside with Elizabeth. She was slave and would be secured, that she might not seize up a weapon or try to fight or burn wagons. "Please!" she cried, thrusting her hands through the bars. But already Kamchak had slammed shut the door and twisted the key in the lock. "Master!" she cried. It was better, I knew, for her to be secured as she was rather than chained in the wagon, or even to the wheel. The wagons, in Turian raids, are burned. Kamchak threw me a lance, and a quiver with forty arrows and a bow. The kaiila I rode already had, on the saddle, the quivas, — the rope and bole. Then he bounded from the top step of the wagon onto the back of his kaiila and sped toward the sound of the bask horns. "Master!" I heard Aphris cry.

Of their ranks with a swiftness and precision that was incredi- ble, long, flying columns of warriors flowed like rivers be- tween the beasts.

I rode at Kamchak side and in an instant it seemed we had passed through the bellowing, startled herd and had emerged on the plain beyond. In the light of the Gorean moons we saw slaughtered bask, some hundreds of them, and, some two hundred yards away, withdrawing, perhaps a thousand war- riors mounted on tharlarion.

Suddenly, instead of giving pursuit, Kamchak drew his mount to a halt and behind him the rushing cavalries of the Tuchuks snarled pawing to a halt, holding their ground. I saw that a yellow lantern was halfway up the pole below the two red lanterns.

"Give pursuit!" I cried.

"Wait!" he cried. "We are fools! Fools!"

I drew back the reins on my kaiila to keep the beast quiet. "Listen!" said Kamchak, agonized.

In the distance we heard a sound like a thunder of wings and then, against the three white moons of Gor, to my dismay, we saw tarnsmen pass overhead, striking toward the camp. There were perhaps eight hundred to a thousand of them. I could hear the notes of the tarn drum above control- ling the flight of the formation.

"We are fools!" cried Kamchak, wheeling his kaiila In an instant we were hurtling through ranks of men back toward the camp. When we had passed through the ranks, which had remained still, those thousands of warriors simply turned their kaiila, the last of them now first, and followed us.

"Each to his own wagon and war!" cried Kamchak.

I saw two yellow lanterns and a red lantern on the high pole.

I was startled by the appearance of tarnsmen on the south em plains. The nearest tarn cavalries as far as I knew were to be found in distant Ar.

Surely great Ar was not at war with the Tuchuks of the southern plains.

They must be mercenaries!

Kamchak did not return to his own wagon but now raced his kaiila, followed by a hundred men, toward the high ground on which stood the standard of the four bosk horns; on which stood the huge wagon of Kutaituchik, called Ubar of the Tuchuks.

Among the wagons the tarnsmen would have found only slaves, women and children, but not a wagon had been burned or looted. We heard a new thunder of wings and looking overhead saw the tarnsmen, like a black storm, drum beating and tarns screaming, streak by overhead.

A few arrows from those who followed us looped weakly up after them, falling then among the wagons.

The sewn, painted boskhides that had covered the domed framework over the vast wagon of Kutaituchik hung slashed and rent from the joined "em-wood poles of the framework. Where they were not torn I saw that they had been pierced as though a knife had been driven through them again and again, only inches apart.

There were some fifteen or twenty guards slain, mostly by arrows. They lay tumbled about, several on the dais near the wagon. In one body there were six arrows.

Kamchak leaped from the back of his kaiila and, seizing a torch from an iron rack, leaped up the stairs and entered the wagon.

I followed him, but then stopped, startled at what I saw. Literally thousands of arrows had been fired through the dome into the wagon. One could not step without breaking and snapping them. Near the center of the wagon, alone, his head bent over, on the robe of gray boskhide, sat Kutai- tuchik, perhaps fifteen or twenty arrows imbedded in his body. At his right knee was the golden kanda box. I looked about. The wagon had been looted, the only one that had been as far as I knew.

Kamchak had gone to the body of Kutaituchik and sat down across from it, cross-legged, and had put his head in his hands.

I did not disturb him.

Some others pressed into the wagon behind us, but not many, and those who did remained in the background. I heard Kamchak moan. "The bask are doing as well as might be expected," he said. "The quivas I will try to keep them sharp. I will see that the axles of the wagons are greased." Then he bent his head down and sobbed, rocking back and forth.

Aside from his weeping I could hear only the crackle of I the torch that lit the interior of the rent dome. I saw here and there, among the rugs and polished wood bristling with white arrows, overturned boxes, loose jewels scattered, torn robes and tapestries. I did not see the golden sphere. If it had been there, it was now gone.

At last Kamchak stood up.

He turned to face me. I could still see tears in his eyes. "He was once a great warrior," he said.

I nodded.

Kamchak looked about himself, and picked up one of the arrows and snapped it.

"Turians are responsible for this," he said.

"Saphrar?" I asked.

"Surely," said Kamchak, "for who could hire tarnsmen but Saphrar of Turia or arrange for the diversion that drew fools to the edge of the herds."

I was silent.

"There was a golden sphere," said Kamchak. "It was that which he wanted."

I said nothing.

"Like yourself, Tart Cabot," added Kamchak.

I was startled.

"Why else," asked he, "would you have come to the Wagon Peoples?"

I did not respond. I could not.

"Yes," I said, "it is true I want it for Priest-Kings. It is important to them."

"It is worthless," said Kamchak.

"Not to Priest-Kings," I said.

Kamchak shook his head. "No, Tart Cabot," said he, "the golden sphere is worthless."

The Tuchuk then looked around himself, sadly, and then again gazed on the sitting, bent-over figure of Kutaituchik. Suddenly tears seemed to burst from Kamchak's eyes and his fists were clenched. "He was a great man!" cried Kam- chak. "Once he was a great man."

I nodded. I knew Kutaituchik, of course, only as the huge, somnolent mass of man who sat cross-legged on a robe of gray boskhide, his eyes dreaming.

Suddenly Kamchak cried out in rage and seized up the golden kanda box and hurled it away.

"There will now have to be a new Ubar of the Tuchuks," I said, softly.

Kamchak turned and faced me. "No," he said.

"Kutaituchik," I said, "is dead."

Kamchak regarded me evenly. "Kutaituchik," he said, b 'divas not Ubar of the Tuchuks."

"I don't understand," I said.

"He was called Ubar of the Tuchuks," said Kamchak, "but he was not Ubar."

"How can this be?" I asked.

"We Tuchuks are not such fools as Turians would be- lieve," said Kamchak. "It was for such a night as this that Kutaituchik waited in the Wagon of the Ubar."

I shook my head in wonder.

"He wanted it this way," said Kamchak. "He would have it no other." Kamchak wiped his arm across his eyes. "He said it was now all he was good for, for this and for nothing else."

It was a brilliant strategy.

"Then the true Ubar of the Tuchuks is not slain," I said. "No," said Kamchak.

"Who knows who the Ubar truly is?" I asked.

"The Warriors know," said Kamchak. "The warriors." "Who is Ubar of the Tuchuks?" I asked.

"I am," said Kamchak.

Turia, to some extent, now lay under sedge, though the Tuchuks alone could not adequately invest the city. The other Wagon Peoples regarded the problem of the slaying of Kutai- tuchik and the despoiling of his wagon as one best left to the resources of the people of the four bask. It did not concern, in their opinion, the Kassars, the Kataii or the Paravaci. There had been Kassars who had wanted to fight and some Kataii, but the calm heads of the Paravaci had convinced them that the difficulty lay between Turia and the Tuchuks, not Turia and the Wagon Peoples generally. In- deed, envoys had flown on tarnback to the Kassars, Kataii and Paravaci, assuring them of Turia's lack of hostile inten- tions towards them, envoys accompanied by rich gifts. The cavalries of the Tuchuks, however, managed to maintain a reasonably effective blockade of land routes to Turia. Four times masses of tharlarion cavalry had charged forth from the city but each time the Hundreds withdrew before them until the charge had been enveloped in the swirling kaiila, and then its riders were brought down swiftly by the flashing arrows of the Tuchuks, riding in closely, al- most to lance range and firing again and again until striking home.

Several times also, hosts of tharlarion had attempted to protect caravans leaving the city, or advanced to meet sched- uled caravans approaching Turia, but each time in spite of this support, the swift, harrying, determined riders of the Tuchuks had forced the caravans to turn back, or man by man, beast by beast, left them scattered across pasangs of prairie.

The mercenary tarnsmen of Turia were most feared by the Tuchuks, for such could, with relative impunity, fire upon them from the safety of their soaring height, but even this dread weapon of Turia could not, by itself, drive the Tuchuks from the surrounding plains. In the field the Tuchuks would counter the tarnsmen by breaking open the Hundreds into scattered Tens and presenting only erratic, swiftly moving targets; it is difficult to strike a rider or beast at a distance from tarnback when he is well aware of you and ready to evade your missile; did the tarnsman ap- proach too closely, then he himself and his mount were exposed to the return fire of the Tuchuks, in which case of proximity, the Tuchuk could use his small bow to fierce advantage. The archery of tarnsmen, of course, is most effective against massed infantry or clusters of the ponderous tharlarion. Also, perhaps not unimportantly, many of Turia's mercenary tarnsmen found themselves engaged in the time- consuming, distasteful task of supplying the city from distant points, often bringing food and arrow wood from as far away as the valleys of the eastern Cartius. I presume that the mercenaries, being tarnsmen a proud, headstrong breed of men made the Turians pay highly for the supplies they carried, the indignities of bearing burdens being lessened somewhat by the compensating weight of golden tarn disks. There was no problem of water in the city, incidentally, for Turia's waters are supplied by deep, tile-lined wells, some of them hundreds of feet deep; there are also siege reservoirs, Bled with the melted snows of the winter, the rains of the spring.

Kamchak, on kaiilaback, would sit in fury regarding the distant, white walls of Turia. He could not prevent the supplying of the city by air. He lacked siege engines, and the men, and the skills, of the northern cities. He stood as a nomad, in his way baffled at the walls raised against him. "I wonder," I said, "why the tarnsmen have not struck at the wagons with fire arrows why they do not attack the bask themselves, slaying them from the air, forcing you to withdraw to protect the beasts."

It seemed to be a simple, elementary strategy. There was, after all, no place on the prairies to hide the wagons or the bask, and tarnsmen could easily reach them anywhere within a radius of several hundred pasangs.

'`They are mercenaries," growled Kamchak.

"I do not understand your meaning," I said.

"We have paid them not to burn the wagons nor slay the bosk," said he.

`'They are being paid by both sides?" I asked.

"Of course," said Kamchak, irritably.

For some reason this angered me, though, naturally, I was pleased that the wagons and boss; were yet safe. I suppose I was angered because I myself was a tarnsman, and it seemed somehow improper for warriors astride the mighty tarns to barter their favors indiscriminately for gold to either side. "But," said Kamchak, "I think in the end Saphrar of Turia will meet their price and the wagons will be fired and the bask slain" He gritted his teeth. "He has not yet met it," said Kamchak, "because we have not yet harmed him nor made him feel our presence."

I nodded.

"We will withdraw," said Kamchak. He turned to a subor- dinate. "Let the wagons be gathered," he said, "and the bosk turned from Turia."

"You are giving up?" I asked.

Kamchak's eyes briefly gleamed. Then he smiled. "Of course," he said.

I shrugged.

I knew that I myself must somehow enter Turia, for in Turia now lay the golden sphere. I must somehow attempt to seize it and return it to the Sardar. Was it not for this purpose that I had come to the Wagon Peoples? I cursed the fact that I had waited so long even to the time of the Omen Taking for thereby had I lost the opportunity to try for the sphere myself in the wagon of Kutaituchik. Now, to my chagrin, the sphere lay not in a Tuchuk wagon on the open prairie but, presumably, in the House of Saphrar, a merchant stronghold, behind the high, white walls of Turia. I did not speak to Kamchak of my intention, for I was confident that he would have, and quite properly, objected to so foolish a mission, and perhaps even have attempted to prevent my leaving the camp.

Yet l did not know the city. I could not see how I might enter. I did not know how I might even attempt to succeed in so dangerous a task as that which I had set myself. The afternoon among the wagons was a busy one, for they were preparing to move. Already the herds had been eased westward, away from Turia toward Thassa, the distant sea. There was much grooming of wagon bask, checking of har- ness and wagons, cutting of meat to be dried hanging from the sides of the moving wagons in the sun and wind. In the morning the wagons, in their long lines, would follow the slowly moving herds away from Turia. Meanwhile the Omen I Taking, even with the participation of the Tuchuk haruspexes, continued for the haruspexes of the people would remain j behind until even the final readings had been completed. I had heard, from a master of hunting sleen, that the Omens were developing predictably, several to one against the choice of a Ubar San. Indeed, the difficulty of the Tuchuks with the Turians had possibly, I guessed, exerted its influence on an omen or two in passing. One could hardly blame the Kassars, the Kataii and Paravaci for not wanting to be led by a Tuchuk against Turia or for not wanting to acquire the Tuchuk troubles by uniting with them in any fashion. The Paravaci were particularly insistent on maintaining the inde- pendence of the peoples Since the death of Kutaituchik, Kamchak had turned ugly in manner. Now he seldom drank or joked or laughed. I missed his hitherto frequent proposals of contests, races and wagers. He now seemed dour, moody, consumed with hatred for Turia and Turians. He seemed particularly vicious with Aphris. She was Turian. When he returned that night from the wagon of Kutaituchik to his own wagon he strode angrily to the sleen cage where he had confined Aphris with Eliza- beth during the putative attack. He unlocked the door and ordered the Turian maiden forth, commanding her to stand before him, head down. Then, without speaking, to her consternation he tore swiftly away the yellow camisk and fastened slave bracelets on her wrists. "I should whip you," he said. The girl trembled. "But why, Master?" she asked. "Because you are Turian," he said. The girl looked at him with tears in her eyes. Roughly Kamchak took her by the arm and thrust her into the sleen cage beside the miserable Elizabeth Cardwell. He shut the door and locked it. "Master?" questioned Aphris. "Silence, Slave," he said. The girl dared not speak. "There both of you will wait for the Iron Master," he snarled, and turned abruptly, and went to the stairs to the wagon. But the Iron Master did not come that night, or the next, or the next. In these days of siege and war there were more important matters to attend to than the branding and collaring of female slaves. "Let him ride with his Hundred," Kamchak said. "They will not run away let them wait like she-sleep in their cage not knowing on which day the iron will come." Also, perhaps for no reason better than his suddenly found hatred for Aphris of Turia, he seemed in no hurry to free the girls from their confinement. "Let them crawl out," he snarled, "begging for a brand." Aphris, in particular, seemed utterly distraught by Kamchak's unreasoning cruelty, his callous treatment of herself and Eliza- beth perhaps most by his sudden, seeming indifference to her. I suspected, though the girl would not have dreamed of making the admission, that her heart as well as her body might nova rightfully have been claimed as his by the cruel Ubar of the Tuchuks. Elizabeth Cardwell refused to meet my eyes, and would not so much as speak to me. "Go away!" she would cry. "Leave me!" Kamchak, once a day, at night, the hour in which sleen are fed, would throw the girls bits of bask meat and fill a pan of water kept in the cage. I remonstrated with him frequently in private but he was adamant. He would look at Aphris and then return to the wagon and sit cross-legged, not speaking, for hours, staring at the side of the wagon. Once he pounded the rug on the polished floor in front of him and cried out angrily, as though to remind himself of some significant and inalterable fact, "She is Turian! Turian!" The work of the wagon was done by Tuka and another girl, whom Kamchak hired for the pur- pose. When the wagons were to move, Tuka was to walk beside the cart of the sleen cage, drawn by a single bask, and with a bask stick guide the animal. I once spoke harshly to her when I saw her cruelly poke Elizabeth Cardwell through the bars with the bask stick. Never did she do so again when I was nearby. She seemed to leave the distressed, red-eyed Aphris of Turia alone, perhaps because she was Turian, perhaps because she had no grievance against her. "Where now is the pelt of the red larl, Slave?" Tuka would taunt Elizabeth, threatening her with the bask stick. "You will look pretty with a ring in your nose!" she would cry. "You will like your collar! Wait until you feel the iron, Slave like Tuka!" Kamchak never reproved Tuka, but I would silence her when I was present. Elizabeth endured the insults as though paying no attention, but sometimes at night I could hear her sobbing.

I searched among the wagons long before I found, sitting cross-legged beneath a wagon, wrapped in a worn bosk robe, his weapons at hand folded in leathers the young man whose name was Harold, the blond-haired, blue-eyed fellow who had been so victimized by Hereena, she of the First Wagon, who had fallen spoils to Turia in the games of Love War. He was eating a piece of bask meat in the Tuchuk fashion, holding He meat in his left hand and between his teeth, and cutting pieces from it with a quiva scarcely a quarter inch from his lips, then chewing the severed bite and then again holding the meat in his hand and teeth and cutting again. Without speaking I sat down near him and watched him eat. He eyed me warily, and neither did he speak. After a time I said to him, "How are the bask?"

"They are doing as well as night be expected," he said. "Are the quivas sharp?" I inquired.

"We try to keep them that way," he said.

"It is important," I observed, "to keep the axles of wagons greased."

"Yes," he said, "I think so."

He handed me a piece of meat and I chewed on it.

"You are Tart Cabot, the Koroban," he said.

"Yes," I said, "and you are Harold the Tuchuk."

He looked at me and smiled. "Yes," he said, "I am Harold the Tuchuk."

"I am going to Turia," I said.

'That is interesting," said Harold, "I, too, am going to Turia."

"On an important matter?" I inquired.

"No," he said.

"What is it you think to do?" I asked.

"Acquire a girl," he said.

"Ah," I said.

"What is it you wish in Turia?" inquired Harold.

"Nothing important," I remarked.

"A woman?" he asked.

"No," I said, "a golden sphere."

"I know of it," said Harold, "it was stolen from the wagon of Kutaituchik." He looked at me. "It is shill to lie worth- less."

"Perhaps," I admitted, "but I think I shall go to Turia and look about for it. Should I chance to see it I might pick it up and bring it back with me."

"Where do you think this golden sphere will be lying about?" asked Harold.

"I expect," I said "it might be found here or there in the House of Saphrar, a merchant of Turia."

"That is interesting," said Harold, "for I had thought I might try chain luck in the Pleasure Gardens of a Turian merchant named Saphrar."

"That is interesting indeed," I said, "perhaps it is the same."

"It is possible," granted Harold. "Is he the smallish fellow, rather fat, with two yellow teeth."

"Yes," l said.

"Then I shall attempt not to he hitter," I said.

"I think that is a good idea," granted Harold.

Then we sat there together for a time, not speaking further, he eating, I watching while he cut and chewed the meat that was his supper. There was a fire nearby, but it was not his fire. The wagon over his head was not his wagon. There was no kaiila tethered at hand. As far as he could gather Harold had little more than the clothes on his back, a boskhide robe, his weapons and his supper.

"You will be slain in Turia," said Harold, finishing his meat and wiping his mouth in Tuchuk fashion on the back of his right sleeve.

"Perhaps," I admitted.

"You do riot even know how to enter the city," he said. "That is true," I admitted.

"I can enter Turia when I wish," he said. "I know a way." "Perhaps," I suggested, "I might accompany you."

"Perhaps," he granted, carefully wiping the quiva on the back of his left sleeve.

"When are you going to Turia?" I asked.

"Tonight," he said.

I looked at him. "Why have you not gone before?" I asked.

He smiled. "Kamchak," he said, "told me to wait for you."

It was not a pleasant path to Turia that Harold the Tuchuk showed to me, but I followed him.

"Can you swim?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. Then I inquired, "How is it that you, a Tuchuk, can swim?" I knew few Tuchuks could, though some had learned in the Cartius.

"I learned in Turia, said Harold, "in the public baths where I was once a slave."

The baths of Turia were said to be second only to those of Ar in their luxury, the number of their pools, their tempera- tures, the scents and oils.

"Each night the baths were emptied and cleaned and I was one of many who attended to this task," he said. "I was only six years of age when I was taken to Turia, and I did not escape the city for eleven years." He smiled. "I cost my master only eleven copper tarn disks," he said, "and so I think he had no reason to be ill satisfied with his investment."

"Are the girls who attend to the baths during the day as beautiful as it is said?" I inquired. The bath girls of Turia are almost as famous as those of Ar.

"Perhaps," he said, "l never saw them during the day I and the other male slaves were chained in a darkened cham- ber that we might sleep and preserve our strength for the work of the night." Then he added, "Sometimes one of the girls, to discipline her, would be thrown amongst us but we had no way of knowing if she were beautiful or not." "How is it," I asked, "that you managed to escape?" "At night, when cleaning the pools, we would be unchained, in order to protect the chain from dampness and rust we were then only roped together by the neck, I had not been put on the rope until the age of fourteen, at which time I suppose my master adjudged it wise prior to that I had been free a bit to sport in the pools before they were drained and sometimes to run errands for the Master of the Baths it was during those years that I learned how to swim and also became familiar with the streets of Turia one night in my seventeenth year I found myself last man on the rope and I chewed through it and ran, I hid by seizing a well rope and descending to the waters below there was movement in the water at the foot of the well and I dove to the bottom and found a cleft, through which I swam under- water and emerged in a shallow pool, the well's feed basin I again swam underwater and this time emerged in a rocky tunnel, through which flowed an underground stream fortunately in most places there were a few inches between the level of the water and the roof of the tunnel it was very long, I followed it."

"And where did you follow it to?" I asked.

"Here," said Harold, pointing to a cut between two rocks, only about eight inches wide, through which from some underground source a flow of water was emerging, entering and adding to the small stream at which, some four pasangs from the wagons, Aphris and Elizabeth had often drawn water for the wagon bask.

Not speaking further, Harold, a quiva in his teeth, a rope and hook on his belt, squeezed through and disappeared. I followed him, armed with quiva and sword.

I do not much care to recall that journey. I am a strong swimmer but it seemed we must confront and conquer the steady press of flowing water for pasangs and indeed we did so. At last, at a given point in the tunnel, Harold disappeared beneath the surface and I followed him. Gasping, we emerged in the tiny basin area fed by the underground stream. Here, Harold disappeared again under the water and once more I followed him. After what seemed to me an uncomfortably long moment we emerged again, this time at the bottom of a tile-lined well. It was a rather wide well, perhaps about fifteen feet in width. A foot or so above the surface hung a huge, heavy drum, now tipped on its side. It would contain literally hundreds of gallons-of water when filled. Two ropes led to the drum, a small rope to control its filling, and a large one to support it; the large rope, inciden- tally, has a core of chain; the rope itself, existing primarily to protect the chain, is treated with a waterproof glue made from the skins, bones and hoofs of bask, secured by trade with the Wagon Peoples. Even so the rope and chain must be replaced twice a year. I judged that the top of the well might lie eight or nine hundred feet above us.

I heard Harold's voice in the darkness, sounding hollow against the tiled walls and over the water. "The tiles must be periodically inspected," he said, "and for this purpose there are foot knots in the rope."

I breathed a sigh of relief. It is one thing to descend a long rope and quite another, even in the lesser gravity of Gor, to climb one particularly one as long as that which I now saw dimly above me.

The foot knots were done with subsidiary rope but worked into the fiber of the main rope and glued over so as to be almost one with it. They were spaced about every ten feet on the rope. Still, even resting periodically, the climb was an exhausting one. More disturbing to me was the prospect of bringing the golden sphere down the rope and under the water and through the underground stream to the place where we had embarked on this adventure. Also, I was not clear how Harold, supposing him to be successful in his shopping amongst the ferns and flowers of Saphrar's Pleasure Gardens, intended to conduct his squirming prize along this unscenic, difficult and improbable route.

Being an inquisitive chap, I asked him about it, some two or three hundred feet up the rope "In escaping," he informed me, "we shall steal two tarns and make away."

"I am pleased to see," I said, "that you have a plan." "Of course," he said, "I am Tuchuk."

"Have you ever ridden a tarn before?" I asked him. "No," he said, still climbing somewhere above me.

"Then how do you expect to do soy" I inquired, hauling myself up after him.

"You are a tarnsman, are you not?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Very well," said he, "you will teach me."

"It is said," I muttered, "that the tarn knows who is a tarnsman and who is not and that it slays him who is not." "Then," said Harold, "I must deceive it."

"How do you expect to do that?" I asked.

"It will be easy," said Harold. "I am a Tuchuk."

I considered lowering myself down the rope and returning to the wagons for a bottle of Paga. Surely tomorrow would be as propitious a day as any for my mission. Yet I did not care to pursue again that underground stream nor, particu- larly, on some new trip to Turia, to swim once more against it. It is one thing to roll about in a public bath or splash about in some pool or stream, but quite another to struggle for pasangs against a current in a tunnel channel with only a few inches between the water and the roof of the tunnel. — "It should be worth the Courage Scar," said Harold from above, "don't you thinly so?"

"What?" I asked.

"Stealing a wench from the House of Saphrar and return- ing on a stolen tarn."

"Undoubtedly," I grumbled. I found myself wondering if the Tuchuks had an Idiocy Scar. If so, I might have nomi- nated the young man hoisting himself up the rope above me as a candidate for the distinction.

Yet, in spite of my better judgment, I found myself some- how admiring the confident young fellow.

I suspected that if anyone could manage the madness on his mind it would surely be he, or someone such as he, someone quite as courageous, or daft.

On the other hand, I reminded myself, my own probabili- ties of success and survival were hardly better and here I was, his critic climbing up the drum rope, wet, cold, puking, a stranger to the city of Turia, intending to Steal an object the egg of Priest-Kings which was undoubtedly, by now, as well guarded as the Home Stone of the city itself. I decided that I would nominate both Harold and myself for an Idiocy Scar and let the Tuchuks take their pick. It was with a feeling of relief that I finally got my arm over the crossbar of the windlass and drew myself up. Harold bad already taken up a position, looking about, near the edge of the well. The Turian wells, incidentally, have no raised wall, but are, save for a rim of about two inches in height, flat with the level. I joined Harold. We were in an inclosed well yard, surrounded by walls of about sixteen feet in height, with a defender's catwalk about the inside. The walls provide a means for defending the water and also, of course, considering the number of wells in the city, some of which, by the way, are fed by springs, provide a number of defensi- ble enclaves should portions of the city fall into enemy hands. There was an archway leading from the circular well yard, and the two halts of the timbered, arched gate were swung back and fastened on both sides. It was necessary only to walk through the archway and find ourselves on one of the streets of Turia. I had not expected the entry to the city to be so easy so to speak.

"The last time I was here," said Harold, "was over five years ago."

"Is it far to the House of Saphrar?" I asked.

"Rather far," he said. "But the streets are dark." "Good," I said. "Let us be on our way." I was chilly in the spring night and my clothes, of course, were soaked. Harold did not seem to notice or mind this inconvenience. The Tuchuks, to my irritation, tended on the whole not to notice or mind such things. I was pleased the streets were dark and that the way was long.

"The darkness," I said, "will conceal somewhat the wetness of our garments and by the time we arrive we may be rather dry."

"Of course," said Harold. "That was part of my plan." "Oh," I said.

"On the other hand," said Harold, "I might like to stop by the baths."

"They are closed at this hour, are they not?" I asked. "No," said he, "not until the twentieth hour." That was midnight of the Gorean day.

"Why do you wish to stop by the baths?" I asked.

"I was never a customer," he said, "and I often wondered like yourself apparently if the bath girls of Turia are as lovely as it is said."

"That is all well and good," I said, "but I think it would be better to strike out for the House of Saphrar."

"If you wish," said Harold. "After all, I can always visit I the baths after we take the city."

"Take the city?" I asked.

"Of course," said Harold.

"Look," I said to him, "the bask are already moving away the wagons will withdraw in the morning. The siege is over. Kamchak is giving up."

Harold smiled. He looked at me. "Oh, yes," he said. "But," I said, "if you like I will pay your way to the baths."

"We could always wager," he suggested.

"No," I said firmly, "let me pay."

"If you wish," he said.

I told myself it might be better, even, to come to the House of Saphrar late, rather than possibly before the twenti- eth hour. In the meantime it seemed reasonable to while away some time and the baths of Turia seemed as good a place as any to do so.

Arm in arm, Harold and I strode under the archway leading from the well yard.

We had scarcely cleared the portal and set foot in the street when we heard a swift rustle of heavy wire and, startled, looking up, saw the steel net descend on us. Immediately we heard the sound of several men leaping down to the street and the draw cords on the wire net probably of the sort often used for snaring sleen began to tighten. Neither Harold nor myself could move an arm or hand and, locked in the net, we stood like fools until a guardsman kicked the feet out from under us and we rolled, entrapped in the wire, at his feet.

"Two fish from the well," said a voice.

"This means, of course," said another voice, "that others know of the well."

"We shall double the guard," said a third voice.

"What shall we do with them?" asked yet another man. "Take them to the House of Saphrar," said the first man. I twisted around as well as I could. "Was this," I asked Harold, "a part of your plan?"

He grinned, pressing against the net, trying its strength. "No," he said.

I, too, tried the net. The thick woven wire held well. Harold and I had been fastened in a Turian slave bar, a metal bar with a collar at each end and, behind the collar, manacles which fasten the prisoner's hands behind his neck. We knelt before a low dais, covered with rugs and cush- ions, on which reclined Saphrar of Turia. The merchant wore his pleasure Robes of white and gold and his sandals, too, were of white leather bound with golden straps. His toenails, as well as the nails of his hands, were carmine in color. His small, fat hands moved with delight as he observed us. The golden drops above his eyes rose and fell. He was smiling and I could see the tips of the golden teeth which I had first noticed on the night of the banquet.

Beside him, on each side, cross-legged, sat a warrior. The warrior on his right wore a robe, much as one might when emerging from the baths. His head was covered by a hood, such as is worn by members of the Clan of Torturers. He was toying with a Paravaci quiva. I recognized him, some- how in the build and the way he held his body. It was he who had hurled the quiva at me among the wagons, who would have been my assassin save for the sudden flicker of a shadow on a lacquered board. On the left of Saphrar there sat another warrior, in the leather of a tarnsman, save that he wore a jeweled belt, and about his neck, set with dia- monds, there hung a worn tarn disk from the city of Ar. Beside him there rested, lying on the dais, spear, helmet and shield.

"I am pleased that you have chosen to visit us, Tarl Cabot of Ko-ro-ba," said Saphrar. "We expected that you would soon try, but we did not know that you knew of the Passage Well."

Through the metal bar I felt a reaction on the part of Harold. He had apparently when fleeing years ago, stumbled on a route in and out of the city which had not been unknown to certain of the Turians. I recalled that the Turians, because of the baths, are almost all swimmers.

The fact that the man with the Paravaci quiva wore the robe now seemed to be significant.

"Our friend," said Saphrar, gesturing to his right, "with the hood preceded you tonight in the Passage Well. Since we have been in touch with him and have informed him of the well, we deemed it wise to mount a guard nearby fortunately, as it seems."

"Who is the traitor to the Wagon Peoples?" asked Harold. The man in the hood stiffened.

"Of course," said Harold, "I see now the quiva he is Paravaci, naturally."

The man's hand went white on the quiva, and I feared he might leap to his feet and thrust the quiva to its hilt in the breast of the Tuchuk youth.

"I have often wondered," said Harold, "where the Parava- ci obtained their riches."

With a cry of rage the hooded figure leaped to his feet, quiva raised.

"Please," said Saphrar, lifting his small fat hand. "Let there be no ill will among friends."

Trembling with rage, the hooded figure resumed his place on the dais.

The other warrior, a strong, gaunt man, scarred across the left cheekbone, with shrewd, dark eyes, said nothing, but watched us, considering us, as a warrior considers an enemy. "I would introduce our hooded friend," explained Saphrar, "but even I do not know his name nor face only that he stands high among the Paravaci and accordingly has been of great use to me."

"I know him in a way," I said. "He followed me in the camp of the Tuchuks and tried to kill me."

"I trust," said Saphrar, "that we shall have better fortune." I said nothing.

"Are you truly of the Clan of Torturers?" asked Harold of the hooded man.

"You shall find out," he said.

"Do you think," asked Harold, "you will be able to make me cry for mercy?"

"If I choose," said the man.

"Would you care to wager?" asked Harold.

The man leaned forward and hissed. "Tuchuk sleen!" "May I introduce," inquired Saphrar, "Ha-Keel of Port Kar, chief of the mercenary tarnsmen."

"Is it known to Saphrar," I inquired, "that you have received gold from the Tuchuks?"

"Of course," said Ha-Keel.

"You think perhaps," said Saphrar, chuckling, "that I might object and that thus you might sow discord amongst us, your enemies. But know, Tarl Cabot, that I am a mer- chant and understand men and the meaning of gold, I no more object to Ha-Keel dealing with Tuchuks than I would to the fact that water freezes and fire burns and that no one ever leaves the Yellow Pool of Turia alive."

I did not follow the reference to the Yellow Pool of Turia. I glanced, however, at Harold, and it seemed he had sudden- ly paled.

"How is it," I asked, "that Ha-Keel of Port Kar wears about his neck a tarn disk from the city of Ar?"

"I was once of Ar," said scarred Ha-Keel. "Indeed, I can remember you, though as Tarl of Bristol, from the siege of Ar."

"It was long ago," I said.

"Your swordplay with Pa-Kur, Master of the Assassins, was superb."

A nod of my head acknowledged his compliment.

"You may ask," said Ha-Keel, "how it is that I, a tarns- man of Ar, ride for merchants and traitors on the southern plains?"

"It saddens me," I said, "that a sword that was once raised in defense of Ar is raised now only by the beck and call of gold."

"About my neck," he said, "you see a golden tarn disk of glorious Ar. I cut a throat for that tarn-disk, to buy silks and perfumes for a woman. But she had fled with another. I, hunted, also fled. I followed them and in combat slew the warrior, obtaining my scar. The wench I sold into slavery. I could not return to Glorious Ar." He fingered the tarn disk. "Sometimes," said he, "it seems heavy."

"Ha-Keel," said Saphrar, "wisely went to the city of Port Kar, whose hospitality to such as he is well known. It was there we first met."

"Ha!" cried Ha-Keel. "The little urt was trying to pick my pouch!"

"You were not always a merchant, then?" I asked Saphrar. "Among friends," said Saphrar, "perhaps we can speak frankly, particularly seeing that the tales we tell will not be retold. You see, I know I can trust you."

"How is that?" I asked.

"Because you are to be slain," he said.

"I see," I said.

"I was once," continued Saphrar, "a perfumer of Tyros but I one day left the shop it seems inadvertently with some pounds of the nectar of talenders concealed beneath my tunic in a bladder and for that my ear was notched and I was exiled from the city. I found my way to Port Kar, where I lived unpleasantly for some time on garbage floating in the canals and such other tidbits as I could find about." "How then are you a rich merchant?" I asked.

"A man met me," said Saphrar, "a tall man rather dread- ful actually with a face as gray as stone and eyes like glass."

I immediately recalled Elizabeth's description of the man who had examined her for fitness to wear the message collar on Earth "I have never seen that man," said Ha-Keel. "I wish that I might have."

Saphrar shivered. "You are just as well off," he said. "Your fortunes turned," I said, "when you met that man?" "Decidedly," he said. "In fact," continued the small mer- chant, "it was he who arranged my fortunes and sent me, some years ago, to Turia."

"What is your city?" I demanded.

He smiled. "I think," he said, "Port Karl"

That told me what I wanted to know. Though raised in Tyros and successful in Turia, Saphrar the merchant thought of himself as one of Port Karl Such a city, I thought, could stain the soul of a man.

"That explains," I said, "how it is that you, though in Turia, can have a galley in Port Karl"

"Of course," said he.

"Also," I cried, suddenly aware, "the rence paper in the message collar, paper from Port Kar!"

"Of course," he said.

"The message was yours," I said.

"The collar was sewn on the girl in this very house," said he, "though the poor thing was anesthetized at the time and unaware of the honor bestowed upon her." Saphrar smiled. "In a way," he said, "it was a waste I would not have minded keeping her in my Pleasure Gardens as a slave." Saphrar shrugged and spread his hands. "But he would not hear of it, it must be she!"

"Who is 'he'?" I demanded.

"The gray fellow," said Saphrar, "who brought the girl to the city, drugged on tarnback."

"What is his name?" I demanded.

"Always he refused to tell me," said Saphrar.

"What did you call him?" I asked.

"Master," said Saphrar. "He paid well," he added.

"Fat little slave," said Harold.

Saphrar took no offense but arranged his robes and smiled. "He paid very well," he said.

"Why," I asked, "did he not permit you to keep the girl as a slave?"

"She spoke a barbarous tongue," said Saphrar, "like your- self apparently. The plan was, it seems, that the message would be read, and that the Tuchuks would then use the girl to find you and when they had they would kill you. But they did not do so."

"No," I said.

"It doesn't matter now," said Saphrar.

I wondered what death he might have in mind for me. "How was it," I asked, "that you, who had never seen me, knew me and spoke my name at the banquet?

"You had been well described to me by the gray fellow," said Saphrar. "Also, I was certain there could not have been two among the Tuchuks with hair such as yours."

I bristled slightly. For no rational reason I am sometimes angered when enemies or strangers speak of my hair. I suppose this dates back to my youth when my flaming hair, perhaps a deplorably outrageous red, was the object of doz- ens of derisive comments, each customarily engendering its own rebuttal, both followed often by a nimble controversy, adjudicated by bare knuckles. I recalled, with a certain amount of satisfaction, even in the House of Saphrar, that I had managed to resolve most of these in my favor.

My aunt used to examine my knuckles each evening and when they were skinned which was not seldom, I trooped away to bed with honor rather than supper.

"It was an amusement on my part," smiled Saphrar, "to speak your name at that time to see what you would do, to give you something, so to speak, to stir in your wine."

It was a Turian saying. They used wines in which, as a matter of fact, things could be and were, upon occasion, stirred mostly spices and sugars.

"Let us kill him," said the Paravaci.

"No one has spoken to you, Slave," remarked Harold. "Let me have this one," begged the Paravaci of Saphrar, pointing the tip of his quiva at Harold.

"Perhaps," said Saphrar. Then the little merchant stood up and clapped his hands twice. From a side, from a portal which had been concealed behind a hanging, two men-at- arms came forth, followed by two others. The first two carried a platform, draped in purple. On this platform, nes- tled in the folds of the purple, I saw the object of my quest what I had come so far to find that for which I had risked and, apparently, lost my Life, the golden sphere. It was clearly an egg. Its longest axis was apparently about eighteen inches. It was, at its widest point, about a foot thick.

"You are cruel to show it to him," said Ha-Keel.

"But he has come so far and risked so much," said Saphrar kindly. "Surely he is entitled to a glimpse of our precious prize."

"Kutaituchik was killed for it," I said.

"Many more than he," said Saphrar, "and perhaps in the end even more will die."

"Do you know what it is?" I asked.

"No," said Saphrar, "but I know it is important to Priest- Kings." He stood up and went to the egg, putting his finger on it. "Why, though," he said, "I have no idea, it is not truly of gold."

"It appears to be an egg," said Ha-Keel.

"Yes," said Saphrar, "whatever it is, it has the shape of an egg."

"Perhaps it is an egg," suggested Ha-Keel.

"Perhaps," admitted Saphrar, "but what would Priest- Kings wish with such an egg?"

"Who knows?" asked Ha-Keel.

"lt. was this, was it not," asked Saphrar, looking at me, "that you came to Turia to find?"

"Yes," I admitted. "That is what I came to find."

"See how easy it was!" he laughed.

"Yes," I said, "very easy."

Ha-Keel drew his sword. "Let me slay him as befits a warrior," he said.

"No," cried the Paravaci, "let me have him as well as the other."

"No," said Saphrar firmly. "They are both mine."

Ha-Keel angrily rammed his sword back into the sheath. He had clearly wanted to kill me honorably, swiftly. Clearly he had little stomach for whatever games the Paravaci or Saphrar might have in mind. Ha-Keel might have been a cutthroat and a thief but, too' he was of Ar and a tarns- man.

"You have secured the object," I inquired, "to give it to the gray man?"

"Yes," said Saphrar.

"He will then return it to Priest-Kings?" I asked inno- cently.

"I do not know what he will do with it," said Saphrar. "As long as I receive my gold and the gold will perhaps make me the richest man on Gor I do not care."

"If the egg is injured," I said, "the Priest-Kings might be, angry.

"For all I know," said Saphrar, "the man is a Priest-King. How else would he dare to use the name of Priest-Kings on the message in the message collar?"

I knew, of course, that the man was not a Priest-King. But I could now see that Saphrar had no idea who he was or for whom, if anyone, he was working. I was confident that the man was the same as he who had brought Elizabeth Cardwell to this world he who had seen her in New York and decided she would play her role in his perilous sports and that thus he had at his disposal an advanced technology certainly to the level of at least space flight. I did not know, of course, if the technology at his disposal was his own, or that of his kind, or if it were furnished by others unknown not seen who had their own stake in these games of two worlds, perhaps more. He might well be, and I supposed it true, merely an agent but for whom, or what? something that would challenge even Priest-Kings blat, it must be, I something that feared Priest-Kings, or it would naturally have I struck this world, or Earth something that wanted Priest- Kings to die that the one world, or two, or perhaps even the system of our sun, would be freed for their taking. "How did the gray man know where the golden sphere was?" I asked.

"He said once," said Saphrar, "that he was told"

"By whom?" I asked.

"I do not know," said Saphrar.

"You know no more?"

"No," said Saphrar.

I speculated. The Others those of power, not Priest- Kings, must, to some extent, understand or sense the politics, the needs and policies of the remote denizens of the SardarA they were probably not altogether unaware of the business of Priest-Kings, particularly not now, following the recent War of Priest-Kings, after which many humans had es- caped the Place of Priest-Kings and now wandered free, if scoffed at and scorned for the tales they might bear pos- sibly from these, or from spies or traitors in the Nest itself, the Others had learned the Others, I was sure, would neither jeer nor scoff at the stories told by vagabonds of Priest-Kings. They could have learned of the destruction of much of the surveillance equipment of the Sardar, of the substantial re- duction in the technological capabilities of Priest-Kings, at least for a short time and, most importantly, that the War had been fought, in a way, over the succession of dynasties thus learning that generations of Priest-Kings might be in the offing. If there had been rebels those wanting a new gener- ation there must have been the seeds of that generation. But in a Place of Priest-Kings there is only one bearer of young, the Mother, and she had died shortly before the War. Thus, the Others might well infer that there was one, or more, concealed eggs, hidden away, which must now be secured that the new generation might be inaugurated, but hidden away quite possibly not in the Place of Priest-Kings itself, but elsewhere, out of the home of Priest-Kings, beyond even the black Sardar itself. And they might have learned, as well, that I had been in the War of Priest-Kings a lieutenant to Misk, the Fifth Born, Chief of the Rebels, and that I had now made my way to the southern plains, to the land of the Wagon Peoples. It would not then have required great intelli- gence to suspect that I might have come to fetch the egg or eggs of Priest-Kings.

If they had reasoned thus, then their strategy would seem likely to have been, first, to see that I did not find the egg, and, secondly, to secure it for themselves. They could guarantee their first objective, of course, by slaying me. The matter of the message collar had been a clever way of attempting to gain that end but, because of the shrewdness of! Tuchuks, who seldom take anything at its face value, it had failed; they had then attempted to bring me down among the wagons with a Paravaci quiva, but that, too, had failed; I grimly reminded myself, however, that I was now in the power of Saphrar of Turia. The second objective, that of obtaining the egg for themselves, was already almost accom plished; Kutaituchik had been killed and it had been stolen from his wagon; there was left only to deliver it to the gray man, who would, in turn, deliver it to the Others whoever or whatever they might be. Saphrar, of course, had been in Turia for years. This suggested to me that possibly the Others had even followed the movements of the two men 'who had' brought the egg from the Sardar to the Wagon Peoples. Perhaps they had now struck more openly and quickly employing Gorean tarnsmen fearing that I might myself seize the egg first and return it to the Sardar. The attempt on my life took place one night and the raid on Kutaituchik's wagon the next. Saphrar, too, I reminded myself, had known that the golden sphere was in the wagon of Kutaituchik. I was puzzled a bit that he had had this information. Tuchuks do not make good spies, for they tend to be, albeit fierce and cruel, intensely loyal; and there are few strangers allowed in the wagon of a Tuchuk Ubar. It occurred to me that perhaps the Tuchuks had made no secret of the presence of the 'golden sphere in Kutaituchik's wagon. That puzzled me. On the other hand they may well not have understood its true value. Kamchak himself had told me the golden sphere was worthless poor Tuchuk! But now, I said to myself, poor Cabot! However it came about and I could not be sure Others than Priest-Kings had now entered the games of Gor and these Others knew of the egg and wanted It and, it seemed, would have it. In time Priest-Kings, those remain- ing, would die. Their weapons and devices would rust and crumble in the Sardar. And then, one day, like the pirates of Port Kar in their long galleys, unannounced, unexpected, Others would cross the seas of space and bring their craft to rest on the shores and sands of Gor.

"Would you like to fight for your life?" asked Saphrar of Turia.

"Of course," I said.

"Excellent," said Saphrar. "You may do so in the Yellow Pool of Turia."

At the edge of the Yellow Pool of Turia Harold and I stood, now freed of the slave bar, but with wrists tied behind our backs. I had not been given back my sword but the quota I had carried was now thrust in my belt.

The pool is indoors in a spacious chamber in the House of Saphrar with a domed ceiling of some eighty feet in height. The pool itself, around which there is a marble walkway some seven or eight feet in width, is roughly circular in shape and has a diameter of perhaps sixty or seventy feet.

The room itself is very lovely and might have been one of the chambers in the renowned baths of Turia. It was decorat- ed with numerous exotic floral designs, done primarily in greens and yellows, representing the vegetation of a tropical river, perhaps the tropical belt of the Cartius, or certain of its tributaries far to the north and west. Besides the designs there were also, growing from planting areas recessed here and there in the marble walkway, broad-leafed, curling plants; vines; ferns; numerous exotic flowers; it was rather beautiful, but in an oppressive way, and the room had been heated to such an extent that it seemed almost steamy; I gathered the temperature and humidity in the room were desirable for the plantings, or were supposed to simulate the climate of the tropical area represented.

The light in the room came, interestingly, from behind a translucent blue ceiling, probably being furnished by energy bulbs. Saphrar was a rich man indeed to have energy bulbs in his home; few Goreans can afford such a luxury; and, indeed, few care to, for Goreans, for some reason, are fond of the light of flame, lamps and torches and such; flames must be made, tended, watched; they are more beautiful, more alive.

Around the edge of the pool there were eight large columns, fashioned and painted as though the trunks of trees, one standing at each of the eight cardinal points of the Gorean compass; from these, stretching often across the pool, were vines, so many that the ceiling could be seen only as a patchwork of blue through vinous entanglements. Some of the vines hung so low that they nearly touched the surface of the pool. A slave, at a sort of panel fused with wires and levers, stood at one side. I was puzzled by the manner in which the heat and humidity were introduced to the room, for I saw no vents nor cauldrons of boiling water, or devices for releasing drops of water on heated plates or stones. I had been in the room for perhaps three or four minutes before I realized that the steam rose from the pool itself. I gathered that it was heated. It seemed calm. I wondered what I was expected to meet in the pool. I would have at least the quiva. I noted that the surface of the pool, shortly after we had entered, began to tremble slightly, and it was then once again calm. I supposed something, sensing our presence, had stirred in its depths, and was now waiting. Yet the motion had been odd for it was almost as if the pool had lifted itself, rippled, and then subsided.

Harold and I, though bound, were each held by two men-at-arms, and another four, with crossbows, had accom- panied us.

"What is the nature of the beast in the pool?" I asked. "You will learn," Saphrar laughed.

I conjectured it would be a water animal. Nothing had yet broken the surface. It would probably be a sea-tharlarion, or perhaps several such; sometimes the smaller sea-tharlarion, seemingly not much more than teeth and tail, puttering in packs beneath the waves, are even more to be feared than their larger brethren, some of whom in whose jaws an entire galley can be raised from the surface of the sea and snapped in two like a handful of dried reeds of the rence plant. It might, too, be a Vosk turtle. Some of them are gigantic, almost impossible to kill, persistent, carnivorous. Yet, if it had been a tharlarion or a Vosk turtle, it might well have broken the surface for air. It did not. This reasoning also led me to suppose that it would not be likely to be anything like a water sleen or a giant urt from the canals of Port Karl These two, even before the tharlarion or the turtle, would by now, presumably, have surfaced to breathe.

Therefore whatever lay in wait in the pool must be truly aquatic, capable of absorbing its oxygen from the water itself. It might be gilled, like Gorean sharks, probably descend- ants of Earth sharks placed experimentally in Thassa mil- lenia ago by Priest-Kings, or it might have the gurdo, the layered, ventral membrane, shielded by porous plating, of several of the marine predators perhaps native to Gor, per- haps brought to Gor by Priest-Kings from some other, more distant world than Earth. Whatever it was, I would soon learn.

"I do not care to watch this," Ha-Keel said, "so with your permission, I shall withdraw."

Saphrar looked pained, but not much more so than was required by courtesy. He benignly lifted his small fat hand with the carmine fingernails and said, "By all means, my dear Ha-Keel, withdraw if you so wish."

Ha-Keel nodded curtly and turned abruptly and angrily strode from the room.

"Am I to be thrown bound into the pool?" I asked.

"Certainly not," said Saphrar. "That would hardly be fair." "I am pleased to see that you are concerned with such matters," I said.

"Such matters are very important to me," said Saphrar. The expression on his face was much the same as that I had seen at the banquet, when he had prepared to eat the small, quivering thing impaled on the colored stick. I heard the Paravaci, behind the hood, snicker.

"Fetch the wooden shield," commanded Saphrar. Two of the men-at-arms left the room.

I studied the pool. It was beautiful, yellow, sparkling as though filled with gems. There seemed to be wound through its fluids ribbons and filaments and it was dotted here and there with small spheres of various colors. I then became aware that the steam that rose from the pool did so periodi- cally, rather than continuously. There seemed to be a rhythm in the rising of the steam from the pool. I noted, too, that the surface of the pool licking at the marble basin in which it lay trapped seemed to rise slightly and then fall with the discharge of the steam.

This train of observation was interrupted by the arrival of Saphrar's two men-at-arms bearing a wooden barrier of sorts, about four and a half feet high and twelve feet wide, which they set between myself and my captors, and Saphrar, the Paravaci and those with the crossbow. Harold and his captors, as well, were not behind the barricade. It was, like the curving wall of the room, decorated in exotic floral patterns.

"What is the shield for?" I asked.

"It is in case you might feel tempted to hurl the quiva at us," said Saphrar.

That seemed foolish to me, but I said nothing. I certainly had nothing in mind so ridiculous as to hurl at enemies the one weapon which might mean life or death to me in my struggle in the Yellow Pool of Turia.

I turned about, as well as I could, and examined the pool again. I still had seen nothing break the surface to breathe, and now I was determined that my unseen foe must indeed be aquatic. I hoped it would be only one thing. And, too, larger animals usually move more slowly than smaller ones If it were a school of fifteen-inch Gorean pike, for example, I might kill dozens and yet die half eaten within minutes. "Let me be sent first to the pool," said Harold.

"Nonsense," said Saphrar. "But do not be impatient for your turn will come."

Though it might have been my imagination it seemed that the pool's yellow had now become enriched and that the shifting fluid hues that confronted me had achieved new ranges of brilliance. Some of the filamentous streamers beneath the surface now seemed to roil beneath the surface and the colors of the spheres seemed to pulsate. The rhythm of the steam seemed to increase in tempo and I could now detect, or thought I could, more than simple moisture in that steam, perhaps some other subtle gas or fume, perhaps hitherto unnoticed but now increasing in its volume. "Let him be untied," said Saphrar.

While two men-at-arms continued to hold me, another undid the bonds on my wrists. Three men-at-arms, with crossbows, stood ready, the weapons trained on my back. ~ "If I succeed in slaying or escaping the monster in the pool," I said, casually, "I take it that I am then, of course, free. , "That is only fair," said Saphrar.

"Good," I said.

The Paravaci, in the hood, threw back his head and laughed. The crossbowmen also smiled.

"None has, of course," said Saphrar, "ever succeeded in doing either."

"I see," I said.

I now looked across the surface of the pool. Its appear- ance was now truly remarkable. It was almost as if it were lower in the center and the edges higher near the marble basin, inching as high as they could toward our sandals. I took it that this was an optical illusion of some sort. The pool was now, it seemed, literally coruscating, glistening with a brilliance of hues that was phenomenal, almost like hands lifting and spilling gems in sunlit water. The filamentous strands seemed to go mad with movement and the spheres of various colors were almost phosphorescent, pulsating beneath the surface. The steam rhythm was now swift, and the gases or fumes mixed with that moisture, noxious. It was almost as though the pool itself respired.

"Enter the pool," commanded Saphrar.

Feet first, quiva in hand, I plunged into the yellow fluid. To my surprise the pool, at least near the edge, was not deep. I stood in the fluid only to my knees. I took a few more steps out into the pool. It became deeper toward the center. About a third of the way toward the center I was entered into the pool to my waist.

I looked about, searching for whatever it was that would attack me. It was difficult to look into the fluid because of the yellow, the glistening brilliance of the surface troubled by my passage.

I noted that the steam, and gas or fumes, no longer rose from the pool. It was quiet.

The filamentous threads did not approach me, but now seemed quiet, almost as if content. The spheres, too, seemed quiescent. Some of them, mostly whitish, luminescent ones, had seemed to float nearer, and hovered slightly beneath the surface, in a ring about me, some ten feet away. I took a step towards the ring and the spheres, doubtless moved by the fluids displaced in my step, seemed to slowly disperse and move away. The yellow of the pool's fluid, though rich, no longer seemed to leap and startle me with its vibrance. I waited for the attack of the monster.

I stood so, in the fluid to my waist, for perhaps two or three minutes.

Then, angrily, thinking perhaps the pool was empty, or had been made fool of, I cried out to Saphrar. "When is it that I meet the monster?" Over the surface I heard Saphrar, standing behind the wooden shield, laugh. "You have met it," he said. "You lie!" I cried.

"No," he responded, amused, "you have met it."

"What is the monster?" I cried.

"The pool!" he shouted.

"The pool?" I asked.

"Yes," said Saphrar, gleefully. "It is alive!"

At the very instant that Saphrar had called out there was a great blast of steam and fumes that seemed to explode from the fluid about me as though the monster in which I found myself had now, its prey satisfactorily entrapped, dared to respire and, at the same time, I felt the yellow fluid about my body begin to thicken and yell. I cried out suddenly in alarm horrified at my predicament and struggled to turn back and wade to the edge of the marbled-basin that was the cage of the thing in which I was, but the fluid, tightening about me, DOW seemed to have the consistency of a rich yellow, hot mud and then, by the time I had reached a level where it rose to a point midway between my knees and waist the fluid had become as resistant as wet, yellow cement and I could move no further. My legs began to tingle and sting, and I could feel the skin beginning to be etched and picked by the corrosive elements now attacking them.

I heard Saphrar remark, "It sometimes takes hours to be fully digested."

Wildly, with the useless quiva, I began to slash and pick at the damp, thick stud about me. The blade would sink in fully, as though in a tub of wet cement, leaving a mark, but when it was withdrawn the mark would be erased by the material flowing in to fill the aperture "Some men," said Saphrar, "those who do not struggle have lived for as much as three hours long enough in some cases to see, I saw one of the vines hanging near me. My heart leaped wildly at this chance. If I could but reach it! With all my strength I moved towards it an inch and then another inch my fingers stretched, my arms and back aching, until in another inch I might have grasped it and then, to my horror, as I reached in agony for the vine, it rustled and lifted itself just beyond my reach. I moved toward it again, and again it did this. I howled with rage. I was going to try again when I saw the slave I had noticed earlier watching me, his hands on certain of the levers in the panel on the curving wall. I stood in the coagulating, tightening fluid, held fast a prisoner, and threw back my head in despair. He had, of course, controlled the movement of the vine from the panel, undoubtedly by wires.

"Yes, Tarl Cabot," wheezed Saphrar, giggling, "and yet you will, in an hour or so, when you are mad with pain and fear, try yet again and again to touch and grasp a vine, knowing that you will not succeed but yet again and again trying, believing that once somehow you will be successful. But you will not!" Saphrar now giggled uncontrollably. "I have even seen them reach for vines a spear's length above their head and think they could reach them!" Saphrar's two golden teeth, like yellow fangs, showed as he put back his head and howled with pleasure, his fat little hands pounding on the wood of the shield.

The quiva had turned itself in my hand and my arm flew back, that I might take with me in my death the tormentor, Saphrar of Turia.

"Beware!" cried the Paravaci and Saphrar suddenly stopped laughing and observed me warily.

If my arm should fly forward he would have time to leap below the wooden frame.

Now he was putting his chin on the wooden shield and watching me again, once more giggling.

"Many have used the quiva before now," he said, "but usually to plunge it into their own heart."

I looked at the blade.

"Tarl Cabot," I said, "does not slay himself."

"I did not think so," said Saphrar. "And that is why you were permitted to keep the quiva." Then he threw back his head and laughed again.

"You fat, filthy urt!" cried Harold, struggling in his bonds with the two men-at-arms who held him.

"Be patient," giggled Saphrar. "Be patient, my impetuous young friend. Your turn will come!"

I stood as still as I could. My feet and legs felt cold and yet as if they were burning presumably the acids of the pool were at work. As nearly as I could determine the pool was thick, rubbery, gelatinous, only in the area near to my body. I could see it rippling, and splashing a bit against the edge of the marbled basin. Indeed, it was even lower toward the edge now, and had humped itself in my vicinity, as though in time it might climb my body and, in some hours perhaps, engulf me. But doubtless by then I would have been half digested, much of me little more than a cream of fluids and proteins then mixing with and nourishing the substance of my devourer the Yellow Pool of Turia.

I pushed now, with all my might, not toward the edge of the marbled basin, but rather toward the deepest part of the pool. To my satisfaction I found that I could move, though barely, in this direction. The pool was content that I should enter it more deeply, perhaps it even desired that I do so, that its meal might be even more readily obtained. "What is he doing?" cried the Paravaci.

"He is mad," said Saphrar.

Half inch I moved toward the center of the pool my journey became easier. Then suddenly, the yellow, encircling cementlike substance had oozed from my limbs and I could take two or three free steps. The fluid was now, however, to my armpits. One of the luminescent, white spheres floated by, quite close to me. To my horror I saw it change its shade as it neared the surface, more closely approaching the light. As it had risen toward the surface, just beneath which it now rested, its pigmentation had changed from a luminescent white to a rather darkish gray. It was clearly photosensitive. I reached out and slashed at it with the quiva, cutting it, and it withdrew suddenly, rolling in the fluid, and the pool itself seemed suddenly to churn with steam and light. Then it was quiet again. Yet somehow I knew now the pool, like all forms of life, had some level of irritability. More of the luminescent, white orbs now floated about me, circling me, but none of them now approached closely enough to allow me to use the quiva.

I splashed across the center of the pool, literally swim- ming. As soon as I had crossed the center I felt the fluids of the pool once again begin to yell and tighten. By the time I had reached the level of my waist on the opposite side I could, once again, no longer move toward the edge of the pool. I tried this twice more, in different directions, with identically the same result. Always, the luminescent, photo- sensitive orbs seemed to float behind me and around me in the fluid. Then I was swimming freely in the yellow fluid at the center of the pool. Beneath me, vaguely, several feet under the surface, I could see a collection, almost like threads and granules in a transparent bag, of intertwined, writhing filaments and spheres, imbedded in a darkish yellow jelly, walled in by a translucent membrane.

Quiva in my teeth I dove toward the deepest part of the Yellow Pool of Turin, where glowed the quickness and sub- stancc of the living thing in which I swam.

Almost instantly as I submerged the fluid beneath me began to jell, walling me away from the glowing mass at the bottom of the pool but, hand over hand, pulling at it and thrusting my way, I forced my way deeper and deeper into it. Finally I was literally digging in it feet below the surface. My lungs began to scream for air. Still I dug in the yellow fluid, hands and fingernails bleeding, and then, when it seemed my lungs would burst and darkness was engulfing me and I would lose consciousness, I felt a globular, membranous tissue, wet and slimy, recoil spasmodically from my touch. Upside down, locked in the gelling fluid, I took the quiva from my mouth and, with both hands, pressed down with the blade against that twitching, jerking, withdrawing membrane. It seemed that the living, amorphous globe of matter which I struck began to move away, slithering away in the yellow fluids, but I pursued it, one hand in the torn membrane and continued to slash and tear at it. Crowded about my body now were entangling filaments and spheres trying, like hands and teeth, to tear me from my work, but I struck and tore again and again and then entered the secret world beneath the membrane slashing to the left and right and suddenly the fluid began to loosen and withdraw above me and within the membranous chamber it began to solidify against me and push me out, I stayed as long as I could but, lungs wrenching, at last permitted myself to be thrust from the membranous chamber and hurled into the loose fluid above. Now below me the fluid began to yell swiftly almost like a rising floor and it loosened and withdrew on all sides and suddenly my head broke the surface and I breathed. I now stood on the hardened surface of the Yellow Pool of Turia and saw the fluids of the sides seeping into the mass beneath me and hardening almost instantly. I stood now on a warm, dry globular mass, almost like a huge, living shell. I could not have scratched the surface with the quiva.

"Kill him!" I heard Saphrar cry, and there was suddenly the hiss of a crossbow quarrel which streaked past me and shattered on the curving wall behind me. Standing now on the high, humped dried thing, lofty on that protective coating I leaped easily up and seized one of the low hanging vines and climbed rapidly toward the blue ceiling of the chamber; I heard another hiss and saw a bolt from the crossbow shatter through the crystalline blue substance. One of the crossbowmen had leaped to the now dry floor of the manic basin and stood almost beneath me, his crossbow raised. I knew I would not be able to elude his quarrel. Then suddenly l heard his agonized cry and saw that beneath me, once again, there glistened the yellow fluids of- the pool, moving about him, for the thing perhaps thermotropic had again, as rapidly as it had hardened, liquified and swirled about him, the luminescent spheres and filaments visible beneath its surface. The crossbow bolt went wild, again shattering the blue surface of the dome. I heard the wild, eerie cry of the luckless man beneath me and then, with my fist, broke the blue surface and climbed through, grasping the Iron of a reticulated framework supporting numerous ener- gy bulbs.

Far off, it seemed, I could hear Saphrar screeching for more guards.

I ran over the iron framework until, judging by the di- tance and curve of the dome, I had reached a point above where Harold and I had waited at the edge of the pool. There, quiva in hand, uttering the war cry of Ko-ro-ba, feet first, I leaped from the framework and shattered through the blue surface landing among my startled enemies The cross- bowmen were each winding their string tight for a new quarrel. The quiva had sought and found the heart of two before even they realized I was upon them. Then another fell. Harold, wrists still bound behind his back, hurled himself against two men and, screaming, they pitched backward into the Yellow Pool of Turia. Saphrar cried out and darted away.

The remaining two guardsmen, who had no crossbows, simultaneously whipped out their swords. Behind them, quiva poised in his fingertips, I could see the hooded Paravaci. I shielded myself from the flight of the Paracaci quiva by rushing towards the two guardsmen. But before I reached globular mass, almost like a huge, living shell. I could not have scratched the surface with the quiva.

"Kill him!" I heard Saphrar cry, and there was suddenly the hiss of a crossbow quarrel which streaked past me and shattered on the curving wall behind me. Standing now on the high, humped dried Thing, lofty on that protective Coating I leaped easily up and seized one of the low hanging vines and climbed rapidly toward the blue ceiling of the chamber; I heard another hiss and saw a bolt from the crossbow shatter through the crystalline blue substance. One of the crossbowmen had leaped to the now dry floor of the manic basin Ed stood almost beneath me, his crossbow raised. I knew I would not be able to elude his quarrel. Then suddenly l heard his agonized cry and saw that beneath me, once again, there glistened the yellow fluids of- the pool, moving about him, for the thing perhaps thermotropic had again, as rapidly as it had hardened, liquified and swirled about him, the luminescent spheres and filaments visible beneath its surface. The crossbow bolt went wild, again shattering the blue surface of the dome. I heard the wild, eerie cry of the luckless man beneath me and then, with my fist, broke the blue surface and climbed through, grasping the iron of a reticulated framework supporting numerous ener- gy bulbs.

Far off, it seemed, I could hear Saphrar screeching for more guards.

I ran over the iron framework until, judging by the dis- tance and curve of the dome, I had reached a point above where Harold and I had waited at the edge of the pool. There, quiva in hand, uttering the war cry of Ko-ro-ba, feet first, I leaped from the framework and shattered through the blue surface landing among my startled enemies The cross- bowmen were each winding their string tight for a new quarrel. The quiva had sought and found the heart of two before even they realized I was upon them. Then another fell. Harold, wrists still bound behind his back, hurled himself against two men and, screaming, they pitched backward into the Yellow Pool of Turia. Saphrar cried out and darted away.

The remaining two guardsmen, who had no crossbows, simultaneously whipped out their swords. Behind them, quiva poised in his fingertips, I could see the hooded Paravaci. I shielded myself from the flight of the Paracaci quiva by rushing towards the two guardsmen. But before I reached them my quiva, with the underhand hilt cast, had struck the guardsman on my left. I moved to his right and from his strengthless hand, even before he fell, tore his weapon. "Down!" cried Harold, and I fell to the floor barely sensi- ble of the silverish quiva of the Paravaci speeding overhead. I took the attack of the second guardsman by rolling on my back and flinging up my blade in defense. Four times he struck and each time I parried and then I had regained my feet. He fell back from my blade, turned once and fell into the glistening, living liquid of the Yellow Pool of Turia. I spun to face the Paravaci but he, weaponless, with a curse, turned and from the room.

From the breast of the first guardsman I removed the quiva, wiping it on his tunic.

I stepped to Harold and with one motion severed the bonds that constrained him.

"Not badly done for a Koroban," he granted.

We heard running feet approaching, those of several men, the clank of arms, the high-pitched, enraged screaming of Saphrar of Turia.

"Hurry!" I cried.

Together we ran ate-out the perimeter of the pool until we came to a tangle of vines depending from the ceiling, up which we climbed, broke through the blue substance, and cast wildly about for an avenue of escape. There would be such, for the ceiling had been unbroken by a door or panel, and there must surely be some provision for the rearrange- ment and replacement of energy bulbs. We quickly found the exit, though it was only a panel some two feet by two feet, of a size for slaves to crawl through. It was locked but we kicked it open, splintering the bolt from the wood, and emerged on a narrow, unrailed balcony.

I had the guardsman's sword and my quiva, Harold his quiva alone.

He had, running swiftly, climbed up the outside of a dome concentric to the one below, and was there looking about. "There it is!" he cried.

"What?" I demanded. "Tarns! Kaiila!"

"No," he cried, "Saphrar's Pleasure Gardens!" and disap- peared down the other side of the dome.

"Come back!" I cried.

But he was gone.

Angry, I sped about the dome, not wishing to silhouette myself against the sky on its curve, lest there be enemy bowmen within range.

About a hundred and fifty yards away, over several small roofs and domes, all within the vast compound that was the House of Saphrar of Turia, I saw the high walls of what was undoubtedly a Pleasure Garden. I could see, here and there, on the inside, the tops of graceful flower trees.

— I could also see Harold bounding along, from roof to roof, in the light of the three moons.

Furious I followed him.

Could I have but put my hands on him at the time I might have wrung a Tuchuk neck.

I now saw him leap to the wall and, scarcely looking about, run along and then leap to the swaying trunk of one of the flower trees and descend swiftly into the darkness of the gardens.

In a moment I followed him.

I had no difficulty finding Harold. Indeed, coming down the segmented trunk of the dower tree, I almost landed on top of him. He was sitting with his back to the tree, puffing, resting.

"I have formed a plan," he said to me.

"That is good news indeed," I responded. "Does it include some provision for escaping?"

"I have not yet formed that part of it," he admitted. I leaned back against the tree, breathing heavily. "Would it not have been a good idea to reach the streets immediately?" I I asked.

"The streets will be searched," puffed Harold, "Im- mediately by all the guardsmen and men-at-arms in the city." He took two or three deep breaths. "It will never occur to them to search the Pleasure Gardens," he said. "Only fools would try to hide there."

I closed my eyes briefly. I felt ready to concede his last point.

"You are aware, of course," I mentioned, "that the Plea" sure Gardens of so rich a man as Saphrar of Turia may contain a large number of female slaves not all of whom might be trusted to keep silent and some of whom will undoubtedly notice something as unusual as two strange warriors wandering about among the shrubs and ferns?" "That is true," said Harold, "but I do not expect to be here by morning." He picked up a stalk of a patch of violet grass, one of several hues used in such gardens, and began to chew on it. "I think," said he, "an hour or so will be sufficient perhaps less."

"Sufficient for what?" I asked.

"For tarnsmen to be called in to aid in the search," h said. "Their movements will undoubtedly be coordinated in the house of Saphrar and some tarns and their riders, if only messengers or officers will surely be available." Suddenly there seemed to me a real possibility in Harold's plan. Undoubtedly tarnsmen, mounted, would come from time to time during the night to the House of Saphrar. "You are clever," I said.

"Of course," lie said, "I am a Tuchuk."

"But I thought you told me," I said, "that your plan did not yet contain a provision for escape."

"At the time," he said, "it did not but while sitting here I formed it."

"Well," I said, "I am glad."

"Something always comes to me," he said. "I am a Tuchuk."

"What do you suggest we do now?" I asked.

"For the time," said Harold, "let us rest."

"Very well," I said.

And so we sat with our backs against the flower tree in the House of Saphrar, merchant of Turia. I looked at the lovely, dangling loops of interwoven blossoms which hung from the curved branches of the tree. I knew that the clusters of flowers which, cluster upon cluster, graced those linear, hang- ing stems, would each be a bouquet in itself, for the trees are so bred that the clustered flowers emerge in subtle, delicate patterns of shades and hues. Besides several of the flower trees there were also some Ka-la-na trees, or the yellow wine trees of Gor; there was one large-bunked, reddish Tur tree, about which curled its assemblage of Tur-Pah, a vinelike tree parasite with curled, scarlet, ovate leaves, rather lovely to look upon; the leaves of the Tur-Pah incidentally are edible and figure in certain Gorean dishes, such as sullage, a kind of soup; long ago, I had heard, a Tur tree was found on the prairie, near a spring, planted perhaps long before by someone who passed by; it was from that Tur tree that the city of Turia took its name; there was also, at one side of the garden, against the far wall, a grove of "em-wood, linear, black, supple. Besides the trees there were numerous shrubs and plantings, almost all flowered, sometimes fantastically; among the trees and the colored grasses there wound curved, shaded walks. Here and there I could hear the Rowing of water, from miniature artificial waterfalls and fountains. From where I sat I could see two lovely pools, in which lotuslike plants floated; one of the pools was large enough for swim" ming; the other, I supposed, was stocked with tiny, bright fish from the various seas and lakes of Gor.

Then I became aware of the flickerings and reflections of light from over the wall, against some of the higher buildings about. I also heard the running of feet, the sound of arms. I could hear someone shouting. Then the noise, the light, passed.

"I have rested," said Harold.

"Good," I said.

"Now," said he, looking about, "I must find myself a wench."

"A wench!" I cried, almost a shout.

"Shhhh," said he, cautioning me to silence.

"Have we not enough troubles?" I inquired.

"Why do you think I came to Turia?" he asked.

"For a wench," I said.

"Certainly," said he, "and I do not intend to depart with- out one."

I gritted my teeth. "Well," I said, "I am sure there are many about."

"Doubtless," said Harold, getting to his feet, as though he must now be back to work.

I, too, got to my feet.

He had no binding fiber, no slave hood, no tarn. Yet this absence of equipment did not deter him, nor did he seem to regard his deprivations in these particulars as worthy of note. "It may take a moment to pick out one I like," he apologized.

"That is all right," I assured him, "take your time." I then followed Harold along one of the smooth, stone paths leading among the trees, brushing our way through the clusters of blossoms, skirting the edge of the nearer blue pool. I could see the three moons of Gor rejected in its surface. They were beautiful shining among the green and white blossoms on the water.

The masses of flowers and vegetation in Saphrar's Pleasure Gardens filled the air with mingled, heavy sweet fragrances. Also the fountains had been scented and the pools. Harold left the walk and stepped carefully to avoid tram- pling a patch of talenders, a delicate yellow flower, often associated in the Gorean mind with love and beauty. He made his way across some dark blue and yellowish orange grass and came to the buildings set against one wall of the gardens. Here we climbed several low, broad marble steps and passed down a columned porch and entered the central building, finding ourselves in a dim, lamp-lit hall, bestrewn with carpets and cushions and decorated, here and there, with carved, reticulated white screening.

There were seven or eight girls, clad in Pleasure Silks, sleeping in this hall, scattered about, curled up on cushions. Harold inspected them, but did not seem satisfied. I looked them over nod would have thought that any one of them would have been a prize, presuming it could be safely trans- ported somehow to the wagons of the Tuchuks. One poor girl slept naked on the tiles by the fountain. About her neck was a thick metal collar to which a heavy iron chain had been fastened; the chain itself was attached to a large iron ring placed in the floor. I supposed she was being disciplined. I immediately began to worry that that girl would be the one who would strike Harold's eye. To my relief, he examined her briefly and passed on.

Soon Harold had left the central hall and was making his way down a long, carpeted, lamp-hung corridor. He entered various rooms off this corridor and, after, I suppose, inspect- ing their contents, always emerged and trekked off again. We then examined other corridors and other rooms, and finally returned to the main hall and started off down another way, again encountering corridors and rooms; this we did four times, until we were moving down one of the last corridors, leading from one of the five main corridors off the central hall. I had not kept count but we must have passed by more than seven or eight hundred girls, and still, among all these riches of Saphrar, he could not seem to find the one for which he searched. Several times, one girl or another, would roll over or shift in her sleep, or throw out an arm, and my heart would nearly stop, but none of the wenches awakened and we would troop on to the next room.

— At last we came to a largish room, but much smaller than the main hall, in which there were some seventeen beauties strewn about, all in Pleasure Silk. The light in the room was furnished by a single tharlarion-oil lamp which hung from the ceiling. It was carpeted by a large red rug on which were several cushions of different colors, mostly yellows and or- anges. There was no fountain in the room but, against one wall, there were some low tables with fruits and drinks upon them. Harold looked the girls over and then he went to the low table and poured himself a drink, Ka-la-na wine by the smell of it. He then picked up a juicy, red larma fruit, biting I into it with a sound that seemed partly crunching as he went through the shell, partly squishing as he bit into the fleshy, segmented endocarp. He seemed to make a great deal of noise. Although one or two of the girls stirred uneasily, none, to my relief, awakened.

Harold was now fishing about, still chewing on the fruit, in a wooden chest at one end of the table. He drew out of the chest some four silken scarves, after rejecting since others which did not sufficiently please him.

Then he stood up and went to where one of the girls lay curled on the thick red carpet.

"I rather like this one," he said, taking a bite out of the fruit, spitting some seeds to the rug.

She wore yellow Pleasure Silk, and, beneath her long black hair, on her throat, I glimpsed a silverish Turian collar. She lay with her knees drawn up and her head resting on her left elbow. Her skin color was tarnish, not too unlike the girl I had seen from Port Karl I bent more closely. She was a beauty, and the diaphanous Pleasure Silk that was the only garment permitted her did not, by design, conceal her charms. Then, startled, as she moved her head a bit, restlessly on the rug, I saw that in her nose was the tiny golden ring of a Tuchuk girl.

"This is the one," Harold said.

It was, of course, Hereena, she of the First Wagon. Harold tossed the emptied, collapsed shell of the larma fruit into a corner of the room and whipped one of the scarves from his belt.

He then gave the girl a short, swift kick, not to hurt her, but simply, rather rudely, to startle her awake.

"On your feet, Slave Girl," he said.

Hereena struggled to her feet, her trend down, but Harold had stepped behind her, pulling her wrists blind her back and tying then with the scarf in his hand.

"What is it?" she asked.

"You are being abducted," Harold informed her.

The girl's head flew up and she spun to face him, pulling to free herself. When she saw him her eyes were as wide as larma fruit and her mouth flew open.

"It is I," said Harold, "Harold the Tuchuk."

"No!" she said. "Not you!"

"Yes," he said, "I," turning her about once again, routinely checking the knots that bound her wrists, taking her wrists in his hands, trying to separate them, examining the knots for slippage; there was none. He permitted her to turn and face him again.

"How did you get in here?" she demanded.

"I chanced by," said Harold.

She was trying to free herself. After an instant she realized that she could not, that she had been bound by a warrior. Then she acted as though she had not noticed that she had been perfectly secured, that she was his prisoner, the prisoner of Harold of the Tuchuks. She squared her small shoulders and glared up at him.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"Stealing a slave girl," he said.

"Who?" she asked.

"Oh, come now," said Harold.

"Not I!" she said.

"Of course," said he.

"But I am Hereena," she cried, "of the First Wagon!" I feared the girl's voice might awaken the others, but they seemed still to sleep.

"You are only a little Turian slave girl," said Harold, "who has taken my fancy."

"Nor" she said.

Then Harold had his hands in her mouth, holding it open. "See," he said to me.

I looked. To be sure, there was a slight gap between two of the teeth on the upper right.

Hereena was trying to say something. It is perhaps just as well she could not.

"It is easy to see," said Harold, "why she was not chosen First Stake."

Hereena struggled furiously, unable to speak, the young Tuchuk's hands separating her jaws.

"I have seen kaiila with better teeth," he said.

Hereena made an angry noise. I hoped that the girl would not burst a blood vessel. Then Harold removed his hands deftly, narrowly missing what would have been a most savage! bite.

"Sleen!" she hissed.

"On the other hand," said Harold, "all things considered, she is a not unattractive little wench."

"Sleen! Sleen!" cursed the girl.

"I shall enjoy owning you," said Harold, patting her head. "Sleep! Sleen! Sleen!" cursed the girl.

Harold turned to me. "She is, is she not all things con sidered a pretty little wench? I could not help but regard the angry, collared Hereena, furious in the swirling Pleasure Silk. "Yes," I said, "very."

"Do not fret, little Slave Girl," said Harold to Hereena. "You will soon be able to serve me and I shall see that you shall do so superbly."

Irrationally, like a terrified, vicious little animal, Hereena struggled again to free herself.

Harold stood by, patiently, making no attempt to interfere. At last, trembling with rage, she approached him, her back to him, holding her wrists to him. "Your jest has gone far enough," she said. "Free me."

"No," said Harold.

"Free me!" commanded the girl.

"No," said Harold.

She spun to face him again, tears of rage in her eyes. "No," said Harold.

She straightened herself. "I will never go with you," she hissed. "Never! Never! Never!"

"That is interesting," said Harold. "How do you propose to prevent it?" "I have a plan," she said.

"Of course," he said, "you are Tuchuk." He looked at her narrowly. "What is your plan?"

"It is a simple one," she responded.

"Of course," said Harold, "though you are Tuchuk, you are also female."

One of Hereena's eyebrows rose skeptically. "The simplest plans," she remarked, "are often the best."

"Upon occasion," granted Harold. "What is your plan?" "I shall simply scream," she said.

Harold thought for a moment. "That is an excellent plan," he admitted.

"So," said Hereena, "free me and I will give you ten Ihn to flee for your lives."

That did not seem to me like much time. The Gorean Ihn, or second, is only a little longer than the Earth second. Regardless of the standard employed, it was clear that Hereena was not being particularly generous.

"I do not choose to do so," remarked Harold.

She shrugged. "Very well," she said.

"I gather you intend to put your plan into effect," said Harold.

"Yes," she said.

"Do so," said Harold.

She looked at him for a moment and then put back her head and sucked in air and then, her mouth open, prepared to utter a wild scream.

My heart nearly stopped but Harold, at the moment just before the girl could scream, popped one of the scarves into her mouth, wadding it Up and shoving it between her teeth. Her scream was only a muffled noise, hardly more than escaping air.

"I, too," Harold informed her, "had a plan a counter- plan."

He took one of the two remaining scarves and bound it across her mouth holding the first scarf well inside her mouth.

"My plan," said Harold, "which I have now put into effect, was clearly superior to yours."

Hereena made some muffled noises. Her eyes regarded him wildly over the colored scarf and her entire body began to squirm savagely.

"Yes," said Harold, "clearly superior."

I was forced to concede his point. Standing but five feet away I could barely hear the tiny, angry noises she made. Harold then lifted her from her feet and, as I winced, simply dropped her on the floor. She was, after all, a slave. She said something that sounded like "Ooof," when she hit the floor. He then crossed her ankles, and bound them tightly with the remaining scarf.

She glared at him in pained fury over the colored scarf. He scooped her up and put her over his shoulder. I was forced to admit that he had handled the whole affair rather neatly.

In n short while Harold, carrying the struggling Hereena, and I had retraced our steps to the central hall and descend- ed the steps of the porch and returned by means of the curving walks between the shrubs and pools to the flower tree by means of which we had originally entered the Pleasure Gardens of Saphrar of Turia.

"By now," said Harold, "guardsmen will have searched the roofs, so it should be safe to proceed across them to our destination."

"And where is that?" I asked.

"Wherever the tarns happen to be," he responded.

"Probably," I said, "on the highest roof of the highest building in the House of Saphrar."

"That would be," suggested Harold, "the keep."

I agreed with him. The keep, in the private houses of Goreans, is most often a round, stone tower, built for de- fense, containing water and food. It is difficult to fire from the outside, and the roundness like the roundness of Gorean towers in general tends to increase the amount of oblique hits from catapult stones.

Making our way up the Dower tree with Hereena, who fought like a young she-larl, was not easy. I went part way up the tree and was handed the girl, and then Harold would go up above me and I would hoist her up a way to him, and then I would pass him, and so on. Occasionally, to my irritation, we became entangled in the trailing, looped stems of the tree, each with its richness of clustered flowers, whose beauty I was no loner in a mood to appreciate. At lust we got Hereena to the top of the tree.

"Perhaps," puffed Harold, "you would like to go back and get another wench one for yourself?"

"No," I said.

"Very well," he said.

Although the wall was several feet from the top of the tree ~ managed, by springing on one of the curved branches, to build up enough spring pressure to leap to where I could get my fingers over the edge of the wall. I slipped with one hand and hung there, feet scraping the wall, some fifty feet from the ground, for a nasty moment, but then managed to get both hands on the edge of the wall and hoist myself up. "Be careful," advised Harold.

I was about to respond when I heard a stifled scream of horror and saw that Harold had hurled Hereena in my direction, across the space between the tree and the wall. I managed to catch her. She was now covered with a cold sweat and was trembling with terror. Perched on the wall, holding the girl with one hand to prevent her tumbling off, I watched Harold springing up and down and then he was leaping towards me. He, too, slipped, as I was not displeased to note, but our hands met and he was drawn to safety. "Be careful," I advised him, attempting not to let a note of triumph permeate my admonition.

"Quite right," wheezed Harold, "as I myself earlier pointed out»

I considered pushing him off the wall, but, thinking of the height, the likelihood of breaking his neck and back and such, and consequently thereby complicating our measures for escape, I dismissed the notion as impractical, however tempting.

"Come along," he said, flinging Hereena across his shout- ders like a thigh of bask meat, and starting along the wall. We soon came, to my satisfaction, to an easily accessible, flat roof and climbed onto it. Harold laid Hereena down on the roof to one side and sat cross-legged for a minute, breathing heavily. I myself was almost winded as well.

Then overhead in the darkness we heard the beat of a tarn's wings and saw one of the monstrous birds pass above us. In a short moment we heard it flutter to alight somewhere beyond. Harold and I then got up and, with Hereena under one of his arms, we circumspectly made our way from roof to roof until we saw the keep, rising like a dark cylinder against one of Gor's three moons. It stood some seventy feet from any of the other buildings in the compound that was the House of Saphrar, but now, swaying, formed of rope and sticks, a removable footbridge extended from an open door in its side to a porch some several feet below us. The bridge permitted access to the tower from the building on the roof of which we stood. Indeed, it provided the only access, save on tarnback, for there are no doors at ground level in a Gorean keep. The first sixty feet or so of the tower would l presumably be solid stone, to protect the tower from forced entrance or the immediate, efficient use of battering rams. The tower itself was some one hundred and forty feet in I height and had a diameter of about fifty feet. It was fur- nished with numerous ports for the use of bowmen. The roof of the tower, which might have been fortified with impaling spears and tarn wire, was now clear, to permit the descent of tarns and their riders.

On the roof, as we lay there, we could hear, now and then, someone run along the footbridge. Then there was someone shouting. From time to time a tarn would descend or take flight from the roof of the keep.

When we were sure there were at least two tarns on the roof of the keep I leaped down from the roof and landed on the light bridge, struggling to retain my footing as it began to' swing under my feet. Almost immediately I heard a shout from the building. "There's one of then!"

"Hurry!" I cried to Harold.

He threw Hereena down to me and I caught her on the bridge. I saw briefly the wild, frightened look in her eyes, heard what might have been a muffled plea. Then Harold had sprung down beside me on the bridge, seizing the hand rope to keep from tumbling off.

A guardsman had emerged, carrying a crossbow, framed in the light of the threshold at the entrance to the bridge from the building. There was a quarrel on the guide and he threw the weapon to his shoulder. Harold's arm flashed past me and the fellow stood suddenly still, then his knees gave slowly way beneath him and he fell to the flooring of the porch, a quiva hilt protruding from his chest, the crossbow clattering beside him.

"Go ahead," I commanded Harold.

I could now hear more men coming, running.

Then to my dismay I saw two more crossbowmen, this time on a nearby roof.

"I see them!" one of them cried.

Harold sped along the bridge, Hereena in his arms, and disappeared into the keep.

Two swordsmen now rushed from the building, leaping over the fallen crossbowman, and raced along the bridge toward me. I engaged them, dropping one and wounding the other. A quarrel from one of the crossbowmen on the roof suddenly shattered through the sticks of the bridge at my feet, splintering them not six inches from where I stood. I backed rapidly along the bridge and another quarrel sped past me, striking sparks from the stone tower behind me. Now I could see several more guardsmen rushing toward the bridge. It would be eleven or twelve seconds before the crossbowmen would be ready to fire again. I turned and began to hack at the ropes that bound the swaying bridge to the tower. Inside I could hear a startled guard demanding to know who Harold was.

"is it not obvious!" Harold was yelling at him. "You see I have the girl!"

"What girl? the guard was asking.

"A wench from the Pleasure Gardens of Saphrar, you fool!" Harold was crying at him.

"But why should you be bringing such a wench here?" the — guard was asking.

"You are dull, are you not!" demanded Harold. "here take her!"

"Very well," said the guard.

I then heard a sudden, sharp crack, as of a fist meeting bone.

The bridge began to rock and sag on its ropes and several men from the building began to thunder across towards me. Then there was a horrified cry as one rope was cut and the flooring of the bridge suddenly pitched, throwing several of the guardsmen to the ground below. A quarrel now struck the flooring of the tower at my feet and skidded into the building. I struck again and the other rope burst from my stroke and the bridge swung rapidly back against the wall of the building opposite with a clatter of sticks and cries, knock- ing the remaining, clinging guardsmen from it, dropping them like wood senseless to the foot of the wall. I leaped inside the door of the keep and swung it shut. Just as I did so the bolt of a crossbow struck the door and splintered through it, its head projecting some six inches on my side. I then flung the two bars in position, which locked the door, lest men on ladders from the ground attempt to force it.

The room in which I found myself contained an uncon- scious guard, but no further sign of Harold or Hereena. I then climbed up a wooden ladder to the next level, which was empty, and then another level and another, and another. Then I emerged in the chamber below the roof of the keep and there found Harold, sitting on the bottom rung of the last ladder, breathing heavily, Hereena lying squirming at his feet. "I have been waiting for you," said Harold, gasping. "Let us proceed," I said, "lest the tarns be flown from the roof and we be isolated in the tower."

"My plan exactly," said Harold, "but first should you not teach me to master the tarn?"

I heard Hereena moan with horror and she began to struggle madly to free herself of the scarves that bound her. I "Normally," I said, "it takes years to become a skilled tarnsman."

"That is all well nod good," responded Harold, "but can, you not impart certain important information relating to the matter in a briefer span?"

"Come to the roof!" I cried.

I preceded Harold up the ladder and thrust up the trap admitting us to the roof. On the roof there were five tarns.! One guard was even then approaching the trap. The other! was releasing the tarns one by one.

I was ready to engage the first guard, half on the ladder, | but Harold's head emerged from the opening behind me.! "Don't fight," he called to the guard. "It is Tarl Cabot of Ko-ro-ba, you fool!"

"Who is Tarl Cabot of Ko-ro-ba?" asked the guard, star- tled.

"I am," I responded, not knowing much what else to say. The fellow came running across the roof. "Where is Kunrus?" he asked.

"Below," Harold informed him.

"Who are you?" asked the guard. "What is going on here?"

"I am Harold of the Tuchuks," responded Harold of the Tuchuks.

"What are you doing here?" asked the guard.

"Are you not Ho-bar?" inquired Harold. It was a common name in Ar, whence many of the mercenaries had come. "I know of no Ho-bar, ' said the man. "Is he Turian?" "I hoped to find Ho-bar," said Harold, "but perhaps you will do."

"I shall try," said the guard.

"Here," said Harold. "Take the wench."

Hereena shook her head violently at the guard, protesting through the muffling folds of the scarf wadded in her mouth. "What will I do with her?" asked the guard.

"Just hold her," said Harold.

"Very well," said the guard.

I closed my eyes and it was over in a second. Harold once more had Hereena over his shoulder and was boldly ap- preaching the tarns.

There were two of the great birds left on the roof, both fine specimens, huge, vicious, alert. Harold dropped Hereena to the floor of the roof and strode to the first tarn. I shut my eyes as he vigorously struck- it once, authoritatively, across the beak. "I am Harold of the Tuchuks," he said, "I am a skilled tarnsman I have ridden over a thousand tarns, I have spent more time in the tarn saddle than most men on their feet, I was conceived on tarnback, I was born on Tarnback, I eat tarns fear me! I am Harold of the Tuchuks!

The bird, if such emotions it could have, was looking at him, askance and baffled. Any instant I expected it to pick Harold from the roof with its beak, bite him in two and eat the pieces. But the bird seemed utterly startled, if possible, dumbfounded.

Harold turned to face me. "How do you ride a tarn?" he asked "Get into the saddle," I said.

"Yes!" he said, and climbed up, missing one of the rungs of the rope ladder at the saddle and slipping his leg through it. I then managed to get him to the saddle and made sure he fastened the safety strap. As swiftly as I could I then ex- plained to him the guidance apparatus, the main saddle ring and its six straps.

When I handed Hereena to him the poor girl was shivering and moaning in terror, uncontrollably trembling. She, a girl of the plains, familiar with fierce kaiila, herself a proud, spirited wench, brave and daring, was yet like many women utterly for some reason terrified of a tarn. I felt genuine pity for the Tuchuk girl. On the other hand Harold seemed quite pleased that she was beside herself with terror. The slave rings on the tarn saddle are similar to those on the kaiila saddle and in a trice Harold, using the thongs stream- ing from the slave rings, one on each side of the saddle, had bound the girl on her back across the saddle in front of him. Then, without waiting, uttering a great cry, he hauled on the one-strap. The tarn did not move but, I thought, though it was undoubtedly not the case, turned and regarded him skeptically, reproachfully.

"What is the matter?" asked Harold.

"It is still hobbled," I said.

I bent to the tarn hobble and opened it. Immediately the huge bird's wings began to beat and it sprang skyward. "Aiii!" I heard Harold cry, and could well imagine what had happened to his stomach.

As quickly as I could I then unhobbled the other bird and climbed to the saddle, fastening the broad safety strap. Then I hauled on the one-strap and seeing Harold's bird wheeling about in circles against one of the Gorean moons sped to his side.

"Release the straps!" I called to him. "The bird will follow this one!"

"Very well," I heard him call, cheerily.

And in a moment we were speeding high over the city of Turia. I took one long turn, seeing the torches and lights in the House of Saphrar below, and then guided my bird out over the prairie in the direction of the wagons of the Tuchuks.

I was elated that we had managed to escape alive from the House of Saphrar, but I knew that I must return to the city, for I had not obtained the object for which I had come the golden sphere which still resided in the merchant strong- hold.

I must manage to seize it before the man with whom Saphrar had had dealings the gray man with eyes like glass could call for It and destroy it or carry it away. As we sped high over the prairie I wondered at how it was that Kamchak was withdrawing the wagons and bosk from Turia that he would so soon abandon the siege.

Then, in the dawn, we saw the wagons below us, and the bosk beyond them. Already fires had been lit and there was much activity in the camp of the Tuchuks, the cooking, the checking of wagons, the gathering and hitching up of the wagon bosk. This, I knew, was the morning on which the wagons moved away from Turia, toward distant Thassa, the Sea. Risking arrows, I, followed by Harold, descended to alight among the wagons.

I had now been in the city of Turia some four days, having returned on foot in the guise of a peddler of small jewels. I had left the tarn with the wagons. I had spent my last tarn disk to buy a couple of handfuls of tiny stones, many of them of little or no value; yet their weight in my pouch gave me some pretext for being in the city.

I had found Kamchak, as I had been told I would, at the wagon of Kutaituchik, which, drawn up on its hill near the standard of the four bask horns, had been heaped with what wood was at hand and filled with dry grass. The whole was then drenched in fragrant oils, and that dawn of the retreat, Kamchak, by his own hand, hurled the torch into the wagon. Somewhere in the wagon, fixed in a sitting position, weapons at hand, was Kutaituchik, who had been Kamchak's friend, and who had been called Ubar of the Tuchuks. The smoke of the wagon must easily have been seen from the distant walls of Turia. ~ Kamchak had not spoken but sat on his kaiila, his face dark with resolve. He was terrible to look upon and I, though his friend, did not dare to speak to him. I had not returned to the wagon I had shared with him, but had come immedi- ately to the wagon of Kutaituchik, where I had been in- formed he was to be found.

Clustered about the hill, in ranks, on their kaiila, black lances in the stirrup, were several of the Tuchuk Hundreds. Angrily they watched the wagon burn.

I wondered that such men as Kamchak and these others would so willingly, abandon the siege of Turia.

At last when the wagon had burned and the wind moved about the blackened beams and scattered ashes across the green prairie, Kamchak raised his right hand. "Let the stan- dard be moved," he cried.

I observed a special wagon, drawn by a dozen bask, being pulled up the hill, into which the standard, when uprooted, would be set. In a few minutes the great pole of the standard had been mounted on the wagon and was descending the hill, leaving on the summit the burned wood and the black ashes that had been the wagon of Kutaituchik, surrendering them now to the wind and the rain, to time and the snows to come, and to the green grass of the prairie.

"Turn the wagons!" called Kamchak.

Slowly, wagon by wagon, the long columns of the Tuchuk retreat were formed, each wagon in its column, each column in its place, and, covering pasangs of prairie, the march front Turia had begun.

Far beyond the wagons I could see the herds of bask, and the dust from their hoofs stained the horizon.

Kamchak rose in his stirrups. "The Tuchuks ride from Turial" he cried.

Rank by rank the warriors on the kaiila, dour, angry, silent, turned their mounts away from the city and slowly went to find their wagons, save for the Hundreds that would flank the withdrawal and form its rear guard.

Kamchak rode his kaiila up the hill until he stood, that cold dawn, at the edge of the burned wood and ashes of Kutaituchik's wagon. He stayed there for some time, and then turned his mount away, and came slowly down the hill. Seeing me, he stopped. "I am pleased to see you live," he said.

I dropped my head, acknowledging the bond he had ac- knowledged. My heart felt grateful to the stern, fierce war- rior, though he had been in the past days harsh and strange, half drunk with hatred for Turia. I did not know if the Kamchak I had known would ever live again. I feared that part of him perhaps that part I had loved best had died the night of the raid, when he had entered the wagon of Kutaituchik. ~ Standing at his stirrup I looked up. "Will you leave like this?" I asked. "Is it enough?"

He looked at me, but I could read no expression on his face. "The Tuchuks ride from Turia," he said. He then rode away, leaving me standing on the hill.

Somewhat to my surprise I had no difficulty the next morning, after the withdrawal of the wagons, in entering the city. Before leaving the wagons I had joined them briefly on their march, long enough to purchase my peddler's disguise and the pound or so of stones which was to complete it. I purchased these things from the man from whom Kamchak had, on a happier afternoon, obtained a new saddle and set of quivas. I had seen many things in the man's wagon and I had gathered, correctly it seems, that he was himself a peddler of sorts. I then, on foot, following for a time the tracks of the departing wagons, then departing from them, returned to the vicinity of Turia. I spent the night on the prairie and then, on what would have been the second day of the retreat, entered the city at the eighth hour. My hair was concealed in the hood of a thin, ankle-length rep-cloth gar- ment, a dirty white through which ran flecks of golden thread, a fit garment, in my opinion, for an insignificant merchant. Beneath my garment, concealed, I carried sword and quiva.

I was hardly questioned by guards at the gates of Turia, for the city is a commercial oasis in the plains and during a year hundreds of caravans, not to mention thousands of small merchants, on foot or with a single tharlarion wagon, enter her gates. To my great surprise the gates of Turia stood open after the withdrawal of the wagons and the lifting of the siege. Peasants streamed through them returning to their fields and also hundreds of townsfolk for an outing, some of them to walk even as far as the remains of the old Tuchuk camp, hunting for souvenirs. As I entered I regarded the lofty double gates, and wondered how long it would take to close them.

As I hobbled through the city of Turia, one eye half shut, staring at the street as though I hoped to find a lost copper tarn disk among the stones, I made my way toward the compound of Saphrar of Turia. I was jostled in the crowds, and twice nearly knocked down in the guard of Phanius Turmus, Ubar of Turia.

I was vaguely conscious, from time to time, that I might be followed. I dismissed this possibility, however, for, glancing about, I could find no one I might fear. The only person I saw more than once was a slip of a girl in Robes of Concealment and veil, a market basket on her arm, who the second time passed me, not noticing me. I breathed a sigh of relief. It is a nerve-wracking business, the negotiation of an enemy city, knowing that discovery might bring torture or sudden death, at best perhaps an Impalement by sundown on the city's walls, a warning to any other who might be similarly tempted to transgress the hospitality of a Gorean city. I came to the ring of flat, cleared ground, some hundred feet or so wide, which separates the walled compound of buildings which constitutes the House of Saphrar of Turia from all the surrounding structures. I soon learned, to my irritation, that one could not approach the high compound wall more closely than ten spear lengths.

"Get away you!" cried a guard from the wall, with a crossbow. "There is no loitering here"

"But master!" I cried. "I have gems and jewels to show the noble Saphrar!"

"Approach then the nearer gate!" he called. "And state your business."

I found a rather small gate in the wall, heavily barred, and begged admittance to show my wares to Saphrar. I hoped to be ushered into his presence and then, on the threat of slaying him, secure the golden sphere and a tarn for escape. To my chagrin I was not admitted into the compound, but my pitiful stock of almost worthless stones was examined outside the gate by a steward in the company of two armed warriors. It took him only a few moments to discover the value of the stones and, when he did, with a cry of disgust, he hurled them away from the gate into the dust, and the two warriors, while I pretended fright and pain, belabored me with the hilts of their weapons. "Be gone, Fool!" they snarled.

I hobbled after the stones, and fell to my knees in the dust, scrabbling after them, moaning and crying aloud. I heard the guards laugh.

I had just picked up the last stone and tucked it back in my pouch and was about to rise from my knees when I found myself staring at the high, heavy sandals, almost boots, of a warrior.

"Mercy, Master," I whined.

"Why are you carrying a sword beneath your robe?" he asked.

I knew the voice. It was that of Kamras of Turia, Champion of the City, whom Kamchak had so sorely bested in the games of Love War.

I lunged forward seizing him by the legs and upended him in the dust and then leaped to my feet and ran, the hood flying off behind me.

I heard him cry. "Stop that man! Stop him! I know him! He is Tart Cabot of Ko-ro-ba! Stop him!"

I stumbled in the long robe of the merchant and cursed and leaped up and ran again. The bolt of a crossbow splat- tered into a brick wall on my right, gouging a cupful of masonry loose in chips and dust.;, I darted down a narrow street. I could hear someone, probably Kamras, and then one or two others running after me. Then I heard a girl cry out, and scream, and two men curse. I glanced behind me to see that the girl who carried the market basket had inadvertently fallen in front of the warriors. She was crying angrily at them and waving her broken basket. They pushed her rudely to one side and hurried on. By that time I had rounded a corner and leaped to a window, pulled myself up to the next window, and hauled myself up again and onto the flat roof of a shop. I heard the running feet of the two warriors, and then of six more men, pass in the street below. Then some children, screaming, ran after the soldiers. I heard some speculative conversation in the street below, between two or three passersby, then it seemed quiet.

I lay there scarcely daring to breathe. The sun on the flat roof was hot. I counted five Gorean Ehn, or minutes. Then I decided I had better move across the roofs in the opposite direction, find a sheltered roof, stay there until nightfall and then perhaps try to leave the city. I might go after the wagons, which would be moving slowly, obtain the tarn I had left with them, and then return on tarnback to Saphrar's house. It would be extremely dangerous, of course, to leave the city in the near future. Certainly word would be at the gates to watch for me. I had entered Turia easily. I did not expect I would leave as easily as I had entered. But how could I stay in the city until vigilance at the gates might be relaxed, perhaps three or four days from now? Every guardsman in Turia would be on the lookout for Tarl Cabot, who unfortunately, was not difficult to recognize.

About this time I heard someone coming along the street whistling a tune. I had heard it. Then I realized that I had heard it among the wagons of the Tuchuks. It was a Tuchuk tune, a wagon tune, sometimes sung by the girls with the bask sticks.

I picked up the melody and whistled a few bars, and then the person below joined me and we finished the turn. Cautiously I poked my head over the edge of the roof. The street was deserted save for a girl, who was standing below, looking up toward the roof. She was dressed in veil and Robes of Concealment. It was she whom I had seen before, when I had thought I might be followed. It was she who had inadvertently detained my pursuers. She carried a broken market basket.

"You make a very poor spy, Tart Cabot," she said.

"Dina of Turia!" I cried.

I stayed four days in the rooms above the shop of Dina of Turia. There I dyed my hair black and exchanged the robes of the merchant for the yellow and brown tunic of the Bakers, to which caste her father and two brothers had belonged.

Downstairs the wooden screens that had separated the shop from the street had been splintered apart; the counter had been broken and the ovens ruined, their oval domes shattered, their iron doors twisted from their hinges; even the top stones on tile two grain mills had been thrown to the floor and broken.

At one time, I gathered from Dina, her father's shop had been the most famed of the baking shops of Turia, most of which are owned by Saphrar of Turia, whose interests range widely, though operated naturally, as Gorean custom would require, by members of the Caste of Bakers. Her father had refused to sell the shop to Saphrar's agents, and take his employment under the merchant. Shortly thereafter some seven or eight ruffians, armed with clubs and iron ban, had attacked the shop, destroying its equipment. In attempting to defend against this attack both her father and her two older brothers had been beaten to death. Her mother had died shortly thereafter of shock. Dina had lived for a time on the savings of the family, but had then taken them, sewn in the lining of her roles, and purchased a place on a caravan wagon bound for Ar, which caravan had been ambushed by Kassars, in which raid she herself, of course, had fallen into their hands.

"Would you not like to hire men and reopen the shop?" I asked.

"I have no money," she said.

"I have very little," I said, taking the pouch and spilling the stones in a glittering if not very valuable heap on the small table in her central room.

She laughed and poked through them with her fingers. "I learned something of jewels," she said, "in the wagons of Albrecht and Kamchak and there is scarcely a silver tarn disk's worth here."

"I paid a golden tarn disk for them," I asserted.

"But to a Tuchuk" she said.

"Yes," I admitted.

"My dear Tart Cabot," she said, "my sweet dear Tarl Cabot." Then she looked at me and her eyes saddened. "But," said she, "even had I the money to reopen the shop it would mean only that the men of Saphrar would come again."

I was silent. I supposed what she said was true.

"Is there enough there to buy passage to Ar?" I asked. "No," she said. "But I would prefer in any case to remain in Turia it is my home."

"How do you live?" I asked.

"I shop for wealthy women," said she, "for pastries and | tarts and cakes things they will not trust their female slaves to buy."

In answer to her questions I told her the reason for which I had entered the city to steal an object of value from Saphrar of Turia, which he himself had stolen from the Tuchuks. This pleased her, as I guessed anything would which was contrary to the interests of the Turian merchant, for whom she entertained the greatest hatred.

"Is this truly all you travel" she asked, pointing at the pile of stones.

"Yes," I said.

"Poor warrior," said she, her eyes smiling over the veil, "you do not even have enough to pay for the use of a skilled slave girl."

"That is true," I admitted.

Slit laughed anti with an easy motion dropped the veil from her face and shook her head, freeing her hair. She held out her hands. "I am only a poor free woman," said she, "but might I not do?"

I took her hands and drew her to me, and into my arms. "You are very beautiful, Dina of Turia," I said to her. For four days I remained with the girl, and each day, once at noon and once in the evening, we would stroll by one or more of the gates of Turia, to see if the guards might now be less vigilant than they had been the time before. To my disappointment, they continued to check every outgoing per- son and wagon with great care, demanding proof of identity and business. When there was the least doubt, the individual was detained for interrogation by an officer of the guard. On the other hand I noted, irritably, that incoming individuals and wagons were waved ahead with hardly a glance. Dina and myself attracted little attention from guardsmen or men- at-arms. My hair was now black; I wore the tunic of the Bakers; and I was accompanied by a woman.

Several times criers had passed through the streets shouting that I was still at large and calling out my description. Once two guardsmen came to the shop, searching it as I expect most other structures in the city were searched. Dur- ing this time I climbed out a back window facing another building, and hoisted myself to the flat roof of the shop, returning by the same route when they had gone.

I had, almost from the first in Kamchak's wagon, been truly fond of Dina, and I think she of me. She was truly a fine, spirited girl, quick-witted, warm-hearted, intelligent and brave. I admired her and feared for her. I knew, though I did not speak of it with her, that she was willingly risking her life to shelter me in her native city. Indeed, it is possible I might have died the first night in Turia had it not been that Dina had seen me, followed me and in my time of need boldly stood forth as my ally. In thinking of her I realized how foolish are certain of the Gorean prejudices with respect to the matter of caste. The Caste of Bakers is not regarded as a high caste, to which one looks for nobility and such; and yet her father and her brothers, outnumbered, had fought and died for their tiny shop; and this courageous girl, with a valor I might not have expected of many warriors, weapon- less, alone and friendless, had immediately, asking nothing in return, leaped to my aid, giving me the protection of her home, and her silence, placing at my disposal her knowledge of the city and whatever resources might be hers to com- mand.

When Dina was about her own business, shopping for her clients, usually in the early morning and the late afternoon, I would remain in the rooms above the shop. There I thought long on the matter of the egg of Priest-Kings and the House of Saphrar. In time I would leave the city when I thought it safe and return to the wagons, obtain the tarn and then make a strike for the egg. I did not give myself, however, much hope of success in so desperate a venture. I lived in constant fear that the gray man he with eyes like glass would come to Turia on tarnback and acquire, before I could act, the golden sphere for which so much had been risked, for which apparently more than one man had died.

Sometimes Dina and I, in our walking about the city, would ascend the high walls and look out over the plains. There was no objection to this on the part of anyone, provided entry into the guard stations was not attempted. Indeed, the broad walk, some thirty feet wide, within the high walls of Turia, with the view over the plains, is a favorite promenade of Turian couples. During times of dan- ger or siege, of course, none but military personnel or civilian defenders are permitted on the walls.

"You seem troubled, Tarl Cabot," said Dina, by my side, looking with me out over the prairie.

"It is true, my Dina," said I.

"You fear the object you seek will leave the city before you can obtain it?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, "I fear that."

"You wish to leave the city tonight?" she asked.

"I think perhaps I shall," I said.

She knew as well as I that the guards were still questioning those who would depart from Turia, but she knew too, as I, that each day, each hour, I remained in Turia counted against me.

"It is my hope that you will be successful," she said. I put my arm about her and together we looked out over the parapet.

"Look," I said, "there comes a single merchant wagon it must be safe now on the plains."

"The Tuchuks are gone," she said. And she added, "I shall miss you, Tart Cabot."

"I shall miss you, too, my Dina of Turia," I told her. In no hurry to depart from the wall, we stood together there. It was shortly before the tenth Gorean hour, or noon of the Gorean day.

We stood on the wall near the main gate of Turia, through which I had entered the city some four days ago, the morning after the departure of the Tuchuk wagons for the pastures this side of the Ta-Thassa Mountains, beyond which lay the vast, gleaming Thassa itself.

I watched the merchant wagon, large and heavy, wide, with planked sides painted alternately white and gold, cov- ered with a white and gold rain canvas. It was drawn not by the draft tharlarion like most merchant wagons but, like some, by four brown bask.

"How will you leave the city?" asked Dina.

"By rope," I said. "And on foot."

She leaned over the parapet, looking skeptically down at the stones some hundred feet below.

"It will take time," she said, "and the walls are patrolled closely after sundown, and lit by torches." She looked at me. "And you will he on foot," she said. "You know we have hunting sleen in Turia?"

"Yes," I said, "I know."

"It is unfortunate," she said, "that you do not have a swift kaiila and then you might, in- broad daylight, hurtle past the guards and make your way into the prairie."

"Even could I steal a kaiila or tharlarion," I said, "there are tarnsmen"

"Yes," she said, "that is true."

; Tarnsmen would have little difficulty in finding a rider and mount on the open prairie near Turia. It was almost certain they would be flying within minutes after an alarm was sounded, even though they need be summoned from the baths, the Paga taverns, the gaming rooms of Turia, in which of late, the siege over, they had been freely spending their mercenary gold, much to the delight of Turians. In a few days, their recreations complete, I expected Ha-Keel would weigh up his gold, marshal his men and withdraw through the clouds from the city. I, of course, did not wish to wait a few days or more or however long it might take Ha-Keel to rest his men, square his accounts with Saphrar and depart. The heavy merchant wagon was near the main gate now and it was being waved forward.

I looked out over the prairie, in the direction that had been taken by the Tuchuk wagons. Some five days now they had been gone. It had seemed strange to me that Kamchak, the resolute, implacable Kamchak of the Tuchuks, had so soon surrendered his assault on the city not that I expected it would have been, if prolonged, successful. Indeed, I respected his wisdom withdrawing in the face of a situation in which there was nothing to be gained and, considering the vulnerability of the wagons and bask to tarnsmen, much to be lost. He had done the wise thing. But how it must have hurt him, he, Kamchak, to turn the wagons and withdraw from Turia, leaving Kutaituchik unrevenged and Saphrar of Turia triumphant. It had been, in its way, a courageous thing for him to do. I would rather have expected Kamchak to have stood before the walls of Turia, his kaiila saddled, his arrows at hand, until the winds and snows had at last driven him, the Tuchuks, the wagons and the bask away from the gates of the beleaguered city, the nine-gated, high-walled stronghold of Turia, inviolate and never conquered. This train of thought was interrupted by the sounds of an altercation below, the shouting of an annoyed guardsman at the gate, the protesting cries of the driver of the merchant wagon. I looked down from the wall, and to my amusement, though I felt sorry for the distraught driver, saw that the right, rear wheel of the wide, heavy wagon had slipped the axle and that the wagon, obviously heavily loaded, was now tilting crazily, and then the axle struck the dirt, imbedding itself.

The driver had immediately leaped down and was gesticu- lating wildly beside the wheel. Then, irrationally, he put his shoulder under the wagon box and began to push up, trying to right the wagon, surely an impossible task for one man. This amused several of the guards and some of the pas- sersby as well, who gathered to watch the driver's dis- comfiture. Then the officer of the guard, nearly beside him- self with rage, ordered several of his amused men to put their shoulders to the wagon as well. Even the several men, togeth- er with the driver, could not right the wagon, and it seemed that levers must be sent for.

I looked away, across the prairie, bemused. Dina was still watching the broil below and laughing, for the driver seemed so utterly distressed and apologetic, cringing and dancing about and scraping before the irate officer. Then I noted across the prairie, hardly remarking it, a streak of dust in the sky.

Even the guards and townsfolk here and there on the wall seemed now to be watching the stalled wagon below. I looked down again. The driver I noted was a young man, well built. He had blond hair. There seemed to be something familiar about him.

Suddenly I wheeled and gripped the parapet. The streak of dust was now more evident. It was approaching the main gate of Turia.

I seized Dina of Turia in my arms.

"What's wrong!" she said.

I whispered to her, fiercely. "Return to your home and lock yourself in. Do not go out into the streets!" "I do not understand," said she. "What are you talking about?"

"Do not ask questions," I ordered her. "Do as I say! Go home, bolt the door to your rooms, do not leave the house!" "But, Tarl Cabot," she said.

"Hurry!" I said.

"You're hurting my arms," she cried.

"Obey mel" ~ commanded.

Suddenly she looked out over the parapet. She, too, saw the dust. Her hand went to her mouth. Her eyes widened in fear.

"You can do nothing," I said. "Run!"

I kissed her savagely and turned her about and thrust her a dozen feet down the walkway inside the wall. She stumbled a few feet and turned. "What of you?" she cried.

"Run!" I commanded.

And Dina of Turia ran down the walkway, along the rim of the high wall of Turia.

Beneath the unbelted tunic of the Bakers, slung under my left arm, its lineaments concealed largely by a short brown cloak worn over the left shoulder, there hung my sword and with it, the quiva. I now, not hurrying, removed the weapons from my tunic, removed the cloak and wrapped them inside it. I then looked once more over the parapet. The dust was closer now. In a moment I would be able to see the kaiila, the flash of light from the lance blades. Judging from the dust, its dimensions, its speed of approach, the riders, perhaps hundreds of them the first wave, were riding in a narrow column, at full gallop. The narrow column, and probably the Tuchuk spacing, a Hundred and then the space for a Hun- dred, open, and then another Hundred, and so on, tends to narrow the front of dust, and the spaces between Hundreds gives time for some of the dust to dissipate and also, inciden- tally, to rise sufficiently so that the progress of the conse- quent Hundreds is in no way impeded or handicapped. I could now see the first Hundred, five abreast, and then the open space behind them, and then the second Hundred. They were approaching with great rapidity. I now saw a sudden flash of light as the sun took the tips of Tuchuk lances. Quietly, not wishing to hurry, I descended from the wall and approached the stalled wagon, the open gate, the guards. Surely in a moment someone on the wall would give the alarm.

At the gate the officer was still berating the blond-haired fellow. He had blue eyes, as I had known he would, for I had recognized him from above.

"You will suffer for this!" the commander of the guard was crying. "You dull fool!"

"Oh mercy, master!" whined Harold of the Tuchuks.

"What is your name?" demanded the officer.

At that moment there was a long, wailing cry of horror from the wall above. "Tuchuks!" The guards suddenly looked about themselves startled. Then two more people on the wall took up the cry, pointing wildly out over the wall. "Tuchuks! Close the gates!"

The officer looked up in alarm, and then he cried out to the men on the windlass platform. "Close the gates!" "I think you will find," said Harold, "that my wagon is in the way."

Suddenly understanding, the officer cried out in rage and whipped his sword from his sheath but before he could raise his arm the young man had leaped to him and thrust a quiva into his heart. "My name," he said, "is Harold of the Tuchuks!"

There was now screaming on the walls, the rushing of guardsmen toward the wagon. The men on the windlass platform were slowly swinging the great double gates shut as much as possible. Harold had withdrawn his quiva from the breast of the officer. Two men leaped toward him with swords drawn and I leaped in front of him and engaged them, dropping one and wounding the other.

"Well done, Baker," he cried.

I gritted my teeth and met the attack of another man. I could now hear the drumming of kaiila paws beyond the gate, perhaps no more than a pasang away. The double gate had closed now save for the wagon wedged between the two parts of the gate. The wagon bask, upset by the running men, the shouting and the clank of arms about them, were bellowing wildly and throwing their heads up and down, stomping and pawing in the dust.

My Turian foe took the short sword under the heart. I kicked him from the blade barely in time to meet the attack of two more men.

I heard Harold's voice behind me. "I suppose while the bread is baking," he was saying, "there is little to do but stand about and improve one's swordplay."

I might have responded but I was hard pressed.

"I had a friend," Harold was saying, "whose name was Tarl Cabot. By now he would have slain both of them." I barely turned a blade from my heart.

"And quite some time ago," Harold added.

The man on my left now began to move around me to my left while the other continued to press me from the front. It should have been done seconds ago. I stepped back, getting my back to the wagon, trying to keep their steel from me. "There is a certain resemblance between yourself and my friend Marl Shot," Harold was saying, "save that your sword is decidedly inferior to his. Also he was of the caste of warriors and would not permit himself to be seen on his funeral pyre in the robes of so low a caste as that of the Bakers. Moreover, his hair was red like a larl from the sun whereas yours is a rather common and, if I may say so, a rather uninspired black."

I managed to slip my blade through the ribs of one man and twist to avoid the-thrust of the other. In an instant the position of the man I had felled was filled by yet another guardsman.

"It would be well to be vigilant also on the right," re- marked Harold.

I spun to the right just in time to turn the blade of a third man.

"It would not have been necessary to tell Tarl Cabot that," Harold said.

Some passersby were now fleeing past, crying out. The great alarm bars of the city were now ringing, struck by iron hammers.

"I sometimes wonder where old Tarl Cabot is," Harold said wistfully.

"You Tuchuk idiot!" I screamed.

Suddenly I saw the faces of the men fighting me turn from rage to fear. They turned and ran from the gate.

"It would now be well," said Harold, "to take refuge under the wagon." I then saw his body dive past, scrambling under the wagon. I threw myself to the ground and rolled under with him.

Almost instantly there was a wild cry, the war cry of the Tuchuks, and the first five kaiila leaped from outside the gate onto the top of the wagon, finding firm footing on what I had taken to be simple rain canvas, but actually was canvas stretched over a load of rocks and earth, accounting for the incredible weight of the wagon, and then bounded from the wagon, two to one side, two the other, and the middle rider actually leaping from the top of the wagon to the dust beyond the harnessed bask. In an instant another five and then another and another had repeated this maneuver and soon, sometimes with squealing of kaiila and dismounting of riders as one beast or another would be crowded between the gates and the others, a Hundred and then another Hundred had hurtled howling into the city, black lacquered shields on the left arms, lance seized in the right hand. About us there were the stamping paws of kaiila, the crying of men, the sound of arms, and always more and more Tuchuks striking the top of the wagon and bounding into the city uttering their war cry. Each of the Hundreds that entered turned to its own destina tion, taking different streets and turns, some dismounting and climbing to command the roofs with their small bows. Al ready I could smell smoke.

Under the wagon with us, crouching, terrified, were three Turians, civilians, a wine vendor, a potter and a girl. The wine vendor and the potter were peeping fearfully from between the wheels at the riders thundering into the streets. Harold, on his hands and knees, was looking into the eyes of the girl who knelt, too, numb with terror. "I am Harold of the Tuchuks," he was telling her. He deftly removed the veil pins and she scarcely noticed, so terrified was she. "I am not really a bad fellow," he was informing her. "Would you like to be my slave?" She managed to shake her head, No, a tiny motion, her eyes wide with fear. "Ah, well," said Harold, repinning her veil. "It is probably just as well anyway. I already have one slave and two girls in one wagon if I had a wagon would probably be difficult." The girl nodded her head affirmatively. "When you leave the wagon," Harold told her, "you might be stopped by Tuchuks nasty fellows who would like to put your pretty little throat in a collar you understand?" She nodded, Yes. "So you tell them that you are already the slave of Harold the Tuchuk, understand?" She nodded again. "It will be dishonest on your part," said Harold apologetically, "but these are hard times." There were tears in her eyes. "Then go home and lock yourself in the cellar," he said. He glanced out. There were still riders pouring into the city. "But as yet," he said, "you cannot leave." She nodded, Yes. He then unpinned her veil and took her in his arms, improving the time.

I sat cross-legged under the wagon, my sword across my knees, watching the paws and legs of the swirling kaiila bounding past. I heard the hiss of crossbow quarrels and one rider and his mount stumbled off the wagon top, falling and rolling to one side, others bounding over him. Then I heard the twang of the small ham bows of Tuchuks. Somewhere, off on the other side of the wagon, I heard the heavy grunting of a tharlarion and the squealing of a kaiila, the meeting of lances and shields. I saw a woman, unveiled, hair streaming behind her, twisting, buffeted, among the kaiila, somehow managing to find her way among them and rush between two buildings. The tolling of the alarm bars was now fearful throughout the city. I could hear screaming some hundred yards away. The roof of a building on the left was afire and smoke and sparks were being hurled into the sky and swept by the wind across the adjoining buildings. Some dozen dismounted Tuchuks were now at the great windlass on its platform slowly opening the gates to their maximum width, and when they had done so the Tuchuks, howling and waving their lances, entered the city in ranks of twenty abreast, thus only five ranks to the Hundred. I could now see smoke down the long avenue leading from the gate, in a dozen places. Already I saw a Tuchuk with a dozen silver cups tied on a string to his saddle. Another had a screaming woman by the hair, running her beside his stirrup. And still more Tuchuks bounded into the city. The wall of a building off the main avenue collapsed flaming to the street. I could hear in three or four places the clash of arms, the hiss of the bolts of crossbows, the answering featherswift flight of the barbed Tuchuk war arrows. Another wall, on the other side of the avenue, tumbled downward, two Turian warriors leaping from it, being ridden down by Tuchuks, leaping over the burning debris on kaiilaback, lance in hand.

Then in the clearing inside the gate, on his kaiila, lance in his right fist, turning and barking orders, I saw Kamchak of — the Tuchuks, waving men to the left and right, and to the roof tops. His lance point was red. The black lacquer of his shield was deeply cut and scraped. The metal net that de- pended from his helmet had been thrown back and his eyes and face were fearful to behold. He was flanked by officers of the Tuchuks, commanders of Thousands, mounted as he was and armed. He turned his kaiila to face the city and it reared and he lifted his shield on his left arm and his lance in his right fist. "I want the blood of Saphrar of Turia," he cried. It had, of course, been the Tuchuk turn.

One makes a pretext of seriously besieging a city, spending several days, sometimes weeks, in the endeavor, and then, apparently, one surrenders the sedge and withdraws, moving away slowly with the wagons and bask for some days in this case four and then, the bask and wagons removed from probable danger, swiftly, in a single night, under the cover of darkness, sweeping back to the city, taking it by surprise. | It had worked well.

Much of Turia was in flames. Certain of the Hundreds, delegated the task, had immediately, almost before the alarm bars could sound, seized many of the wells, granaries and I public buildings, including the very palace of Phanius Turmus itself. The Ubar, and Kamras, his highest officer, had fallen captive almost immediately, each to a Hundred set that purpose. Most of the High Council of Turia, too, now re- ~ posed in Tuchuk chains. The city was largely without leader- I ship, though here and there brave Turians had gathered I guardsmen and men-at-arms and determined civilians and sealed off streets, forming fortresses within the city against the invaders. The compound of the House of Saphrar, how- ever, had not fallen, protected by its numerous guardsmen and its high walls, nor had the tower elsewhere that sheltered the tarn cots and warriors of Ha-Keel, the mercenary from Port Karl Kamchak had taken up quarters in the palace of Phanius Turmus, which, save for the looting and the ripping down of tapestries, the wanton defacing of wall mosaics, was un- harmed. It was from this place that he directed the occupa- tion of the city.

Harold, after the Tuchuks had entered the city, insisted on squiring the young woman home whom he had encountered under the wagon, and, for good measure, the wine vendor and potter as well. I accompanied him, stopping only long enough to rip away most of the upper portions of the baker's tunic and rinse the dye from my hair in a street fountain. I had no wish to be brought down with a Tuchuk arrow in the streets as a Turian civilian. Also I knew many of the Tuchuks were familiar with my perhaps too red hair and might, seeing it, generously retain from firing on its owner. It seemed to me that for once my hair might actually prove useful, a turnabout I contemplated with pleasure. Do not take me wrong, I am rather fond, on the whole, of my hair, it is merely that one must, to be objective about such matters, recognize that it has, from time to time, involved me in various difficulties beginning about my fourth year. Now, however, it might not hurt at all to be promptly and accu- rately identified by means of it.

When I lifted my head from the fountain in the Turian street Harold cried out in amazement, "Why you ARE Tart Cabot!"

"Yes," I had responded.

After we had taken the girl and the potter and wine vendor to whatever safety their homes might afford, we set out for the House of Saphrar, where, after some examination of the scene, I convinced myself there was nothing immedi- ately to be done. It was invested by better than two of the Thousands. No assault of the place had yet begun. Doubtless rocks and large pieces of building stone had already been piled behind the gates. I could smell tharlarion oil on the walls, waiting to be fired and poured on those who might attempt to dig at the walls or mount ladders against them. Occasional arrows and crossbow bolts were exchanged. One thing troubled me. The standing wall about the compound kept the Tuchuk bowmen far enough from the roof of the keep within that tarns might, without too great a danger, enter and leave the compound. Saphrar, if he chose, could escape on tarnback. As yet, cut off, he probably had no way of knowing how serious his danger was. Within he undoubt- edly had ample food and water to withstand a long siege. It seemed to me he could fly with safety when he chose, but that he had merely not yet chosen.

I then wished to proceed immediately to the palace of Phanius Turmus, where Kamchak had set up his headquar ters, to place myself at his disposal, but Harold insisted rather on trooping about the city, here and there examining pockets of Turian resistance.

"Why?" I asked.

"We owe it to our importance," he said.

"Oh," I said.

At last it was night and we were malting our way through the streets of Turia, sometimes between burning buildings. We came to a high, walled structure and began walking about it.

I could hear occasional shouts inside. Also, at one point, the wailing of women carried to my ears.

"What place is this?" I asked.

"The palace of Phanius Turmus," he said.

"I heard the crying of women," I said.

"Turian women," said Harold, "taken by Tuchuks." Then he added, "Much of the richest booty of Turia lies behind these walls."

I was astonished when, at the gate to the palace of Phanius Turmus, the four Tuchuk guards smote their lances three times on their leather shields. The lance strikes the shield once for the commander of a Ten; twice for the commander of a Hundred; three times for the commander of a Thou- sand. "Pass, Commanders," said the chief of the four guards, and they stepped aside.

Naturally I inquired of Harold, shortly after entering, the meaning of the guards' salutation. I had expected to be challenged and then perhaps, if all went well, wrangled inside on some stratagem dreamed up by Harold on the spur of, the moment.

"It means," remarked Harold, looking about the court- yard, "that you have the rank of a Commander of a Thou- sand."

"I don't understand," I said.

"It is a gift of Kamchak," said Harold. "I suggested it as appropriate in view of your manly, if somewhat clumsy, efforts at the gate."

"Thank you," I said.

"I of course recommended the same rank for myself," said Harold, "inasmuch as I am the one who really carried the thing off."

"Naturally," I said.

"You do not, of course, have a Thousand to command," pointed out Harold.

"Nonetheless," I said, "there is considerable power in therank itself." "That is true," he said.

Indeed it was true, for the next level beneath a Ubar among the Wagon Peoples is that of the Commander of a Thousand.

"Why did you not tell me?" I asked.

"It did not seem to me important," remarked the young man.

I clenched my fists and considered punching him in the nose, moderately hard.

"Korobans, though," remarked Harold, "are probably more impressed with such things than Tuchuks."

By this time I had followed Harold over to a corner of the courtyard wall, which was heaped high, banked into the, corner, with precious metals, plates, cups; bowls of jewels; necklaces and bracelets; boxes of coins and, in heavy, wood en crates, numerous stacked cubes of silver and gold, each; stamped with its weight, for the palace of a Ubar is also the mint of a city, where its coins are struck one at a time by a hammer pounding on the flat-cap of a die. Incidentally, Gorean coins are not made to be stacked and accordingly, because of the possible depth of the relief and the consequent liberties accorded to the artist, the Gorean coin is almost always more beautiful than the machine-milled, flat, uniform coins of Earth. Some Gorean coins are drilled, incidentally, to allow stringing, the coins of Tharna, for example; Turian coins, and most others, are not.

Further on down the wall there were great piles of cloth, mostly silk; I recognized them as Robes of Concealment. Beyond them, again in a large heap, were numerous weap- ons, saddles and harnesses. Beyond them I saw numerous rugs and tapestries, rolled, for transport from the city. "As n commander," said Harold, "you may take what you want of any of this."

I nodded.

We now entered yet another courtyard, an inner court- yard, between the palace and the inside wall of the outer courtyard.

Here I saw, along one wall, a long line of Turian women, unclothed, who were kneeling, fastened together in various ways, some by chains, some by thongs. The wrists of each, however, were bound, one girl's before her body and the next behind her back, alternately. It was these women whom I had heard outside the wall. Some were sobbing, others wailing, but most were silent, numb with shock, staring at the ground. Two Tuchuk guards stood over them. One carried a slave whip and, occasionally, should the cries of one of the girls grow too obtrusive, he would silence her with the lash. "You are the commander of a Thousand," said Harold. "If one of the girls pleases you, let the guard know and he will mark her for you."

"No," I said. "Let us proceed directly to Kamchak." At that moment there was a scream and commotion at the gate to the inner courtyard and two Tuchuks, one laughing and with a bloody shoulder, were dragging a fiercely resist- ing, unveiled but clothed girl between them.

It was Dina of Turia!

The laughing Tuchuk, he with the bloody shoulder, hauled her before us.

"A beauty," said he, "Commander!" He nodded to his shoulder. "Marvelous! A fighter!" Suddenly Dina stopped pulling and kicking and scratching. , She flung up her head and looked at me, breathing hard, startled. - ~ "Do not add her to the chain," I said. "Neither remove her l clothing nor put her in bonds. Permit her to veil herself if she wishes. She is to be treated in all respects as a free woman. Take her back to her home and while we remain in the city, guard her with your lives."

The two men were startled, but Tuchuk discipline is re- lensless. "Yes, Commander!" they both cried, releasing her. "With our lives!"

Dina of Turia looked at me, gratitude in her eyes. "You will be safe," I assured her.

"But my city burns," she said.

"I am sorry," I said, and turned swiftly away, to enter the I palace of Phanius Turmus.

I knew that while the Tuchuks remained in Turia there would be in all the city no woman more safe than lovely Dina, she only of the Caste of Bakers.

I sprang up the steps, followed by Harold, and we soon found ourselves in the marbled entry hall of the palace. Kaiila were stabled there.

Directed by Tuchuks we soon made our way to the throne room of Phanius Turmus, where, to my surprise, a banquet was in progress. At one end of the room, on the throne of the Ubar, a purple robe thrown over his black leather, sat dour Kamchak of the Tuchuks, his shield and lance leaning against the throne, an unsheathed quiva on the right arm of the throne. At the low tables, perhaps brought from various places in the palace, there sat many Tuchuk officers, and even some men without rank. With them, now freed of collars, were exuberant Tuchuk girls bedecked in the robes of free women. All were laughing and drinking. Only Kamchak seemed solemn. Near him, in places of honor, at a long, low table, above the bowls of yellow and red salt, on each side, sat many of the high men of Turia, clad in their finest robes, their hair oiled, scented and combed for the banquet. I saw among them Kamras, Champion of Turia, and another, on Kamchak's right hand, a heavy, swollen, despondent man, who could only have been Phanius Turmus himself. Behind them stood Tuchuk guards, quivas in their right hands. At a sign from Kamchak, as the men well knew, their throats would be immediately cut.

Kamchak turned to them. "Eat," he said.

Before them had been placed large golden dishes heaped with delicacies prepared by the kitchens of the Ubar, tall precious goblets filled with Turian wines, the small bowls of spices and sugars with their stirring spoons at hand. The tables were served by naked Turian girls, from the highest families of the city.

There were musicians present and they, to the best of their ability under the circumstances, attempted to provide music for the feast.

Sometimes one of the serving girls would be seized by an ankle or arm and dragged screaming to the cushions among the tables, much to the amusement of the men and the Tuchuk girls.

"Eat," ordered Kamchak.

Obediently the captive Turians began to put food in their mouths.

"Welcome, Commanders," said Kamchak, turning and re- garding us, inviting us to sit down.

"I did not expect to see you in Turia," I said.

"Neither did the Turians," remarked Harold, reaching over the shoulder of one of the high council of Turia and taking a candled verr chop.

But Kamchak was looking away disconsolately toward the rug before the throne, now stained with spilled beverages, cluttered with the thrown garbage of the feast. He hardly seemed aware of what was taking place. Though this should have been a night of triumph for him, he did not seem pleased.l "The Ubar of the Tuchuks does not appear happy," observed.

Kamchak turned and looked at me again.

"The city burns," I said.

"Let it burn," said Kamchak.

"It is yours," I said.

"I do not want Turin," he said.

"What is it you seek?" I asked.

"Only the blood of Saphrar," said he.

"All this," I asked, "is only to avenge Kutaituchik?" ` "To avenge Kutaituchik," said Kamchak, "I would burn a | thousand cities."; "How is that?" I asked.

"He was my father," said Kamchak, and turned away. During the meal, from time to time, messengers, from various parts of the city, and even from the distant wagons, 0~ hours away by racing kaiila, would approach Kamchak, speak with him and hastily depart.

More foods and wines were served, and even the high men of Turia, at quiva point, were forced to drink heavily and ~ some began to mumble and weep, while the feasters grew, to — the barbaric melodies of the musicians, ever more merry and, wild. At one point three Tuchuk girls, in swirling silks, switches in their hands, came into the room dragging a wretched, stripped Turian girl. They had found a long piece of rope and tied her hands behind her back and then had wound the same rope three or four times about the girl's waist, had-securely knotted it, and were leading her about by it. "She was our mistress!" cried one of the Tuchuk girls; leading the Turian girl, and struck her sharply with the — switch, at which information the Tuchuk girls at the tables clapped their hands with delight. Then, two or three other groups of Tuchuk struggled in, each lending some wretched wench who had but hours before owned them. These girls they forced to comb their hair and wash their feet before the tables, performing the duties of serving slaves. Later they made some of them dance for the men. Then one of the Tuchuk girls pointed to her ex-mistress and cried out, "What am I offered for this slave!" and one of the men, joining in the sport, would cry out a price, some figure in terms of copper tarn disks. The Tuchuk girls would shriek with delight and each joined in inciting buyers and auctioning their mistresses. One beautiful Turian girl was thrown, weep- ing and bound, into the arms of a leather-clad Tuchuk for only seven copper tarn disks. At the height of such festivities, a distraught messenger rushed to Kamchak. The Ubar of the Tuchuks listened impassively and then arose. He gestured at the captive Turian men. "Take them away," he said, "put them in the Kes and chain them put them to work." Phani- us lilrmus, Kamras and the others were dragged from the tables by their Tuchuk guards. The feasters were now watching Kamchak. Even the musicians were now silent. "The feast is done," said Kamchak.

The guests and the captives, led by those who would claim them, faded from the room.

Kamchak stood before the throne of Phanius Turmus, the purple robe of the Ubar over one shoulder, and looked at the overturned tables, the spilled cups, the remains of the feast. Only he, Harold and I remained in the great throneroom. "What is the matter?" I asked him.

"The wagons and bask are under attack," he said.

"By whom?" cried Harold.

"Paravaci," said Kamchak.

Kamchak had had his hying columns followed by some two dozen of the wagons, mostly containing supplies. On one of these wagons, with the top removed, were the two tarns Harold and I had stolen from the roof of Saphrar's keep. They had been brought for us, thinking that they might be of use in the warfare in the city or in the transportation of goods or men. A tarn can, incidentally, without difficulty, carry a knotted rope of seven to ten men.

Harold and I, mounted on kaiila, rascal toward these wagons. Thundering behind each of us was a Thousand, which would continue on toward the main Tuchuk encamp- meet, several Ahn away. Harold and I would take a tarn each and he would go to the Kassars and I to the Kataii, begging their help. I had little hope that either of these; peoples would come to the aid of Tuchuks. Then, on the path to the main Tuchuk encampment, Harold and I were each to join our Thousand, subsequently doing what we could to protect the bask and wagons. Kamchak would meanwhile marshal his forces within the city, preparing to withdraw, Kutaituchik unavenged, to ride back against the Paravaci. I had learned to my surprise that the Ubars of the Kassars, Kataii and Paravaci were, respectively, Conrad, Hakim- ba and Tolnus, the very three I had first encountered with Kamchak on the plains of Turia when first I came to the Wagon Peoples. What I had taken to be merely a group of four outriders had actually been a gathering of Ubars of the Wagon Peoples. I should have known that no four comma n warriors of the four peoples would have ridden together. Further, the Kassars, the Kataii and the Paravaci did not reveal their true Ubars with any greater willingness than the Tuchuks had. Bach people, as the Tuchuks had, had its false Ubar, its decoy to protect the true Ubar from danger or assassination. But, Kamchak had assured me, Conrad, Hakimba and Tolnus were indeed the true Ubars of their peoples.

I was nearly slain by arrows when I dropped the fern amidst the startled blacks of the Kataii, but my black jacket with the emblem of the four bosk horns, emblem of the Tuchuk courier, soon proved its worth and I was led to the dais of the Ubar of the Kataii. I was permitted to speak directly to Hakimba, when I made it clear to my escort that I knew the identity of their true Ubar and that it was with him I must speak.

As I expected, Haldmba's brown eyes and richly scarred countenance showed little interest in my presentation of the plight of the Tuchuks.

It was little to him, apparently, that the Paravaci should raid the herds and wagons of the Tuchuks when most of the Tuchuk warriors were engaged in Turia. He did not, on the other hand, approve of the fact that the raid had taken place during the Omen Year, which is a time of general truce among the Wagon Peoples. I sensed, however, that he was angry when I spoke of the probable complicity of the Para- vaci with the Turians, striking when and how they did, even during the Omen Year, presumably to draw the Tuchuks away from Turia. In short, though Hakimba did not approve of the Paravaci action and was incensed at their presumed league with the Turians, he did not feel sufficiently strongly to invest his own men in a struggle that did not seem to concern him directly.

"We have our own wagons," said Hakimba, at last. "Our wagons are not the wagons of the Tuchuks or of the Kas- ears or of the Paravaci. If the Paravaci attack our wagons, we will fight. We will not fight until then."

Hakimba was adamant and it was with a heavy heart that I climbed once more to the saddle of my tarn.

In the saddle I said to him, "I have heard that the Paravaci are killing bask."

Hakimba looked up. "Killing bosk?" he asked, skeptically. "Yes," I said, "and cutting out the nose rings to sell In Turia after the Tuchuks withdraw."

"Will you help?" I asked.

"We have our own wagons," said Hakiba. "We will watch our own wagons."

"What will you do," I asked, "if in another year the Para- vaci and the Turians turn on the Kataii and kill their bosk?" "The Paravaci," said Hakimba slowly, "would like to be the one people and own the grass of all the prairie and all the bosk."

"Will you not fight?" I demanded.|

"If the Paravaci attack us," said Hakimba, "then we will fight." Hakimba looked up. "We have our own wagons," he said. "We will watch our own wagons."

I drew on the one-strap and took the tarn into the air, striking out across the prairie skies to intercept my Thousand on its way to the wagons of the Tuchuks.

In my flight I could see at one point the Omen Valley, where the haruspexes were still working about their numer- | ous, smoking altars. I laughed bitterly.

In a few Ehn I had overtaken my Thousand and given the tarn over to five men, who would keep it until its wagon I should, following the tracks of the riders, reach them. Within perhaps the Ahn a grim, angry Harold brought his tarn down between the- two columns, that of his Thousand and of mine. It took only a moment for him to give the tarn into the keeping of some five warriors and leap on the back of his kaiila. I had noted, to my satisfaction, that he now handled the tarn rather well. He had apparently, in the past several days since our escape from Saphrar's keep, been familiarizing himself with the saddle straps and the bird's habits and responses. But he was not elated as he rode beside me nor did he speak lightly.

Like my own mission to the Kataii, Harold's mission to the Kassars had been fruitless. For much the same reasons as the Kataii, Conrad was unwilling to commit his forces to the defense of Tuchuk herds. Indeed, as we rode together, we wondered that Kamchak had even sent us on an errand so unlikely of success, an errand in its way, considering the temper of the Wagon Peoples, so foolish.

Our kaiila were spent when we reached the wagons of the Tuchuks and the herds, and we were only two thousand. Hundreds of the wagons were burning and fighting was taking place among them. We found thousands of bosk slain in the grass, their throats cut, their flesh rotting, the golden nose rings chopped or torn away.

The men behind us cried out with rage.

Harold took his Thousand into the Wagons, engaging the Paravaci wherever he could find them. I knew that in little more than fifteen or twenty Ehn his forces would be lost, dissipated among the wagons, and yet surely the Paravaci must be met and fought there as well as on the prairie. I swept with my Thousand about the outskirts of the herds until we found some hundred or two hundred Paravaci en- gaged in the grisly work of destroying Tuchuk bosk. These two hundred, stood, looking up with their quivas axes, startled, screaming, were ridden down in a matter of an Ehn. But then we could see, forming on the crest of a hill, thousands of Paravaci warriors, apparently held in read- iness in case reinforcements should come. Already they were mounting their fresh, rested kaiila. We could hear the bosk horns forming their Hundreds, see the movements of the sunlight on their arms.

Raising my arm and shouting, I led the Thousand toward them, hoping to catch them before they could form and charge. Our bosk horns rang out and my brave Thousand, worn in the saddle, weary, on spent kaiila, without a murmur or a protest, turned and following my lead struck into the center of the Paravaci forces.

In an instant we were embroiled among angry men the half-formed, disorganized Hundreds of the Paravaci striking to the left and right, shouting the war cry of the Tuchuks. I did not wish to remain on the crest of the hill long enough to allow the left and right flanks of the Paravaci rapidly as sembling to fold about my men and so, in less than four. Ehn as their disorganized, astonished center fell back our bosk horn sounded our retreat and our men, as one, with- drew to the herds only a moment before the left and right flanks of the Paravaci would have closed upon us. We left them facing one another, cursing, while we moved slowly back through our bosk, keeping them as a shield. We would rennin chic cuough that small parties would not be able to approach the bosk with impunity again. If they sent archers forth to slay the beasts, we could, from within the herd, answer their fire, or, if we wished, open the herd and ride forth, scattering the archers.

Among the bosk I ordered my men to rest.

But the Paravaci neither sent forth small groups nor con- tingents of archers, but formed and, en masse, riding over the bodies of their fallen comrades, began to approach the herd l slowly, to move through it, slaying them as they went, and; close with us.

Once again our bosk horns sounded and this time my Thousand began to cry out and jab the animals with their lances, turning them toward the Paravaci. Thousands of animals were already turned toward the approaching enemy and beginning to walk toward them when the Paravaci sud- denly realized what was happening. Now the bosk began to move more swiftly, bellowing and snorting. And then, as the, Paravaci bosk horns sounded frantically, our bosk began to run, their mighty heads with the fearsome horns nodding up and down, and the earth began to tremble and my men cried out more and jabbed animals, riding with the flood and the Paravaci with cries of horror that coursed the length of their entire line tried to stop and turn their kaiila but the ranks behind them pressed on and they were milling there before us, confused, trying to make sense out of the wild signals of their own bosk horns when the herd, horns down, now running full speed, struck them.

It was the vengeance of the bosk and the frightened, maddened animals thundered into the Paravaci lines goring and trampling both kaiila and riders, and the Paravaci who could manage turned their animals and rode for their lives. In a moment, maintaining my saddle in spite of the leaping and stumbling of my kaiila over the slain bosk, fallen kaiila and screaming men, I gave orders to turn the bosk back and reform them near the wagons. The escaping Paravaci could now, on their kaiila, easily outdistance the herd and I did not wish the animals to be strung out over the prairie, at the mercy of the Paravaci when they should at last turn and take up the battle again.

By the time the Paravaci had reformed my Tuchuks had managed to swing the herd, slow it, get it milling about and then drive it back to a perimeter about the wagons. It was now near nightfall and I was confident the Parava- ci, who greatly outnumbered us, perhaps in the order of ten or twenty to one, would wait until morning before pressing the advantage of their numbers. When, on the whole, the long-term balance of battle would seem to lie with them, there would be little point in their undertaking the risk of darkness.

In the morning, however, they would presumably avoid the herd, find a clear avenue of attack, and strike, perhaps evenrid through the wagons, pinning us against our own herd. That night I met with Harold, whose men had been, fighting among the wagons. He had cleared several areas of Paravaci but they were still, here and there, among the wagons. Taking council with Harold, we dispatched a rider to Kamchak in Turia, informing him of the situation, and that we had little hope of holding out.

"It will make little difference," said Harold. "It will take the rider, if he gets through, seven Ahn to reach Turia and even if Kamchak rides with his full force the moment the rider comes to the gates of the city, it will be eight Ahn before their vanguard can reach us and by then it will be too late."

It seemed to me that what Harold said was true, and that there was little point in discussing it much further. I nodded wearily. Both Harold and I then spoke with our men, each issuingby orders that any man with us who wished might now with- draw from the wagons and rejoin the main forces in Turia. Not a man of either Thousand moved.

We set pickets and took what rest we could, in the open, the kaiila saddled and tethered at hand.

In the morning, before dawn, we awakened and fed on dried bosk meat, sucking the dew from the prairie grass. Shortly after dawn we discovered the Paravaci forming in their Thousands away from the herd, preparing to strike the wagons from the north, pressing through, slaying all living things they might encounter, save women, slave or free. The latter would be driven before the warriors through the wag ons, both slave girls and free women stripped and bound together in groups, providing shields against arrows and lance charges on kaiilaback for the men advancing behind them. Harold and I determined to appear to meet the Paravaci in the open before the wagons and then, when they charged, to withdraw among the wagons, and close the wagons on their attacking front, halting the charge, then at almost point blank range hopefully taking heavy toll of their forces by our archers. It would be, of course, only a matter of time before our barricade would be forced or outflanked, perhaps from five pasangs distant, in an undefended sector.

The battle was joined at the seventh Gorean hour and, as planned, as soon as the Paravaci center was committed, the bulk of our forces wheeled and retreated among the wagons, the rest of our forces then turning and pushing the wagons together. As soon as our men were through the barricade they leaped from their kaiila, bow and quiver in hand, and took up prearranged positions under the wagons, between them, on them, and behind the wagon box planking, taking advantage of the arrow ports therein.

The brunt of the Paravaci charge almost tipped and broke through the wagons, but we had lashed them together and they held. It was like a flood of kailla and riders, weapons flourishing, that broke and piled against the wagons, the rear ranks pressing forward on those before them. Some of the rear ranks actually climbed fallen and struggling comrades and leaped over the wagons to the other side, where they were cut down by archers and dragged from their kaiila to be flung beneath the knives of free Tuchuk women.

At a distance of little more than a dozen feet thousands of arrows were poured into the trapped Paravaci and yet they pressed forward, on and over their brethren, and then arrows spent, we met them on the wagons themselves with lances in our hands, thrusting them back and down.

About a pasang distant we could see new forces of the Paravaci forming on the crest of a sweeping gradient. The sound of their bask horns was welcome to us, sig- naling the retreat of those at the wagons.

Bloody, covered with sweat, gasping, we saw the living Paravaci draw back, falling back between the newly forming lines on the gradient above.

I issued orders swiftly and exhausted men poured from beneath and between the wagons to haul as many of the fallen kaiila and riders as possible from the wagons, that there might not be a wall of dying animals and men giving access to the height of our wagons.

Scarcely had we cleared the ground before the wagons when the Paravaci bask horns sounded again and another wave of kaiila and riders, lances set, raced towards us. Four times they charged thus and four times we held them back. My men and those of Harold had now been decimated and there were few that had not lost blood. I estimated that there was scarcely a quarter of those living who had ridden with us to the defense of the herds and wagons.

Once again Harold and I issued our orders that any wish- ing to depart might now do so.

Again no man moved.

"Look," cried an archer, pointing to the gradient. There we could see new thousands forming, the standards of Hundreds and Thousands taking up their position. "It is the Paravaci main body," said Harold. "It is the end." I looked to the left and right over the torn, bloody barri cade of wagons, at the remains of my men, wounded and exhausted, many of them lying on the barricade or on the ground behind it, trying to gain but a moment's respite. Free women, and even some Turian slave girls, went to and fro, bringing water and, here and there, where there was point in it, binding wounds. Some of the Tuchuks began to sing the Blue Sky Song, the refrain of which is that though I die, yet there will be the bask, the grass and sky.

I stood with Harold on a planked platform fixed across the wagon box of the wagon at our center, whose domed frame work had been torn away. Together we looked out over the field. We watched the milling of kaiila and riders in the distance, the movement of standards.

"We have done well," said Harold.

"Yes," I said, "I think so."

We heard the bosk horns of the Paravaci signaling to the assembled Thousands.

"I wish you well," said Harold.

I turned and smiled at him. "I wish you well," I said. Then again we heard the bask horns and the Paravaci, in vast ranks, like sweeping crescents, like steel scythes of men and animals and arms, far extending beyond our own lines, began to move slowly towards us, gaining steadily in momen tum and speed with each traversed yard of stained prairie. Harold and I, and those of our men that remained, stood with the wagons, watching the nearing waves of warriors, observing the moment when the chain face guards of the Paravaci helmets were thrown forward, the moment when the lances, like that of a single man, were leveled. We could now hear the drumming of the paws of the kaiila, growing ever more rapid and intense, the squealing of animals here and there along the line, the rustle of weapons and accou terments.

"Listen!" cried Harold.

I listened, but seemed to hear only the maddeningly inten sifying thunder of the Paravaci kaiila sweeping towards us, but then I heard, from the far left and right, the sound of distant bosk horns. "Bosk horns!" cried Harold.

"What does it matter?" I asked.

I wondered how many Paravaci there could possibly be. I watched the nearing warriors, lances ready, the swiftness of the charge hurtling into full career.

"Look!" cried Harold, sweeping his hand to the left and right.

My heart sank. Suddenly rising over the crest of rolling hills, like black floods, from both the left and the right, I saw on racing kaiila what must have been thousands of warriors, thousands upon thousands.

I unsheathed my sword. I supposed it would he the last time I would do so.

"Look!" cried Harold.

"I see," I said, "what does it matter?"

"Look!" he screamed, leaping up and down.

And I looked and saw suddenly and my heart stopped beating and then I uttered a wild cry for from the left, riding with the Thousands sweeping over the hills, I saw the stan- dard of the Yellow Bow, and on the right, flying forward with the hurtling Thousands, its leather streaming behind its pole, I saw the standard of the Three-Weighted Bola. "Katain!" screamed Harold, hugging me. "Kassars!"

I stood dumbfounded on the planking and saw the two great wedges of the Kataii and the Kassars close like tongs on the trapped Paravaci, taking them in the unprotected flanks, crushing the ranks before them with the weight of their charge. And even the sky seemed dark for a moment as, from the left and right, thousands upon thousands of arrows fell like dark rain among the startled, stumbling, turning Paravaci.

"We might help," remarked Harold.

'Yes!" I cried.

"Korobans are slow to think of such matters," he re- marked.

I turned to the men. "Open the wagons!" I cried. "To your animals!"

And in an instant it seemed the wagon lashing kind been cut by quivas and our hundreds of warriors, the pitiful remnant of our two Thousands, swept forth upon the Parava- ci, riding as though they had been fresh rested and ready, shouting the wild war cry of the Tuchuks.

It was not until late that afternoon that I met with Hakim- ba of the Kataii and Conrad of the Kassars. On the field we met and, as comrades in arms, we embraced one another. "We have our own wagons," said Hakimba, "but yet we are of the Wagon Peoples." "It is so, too, with us," said Conrad, he of the Kassars. "I regret only," I said, "that I sent word to Kamchak and even now he has withdrawn his men from Turia and is returning to the wagons."

"No," said Hakimba, "we sent riders to Turia even as we left our own camp. Kamchak knew of our movements long before you."

"And of ours," said Conrad, "for we too sent him word thinking it well to keep him informed in these matters." "For a Kataii and a Kassar," said Harold, "you two are not bad fellows." And then he added. "See that you do not ride off with any of our bask or women."

"The Paravaci left their camp largely unguarded," said Hakimba. "Their strength was brought here."

I laughed.

"Yes," said Conrad, "most of the Paravaci bask are now in the herds of the Kataii and Kassars."

"Reasonably evenly divided I trust," remarked Hakimba. "I think so," said Conrad. "If not, we can always iron matters out with a bit of bask raiding."

"That is true," granted Hakimba, the yellow and red scars wrinkling into a grin on his lean, black face.

"when the Paravaci those who escaped us return to their wagons," remarked Conrad, "they will find a surprise in store for them."

"Oh?" I inquired.

"We burned most of their wagons those we could," said Hakimba."

"And their goods and women?" inquired Harold.

"Those that pleased us both of goods and women," re- marked Conrad, "we carried off of goods that did not please us, we burned them of women that did not please us, we left them stripped and weeping among the wagons." "This will mean war," I said, "for many years among the Wagon Peoples."

"No," said Conrad, "the Paravaci will want back their bask and women and perhaps they may have them for a price."

"You are wise," said Harold.

"I do not think they will slay bask or join with Turians again," said Hakimba.

I supposed he was right. Later in the afternoon the last of the Paravaci had been cleared from the Tuchuk wagons, wherever they might be found. Harold and I sent a rider back to Kamchak with news of the victory. Following him, in a few hours, would be a Thousand each from the Kataii and the Kassars, to lend him what aid they might in his work in, Turia.

In the morning the warriors remaining of the two Thou" sands who had ridden with Harold and I would, with the help of other Tuchuks surviving among the wagons, move the wagons and the bask the field. Already the bask were growing uneasy at the smell of death and already the grass about the camp was rustling with the movements of the tiny brown prairie arts, scavengers, come to feed. Whether, after we had moved the wagons and bask some pasangs away, we should remain there, or proceed toward the pastures this side of the Ta-Thassa Mountains, or return toward Turia, was not decided. In the thinking of both Harold and myself, that decision was properly Kamchak's. The Kataii main force and the Kassar main force camped separately some pasangs from the Tuchuk camp and the field and would, in the morning, return to their own wagons. Each had exchanged riders who, from time to time, would report to their own camp from that of the other. Each had also, as had the Tuchuks, set their own pickets. Neither wished the other to withdraw secretly and do for them what they together had done for the Paravaci, and what the Paravaci had attempted to do to the Tuchuks. It was not that they, on this night, truly distrusted I one another so much as the fact that a lifetime of raiding and war had determined each to be, as a simple matter of course, wary of the other.

I myself was anxious to return to Turia as soon as it could be well managed. Harold, willingly enough, volunteered to remain in the camp until the commander of a Thousand could be sent from Turia to relieve him. I appreciated this very much on his part, for I keenly wished to return to Turia as soon as it would be at all practical I had pressing and ~ significant business yet unfinished behind its walls. I would leave in the morning.

That night I found Kamchak's old wagon, and though it had been looted, it had not been burned.

There was no sign of either Aphris or Elizabeth, either about the wagon, or in the overturned, broken sleen cage in which, when I had last seen them, Kamchak had confined them. I was told by a Tuchuk woman that they had not been in the cage when the Paravaci had struck but rather that Aphris had been in the wagon and the barbarian, as she referred to Miss Cardwell, had been sent to another wagon, the whereabouts she did not know. Aphris had, according to the woman, fallen into the hands of the Paravaci who had looted Kamchak's wagon; Elizabeth's fate she did not know; I gathered, of course, from the fact that Elizabeth had been sent to another wagon that Kamchak had sold her. I won- dered who her new master might be and hoped, for her sake, that she would well please him. She might, of course, have also fallen, lice Aphris, into the hands of the Paravaci. I was bitter and sad as I looked about the interior of Kamchak's wagon. The covering on the framework had been torn in several places and the rugs ripped or carried away. The saddle on the side had been cut and the quivas had been taken from their sheaths. The hangings were torn down, the wood of the wagon scratched and marred. Most of the gold and jewels, and precious plate and cups and goblets, were missing, except where here and there a coin or stone might lie missed at the edge of the wagon hides or at the foot of were gone and those that were not had been shattered against the floor, or against the wagon poles, leaving dark stains on the poles and on the hides behind them. The floor was littered with broken glass. Some things, of little or no worth, but which I remembered fondly, were still about. There was a brass ladle that Aphris and Elizabeth had used in cooking and a tin box of yellow Turian sugar, dented in now and its contents scattered; and the large, gray leathery object which I had upon occasion seen Kamchak use as a stool, that which he had once kicked across the floor for my inspection; he had been fond of it, that curiosity, and would perhaps be pleased that it had not been, like most of his things, carried away in the leather loot sacks of Paravaci raiders. I wondered on the fate of Aphris of Turia. Kamchak, I knew, however, cared little for the slave, and would not be much concerned; yet her fate concerned me, and ~ hoped that she might live, that her beauty if not compassion or justice might have won her life for her, be it only as a Paravaci wagon slave; and then, too, I wondered again on the fate of Miss Elizabeth Cardwell, the lovely young New York secretary, so cruelly and so far removed from her own world; and then, exhausted, I lay down on the boards of Kamchak's looted wagon and fell asleep.

Turia was now largely under the control of Tuchuks. For days it had been burning.

The morning after the Battle at the Wagons I had mounted a rested kaiila and set forth for Turia. Some Ahn after departing from the Tuchuk camp I encountered the wagon that carried my tarn, and its guard, still advancing toward the camp. The wagon carrying Harold's tarn and its guard accompanied it. I- left the kaiila with the Tuchuks and mounted my tarn, and in less than an Ahn, saw the shimmer- ing walls of Turia in the distance, and the veils of smoke rising over the city.

The House of Saphrar still stood, and the tower that had been fortified by Ha-Keel's tarnsmen. Aside from these there remained few pockets of organized — resistance in the city, though here and there, in alleys and on roof tops, small groups of Turians furtively and sporadically attempted to carry the war to the invaders. I and Kamchak expected Saphrar to flee by tarn at any moment, for it must now be clear to him that the strike of the Paravaci against the Tuchuk wagons and herds had not forced Kamchak to with- draw; indeed, his forces were now supplemented by Kataii and Kassars, a development which must have horrified him. The only reason that occurred to me why Saphrar had not yet fled was that he was waiting in Turia for an excellent reason possibly the arrival on tarnback of the gray man with whom he had negotiated apparently to secure the golden sphere. I reminded myself, beyond this, that if his house should actually be forced, and himself threatened, he could always flee, with relative safety, at the last moment,At abandoning his men, his servants and slaves to the mercies of ravaging Tuchuks.

I knew that Kamchak was in constant touch, by means of riders, with the wagons of the Tuchuks, and so I did not speak with him of the looting of his wagon, nor of the fate of Aphris of Turia, nor did I deem it well to speak to him of Elizabeth Cardwell, for it seemed evident that he had sold her, and that my inquiry, to a Tuchuk mind, might thus appear prying or impertinent; I would discover, if possible, her master and his whereabouts independently; indeed, for all I knew, perhaps she had been abducted by raiding Paravaci, and none among the Tuchuks would even know.

I did ask Kamchak why, considering the probabilities that If' the Kataii and the Kassars would not have come to the aid of the Tuchuks, he had not abandoned Turia and returned with his main forces to the wagons. "It was a wager," said he, "which I had made with myself."

"A dangerous wager," I had remarked.

"Perhaps," he said, "but I think I know the Kataii and the Kassars." "The stakes were high," I said.

"They are higher than you know," he said.

"I do not understand," I said.

"The wager is not yet done," he said, but would speak no dusk more. On the day following my arrival in Turia, Harold, on tarnback, relieved at his request of the command of the wagons and herds joined me in the palace of Phanius Turmus must. During the day and night, taking hours of sleep where we could, sometimes on the rugs of the palace of Phanius Tur- mus, sometimes on the stones of the streets by watch fires, Harold and I, at Kamchak's orders, performed a variety of tasks, sometimes joining in the fighting, sometimes acting as liaison between him nod other commanders, sometimes merely positioning men, checking outposts and reconnoitering. Kamchak's forces, on the whole, were so disposed as to push the Turians toward two gates which he had left open and undefended, thus providing a route of escape for civilians and soldiers who would make use of it. From certain post- lions on the walls we could see the stream of refugees fleeing the burning city. They carried food and what possessions they could. The time of the year was the late spring and the prairie's climate was not unkind, though occasionally long l rains must have made the lot of the refugees fleeing toward. other cities miserable. There were occasional small creek, across the paths of the refugees and water was available. Also, Kamchak, to my pleasure but surprise, had had his men drive verr flocks and some Turian bask after the refugees I asked him about this, for Tuchuk warfare, as I under- stood it, was complete, leaving no living thing in its wake, killing even domestic animals and poisoning wells. Certain cities, burned by the Wagon Peoples more than a hundred years ago, were still said to be desolate ruins between their broken walls, silent save for the wind and the occasional foot- fall of a prowling sleen hunting for urts.

"The Wagon Peoples need Turia," said Kamchak, simply. I was thunderstruck. Yet it seemed to me true, for Turia was the main avenue of contact between the Wagon Peoples and the other cities of Gor, the gate through which trade- goods flowed to the wilderness of grasses that was the land of the riders of the kaiila and the herders of bask. Without Turia, to be sure, the Wagon Peoples would undoubtedly be the poorer.

"And," said Kamchak, "the Wagon Peoples need an enemy." "I do not understand," I said.

"Without an enemy," said Kamchak, "they will never stand together and if they fail to stand together, someday they will fall."

"Has this something to do with the 'wager' you spoke of?" I asked.

"Perhaps," said Kamchak.

— Still I was not altogether satisfied, for, on the whole, it seemed to me that Turia might yet have survived even had Kamchak's forces wrought much greater destruction than they had for example, opening but a single gate and permit- ting only a few hundred, rather than thousands to escape the city. "is that all?" I asked. "Is that the only reason that Be many of Turia yet live beyond the city?"

He looked at me, without expression. "Surely, Command" or," he said, "you have duties elsewhere."

I nodded curtly and turned and left the room, dismissed. Long ago I had learned not to press the Tuchuk when he did not wish to speak. But as I left I wondered at his compare five lenience. He professed a cruel hatred of Turia and Turians, and yet he had, considering the normal practices of the Wagon Peoples, not noted for their mercy to helpless foes, treated the unarmed citizens of the city with unique indulgence, permitting them, on the whole, to keep their lives and freedom, though only as refugees beyond the walls. The clearest exception to this, of course, lay in the case of the more beautiful of the city's women, who were treated by Gorean custom, as portions of the booty.

I spent what free time I could in the vicinity of Saphrar's compound. The structures about the compound had been fortified by Tuchuks, and walls of stone and wood had been thrown into the streets and openings between the buildings, thus enclosing the compound. I had been training some hundred Tuchuks in the use of the crossbow, dozens of which had now fallen into our hands. Each warrior had at his disposal five crossbows and four Turian slaves, for winding and loading the bows. These warriors I stationed on roofs of buildings encircling the compound, as close to the walls as possible. The crossbow, though its rate of fire is much slower than the Tuchuk bow, has a much greater range. With the crossbow in our hands, the business of bringing tarns in and out of the compound became proportionately more haz- ardous, which, of course, was what I intended. In fact, to my elation, some of my fledgling crossbowmen, on the first day, brought down four tarns attempting to enter the compound, though, to be sure, several escaped them. If we could get the crossbows into the compound itself, perhaps even to the outside walls, we could for most practical purposes close the compound to entrance and escape by air. I feared, of course, that this addition to our armament might hasten Saphrar's departure, but, as it turned out, it did not, perhaps because the first word Saphrar had of our intentions was the tumbling of dying tarns behind the walls of the compound.

Harold and I chewed on some bask meat roasted over a fire built on the marble floor of the palace of Phanius Turmus. Nearby our tethered kaiila crouched, their paws on the bodies of slain verrs, devouring them.

"Most of the people," Harold was saying, "are out of the city now."

"That's good," l said.

"Kamchak will close the gates soon," said Harold, "and then we shall get to work on Saphrar's house and that tarn roost of Ha-Keel's."

I nodded. The city now largely clear of defenders, and closed to the outside, Kamchak could bring his forces to bear on Saphrar's house, that fort within a fort, and on the tower of Ha-Keel, taking them, if necessary, by storm. Ha-Keel had, we estimated, most of a thousand tarnsmen still with him, plus many Turian guardsmen. Saphrar probably had, — behind his walls, more than three thousand defenders, plus a comparable number of servants and slaves, who might be of some service to him, particularly in such matters as reinforc- ing gates, raising the height of walls, loading crossbows, gathering arrows from within the compound, cooking and distributing food and, in the case of the women, or some of them, pleasing his warriors.

After I had finished the bask meat I lay back on the floor, a cushion beneath my head, and stared at the ceiling. I could see stains from our cooking fire on the vaulted dome. "Are you going to spend the night here?" asked Harold. "I suppose so," I said.

"But some thousand bask came today from the wagons," he said.

I turned to look at him. I knew Kamchak had brought, — over the past few days, several hundred bask to graze near Turia, to use in- feeding his troops.

"What has that to do with where I sleep?" I asked. "You are perhaps going to sleep on the back of a bosk because you are a Tuchuk or something?" I thought that a rather good one, at any rate for me.

But Harold did not seem particularly shattered, and I sighed.

"A Tuchuk," he informed me loftily, "may if he wishes rest comfortably on even the horns of a bask, but only a Koroban is likely to recline on a marble floor when he might just as well sleep upon the pelt of a larl in the wagon of a commander."

"I don't understand," I said.

"I suppose not," said Harold.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"But you still do not understand?"

"No," I admitted.

"Poor Koroban," he muttered. Then he got up, wiped his quiva on his left sleeve, and thrust it in his belt. "Where are you going?" I asked.

"To my wagon," he said. "It arrived with the bask along with better than two hundred other wagons today including yours."

I propped myself up on one elbow. "I do not have a. - wagon," I said.

"But of course you do," he said. "And so do I."

I merely looked at him, wondering if it were merely Harold the Tuchuk at work again.

"I am serious," he averred. "The night that you and I to departed for Turia, Kamchak ordered a wagon prepared for each of us to reward us."

I remembered that night the long swim against the un- derground current, the well, our capture, the Yellow Pool of Turia, the Pleasure Gardens, the tarns and escape. "At that time, of course," said Harold, "our wagons were not painted red, nor filled with booty and rich things, for we were not then commanders."

"But to reward us for what?" I asked.

"For courage," said he.

"Just that?" I asked.

"But for what else?" asked Harold.

"For success," I said. "You were successful. You did what you set out to do. I did not. I failed. I did not obtain the golden sphere."

"But the golden sphere is worthless," said Harold. "Kamchak has said so."

"He does not know its value," I said.

Harold shrugged. "Perhaps," he said.

"So you see," I said, "I was not successful."

`'But you were successful," insisted Harold.

"How is that?" I asked.

"To a Tuchuk," said Harold, "success is courage that is the important thing courage itself even if all else fails that is success."

"I see," I said.

"There is something here I think you do not realize," said Harold.

"What is that?" I asked.

He paused. "That in entering Turia and escaping as we did even bringing tarns to the camp we the two of us won the Courage Scar."

I was silent. Then I looked at him. "But," I said, "you do not wear the scar."

"It would have been rather difficult to get near the gates of Turia for a fellow wearing the Courage Scar, would it not?"

"Indeed it would," I laughed.

"When I have time," said Harold, "I will call one from the clan of Scarers and have the scar affixed. It will make me look even more handsome."

I smiled.|

"Perhaps you would like me to call him for you as well?" inquired Harold.

"No," I said.

Fit might take attention away from your hair," he men- tioned.

"No, thank you," I said.

"All right," said Harold, "it is well known you are only a, Koroban, and not a Tuchuk." But then he added, soldierly. "But you wear the Courage Scar for what you did not all men who wear the Courage Scar do so visibly."

I did not speak.

"Well," said Harold, "I am tired and I am going to my wagon, I have a little slave there I am anxious to put to work."

"I did not know of my wagon," I said.

"I gathered not," said Harold, "seeing that you apparently spent the night after the battle comfortably resting on the floor — of Kamchak's wagon, I looked around for you that night but didn't find you." He added, "Your own wagon, you will be pleased to hear, was among the wagons, un- touched by the Paravaci as was mine."

I laughed. "It is strange," I said, "I did not even know of the wagon."

"You would have found out long ago," said Harold, "had you not rushed off to Turia again immediately after our return when the wagons were moving toward Ta-Thassa. You did not even stop by Kamchak's wagon that day. Had you done so Aphris, or someone, might have told you." "From the sleen cage?" I asked.

"She was not in the sleen cage the morning of our return from Turia with the tarns," said Harold.

"Oh," I said, "I am glad to hear it."

"Nor was the little barbarian," said Harold.

"What became of her?" I asked.

"Kamchak gave her to a warrior," he said.

"Oh," I said. I was not glad to hear it. "Why didn't you tell me of my wagon?" I asked.

"It did not seem important," he said.

I frowned.

"I suppose, however," he said, "Korobans are impressed with such things having wagons and such."

I smiled. "Harold the Tuchuk," I said, "I am tired." "Are you not going to your wagon tonight?" he asked. "I think not," I said.

'As you wish," said he, "but I have had it well stocked with Paga and Ka-la-na wines from Ar and such."

In Turia, even though we had much of the riches of the city at our disposal, there had not been much Paga or Ka-la-na wine. As I may have mentioned the Turians, on the whole, favor thick, sweet wines. I had taken, as a share of battle loot, a hundred and ten bottles of Paga and forty bottles of Ka-la-na wine from Tyros, Cos and Ar, but these I had distributed to my crossbowmen, with the exception of one bottle of Paga which Harold and I had split some two nights ago. I decided I might spend the night in my wagon. Two nights ago it had been a night for Paga. Tonight, I felt, was a night for Ka-la-na. I was pleased to learn there would be some in the wagon.

I looked at Harold and grinned. "I am grateful," I said. "Properly so," remarked Harold and leaped to his kaiila, untethering the beast and springing to its saddle. "Without me," he said, "you will never find your wagon and I for one will dawdle here no longer!"

"Wait!" I cried.

His kaiila sprang from the room, bounding across the carpet in the next hall, and then thudding down a corridor toward the main entrance.

Muttering I jerked loose the reins of my kaiila from the column to which I had tethered it, leaped to the saddle and raced after Harold, not wishing to be left behind somewhere in the streets of Turia or among the dark wagons beyond the gate, pounding on wagon after wagon to find which one might be mine. I bounded down the stairs of the palace of Phanius Turmus, and sped through the inner and outer court- yard and out into the street, leaving the startled guards trying to salute me as a commander.

A few yards beyond the gate I hauled my kaiila up short, rearing and pawing the air. Harold was sitting there calmly on the back of his kaiila, a reproachful look on his face. "Such haste," he said, "is not seemly in the commander of a Thousand."

"Very well," I said, and we walked our kaiila at a stately pace toward Turia's main gate.

"I was afraid," I said, "that without you I would not be able to find my wagon."

"But it is the wagon of a commander," said Harold, as though puzzled, "so anyone could tell you where it is." "I did not think of that," I said.

"I am not surprised," said Harold. "You are only a Koro- ban."

"But long ago," I said, "we turned you back."

"I was not there at the time," said Harold.

"That is true," I admitted.

We rode on a while.

"If it were not for your dignity," I remarked, "I would settle these matters by racing you to the main gate." "Look out!" cried Harold. "Behind you!"

I spun the kaiila and whipped my sword from its sheath. I looked about wildly, at doorways, at roof tops, at windows. "What?" I cried.

"There!" cried Harold. "To the right!"

I looked to the right but could see nothing but the side of a brick building.

"What is it?" I cried.

"It is," cried Harold decisively, "the side of a brick build- ing!"

I turned to look at him.

"I accept your wager," he cried, kicking his kaiila toward the main gate.

By the time I had turned my animal and was racing after him he was almost a quarter of a pasang down the street, bounding over beams and rubbish, and litter, some of it still smoking. At the main gate I overtook him and together we sped through it, slowing our mounts on the other side to a decorous pace suitable to our rank.

We rode a bit into the wagons and then he pointed. "There is your wagon," he said. "Mine is nearby."

It was a large wagon, drawn by eight black bask. There were two Tuchuk guards outside. Beside it, fixed in the earth, on a pole, there was a standard of four bask horns. The pole had been painted red, which is the color of commanders. Inside the wagon, under the door, I could see light. "I wish you well," said Harold.

"I wish you well," I said.

The two Tuchuk guards saluted us, striking their lances three times on their shields.

We acknowledged the salute, lifting our right hands, palm inward. "You certainly have a fast kaiila," remarked Harold. "The race," I said, "is all in the rider."

"As it was," said Harold, "I scarcely beat you."

"I thought I beat you," I said.

"Oh?" asked Harold.

"Yes," I said. "How do you know I didn't beat you?" "Well," said Harold, "I don't know but that would cer tainly seem unlikely, would it not?"

"Yes," I sail, "I suppose so."

"Actually," said Harold, "I am uncertain who won." "So am I,"I admitted. "Perhaps it was a tie," I suggested. "Perhaps," he said, "incredible though that might seem." He looked at me. "Would you care to guess seeds in a tospit?" he inquired. "Odd or even?"

"No," I said.

"Very well," said he, grinning, and lifted his right hand in Gorean salute. "Until morning."

I returned the salute. "Until morning," I said.

I watched Harold ride towards his wagon, whistling a Tuchuk tune. I supposed the little wench Hereena would be waiting for him, probably collared and chained to the slave ring. Tomorrow I knew the assault would begin on the House of Saphrar and the tower of Ha-Keel. Tomorrow one or both of us, I supposed, might be dead.

I noted that the bask seemed well cared for, and that their coats were groomed, and the horns and hoofs polished. Wearily I gave the kaiila to one of the guards and mounted the steps of the wagon.

I entered the wagon and stopped, startled.

Within, a girl, across the wagon, beyond the tiny fire bowl — in the center of its floor, standing on the thick rug, near a hanging tharlarion oil lamp, turned suddenly to face me, clutching about herself as well as she could a richly wrought yellow cloth, a silken yellow sheet. The red band of the Koora bound back her hair. I could see a chain running across the rug from the slave ring to her right ankle. "You!" she cried.

She held her hand before her face.

I did not speak, but stood dumbfounded, finding myself facing Elizabeth Cardwell.

"You're alive!" she said. And then she trembled. "You must flee!" she cried.

"Why?" I asked.

"He will discover you!" she wept. "Go!"

Still she would not remove her hand from before her face. "Who is he?" I asked, startled.

"My master!" she cried. "Please got"

"Who is he?" I inquired.

"He who owns this wagon" she wept. "I have not yet seen him! , Suddenly I felt like shaking, but did not move, nor betray emotion. Harold had said that Elizabeth Cardwell had been given by Kamchak to a warrior. He had not said which warrior. Now I knew "Has your master visited you often?" I asked.

"As yet, never," said she, "but he is in the city and may this very night come to the wagon!"

"I do not fear him," I said.

She turned away, the chain moving with her. She pulled the yellow sheet more closely about her. She dropped her hand from before her face and stood facing the back of the wagon.

"Whose name is on your collar?" I asked.

"They showed me," she said, "but I do not know I cannot read"

What she said, of course, was true. She could speak Gorean but she could not read it. For that matter many Tuchuks could not, and the engraving on the collars of their slaves was often no more than a sign which was known to be theirs. Even those who could read, or pretended to be able to, would affix their sign on the collar as well as their name, so that others who could not read could know to whom the slave belonged. Kamchak's sign was the four bask horns and two quivas. I walked about the fire bowl to approach the girl."Don't look at me," she cried, bending down, holding her face from the light, then covering it with her hands. I reached over and turned the collar somewhat. It was attached to a chain. I gathered the girl was in Sirik, the chain on the floor attached to the slave ring running to the twin ankle rings. She would not face me but stood covering her face, looking away. The engraving on the Turian collar consisted of the sign of the four bask horns and the sign of the city of Ko-ro-ba, which I took it, Kamchak had used for my sign. There was also an inscription in Gorean on the collar, a simple one. I am Tart Cabot's girl. I restraightened the collar and walked away, going to the other side of the wagon, leaning my hands against it, wanting to think. I could hear the chain move as she turned to face me. "What does it say?" she begged.

I said nothing.

"Whose wagon is this?" she pleaded.

I turned to face her and she put one hand before her face, the other holding the yellow sheet about her. I could see now that her wrists were encircled with slave bracelets, linked to the collar chain, which then continued to the ankle rings. A second chain, that which I had first seen, fastened the Sirik itself to the slave ring. Over the hand that shielded the lower part of her face I could see her eyes, and they seemed filled with fear. "Whose wagon is it?" she pleaded.

"It is my wagon," I said.

She looked at me, thunderstruck. "No," she said, "it is the wagon of a commander he who could command a Thou- sand."

"I am such," I said. "I am a commander."

She shook her head.

"The collar?" she asked.

"It says," I said, "that you are the girl of Tarl Cabot." "Your girl?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Your slave?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

She did not speak but stood looking at me, in the yellow sheet, with one hand covering her face.

"I own you," I said.

Tears shone in her eyes and she sank to her knees, trem- bling, unable to stand, weeping.

I knelt beside her. "It is over now, Elizabeth," I said. "It is finished. You will no longer be hurt. You are no longer a slave. You are free, Elizabeth."

I gently took her braceleted wrists in my hands and re- moved them from her face.

She tried to twist her head away. "Please don't look at me, Tarl," she said.

In her nose, as I had suspected, there glinted the tiny, fine golden ring of the Tuchuk woman.

"Don't look at me, please," she said.

I held her lovely head with its soft dark hair in my hands, gazing on her face, her forehead, her dark, soft eyes, with tears, the marvelous, trembling mouth, and set in her fine nose, delicate and lovely, the tiny golden ring.

"It is actually very beautiful," I said.

She sobbed and pressed her head to my shoulder. "They bound me on a wheel," she said.

With my right hand I pressed her head more closely against me, holding it.

"I am branded," she said. "I am branded."

"It is finished now," I said. "You are free, Elizabeth." She lifted her face, stained with tears, to mine.

"I love you, Tarl Cabot," she said.

"No," I said softly, "you do not."

She leaned against me yet again. "But you do not want me," she said. "You never wanted me."

I said nothing.

"And now," she said, bitterly, "Kamchak has given me to you. He is cruel, cruel, cruel.".

"I think Kamchak thought well of you," I said, "that he would give you to his friend."

She withdrew from me a bit, puzzled. "Can that be?" she asked. "He whipped me, he-touched me," she shuddered, "with the leather." She looked down, not wanting to look Into my eyes.

"You were beaten," I said, "because you ran abbey. Nor- mally a girl who does what you did is maimed or thrown to Been or kaiila, and that he touched you with the whip, the Slaver's Caress, that was only to show me, and perhaps you, that you were female."`, She looked down. "He shamed me," she said. "I cannot help it that I moved as I did I cannot help that I am a woman."

'fit is over now," I told her.

She still did not raise her eyes, but stared down at the rug. "Tuchuks," I remarked, "regard the piercing of ears as a barbarous custom inflicted on their slave girls by Turians." Elizabeth looked up, the tiny ring glinting in the light of the fire bowl.

"Are your ears pierced?" I asked.

"No," she said, "but many of my friends on Earth who owned fine earrings, had their ears pierced."

"Did that seem so dreadful to you?" I asked.

"No," she said, smiling.

"It would to Tuchuks," I said. "They do not even inflict that on their Turian slaves." I added, "And it is one of the great fears of a Tuchuk girl that, should she fall into Turian hands, it will be done to her."

Elizabeth laughed, through her tears.

"The ring may be removed," I said. "With instruments it can be opened and then slid free leaving behind no mark that one would ever see."

"You are very kind, Tart Cabot," she said.

"I do not suppose it would do to tell you," I remarked, `but actually the ring is rather attractive."

She lifted her head and smiled pertly. "Oh?" she asked. dyes," I said, "quite."

She leaned back on her heels, drawing the yellow silken sheet more closely about her shoulders, and looked at me, smiling.

"Am I slave or free?" she asked.

'Free," I said.

She laughed. "I do not think you want to free me," she said. "You keep me chained up like a slave girl!"

I laughed. "I am sorry!" I cried. To be sure, Elizabeth Cardwell was still in Sirik.

"Where is the key?" I asked.

"Above the door," she said, adding, rather pointedly, "just beyond my reach."

I leaped up to fetch the key.

"I am happy," she said.

I picked the key from the small hook.

"Don't turn around!" she said.

I did not turn. "Why not?" I asked. I heard a slight rustle of chain.

I heard her voice from behind me, husky. "Do you dare free this girl?" she asked.

I spun about and to my astonishment saw that Elizabeth Cardwell had arisen and stood proudly, defiantly, angrily before me, as though she might have been a freshly collared slave girl, brought in but an Ahn before, bound over the saddle of a kaiila, the fruit of a slave raid.

I gasped.

"Yes," she said, "I will reveal myself, but know that I will fight you to the death."

Gracefully, insolently, the silken yellow sheet moved about and across her body and fell from her. She stood facing me, in pretended anger, graceful and beautiful. She wore the Sirik and was, of course, clad Kajir, clad in the Curia and Chatka, the red cord and the narrow strip of black leather; in the Kalmak, the brief vest, open and sleeveless, of black leather, and in the Koora, the strip of red cloth that bound back her brown hair. About her throat was the Turian collar with it' chain, attached to slave bracelets and ankle rings, one of the latter attached to the chain running to the slave ring. I saw that her left thigh, small and deep, bore the brand of the four bask horns.

I could scarcely believe that the proud creature who stood chained before me was she whom Kamchak and I had referred to as the Little Barbarian; whom I had been able to think of only as a timid, simple girl of Earth, a young, pretty little secretary, one-of nameless, unimportant thousands of such in the large offices of Earth's major cities; but what I now saw before me did not speak to me of the glass and rectangles and pollutions of Earth, of her pressing crowds and angry, rushing, degraded throngs, slaves running to the whips of their clocks, slaves leaping and yelping and licking for the caress of silver, for their positions and titles and street addresses, for the adulation and envy of frustrated mobs for whose regard a true Gorean would have had but contempt; what I saw before me now spoke rather, in its way, of the bellowing of bask and the smell of trampled earth; of the sound of the moving wagons and the whistle of wind about them; of the cries of the girls with the bask stick and the odor of the open cooking fire; of Kamchak on his kaiila as I remembered him from before; as Kutaituchik must once have been; of the throbbing, earthy rhythms of grass and snow, and the herding of beasts; and here before me now there stood a girl, seemingly a captive, who might have been of Turia, or Ar, or Cos, or Thentis; who proudly wore her chains and stood as though defiant in the wagon of her enemy, as if clad for his pleasure, all identity and mean- ing swept from her save the incontrovertible fact of what she now seemed to be, and that alone, a Tuchuk slave girl. "Well," said Miss Cardwell, breaking the spell she had cast, "I thought you were going to unchain me."

"Yes, yes," I said, and stumbled as I went toward her. Lock by lock, fumbling a bit, I removed her chains, and threw the Sirik and ankle chain to the side of the wagon, under the slave ring.

"Why did you do that?" I asked.

"I don't know," she responded lightly, "I must be a Tuchuk slave girl."

"You are free," I said firmly.

"I shall try to keep it in mind," she said.

"Do so," I said.

"Do I make you nervous?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

She had now picked up the yellow sheet and, with a pin or two, booty from Turia probably, fastened it gracefully about her.

I considered raping her.

It would not do, of course.

"Have you eaten?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

"There is some roast bosk left," she said. "It is cold. It would be a bother to warm it up, so I will not do so. I am not a slave girl, you know."

I began to regret my decision in freeing her.

She looked at me, her eyes bright. "It certainly took you a long time to come by the wagon."

"I was busy," I said.

"Fighting and such, I suppose," she said.

"I suppose," I said.

"Why did you come to the wagon tonight?" she asked. I didn't care precisely for the tone of voice with which she asked the question.

"For wine," I said.

"Oh," she said.

I went to the chest by the side of the wagon and pulled out a small bottle, one of several, of Ka-la-na wine which reposed there. "Let us celebrate your freedom," I said, pouring her a small bowl of wine.

She took the bowl of wine and smiled, waiting for me to fill one for myself.

When I had done so, I faced her and said, "To a free woman, one who has been strong, one who has been brave, to Elizabeth Cardwell, to a woman who is both beautiful and free."

We touched the bowls and drank.

"Thank you, Tart Cabot," she said.

I drained my bowl. I

"We shall, of course," Elizabeth was saying, "have to make some different arrangements about the wagon." She was? glancing about, her lips pursed. "We shall have to divide it somehow. I do not know if it would be proper to share a wagon with a man who is not my master."

I was puzzled. "I am sure," I muttered, "we can figure out something." I refilled my wine bowl. Elizabeth did not wish more. I noted she had scarcely sipped what she had been given. I tossed down a swallow of Ka-la-na, thinking perhaps that it was a night for Paga after all.

"A wall of some sort," she was saying.

"Drink your wine," I said, pushing the bowl in her hands toward her.

She took a sip, absently. "It is not really bad wine," she said.

"It is superb!" I said.

"A wall of heavy planks would be best, I think," she mused.

"You could always wear Robes of Concealment," I ven- tured, "and carry about your person an unsheathed quiva." "That is true," she said.

Her eyes were looking at me over the rim of her bowl as she drank. "It is said," she remarked, her eyes mischievous, "that any man who frees a slave girl is a fool."

"It is probably true," I said.

"You are nice, Tarl Cabot," she said.

She seemed to me very beautiful. Again I considered raping her, but now that she was free, no longer a simple slave, I supposed that it would be improper. I did, however, measure the distance between us, an experiment in specula- tion, and decided I could reach her in one bound and in one motion, with luck, land her on the rug.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

"Nothing that I care to inform you of," I said.

"Oh," she said, looking down into her bowl of wine, smiling.

"Drink more wine," I prompted.

"Really" she said.

"It's quite good," I said. "Superb."

"You are trying to get me drunk," she said.

"The thought did cross my mind," I admitted.

She laughed. "After I am drunk," she asked, "what are you Being to do with me?"

"I think I will stuff you in the dung sack," I said. "Unimaginative," she remarked.

"What do you suggest?" I asked.

"I am in your wagon," she sniffed. "I am alone, quite defenseless, completely at your mercy."

"Please," I said.

"If you wished," she pointed out, "I could in an instant be returned to slave steel simply be reenslaved and would then again be yours to do with precisely as you pleased." "That does not sound to me like a bad idea," I said. "Can it be," she asked, "that the commander of a Tuchuk Thousand does not know what to do with a girl such as I?" I reached toward her, to take her into my arms, but I found the bowl of wine in my way, deftly so.

"Please, Mr. Cabot," she said.

I stepped back, angry.

"By the Priest-Kings," I cried, "you are one woman who looking for trouble"

Elizabeth laughed over the wine. Her eyes sparkled. "I am free," she said.

"I am well aware of that," I snapped.

She laughed.

"You spoke of arrangements," I said. "There are some. Free or not, you are the woman in my wagon. I expect to have food, I expect the wagon to be clean, the axles to be greased, the bosk to be groomed."

"Do not fear," she said, "when I prepare my meals I will make enough for two."

"I am pleased to hear it," I muttered.

"Moreover," she said, "I myself would not wish to stay in a wagon that was not clean, nor one whose axles were not greased nor whose bask were not properly groomed." "No," I said, "I suppose not."

"But it does seem to me," she said, "that you might share in such chores."

"I am the commander of a Thousand," I said.

"What difference does that make?" she asked.

"It makes a great deal of difference!" I shouted.

"You needn't shout," she said.

My eye glanced at the slave chains under the slave ring. "Of course," said Elizabeth, "we could regard it as a division of labor of sorts."

'Good," I said.

"On the other hand," she mused, "you might rent a slave: for such work."

"All right," I said, looking at her. "I will rent a slave." "But you can't trust slaves," said Elizabeth.

With a cry of rage I nearly spilled my wine.

"You nearly spilled your wine," said Elizabeth.

The institution of freedom for women, I decided, as many Goreans believed, was a mistake.

Elizabeth winked at me, conspiratorially. "I will take care of the wagon," she said.

"Good," I said. "Good!"

I sat down beside the fire bowl, and stared at the floor. Elizabeth knelt down a few feet from me, and took another sip of the wine.

"I heard," said the girl, seriously, "from a slave whose name was Hereena that tomorrow there will be great fighting."

I looked up. "Yes," I said. "I think it is true."

"If there is to be fighting tomorrow," she asked, "will you take part in it?"

"Yes," I said, "I suppose so."

"Why did you come to the wagon tonight?" she asked. "For wine," I said, "as I told you."

— She looked down.

Neither of us said anything for a time. Then she spoke. "I am happy," she said, "that this is your wagon."

I looked at her and smiled, then looked down again, lost in thought.

I wondered what would become of Miss Cardwell. She was, I forcibly reminded myself, not a Gorean girl, but one of Barth. She was not natively Turian nor Tuchuk. She could not even read the language. To almost anyone who would come upon her she might seem but a beautiful barbarian, fit presumably by birth and blood only for the collar of a master. She would be vulnerable. She, without a defender, would be helpless. Indeed, even the Gorean woman, outside her city, without a defender, should she escape the dangers of the wild, is not likely long to elude the iron, the chain and collar. Even peasants pick up such women, using them in the fields, until they can be sold to the first passing slaver. Miss Cardwell would need a protector, a defender. And yet on the very morrow it seemed I might die on the walls of Saphrar's compound What then would be her fate? Moreover, I re minded myself of my work, and that a warrior cannot well encumber himself with a woman, particularly not a free woman. His companion, as it is said, is peril and steel. I was sad. It would have been better, I told myself, if Kamchak had not given me the girl.

My reflections were interrupted by the girl's voice. "I'm surprised," she said, "that Kamchak did not sell me." "Perhaps he should have," I said.

She smiled. "Perhaps," she admitted. She took another sip of wine. "Tarl Cabot," she said "Yes," I said.

"Why did Kamchak not sell me?"

"I do not know," I said.

"Why did he give me to you?" she asked.

"I am not truly sure," I said.

I wondered indeed that Kamchak had given the girl to me.; There were many things that seemed to me puzzling, and I thought of Gor, and of Kamchak, and the ways of the Tuchuks, so different from those native to Miss Cardwell and myself.

I wondered why it was that Kamchak had put the ring on this girl, had had her branded and collared and clad Kajir was it truly because she had angered him, running from the wagon that one time or for another reason and why had he subjected her, cruelly perhaps, in my presence to the Slaver's Caress? I had thought he cared for the girl. And then he had given her to me, when there might have been other commanders. He had said he was fond of her. And I knew him to be my friend. Why had he done this, truly? For me? l Or for her, as well? If so, why? For what reason?

Elizabeth had now finished her wine. She had arisen and rinsed out the bowl and replaced it. She was now kneeling at ~ the back of the wagon and had untied the Koora and shaken l her hair loose. She was looking at herself in the mirror, holding her head this way and that. I was amused. She was seeing how the nose ring might be displayed to most advan sage. Then she began to comb her long dark hair, kneeling very straight as would a Gorean girl. Kamchak had never permitted her to cut her hair. Now that she was free I supposed she would soon shorten it. I would regret that. I have always found long hair beautiful on a woman.

I watched her combing her hair. Then she had put the comb aside and had retied the Koora, binding back her hair. Now she was again studying her image in the bronze mirror, moving her head slightly.

Suddenly I thought I understood Kamchak! He had indeed been fond of the girl!

"Elizabeth," I said.

"Yes," she said, putting the mirror down.

"I think I know why Kamchak gave you to me aside from the fact that I suppose he thought I could use a prettier wench about the wagon."

She smiled.

"I am glad he did," she said.

"Oh?" I asked.

She smiled. She looked into the mirror. "Of course," she said, "who else would have been fool enough to free me?" "Of course," I admitted.

I said nothing for a time.

The girl put down the mirror. "Why do you think he did?. she asked, facing me, curious.

"On Gor," I said, "the myths have it that only the woman who has been an utter slave can be truly free."

"I am not sure," she said, "that I understand the meaning of that."

"It has nothing to do, I think," I said, "with what woman is actually slave or free, has little to do with the simplicity of chains or the collar, or the brand."

"Then what?" she asked.

"It means, I think," I said, "that only the woman who has utterly surrendered and can utterly surrender losing her- self in a man's touch can be truly a woman, and being what she is, is then free."

Elizabeth smiled. "I do not accept that theory," she re- marked. "I am free now."

"I am not talking about chains and collars," I said. "It is a silly theory," she said.

I looked down. "I suppose so," I said.

"I would have little respect for the woman," said Elizabeth Cardwell, "who could utterly surrender to a man."

"I thought not," I said.

Abdomen," said Elizabeth, "are persons surely as much as men and their equals."

"I think we are talking about different things," I said. "Perhaps," she said.

"On our world," I said, "there is much talk of persons — and little of men and women and the men are taught that they must not be men and the women are taught that they must not be women."

"Nonsense," said Elizabeth. "That is nonsense"

'I do not speak of the words that are used, or how men of Barth would speak of these things," I said, "but of what is not spoken of what is implicit perhaps in what is said and taught.

"But what," I asked, "if the laws of nature and of human blood were more basic, more primitive and essential than the conventions and teachings of society what if these old secrets and truths, if truths they be, had been concealed or forgotten, or subverted to the requirements of a society con- ceived in terms of interchangeable labor units, each assigned id functional, technical sexless skills?"

"Really!" said Elizabeth.

"What do you think would be the result?" I asked.

"I'm sure I don't know," she said.

"Our Earth," I suggested.

'Women," said Miss Cardwell, "do not wish to submit to men, to be dominated, to be brutalized."

"We are speaking of different things," I said.

"Perhaps," she admitted.

"There is no freer nor higher nor more beautiful woman," I said, "than the Gorean Free Companion. Compare her with your average wife of Earth."

"The Tuchuk women," said Elizabeth, "have a miserable lot."

"Few of them," I said, "would be regarded in the cities as a Free Companion."

"I have never known a woman who was a Free Compan- ion," said Elizabeth.

I was silent, and sad, for I had known one such.

"You are perhaps right," I said, "but throughout the mam mats it seems that there is one whose nature it is to possess and one whose nature it is to be possessed."

"I am not accustomed to thinking of myself," smiled Eliza teeth, "as a mammal."

"What do you think of yourself as," I asked, "biologically?" "Well," she smiled, "if you wish to put it that way." I pounded the floor of the wagon and Elizabeth jumped. "That," I said, "is the way it is!"

"Nonsense," said she.

"The Goreans recognize," I said, "that this truth is hard for women to understand, that they will reject it, that they will fear it and fight it."

"Because," said Elizabeth, "it is not true."

"You think," I said, "that I am saying that a woman is nothing that is not it, I am saying she is marvelous, but that she becomes truly herself and magnificent only after the surrenders of love."

'Silly!" said Elizabeth.

'That is why," I remarked, "that upon this barbaric world the woman who cannot surrender herself is upon occasion simply conquered."

— Elizabeth threw back her head and laughed merrily. "Yes," I smiled, "her surrender is won often by a master who will be satisfied with no less."

"And what happens to these women afterwards?" asked Elizabeth.

"They may wear chains or they may not," I said, "but they are whole they are female."

'No man," said Elizabeth, "including you, my dear Tarl Cabot, could bring me to such a pass."

"The Gorean myths have it," I said, "that the woman longs for this identity to be herself in being his if only for the moment of paradox in which she is slave and thus Freed." "It is all very silly," said Elizabeth.

"It is further said that the woman longs for this to happen to her, but does not know it."

"That is the silliest of all!" laughed Elizabeth.

"Why," I asked, "did you earlier stand before me as a slave girl if you did not, for the moment, wish to be a slave?"

"It was a joker" she laughed. "A joker"

"Perhaps," I said.

She looked down, confused.

"And so," I said, "that is why I think Kamchak gave you She looked up, startled. "Why?" she asked.

"That in my arms you would learn the meaning of a slave collar, that you would learn the meaning of being a woman." She looked at me, astonished, her eyes wide with disbelief. "You see," I said, "he thought well of you. He was truly fond of his Little Barbarian."

I stood up and threw the wine bowl to the side of the room. It shattered against the wine chest.

I turned away.

She leaped to her feet. "Where are you going?" she asked. "I am going to the public slave wagon," I said.

"But why?" she asked.

I looked at her frankly. "I want a woman," I said. She looked at me. "I am a woman, Tart Cabot," she said. I said nothing.

"Am I not as beautiful as the girls in the public slave wagon?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, "you are.

"Then why do you not remain with me?"

"Tomorrow," I said, "I think there will be heavy fighting." "I can please you as well as any girl in the slave wagon," she said.

"You are free," I told her.

"I will give you more," she said.

"Please, do not speak so, Elizabeth," I said.

She straightened herself. "I suppose," she said, "you have seen girls in slave markets, betrayed as I was by the touch of the whip."

I did not speak. It was true that I had seen this. "You saw how I moved," she challenged. "Would it not have added a dozen gold pieces to my price?"

"Yes," I said, "it would have."

I approached her and gently held her by the waist, and looked down into her eyes.

"I love you, Tarl Cabot," she whispered. "Do not leave me."

"Do not love me," I said. "You know little of my life and what I must do."

"I do not care," she said, putting her head to my shoulder. "I must leave," I said, "if only because you care for me. It would be cruel for me to remain."

"Have me, Tart Cabot," she said, "if not as a free woman as a slave."

"Beautiful Elizabeth," I said, "I can have you as neither." "You will have me," she cried, "as one or the other!" "No," I said gently. "No."

Suddenly she drew back in fury and struck me with the flat of her hand, a vicious slap, and then again and again, and again.

"No," I said.

Again she slapped me. My face burned. "I hate you," she said. "I hate your"

"No," I said.

"You know your codes, do you not?" she challenged. "The codes of the warrior of Gor?"

"Do not," I said.

Again she slapped me and my head leaped to the side, burning. "I hate you," she hissed.

And then, as I knew she would, she suddenly knelt before me, in fury, head down, arms extended, wrists crossed, sub" milting as a Gorean female.

"Now," she said, looking up, her eyes blazing with anger, "You must either slay me or enslave me."

"You are free," I said sternly.

"Then slay me," she demanded.

"I could not do that," I said.

"Collar me," she said.

"I have no wish to do so," I said.

"Then acknowledge your codes betrayed," she said.

"Fetch the collar," I said.

She leaped up to fetch the collar and handed it to me, again kneeling before me.

I encircled her lovely throat with the steel and she looked up at me, angrily.

I snapped it shut.

She began to rise to her feet.

But my hand on her shoulder prevented her from rising. 'I did not give you permission to rise, slave," I said. Her shoulders shook with anger. Then she said, "Of course, I am sorry, master," and dropped her head. I removed the two pins from the yellow silken sheet, and it fell from her, revealing her clad Kajir.

She stiffened in anger.

"I would see my slave girl," I said.

"Perhaps," she said, acidly, "you wish your girl to remove her remaining garments?"

"No," I said.

She tossed her head.

"I shall do it," I told her.

She gasped.

As she knelt on the rug, head down, in the position of the Pleasure Slave, I took from her the Koora, loosening her hair, and then the leather Kalmak, and then I drew from her the Curia and Chatka.

"If you would be a slave," I said, "be a slave."

She did not raise her head but glared savagely down at the rug, her small fists clenched.

I went across the rug and sat down cross-legged near the fire bowl, and looked at the girl.

"Approach me, slave girl," I said, "and kneel."

She lifted her head and looked at me, angrily, proudly, for a moment, but then she said, "Yes, master," and did as she was commanded.

I looked at Miss Elizabeth Cardwell, kneeling before me, head down, clad only in the collar of a slave.

"What are you?" I asked.

"A slave," she said bitterly, not raising her head. "Serve me wine," I said.

She did so, kneeling before me, head down, handing me the black, red-trimmed wine crater, that of the master, as had Aphris to Kamchak. I drank.

When I had finished I set the wine crater aside and looked on the girl.

"Why have you done this, Elizabeth?" I asked.

She looked down sullenly. "I am Vella," she said, a Gorean slave." «Elizabeth» I said.

"Vella," she said angrily.

"Vella," I agreed, and she looked up. Our eyes met and we ~ looked at one another for a long time. Then, she smiled, and I looked down.

I laughed. "It seems," I said, "that I will not make it to the public slave wagon tonight."

Elizabeth looked up, shyly. "It seems not, master." "You are a vixen, Vella," said I.

She shrugged. Then, kneeling before me in the position of the Pleasure Slave, she stretched indolently, with feline grace, lifting her hands behind the back of her neck and throwing her dark hair forward. She knelt so for a languorous mo- ment, her hands over her head holding her hair, looking at I me.

"Do you think," she asked, "that the girls in the public slave wagon are as beautiful as Vella?"

"No," I said, "they are not."

"Or as desirable?" she asked.

"No," I said, "none is as desirable as Vella."

Then, her back still arched, with a half-smile, she stretched even more, and, as though weary, she slowly turned her head to one side, with her eyes closed, and then opened them and with a small, lazy motion of her hands threw her hair back over her head, and with a tiny motion of her head shook it into place.

"It seems Vella wishes to please her master," I said. "No," said the girl, "Vella hates her master." She looked at me with feigned hatred. "He has humiliated Vella. He has stripped her and put her in the collar of a slaver" 0f course," I said.

"But," said the girl, "perhaps she might be forced to please him. After all she is only a slave."

I laughed.

"It is said," remarked the girl, "that Vella, whether she knows it or not, longs to be a slave the utter slave of a man if but for an hour."

I slapped my knee with amusement. "That sounds to me," I said, "like a silly theory."

The girl shrugged in her collar. "Perhaps," she said, "Vella does not know."

'Perhaps," I said, "Vella will find out."

"Perhaps," said the girl, smiling.

"Are you ready, Slave Girl," I asked, "to give pleasure to a master?"

"Have I any choice?" she asked.

"None," I said.

"Then," she said, with resignation, "I suppose I am ready." I laughed.

Elizabeth was looking at me, smiling. Then, suddenly, playfully, she put her head to the rug before me. I heard her whisper, "Vella asks only to tremble and obey."

I stood up and, laughing, lifted her to her feet.

She, too, laughed, standing close to me, her eyes bright. I could feel her breath on my face.

"I think now I will do something with you," I said. She looked resigned, dropping her head. "What is to be the fate of your beautiful, civilized slave?" she asked. "The dung sack," I replied.

"No!" she cried, suddenly frightened. "No!"

I laughed.

"I will do anything rather than that," she said. "Anything." "Anything?" I asked.

She looked up at me and smiled. "Yes," she said, "any- thing."

"Very well, Vella," said I, "I will give you but one chanceif you well please me the aforementioned miserable fate will not be yours at least for tonight."

"Vella will well please you," she said earnestly.

"Very well," I said, "please me."

I recalled keenly how she had sported with me earlier and I thought there might be some point in giving the young American a taste of her own medicine.

She looked at me startled.

Then she smiled. "I will teach you that I well know the meaning of my collar, master," she said.

Suddenly she kissed me, a deep kiss, moist, rich, too soon ended.

"There" she laughed. "The kiss of a Tuchuk slave girl!" Then she laughed and turned away, looking over her shoul- der. "You see," she said, "I can do it quite well." I did not speak.

She was facing the other way. "But," she said, teasingly, "I think one will be enough for master."

I was a bit angry, and not a little aroused. 'The girls in the public slave wagon," I said, "know how to kiss."

"Oh?" she said, turning about.

"They are not little secretaries," I said, "pretending to be slave girls." Her eyes flashed. "Try this!" she said, approaching me, and this time, my head in her small hands, she lingered with her lips upon my mouth, warm, wet, breaths meeting and mingling in the savoring touch. My hands held her slender waist. When she had finished, I remarked, "Not bad." "Not bad!" she cried. Then fully and for much time, she kissed me, with increasing determination, yet attempted subtlety, then noxlety, then woodenly, and then she dropped her head. lifted her chin with my finger. She looked at me angrily. "I should have told you, I suppose," I remarked, "that a woman kisses well only when fully aroused, after at least half an Ahn, after she is helpless and yielding." She looked at me angrily and turned away.

Then she spun about laughing. "You are a beast, Tarl," she cried. "And you, too," I laughed, "are a beast a beautiful little collared beast."

"I love you," she said, "Tarl Cabot."

"Array yourself in Pleasure Silk, Little Beast," I said, "and enter my arms." The blaze of a challenge flared suddenly in her eyes. She transfused with excitement. "Though I am of Earth," she said, "try to use me as slave." I smiled. "If you wish," I said.

"I will prove to you," she said, "that your theories are false."I shrugged. "I will prove to you," she said, "that a woman cannot be conquered."You tempt me," I said.| "I love you," she said, "but even so, you will not be able to conquer me, for I shall not permit myself to 'he conquered, not even though I love your" "If you love me," I said, "perhaps I would not wish to conquer you." But Kamchak, generous fellow, gave me to you, did he," she asked, "that you should teach me as slave to be female?" "I think so," I admitted. "And in his opinion, and perhaps yours, would that not be In my best interests?"

"Perhaps," I said. "I do not really know. These are compli- cated matters."

"Well," said she, laughing, "I shall prove you both wrong" "All right," I said, "we shall see,"

"But you must promise to try to make me truly a slave if only for a moment."

"All right," I said.

"The stakes," she pronounced, "will be my freedom against"

"Yes?" I asked.

"Against yours?" she laughed.

"I do not understand," I said.

"For one week," she said, "in the secrecy of the wagon where no one can see you will be my slave you will wear collar and serve me and do whatever I wish."

"I do not care much for your terms," I said.

"You seem to find little fault in men owning female slaves," she said. "Why should you object to being a slave owned by a female?"

"I see," I said.

She smiled slyly. "I think it might be rather pleasant to eve a male slave." She laughed. "I will teach you the bearing of a collar, Tarl Cabot," she said.

"Do not count your slaves until you have won them," I cautioned.

"Is it a wager?" she asked.

I gazed on her. How every bit of her seemed alive with allengel Her eyes, her stance, the sound of her voice I saw e tiny nose ring, barbaric, glinting in the light of the fire bowl. I saw the place on her thigh where not many days before the fiery iron had been so cruelly pressed, leaving hind it, smoking for the instant, deep and clean, the tiny ark of the four bask horns. I saw on her lovely throat the ring of Turian steel, gleaming and locked, so contrast g with, so barbarically accentuating the incredible softness her beauty, the tormenting vulnerability of it. The collar, I knew, bore my name, proclaiming her, should I wish, my slave. And yet this beautiful, soft, proud thing stood there, trough ringed and branded, though collared, bold and brazen staringing at me, eyes bright, her challenge, the eternal chal- lenge of the unconquered female, that of the untamed woman daring the male to touch her, to try, she resisting, to reduce her to yielding prize, to force from her the uncondi tional surrender, — the total and utter submission of the woman who has no choice but to acknowledge herself his, the help less, capitulated slave of him in whose arms she finds herself prisoner.

As the Goreans have it, there is in this a war in which the woman can respect only that man who can reduce her to utter defeat.

But it seemed to me there was little in the eyes or stance of Miss Cardwell which suggested the plausibility of the Gorean interpretation. She seemed to me clearly out to win, to enjoy herself perhaps, but to win, and then exact from me something in the way of vengeance for all the months and days in which she, proud, independent wench, had been only slave. I recalled she had told me that she would teach me well the meaning of a collar. If she were successful, I had little doubt that she would carry out her threat.

"Well," she challenged, "Master?"

I gazed at her, the tormenting vixen. I had no wish to be her slave. I resolved, if one of us must be slave, it would be she, the lovely Miss Cardwell, who would wear the collar. "Well," she again challenged, "Master?"

I smiled. "It is a wager," said I, "Slave Girl."

She laughed happily and turned, and standing on her tiptoes, lowered the tharlarion oil lamps. Then she bent to find for herself among the riches of the wagon yellow Plea sure Silks.

At last she stood before me, and was beautiful.

"Are you prepared to be a slave?" she asked.

"Until you have won," I said, "it is you who wear the collar."

She dropped her head in mock humility. "Yes, Master," she said. Then she looked up at me, her eyes mischievous. I motioned for her to approach, and she did so.

I indicated that she should enter my arms, and she did so. In my arms she looked up at me.

"You're sure you're quite ready to be a slave?" she asked. "Be quiet," I said gently.

"I shall be pleased to own you," she said. "I have always wanted a handsome male slave." "Be quiet," I whispered.

"Yes, Master," she said, obediently.

My hands parted the Pleasure Silk and cast it aside. "Really, Master!" she said.

"Now," I said, "I will taste the kiss of my slave girl." "Yes, Master," she said.

"Now," I instructed her, "with more passion."

"Yes, Master," she said obediently, and kissed me with feigned passion.

I, hand in her collar, turned her about and put her on her back on the rug, her shoulders pressed against the thick pile. She looked at me, a sly smile on her face.

I took the nose ring between my thumb and forefinger and gave it a little pull.

"Oh!" she cried, eyes smarting. Then she looked up. "That is no way to treat a lady," she remarked.

"You are only a slave girl," I reminded her.

"True," she said forlornly, turning her head to one side. I was a bit irritated.

She looked up at me and laughed with amusement.

I began to kiss her throat and body and my hands were behind her back, lifting her and arching her, so that her head was back and down.

"I know what you're trying to do," she said.

"What is that?" I mumbled.

"You are trying to make me feel owned," she said.

"Oh," I said.

"You will not succeed," she informed me.

I myself was beginning to grow skeptical.

She wiggled about on her side, looking at me. My hands were still clasped behind the small of her back.

"It is said by Goreans," remarked the girl, very seriously, "that every woman, whether she knows it or not, longs to be a slave the utter slave of a man if but for an hour." "Please be quiet," I said.

"Every woman," she said emphatically. "Every woman." I looked at her. "You are a woman," I observed.

She laughed. "I find myself naked in the arms of a man and wearing the collar of a slave. I think there is little doubt at I am a woman!"

"And at the moment." I suggested, "little more."

She looked at me irritably for a moment. Then she smiled. 'fit is said by Goreans," she remarked, with very great r seriousness, with mock bitterness, "that in a collar a woman can be only a woman."

"The theory you mention," I said, grumbling, "about wom- en longing to be slaves, if only for an hour, is doubtless false."

She shrugged in her collar and put her head to one side, her hair falling to the rug. "Perhaps," she said, much as she had before, "Vella does not know."

"Perhaps Vella will find out," I said.

"Perhaps," she said, laughing.

Then, perhaps not pleasantly, my hand closed on her ankle.

"Oh!" she said.

She tried to move her leg, but could not.

I then bent her leg, that I might, as I wished, display for my pleasure, she willing or not, the marvelous curves of her calf. She tried to pull her leg away, but she could not. It would move only as I pleased.

"Please, Tarl," she said.

"You are going to be mine," I said.

"Please," she said, "let me go." My grip on her ankle was not cruel but in all her womanness she knew herself held. "Please," she said again, "let me go."

I smiled to myself. "Be silent, Slave," said I.

Elizabeth Cardwell gasped.

I smiled.

"So you are stronger than me she scoffed. "It means nothing!"

I then began to kiss her foot' and the inside of her Achilles, beneath the bone, and she trembled momentarily.

"Let me go!" she cried.

But I only kissed her, holding her, my lips moving to the back of her leg, low where it joins the foot, where an ankle ring would be locked.

"A true man," she cried out suddenly, "would not behave so! No! A true man is gentle, kind, tender, respectful, at all times, sweet and solicitous! That is a true man!"

I smiled at her defenses, so classical, so typical of the modern, unhappy, civilized female, desperately frightened of being truly a woman in a man's arms, trying to decide and determine manhood not by the nature of man and his desire, and her nature as the object of that desire, but by her own fears, trying to make man what she could find acceptable, trying to remake him in her own image.

"You are a female," I said casually. "I do not accept your definition of man."

She made an angry noise.

"Argue," I suggested, "explain speak names."

She moaned.

"It is I said, "that when the full blood of a manis upon him, and he sees his female, and will have her, that it should be then that he is not a true man." She cried out in misery.

Then, as I had expected, she suddenly wept, and doubtless with great sincerity. I supposed at this time many men of Earth, properly conditioned, would have been shaken, and would have fallen promptly to this keen weapon, shamed, retreating stricken with guilt, with misgivings, as the female wished. But, smiling to myself, I knew that on this night her weeping, the little vixen, would gain her no respite. I smiled at her.

She looked at me, horrified, frightened, tears ire her eyes. "You are a pretty little slave," I said.

She struggled furiously, but could not escape.

When her struggles had subsided I began, half biting, half;t kissing, to move up her calf to the delights of the sensitive areas behind her knees. «Please» she wept.

"Be quiet, pretty little Slave Girl," I mumbled.

Then, kissing, but letting her feel the teeth which could, if I chose, tear at her flesh, I moved to the interior of her thigh. Slowly, with my mouth, by inches, I began to claim her. "Please," she said.

"What is wrong?" I asked.

"I find I want to yield to you," she whispered.

"Do not be frightened," I told her.

"No," she said. "You do not understand."

I was puzzled.

"I want to yield to you," she whispered, "as a slavegirl!" "You will so yield to me," I told her.

"No!" she cried. "No!"

"You will yield to me," I told her, "as a slave girl to her master." "No!" she cried. "No! No!"

I continued to kiss her, to touch her.

"Please stop," she wept.

"Why?" I asked.

"You are making me a slave," she whispered.

"I will not stop," I told her.

"Please," she wept. "Please!"

"Perhaps," I said to her, "the Goreans were right?" "No!" she cried. "No!"

"Perhaps that is what you desire," I said, "to yield with the utterness of a female slave."

"Never!" she cried, weeping in fury. "Leave me!"

"Not until you have become a slave," I told her.

She cried out in misery. "I do not want to be a slave!" But when I had touched the most intimate beauties of her she became uncontrollable, writhing, and in my arms I knew the feeling of a slave girl and such, for the moment, was the beautiful Elizabeth Cardwell, helpless and mine, female and slave.

Now her lips and arms and body, now those only of an enamoured wench in bondage, sought mine, acknowledging utterly and unreservedly, shamelessly and hopelessly, with helpless abandon, their master.

I was astonished at her for even the touch of the whip, her involuntary response to the Slaver's Caress, had not seemed to promise so much.

She cried out suddenly as she found herself fully mine. Then she scarcely dared to move.

"You are claimed, Slave Girl," I whispered to her. "I am not a slave girl," she whispered intensely. "I am not a slave girl."

I could feel her nails in my arm. In her kiss I tasted blood, suddenly realizing that she had bitten me. Her head was back, her eyes closed, her lips open.

"I am not a slave girl," she said.

I whispered in her ear, "Pretty little slave girl." "I am not a slave girl!" she cried.

"You will be soon," I told her.

"Please, Tarl," she said, "do not make me a slave." "You sense that it can be done?" I asked.

"Please," she said, "do not make me a slave."

"Do we not have a wager?" I asked.

She tried to laugh. "Let us forget the wager," said she. "Please, Tart, it was foolishness. Let us forget the wager?" "Do you acknowledge yourself my slave?" I inquired. "Never!" she hissed.

"Then," said I, "lovely wench, the wager is not yet done." She struggled to escape me, but could not. Then, suddenly, as though startled, she would not move.

She looked at me.

"It soon begins," I told her.

"I sense it," she said, "I sense it."

She did not move but I felt the cut of her nails in my arms.| "Can there be more?" she wept.

"It soon begins," I told her.

"I'm frightened," she wept.

"Do not be frightened," I told her.

"I feel owned," she whispered.

"You are," I said.

"No," she said. "No."

"Do not be frightened," I told her.

"You must let me go," she said.

"It soon begins," I told her.

"Please let me go," she whispered. "Please"

"On Gor," I said, "it is said that a woman who wears a collar can be only a woman."

She looked at me angrily.

"And you, lovely Elizabeth," said I, "wear a collar." She turned her head to one side, helpless, angry, tears in her eyes.~ She did not move, and then suddenly I felt the cut of herA nails deep in my arms, and though her lips were open, herr! teeth were clenched, her head was back, the eyes closed, her hair tangled under her and over her body, and then her eyes seemed surprised, startled, and her shoulders lifted a bit from r the rug, and she looked at me, and I could feel the beginning n her, the breathing of it and the blood of it, hers, in my own flesh swift and like fire in her beauty, mine, and knowing it was then the time, meeting her eyes fiercely, I said to her, with sudden contempt and savagery, following the common Gorean Rites of Submission, "Slave!" and she looked at me with horror and cried out «Nor» and half reared from the rug, wild, helpless, fierce as I intended, wanting to fight me, as I knew she would, wanting to slay me if it lay within her power, as I knew she would, and I permitted her to struggle and to bite and scratch and cry out and then I silenced her with the kiss of the master, and accepted the exquisite sur render which she had no choice but to give. "Slave," she wept, "slave, slave, slave I am a slave"

It was more than an Ahn later that she lay in my arms on the rug and looked up at me, tears in her eyes. "I know now," she said, "what it is to be the slave girl of a Master." I said nothing.

"Though I am slave," she said, "yet for the first tinge in my life I am free."

"For the first time in your life," I said, "you are a woman." "I love being a woman," she said. "I am happy I am a woman, Tarl Cabot, I am happy."

"Do not forget," I said, "you are only a slave."

She smiled and fingered her collar. "I am Tarl Cabot's girl," she said. j "My slave," I said.

"Yes," she said, "your slave."

I smiled.

"You will not beat me too often will you, Master?" she asked.

"We will see," I said.

"I will strive to please you," she said.

"I am pleased to hear it," I said.

She lay on her back, her eyes open, looking at the top of, the wagon, at the hangings, the shadows thrown on the scarlet hides by the light of the fire bowl.

"I am free," she said.

I looked at her.

She rolled over on her elbows. "It is strange," she said. "I am a slave girl. But I am free. I am free."

"I must sleep," I said, rolling over.

She kissed me on the shoulder. "Thank you," she said, "Tarl Cabot, for freeing me."

I rolled over and seized her by the shoulders and pressed her back to the rug and she looked up laughing.

"Enough of this nonsense about freedom," I said. "Do not forget that you are a slave." I took her nose ring between my thumb and forefinger.

"Oh" she said.

I lifted her head from the rug by the ring and her eyes smarted.

"This is scarcely the way to show respect for a lady," said the girl.

I tweaked the nose ring, and tears sprang into her eyes. "But then," she said, "I am only a slave girl."

"And do not forget it," I admonished her.

"No, no, Master," she said, smiling.

"You do not sound to me sufficiently sincere," I said. "But I arm" she laughed.

"I think in the morning," I said, "I will throw you to kaiila."

"But where then will you find another slave as delectable as I?" she laughed.

"Insolent wench!" I cried.

"Oh!" she cried, as I gave the ring a playful tug. "Please!" With my left hand I jerked the collar against the back of her neck.

"Do not forget," I said, "that on your throat you wear a collar of steel."

"Your collar!" she said promptly.

I slapped her thigh. "And," I said, "on your thigh you wear the brand of the four bask horns"

"I'm yours," she said, "like a bosk!"

"Oh," she cried, as I dropped her back to the rug. She looked up at me, her eyes mischievous. "I'm free," she said.

"Apparently," I said, "you have not learned the lesson of the collar."

She laughed merrily. Then she lifted her arms and put them about my neck, and lifted her lips to mine, tenderly, delicately. "This slave girl," she said, "has well learned the lesson of her collar."

I laughed.

She kissed me again. "Vella of Gor," said she, "loves master."

"And what of Miss Elizabeth Cardwell?" I inquired. "That pretty little slave" said Elizabeth, scornfully. "Yes," I said, "the secretary."

"She is not a secretary," said Elizabeth, "she is only a little Gorean slave."

"Well," said I, "what of her?"

"As you may have heard," whispered the girl, "Miss Eliza- beth Cardwell, the nasty little wench, was forced to yield herself as a slave girl to a master."

"I had heard as much," I said.

"What a cruel beast he was," said the girl.

"What of her now?" I asked.

"The little slave girl," said the girl scornfully, "is now madly in love with the beast."

"What is his name?" I asked.

"The same who won the surrender of proud Vella of Gor," said she.

"And his name?" I asked.

"Tart Cabot," she said.

"He is a fortunate fellow," I remarked, "to have two such- women."

"They are jealous of one another," confided the girl. "Insolent wench!" I cried.

"Oh" she cried, as I gave the ring a playful tug. «Please» With my left hand I jerked the collar against the back of her neck.

"Do not forget," I said, "that on your throat you wear a collar of steel."

"Your collar!" she said promptly.

I slapped her thigh. "And," I said, "on your thigh you wear the brand of the four bask hornet"

"I'm yours," she said, "like a bosk."

"Oh," she cried, as I dropped her back to the rug. She looked up at me, her eyes mischievous. "I'm free," she said.

"Apparently," I said, "you have not learned the lesson of the collar."

She laughed merrily. Then she lifted her arms and put them about my neck, and lifted her lips to mine, tenderly, delicately. "This slave girl," she said, "has well learned the lesson of her collar."

I laughed.

She kissed me again. "Vella of Gor," said she, 'doves master."

"And what of Miss Elizabeth Cardwell?" I inquired. "That pretty little slaves" said Elizabeth, scornfully. "Yes," I said, "the secretary."

"She is not a secretary," said Elizabeth, "she is only a little Gorean slave."

"Well," said I, "what of her?"

"As you may have heard," whispered the girl, "Miss Eliza- beth Cardwell, the nasty little wench, was forced to yield herself as a slave girl to a master."

"I had heard as much," I said.

"What a cruel beast he was," said the girl.

"What of her now?" I asked.

"The little slave girl," said the girl scornfully, "is now madly in love with the beast."

"What is his name?" I asked.

"The same who won the surrender of proud Vella of

Gor," said she.

"And his name?" I asked.

"Tart Cabot," she said.

"He is a fortunate fellow," I remarked, "to have two such- women."

"They are jealous of one another," confided the girl. "Oh?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, "each will try to please her master more than the other, that she will be his favorite."

I kissed her.

"I wonder who will be his favorite?" she asked.

"Let them both try to please him," I suggested, "each more than the other."

She looked at me reproachfully. "He is a cruel, cruel master," she said.

"Doubtless," I admitted.

For a long time we kissed and touched. And from time to time, during the night, each of the girls, Vella of Gor and the little barbarian, Miss Elizabeth Cardwell, begged, and were permitted, to serve the pleasure of their master. Yet he, unprecipitate and weighing matters carefully, still could not decide between them.

It was well toward morning, and he was nearly asleep, when he felt them against him, their cheek pressed against his thigh. "Girls," mumbled he, "do not forget you wear my steel."

"We will not forget," they said.

And he felt their kiss.

"We love you," said they, "Master."

He decided, falling asleep, that he would keep them both slave for a few days, if only to teach them a lesson. Also, he reminded himself, it is only a fool who frees a slave girl. In the dampness and darkness long before dawn the forces of Kamchak, crowding the streets of Turia in the vicinity of Saphrar's compound, waited silently, like dark shapes on the stones; here and there the glint of a weapon or accouterment could be made out ~ the fading light of one of the flying moons; someone coughed; there was a rustle of leather; I heard to one side the honing of a quiva, the tiny sound of a short bow being strung.

Kamchak, Harold and I stood with several others on the roof of a building across from the compound.

Behind the walls we could hear, now and then, a sentry calling his post, answering another.

Kamchak stood in the half darkness, his palms on the wall running about the edge of the roof of the building on which we stood.

More than an hour ago I had left the commander's wagon, being roused by one of the guards outside. As I had left Elizabeth Cardwell had awakened. We had said nothing, but I had gathered her into my arms and kissed her, then left the wagon.

On the way to the compound I had met Harold and together we had eaten some dried bask meat- and drank water, from one of the commissary wagons attached to one of Hundreds in the city. As commanders we could eat where we chose.

The tarns that Harold and I had stolen from Saphrar's keep several days ago had both been brought into the city and were nearby, for it was thought that such might be needed, if only to convey reports from one point to another. There were also, in the city, of course, hundreds of kaiila, though the main body of such mounts was outside the city, where game could be driven to them with greater ease. I heard someone chewing nearby and noted that Harold, who had thrust some strips of bask meat from the commis- sary wagon in his belt, was busily engaged, quiva in hand, with cutting and eating the meat.

"It's nearly morning," he mumbled, the observation some- what blurred by the meat packed in his mouth.

I nodded.

I saw Kamchak leaning forward, his palms on the wall about the roof, staring at the compound. He seemed humped in the half darkness, short of neck, broad of shoulder. He hadn't moved in a quarter of an Ahn. He was waiting for the dawn.

When I had left the wagon Elizabeth Cardwell, though she had said nothing, had been frightened. I remembered her eyes, and her lips, as they had trembled on mine. I had taken her arms from about my neck and turned away. I wondered if I would see her again.

"My own recommendation," Harold was saying, 'would be first to fly my tarn cavalry over the walls, clearing them with thousands of arrows, and then, in a second wave, to fly dozens of ropes of warriors to the roofs of the main buildings, to seize them and burn the others.

"But we have no tarn cavalry," I noted.

'That is what is wrong with my recommendation," granted Harold, chewing.

I closed my eyes briefly, and then looked back at the dim compound across the way.

"No recommendation is perfect," said Harold.

I turned to a commander of a Hundred, he who was in. charge of the men I had trained with the crossbow. "Did tarns enter or leave the compound last night?" I asked. "No," said the man.

— "Are you sure?" I asked.

"There was moonlight," he said. "We saw nothing." He looked at me. "But, , he added, "there are, by my count some three or four tarns from before within the compound." "Do not permit them to escape," I said.

"We shall try not to do so," he said.

and were nearby, for it was thought that such might be needed, if only to convey reports from one point to another. There were also, in the city, of course, hundreds of kaiila, though the main body of such mounts was outside the city, where game could be driven to them with greater ease. I heard someone chewing nearby and noted that Harold, who had thrust some strips of bask meat from the commit sary wagon in his belt, was busily engaged, quiva in hand, with cutting and eating the meat.

"It's nearly morning," he mumbled, the observation some- what blurred by the meat packed in his mouth.

I nodded.

I saw Kamchak leaning forward, his palms on the wall about the roof, staring at the compound. He seemed humped in the half darkness, short of neck, broad of shoulder. He hadn't moved in a quarter of an Ahn. He was waiting for the dawn.

When I had left the wagon Elizabeth Cardwell, though she had said nothing, had been frightened. I remembered her eyes, and her lips, as they had trembled on mine. I had taken her arms from about my neck and turned away. I wondered if I would see her again.

"My own recommendation," Harold was saying, "would be first to fly my tarn cavalry over the walls, clearing them with thousands of arrows, and then, in a second wave, to fly dozens of ropes of warriors to the roofs of the main buildings, to seize them and burn the others.

"But we have no tarn cavalry," I noted.

'Chat is what is wrong with my recommendation," granted Harold, chewing.

I closed my eyes briefly, and then looked back at the dim compound across the way.

"No recommendation is perfect," said Harold.

I turned to a commander of a Hundred, he who was in. charge of the men I had trained with the crossbow. "Did tarns enter or leave the compound last night?" I asked. "No," said the man.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"There was moonlight," he said. "We saw nothing." He looked at me. "But, , he added, "there are, by my count some three or four tarns from before within the compound." "Do not permit them to escape," I said.

"We shall try not to do so," he said.

Now, in the east, as on Earth, we could see a lightness in the sky. I seemed to be breathing very deeply.| Kamchak still had not moved.

I heard the rustling of men below in the streets, the checking of arms.

"There is a tarn" cried one of the men on the roof. Very high in the sky, no more than a small speck, speeding toward the compound of Saphrar from the direction of theNil, tower I believed held by Ha-Keel, we saw a tarn.

"Prepare to final" I cried.

"No," said Kamchak, "let it enter."

The men held their fire, and the tarn, almost at the center of the compound, as far from our encircling positions as possible, suddenly plummeted downward, its wings high, opening them only at the last minute to land on the top of the keep, beyond accurate crossbow range.

"Saphrar may escape," I pointed out.

"No," said Kamchak, "there is no escape for Saphrar." I said nothing.

"His blood is mine," said Kamchak.

"Who is the rider?" I queried.

"Ha-Keel, the mercenary," said Kamchak "He is coming to bargain with Saphrar, but I can better whatever terms he is offered for I have all the gold and women of Turia, and by nightfall I will have the private hordes of Saphrar him self."

"Beware," I warned, "the tarnsmen of Ha-Keel they might yet turn the brunt of battle against you."

Kamchak did not respond.

"The thousand tarnsmen of Ha-Keel," said Harold, "left before dawn for Port Karl Their tower is abandoned." "But why?" I demanded.

"They were well paid," said Harold, "with Turian gold of which substance we have a great deal."

"Then Saphrar is alone," I said.

"More alone than he knows," remarked Harold.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You will see," he said.

It was now clearly light in the east, and I could see the, faces of men below me, some of them carrying rope ladders with metal hooks at the ends, others scaling ladders. It seemed to me that a full storming of the compound would take place within the Ahn.

The House of Saphrar was encircled literally by thousands of warriors.

We would outnumber the desperate defenders of his walls perhaps by twenty to one. The fighting would be fierce, but it did not seem that the outcome would be in doubt, even from the beginning particularly now that the tarnsmen of Ha- Keel had left the city, the saddle packs of their tarns bulging with Turian gold.

Then Kamchak spoke again. "I have waited long for the blood of Saphrar of Turia," he said. He lifted his hand and one who stood near him climbed to the wall of the roof and blew a long blast on a bask horn.

I thought this might signal the beginning of the storming of the compound, but none of the men below moved.

Rather, to my astonishment, a gate of the compound itself opened and wary men-at-arms, their weapons ready, each carrying a cloth sack, emerged. They filed before us in the street below, each under the contemptuous eyes of the war- riors of the Wagon Peoples, each in turn going to a long table whereon were placed many pairs of scales, and each at that table was weighed out four Gorean stone of gold, about six Barth pounds, which he put in his cloth sack and scurried away, through an avenue opened for him between the war- riors. They would be escorted beyond the city. Four Gorean stone of gold is a fortune.

I was utterly startled, overcome. I was shaking. Hundreds upon hundreds of men must have passed thus before us. "I, I do not understand," I stammered to Kamchak.

He did not turn to face me, but continued to stare at the compound. "Let Saphrar of Turia die by gold," he said. Only then did I understand with horror the depth of Kamchak's hatred of Saphrar of Turia.

Man by man, stone by stone of gold. Saphrar was dying, his walls and defenses being taken grain by grain from him, slipping away. His gold could not buy him the hearts of men. Kamchak, in his Tuchuk cruelty, would stand quietly to one side and, coin by coin, bit by bit, buy Saphrar of Turia. Once or twice I heard swords ringing from within the walls, as perhaps some men, loyal to Saphrar, or to their codes, attempted to prevent their fellows from leaving the compound, but I gather, judging from the continued exodus from the walls, that those who were this loyal were scattered and few in number. Indeed, some who might have fought for Saphrar, seeing their fellows deserting in such numbers, un doubtedly realized their own imminent danger, now increased a hundred fold, and hastened to join the deserters. I even saw some slaves leaving the compound, and these, though they were slave, were given the four stone of gold as well, perhaps the more to insult those free men who had accepted the babes of Tuchuks. I gathered that Saphrar, in the years he had built his power in Tuna, had for his own purposes gathered such men about him, and now he would pay the pace — with his own life.

Kamchak's face was impassive.

At last, perhaps an Ahn after daylight, no more men came from the compound and the gates were left open.

Kamchak then descended from the roof and mounted his kaiila. Slowly, at a walk, he rode toward the main gate of the compound. Harold and I, on foot, accompanied him. Behind us came several warriors. On Kamchak's right there walked a master of sleen, who held two of the vicious, sinuous beasts in check by chain leashes.

About the pommel of Kamchak's saddle were tied several bags of gold, each weighed out to four stone. And following him, among the warriors, were several Turian slaves, dad in chains and the Kes, among them Kamras, Champion of Turia, and Phanius Turmus, the Turian Ubar, all of whom carried large pans filled with sacks of gold.

Inside the gate of the compound I saw that it seemed deserted, the walls emptied of defenders. The clear ground between the walls and the first buildings was similarly empty, though here and there I saw some litter, pieces of boxes, broken arrows, patches of cloth.

Kamchak stopped inside the compound and looked about, his dark, fierce eyes looking from building to building, examin ing with great care the roof tops and windows.

Then he gently moved his kaiila toward the main portal. I caught sight of two warriors standing before it, ready to defend it. Behind them I was startled to see suddenly a currying figure in white and gold, Saphrar of Turia. Then he stood back from the door, holding something large in his arms, wrapped in purple cloth.

The two men prepared to defend the portal.

Kamchak stopped the kaiila.

Behind me I heard hundreds of ladders and grappling hooks strike against the wall, and, turning, I saw, climbing over the walls, as well as entering through the open gates, hundreds and hundreds of men, until the walls were swarm- ing with Tuchuks, and others of the Wagon Peoples. Then, on the walls and within the compound, they stood, not moving.

Astride his kailla Kamchak announced himself. "Kamchak of the Tuchuks, whose father Kutaituchik was slain by Saphrar of Turia, cads upon Saphrar of Turia."

"Strike him with your spears," screamed Saphrar from within the doorway.

The two defenders hesitated.

"Give greetings to Saphrar of Turia from Kamchak of the Tuchuks," said Kamchak calmly.

One of the guards turned woodenly. "Kamchak of the Tuchuks he said, "gives greetings to Saphrar of Turia." "Kill him!" screamed Saphrar. "Kill him!"

Silently a dozen Tuchuk bowmen, with the short horn bow, stood afoot before Kamchak's Kaiila, their arrows trained on the hearts of the two guards.

Kamchak untied two of the sacks of gold from the pom- mel of his saddle. He threw one to one side for one guard, and the other to the other side for the other guard. "Fight!" cried Saphrar.

The two guards broke from before the door, each picking up his sack of gold and fled through the Tuchuks.

"Sleen!" cried Saphrar, and turned and ran deeper within the house.

Not hurrying Kamchak walked his kaiila up the stairs of the house and, on kaiilaback, entered the main hall of the House of Saphrar.

In the main had he looked about and then, Harold and I following, and the man with the two Sleen, and the slaves with gold, and his archers and other men, he began to walk his kaiila up the broad marble stairs, following the terrified Saphrar of Turia.

Again and again we encountered guards within the House but each time, when Saphrar took refuge behind them, Kamchak would throw gold to them and they would dissipate and Saphrar, panting, puffing, clutching the large, purple- wrapped object in his arms, would on his short legs hurry off again. He would lock doors behind himself but they were forced open. He would throw furniture down stairs towards us, but we would step around it. Our pursuit carried us from room to room, through hall after hall, in the great house of Saphrar of Turia. We passed through the banquet hall, where long before we had been entertained by the fleeing merchant. We passed through kitchens and galleries, even through the private compartments of Saphrar himself, where we saw the multitudinous robes and sandals of the merchant,` each worked predominantly in white and gold, though often mixed with hundreds of other colors. In his own compartments the pursuit had seemed to end, for it seemed Saphrar had disap peered, but Kamchak did not show the least irritation or annoyance. He dismounted and picked up a lounging garment from He vast sleeping platform in the room, holding it to the noses of the two sleen. "Hunt," said Kamchak.

The two sleen seemed to drink in the scent of the robe and then they began to tremble, and the claws on their wide, soft feet emerged and retracted, and their heads lifted and began to sway from side to side. As one animal they turned and pulled their keeper by the chain leashes to what appeared to be a solid wall, where they rose on their back two legs and set their other four legs against it, snarling, whimpering. "Break through the wall," said Kamchak. He would not| bother to search for the button or lever that might open the panel. In a few moments the wall had been shattered, revealing the dark passage beyond.

"Bring lamps and torches," said Kamchak.

Kamchak now gave his kaiila to a subordinate and, on foot, carrying torch and quiva, began to prowl down the passage, beside him the two snarling sleen, behind him Harold and I, and the rest of his men, several with torches, even the slaves with gold. Guided by the sleen we had no difficulty in following the track of Saphrar through the pas- aage, though often it branched variously. The passage was, on the whole dark, but where it branched there was often set a mall, burning tharlarion oil lamp. I supposed Saphrar of Curia must have carried lamp or torch, or perhaps that he knew the passage by heart.

At one point Kamchak stopped and called for planks, The door of the passage had been dropped, by the release of a bolt, for an area of its width and for a length of about twelve feet. Harold tossed a pebble into the opening and it took about ten Ihn before we heard it strike water far below. Kamchak did not seem disturbed at the wait, but sat like a rock, cross-legged before the opening, looking across it, until planks were brought, and then he, and the Sleen, were the first to cross.

Another time he warned us back and called for a lance, with which he tripped a wire in the passage. Four spears, with bronze heads, suddenly burst across the passage, emerg- ing from circular openings, their tips striking into other small openings across the passage. Kamchak, with his boot, broke the spear shafts and we moved between them.

At last we emerged into a large audience room, with a domed ceiling, heavily carpeted and hung with tapestries. I recognized it immediately, for it was the room in which Harold and I had been brought prisoner before Saphrar of Turia.

In the room there were four persons.

Sitting in the place of honor, cross-legged, calm, on the merchant's cushions, on his personal dais, applying a bit of oil to the blade of his sword, sat the lean, scarred Ha-Keel, once of Ar, now a mercenary tarnsman of squalid, malignant Port Karl On the floor below the dais were Saphrar of Turia, frantic, clutching the purple-wrapped object, and the Paravaci, he who still wore the hood of the Clan of Torturers, he who would have been my assassin, he who had been with Saphrar of Turia when I had entered the Yellow Pool of Turia. I heard Harold cry out with delight at the sight of the fellow, and the man turned to face us, a quiva in his hand. Beneath his black mask I wager he turned white at the sight of Harold of the Tuchuks. I could sense him tremble. The other man with them was a young man, dark-haired and eyed, a simple man-at-arms, perhaps not more than twenty. He wore the scarlet of a warrior. He carried a short sword and stood between us and the others.

Kamchak regarded him, and I thought with the merest trace of amusement.

"Do not interfere, Lad," said he, quietly. "There is the business of men afoot in this place."

"Stand back, Tuchuk," cried the young man. He held his sword ready.

Kamchak signaled for a bag of gold, and Phanius Turmus was kicked forward, and from a large, bronze pan which he carried, Kamchak removed a sack of gold and threw it to one side.

The young man did not move from his place, but set himself to take the charge of the Tuchuks.

Kamchak threw another sack of gold to his feet, and then another.

"I am a warrior," said the young man proudly.

Kamchak signaled his archers and they came forward, their arrows trained on the young man.

He then threw, one after another, a dozen bags of gold to the floor.

"Save your gold, Tuchuk sleep," said the young man. "I am a warrior and I know my codes."

"As you wish," said Kamchak and raised his hand to signal the archers.;` "Do not" I cried.

In that moment, uttering the Turian war cry, the young man rushed forward with his sword on Kamchak and the dozen arrows flew simultaneously, striking him a dozen times, turning him twice. Yet did he try still to stagger forward and then another arrow and another pierced his body until he fell at Kamchak's feet.

To my astonishment I saw that not one of the arrows had penetrated his torso or head or abdomen, but that each had struck only an arm or leg.

It had been no accident.

Kamchak turned the young man over with his boot. "Be a Tuchuk," he said.

"Never," wept the young man in pain, between clenched teeth. "Never, Tuchuk sleen, never!"

Kamchak turned to certain of the warriors with him. "Bind his wounds," he said. "See that he lives. When he can ride teach him the saddle of the kaiila, the quiva, the bow and lance Put him in the leather of a Tuchuk. We have need of such men among the wagons."

I saw the astonished eyes of the young man regarding Kamchak, and then he was carried away. "In time," said Kamchak, "that boy will command a Thou- sand."

Then Kamchak lifted his head and regarded the other three men, seated Ha-Keel, calm with his sword, and the frantic Saphrar of Turia, and the tall Paravaci, with the quiva.

"Mine is the Paravaci!" cried Harold.

The man turned angrily to face him, but he did not advance, nor hurl his quiva.

Harold leaped forward. "Let us fight!" he cried.

At a gesture from Kamchak Harold stepped back, angry, a quiva in his hand.

The two sleen were snarling and pulling at their collar. The tawny hair hanging from their jaws was flecked with the foam of their agitation. Their eyes blazed. The claws when they emerged and retracted and emerged again tore at the rug.

"Do not approach!" cried Saphrar, "or I shall destroy the golden sphere!" He tore away the purple cloth that had enfolded the golden sphere and then lifted it high over his head. My heart stopped for the instant. I put out my hand, to touch Kamchak's leather sleeve.

"He must not," I said, "he must not."

"Why not?" asked Kamchak. "It is worthless."

"Stand back!" screamed Saphrar.

"You do not understand!" I cried to Kamchak.

I saw Saphrar's eyes gleam. "Listen to the Koroban!" he said. "He knows! He knows!"

"Does it truly make a difference," asked Kamchak of me, "whether or not he shatters the sphere?"

"Yes," I said, "there is nothing more valuable on all Gor it is perhaps worth the planet itself."

"Listen to him!" screamed Saphrar. "If you approach I shall destroy this!"

"No harm must come to it," I begged Kamchak.

"Why?" asked Kamchak.

I was silent, not knowing how to say what had to be said. Kamchak regarded Saphrar. "What is it that you hold?" he asked.

"The golden sphere!" cried Saphrar.

"But what is the golden sphere?" queried Kamchak.

"I do not know," said Saphrar, "but I know that there are men who will pay half the wealth of Gor for this"

"I," said Kamchak, "would not give a copper tarn disk for it."

"Listen to the Koroban!" cried Saphrar.

"It must not be destroyed," I said.

"Why?" asked Kamchak.

"Because," I said, "It is the last seed of Priest-Kings an egg a child the hope of Priest-Kings, to them all- everything, the world, the universe."

The men murmured with surprise about me. Saphrar's eyes seemed to pop. Ha-Keel looked up, suddenly, seeming to forget his sword and its oiling. The Paravaci regarded Saphrar. "I think not," said Kamchak. "I think rather it is worth- less."

"No, Kamchak," I said, "please."

"It was for the golden sphere, was it not," asked Kamchak, "that you came to the Wagon Peoples?"

"Yes," I said, "it was." I recalled our conversation in the wagon of Kutaituchik.

The men about us shifted, some of them angrily.

'You would have stolen it?" asked Kamchak.

"Yes," I said. "I would have."

"As Saphrar did?" asked Kamchak.

"I would not have slain Kutaituchik," I said.

"Why would you steal it?" asked Kamchak.

"To return it to the Sardar," I said.

"Not to keep it for yourself, nor for riches?"

"No," I said, "not for that."

"I believe you," said Kamchak. He looked at me. "We knew that in time someone would come from the Sardar. We did not know that you would be the one."

"Nor did I," I said.

Kamchak regarded the merchant. "Is it your intention to buy your life with the golden sphere?"

— "If necessary," said Saphrar, "yes"

"But I do not want it," said Kamchak. "It is you I want." Saphrar blanched and held the sphere again over his head. I was relieved to see that Kamchak signaled his bowmen not to fire. He then waved them, and the others, with the exception of Harold and myself, and the Sleen keeper and his animals, back several yards.

"That is better," wheezed Saphrar.

'Sheath your weapons," ordered the Paravaci.

We did so.

"Go back with your men" cried Saphrar, backing away from us a step. "I will shatter the golden sphere!" Slowly Kamchak, and Harold and I, and the sleen keeper, dragging the two sleen, walked backwards. The animals raged against the chain leashes, maddened as they were drawn farther from Saphrar, their prey.

The Paravaci turned to Ha-Keel, who had now resheathed his sword and stood up. Ha-Keel stretched and blinked once. "You have a tarn," the Paravaci said. "Take me with you. I can give you half the riches of the Paravaci Bosk and gold and women and wagons!"

"I would suppose," said Ha-Keel, "that all that you have is not worth so much as the golden sphere and that is Saphrar of Turia's."

"You cannot leave me here" cried the Paravaci.

'You are outbid for my services," yawned Ha-Keel.

The Paravaci's eyes were white in the black hood and his head turned wildly to regard the Tuchuks clustered in the far end of the room.

"Then it will be miner" he cried and raced to Saphrar, trying to seize the sphere.

"Miner Mine" screamed Saphrar, trying to retain the sphere.

Ha-Keel looked on, with interest.

I would have rushed forward, but Kamchak's hand reached out and touched my arm, restraining me.

"No harm must come to the golden sphere!" I cried. The Paravaci was much stronger than the fat, tiny mer- chant and he soon had his hands well on the sphere and west tearing it out of the smaller man's clutching hands. Saphrar was screaming insanely and then, to my astonishment, he bit the Paravaci's forearm, sinking the two golden upper canine teeth into the hooded man's flesh. The Paravaci suddenly cried out in uncanny fear and shuddered and, to my horror, the golden sphere, which he had succeeded in wresting from Saphrar, was thrown a dozen feet across the room, and shattered on the floor.

A cry of horror escaped my lips and I rushed forward. Tears burst from my eyes. I could not restrain a moan as I fell to my knees beside the shattered fragments of the egg. It was done, gone, ended My mission had failed! The Priest- Kings would diet This world, and perhaps my other, dear Earth, would now fall to the mysterious Others, whoever or whatever they might be. It was done, gone, ended, dead, dead, hopeless, gone, dead.

I was scarcely aware of the brief whimpering of the Paravaci as, twisting and turning on the rug, biting at it, holding his arm, his flesh turning orange from ost venom, he writhed and died.

Kamchak walked to him and tore away the mask. I saw the contorted, now-orange, twisted, agonized face. Already it was like colored paper and peeling, as though lit and burned from the inside. There were drops of blood and sweat on it. I heard Harold say, "It is Tolnus."

"Of course," said Kamchak. "It had to have been the Ubar of the Paravaci for who else could have sent their riders against the Tuchuk wagons, who else could have promised a mercenary tarnsman half the bask and gold and women and wagons of the Paravaci?"

I was only dimly aware of their conversation. I recalled Tolnus, for he had been one of the four Ubars of the Wagon Peoples, whom I, unknowing, had met when first I came to the Plains of Turia, to the Land of the Wagon Peoples. Kamchak bent to the figure and, opening his garments, tore from his neck the almost priceless collar of jewels which the man had worn.

He threw this to one of his men. "Give this to the Parava- ci," he said, "that they may buy back some of their bask and women from the Kataii and the Kassars."

I was only partly cognizant of these things, for I was overcome with grief, kneeling in Saphrar's audience hall before the shards of the shattered golden sphere.

I was conscious of Kamchak now standing near to me, and behind him Harold.

Unabashed I wept.

It was not only that I had failed, that what I had fought for had now vanished, become ashes not only that the war of Priest-Kings, in which I had played a prominent part, fought long before over such matters, had now become fruitless, meaningless that my friend Misk's life and its purpose would now be shattered even that this world and perhaps Earth itself might now, undefended, fall in time to the mysterious Others but that what lay in the egg itself, the innocent victim of intrigues which had lasted centuries and might perhaps being worlds into conflict, was dead it had done nothing to warrant such a fate; the child, so to speak, of Priest-Kings, what could have become the Mother, was now dead.

I shook with sobs, not caring.

I heard, vaguely, someone say, "Saphrar and Ha-Keel have fled.

Near me Kamchak said, quietly, "Release the sleen. Let them hunt."

I heard the chains loosened and the two sleen bounded from the room, eyes blazing.

I would not have cared to have been Saphrar of Turia. "Be strong, Warrior of Ko-ro-ba," said Kamchak, kindly. "You do not understand, my friend," I wept, "you do not understand."

The Tuchuks stood about, in their black leather. The sleen keeper stood nearby, the chain leashes loose in his hands. In the background there stood the slaves with their pans of gold.

I became aware of a strong odor, of rottenness, exuding from the shattered thing which lay before me.

"It smells," Harold was saying. He knelt down near the fragments, disgust on his face, fingering the stiff, leathery ruptured egg, some of the golden pieces broken from it. He was rubbing one of them between his thumb and forefinger. My head down, I cared for nothing.

"Have you examined the golden sphere carefully?"

Kamchak was asking.

"I never had the opportunity, I said.

"You might do so now," said Kamchak.

I shook my head negatively.

"Look," said Harold, thrusting his hand under my face. I saw that his thumb and forefinger were marked with a golden stain.

I gazed at his hand, not comprehending.

"It is dye," he said.

"Dye?" I asked.

Harold got up and went to the shattered, stiff shard" of the egg. From it, wet, wrinkled. rotted, dead for perhaps months or years, he drew forth the body of an unborn tharlarion. "I told you," said Kamchak, kindly, "the egg was worth less."

I staggered to my feet, standing now and looking down at the shattered fragments of the egg. I stooped down and picked up one of the stiff shards and rubbed it, seeing the golden stain now left on my fingertips.

"It is not the egg of Priest-Kings," said Kamchak. "Do you truly think we would permit enemies to know the wherea- bouts of such a thing?"

I looked at Kamchak, tears in my eyes.

Suddenly, far off, we heard a weird scream, high, waver- ing, and the shrill howls of frustrated sleen.

"It is ended," said Kamchak. "It is ended."

He turned in the direction from which the scream had come. Slowly, not hurrying, in his boots he tramped across the rug, toward the sound. He stopped once beside the twisted, hideous body of Tolnw of the Paravaci. "it is too bad," he said, "I would have preferred to stake him out In the path of the bask." Then, saying no more, Kamchak, the rest of us following, left the room, guiding ourselves by the distant, frustrated howls of disappointed Sleen.

We came together to the brink of the Yellow Pool of Turia. At its marbled edge, hissing and quivering with rage, throwing their heads now and again upward and howling in frustrated fury were the two, tawny hunting sleen, their maddened round eyes blazing on the pathetic figure of Saphrar of Turia, blubbering and whimpering, sobbing, reaching out, his fingers scratching the air as though he would climb it, for the graceful, decorative vines that hung above the pool, more than twenty feet above his head. He struggled to move in the glistening, resprung, sparkling substance of the Yellow Pool, but could not change his place. The fat hands with the scarlet fingernails seemed suddenly to be drawn and thin, clutching. The merchant was covered with sweat. He was surrounded by the luminous, white spheres that floated under the surface about him, perhaps watching, perhaps somehow recording his position in virtue of pressure waves in the medium. The golden droplets which Saphrar wore in place of eyebrows fed unnoticed into the fluid that humped itself thickening itself about him. Beneath the surface we could see places where his robes had been eaten away and the skin was turning white beneath the surface, the juices of the pool etching their way into his body, taking its protein and nutriment into its own, digesting it. Saphrar took a step deeper into the pool and the pool permitted this, and he now stood with the fluids level with his chest "Lower the vines!" begged Saphrar.

No one moved.

Saphrar threw back his head like a dog and howled in pain. He began to scratch and tear at his body, as if mad. Len, tears bursting from his eyes, he held out his hands to Kamchak of the Tuchuks.

"Please" he cried.

"Remember Kutaituchik," said Kamchak.

Saphrar screamed in agony and moving beneath the yellow glistening surface of the pool I saw several of the filamentous fibers encircle his legs and begin to draw him deeper into the pool and beneath the surface.

Then Saphrar, merchant of Turia, struggled, pounding against the caked material near to him, to prevent his being drawn under. The eyes were bulging perhaps a quarter of an inch from the little round head and the mouth, with its two golden teeth, now emptied of ost venom, seemed to be screaming but there was no sound.

"The egg," Kamchak informed him, "was the egg of a tharlarion it was worthless."

The fluid now had reached Saphrar's chin and his head was back to try and keep his nose and mouth over the surface. His head shook with horror.

"Please!" he cried once more, the syllable lost in the bubbling yellow mass that reached into his mouth.

"Remember Kutaituchik," said Kamchak, and the filament- tous fibers about the merchant's legs and ankles drew him slowly downward. Some bubbles broke the surface. Then the merchant's hands, still extended as though to grasp the vines overhead, with their scarlet fingernails, the robes eaten away from the flesh, disappeared beneath the sparkling, glistening surface.

We stood silently there for a time, until Kamchak saw small, white bones, like bleached driftwood, rocking on the sparkling, now watery surface, being moved bit by bit, almost as if by tides, to the edge of the pool, where I gathered attendants would normally collect and discard them. "Bring a torch," said Kamchak.

He looked down into the sparkling, glistening living fluid of the Yellow Pool of Turia.

"It was Saphrar of Turia," said Kamchak to me, "who first introduced Kutaituchik to the strings of kanda." He added, 'it was twice he killed my father."

The torch was brought, and the pool seemed to discharge its vapor more rapidly, and the fluids began to churn, and draw away from our edge of the pool. The yellows of the pool began to flicker and the filamentous fibers began to writhe, and the spheres of different colors beneath the sur- face began to turn and oscillate, and dart in one direction and then the other.

Kamchak took the torch and with his right hand, in a long arc, flung it to the center of the pool.

Suddenly like an explosion and conflagration the pool erupted into flames and Kamchak and I and Harold and the others shielded our faces and eyes and withdrew before the fury of the fire. The pool began to roar and hiss and bubble and scatter parts of itself, flaming, into the air and again to the walls. Even the vines caught fire. The pool then at drawn under. The eyes were bulging perhaps a quarter of an inch from the little round head and the mouth, with its two golden teeth, now emptied of ost venom, seemed to be screaming but there was no sound.

It tempted to desiccate itself and retreat into its hardened shell-like condition but the fire within the closing shell burst it apart and open and then it was again like a lake of burning oil, with portions of the shell tossed like flaming chips upon it For better than an hour it burned and then the basin of the pool, now black, in places the marble fused and melted, was empty, save for smears of carbon and grease, and some cracked, blackened bones, and some drops of melted gold, what had been left perhaps of the golden drops which Saphrar of Turia had worn over his eyes, and the two golden teeth, which hall once held the venom of an ost.

"Kutaituchik is avenged," said Kamchak, and turned from the room.

Harold and I, and the others followed him.

Outside the compound of Saphrar, which was now burn- ing, we mounted kaiila to return to the wagons outside the walls.

A man approached Kamchak. "The tarnsman," he said, "escaped." He added, "As you said, we did not fire on him for he did not have with him the merchant, Saphrar of Turia."

Kamchak nodded. "I have no quarrel with Ha-Reel, the mercenary," he said. Then Kamchak looked at me. "You, however," he said, "now that he knows of the stakes in these games, may meet him again. He draws his sword only in the name of gold, but I expect that now, Saphrar dead, those who employed the merchant may need new agents for their work and that they will pay the price of a sword such as that of Ha-keel" Kamchak grinned at me, the first time since the death of Kutaituchik. "It is said," remarked Kamchak, "that the sword of Ha-Keel is scarcely less swift and cunning than that of Pa-Kur, the Master of Assassin" "Pa-Kur is dead," I said. "He died in the siege of Ar." "Was the body recovered?" asked Kamchak.

"No," I said.

Kamchak smiled. "I think, Tart Cabot," he said. "you would never make a Tuchuk."

'Why is that?" I asked.

"You are too innocent," he said, "too trusting."

"Long ago," said Harold, nearby, "I gave up expecting more of a Koroban."

I smiled. "Pa-Kur," I said, "defeated in personal combat on the high roof of the Cylinder of Justice in Ar, turned and to avoid capture threw himself over the ledge. I do not think he could fly."

"Was the body recovered?" Kamchak asked again.

"No," I said. "But what does it matter?"

"It would matter to a Tuchuk," said Kamchak.

"You Tuchuks are indeed a suspicion lot," I remarked. "What would have happened to the body?" asked Harold, and it seemed he was serious.

"I-suppose," I said, "it was torn to pieces by the crowds below or lost with the other dead. Many things could have happened to it."

"It seems then," said Kamchak, "that he is dead."

"Surely," I said.

"Let us hope so," said Kamchak, "For your sake."

We turned the kaiila from the courtyard of the burning House of Saphrar and, abreast, rode from that place. We rode without speaking but Kamchak, for the first time in weeks, whistled a tune. Once he turned to Harold. "I think in a few days we might hunt tumits," he remarked.

"I would enjoy that," remarked Harold.

"Perhaps you will join us?" inquired Kamchak.

"I think," I said, "I shall leave the Wagons soon for I have failed in my mission on behalf of Priest-Kings." "What mission is that?" inquired Kamchak innocently. 'No find the last egg of Priest-Kings," I said, perhaps irritably, "and to return it to the Sardar."

'Why do Priest-Kings not do their own errands?" asked Harold.

'Whey cannot stand the sun," I said. "They are not as Men and if men saw them they might fear and try to kill them the egg might be destroyed.

"Someday," said Harold, "you must speak to me of Priest Kings."

"Very well," I agreed.

"I thought you might be the one," said Kamchak.

"What one?" I asked.

"The one that the two men who brought the sphere told me might come one day to claim it."

"The two men," I said, "are dead their cities warred upon one another and in battle they slew one another." "They seemed to me fine warriors," said Kamchak. "I am sorry to hear it."

"When did they come to the wagons?" I asked.

"As recently as two years ago," he said.

"They gave you the egg?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, "to keep for Priest-Kings." He added, "It was wise of them, for the Wagon Peoples are among the farthest and most fierce of the Goreans, living free hundreds of pasangs from all cities, save Turia."

"Do you know where the egg is now?" I asked.

"Of course," he said.

I began to shake in the saddle of the kailla, trembling. The reins moved in my hands and the beast shifted nervously. I reined in the kailla.

"Do not tell me where it Is," I said, "or I should feel bound to attempt to seize it and take it to the Sardar." "But are you not he who is to come from Priest-Kings to claim the egg?" inquired Kamchak.

"I am he," I said.

"Then why would you wish to seize it and carry it away?" he asked.

"I have no way to prove that I come from Priest-Kings," I said. "Why would you believe me?"

"Because," said Kamchak, "I have come to know you." I said nothing.

"I have watched you carefully, Tarl Cabot of the City of Ko-ro-ba," said he, Kamchak of the Tuchuks. "Once you "pared my life, and we held grass and earth together, and from that time, even had you been outlaw and knave, I would have died for you, but still, of course, I could not give you the egg. Then you went with Harold to the city, and so I knew that to seize the egg against such overwhelming odds you were ready to give your life. Such a venture would not in all likelihood have been attempted by one who labored only for gold. That taught me that it was indeed probable that you were he chosen by Priest-Kings to come for the egg." "That is why," I asked, "you let me go to Turia though you knew the Golden Sphere was worthless"

"Yes," said Kamchak, "that is why."

"And why, after that," I asked, "did you not give me the egg?"

Kamchak smiled. "I needed only one last thing," said he, Tarl Cabot."

"And what was that?" I asked.

"To know that you wanted the egg for Priest-Kings alone, and not for yourself." Kamchak put out his hand and touched my arm. "That is why," he said, "I wanted the golden sphere shattered. I would have done it myself had it not been broken, to see what you would have done, to see if you would have been enraged at your loss, or if you would have been overcome with grief, on behalf of Priest-Kings." Kamchak smiled gently. "When you wept," he said, "I knew then that you cared for it, and for Priest-Kings that you had truly come for the egg and that you wanted it for them and not for yourself."

I looked at him, dumbfounded.

"forgive me," he said, "if I am cruel for I am a Tuchuk, but though I care much for you I kind to know the truth of these mattes."

"No forgiveness is necessary," I said. "In your place, I think I might well have done the same thing."

Kamchak's hand closed on mine and we clasped hands. 'Where is the egg?" I asked.

"Where would you think to find it?" he asked.

"I don't know," I said. "If I did not know better, I would expect to have found it in the wagon of Kutaituchik the wagon of the Ubar of the Tuchuks."

"I approve of your conjecture," he said, "but Kutaituchik, as you know, was not the Ubar of the Tuchuks."

I gazed at him.

"I am Ubar of the Tuchuks," he said.

"You mean" I said.

"Yes," said Kamchak, "the egg has been in my wagon for two years."

"But I lived in your wagon for months!" I cried.

"Did you not see the egg?" he asked.

'No," I said. "It must have been marvelously concealed." "What does the egg look like?" he asked.

I sat still on the back of the kaiila. "I don't know," I said.

"You thought, perhaps," he asked, "it would be golden and spherical?"

"Yes," I said, "I did."

"It was for such a reason," he said, "that we Tuchuks dyed the egg of a tharlarion and placed it in the wagon of Kutaituchik, letting its position be known."

I was speechless, and could not respond to the Tuchuk. 'I think," said he, "you have often seen the egg of Priest- Kings, for it lies about in my wagon. Indeed, the Paravaci who raided my wagon did not regard it as of sufficient interest to carry away."

'That!" I cried.

"Yes, said he, "the curiosity, the gray, leathery object that."

I shook my head in disbelief.

I recalled Kamchak sitting on the gray, rather squarish, grained thing with the rounded corners. I recalled he had moved it about with his foot, that once he had kicked it across the wagon for me to examine.

"Sometimes," said Kamchak, "the way to conceal some- thing is not to conceal It, it is thought that what is of value will be hidden, and so it is natural to suppose that what is not hidden will not be of value."

"But," I said, my voice trembling, "you rolled it about you would throw it to the side of the wagon once you even kicked it across the rug to me that I might examine it." I looked at him, incredulously. "Even," I said, "did you dare to sit upon it"

'I shall hope," chuckled Kamchak, "that the Priest-Kings will take no offense, but understand that such little bits of acting rather well carried off, I think were important parts of my deception."

I smiled, thinking of Misk's joy at receiving the egg. "They will take little offense," I said.

"Do not fear the egg was injured," said Kamchak, "for to injure the egg of Priest-Kings I would have had to use a quiva or ax."

"Wily Tuchuk," I said.

Kamchak and Harold laughed.

"I hope," I said, "that after this time the egg is still Kamchak shrugged. "We have watched it," he said, "we have done what we could."

"And I and Priest-Kings are grateful to you," I said. Kamchak smiled. "We are pleased to be of service to Priest-Kings," he said, "but remember that we reverence only the sky."

"And courage," added Harold, "and such things."

Kamchak and I laughed.

"I think it is because at least in part," I said, "that you reverence the sky and courage and such things that the egg was brought to you."

"Perhaps," said Kamchak, "but I shall be glad to be rid of it, and besides it is nearly the best time for hunting tumits with the bole"

"By the way, Ubar," asked Harold, winking at me, "what was it you paid for Aphris of Turia?"

Kamchak threw him a look that might have been a quiva in the heart.

"You have found Aphris!" I cried.

"Albrecht of the Kassars," remarked Harold, casually, "picked her up while raiding the Paravaci camp."

"Wonderful!" I cried.

"She is only a slave, and unimportant," growled Kamchak. "What did you pay for her return?" inquired Harold, with great innocence.

"Almost nothing," muttered Kamchak, "for she is nearly worthless."

"I am very pleased," I said, "that she is alive and well and I gather that you were able to purchase her from Albrecht of the Kassars without difficulty."

Harold put his hand over his mouth and turned away, sniggering, and Kamchak's head seemed to sink angrily into his shoulders.

"What did you pay?" I asked.

"It is hard to outwit a Tuchuk in a bargain," remarked Harold, turning back, rather confidently.

"It will soon be time to hunt tumits," growled Kamchak, looking off across the grass toward the wagons beyond the walls.

Well did I recall how Kamchak had made Albrecht of the Kassars pay dearly for the return of his little darling Ten- chika, and how he had roared with laughter because the Kassar had paid such a price, obviously having allowed himself to care for a mere slave girl, and she a Turian at that "I would guess," said Harold, "that so shrewd a Tuchuk as Kamchak, the very Ubar of our wagons, would have paid no more than a handful of copper tarn disks for a wench of such sorts."

"The tumits run best this time of year rather toward the Cartius," observed Kamchak.

"I'm very happy," I said, "to hear that you have Aphris back. She cared for you, you know."

Kamchak shrugged.

"I have heard," said Harold, "that she does nothing but sing around the bask and in the wagon all day I myself would probably beat a girl who- insisted on making all that noise.

"I think," said Kamchak, "I will have a new bole made for the hunting."

"He is, of course," observed Harold, "quite handsome." Kamchak growled menacingly.

"At any rate," continued Harold, "I know that he would have upheld the honor of the Tuchuks in such matters and driven a hard bargain with the unwary Kassar."

"The important thing," I said, "is that Aphris is back and safe." We rode on for a while more. Then I asked, "By the way, as a matter of fact, what did you pay for her?" Kamchak's face was black with rage. He looked at Harold, who smiled innocently and questioningly, and then atI me, who was only honestly curious. Kamchak's hands were like white clubs knotted on the reins of the kaiila. "Ten thousand bars of gold`," he said.

I stopped the kaiila and regarded him, astounded. Harold began to pound his saddle and howl with laughter.

Kamchak's eyes, had they been jets of fire, would have frizzled the young, blond Tuchuk in his saddle.

"Well, well," I said, a certain regrettable malicious elation perhaps unfortunately detectable in my voice.

Now Kamchak's eyes would have frizzled me as well. Then a wry glint of amusement sparkled in the Tuchuk's eyes and the furrowed face wrinkled into a sheepish grin. 'Yes," he said, "Tart Cabot, I did not know until then that I was a fool."

"Nonetheless, Cabot," remarked Harold, "do you not think, all things considered, he is on the whole albeit unwise n certain matters an excellent Ubar?"

"On the whole," I agreed, "albeit perhaps unwise in certain Matters an excellent Ubar."

Kamchak glared at Harold, and then at me, and then he looked down, scratching his ear; then he looked at us again, and all three of us suddenly burst together into laughter, and tears even streamed down Kamchak's face, running here and there among the scarred furrows on his cheeks.

"You might have pointed out," said Harold to Kamchak, "that the gold was Turian gold."

"Yes," cried Kamchak, "that is true it was Turian gold!" He cracked his fist on his thigh. "Turian gold"

"One might claim," said Harold, "that that makes quite a difference. "Yes!" cried Kamchak.

"On the other hand," said Harold, "I for one would not claim that."

Kamchak straightened in the saddle and thought about it. Then he chuckled and said, "Nor would I."

Again we laughed and, suddenly, we urged the kailla forward in great bounding strides, eager to reach the wagons, each of us, for waiting in these wagons were three girls, desirable, marvelous, ours, Hereena, she who had been of the First Wagon, the slave of Harold, her master; Aphris of Turia, almond-eyed and exquisite, once the richest and per- haps the most beautiful woman of her city, now the simple slave of the Ubar of Tuchuks, he Kamchak; and the slender, lovely, dark-haired, dark-eyed Elizabeth Cardwell, once a proud girl of Earth, now only the helpless and beautiful slave of a warrior of Ko-ro-ba; a girl in whose nose had been fixed the delicate, provocative golden ring of Tuchuk women, a girl whose thigh bore unmistakably the brand of the four bask horns, whose lovely throat was encircled by a collar of steel, bearing my name; a girl whose rapturous and uncon- trollable submission had, in its utterness, astounded both herself and me, both he who commanded and she who served, he who took and she who was given no choice but to yield unreservedly. When she had left my arms she had lain upon the rug and wept. "I have nothing more to give," she cried. "Nothing morel"

"It is enough," I had told her.

And she had wept with joy, pressing her head with its loose, wild hair to my side.

"Is my master pleased with me?" she had asked.

"Yes," I had told her. "Yes, Vella, Kajira mire. I am pleased. I am pleased indeed."

I leaped from the back of the kaiila and ran toward the wagon and the girl waiting there cried out with joy and tad to me and I swept her into my arms and our lips met and she wept, "You are safer You are safer"

"Yes," I said, "I am safe and you are safe and the world is safer"

At the time I believed that what I kind said was true. I gathered that the best season for hunting tumits, the large, flightless carnivorous birds of the southern plains, was at hand, for Kamchak, Harold and others seemed to be looking forward to it with great eagerness. Kutaituchik avenged, Kamchak was no longer interested in Turia, though he wished the city to be restored, perhaps in order that the Wagon Peoples might have a valuable trade outlet whereby they could manage, if the caravan raids turned out poorly, to barter hides and horn for the goods of civilization. On the last day before the withdrawal of the Wagon Peoples from nine-gated, high-walled Turia, Kamchak held court in the palace of Phanius Turmus. The Turian Ubar himself, with Kamras, former Champion of Turia, both clad m the Kes, were chained at the door, to wash the feet of those who would enter.

Turia had been a rich city, and though much gold had been given to the tarnsmen of Ha-Keel and the defenders of t he House of Saphrar, it was a tiny amount when compared with the whole, not even counting that lost by being carried by civilians through the gates Kamchak had designated as I escapes from the burning city. Indeed, Saphrar's secret hordes alone, kept in dozens of vast underground storehouses, would have been enough to have made each and every Tuchuk, and perhaps each Kataii and Kassar as well, a rich man a very rich man in any of the cities of Gor. I recalled that never before had Turia fallen, not since the founding of the city, perhaps thousands of years ago. Yet a large portion of this wealth perhaps a third Kamchak designated should be left behind in the city, to aid in its rebuilding.

Kamchak, as a Tuchuk, could not bring himself to be quite as generous with the city's women, and the five thousand most beautiful girls of Turia were branded and given to the commanders of Hundreds, that they might be distributed to the bravest and fiercest of their warriors; the others were permitted to remain in the city or flee through the gates to seek their fellow citizens beyond the walls. Additionally, of course, beyond the free women, numerous slaves had fallen into the hands of the warriors, and these, too, were sent to the commanders of Hundreds. The most marvelous set of the latter were the beauties from the Pleasure Gardens of Saphrar of Turia. The girls of the Wagon Peoples, of course, who had been enslaved, were freed; the others, however, save for some of Ko-ro-ba on whose behalf I spoke, would change their perfumed silks and their warmed, scented baths for the hardships of the trek, the care of bask, and the arms of warrior masters. Few it seemed to me, surprisingly perhaps, much objected to leaving the luxurious delights of the gar- dens of Saphrar for the freedom of the winds and prairies, the dust, the smell of bask, the collar of a man who would master them utterly but before whom they would stand al human shes, individual, each different, each alone and mar- velous and prized in the secret world of her master's wagon. In the palace of Phanius Emus, on his throne, eat. Kamchak, the purple of the Ubar's robes thrown casually over one shoulder, over his Tuchuk leather. He did not now sit dourly as before, stern and lost in thought, but attended to the details of his business with good humor, stopping only now and then to throw scraps of meat to his kaiila, which was tethered behind the throne. As a matter of course various goods and riches were heaped about his throne, and' among them, as part of the booty, there knelt some of the most beautiful of Turia's maidens, clad only in the Sirik, but at his right knee, unchained and clad Kajir, there knot t Aphris of Curia.; About his throne as well there stood his commanders, and some leaders of Hundreds, many with their women. Beside me, clad not Kajir but in the brief leather of one of the Wagon Girls, though collared, stood Elizabeth Cardwell; sim ilarly attired and collared, I noted, standing a bit behind Harold of the Tuchuks, I saw the fiery Hereena; she was perhaps the only one of all the girls of the Wagon Peoples that day in Turia who was not free; she alone remained slave, and would so remain until or unless it might please Harold, her master, that it should be otherwise; "I rather like the look of a collar on her throat," he once remarked in his wagon, before ordering her to prepare food for Kamchak and Aphris, and myself and Elizabeth, or Vella, as I would sometimes can her. I gathered that the proud Hereena might long be the slave of Harold of the Tuchuks.

As fellow after fellow, men of importance in Turia, were dragged before his throne, in the Kes and chained, Kamchak would say to them, "Your goods and your women are mine. Who is the Master of Turia?"

"Kamchak of the Tuchuks," they would say, and be dragged away.

To some he would ask, "Has Turia fallen?"

And they would bow their heads and say, "She has fallen." At last Phanius Turmus and Kamras were pulled before the throne and thrust to their knees.

Kamchak gestured to the riches piled about him. "Whose h the wealth of Turia?" he asked.

"Kamchak of the Tuchuks'," said they.

Karuchak thrust his fist affectionately into the hair of Aphris of Turia and twisted her head to him.

"whose are the women of Turia?" he asked.

"Master," said Aphris.

"Kamchak of the Tuchuks'," said the two men.

"Who," laughed Kamchak, "is Ubar of Turia?"

"Kamchak of the Tuchuks," said the two.

"Bring the Home Stone of the city," commanded Kamchak, and the stone, oval and aged, carved with the initial letter of the city, was brought to him.

He lifted the stone over his head and read fear in the eyes of the two men chained before him.

But he did not dash the stone to the floor. Rather he arose Tom his throne and placed the stone in the chained hands of Phanius Turmus. "Turia lives," said he, "Ubar."

Tears formed in the eyes of Phanius Turmus and he held the Home Stone of the city to his heart.

"In the morning," called Kamchak, "we return to the wagons."

"You will spare Turia, Master?" asked Aphris, wondering, knowing the hatred he had borne the city.

"Yes," said he, "Turia will live."

Aphris looked at him, not understanding.

I myself was startled, but would not speak. I had thought that Kamchak might destroy the stone, thus breaking the heart of the city, leaving it in ruins in the minds of men. It was only at that time, as he held court in the palace of Phanius Turmus that I realized he would permit the city its freedom, and its soul. I had hitherto only understood that Turians might perhaps return to the city, and that its walls would be left standing. I had not understood that it would be permitted to retain a Home Stone.

It seemed to me a strange act for a conqueror, for a Tuchuk.

Was it only because Kamchak believed, as he had once said, that the Wagon Peoples must have an enemy? or was there some other reason, beyond that?

Suddenly there was commotion at the door and three men, followed by some others, burst into the hall.

The first was Conrad of the Kassars, and with him were Hakimba of the Kataii and a third man I did not know, but who was Paravaci. Behind them were some others, among whom I saw Albrecht of the Kassars, and behind him, to my astonishment, clad in brief leather, not collared, was Ten chika, who held a small bundle tied in cloth in her right hand. Conrad, Hakimba and the Paravaci strode to the throne of Kamchak, but none of them, as befitted Ubars of their peoples, knelt. Conrad spoke. "The Omens have been taken," he said. "They have been read well," said Hakimba.

"For the first time in more than a hundred years," said the Paravaci, "there is a Ubar San, a One Ubar, Master of the Wagons!"

Karnchak stood up and threw from his shoulders the purple of the Turian Ubar and stood in the black leather of a Tuchuk.

As one man the three Ubars raised their arms to him. "Kamchak," they cried, "Ubar San!"

The cry was taken up by all in the room, even myself. 'Kamchak' Ubar San"

Kamchak held forth his hands and the room was quiet. "Each of you," he said, "the Kassars the Kataii the Para vaci have your own bask and your own wagons live so but in time of war when there are those who would divide us when there are those who would fight us and threaten our wagons and our bask and women our plains, our land then let us war together and none will stand against the Wagon Peoples we may live alone but we are each of us of the Wagons and that which divides us is less than that which unites us we each of us know that it is wrong to slay bosk and that it is right to be proud and to have courage and to defend our wagons and our women we know that it is right to be strong and to be free and so it is together that we will be strong and we will be free. Let this be pledged." The three men came to Kamchak and he and they placed their hands together.

"It is pledged," they said. "It is pledged."

Then they stood back. "All hail Kamchak," they cried, "Ubar San!"

"All hail Kamchak," rang throughout the hall, "Kamchak Ubar San!"

It was late in the afternoon before the business of the day had subsided and the great hall emptied.

At last only a few remained in that place, some command- ers and some leaders of Hundreds, and Kamchak and Aphris. Harold and I were there, too, and Hereena and Elizabeth. Shortly before Albrecht and Tenchika had been there, and Dina of Turia with her two Tuchuk guards, who had kept her safe from harm during the fall of the city.

Tenchika had approached Dina of Turia.

"You wear no collar now," Dina had said.

Tenchika had dropped her head shyly. "I am free," she said.

"Will you now return to Turia?" asked Dina.

"No," said Tenchika, smiling. "I will remain with Albrecht With the wagons."

Albrecht himself was busy elsewhere, talking with Conrad, Ubar of the Kassars.

"Here," said Tenchika, thrusting the small cloth sack she held into Dina's hands. "These are yours you should have them you won them."

Dina, wondering, opened the package and within it she saw the cups and rings, and pieces of gold, which Albrecht had given her for her victories in the runnings from the bole. 'Wake them," insisted Tenchika.

"Does he know?" asked Dina.

"Of course," said Tenchika.

"He is kind," said Dina.

"I love him," said Tenchika, kissing Dina and hurrying away.

I approached Dina of Turia. I looked at the objects she held. "You must have run well indeed," I remarked. She laughed. "There is more than enough here to hire help," she said. "I shall reopen the shop of my father and brothers."

"If you like," I said, "I will give you a hundred times that."

"No," she said, smiling, "for this is my own."

Then she lowered her veil briefly and kissed me. "Good- bye, Tarl Cabot," she said. "I wish you well."

"And I," I said, "wish you well noble Dina of Turia." She laughed. "Foolish warrior," she chided, "I am only the daughter of a baker."

"He was a noble and valiant man," I said.

"Thank you," said she.

"And his daughter, too," I said, "is a noble and valiant woman and beautiful."

I did not permit her to replace her veil until I had kissed her, softly, one last time.

She refastened her veil and touched her fingertips to her lips beneath it and then pressed them to my lips and turned and hurried away.

Elizabeth had watched but she had shown no sign of anger or irritation.

"She is beautiful," said Elizabeth.

"Yes," I said, "she is." And then I looked at Elizabeth. "You, too," I told her, "are beautiful."

She looked up at me, smiling. "I know," she said.

"Vain wench," I said.

"A Gorean girl," she said, "need not pretend to be plain when she knows that she is beautiful."

'what ~ true," I admitted. "But where," I asked, "did you come by the notion that you are beautiful?"

"My master told me," she sniffed, "and my master does not lie does he?"

"Not often," I said, "and particularly not about matters of such importance."

'And I have seen men look at me," she said, "and I know that I would bring a good price."

I must have appeared scandalized.

"I would," said Elizabeth firmly, "I am worth many tarn disks."

"You are," I admitted.

"So I am beautiful," she concluded.

"It is true," I said.

"But," said she, "you will not sell me-will you?" "Not immediately," I said. "We shall see if you continue to please me."

"Oh, Tarl!" she said.

"Master," I prompted.

"Master," she said.

"Well?" I asked.

'I shall," she said, smiling, "strive to continue to please you."

"See that you do," I said.

"I love you," she said suddenly, "I love you, Tarl Cabot, Master." She put her arms about my neck and kissed me. I kept her long in my arms, savoring the warmth of her lips, the delicacy of her tongue on mine.

"Your slave," she whispered, "Master, forever your slave."

It was hard for me to believe that this marvelous, collared beauty in my arms was once a simple girl of Earth, that this astounding wench, Tuchuk and Gorean, was the same as Miss Elizabeth Cardwell, the young secretary who 80 long before had found herself inexplicably thrust into intrigues and circumstances beyond her comprehension on the plains of Gor. Whatever she might have been before, a clock number, a set of records in a personnel file, an unimportant employee, with her salary and benefits, under the obligation to please and impress other employees, scarcely more important than herself, she was now alive, and free in her emotions though her flesh might be subject to chains; she was now vital, passionate, loving, mine; I wondered if there were other girls of Barth in whom a transformation might be wrought, others who might, not fully understanding, long for a man and a world a world in which they must find and be themselves, for no other choice would be theisms world in which they might run and breathe and laugh and be swift and loving and prized and in their hearts at last open and free though paradoxically perhaps, for a time, or until the man should choose otherwise, wearing the collar of a slave girt But I dismissed such thoughts as foolish.

None remained now in the court of the Ubar other than Kamchak and Aphris, Harold and Hereena, and myself and Elizabeth Cardwell.

Kamchak looked across the room to me. "Well," said he, "the wager turned out well."~ I recalled he had spoken of this. "You gambled," I said,I "when you did not surrender Turia to return to defend the bask and wagons of the Tuchuks that the others, the Kataii and Kassars, would come to your aid." I shook my head. "It was a dangerous gamble," I said.

"Perhaps not so dangerous," said he, "for I know the Kataii and the Kassars better than they knew themselves." "You said there was more to the wager though," I re- marked, "that it was not yet done."

"It is now done," said he.

"What was the latter part of the wager?" I asked.

'That," said he, "the Kataii and the Kassars and, too, in time the Paravaci would see how we might be divided against ourselves and singly destroyed and would thus recognize the need for uniting the standards, bringing together the — Thousands under one command"

"That they would," I said, "recognize the need for the Ubar San?"

"Yes," said Kamchak, "that was the wager that I could teach them the Ubar San."

"Hail," said I, "Kamchak, Ubar San!"

"Hail," cried Harold, "Kamchak, Ubar San!"

Kamchak smiled and looked down. "It will soon be time for hunting tumits," he said.

As he turned to leave the throne room of Phanius Turmus, to return to the wagons, Aphris lightly rose to her feet to accompany him.

But Kamchak turned and faced her. She looked up at him, questioningly. It was hard to read his face. She stood quite close to him.

Gently, ever so gently, Kamchak put his hands on her arms and drew her to him and then, very softly, kissed her. "Master?" she asked.

Kamchak's hands were at the small, heavy lock at the back of the steel, Turian collar she wore. He turned the key and opened the collar, discarding it.

Aphris said nothing, but she trembled and shook her head slightly. She touched her throat disbelievingly.

"You are free," said the Tuchuk.

The girl looked at him, incredulously, bewildered. "Do not fear," he said. "You will be given riches." He smiled. "You will once again be the richest woman in all of Turia."

She could not answer him.

The girl, and the rest of us present, stood stunned. Most of us knew the peril, the hardship and danger the Tuchuk had sustained in her acquisition; all of us knew the price he had been willing to pay only recently that she, fallen into the hands of another, might be returned to lam We could not understand what he had done.

Kamchak turned abruptly from her striding to his kailla, which had been tethered behind the throne. He put one foot in the stirrup and mounted easily. Then, not pressing the animal, he took his way from the throne room. The rest of us followed him, with the exception of Aphris who remained, stricken, standing beside the throne of the Ubar, clad perhaps Kajir, but now uncollared, now free. Her fingertips were before her mouth. She seemed numb. She shook her head. I walked behind Kamchak, on his kaiila. Harold walked beside me. Hereena and Elizabeth followed us, each, as was proper, some two paces behind.

"Why is it," I asked Harold, "that he spared Turia?" "His mother was Turian," said Harold.

I stopped.

"Did you not know?" asked Harold.

I shook my head. "No," I said. "I did not know."

"It was after her death," said Harold, "that Kutatuchik first tasted the rolled strings of kanda."

"I did not know," I said.

Kamchak was now well in advance of us.

Harold looked at me. "Yes," he said, "she had been a Turian girl taken as slave by Kutaituchik but he cared for her and freed her. She remained with him in the wagons until her death the Ubar of the Tuchuks."

Outside the main gate of the palace of Phanius Turmus, Kamchak, on his kaiila, waited for us. Our beasts were teth- ered there, and we mounted. Hereena and Elizabeth would run at our stirrups.

We turned from the gate, to ride down the long avenue leading toward the main gate of Turia.

Kamchak's face was inscrutable.

"Wait!" we heard.

We turned our mounts and saw Aphris of Turia, barefoot, clad Kajir, running after us.

She stopped beside Kamchak's stirrup, standing there, her head down. "What means this?" demanded Kamchak sternly.

The girl did not respond, nor did she raise her head. Kamchak turned his kaiila and began to ride toward the main gate, the rest of us following. Aphris, as Hereena and Elizabeth, ran by the stirrup.

Kamchak reined in, and we all stopped. Aphris stood there, her head down.

"You are free," said Kamchak.

Without raising her head, she shook it negatively. "No," she said, "I am Kamchak of the Tuchuks'."

She put her head timidly to Kamchak's fur boot in the stirrup.

"I do not understand," said Kamchak.

She lifted her head and there were tears in her eyes. "Please," she said, "Master."

"Why?" asked Kamchak.

She smiled. "I have grown fond of the smell of bosk," said she.

Kamchak smiled. He held his hand to the girl. "Ride with me, Aphris of Turia," said Kamchak of the Tuchuks. She took his hand and he drew her to the saddle before him, where she turned, sitting across the saddle, and placed her head against his right shoulder, weeping.

"This woman," said Kamchak of the Tuchuks, brusquely, his voice stern but almost breaking, "is called Aphris know her she is Ubara of the Tuchuks, she is Ubara Sana, of my heart Ubara Sana!"

We let Kamchak and Aphris ride ahead, and followed them, by some hundred yards, toward the main gate of Turia, now leaving the city, and its Home Stone and its people, returning to the wagons and to the open, windswept land beyond the high walls of the city, once-conquered, nine-gated Turia of the southern plains of Gor.

Tuka, the slave girl, did not fare well at the hands of Elizabeth Cardwell.

In the camp of the Tuchuks Elizabeth had begged that I not free her for but another hour.

"Why?" I had asked.

"Because," she had said, "masters do not much care to interfere in the squabbles of slaves."

I shrugged. It would be at least another hour before I was ready to take wing for the Sardar, with the egg of Priest- Kings safe in the saddle pack of my tarn.

There were several people gathered about, near the wagon of Kamchak, among them Tuka's master, and the girl her- self. I recalled how cruel she had been to Elizabeth in the long months she had been with the Tuchuks, and how she had tormented her even when she was helpless in the cage of a sleen, mocking her and poking at her with the bask stick. Perhaps Tuka gathered what might have been on Elizabeth's mind, for no sooner had the American girl turned toward her than she turned and fled from the wagon.

Within something like fifty yards we heard a frightened squawk and saw Tulca thrown to the ground with a tackle that might have done credit to a qualified professional player of the American form of football. There shortly thereafter followed a vigorous and dusty broil among the wagons, involving much rolling about, biting, slapping, scratching and, from time to time, the easily identified sound of a small fist, apparently moving with considerable momentum, meeting with venous partially resistant, protoplasmic curvatures. There was only so much of this and we soon heard Tuka shrieking for mercy. At that juncture, as I recall, Elizabeth was kneeling on top of the Turian maiden with her hands in her hair pounding her head up and down in the dirt. Eliza beth's Tuchuk leather had been half torn from her but Tuka, who had been clothed only Kajir, had fared not even this well. Indeed, when Elizabeth finished, Tuka wore only the Curia, the red band that ties back the hair, and this band now knotted her wrists behind her back. Elizabeth then tied a thong in Tulca's nose ring and dragged her to the creek, where she might find a switch. When she found a suitable implement, of proper length and flexibility, of appropriate diameter and suppleness, she then secured Tuka by nose ring and thong to the exposed root of a small but sturdy bush, and thrashed her soundly. Following this, she untied the thong from the root and permitted the girl, thong still streaming from her nose ring, wrists still bound behind her, to run for her master's wagon, but pursued her each foot of the way like a hunting sleen, administering innumerable stinging incitements to greater and ever greater speed. At last, panting, bleeding here and there, discolored in places, half-naked, triumphant, Elizabeth Cardwell returned to my side, where she knelt as a humble, obedient slave girl. When she had somewhat caught her breath I removed the collar from her throat and freed her.

I set her on the saddle of the tarn, telling her to hold to the pommel of the saddle. When I myself mounted I would tie her to the pommel with binding fiber. I would fasten about myself the broad safety strap, usually purple, which is an invariable portion of the tarn saddle.

Elizabeth did not seem affrighted to be astride the tarn. I was pleased that there were some changes of clothing for her in the pack. I observed that she needed them, or at least one of them.

Kamchak was there, and his Aphris, and Harold and his Hereena, still his slave. She knelt beside him, and once when she dared to touch her cheek to his right thigh he good- naturedly cuffed the slave girl away.

"How are the bosk doing?" I asked Kamchak.

"As well as might be expected," he responded.

I turned to Harold. "Are the quivas sharp?" I inquired. "One tries to keep them that way," said Harold.

I turned back to Kamchak. "It is important," I reminded him, "to keep the axles of the wagons greased."

"Yes," he said, "I think that is true."

I clasped the hands of the two men.

"I wish you well, Tarl Cabot," said Kamchak.

"I wish you well, Kamchak of the Tuchuks," I said.

"You are not really a bad fellow," said Harold, "for a Koroban."

"You are not bad yourself," I granted, "for a Tuchuk." "I wish you well," said Harold.

"I wish you well," I said.

Swiftly I climbed the short ladder to the tarn saddle, and tied it against the saddle. I then took binding fiber and looped it several times about Miss Cardwell's waist and then several times about the pommel of the saddle, then tying it. Harold and Kamchak looked up at me. There were tears in the eyes of both men. Now, diagonally, like a scarlet chevron coursing the flight of the cheek bones, there blazed on the face of Harold the Tuchuk the Courage Scar. "Never forget," said Kamchak, "that you and I have together held grass and earth."

"I will never forget," I said.

"And while you are remembering things," remarked Harold, 'you might recollect that we two together won the Courage Scar in Turia."

"No," I said, "I will not forget that either."

"Your coming and going with the Wagon Peoples," said Kamchak, "has spanned parts of two of our years."

I looked at him, not really understanding. What he said, of course, was true.

"The years," said Harold, smiling, "were two the Year in which Tarl Cabot Came to the Wagon Peoples and the Year in which Tarl Cabot Commanded a Thousand."

Inwardly I gasped. These were year names which would be remembered by the Year Keepers, whose memories knew the names of thousands of consecutive years.

"But," I protested, "there have been many things of much greater importance than those in these years the Siege of Turia, the Taking of the City, the Election of the Ubar San" "We choose most to remember Tarl Cabot," said Kamchak.

I said nothing.

"If you should ever need the Tuchuks' Tarl Cabot," said Kamchak, "or the Kataii or the Kassar or the Paravaci you have only to speak and we will ride. We will ride to your side, be it even to the cities of Earth."

"You know of Earth?" I asked. I recalled what I took to be the skepticism of Kamchak and Kutaituchik long ago when they had questioned myself and Elizabeth Cardwell of such matters.

Karnchak smiled. "We Tuchuks know of many things," he said, "Of more than we tell." He grinned. "Good fortune attend you, Tart Cabot, Commander of a Thousand Tuchuks, Warrior of Ko-ro-ba!"

I lifted my hand to them and then drew on the one-strap and the wings of the great tarn began to strike the resistant air and the Tuchuks on all sides fell back stumbling in the dust and the driven wind smote from beneath the mighty wings of the bird and in that instant we saw the wagons fall away beneath us, extending in their squares for pasangs, and we could see the ribbon of the creek and then the Omen Valley and then the spires of distant Turia, far off. I Elizabeth Cardwell was weeping, and I put my arms about I her, to comfort her, and to protect her from the blasts of the swift air. I noted with irritation that the sting of the air had made my own eyes moist as well.