Outlaw of Gor

Chapter Seven: THORN, CAPTAIN OF THARNA

With one sound three blades sprang from their sheaths, mine,that of the officer and that of the warrior who would first engage me. The man on the right would not draw his blade but wait until the first warrior had made his attack and would then strike from the side with his spear. The warrior in the rear only lifted his spear, ready to cast it should a clean opening present itself.

But it was I who attacked first.

I suddenly turned on the warrior on my right with the spear and with the swiftness of the mountain larl sprang at him, evaded his clumsy, startled thrust, and drove my blade between his ribs, jerking it free and turning just in time to meet the sword attack of his companion. Our blades had not crossed six times when he, too, lay at my feet, crowded into a knot of pain, clutching at the grass.

The officer had rushed forward but now stopped. He, like his men, had been taken aback. Though they were four and I was one I had carried the battle to them. The officer had been an instant too late. Now my sword stood between him and my body. The other warrior, behind him, his spear poised, had approached to within ten yards. At that distance he would not be likely to miss. Indeed, even if the missile struck and penetrated my shield, I would have to cast the shield away and would find myself at a serious disadvantage. Yet, the odds were more even now.

"Come, Thorn of Tharna," I said, beckoning to him. "Let us try our skill." But Thorn backed away and signaled to the other warrior to lower his spear. He removed his helmet, and sat on his heels in the grass, the warrior behind him.

Thorn, Captain of Tharna, looked at me, and I at him.

He had a new respect for me now, which meant that he would be more dangerous. He had seen the swift engagement with his swordsmen and he was probably considering whether or not he could match my prowess. I felt that he would not cross blades with me unless he were convinced he could win, and that he was not altogether convinced, at least not yet.

"Let us talk," said Thorn of Tharna.

I squatted down on my heels, as he did.

"Let us talk," I agreed.

We resheathed our weapons.

Thorn was a large man, big boned, powerful, now tending to corpulence. His face was heavy and yellowish, but mottled with patches of purple where small veins had burst under the skin. He was not bearded, save for the trace of a tiny wisp of hair that marked each side of his chin, almost like a streak of dirt. His hair was long, and bound in a knot behind his head in Mongol fashion. His eyes, like those of an urt, one of the small horned rodents of Gor, were set obliquely in his skull. They were not clear, their redness and shadows testifying to long nights of indulgence and dissipation. It was obvious that Thorn, unlike my old enemy Pa-Kur, who presumably had perished at the siege of Ar, was not a man above sensual vices, not a man who could with fanatical purity and single-minded devotion sacrifice himself and entire peoples to the ends of his ambition and power. Thorn would never make a Ubar. He would always be a henchman.

"Give me my man," said Thorn, gesturing to the figure that lay in the grass, still moving.

I decided that Thorn, whatever he was or wasn" t, was a good officer. "Take him," I said.

The spearman beside Thorn went to the fallen man and examined his wound. The other warrior was clearly dead.

"He may live," said the spearman.

Thorn nodded. "Bind his wound."

Thorn turned to me again.

"I still want the woman," he said.

"You may not take her," I said.

"She is only one woman," said Thorn.

"Then giver her up," I said.

"One of my men is dead," said Thorn. "You can have his share of her selling price."

"You are generous," I said.

"Then it is agreed?" he asked.

"No," I said. "I think we can kill you," said Thorn, plucking a stalk of grass and meditatively chewing on it, regarding me all the while. "Perhaps," I admitted.

"On the other hand," said Thorn, "I do not wish to lose another man." "Then give up the woman," I said.

Thorn looked at me intently, puzzled, chewing on the piece of grass. "Who are you?" he asked.

I was silent.

"You are an outlaw," he said. "That I can see by the lack of insignia on your shield and tunic."

I saw no reason to dispute his opinion.

"Outlaw," said he, "what is your name?"

"Tarl," I responded.

"Of what city?" he asked.

It was the inevitable question.

"Ko-ro-ba," I said.

The effect was electric. The girl, who had been standing behind us, stifled a scream. Thorn and his warrior sprang to their feet. My sword was free of its sheath.

"Returned from the Cities of Dust," gasped the warrior.

"No," I said, "I am a living man, as you."

"Better you had gone to the Cities of Dust," said Thorn. "You are cursed by the Priest-Kings."

I looked at the girl.

"Your name is the most hated on Gor," she said, her voice flat, her eyes not meeting mine.

We four stood together, not speaking. It seemed a long time. I felt the grass on my ankles, still wet from the morning dew. I heard a bird cry in the distance.

Thorn shrugged.

"I will need time," he said, "to bury my man."

Silently, Thorn and the other warrior scooped out a narrow trench and buried their comrade. Then wrapping a cloak about two spears, and fastening it with binding fibre, they formed an improvised litter. On this, Thorn and his warrior placed the wounded companion.

Thorn looked at the girl and, to my astonishment, she approached him and extended her wrists. He snapped slave bracelets on them.

"You do not need to go with them," I told her.

"I would bring you no pleasure," she said bitterly.

"I will free you," I said.

"I accept nothing from the hands of Tarl of Ko-ro-ba," she said. I reached out my hand to touch her, and she shuddered and drew back. Thorn laughed mirthlessly. "Better to have gone to the Cities of Dust than to be Tarl of Ko-ro-ba," he said.

I looked at the girl, now after her long days of suffering and flight at last a captive, her slender wrists encircled at last by Thorn" s hated bracelets, beautifully wrought bracelets, like many, of exquisite workmanship, bright with colour, set even with jewels, but like all slave bracelets, of unyielding steel.

The bracelets contrasted with the meanness of her coarse brown garment. Thorn fingered the garment. "We will get rid of this," he told her. "Soon, when you have been properly prepared, you will be dressed in costly pleasure silk, given sandals perhaps, scarves, veils and jewels, garments to gladden the heart of a maiden."

"Of a slave," she said.

Thorn lifted her chin with his finger. "You have a beautiful throat," he said.

She looked at him angrily, sensing his meaning.

"It will soon wear a collar," he said.

"Whose?" she demanded haughtily.

Thorn looked at her carefully. The chase had apparently in his eyes been well worth it. "Mine," he said.

The girl almost swooned.

My fists were clenched.

"Well, Tarl of Ko-ro-ba," said Thorn, "it ends thus. I take this girl and leave you to the Priest-Kings."

"If you take her to Tharna," I said, "the Tatrix will free her." "I will not take her to Tharna, but to my villa," said Thorn, "which lies outside the city." He laughed unpleasantly. "And there," he said, "as a good man of Tharna should, I will revere her to my heart" s content." I felt my hand clench on the hilt of my sword.

"Stay your hand, Warrior," said Thorn. He turned to the girl. "To whom do you belong?" he asked.

"I belong to Thorn, Captain of Tharna," she said.

I replaced the sword in my sheath, shattered, helpless. I could kill Thorn and his warrior perhaps, free her. But what then? Free her to the beasts of Gor, to another slaver? She would never accept my protection, and by her own actions she preferred Thorn and slavery to a favour from the man called Tarl of Ko-ro-ba.

I looked at her. "Are you of Ko-ro-ba?" I asked.

She stiffened, and looked at me with hatred. "I was," she said. "I am sorry," I said.

She looked at me, tears of hatred burning in her eyes. "Why have you dared to survive your city?" she asked.

"To avenge it," I replied.

She looked into my eyes for a long time. And then, as Thorn and the warrior picked up the litter with their wounded companion and began to depart, she said to me, "Goodbye, Tarl of Ko-ro-ba."

"I wish you well, Vera of the Towers of the Morning," I said.

She turned quickly, following her master, and I remained standing alone in the field.