Renegades of Gor

16 I Assume Command

"Where have you been?" called a fellow outside the cell, approaching. "They are moving forward even now! The ram will be at the gate again in Ehn!" I lifted my right arm, acknowledging his words. We had not seen the ram from the cell. It had been perhaps obscured by the main gate's west bastion. He turned about and I followed him through the corridor, presumably to the height of the forward wall.

Lady Publia then began to squirm madly on my shoulder, considering such might be her last opportunity perhaps to draw attention to herself. She did call attention to herself, but mainly to find herself the butt of jeering remarks, which, even hooded, she could heard well enough; too, several of the men, and women, struck her as we passed, she reacting, startled, and in pain. By the time we reached the wall I did not doubt she would be well bruised. Lady Claudia followed, closely, frightened, miserable. It seemed she cried out, softly, as the blows struck my moving, helpless, well-curved burden, almost as though she felt rather they should have been hers to endure. She even sobbed. If Lady Publia heard these tiny noises, and associated them with Lady Claudia, presumably she thought that Lady Claudia was accompanying the executioner to the wall, doubtless as she herself would have. She had been quite cruel to us, I recalled, as our warder, and had much mocked Lady Claudia in her distress, when Lady Claudia, rather than she, had worn the ropes. Now, to her horror, she found that it was she herself, unknown to her compatriots, who was being carried to the wall. She herself, doubtless, had the situation been reversed, would have followed the executioner eagerly, and, later, with sardonic amusement, as the spectacle unfolded, done her best to increase Lady Claudia's misery. That being so, perhaps she could not understand the sobs, and the sounds of commiseration, she heard behind her. But she, unlike Lady Claudia, had not yet been taught her form of humanity and her sex. She was, however, learning something of the preciousness of life.

Then, after a long, spiral climb, we emerged through a guard station, and onto the wall. It was bright and windy there. Lady Publia, feeling the cool air and wind, emitted a long, helpless, miserable groan.

"There," said the fellow we had been following. He pointed to the battlements over the main gate, higher than those on the wall generally. On that creneled, raised platform, already in its mount, I could see the long, slim, polished impaling spear. He then left us.

I looked over the wall and noted that the long, rolling, shedlike structure was quite near, beneath which the battering ram, on its ropes, was slung. It had not been visible from the cell, as I had speculated, as it had been obscured by the gate's west bastion. Some of the ladder men and grapnel crews were already probing the walls. The siege towers were still some hundreds of yards away. A quarrel sputtered against the interior of an embrasure, chipping it and glancing away, upward.

As I went toward the gate's battlements a grapnel looped over the wall gracefully and fell behind the walkway. Considering the arc, its width and height, I assumed it had been lobbed there by an engine. It was drawn forward and one of the hooks caught and the rope sprang taut. Such things are generally not much good in this form of fighting except for secret ascents, say, at night, when they are not noticed, or there are too many of them to deal with. They are much more useful, in my opinion, at sea, as in, say, drawing ships within boarding distance of one another, the ropes then usually being attached to chains some ten feet or so behind the hooks. This makes it hard to cut them free. Boarding hooks, on poles, are often used, too, for such purposes, when one can get close enough. These are sometimes sheathed with tin near the points, again to make it harder to cut or chop them away. Pikes for repelling boarders, it might be noted, are often greased near the blade end. This makes it harder for boarders to grasp them, wrenching them away, forcing gaps in the pike wall, and so on.

I will append one qualification to these observations pertaining to grapnels which is to acknowledge the giant, chain grapnel, and its relative, the grapnel derrick. The giant grapnel is hurled by an engine and then, either with the second arm of the engine, or by the same arm, reversed, drawn back with great force. This can rip away the crests of walls, tear off roofs, and such. If Cosians used them here they might have created gaps in the battlements. The effectiveness of such a device, however, given the weights involved, and the loss of force in the draw, is much compromised by the necessity of extreme proximity to the target. Also the defenders may be expected to free or dislodge the grapnel if possible.

The derrick grapnel is much what the name suggests. It is used from walls, dangled down, and then drawn up with a winch. If the wall is a harbor wall it can capsize a ship. If the wall is a land wall, it can, with luck, topple a siege tower. This device also, however, tends to be ineffective except under rather optimum, special conditions. For example, very few captains are likely to get their ships within range of a derrick grapnel. Would you?

I watched the rope on the grapnel for a moment and noted that although it was taut it did not exhibit the differential tensions which it would if it were being climbed. I pulled it loose then and, letting it tautness do the work, let it fly back over the walkway and the crenelation. Had I more time or been of Ar's Station, perhaps I might have waited until it was being climbed and then, after a while, cut the rope. This sort of thing, as you might imagine, tends to be somewhat frustrating to the fellows who are climbing the rope, particularly if they are some seventy feet or so up the wall at the time. It take great courage, incidentally, to climb such a rope in daylight under battle conditions. I did not doubt but that one or tow of the fellows on the other side of the wall were probably just as pleased that it had come back as it did. It also takes great courage, incidentally, though it is much easier to do, to climb a siege ladder, particularly when the walls are heavily or stoutly defended. It is better, I think, for the individual attacker, particularly if the walls are high, over twenty feet, say, to try to enter over the bridge of a siege tower or, even better, through a breached wall or gate.

I looked through the crenelation again, standing back from it. It takes time to move such cumbersome objects. Their progress forward was steady, but so slow, it seemed sometimes almost like watching the hands of a clock move.

I passed a lad standing behind one of the embrasures with a crossbow. He was too young to be on the wall. One quarrel reposed in the guide of his bow. Beside him, leaning against the inside of the parapet, were some more quarrels, only two of which were crafted, one feathered, one with light metal fins. The others were little more than filed rods, neither feathered nor finned. With these, too, there were some wooden quarrels, blunt-headed, such as boys sometimes use for bringing down birds. I did not think they would be effective. Perhaps, ideally targeted, launched from within a yard or so, one might cause a fellow to lose a grip on a ladder. More likely they would serve as little more than irritants. I smelled hot oil on the parapet, and a cauldron of it was boiling, which I passed. Buckets on long handles could be dipped into this, the oil fired, and then poured on attackers. The oil tends to hold the fire on the object. I passed two catapults on the walkway. They were quiet now, not even manned.

I proceeded on toward the raised platform over the main gate, where the impaling spear, flashing in the sun like a polished needle, was mounted. I passed another lad, too, also, in my opinion, too young to be on the wall. Better these fellows had been running about the windy corners of the markets, looking for the veils to blow about the faces of free women or pursing slave girls, pulling up their brief skirts, playing "brand guess," or busying themselves playing stones or hoops behind the shops. He was crouching beside a pike of stones, building stones, and tiles. It is hard to throw these with accuracy without standing above the crenelation. This exposes the caster, of course. He seemed lost in his thoughts. I wondered if he had been on the wall before. I supposed he had a mother, who loved him.

When I passed him, he looked up. I saw then that he had been on the wall before, and that, though his age might indeed be that of a boy, that he was a man. He then put down his head again, returning to his reflections, whatever might have been their nature. Near the steps to the raised platform I passed two men with long-handled tridents. These are used to thrust men and ladders back from the wall.

Turning, about fifty yards behind me, I saw the upright of a single-pole ladder jut from the outside over the wall. The two men, gaunt and weary, paid it no attention. Back there, however, a cluster of defenders sped to the place. The ringing of swords came to my ears. More than one fellow leapt over the crenelation but the ladder itself was thrust back. This isolated the Cosians who had attained the wall. Men swarmed about them. Two were cut down and a third climbed back over the wall and leapt away, plunging to its foot, preferring to risk the consequences of such a fall rather than face certain death on the walkway. The bodies of his two comrades, stripped of weapons, half hacked to pieces, were flung after him.

I hurried up the broad stone steps to the surface of the platform over the main gate. This area, at least at the moment, perhaps because of its height, and its position over the gate, the ground below soon to be blocked by the ram, the men working it protected by its sturdy shed, was empty. It would have made an excellent command post for Aemilianus, I thought, but, I gathered, he must be below, in the vicinity of the gate. Perhaps he thought, and rightfully, for all I knew, that there lay the greatest danger. I supposed that by now tons of rock would have been piled behind the gate. Still the ram might attempt its entry there, pounding through the brass facing riveted into the thick beams of the gate, punching, driving it back, snapping the crossbars, forcing back, blow by blow, even the rock and sand behind.

I placed Lady Publia on her back at our feet, near the mount for the spear. I then dismissed her from my mind, for the moment.

I considered the approaching towers, the thousands of men I could see in the field, the ladders being carried, the supporting engines. I then regarded the walls. There were too few men there. The results of the battle were a foregone conclusion. The Cosians had waited long for this day.

I looked up to my left. There, on a pole, defiantly, snapped a torn flag, bearing in yellow the single "Ar' on a red background with, beneath it, a wavy yellow band. This was the flag of Ar's Station, signifying the power of Ar on the Vosk. I did not think it would be there long.

I then lifted the tall impaling spear from its mount, laying it, with a sound, beside the supine, bound figure. She tried to rise but, her ankles thonged together, she fell. She tried to scramble back, but I reached out and took her ankle, and then pulled her where I wanted her, closer, across the stones. "Please, no!" wept Lady Claudia, putting out her hand. I brushed her aside. I then addressed myself to Lady Publia. "Would you car to confess yourself a slave?" I inquired.

She thrashed about, uttering wild, affirmative whimpers, nodding her head in the hood, vigorously.

"You recognize my voice, do you not?" I asked.

Again she nodded. This was the first she would have realized, for certain, I supposed, that she had come to the height of the wall, to the foot of the impaling mount, on my shoulder, and not on that of the executioner. Hope would be springing up wildly within her, for the executioner not knowing who she was, and thinking she was the Lady Claudia, would presumably have simple put her on the spear and went about his business, probably, pulling off his mask, to some post on the wall. I, on the other hand, she knew, knew well who she was. Too, my word must have given her some hope that she might have, at my hands, at least some slim chance for life, albeit that it might have to be purchased at so alarming a cost as consigning herself by her own words to a fate no less than the degradation and categoricality of uncompromising Gorean bondage.

Lady Claudia put out her head and touched me on the shoulder, gratefully. I pulled Lady Publia to her knees.

"Are you a slave?" I asked.

She nodded, vigorously. Lady Claudia clapped her hands with delight, she herself no better. "Do you beg permission," I asked, "to legalize the matter, to speak appropriate words of self-enslavement?"

She nodded, vigorously, again.

I then loosened the hood and pushed it up, about her head and forehead. I had not remembered she was so beautiful. I then loosened the two ties of the gag and pulled the wadding out from her mouth, letting it hang over the loosened cords, putting the whole by her throat. She looked at me, wildly, gratefully.

"Speak," I said.

"I am a slave!" she said.

"She is a slave!" said Lady Claudia softly.

The prisoner shrank back, frightened, shuddering, helpless, thrilled, now knowing herself a slave.

"You are now a slave, Publia," said Lady Claudia, wonderingly.

"She is not longer Publia," I said to Lady Claudia. "She had not yet been named."

The slave looked at me, in awe.

Then she cried out, suddenly, as I replaced the wadding in her mouth, tightening it in again, with the cords.

"What are you doing?" asked Lady Claudia, frightened.

I saw the slave's eyes regarding me, wildly, just before I drew the hood again, over her beautiful features, securing it in place, tying the cord at the back of her neck.

"What are you doing?" cried Lady Claudia.

"She has got us this far," I said. "This is as far as we could expect to get with her, unchallenged, she in her guise as you. She had done as much for us as she can. She had thus served her purposes."

"What do you mean?" whispered Lady Claudia.

I reached for the impaling spear.

"No," said Lady Claudia.

I pressed the point of the spear against the interior of the slave's thigh. She threw back her head, and moaned.

"You knew she would declare herself a slave!" said Lady Claudia.

"She is a slave," I said. "It is fitting."

"I am no less a slave than she!" said Lady Claudia. "That is true," I said.

"And now," she cried, "that you have won from her her confession that she was slave, and she has said the words themselves, enacting imbondment upon herself, you would put her, now, not even in the dignity of the free woman, but in the misery and degradation of a shamed slave, upon the spear!"

"Do you not think this slave, when she was a free woman," I asked, "would not have enjoyed seeing you on the spear?"

"No matter!" cried Lady Claudia. "No matter!"

"Those of Ar's Station," I said, "will expect to see her on the spear. If she is not there, I do not think we will get very far. When we leave the platform here, let them think our work has been done. Then we will draw away somewhere, I removing this mask, you retaining your rags and veil."

"No!" said Lady Claudia.

"It may be our only hope at escape," I said, "you falling to Cosians, I perhaps managing to mingle with them."

"You are a brave man," she said. "I admire you. You have been strong with me. You have been kind to me. You have risked much for me. I want to escape. I see your reasoning. But if there must be a body on the spear, let it be mine. It is I who am guilty of treason, not she. Thus, it is I who should be impaled, not she."

"But you are a free woman," I said. "She is only a slave."

"You know, truly," she said, "she is no more, if as much, a slave as I. Surely in the cell, often enough, I gave you ample evidence that my fitting destiny was to give my entire being to the selfless love and service of a man!"

"You pity her because you are yourself no better than a slave," I said. "I would pity her if she were a free woman," she said, "and I pity her now, that she is a slave."

"Because you, yourself, are a slave," I said.

"Perhaps," she wept. "I do not know."

Within the hood, I smiled. Slaves, as is well known, are on the whole far more loving and compassionate than free women. That is probably because they are so much more female then the free woman.

"We must hang her on the spear," I said, jocularly. Suddenly Lady Claudia flung her body across that of the slave, as though she would protect her from me. It was a touching gesture, I thought. To be sure, it was a little silly. I could fling her a dozen feet away at my will, or, if I wished, with a judicious blow, little more than a quick tap on the diaphragm, have her instantly on her back helpless, gasping for breath. If necessary, I could bind her, or, if I wished, in an instant, strike her senseless.

"You would protect her, wouldn't you?" I asked.

"Yes!" she wept.

"She is perhaps your worst enemy," I reminded her.

"It does not matter," she wept.

"You have incredibly deep feelings and emotions," I said. "You would make a superb slave."

She looked up at me, puzzled. Her veil was wet with tears.

"Well, we had better hang this slave on the spear," I said, removing my sword belt.

"You have been joking," she said, suddenly. "You never intended to put her on the spear!"

"She is going to hang on the spear all right," I said. I then removed the sword from the sheath and thrust the sheath up, between the slave's back and the ropes, and then forced the point of the spear up, high, into the sheath. This did not do the sheath any good, distending it, but then it was not one, I reminded myself, for which I had had to put out my own tarsks. I then buckled the sword belt, making a new hole in the belt with my knife, tightly about the slender waist of the slave, up a bit, so it, too, was hidden behind the thickly coiled ropes. The spear's point was now entered into the sheath, the sheath held in place behind the slave by her ropes, and the slave's body held against the sheath and spear by the rope and belt. She could not slip down the spear because of the spear's insertion in the sheath. In this way, when the spear was placed in the mount, it would appear, I hoped, that the slave had been mounted on the spear. To see that this was not so, I thought one would probably have to be rather close. There is not much blood, incidentally, with the sort of impalement which, I had gathered, they had intended for the prisoner, as the spear itself, in such an impalement, packs the wound.

"You are sparing her!" breathed Lady Claudia. "Of late," I said, "she has been concerned to be pleasing." The former Lady Publia shuddered, realizing what might as easily have been her fate.

I then lifted the spear up and inserted it, down, into its mount.

We heard some cheers from down on the wall, a handful presumably greeting the appearance of the impaling spear, seemingly burdened. Most of the fellows, though, I suspected, had other things on their mind. Behind the slowly approaching towers, partly in their cover, advanced hundreds of men. the towers themselves were now little more than seventy-five yards from the wall. They had now aligned themselves, and the dropping of the bridges, when the towers were in position, would be simultaneous. Surely men should be drawn up from below to help defend the wall. The smaller probes, now, those of the scattered grapnels and single-pole ladders, had ceased. There were dozens of supporting grapnel and ladder crews, however, now approaching between the towers.

"Wriggle," I commanded the new slave, bound on the spear. "Wriggles well, and deliciously, or I shall set you on the spear properly!"

She then wriggled, and writhed, helplessly.

"Could you really put her on the spear?" asked Lady Claudia, softly. "Certainly," I said. It was true.

We heard laughter from down on the wall, and, I think, even from Cosians below the wall. They, too, had little respect for traitresses.

Lady Claudia shuddered.

"Not too much," I cautioned the new slave, "mostly at first, then less. Then hold yourself tense, trying not to move."

The new slave, hung in the ropes, moaned her acquiescence.

"What is wrong?" I asked Lady Claudia.

"It could have been I, truly impaled," she said.

"But it is not," I said.

"The ram pounds the gate," she said.

We could feel the vibrations, even here.

"Let us leave," I said to Lady Claudia.

"There is no safety," she said.

Down on the lower walkway we looked back to the battlements over the gate. It did look as though the former Lady Publia were on the spear.

The towers were now but thirty yards away. There was no way their discharge, their rushing, armed effluxes could be stayed by the men here.

"If she is rescued," said Lady Claudia, looking back at the lovely, nude figure, seemingly mounted upon the impaling spear, "doubtless she will deny she is a slave."

"But even so," I said, "she would still be a slave, and would know it in her heart."

"Yes," said Lady Claudia.

The slave cannot free herself. She can be freed only by an owner. The condition of slavery does not require the collar, or the brand, or an anklet, bracelet or ring, or any such overt sign of bondage. Such things, as symbolic as they are, as profoundly meaningful as they are, and as useful as they are for marking properties, identifying masters, and such, are not necessary to slavery. They are, in effect, though their affixing can legally effect imbondment, ultimately, in themselves, tokens of bondage, and are not to be confused with the reality itself. The uncollared slave is not then a free woman but only a slave who is not then in a collar. Similarly a slave is still a slave even if her brand could be made to magically disappear or, if she has been a made a slave in some other way, if she had not yet been branded. Indeed, some masters, somewhat foolishly, I think, dally in the branding of their slaves. Indeed, some, perhaps the most foolish, do not brand them at all. Such girls, however, when they come into the keeping of new masters, usually discover that that oversight is promptly remedied.

"The slave who lies about her slavery," I said, "is not thereby the less a slave. It is only that she is then a lying slave."

"I have heard that bondage is difficult to conceal," said Lady Claudia. "That is particularly so," I said, "if one has been a slave for a time. It can be given away in many ways, by the movements of the body, by certain timidities, and deferences, dispositions to kneel, slips of the tongue, and such. Slavers, and others, it is well known, can often pick out a slave from among women all clad in the Robes of Concealment, by simply having her walk, or speak, or by looking in her eyes. She is then disrobed, the brand revealed, and given over for punishment."

She looked up at me.

"I spoke of legal bondage, of course," I said. "Perhaps you meant natural bondage, that of the woman who is by nature a slave?"

She looked down.

"That," I said, "is independent of the proprieties of legal bondage, of course." "Yes," she whispered.

"To be sure," I said, "that condition of the natural slave, like that of the legal slave, can be difficult to conceal, particularly under certain stimulus conditions. It need not remain, however, simply a guilty secret locked in the heart of a frustrated, unfulfilled free woman, not yet in the keeping of her master. It can be shown by such things as her profound psychological dispositions to selflessly serve and love, her desire for, and response to, male domination, her understandings of chains and the whip, the quickening, deepening and intensification of her sexuality under conditions of bondage, her happiness and fulfillment when she finds herself placed in her proper relationship to the male, her joy in fulfilling her biological role, her joy in obedience, submission and love, her elation in knowing herself owned and mastered, subdued and conquered, a condition manifested in acts as disparate, and yet strangely akin, as the tying of her master's sandals and slave writhings in the furs, being forced to thrash helplessly in the orgasmic ecstasies he chooses to impose upon her."

She trembled.

"There are women who understand such things," I said.

"All women understand such things," she said.

"Perhaps," I said. "I do not know."

Again she trembled.

"But we were speaking of the former Lady Publia," I said. "She now knows herself a slave, having said the words. Too, she knows that she, a slave, can be freed only by a master. What will she make of these things? That, I take it, is your question?"

"Doubtless she would pretend she had never said the words," she said. "That she would, in one way or another, attempt to conceal her true condition?"

"Yes," she said.

"Perhaps," I said. "But, of course, she would still, in her heart, know the truth, that she was a slave."

"Yes," she said.

"And that only a master could free her?"

"Yes," she said.

"Surely it might be difficult to live with such a hidden truth," I said. Perhaps it, irrepressible, insistent within her, might finally require some resolution. She must then take action. She might turn herself over to a praetor, hoping for mercy, as she had surrendered herself. Or perhaps she might solicit some person to make active claim upon her, such a claim, after certain intervals, superseding prior claims. Although there are various legal qualifications involved, which vary from city to city, effective, or active, possession is generally regarded as crucial from the point of view of the law, such possession being taken, no other claims forthcoming within a specified interval, as conferring legal title. This is the case with a kailla or a tarsk, and it is also the case with a slave. In such a case, presumably the woman would expect the master who has then put claim on her to free her. That would presumably be the point of the matter. Otherwise she could simply submit herself to him as an escaped or strayed slave. Thus, in this fashion, she could reveal her hidden truth, thereby alleviating her acute mental conflicts, and her sufferings, attendant upon its concealment, and by another, as she has no legal power in the matter herself, be restored to freedom. To be sure, there are risks involved in this sort of thing. For example, when she kneels before him, his slave, perhaps he will then simply order her to the kitchen or to his furs. No promise made to her has legal standing, no more than to a tarsk. In this way, she, ostensibly seeking her freedom, may find herself plunged instead into explicit and inescapable bondage, and will doubtless, too, soon find herself properly marked and collared, to preclude the possible repetition of any such nonsense in the future.

"Yes," whispered Lady Claudia, not taking her eyes off the small figure suspended on the spear, on the battlements over the gate. I looked over the wall. The towers had now stopped, aligned, some twenty yards or so from the wall. They would overtop it. When they advanced, they would do so, together.

"You had best go now," I said.

"I do not want to leave you," she said.

"When the towers spill their troops onto the wall," I said, "I do not thing they will be stopping to make slaves. Go, hide. Perhaps later, when the citadel is burning, when resistance is ended, when the blood lust has to some extent lessened, you may receive an opportunity to strip yourself for captors." "What of her?" she asked, pointing to the former Lady Publia.

"The slave?" I asked.

"Yes," she said.

"She is already stripped," I said.

"True!" she laughed.

"You had best leave," I said.

"You never intended to impale her, did you?"

"Not on the spear of execution," I said.

"I see," she said.

"Unless perhaps she might prove displeasing or in some way uncooperative." "I understand," she said.

"There are, however, many other forms of impalement quite suitable for such as she," I said.

"Doubtless!" she laughed.

"And for you," I said.

"Yes," she said, "for me as well!"

"Go," I said. "The towers will advance at any moment."

"Why did you let us believe you would impale her?" she asked.

"Surely the genuineness of her terror added to the effectiveness of our disguises," I said, "as did you own authentic concern."

"You manipulated us as women and slaves!" she said, her eyes flashing. "And you are a clever woman," I said, "biding your time here against my will." "I am a free woman," she said. "I think I shall remain here, by your side." "Free woman or no," I said, "I wish I had a slave whip. I would teach you docility and compliance quickly enough."

"And I would offer them to you without the whip," she said, "a€”Master." "Fortunate for you that you are not a slave!"

She laughed, merrily.

"I would you were naked at my feet, in a collar," I said, angrily.

"Ah," she said, "I would that I were there, too, my master, but I fear that that pleasure, if pleasure it be, seeing me so, having me so, will go not to you, but, if luck be with me, to a Cosian."

"That is not unfitting," I said. "You are a traitress. You declared for Cos. It seems not unfitting, then, that you should belong to a Cosian.

She tossed her head, angrily.

"Go," I said.

"I do not want to go," she said.

"I will not be able to protect you here," I said, "nor, in a few moments, will these others."

"I will remain here," she said.

"Here you will be in the way," I said. "You would jeopardize others, concerned for you."

She looked at me, her eyes angry.

"Go," I said. "You do not belong here."

"And do you?" she asked. "You are not of Ar's Station. You are not even of Cos!" "Go," I said. "The work of men is soon to be done in this place." She knelt down before me, though she was a free woman, and lifting her veil, pressed her lips to my sandals.

She then lifted her head to me, tears in her eyes. "I would that I were at your feet as a true slave, my master," she said.

"Go," I said.

Her eyes regarded me, piteously.

"Go," I said. "I would, if I were you," I said, "while any of Ar's Station are about, with a sword in their hand, keep my veil."

She nodded, frightened. She then looked once more at the former Lady Publia, now a roped slave, suspended on a spear, and then again at me, and then hurried from the wall. I then turned to look across the twenty yard or so of space between the somber, looming towers, aligned, and the wall of the citadel. I could see cracks in the wood. Through some of these I could see numerous shapes, on various levels. The hides hung profusely about the outsides of the towers, especially on the frontal surfaces, were dark with water. The ram was still pounding at the gate.

The men on the wall, others coming up to join them from below, prepared to meet the onslaught. Groups bunched before each tower. Others scattered down the wall to meet the grapnel crews and the scalers, with their ladders. Weapons were unsheathed. Tridents were readied. Buckets of oil on the long poles were ignited.

I would have thought Aemilianus, commander of the citadel, would have come to the wall, but I did not see the helmet with the crest of sleen hair.

It occurred to me that I had not much business here, really. This was not my fight. I was no lover of Ar nor of Cos.

The trumpets would surely sound any moment.

The sky was calm enough, oblivious of a pending tumult beneath. The clouds would be indifferent to the blood that would be split beneath, dark in their racing shadows. What occurred here would surely be insignificant in the face of the universe. What small expanse of meaning was this, compared to the magnitudes of space? How tiny the disturbances and exertions of the afternoon must seem, compared to the dissolution and formation of worlds, and the turmoils wrought in the depths of incandescent orbs? Yet there was feeling and consciousness here and they, flickering it seemed in the darkness, tiny and frail, seemed to me in that moment to blaze in dimensions unfamiliar to the physicist, and in their own world and way to dwarf and mock the insensate placidities of space. Should the eye which opens on the awesomeness of the universe not apprehend as well the awesomeness of its own seeing? In man has the universe not come to self-consciousness, surprised that it should exist?

Where then was Aemilianus?

It was not my fight. I should go below. Surely in the citadel, somewhere, I could find other garments. My accents could not be confused with the liquid accents of Ar or those so similar, of Ar's Station. In the ingress of victors I should mingle with them.

It was not my fight.

Where was Aemilianus?

How dispirited seemed the defenders! How listlessly they stood! How resigned to their fate! What preparations did they make for the towers? Did they think they now faced only fellows on ladders, fellows climbing ropes, the clinging, climbing, creeping, shouting swarms, stinging with spears and blades, that they knew from a hundred trails in the past? They would be swept aside like dried leaves before the descendent blast of Torvaldsland. Were Cosians not to know their swords had been warmed and nicked in their romp?

"Ho, fools!" I cried, striding down the walkway. "The bridges will drop and you will think an avalanche of iron has spilled upon you! How shall you meet it? Let it spill on your heads? Clever fellows! Bring poles! Bring stones! You, fetch grapnels and ropes. The crews to the catapults, now! Yes, to the engines! You men there, you can see where this tower will come, there by the stairs. Break away the stone there! Open a great gap! You there, bring tarn wire!"

"Who are you?" cried a man.

"One who holds this sword!" I said. "Do you want it in your gut?" "You are not Marsias!" cried another.

"I am assuming command," I said.

Men looked at one another, wildly.

"The wall cannot be held," said a man.

"True," I said. "I do not lie to you. The wall cannot be held. But what will it cost the Cosians?"

"Much," said a man, grimly.

"Those who have no stomach to stay," I said, "let them hide themselves among the women and the children below."

"Life is precious," said a man, "but it is not that precious."

Suddenly there was a blast of trumpets from the foot of the wall and the eleven towers, with a lurch and groan, began to creep forward.

"Hurry!" I cried.

"Bring stones, poles, tarn wire!" cried men.