Tribesmen of Gor

22 I Obtain Kaiila

I crouched between thrust chambers, some seventy feet from the ground, on the height of the tall ship, half buried in the Tahari sand. The chambers, facing the sky, were filled with sand. Between them I had rigged a shelter from the sun. I reached the height of the ship’s stern by a rope. I sipped water, watching the two riders approach. From the vantage of the ship’s height I could see several pasangs on all sides. The desert was clear.

As I had surmised, there was contact between the ship and the nearest agents of Kurii, the men of Abdul, Ibn Saran, the Salt Ubar. The food and water, the provisions, must have been brought in by kaiila. Presumably there would be routine provisionings, or communications, with Kurii agents, though not by radio or any similar device which might attract the attention of listening stations in the Sardar. The suppliers would have their schedules prepared weeks in advance.

The schedules would have been designed to carry through and beyond the date set for the planet’s destruction, in order not to arouse curiosity or suspicion among the Kurii’s human agents. The men approaching, leading four pack kaiila, were ignorant. They approached slowly, in the leisurely fashion of the Tahari.

There was nothing unusual, as far as they knew, concerning their delivery or the date on which it was occurring. I smiled. The planet could have blown apart beneath their feet. Yet they came in placid caravan.

I was satisfied to see them. I had considered walking out of the desert. There was ample food and water at the ship. I could have rigged a flat travois, with shoulder harness, to slip over the sand, loaded with water and food, and could have traveled at night, but I had decided against this. I did not know the distances nor directions to oases. I might have wandered in the desert for weeks, until even such large stores were exhausted. I might have encountered unfriendly riders. I would be afoot. I did not know how long the energy of the ring would last. I assumed it could generate its field for only a finite period.

If I met several riders I might, with the ring, escape, but I might, too, lose the stores. I needed a kaiila; I needed direction. In a day on a kaiila, if it was well watered and strong, I might cover the ground which, afoot, might take weeks. Too, the kaiila, given its head, is excellent in locating water.

It seemed not improbable to me that there might be a recognition signal, to be given by the approaching riders in the vicinity of the ship, to be answered by a countersignal, before they would bring the kaiila in. Not receiving it I had little doubt that they would investigate most warily, or, possibly, simply withdraw. I did not know what their standing orders might be. I was not prepared to risk the second alternative. I threw the shelter, which I had rigged down to the sand, behind the ship. I tossed the steel flask of water down, too. Then, on the rope, too behind the ship, I climbed down, slowly, handhold by handhold. I did not know how observant might be the riders. Even though I might stand, unseen, in the shelter of the ring’s field, the sand, disturbed, might reveal my movements, my presence. If I attacked one rider, invisible, the other, alarmed, might simply flee, panic-stricken and terrified. At the level, where the sand ringed the fuselage of the ship, I drank deeply, then I threw aside the flask. I then went into the desert.

“Water!” I cried. “Water!”

The riders stopped, a hundred yards from me. I did not approach them from the direction of the ship.

“Water!” I cried. I stumbled toward them. I staggered, and fell, repeatedly.

They let me approach. I saw them exchange glances. I fell to one knee, again struggled to my feet. I extended my right hand to them. There was sand in my hair, on my body. I moved as though in pain, as though suffering from abdominal and muscular cramps, as though I were dizzy. I stood unsteadily. “Water!” I cried to them. “Please, water!” I stopped some fifty yards from them. I saw them loosen their lances.

I fell in the sand, on my stomach. I kept my head down. In the sand, I smiled. I knew these men. I had seen them ride. They were truly agents of Kurii, minions of Ibn Saran, Abdul, the Salt Ubar. They had been among the herders of the wretches on the chain to Klima.

“On your feet!” called one of them. He was some forty yards away.

I struggled to stand upright in the sand, the sand about my ankles. I swayed, unsteadily. I stood looking at them, stupidly. The sun was at my back. I had seen to this in my approach.

He who was called Baram, the most skillful, would make the first pass.

“Water!” I cried out to them. “Please, water!”

He was right-handed. He would pass on my right. I noted the lance. It was long, slim, some eight foot Gorean in length; it was marked with red and yellow swirling stripes; it terminated in an extremely narrow point, razored, steel, some eleven inches in length, lanceolate, as the leaf of the flahdah tree. It was no mistake that I stood where I did. The sand between us was smooth. I wanted the gait of his kaiila to be even. I judged the angle of the lance. His thrust would be to the head; I assumed it would be to the right ear. It would be easy enough to judge that when the point sped toward me. One often feints with the point, dropping it, or lifting it, or it to the one side or the other, dropping or lifting, or tally, in war; but in sport accuracy and not deception is paramount; I observed the rider; I saw him smile; I saw the kaiila rear up; I saw the lance fall into position; he lanced in sport; I faced him in war.

He was unwary; his attention was fully focused on his target; did he think I was a slave girl on the plains of the Wagon Peoples, standing, a tospit in my mouth for his lance sport?

I moved to the side and, with both hands, a yard behind the point, turning, caught the lance; the rider, crying out, was torn from the saddle and fell rolling in the sand as the kaiila sped by; the lance strap broke; I lifted the lance and, as he rolled onto his back, eyes looking up, horrified, thrust it through his body, pinning him to the sand; I jerked the lance from his body, holding it down with my left foot and swirled to meet the charge of the next man. I was startled. He had not charged. He had missed his chance. He was not skillful.

I motioned him to charge.

He remained in his position, not moving. There was fear in his face.

I motioned him again to charge. He lifted his lance; he lowered it; then he did not charge; he backed his kaiila away.

I turned my back to him and, slowly, insolently, walked to fetch the kaiila with the empty saddle. If he had approached, I would have heard him.

I caught the rein of the other animal. The pack kaii1a were near the other man, untended.

I put my foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle. The other rider turned his kaiila about, and fled. He neglected the pack animals.

I rode my kaiila to the other animals and brought them back to the slain warrior.

It would not be difficult to follow the trail of the other man. I would do so at my leisure. I took what I needed, weapons and boots and clothing from the fallen rider. I did not take the shirt but threw it aside, for it was bloodied. Then, on my kaiila, leading the other animals, I returned to the ship, to sort through the packs, and, from them, and the stores of the ship, to choose my supplies.

It would not be necessary to follow the backtrail of the two riders who had approached the ship. There would be a fresher trail to follow. I would let the fleeing man lead me from the desert. He could not have had more than a one-talu water bag at his saddle.

I slept during the late afternoon, and then, when it was night, and cool, the kaiila fed from their pack supplies, and watered from the stores at the ship, I set forth. In I the light of the moons, the trail was not difficult to follow.