Vagabonds of Gor

3 Prisoners

The road below was a dirt road. It was dusty and hot. It was long and narrow. It stretched northward.

I considered it.

It was empty.

It was hard to believe that somewhere northward, perhaps somewhat to the west now, in the vicinity of the Vosk, was the expeditionary force of Cos, and somewhere to the south, beyond Teslit, in the vicinity of Holmesk, lay the winter camp of Ar, supposedly housing a considerable commissary and depot, and one of the largest concentrations of troops ever seen in the north.

It was late afternoon. I shaded my eyes. Not a stain of dust lifted from that long, brown surface, lying like a dry line between two vastnesses of dried grass. The overarching sky was bright and clear, almost cloudless. Like the road, it seemed empty.

It was lonely here.

Yet such times are good in the life of a warrior, times to be alone, to think.

He who cannot think is not a man, so saith the codes. Yet neither, too, they continue, is he who can only think.

Teslit, a small village to the south, save for a family or two, had been abandoned. Women and livestock had been hurried away. i did not think this had been unwise. Cos was to the north, Ar to the south. Had they sought to engage, it seemed not improbable that they might meet on the Holmesk road, perhaps in the vicinity of Teslit, approximately halfway between the Vosk and Holmesk. I looked down on the road. It was said that once, long ago, there had been a battle there, more than two hundred years ago, the battle of Teslit, fought between the forces of Ven and Harfax. Many do not even know there is a village there. They have heard only of the battle. Yet it is from the nearness of the village that the battle took its name. Such historical details seem curious. I listened for a moment, and it seemed to me then, as though from below, and yet from far away, as from another time, faintly, I heard the blare of trumpets, the rolling of the drums, the crying of men, the clash of metals. Once I supposed that that placid road below, that ribbon of dust between the brown shores of grass, had run with blood. Then once again there was only the silence and the dry road, stretching northward. The camp of Ar near Holmesk, incidentally, was situated on, or near, the same site as had been the camp of Harfax two hundred years ago. Such things are not coincidences. They have more to do with terrain, water, defensibility, and such. The land, its fall and lie, wells, watercourses, their breadth and depth, their swiftness, fords, climate, time of year, visibility, precipitation, footing, and such, provide the four-dimensional board on which are played the games of war. It is no wonder that fine soldiers are often astute historians, careful students of maps and campaigns. Certain routes, situations and times of year are optimal for certain purposes, and others are not, and might even prove disastrous. Certain passes on Gor, for example, have been used again and again. They are simply the optimal routes between significant points. They bear the graffiti of dozens of armies, carved there over a period of centuries, some of it as much as three thousand years ago.

I had been in this vicinity, keeping a small, concealed camp, overlooking the road, some five days. In the north, on the morning after my small altercation with the redoubtable Borton, that in the paga enclosure, I had volunteered for, and had been welcomed into, a search party, one formed to move southward, looking for the «spy» and "thief." They had not managed to find him, I am pleased to report, or at least to their knowledge. This party, except for myself, consisted of five men, mercenaries, under the command of a Cosian regular. They had been pleased to have my company, as it was difficult to obtain volunteers for a search southward, toward the presumed position of Ar. I had explained that I was pleased to join them, particularly as my business carried me in that direction. Similarly, I confessed to them my pleasure at being able to profit, at least for a time, from their protection. This was truer than they realized. They afforded me a priceless cover, for example, from the investigations, if not the sudden, unprovoked attacks, of Cosian tarnsmen. It was also nice to be able to move openly, during the day. Then after three days, by which time they were eager to return to the main body, particularly after having seen two tarn patrols of Ar, I had bidden them farewell, and continued southward.

The road below seemed as empty as ever.

I had cut my camp into the side of a small, brush-covered hill, west of the road. The natural slope of the hill would not suggest a leveling at this point. A needle tree provided practical cover from the sky.

I watched the road.

I had passed a night in Teslit, at one of the few huts still occupied. There I had shared kettle with a fellow and two of his sons. I had made my inquiries, purchased some supplies and then, in the morning, had left, southward. In an Ahn, I had doubled back, of course, to my camp.

The sun was warm.

I had expected that I might find Marcus here, somewhere, that in accordance with his carefully laid contingency plan, we having become separated in the Cosian camp, thanks to my inadvertent encounter with the courier, Borton. But I had seen no sign of him. Similarly I had heard nothing in the village, from the folks there. I assumed he must have left the camp expeditiously, as would have been wise, lest his putative affiliation with me be recalled, and then, after perhaps waiting a few Ahn in the vicinity of Teslit, not making his presence known, had hastened southward, that he might convey his intelligence speedily to the men of Ar near Holmesk. That is precisely what I would have expected. He was an excellent young officer, with a high sense of duty. He would not daily foolishly in the camp of Cos, as I might have, in the event that it might prove possible to render some assistance to an imperiled colleague. Such imprudence would jeopardize his opportunity to convey his data to the south. Marcus could be depended upon to do his duty, even if it meant the regrettable sacrifice of a comrade. To be sure, he himself, as he had made clear to me, with much firmness and in no little detail, back in the Cosian camp on the Vosk, was similarly ready, in such a situation, to be sacrificed, and cheerfully. Indeed, he had even insisted upon it. I had not gainsaid him, for, as I have mentioned earlier, it is difficult to argue with people who are reasonable.

The road was empty.

I myself, without Marcus, was not eager to approach the camp of Ar near Holmesk. I might be taken for a spy there. This sort of thing had already happened in Ar's Station. My accent, if nothing else, would probably render me suspect. Too, by now, Marcus was presumably already at Holmesk, or in its vicinity. Even if he were not, I suspected that the commandant at Holmesk was as much aware of the position and movements of the Cosian expeditionary force as either Marcus or I. Marcus refused to believe this, given the inactivity in the winter camp. There was, of course, a simple possible explanation for this inactivity, the cruelest consequence of which, to date, had been the failure to relieve the siege at Ar's Station. This possible explanation was simple. It had to do with treason in high places.

I examined the sky, as well. It, too, was empty. The sun, though it was late in the afternoon, was still bright.

I considered returning to Port Kar. I did not know if it would be safe to do so or not. At the left of the threshold of the house of Samos, my friend, first slaver of Port Kar, there was a banner bar. On this bar, where the bar meets the wall, there were some slave chains. Usually tied there with these chains was a bit of scarlet slave silk. If this silk had been replaced with yellow silk it was safe to return. Yet there seemed little to call me now to Port Kar. I would sooner try to enter Torcadino that I might there communicate with its current master, Dietrich of Tarnburg, at bay there like a larl in its lair. I would inform him of my betrayal in Ar, and my suspicions of treason. Perhaps he could treat with Myron, Polemarkos of Temos, commander of the main forces of Cos on the continent, if it were not too late, for a safe withdrawal from Torcadino. Dietrich's boldness and gallantry, the brilliance of his action, that of seizing Torcadino, Cos' supply depot in the south, thereby stalling the invasion, now seemed relatively ineffective. Ar had not marched to meet Cos in the south but had invested its main forces northward. By now, too, it seemed likely, over the winter, that Myron would have been able to rebuild his vast stores. Too, now, the winter over, he could bring his numerous mercenaries together again, recalling their standards from a dozen winter camps. No longer did Torcadino stand in the way of the march to Ar, unless it be as a matter of principle. This, of course, would not serve to extricate Dietrich from his post at Torcadino. Ar, I was sure, would not come to his relief, any more than they had come to the relief of their own colonial outpost on the Vosk, Ar's Station, now in ashes. Too, I wanted, sooner or later, to venture again to Ar herself. I had business there.

I looked down at the empty road.

It seemed to me that I should venture to Torcadino. Yet I knew, in deference to Marcus, I should attempt to approach the winter camp of Ar. I, unlike Marcus, had no lingering allegiance to Ar. Yet that is what he had wanted, to inform the high command of Ar near Holmesk of the movements and position of the Cosian expeditionary force. I could not be certain he had gotten through. Accordingly, I would try to reach the winter camp.

It had been days since I had had a woman. Indeed, I had not had one since the lovely Temione, in the tiny tent within the paga enclosure.

I wondered if Borton had purchased her. I did not think he would have found it easy to do so, however, as her slave value, which was considerable, had been publicly manifested in the paga enclosure, in the parade of slaves, and in the utterly liberated licentiousness of her slave dance. Philebus would now want a good deal for such a slave, a prize slave, if he were willing to part with her at all. Too, Borton's economic problems were undoubtedly complicated by the fact that I had relieved him of his secret cache of coins in his tent. I had left some slaves beads in recompense, of course, pretty beads of cheap wood, such as are cast about in festivals and carnivals, sometimes even being seized up secretly by free women who put them on before their mirrors, in secret, as though they might be slaves. In many cities, incidentally, a woman who is discovered doing such a thing may be remanded to magistrates for impressment into bondage. There will then be nothing inappropriate, even from the legal point of view, in their wearing such ornaments, assuming that they have their master's permission.

The road was empty.

In the morning, I must consider breaking camp, making my way southward, toward Holmesk.

I would again assume the guise of a merchant.

It was long since I had a woman.

I had hoped to find a woman in Teslit. But the women, and the livestock, including the two-legged form of livestock that is the female slave, had been removed. I would have settled even for a peasant's slave, usually large, coarse girls, in rope collars, but the gates to their pens hung open. The underground kennels and sunken cages, too, were empty. Even such women, of course, may be utilized. They, too, in many ways, serve men. Not only are they useful in the fields, drawing plows, hoeing, carrying water, and such, but they, too, as they can, are expected to serve the pleasures of their masters, just as would be slighter, more beautiful damsels. Peasants, incidentally, are famous for being strict with their slaves. The threat to sell a girl to a peasant is usually more than sufficient to encourage her to double, and then redouble, her efforts to please. Better to be a perfumed love slave, licking and kissing, than a girl sweating and stinking in the dusty fields, under a lash, pulling against plow straps. To be sure, what many of the urban slaves do not understand is that the peasants who buy in the rural markets are seldom looking for their sort of woman, the normal type of beautiful slave commonly sold in the urban markets, but rather for a different sort of woman, one who appeals more to their own tastes, and also, of course, will be useful in such things as carrying water and plowing. There was much point, of course, in removing the women and livestock from the village, in the current situation. If the armies did approach one another, advance scouts, foragers, and such, might seize what they could, both women and livestock, of all varieties, two-legged and otherwise. The slave, incidentally, understandably enough, is usually much safer in certain sorts of dangerous situations than the free person, who may simply be killed. The slave is a domestic animal, and has her value. She is no more likely to be slain, even in a killing frenzy, than kaiila or verr. Sometimes a free woman, seeking to save her life, even at the expense of a slave, will remove the slave's collar and put it on her own throat, thinking thereby to pass for a slave. The slave, of course, is likely to bare her brand to any who threaten her. She may then, her fair wrists incarcerated in slave bracelets, and leashed, be commanded to point out the woman who now wears her collar. She must do so. What the woman in her collar seldom understands is that she, herself, is now also, genuinely, a female slave. She, by her own action, in locking the collar on her own neck, as much as if she had spoken a formula of enslavement, is now also a slave. Perhaps they will make a pretty brace of slaves, drawn about on their leashes. She who belonged to the former free woman will now, undoubtedly, be made first girl over her, the new slave. Also, she will probably administer her first whipping to the new slave. It will undoubtedly be an excellent one.

I glanced down again, toward the road.

It was empty.

I thought of Ephialtes, the sutler, at the Crooked Tarn, and seen later at the camp of Cos outside Ar's Station. I supposed him to be traveling with the expeditionary force. He, rather like Temione, had been much abused by Borton, the courier. Indeed, Borton, wanting his space at the Crooked Tarn, a rather good space, a corner space, had simply thrown Ephialtes out of it, and taken it. It had been fairly neatly done. Ephialtes had later assisted me in discomfiting the courier. We had arranged that the courier, thinking himself at fault, would wish a bath in the morning, a circumstance which I turned to my advantage, making away with the fellow's uniform, belongings, tarn and dispatch case. Too, Ephialtes had acted as my agent in certain respects. He was a good fellow. Even now, I supposed, he was keeping four women for me, a slave, Liadne, serving as first girl, and three free women, Amina, of Venna, and Rimice and Phoebe, both of Cos. Amina and small, curvaceous Rimice were debtor sluts. I had picked them up at the Crooked Tarn. I had also picked up slim, white-skinned, dark-haired Phoebe there, who had muchly stripped herself before me, acceding to her pleas that I accept her, if only as a servant. She needed the collar desperately. As yet I had denied it to her.

In the morning I would break camp. I would trek south, toward Holmesk.

Suddenly I leaned forward. It was a very tiny thing, in the distance. I was not sure I saw it. I then waited, intent. Then, after a few Ehn, I was sure of it. On that road, that dirt road, that narrow road, almost a path, long and dusty, the dried grass on each side, a figure was approaching.

I waited.

I waited for several Ehn, for almost a quarter of an Ann. Gradually I became more sure.

I laughed softly to myself.

Then, after a time, I took a small rock and, when the figure had passed, hurled it over and behind the figure, so that it alit across from it, to the east of the road. As there was no cover on the east the figure did as I expected. It spun about, immediately, moving laterally, crouching, every sense alert, its pack discarded. It faced the opposite direction from whence had come the sound. The danger in a situation such as this, given the sound of the rock, surely an anomaly coming from the figure's left, most clearly threatened from the hill and brush, not from the grass. The late afternoon sun flashed from the steel of the bared blade. He was already yards from his pack. In moments he would move to the cover of the brush.

I stood up, and lifted my right hand, free of weapons, in greeting.

His blade reentered its sheath.

"I see they still train warriors well in Ar!" I called to him. "At Ar's Station!" he called to me, laughing. He recovered his pack and scrambled up the hill.

In a moment we clasped hands.

"I feared you had been taken," he cried, in relief.

"I have been waiting for you, here," I said. "What kept you?"

He reddened, suddenly. "I was delayed at the Vosk," he said. "I could come no sooner."

"Business?" I asked.

"Of course," he said, evasively.

I laughed.

"You were waiting to hear news of me, if I had been taken," I said.

"No!" he said, rather too quickly.

"You should have come south immediately," I said, "to the vicinity of Teslit, and from thence, after a suitable interval, expeditiously, toward Holmesk."

"Perhaps," he said.

"But you did not do so," I observed.

He blushed.

"That was our plan, was it not?" I asked him, with an innocence that might have done credit to a Boots Tarsk Bit. It was not for nothing that I had traveled with a group of strolling players. To be sure, I had been used mostly to help assemble the stage and free the wheels of mired wagons.

"It doesn't matter, now," he said, somewhat peevishly.

"But surely one must stick to a plan," I said. "For example, one must be willing to sacrifice the comrade, the friend."

"Of course," he said, irritably. "Of course!"

"It is well that there are fellows like you, to instruct sluggards and less responsible fellows, like me, in their duty."

"Thank you," he said.

"But yet it seems in this instance you did not do so." He shrugged.

"Thank you, my friend," I said.

Again we clasped hands.

"Hist!" said he, suddenly. "Below!"

"Hola there, fellows!" called a man from the road, cheerfully. There were two others with him, tall, half-shaven, ragged, angular-looking fellows. All seemed dangerous, all were armed.

The hand of Marcus went to the hilt of his weapon.

"Hold," I whispered to him. I lifted my hand to the men on the road. "Tal," I called to them.

"We are travelers," called the man. "We seek directions to Teslit."

"It lies on this road, to the south," I said.

"They are not travelers," said Marcus to me.

"No," I said.

"Far?" called the fellow.

"A pasang," I said.

"They have come from the south," said Marcus to me.

"I know," I said. I had been watching the road. Had they been following Marcus, on the road, in the open, I would have seen them. More importantly, from this height, with the sun on the road, one could see the tracks in the dust.

"They carry no packs," said Marcus.

"Their packs are probably in Teslit," I said. I was not the only one who could make inquiries in Teslit.

"They may have followed me," said Marcus, bitterly.

"I think it unlikely," I said, "that is, directly. Surely you would have been alert to such surveillance."

"I would have hoped so," he said. It is dangerous to follow a warrior, as it is a larl or sleen. Such, too often, double back. Such, too often, turn the game.

"Have no fear," called the fellow on the road.

"They may have anticipated your trek southward from the camp," I said. "They may have thought you had left earlier. In Teslit they would learn someone of my description had been recently there, but alone, and had then supposedly gone south. They may have hurried southward as far as they dared, but are now returning north. More likely, as I was alone in Teslit, they may have suspected a projected rendezvous, that I would be waiting in the vicinity for you to join me."

"We would speak with you!" called the fellow.

I did not blame them for not wanting to approach up the hill.

"Perhaps they are brigands," said Marcus.

"I do not think so," I said.

"What then?" asked he.

"Hunters," I said. "Hunters of men." Then I called down to the men on the road. "We are simple merchants," I said.

"Come down," he called, "that we may buy from you!"

"You fellows may be from Ar," I called. It would surely seem to them possible, I suspected, that Ar might have secret patrols in the area.

They looked at one another. Something was said among them. Then, again, the fellow lifted his head. "No," he called. "We are not of Ar."

"It is likely then," smiled Marcus, "that they are from the camp near the Vosk."

"Yes," I said.

"Do not be afraid!" called the man. "You have nothing to fear from us."

"We are simple merchants," I reminded him.

"We would buy from you," he called.

"What would you buy from us?" I asked.

"We have need of many things," he called. "Display your wares!"

"Come up," I called to him.

"Come down," he called.

"It will be dark in two or three Ahn," said Marcus.

"Yes," I said. It was not unlikely that we could hold this small camp until then. Then, in the darkness, we might slip away. I did not think they would wish to ascend the hill toward us. But, too, I suspected they would like to complete their work quickly.

"They could follow us in the morning," said Marcus.

"Yes," I said.

"Come down!" called the man on the road.

"Perhaps we should see what they wish," I said.

"Yes," said Marcus, grimly.

"Smile," I advised him.

We then, together, slipping a bit, descended from the camp to the road.

"You did not bring your wares," said the man, grinning. His two fellows moved away from him. In this fashion they would have room for the movement of steel.

"Packs are heavy," I said. "I thought it best to first ascertain your interests." Surely he did not seriously think I was going to encumber myself with a pack, not descending the hill, not regaining my balance at its foot, not carrying it to the road.

"You are still afraid," said the man.

"No," I said.

He drew forth from his tunic a blue armband, which he thrust up, over his sleeve, above the left elbow, grinning. "You see," he said, "there is nothing to fear. We are not of Ar." His two fellows, too, grinning, affixed identificatory insignia on their left arms, one an armband, the other a knotted blue scarf. Many mercenaries do not wear uniforms. Insignia such as armbands, scarves, ribbons and plumes, of given colors, serve to identify them, making clear their side. Needless to say, such casual devices may be swiftly changed, the colors sometimes alternating with the tides of battle. Many mercenary companies consist of little more than rabbles of armed ruffians, others, like those of Dietrich of Tarnburg, Pietro Vacchi and Raymond, of Rive-de-Bois, are crack troops, as professional as warriors of Ar or Cosian regulars. In dealing with mercenaries, it is extremely important to know the sort of mercenaries with which one is dealing. That can make a great deal of difference, both with respect to tactics and strategy. More than one regiment of regular troops has been decimated as a result of their commanders having taken a mercenary foe too lightly. With respect to switching sides, given the fortunes of the day, incidentally, the "turncoat," so to speak, to use the English expression, is not unknown on Gor. A tunic may be lined with a different color. The tunic may then, after dark, for example, be turned inside out. Such tunics, however, are seldom worn on Gor. For one thing, a fellow found wearing one is usually impaled, by either side. They have been used, of course, for infiltration purposes, much like civilian garb, false uniforms, and such.

"You are mercenaries," I observed, "in the pay of Cos."

"And you," grinned he, "are also loyal to the cause of Cos, as was clear from your presence in the Vosk camp."

"Perhaps you wish to purchase something?" I asked.

The three of them, together, drew their swords. My sword, too, had left the sheath.

"It is him we want," said the leader of the men to Marcus. "Do not interfere."

Marcus, of course, stood his ground.

"Stand back," I said to Marcus.

He did not move.

"Who is first sword?" I asked the leader.

"I am," said a fellow to the leader's left. I was sure then that it would not be he. Too, he was on the leader's left, where he could protect his unarmed side. His strengths would probably be in defense. It is difficult to break the guard of a man who is purely on the defensive. While concerning myself with the fellow on the left, or worrying most about him, the leader himself might have freer play to my own left. Too, I suspected the leader would be himself first sword. In small groups, it is often superior swordplay which determines that distinction. In Kaissa matches between clubs and towns, and sometimes even cities, incidentally, a certain form of similar deception is often practiced. One sacrifices the first board, so to speak, and then has one's first player engaging the enemy's second player, and one's second player engaging the enemy's third, and so on. To be sure, the enemy, not unoften, is doing the same thing, or something similar, and so things often even out. This tends not to be practical among members of the caste of Players, of course, as their ratings are carefully kept, and are a matter of public record.

"Very well," I said, seeming to measure the fellow on the left.

"Who is first sword?" asked the leader.

"I am," said Marcus. That interested me. It was possible, of course.

"We are not interested in you," said one of the men, uneasily. "You may withdraw."

Marcus did not move. If he withdrew, of course, that would put three against one. And then, of course, if they wished, it could be again three against one.

"I thought you wished to buy something," I said to the leader.

He laughed. "What are you selling?" he inquired.

"Steel," said Marcus, evenly.

The fellow on the leader's left backed a little away, putting another stride between himself and Marcus. The young man emanated menace.

"Bold young vulo cock," mocked the leader.

"Steady!" I said to Marcus.

I feared he would be lured prematurely forward, rashly.

"Go away," said the fellow on the leader's left to Marcus. "We do not want you."

Marcus did not move.

"Because I am young," said Marcus, "you think that I am stupid. You are mistaken."

"No," said the fellow on the left.

It seemed to me for a moment that the earth seemed to move a bit beneath our feet. Certainly it was a very subtle thing.

"You think we are spies," said Marcus. "You want us both, but only one at a time."

"No," said the fellow. "No!"

"So that is what this is all about," I exclaimed, as though in relief. "You are not mere brigands out to rob honest folks, as we feared. I think we may clear this all up quickly. It is simply a case of mistaken identity."

"Squirm," said the leader.

"Who do you think we are?" I asked.

"Our quarry," said the leader, grinning.

"Spies?" I asked.

"It makes no difference to me whether you are spies or not," said the leader.

"How did you find us?" I asked. There were three of them. I did not know Marcus' skill with the blade. I wished, if at all possible, to protect him.

"Policrates himself, it was," said he, "leader of the expeditionary force in the north, who summoned us to his tent. It was he who speculated that you might be most easily found to the south, in which direction lay Holmesk, after the official searches had concluded. It was then he speculated that you would least expect pursuit, that you would be most off your guard. Too, it was he who forbade the taking of the young fellow, but rather that he be permitted to leave the camp, unmolested, that he might lead us to you. He left southward, toward Holmesk."

"I am sorry, Tarl, my friend," said Marcus. "Aii!"

The leader looked at me, wildly, and then his sword lowered, slowly. He slipped to his knees, and fell to the dust in the road. I turned then to face the fellow who had been to the leader's right. Marcus stood quickly, white-faced, between myself and the fellow who had been on the left.

"Your leader," I said to the fellow who had been on the leader's right, "might have been better advised not to have engaged in explanations, conversation, and such. Had he been as clever as his commander, Policrates, I do not think he would have done so."

The fellow before me backed away.

"I did not even see your sword move," said Marcus, in awe.

"Your leader," I said to the man before me, "permitted himself to be distracted. Perhaps you will do the same."

The fellow shook his head, backing away.

The leader had thought himself the aggressor. He had thought me diffident, frightened. If there was a blow to be struck first he thought it his prerogative. He did not expect the thrust when it came, laterally, between the ribs, smoothly, only to the heart, no deeper, withdrawn instantaneously.

The earth then again seemed to move. Moreover, there was dust about.

I did not want to take my eyes off the man in front of me.

I heard a scream of fear from in back, from Marcus' man. Then the fellow before me, looked back, wildly, and then turned and ran.

I heard a voice behind me, from the dust. It was only when the ground had shaken near me, and I had spun half about, almost buffeted by a saddle tharlarion, and saw the running mercenary caught between the shoulder blades with the point of the lance, thrown then to the dust, rolling and bloody, and saw the tharlarion trampling the body, then turning about in a swirl of dust, the rider lifting the blood-stained lance, that I registered the voice I heard. "Tarsk!" it had said. That is a command used often in tarsk hunting, a signal to ride the animal down, plunging your lance into its back or side.

"Greetings, men of Ar!" said Marcus, lifting his hand. He had sheathed his sword. To one side, struck down by another lance, mangled, trampled in the dust, was the fellow who had been facing him. One could scarcely make out the blue of the identificatory scarf, tied high on the left arm, with the blood, the dust.

"Sheath your sword!" called Marcus to me.

I did so. There were some ten fellows about, all on tharlarion. Some five of them had crossbows. Three were trained on Marcus, two on me.

"Lower your bows," said Marcus.

The weapons did not lower.

"We are safe now," said Marcus to me. "These are men of Ar!"

I did not know this, of course, and if Marcus had been older, and more experienced, he might not have been as sure of this as he was. We did know they wore the uniforms of Ar. If it was a patrol of Ar it seemed rather far to the north. It could, of course, be a far-ranging patrol. Perhaps, too, the main body had left the winter camp, and was now marching toward the Vosk. If that were the case, the patrol might not be as far from its base as it might seem. The best evidence that these were indeed fellows from Ar, of course, was that they had ridden down the mercenaries, unhesitantly, mercilessly, giving no quarter. They would have been identified as being of the party of Cos, of course, by their recently affixed insignia, in the one case, by the blue armband, in the other case, by the blue scarf.

"We thank you for coming to our aid," said Marcus. "Glory to Ar!"

"Glory to Ar!" said four or five of the fellows about, high above us, in their saddles.

The leader of the men, however, did not respond to Marcus. He seemed weary. He was covered with dust. He looked at him, narrowly. His wind scarf hung down about his throat. This is commonly drawn down before engaging, that commands not be muffled, that air can more easily enter the lungs. His hood, too, was thrown back. This also is commonly done before engaging, to increase the range of peripheral vision. The men and beasts were covered with dust. The men seemed worn and haggard. I feared they were far from their base. Whereas the main forces of Ar might be well rested in their winter camp, perhaps unexercised, perhaps grown sleek and fat, men such as these, foragers, rangers, scouts, and such, had probably had more than their share of alarms and labors, of suspicions and dangers, more than their share of contacts with the enemy, more than their share of skirmishes in the no man's land that separated armies. I saw in their faces that these men were not strangers to hardship and war. They had seen times in which only the swift, ruthless and inexorable survive.

"I am Marcus Marcellus, of the Marcelliani!" said Marcus.

I saw no recognition in the eyes of the leader.

"Of Ar's Station!" announced Marcus.

"Renegades!" said one of the riders.

"Take us to Saphronicus, commandant at Holmesk!" said Marcus. "We are spies! We have come from the camp of Cos, to the north. We bring information!"

"I think they are spies, all right," said one of the men.

"Take us to Saphronicus!" said Marcus.

"Sleen of Ar's Station!" spat a man.

"Renegades!" said another.

"We of Ar's Station are not renegades!" exclaimed Marcus, angrily.

"Ar's Station was bought by the Cosians, by bribery," said a man.

"No!" cried Marcus.

"She now stands for Cos in the north," said a man.

"No!" said Marcus.

"And you two are spies!" said a man.

"Are you, too, from Ar's Station?" asked the leader of me.

"No," I said.

"From whence, then?" inquired he.

I was not too pleased to convey this information to these fellows, but on the other hand, there seemed little use in concealing it.

"From Port Kar," I said, adding, "Jewel of Gleaming Thassa."

"Worse than Ar's Station," laughed a fellow. "That is a den of cutthroats and pirates!"

"In Port Kar," I said, "there is a Home Stone."

"Take us to Saphronicus," said Marcus, angrily.

"Spies," said a man.

"If we were spies," said Marcus, "how is it that we were threatened by those of Cos, one of whom lay slain by my fellow before you came."

"In such a way," said the leader, "you might think to allay our suspicions. Perhaps they were mere dupes, sent to be slain, that we might be convinced of your authenticity."

"I choose not to deal further with underlings," said Marcus. "I charge you, in virtue of the authority of my commission in the forces of Ar's Station, colony to the state of Ar, to conduct us into the presence of Saphronicus, your commander, at Holmesk. This is to be done as expeditiously as possible. If you do not do so, the responsibility will be fully yours."

"Saphronicus is not at Holmesk," said the leader. Marcus looked at him, wildly.

"The winter camp has been broken?" I asked. "Yes," said the man.

"Ar marches," said another fellow, proudly. "Where?" asked Marcus, stunned.

"West," said the leader.

"Toward Brundisium?" asked Marcus, incredulously.

"Yes," said the leader.

I betrayed no emotion, but I, too, was puzzled by this intelligence. Such a line of march would not carry the army of Ar toward the Cosians, certainly not directly. Perhaps they intended to cut the Cosians off from Brundisium. That would make sense.

"We have come from the camp of Cos," said Marcus, "where, at great risk to ourselves, we have spied for Ar. We have information. I am no longer certain of the value of this information. A judgment on its value, however, should be made by Saphronicus. Take us to him."

The leader spoke to subordinates. Two men dismounted.

"What are you doing?" asked Marcus, angrily, his hands jerked behind him, then snapped into manacles. My hands, too, were similarly secured. Our sword belts, weapons and accouterments were removed. Two other fellows then tossed down chain leashes, terminating in collars. These collars were locked about our necks. The other ends of the leashes were looped about the pommels of saddles.

"We have some things on the hill, above," I said, indicating the direction of the small camp I had kept.

The leader made a small sign. One of his men made his way up the hill and, in a moment, returned with our packs. These were thrown, tied together, with our other things, over the neck of one of the tharlarion.

"Your guise was that of merchants," said the leader of the men, looking about.

"Yes," I said. That had been told from the packs. They had been inspected.

"These fellows were following you?" asked the leader, indicating the fallen mercenaries.

"Yes," I said.

"It would seem that that was their mistake," he said.

"It would seem so," I said.

"What did they purchase from you?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said.

"No," he said, "they purchased death." Then he told one of his men to drag the bodies into the brush. "Leave them for sleen," he said. They would be removed from the road, of course, the better to conceal the movements of a patrol of Ar.

"Free us!" said Marcus, jerking his wrists in their obdurate confinements, moving his neck in the collar.

But the leader paid him no attention.

The butts of lances entered saddle boots. The crossbows were restored to their hooks on the saddles.

"We are partisans of Ar!" called Marcus, angrily.

"They do not know that," I said to him.

"What are you going to do with us?" called Marcus, angrily.

"Take you to Saphronicus," said the leader.

"Then," said Marcus, cheerfully, turning to me, "all is well!"

"I wish," said one of the men, looking down at us, "that you were slave girls."

He, I suspected, long on patrol, was as needful as I. The allusion, of course, was to a perhaps somewhat ostentatious custom, that of displaying beautiful slaves, chained naked to one's stirrup. There is perhaps a certain vanity in this, but they are beautiful there, and I suspect, we have all known women whom we would not have minded putting in such a place, women who would quite appropriately occupy such a place, and indeed, would look very well there. One of the pleasures of Gor, incidentally, is treating women in such ways, as they deserve.

Marcus struggled futilely, angrily, with his bonds.

The leader lifted his hand, his men now mounted.

"We have nothing to fear," Marcus called to me. "We are being taken to Saphronicus!"

"You will not converse," said the leader. He then lowered his hand and his tharlarion strode forth, leading the way.

Marcus's neck chain was attached to the pommel of the second tharlarion. He looked back at me. Then, half pulled, the collar tight against the back of his neck, he stumbled forward, beside the tharlarion.

Six tharlarion then, in single file, that their numbers might be obscured, followed. Then the ninth tharlarion strode forth and I, too, afoot, in chains, accompanied it. The tenth tharlarion brought up the rear.

It was hot, dusty.

Indeed, Marcus and I would not converse, for he was yards ahead. It was natural that male prisoners would be thusly separated. In this fashion, given independent interrogations, they cannot adequately corroborate one another's stories. One does not know what the other has said, or been told, and so on. Similarly the possibility of active collaboration is significantly reduced. Interestingly, on the other hand, captive women are often kept together, that their suspicions, speculations, fears and apprehensions may reinforce one another, bringing them to a state of common ignorance and terror. This is also useful in increasing their sexual arousal and readying them to please.

It was hot, dusty.

Marcus had it somewhat better I thought. He was almost at the front. There was less dust there. It was natural, I supposed, that he had been placed in this position of precedence. The leader had apparently accepted that he was an officer, and in command of our small party. Surely he had been our spokesman. Too, he was of Ar's Station, and not merely Port Kar. I, I supposed, was understood, naturally enough under the circumstances, to be his subordinate, or man. It might also be mentioned, however, that there was an additional reason for this position of Marcus near the leader, one which puts the matter in a certain perspective. In case of trouble he, Marcus, the presumed leader of the captives, could be quickly dispatched.

We increased our pace. I did not think the trek would be pleasant. Already I was thirsty.

One must distinguish between the slave girl who is put to a stirrup as a discipline, who might be taken into the country like this, even on dirt roads, to gasp and sweat, and struggle, at the stirrup, and the girl who, in a city, or on a smooth stone road, of great fitted blocks, serves primarily, and proudly, considering the honor bestowed upon her, the implicit tribute to her beauty, as a display item in her master's panoply.

It would probably be dark in an Ahn. I wondered where might be the army of Ar.

I looked at the riders.

Doubtless they would have preferred, indeed, that we were females.

Men such as these, of course, who have lived with hardship and danger, when they return to camp, know well how to handle women. In their presence the slaves do not dally. They hurry quickly, frightened, to their chains.

I, too, wanted a woman.

The shadows were growing long now.

A sting fly hummed by. Chained, it would be difficult to defend oneself from such a creature. It was the second I had seen this day. They generally hatch around rivers and marshes, though usually somewhat later in the season. At certain times, in certain areas, they hatch in great numbers.

The dust rose like clouds, stirred by the heavy, clawed paws of the tharlarion.

Marcus had assured me that there was nothing to fear, that we were being taken to Saphronicus.

The chain was on my neck.

I trusted that Marcus was correct, that there was nothing to fear.

I moved my hands in the close-fitting steel circlets which held my hands pinioned so perfectly behind my back.

Yes, there would be nothing to fear.

I hoped, at least, there was nothing to fear.

In any event, we were helpless prisoners. We were totally at the mercy of our captors.