Magicians of Gor (47 page)

“Yes,” I said. “Do you not remember? He is the owner of Milo, the handsome

fellow, the actor who played the part of Lurius of Jad in the pageant, and is an

agriculturist, an impresario, and slaver. That explains, probably, his interest

in this establishment, and his catering to a certain clientele.” I looked up at

the pool of light. “It is that Appanius, is it not?” I asked.

“Yes,” said the fellow, “and a powerful man.”

I lowered the blade. I had no wish to do anything which Appanius might find

disagreeable, such as burn down one of his buildings. He was undoubtedly a

splendid fellow, and, in any (pg. 274) case, I might later wish to do business

with him. I sheathed my sword.

“Appanius is not one to be lightly trifled with!” said the fellow, seemingly

somewhat emboldened by the retreat of my blade.

Marcus’ blade half left its sheath. “And what of heavily trifling with him?” he

asked. “Or trifling with him moderately?” Marcus was still not well disposed

toward most fellows from Ar, and did not seem prepared to make an exception in

favor of the fellow on the landing. I pushed Marcus’ blade back down in its

sheath.

“This,” I said, indicating a cord and bar to one side, “is undoubtedly the alarm

bar, to be rung in the case of emergency or fire.”

“Yes?” said the voice from the pool of light.

“I am pleased to see it,” I said. “This will quite possibly save me burning down

the building.”

“Why do you wish to see Renato?” asked the fellow, nervously. I think he did not

relish the thought of being on the landing if the occupants of the building

should suddenly, in their hundreds, begin to stream forth in vigorous, or even

panic-stricken, haste, down the stairs.

“That is our business,” I said.

“You are not going to lead him off in chains, are you?” he asked. “He owes two

weeks rent.”

I surmised that more than an occasional lodging fee had in such a manner escaped

the agent of Appanius.

“No,” I said.

“Hah!” he suddenly cried.

“What is wrong?” I asked.

“It is the same trick!” he said. “I see it now! The same trick!”

“What trick?” I asked.

“The rogue last year pretended to have himself arrested and led away, but it

turned out to be by members of his own troupe, and thus they all escaped without

paying the rent!”

“And you took him back in?” I asked.

“Who else would give such a rogue lodging but Appanius?” said the man. “But he

made him pay double, and for the time before, too!”

“Interesting,” I said. “But we wish to see him on business, now.”

“We can force the doors, one after the other,” said Marcus.

“There are at least a hundred rooms here,” I said. “Perhaps more.”

(pg. 275) “Which is his room?” asked Marcus. “And we shall rout him out

ourselves.”

“I would have to consult the records,” said the fellow. “He may not even be

rooming here.”

“But surely you have one or more of his slaves chained somewhere as a surety,” I

said.

The fellow made a tiny, angry noise above us.

I saw I had guessed right. The only slave of the ponderous fellow I had seen in

the show had been the one he was now calling Litsia. I expected he had one or

more elsewhere. For example, I had not seen a certain blonde about whom he often

used in his dramatic farces, in various roles, such as that of the Golden

Courtesan. She, and perhaps one or two others, I did not know, were in this very

building, or elsewhere, chained or caged, as a surety for the lodging fees. If

he wished to use one of them in some farce, or such, he would perhaps take that

one, and leave another, say, Litsia, as he now called her, with the agent, or

his men. Such women, being properties, may be used as sureties, to be taken over

by the creditors of their former master’s creditors. There are many variations

on this sort of thing. For example, it is not unknown for one fellow, desiring

the slave of another, to advance his fellow money, perhaps for gambling, in the

hope that he may not be able to pay it back, in which case the creditor, in

accord with the contractual arrangements, may claim the slave. Also, of course,

it is not unusual, in serious cases, for a debtor’s properties to be seized and

auctioned, that his debts may be satisfied. These properties include, of course,

his livestock, if any, which category includes slaves. Daughters, too, in some

cities, are subject to such seizure and sale. Also, a female debtor, in many

cities, is subject to judicial enslavement, she then coming rightlessly and

categorically, identically with any other slave, into the ownership of the

creditor.

“Shall I tell him that two guardsmen are asking after him?” asked the fellow.

“No, just say, ‘two friends’,” I said.

“I am not his friend,” said Marcus.

“One friend,” I called.

“I see,” said the fellow from above, carefully. “There are two fellows calling

for him, who do not wish him to know they are guardsmen, one of whom is his

friend, and one of whom is not, and both of whom are armed, and seem ready to

unsheath their weapons at a moment’s notice, if not earlier.”

(pg. 276) “I am sure he is here,” I said. “So do not return and tell us he is

not in.”

“Shall I go up with him?” asked Marcus.

“No, no!” said the fellow above, quickly.

“You realize,” said Marcus, “that the fellow may elude us, over the roofs, or

climb out on a ledge, and fall to his death, or lower himself by means of a rope

to the alley from the room?”

“Or disappear into thin air?” I asked.

“Possibly,” grumbled Marcus, who had not yet, I fear, been persuaded to an

attitude of skepticism in such matters.”

“I have it,” I said. Then I called up to the fellow on the landing. “Tell him,”

I said, “that the world’s worse actor desires to speak with him.”

“That seems a strange request,” said the fellow with the lantern.

“Not so strange as you might think,” I said.

“Very well,” he said. He then turned about and began to climb the flights of

stairs upward, toward the least desirable, hottest, most dangerous levels of the

insula. We watched the flickering light of the lantern making its way

irregularly up the walls on either side of the staircase, and then, eventually,

saw it fade and disappear.

“He whom you seek is now doubtless making his exit,” said Marcus.

An urt hurried down the stairs and darted along the side of the wall and through

a crack in the wall.

Marcus swiftly drew his sword.

“No,” I said, staying his hand. “That is not he.”

“Are you sure?” asked Marcus.

“Pretty sure,” I said.

“Perhaps we should wait out back,” said Marcus. “Perhaps he can see in the

dark.”

“It’s dark out there,” I said.

In a moment, however, we heard the stairs shaking and creaking, from flights

above, and then, in a bit, apparently feeling his way by the walls at the sides

of the stairs, down came the bulk of the large fellow, his paunch swaying, his

robes flying behind him.

“He moves with great rapidity,” said Marcus. “Perhaps he can see in the dark?”

“No,” I said.

“Perhaps he is part sleen,” he said.

“Some have claimed more than a part,” I said.

Marcus whistled softly, to himself.

“He knows the stairs,” I said, somewhat irritably. “So, too, would you, if you

lived here.”

(pg. 277) Then the great bulk was on the floor of the hall, rushing toward me.

Without a moment’s hesitation it seized me in a great embrace.

Then we joyfully held one another at arm’s length.

“How did you know it was me?” I asked.

“It could be no other!” he cried, delightedly.

“Who is this?” he asked, regarding Marcus.

“My friend, Marcus,” I said, “of Ar’s Station.”

“The state of knaves, traitors, and cowards?” inquired the ponderous fellow.

I restrained Marcus.

“I am pleased to meet you!” said the ponderous fellow, extending his hand.

“Beware,” I said to Marcus, “or he will have your wallet!”

“Here is yours,” said the fellow, handing mine back to me.

“That was neatly done,” I said. I was genuinely impressed. “Is there anything

left in it?”

“Almost everything,” said the fellow.

Gingerly, standing back, Marcus extended his hand.

The ponderous fellow seized it and shook it vigorously. It was Marcus’ sword

hand. I trusted it would not be injured. We might have need of it.

“How did you know where to find me?” asked the ponderous fellow.

“Inquiries, and a couple of silver tarsks, at the theater,” I said.

“It is good to know one has friends,” he said.

“Do you do your wonders by magic or trickery?” asked Marcus.

“Most often by trickery,” said the fellow, “but sometimes, I admit, when I am

tired, or do not wish to take the time and trouble required for tricks, by

magic.”

“See!” said Marcus to me, triumpantly.

“Really, Marcus,” I said.

“It is as I told you!” he insisted.

“If you would like a demonstration,” said the large fellow, solicitously, “ I

could consider turning you into a draft tharlarion.”

Marcus turned white.

“Only temporarily, of course,” the fellow assured him.

Marcus took another step back.

“Do not fear,” I said to Marcus. “There is not enough room in the hall for a

draft tharlarion.”

“You are as practical as ever!” said the large fellow, delightedly. Then he

turned to Marcus. “When a wagon would be stuck in the mud, it was always he who

would first discover it! (pg. 278) When there wasn’t enough to eat, it would be

he who would be the first to notice!”

I did have a good appetite, of course.

“I do not wish to be turned into a draft tharlarion,” said Marcus.

“Not even temporarily?” I urged.

“No!” said Marcus.

“Have no fear,” said the fellow. “I couldn’t do that if I wished.”

“But you said—,” said Marcus.

“I said I could consider turning you into a draft tharlarion,” he said, “and

that is quite easy to do, considering such a matter. The difficulty arises in

accomplishing it.”

“Am I mocked?” asked Marcus.

“Actually his name is ‘Marcus’,” I said.

Marcus regarded me, startled.

“I see that your wit is as sharp as ever!” said the ponderous fellow.

“Thank you,” I said. I thought the sally had been deft. I am not sure Marcus

knew what to do in the presence of two such fellows as we.

“And what do you do?” the fellow asked Marcus. “Do you juggle, do you walk a

tightrope? Our friend, Tarl here was excellent at clinging to a wire with great

tenacity. It was one of his best tricks.”

It was not my fault if I were no Lecchio.

“I am of the warriors,” said Marcus.

“How unfortunate,” said the fellow, “our military roles are all filled. We

already have our captain, our imperious general, and two spearmen.”

“I am not an actor,” said Marcus.

“That has never been essential for success on the stage,” he was assured.

It might be noted also, of course, that unusual talent did not guarantee success

either. For example, I had not been notably successful on the stage.

“Consider the fabulous Milo,” said the fellow to Marcus.

Marcus looked at me, with a malicious grin. He did not much approve of Milo. Or

perhaps it would be more correct to say that he did not much approve of Phoebe’s

approving of him.

“I think Milo is an excellent actor,” I said.

“You see?” asked the fellow of Marcus.

“Yes,” said Marcus.

“Did you see him in the pageant about Lurius of Jad?” I asked.

(pg. 279) “Yes,” he said. “It was on the basis of that performance that my

opinion was formed.”

“I see,” I said. How ugly, I though, professional jealousy can be.

“Milo,” he said, “has the flexibility, the range, the nuance of a block of

wood!”

“Most folks fine him impressive,” I said.

“So is the fountain of Hesius,” said the fellow, “but it can’t act either.”

“He is thought to be the most handsome man in Ar,” I said. “Or among the most

handsome,” I added, reflectively.

“Your qualification is judicious,” said the fellow.

“Certainly,” said Marcus, apparently also giving the matter some thought. I said

nothing more then, modestly. Nor, as I recall, did they.

“Have you lost any Home Stones lately?” the fellow asked Marcus.

Marcus’ eyes blazed.

“Beware,” I said. “Marcus is a touchy fellow, and he is not over fond of those

of Ar.”

“He does not know what noble, good-hearted, jolly fellows we are,” said the

large fellow.

“Why have you changed your name?” I asked.

“There are various warrants out for me,” he said. “By changing my name that

gives the local guardsmen on Show Street an excuse for taking my bribes with a

good conscience.”

“The others, too, have changed their names?” I said.

“For now,” he said.

“His Litsia was once ‘Telitsia’,” I said to Marcus.

“That is not much of a change,” he said.

“But then she had not changed much,” said the large fellow.

‘Litsia’, in any case, is a shortened form of ‘Telitsia’. It would not be

unusual to take a name such as ‘Telitsia’ which is most often a free woman’s

name and give it a shortened form, a more familiar form, perhaps one more