Beasts of Gor (55 page)

“Yes,” I said.

“These garments are not practical for the ice,” said Poalu. “Maybe that is why they keep it so warm in here,” speculated Imnak.

“They would have me believe that you have betrayed me, Imnak,” I said.

“And you do not believe them?” he asked.

“Of course not,” I said.

“If I were you,” said Imnak, “I would give the matter serious consideration.”

“No,” I said. “No!”

“I hope that you will not permit this to interfere with our friendship,” said Imnak, concerned.

“Of course not,” I said.

“That is good,” said Imnak.

“It is strange, Imnak,” I said. “With some other man in your position, I would doubtless wish to kill him, and yet I find it hard to even be angry with you.”

“That is because I am such a friendly, genial fellow,” said Imnak. “You can ask anyone in the camp. I am very popular. It is only that I cannot sing.”

“But you are not loyal,” I said.

“Of course, I am loyal,” said Imnak. “It is only a question as to whom I am loyal.”

“I never looked at it just that way before,” I said. “I suppose you are loyal to Imnak.”

“He is a good fellow to be loyal to,” said Imnak. “He is friendly and genial, and he is popular in the camp. It is only that he cannot sing.”

“I hope you are proud of yourself,” I said.

Imnak shrugged. “It is true that I am pretty good at many things,” he said.

“Among them, treachery,” I said.

“Do not be bitter, Tarl, who hunts with me,” said Imnak, “I talked with Karjuk. It is all for the best.”

“I trusted you,” I said.

“If you had not, things would have been more difficult for me,” admitted Imnak.

I looked at Barbara, in the red silk. “We were worried about you,” I said.

“Not me;” said Imnak.

“I was captured by an ice beast, or something like an ice beast,” she said. “It had rings in its ears. It seems in league with Karjuk. I was brought here. When Imnak arrived, I was returned to him.”

“You are very beautiful,” I said.

“Thank you, Master,” she said.

“You, too, Audrey,” I said, looking at her.

“A girl is grateful if she is found pleasing by a free man,” she said, tears in her eyes.

“We must be on our way,” said Drusus.

“I wish you well, Tarl, who hunts with me,” said Imnak, lifting the roast vulo leg in salute.

I did not speak further with him. The cart was pushed past the four individuals. I did not look back.

“Gold buys any man,” said Drusus, walking behind the cart, behind the two men who wheeled it along. His sword was at his hip. In his right hand was the light, tubular, stocked, dart-firing weapon. “Any man,” he said. I did not respond to him. Bitterly, I clutched the bars of the confining cage, moving slowly down the long, steel hall.

30

The Small Arena

There were two, small, rounded platforms. On each of them, in long, flowing, classic white, there stood a girl. Neither was collared. Each, though, was necklaced and bejeweled. Each wore a coronet. Their raiment, though simple, was rich. They might have been Ubaras. I could tell, however, from the fall of the garment, that each was naked beneath it. There was an upright iron post, about a yard in height, on each platform, behind each girl. Their small wrists, by means of slave bracelets and a ring at the top of the post, were fastened behind them and to the post. At the feet of each was an opened slave collar, with a bit of silk twisted about it.

One of these girls was the former Lady Tina of Lydius, whom Ram had once enslaved. The other was Arlene.

One of the men of the Kurii stepped down from the tiers Into the sand, between and before the two platforms. He was armed with the Gorean short sword.

Opposite my cage there was another cage, in which Ram, whom I had not seen in days, since we were separated in the storm, was confined.

I was pleased muchly to see that he lived. Perhaps he had been spared for this sport.

Ram’s cage was opened and he stepped down and into the sand. A short sword was placed in his grasp.

He cut the air twice with the sword, and then stepped back. A fellow in brown and black, which seemed to be the livery of the men of the Kurii in this place, stepped to the center of the sand.

Ram glanced at me.

“I wish you fortune,” I said. He grinned.

I looked about the small amphitheater. There were some hundred men present in it Bets were being taken.

I knew Ram was skillful. How skillful I did not know.

Behind my cage, and in the wall, some twenty feet in height, there was a mirror. I saw no reason for a mirror in such a place.

Behind it, I supposed, Kuril watched. It was, I assumed, one-way glass.

The man at the center of the sand spoke to the two combatants, who stood near to him.

He did not speak long.

The rules for the sport are simple. They are those of war.

Having a female at stake, or a bit of gold, adds spice to the contest. The reason why men do such things, I think, however, is not because of the women, or the gold, but because they enjoy it.

The two combatants then separated.

“Place each of you your right heel on the wooden rim of the sand oval,” then said the man in the center of the sand.

Both Ram and the other fellow did this. They stood, then, oppposite to one another, facing one another across some twenty feet of sand.

The man in the center of the sand then withdrew. “Fight,” he said.

“Excellent,” I breathed to myself. I found myself admiring the skill of Ram. The other fellow was quite good, but there was little contest. In moments Ram was wiping his blade on the tunic of the man at his feet. I was faster than Ram but his quickness was unusual, even among warriors. I would have been pleased to have had him., serve with me. There was now no doubt in my mind but what, before his exile in Teletus, despite his asseverations to. the contrary, his tunic had been of scarlet.

“Well done, Warrior,” I called to him. He lifted his blade to me, in salute.

Tina was released from the post, and fled to him, but stopped short, the point of his blade at her belly. She looked at him, startled. He would not permit her to touch him in the garb of a free woman. With his sword he gestured to her gown, the jewels, the coronet. Swiftly she stripped herself naked before him and knelt. He threw her the bit of silk which had been wrapped about the opened slave collar which had been at her feet on the platform. She slipped it on, that luscious mockery of a garment. He then, as she knelt, roughly locked the collar on her throat. He then took her in his arms as what she was, his slave girl. How she melted to him, his, crying out, owned. But then he saw the lowered dart-projectile weapons circling him. Laughing he put her to the side, and flung his sword down, blade first, to the hilt in the sand. He was placed again in the cage, and locked within, Tina was dragged in her collar and slave silk to the post. She was forced to kneel there, for she was now collared, a slave wench. Her hands were lifted, and again placed in the slave bracelets, which were again closed. She was again fastened at the iron post, this time kneeling beside it, her hands lifted above her face. Her hair came half way down her back.

The gate of my cage, was opened, and a short sword was placed in my hands.

It had good balance. It was not a poor weapon. Drusus himself, I was pleased to see, stepped forth into the sand.

“I have been waiting a long time to meet you in this fashion,” said he.

I measured him, his movements, the cast of his eyes. I could gather little.

He seemed slow. But I knew he did not come to his somber garb by any tardiness of action or hesitancy in deed. The training of the assassin is thorough and cruel. He who wears the black of that caste has not won it easily. Candidates for the caste are chosen with great care, and only one in ten, it is said, completes the course of instruction to the satisfaction of the caste masters. It is assumed that failed candidates are slain, if not in the training, for secrets they may have learned. Withdrawal from the caste is not permitted. Training proceeds in pairs, each pair against others. Friendship is encouraged. Then, in the final training, each member of the pair must hunt the other. When one has killed one’s friend one is then likely to better understand the meaning of the black. When one has killed one’s friend one is then unlikely to find mercy in his heart for another. One is then alone, with gold and steel.

I looked at Drusus.

The assassins take in lads who are perhaps characterized by little but unusual swiftness, and cunning, and strength and skill, and perhaps a selfishness and greed, and, in time, transform this raw material into efficient, proud, merciless men, practitioners of a dark trade, men loyal to secret codes the content of which is something at which most men dare not guess.

Drusus was looking at me.

I kept in mind he had survived the training of the assassin.

We stood in the center of the sand, with the other man, listening.

Suddenly the blade of Drusus leapt toward me. I deflected it. I had been waiting for the blow.

The third man on the sand seemed startled. Ram, in his cage, cried out in fury. The girls gasped. Most sat, stunned. One or two of the men in the tiers cried out approval.

“You are skilled,” I told Drusus.

“You, too, are skilled,” he said.

The man in the center of the sand backed uneasily away from us.

“Place each of you your right heel on the wooden rim of the sand oval,” he said. His voice faltered.

We did so.

“How will you manage,” I asked Drusus, “without a dark doorway from which to emerge?”

He did not speak to me.

“Perhaps a confederate in the andience will strike me when my back is turned?” I suggested.

The face of Drusus showed no emotion.

“There is perhaps poison on your blade?” I said.

“My caste does not make use of poison,” he said.

I then decided that it would not he easy to agitate him, perhaps impairing his timing, or niaking him behave in a hasty manner, too zealous for a quick kill.

“Fight,” said the man at the side of the ring.

We met in the center of the ring. Our blades touched and parried.

“I received my early training in the city of Ko-ro-ba,” I said.

Our blades touched one another.

“What is your Home Stone?” I asked.

“Do you think I am fool enough to talk with you?” he snarled.

“Assassins, as I recall,” I said, “have no Home Stones. I suppose that is a drawback to caste membership, but if you did have Home Stones, it might be difficult to take fees on one whose Home Stone you shared.”

I moved his blade aside.

“You are faster than I thought,” I said.

Our blades swiftly met, a moment of testing. Then we stepped back, retaining our guard position.

“Some think the caste of assassins performs a service,” I said, “but I find this difficult to take seriously. I suppose they could be hired in the service of justice, but it seems they could be as easily hired in the service of anything.” I looked at him. “Do you fellows have any principles?” I asked.

He moved in, swiftly, too swiftly. I did not take advantage of it.

“Apparently staying alive is not one of them,” I said.

He stepped back, startled.

“You were open there for a moment,” I said. He knew it and I knew it, but I was not sure those in the tiers knew it. It is sometimes difficult to see these things from certain angles.

There were jeers from the tiered benches. They did not believe what I said.

I now stalked Drusus. He kept a close guard, covering himself well. It is hard to strike a man who elects defense. He limits himself, of course, in adopting this strategem.

Now jeers against Drusus came from the benches. He began to sweat.

“Is it true,” I asked, “that you, in attaining the black of your caste, once slew your friend?”

I pressed the attack, but in a courteous fashion. He defended himself well.

“What was his name?” I asked.

“Kurnock!” he suddenly cried out, angrily, and rushed toward me.

I sprawled him into the sand at my feet, and my blade was at the back of his neck.

I stepped back.

“Get up,” I said. “Now let us fight seriously.”

He leaped to his feet. I then administered to him, and to those in the tiers, a lesson in the use of the Gorean blade.

They sat in silence.

Then, bloodied, Drums, unsteadily, his sword arm down, wavered before me. He had been cut several times, as I had pleased.

He could no longer lift the blade. Blood ran down his arm, staining the sand.

I looked up to the mirror in the wall, that which I was confident was in actuality a one-way glass. I lifted my sword to that invisible window, in the salute of a Gorean warrior. I then turned again to face Drusus.

“Kill me,” he said. “It is twice I have failed my caste.” I lifted the blade to strike him. “I will be swift,” I told him.

I poised the steel.

“Let it be thus that an old debt owed to one named Kurnock is repaid,” I said.

“That is the first time I failed my caste,” said Drusus.

I regarded him.

“Strike,” he said.

“I do not understand,” I said.

“I did not kill Kurnock,” he said. “He was no match for me. I could not bring myself to kill him.”

I handed the sword to the third man on the sand.

“Kill me!” cried Drusus.

“Do you think a warrior can show less mercy than an Assassin?” I asked.

“Kill me,” wept Drusus, and then, from the loss of blood, fell into the sand.

“He is too weak to be an assassin,” I said. “Remove him.”

Drusus was drawn from the sand. The man who had been in charge of the combat then released Arlene from the iron post.

Proudly she stepped down from the platform and stood before me.

She said nothing, but removed her jewels and necklaces, and the coronet she wore, dropping them into the sand. She then slipped the gown from her body. She then stood befor me, proud and beautiful, and absolutely naked. She then turned and went to the foot of the small, round platform, picked up the opened slave collar, with the bit of silk wrapped about it, and returned to the place on the sand before me. She then knelt before me and lifted the collar and silk. “Collar your slave, Master,” she said.