Magicians of Gor (17 page)

Perhaps he might eventually entertain at banquets, pretending on his leash to be

a dancing sleen.

The coins cast forth, Myron lifted his arms to the crowd.

Muchly he was cheered.

Then he, with his fellows, descended the ramp and were in a moment again,

utilizing the mounting rings, in the saddle. They then wheeled their mounts and

began to move south. His helmet bearer, on his own beast, followed him. showing

his face to the crowd was judicious, I thought. It suggested openness, candor,

trust, rejoicing. Too, the common Gorean helmet, with its “Y”-shaped aperture,

of which his helmet was a variant, tends to have somewhat formidable appearance.

He smiled. He waved. Peals of rejoicing rang from the signal bars about the

city. The crowds, on both sides of the avenue, cheered. Then the musicians

struck up a martial air, and the standards turned about. The forces of Cos, too,

about-faced. Then they withdrew, south on the avenue, between cheering crowds.

Girls rushed out to give flowers to the soldiers. Some of the men tied them on

their spears. “Hail Cos! Hail Ar!” cried hundreds of men. “We are free!” cried

others. “Hail our liberators!” called others. “Gratitude to Cos!” cried others.

“Hail Lurius of Jad!” cried others. Children were lifted on shoulders to see the

soldiers. Thousands of small Cosian pennons, together with pennons of Ar,

appeared, waving. Both sides of the street were riots of color and sound. “Hail

Lurius of Jad!” cried men. “Hail Seremides!” cried others. “Hail Talena!” cried

others. “Hail Talena!”

I looked at Marcus.

Phoebe had her head down, her eyes shut, covering her ears with her hands, so

great was the din.

But, in a few Ehn, with the passage of the Cosians south on the avenue, the

crowd melted away from us.

Phoebe opened her eyes and removed her hands from her ears, but she kept her

head down.

We could trace the withdrawal of the Cosians by the sounds of the crowd, even

farther away.

I looked at the platform, deserted now. On that platform, barefoot, Talena had

stood. She had worn the robe of a penitent or suppliant. She should have been by

custom naked beneath (pg. 97) that robe, but I doubted that she had been. I

wondered what might have occurred had things turned out differently, and not as

planned, say, had Myron removed that robe and found her clothed. I smiled to

myself. She might have been killed. At the least she would have soon learned the

lash of a man’s displeasure, in detail and liberally. But I did not think that

she, or Seremides, had feared that eventuality. Surely she was of more use to

the party of treachery, in which she doubtless stood high, and to the Cosians,

on the throne of Ar than as merely another woman, naked and in chains, gracing a

conqueror’s triumph. Seremides, too, and Myron, as well, I though, had played

their parts well.

As I pondered these things some workmen came forth to dismantle the platform. It

had served its purpose. Too, at this time the great bars in the Central Cylinder

ceased their ringing. We could still hear the ringing of other bars elsewhere in

the city, farther away. Too, far off now, like the sounds of Thassa breaking on

a distant shore, we could hear the crowds.

I again considered the platform. On it Talena, of Ar, had stood barefoot. I

trusted that she had not injured her feet.

Phoebe now knelt beside Marcus, her head down.

“It is strange,” I said to Marcus. “The war betwixt Cos and Ar has ended.”

“Yes,” he said.

“It is done,” I said. “It is over.”

“With victory for Cos,” said Marcus.

“Complete victory,” I said.

Marcus looked down at Phoebe. “You have won,” he said.

“Not I,” she said.

“Cos has won,” he said.

“Cos,” she said. “Not I.”

“You are Cosian,” he said.

“No longer,” she said. “I am a slave.”

“But doubtless you rejoice in her victory,” he said.

“Perhaps Master rejoices,” she said, “that Ar, who refused to succor Ar’s

Station, the city of the slave’s master, had now fallen?”

Marcus looked down upon her.

“Am I to be now slain?” she asked, trembling.

“No,” he said.

She looked up at him.

“You are only a slave,” he said.

Swiftly, weeping, she put down her head to his feet. She laughed and cried, and

kissed his feet. Then she looked up at him, through her tears. “But am I no

longer to be your little “Cosian”? she asked, laughing.

(pg. 98)”You will always be my little Cosian,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

“Spread your knees, Cosian,” he said.

“Yes, Master!” she laughed.

“More widely!” said he.

“Yes, Master!” she said.

“Slave,” said he.

“Your slave, my Master!” she said.

I heard the sound of hammers as the workmen struck boards from the platform.

“We should seek lodging,” said Marcus.

“Yes,” I said.

Phoebe rose to her feet beside her master, clinging to him, pressing herself to

him, soft, her head down. He nestled her in his arms. How must she was his!

“Tomorrow,” said Marcus. “I would conjecture that Myron will have a triumph.”

“More likely the Ubar of Cos, by proxy,” I said.

“Doubtless its jubilation and pomp will dwarf the celebrations of this morning.”

“Ar will do her best, I am sure, to officially welcome, and express her

gratitude to, her liberator, the great Lurius of Jad,” I said.

“Represented by his captain, and cousin, Myron, polemarkos of Temos,” he said.

This was Myron’s exact title, incidentally. Temos is one of the major cities on

the island of Cos. The crowd, of course, or many in it, regarded him simply as

the polemarkos, or, say, understandably enough, and, I suppose, correctly

enough, as the polemarkos of Cos.

“Of course,” I said.

“Seremides will doubtless participate in the triumph,” he said.

“He should,” I said. “It is his, as well. He has doubtless worked hard and long

to realize such a day.”

“And Talena,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“You sound bitter,” he said.

“Perhaps,” I said.

“Myron did not accept the sword of Seremides,” he said.

“That is understandable,” I said.

“I suppose so,” he said.

“Certainly,” I said.

The acceptance of the sword would have constituted a public token of the

surrender of Ar’s forces, foot and cavalry, both tarn and tharlarion. That Myron

had refused to accept it publicly on the platform was fully in keeping with the

pretense of liberation.

(pg. 99) “It is my speculation,” I said, “that the sword was surrendered

yesterday, in the tent of Myron, or, more likely, before his troops, outside the

city, and then, later, privately returned.”

“Yes!” said Marcus. “I wager you are right!”

“The troops of the polemarkos would expect such a thing,” I said.

“Of course,” he said.

“So, too, would Lurius of Jad,” I said.

“Yes,” he said.

“In any event,” I said, “with or without such tokens, the surrender of Ar is

complete. It has been clearly and indisputable effected. Resistance to Cos has

been ordered to cease. The forces of Ar, such as remain of them, have laid down

their arms. They will presumably be soon reduced in numbers, perhaps to handfuls

of guardsmen subject to Cosian officers, if not completely disbanded and

scattered. Weapons will presumable, in time, be outlawed in the city. Her gates

have been burned. I would expect, eventually, that her walls, stone by stone,

will be taken down. She will then be utterly vulnerable, dependent completely on

the mercies of Cos or her puppets.”

“It will be the end of a civilization,” said Marcus.

“A civilization of sorts will remain,” I said, “and arts of a sort, a literature

of a sort, and such things.”

“Perhaps Gor will be the better for it,” said Marcus, bitterly.

I was silent.

“How will the men retain their manhood?” he asked.

“Perhaps they will manage,” I said. I had great respect for the men of Ar.

“And what will become of the women?” he asked.

“I do not know,” I said. “If the men do not retain their manhood, it will be

difficult, or impossible, for the women, at least those who are in relationships

to such men, to be women.”

“Yes,” he said.

“Cos,” I said, “is master on Gor.” I recalled that Dietrich of Tarnburg had

feared such an eventuality, the coming of sovereignty of a major power. Such

might mean the end of the free companies.

“Only in a sense,” said Marcus.

I regarded him.

“In many cities and lands, indeed, in most parts of the world,” he said, “things

will be surely much as they were before.”

I considered such things as the difficulties of communication, the difficulties

of maintaining supply lines, the lengths of marches, (pg. 100) the paucity of

roads, the isolation of cities, the diversities of cultures and such.

“I think you are right,” I said.

It would be merely that Cos would now be the dominant force on the continent.

Also, geopolitically, it did not seem likely that Cos could indefinitely

maintain her power. Her seat of power was overseas and her forces were largely

composed of mercenaries who were difficult to control and expensive to maintain.

The recent campaigns of Lurius of Jad must have severely drained the treasury of

Cos, and perhaps of Tyros, too, her ally. To be sure, her outlays might now be

recouped here and there, for example, from conquered Ar. Cos had succeeded in

defeating Ar. It was not so clear, I now realized, that she had managed to

guarantee and secure her own hegemony indefinitely. Indeed, with Ar vulnerable

and helpless, nullified militarily, if the power of Cos should collapse, a new

barbarism might ensue, at least within the traditional boundaries of Ar, a

lawless barbarism broken here and there by the existence of minor tyrannies,

places where armed men imposed their will.

“I do not hear the bars any longer,” said Marcus. “Nor the crowds.”

“Nor do I,” I said.

It now seemed quiet at the park of the Central Cylinder, save for the sounds of

the workmen, striking apart the boards of the platform. Few people, too, were

about. Some papers blew across the park, some of them tiny banners of colored

paper, banners of both Cos and Ar.

Again I considered the platform. On it Talena had stood, barefoot.

“Look,” I said to Marcus, indicating some of the boards removed from the

platform and piled to one side.

“What?” he asked.

“The boards,” I said, “on their upper surfaces, they are smoothed.”

“And from the reflection of light, sealed,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Doubtless prepared for the feet of the noble Talena,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Unusual solicitation for a penitent or suppliant,” said Marcus.

“Yes,” I granted him.

“But we would not wish to risk her little feet, would we?” Marcus asked Phoebe.

“No, Master,” said Phoebe.

Although Marcus had spoken in irony, Phoebe’s response was quite serious, and

appropriately so. She did not even begin (pg. 101) to put herself in the

category of a free woman. An unbridgeable and, to the slave, terrifying chasm

separates any free woman on Gor from a slave, such as Phoebe.

“It is regrettable, is it not,” Marcus asked Phoebe, “that she was forced to

appear degradingly unshod?”

“Yes, Master,” said Phoebe, “for she is a free woman.”

Indeed, I suppose that it had cost Talena much to be seen in public, barefoot.

Phoebe, of course, was barefoot. That is common with slaves.

I watched another board being thrown on the pile.

For the most part the platform was held together by wooden pegs, pounded through

prepared holes. In this way I supposed it might be easily reassembled. Perhaps

there was some intention that it might be used again, perhaps, say, for the

coronation of a ubara.

Then the portion of the platform nearest us was down.

I wondered how Talena might look on another sort of platform, say, on an auction

platform, stripped and in chains, being bid upon by men. such a surface, would

be likely to be quite smooth to her feet, too, presumably having been worn

smooth by the bared feet of numerous women before her.

“Let us seek lodging,” said Marcus.

“Very well,” I said.

8
     
The Wall

“I have had the good fortune to be chosen for wall duty,” said a youth to his

fellow.

“I myself volunteered for it,” answered the other.

“Such things are the least we can do,” said the first.

“By means of them Ar will become great,” said the other.

“Not all values are material,” said the first.

“By means of such things we shall visibly demonstrate our love of peace,” said

the second.

“Without such things,” said the first, “our protests of love and brotherhood

would be empty.”

“Of course,” said the other.

“I am weary,” said Marcus.

“It is the wagons,” I said.

In Gorean cities it is often the case that many streets, particularly side

streets, little more than alleys, are too narrow for (pg. 102) wagons. Local

deliveries in such areas are usually made by porters or carts. Similarly,

because of considerations such as congestion and noise, and perhaps aesthetics,