Nomads of Gor (20 page)

      
hundred times; almost always she managed to interfere with

 
and postpone her return to the circle; and forty times, an

 
incredible feat, she had managed to reach the lance itself.

 
At the count of fifteen, with incredible speed, Albrecht,

 
bole now whirling, spurred silently after the fleeing Elizabeth

 
Cardwell. She had misjudged the heartbeat or had not under-

 
stood the swiftness of the kaiila, never having before ob-

 
served it from the unenviable point of view of a quarry,

 
because when she turned to see if her hunter had left the

 
vicinity of the circle, he was upon her and as she cried out

 
the bole struck her in an instant binding her legs and

 
throwing her to the turf. It was hardly more than five or six

 
beats, it seemed, before Elizabeth, her wrists lashed cruelly to

 
her ankles, was thrown to the grass at the judge's feet.

 
"Twenty-five!" announced the judge.

 
There was a cheer from the crowd, which, though largely

 
composed of Tuchuks, relished a splendid performance.

 
Weeping Elizabeth jerked and pulled at the thongs re-

 
straining her, helpless.

 
The judge inspected the bonds. '`The wench is secured," he

 
said.

 
Elizabeth moaned.

 
"Rejoice, Little Barbarian," said Albrecht, "tonight in

 
Pleasure Silk you will dance the Chain Dance for Kassar

 
Warriors."

 
The girl turned her head to one side, shuddering in the

 
thongs. A cry of misery escaped her.

 
"Be silent," said Kamchak.

 
Elizabeth was silent and, fighting her tears; lay quietly

 
waiting to be freed.

 
I cut the thongs from her wrists and ankles.

 
"I tried," she said, looking up at me, tears in her eyes. "I

 
tried."

 
"Some girls," I told her, "have run from the bole more

 
than a hundred times. Some are trained to do so."

 
"Do you concede?" Conrad asked Kamchak.

 
"No," said Kamchak. "My second rider must ride."

 
"He is not even of the Wagon Peoples," said Conrad.

 
"Nonetheless," said Kamchak, "he will ride."

 
"He will not beat twenty-five," said Conrad.
    
~

  
Kamchak shrugged. I knew myself that twenty-five was a

 
remarkable time. Albrecht was a fine rider and skilled in this

 
sport and, of course, this time, his quary had been only an

 
untrained barbarian slave, indeed, a girl who had never

 
before run from the bole.

      
"To the circle," said Albrecht, to the other Kassar girl.

      
She was a beauty.

      
She stepped to the circle quickly, throwing her head back,

      
breathing deeply.

      
She was an intelligent looking girl.

      
Black-haired.

      
Her ankles, I noted, were a bit sturdier than are thought

      
desirable in a slave girl. They had withstood the shock of her

      
body weight many times I gathered, in quick turnings, in

      
leaps.

      
1 wished that I had seen her run before, because most girls

      
will have a running pattern, even in their dodging which, if

      
you have seen it, several times, you can sense. Nothing simple,

      
but something that, somehow, you can anticipate, if only to a

      
degree. It is probably the result of gathering, from their

      
running, how they think; then one tries to think with them

      
and thus meet them with the bole. She was now breathing

      
deeply, regularly. Prior to her entering the circle I had seen

      
her moving about in the background, running a bit, loosening

      
her legs, speeding the circulation of her blood.

      
It was my guess that this was not the first time she had run

      
from the bole.

      
"If you win for us," Albrecht said to her, grinning down

      
from the saddle of the kaiila, "this night you will be given a

      
silver bracelet and five yards of scarlet silk."

      
"I will win for you, Master," she said.

      
I thought that a bit arrogant for a slave.

      
Albrecht looked at me. "This wench," he said, "has never

      
been snared in less than thirty-two beats."

      
I noted a flicker pass through the eyes of Kamchak, but he

      
seemed otherwise impassive.

      
"She is an excellent runner," I said.

      
The girl laughed.

      
Then, to my surprise, she looked at me boldly, though

      
wearing the Turian collar; though she wore the nose ring;

      
though she were only a branded slave clad Kajir.

   
   
"I wager," she said, "that 1 will reach the lance."

      
This irritated me. Moreover, I was not insensitive to the

      
fact that though she were slave and I a free man, she had not

      
addressed me, as the custom is, by the title of Master. I had

      
no objection to the omission itself, but I did object to the

      
affront therein implied. For some reason this wench seemed

      
to me rather arrogant, rather contemptuous.

      
"I wager that you do not," I said.

 
"Your terms!" she challenged.

 
"What are yours?" I asked.

 
She laughed. "If I win," she said, "you give me your bole,

 
which I will present to my master."

 
"Agreed," I said. "And if I should win?"

 
"You will not," she said.

 
"But if so?"

 
"Then," said she, "I will give you a golden ring and a silver

 
cup."

 
"How is it that a slave has such riches?" I asked.

 
She tossed her head in the air, not deigning to respond.

 
"1 have given her several such things," said Albrecht.

 
I now gathered that the girl facing me was not a typical

 
slave, and that there must be a very good reason why she

 
should have such things.

 
"I do not want your golden ring and silver cup," I said.

 
"What then could you want?" asked she.

 
"Should I win," I said, "I will claim as my prize the kiss of

 
an insolent wench."

 
"Tuchuk sleep!" she cried, eyes flashing.

 
Conrad and Albrecht laughed. Albrecht said to the girl, "It

 
is permitted."

 
"Very well, he-tharlarion," said the girl, "your bola

 
against a kiss." Her shoulders were trembling with rage. "I

 
will show you how a Kassar girl can run!')

 
"You think well of yourself," I remarked. "You are not a

 
Kassar girl you are only a Turian slave of Kassars."

 
Her fists clenched.

 
In fury she looked at Albrecht and Conrad. "I will run as I

 
have never run before," she cried.

 
My heart sank a bit. I recalled Albrecht had said that the

 
girl had never been snared in less than thirty-two beats. Then

 
she had doubtless run from the bole several times before,

 
perhaps as many as ten or fifteen.

 
"I gather," I said to Albrecht, casually, "that the girl has

 
run several times."

 
"Yes," said Albrecht, "that is true." Then he added, "You

 
may have heard of her. She is Dina of Turia."

 
Conrad and Albrecht slapped their saddles and laughed

 
uproariously. Kamchak laughed, too, so hard tears ran down

 
the scarred furrows of his face. He pointed a finger at

 
Conrad. "Wily Kassar!" he laughed. This was a joke. Even I

 
had to smile. The Tuchuks were commonly called the Wily

 
Ones. But, though the moment might have been amusing to

      
those of the Wagon Peoples, even to Kamchak, I was not

      
prepared to look on the event with such good humor. If

      
might have been a good trick, but I was in no state of mind

      
to relish it. How cleverly Conrad had pretended to mock

      
Albrecht when he had bet two girls against one. Little did we

      
know that one of those girls was Dina of Turia, who, of

      
course, would run not for the skilled Kamchak, but for his

  
    
awkward friend, the clumsy Tarl Cabot, not even of the

      
Wagon Peoples, new to the kaiila and bole! Conrad and

      
Albrecht had perhaps even come to the camp of the Tuchuks

      
with this in mind. Undoubtedly! What could they lose? Noth-

   
   
ing. The best that we might have hoped for was a tie, had

      
Kamchak beaten Conrad. But he had not; the fine little

      
Turian wench who had been able to bite the neck of the

      
kaiila, thereby risking her life incidentally, had seen to that.

      
Albrecht and Conrad had come for a simple purpose, to best

      
a Tuchuk and, in the process, pick up a girl or two; Eliza-

      
beth Cardwell, of course, was the only one we had on hand.

      
Even the Turian girl, Dina, perhaps the best slave among

      
all the wagons in this sport, was laughing, hanging on the

      
stirrup of Albrecht, looking up at him. I noted that his kaiila

      
was within the whip circle, within which the girl stood. Her-

      
feet were off the ground and she had the side of her head

      
pressed against his furred boot.

      
"Run," I said.

      
She cried out angrily, as did Albrecht, and Kamchak