Nomads of Gor (59 page)

        
someone shouting. From time to time a tarn would descend

        
or take flight from the roof of the keep.

        
When we were sure there were at least two tarns on the

        
roof of the keep I leaped down from the roof and landed on

        
the light bridge, struggling to retain my footing as it began to'

        
swing under my feet. Almost immediately I heard a shout

        
from the building. "There's one of then!"

          
"Hurry!" I cried to Harold.

        
He threw Hereena down to me and I caught her on the

        
bridge. I saw briefly the wild, frightened look in her eyes,

        
heard what might have been a muffled plea. Then Harold

        
had sprung down beside me on the bridge, seizing the hand

        
rope to keep from tumbling off.

        
A guardsman had emerged, carrying a crossbow, framed in

        
the light of the threshold at the entrance to the bridge from

        
the building. There was a quarrel on the guide and he threw

        
the weapon to his shoulder. Harold's arm flashed past me

        
and the fellow stood suddenly still, then his knees gave slowly

        
way beneath him and he fell to the flooring of the porch, a

        
quiva hilt protruding from his chest, the crossbow clattering

        
beside him.

          
"Go ahead," I commanded Harold.

          
I could now hear more men coming, running.

        
Then to my dismay I saw two more crossbowmen, this

        
time on a nearby roof.

          
"I see them!" one of them cried.

        
Harold sped along the bridge, Hereena in his arms, and

        
disappeared into the keep.

        
Two swordsmen now rushed from the building, leaping

        
over the fallen crossbowman, and raced along the bridge

        
toward me. I engaged them, dropping one and wounding the

 
other. A quarrel from one of the crossbowmen on the roof

 
suddenly shattered through the sticks of the bridge at my

 
feet, splintering them not six inches from where I stood.' I backed rapidly along the bridge and another quarrel sped

past me, striking sparks from the stone tower behind me.

Now I could see several more guardsmen rushing toward the

bridge. It would be eleven or twelve seconds before the

crossbowmen would be ready to fire again. I turned and

began to hack at the ropes that bound the swaying bridge to

the tower. Inside I could hear a startled guard demanding to

know who Harold was.

 
"is it not obvious!" Harold was yelling at him. "You see I

 
have the girl!"

  
"What girl?,' the guard was asking.

 
"A wench from the Pleasure Gardens of Saphrar, you

 
fool!" Harold was crying at him.

  
"But why should you be bringing such a wench here?" the

- guard was asking.

 
"You are dull, are you not!" demanded Harold. "here

 
take her!"

  
"Very well," said the guard.

 
I then heard a sudden, sharp crack, as of a fist meeting

 
bone.

 
The bridge began to rock and sag on its ropes and several

 
men from the building began to thunder across towards me.

 
Then there was a horrified cry as one rope was cut and the

 
flooring of the bridge suddenly pitched, throwing several of

 
the guardsmen to the ground below. A quarrel now struck

 
the flooring of the tower at my feet and skidded into the

 
building. I struck again and the other rope burst from my

 
stroke and the bridge swung rapidly back against the wall of

 
the building opposite with a clatter of sticks and cries, knock-

 
ing the remaining, clinging guardsmen from it, dropping them

 
like wood senseless to the foot of the wall. I leaped inside the

 
door of the keep and swung it shut. Just as I did so the bolt

 
of a crossbow struck the door and splintered through it, its

 
head projecting some six inches on my side. I then flung the

 
two bars in position, which locked the door, lest men on

 
ladders from the ground attempt to force it.

 
The room in which I found myself contained an uncon-

 
scious guard, but no further sign of Harold or Hereena. I

 
then climbed up a wooden ladder to the next level, which

 
was empty, and then another level and another, and another.

 
Then I emerged in the chamber below the roof of the keep

         
and there found Harold, sitting on the bottom rung of the

         
last ladder, breathing heavily, Hereena lying squirming at his

         
feet. "I have been waiting for you," said Harold, gasping.

         
"Let us proceed," I said, "lest the tarns be flown from the

         
roof and we be isolated in the tower."

         
"My plan exactly," said Harold, "but first should you not

         
teach me to master the tarn?"

         
I heard Hereena moan with horror and she began to

         
struggle madly to free herself of the scarves that bound her. I

           
"Normally," I said, "it takes years to become a skilled

         
tarnsman."

         
"That is all well nod good," responded Harold, "but can,

         
you not impart certain important information relating to the

         
matter in a briefer span?"

           
"Come to the roof!" I cried

         
I preceded Harold up the ladder and thrust up the trap

         
admitting us to the roof. On the roof there were five tarns. !

         
One guard was even then approaching the trap. The other !

         
was releasing the tarns one by one.

         
I was ready to engage the first guard, half on the ladder, |

         
but Harold's head emerged from the opening behind me. !

         
"Don't fight," he called to the guard. "It is Tarl Cabot of

         
Ko-ro-ba, you fool!"

         
"Who is Tarl Cabot of Ko-ro-ba?" asked the guard, star-

         
tled.

           
"I am," I responded, not knowing much what else to say.

 
The fellow came running across the roof. "Where is

 
Kunrus?" he asked.

 
"Below," Harold informed him.

 
"Who are you?" asked the guard. "What is going on

 
here?"

 
"I am Harold of the Tuchuks," responded Harold of the

 
Tuchuks.

 
"What are you doing here?" asked the guard.

 
"Are you not Ho-bar?" inquired Harold. It was a common

 
name in Ar, whence many of the mercenaries had come.

 
"I know of no Ho-bar,'' said the man. "Is he Turian?"

 
"I hoped to find Ho-bar," said Harold, "but perhaps

 
you will do."

 
"I shall try," said the guard.

 
"Here," said Harold. "Take the wench."

 
Hereena shook her head violently at the guard, protesting

 
through the muffling folds of the scarf wadded in her mouth.

 
"What will I do with her?" asked the guard.

 
"Just hold her," said Harold.

 
"Very well," said the guard.

 
I closed my eyes and it was over in a second. Harold once

 
more had Hereena over his shoulder and was boldly ap-

 
preaching the tarns.

 
There were two of the great birds left on the roof, both

fine specimens, huge, vicious, alert. Harold dropped Hereena to the floor of the roof and strode to the first tarn. I shut my eyes as he vigorously struck- it once, authoritatively, across the beak. "I am Harold of the

Tuchuks," he said, "I am a skilled tarnsman I have ridden

over a thousand tarns, I have spent more time in the tarn

saddle than most men on their feet, I was conceived on

tarnback, I was born on Tarnback, I eat tarns fear me! I

am Harold of the Tuchuks!

 
The bird, if such emotions it could have, was looking at

 
him, askance and baffled. Any instant I expected it to pick

 
Harold from the roof with its beak, bite him in two and eat

 
the pieces. But the bird seemed utterly startled, if possible,

 
dumbfounded.

 
Harold turned to face me. "How do you ride a tarn?" he

 
asked

 
"Get into the saddle," I said.

 
"Yes!" he said, and climbed up, missing one of the rungs

 
of the rope ladder at the saddle and slipping his leg through

 
it. I then managed to get him to the saddle and made sure he

       
fastened the safety strap. As swiftly as I could I then ex-

       
plained to him the guidance apparatus, the main saddle ring

       
and its six straps.

       
When I handed Hereena to him the poor girl was shivering

       
and moaning in terror, uncontrollably trembling. She, a girl

       
of the plains, familiar with fierce kaiila, herself a proud,

       
spirited wench, brave and daring, was yet like many

       
women utterly for some reason terrified of a tarn. I felt

       
genuine pity for the Tuchuk girl. On the other hand Harold

       
seemed quite pleased that she was beside herself with terror.

       
The slave rings on the tarn saddle are similar to those on the

       
kaiila saddle and in a trice Harold, using the thongs stream-

       
ing from the slave rings, one on each side of the saddle, had

       
bound the girl on her back across the saddle in front of him.

       
Then, without waiting, uttering a great cry, he hauled on the

       
one-strap. The tarn did not move but, I thought, though it

       
was undoubtedly not the case, turned and regarded him