Nomads of Gor (64 page)

 
I spun to the right just in time to turn the blade of a third

 
man.

 
"It would not have been necessary to tell Tarl Cabot that,"

 
Harold said.

 
Some passersby were now fleeing past, crying out. The

 
great alarm bars of the city were now ringing, struck by iron

 
hammers.

 
"I sometimes wonder where old Tarl Cabot is," Harold

 
said wistfully.

  
"You Tuchuk idiot!" I screamed.

 
Suddenly I saw the faces of the men fighting me turn from

 
rage to fear. They turned and ran from the gate.

 
"It would now be well," said Harold, "to take refuge under

 
the wagon." I then saw his body dive past, scrambling under

 
the wagon. I threw myself to the ground and rolled under

 
with him.

 
Almost instantly there was a wild cry, the war cry of the

 
Tuchuks, and the first five kaiila leaped from outside the gate

 
onto the top of the wagon, finding firm footing on what I had

 
taken to be simple rain canvas, but actually was canvas

 
stretched over a load of rocks and earth, accounting for the

 
incredible weight of the wagon, and then bounded from the

 
wagon, two to one side, two the other, and the middle rider

actually leaping from the top of the wagon to the dust beyond

     
the harnessed bask. In an instant another five and then

   
another and another had repeated this maneuver and soon,

    
sometimes with squealing of kaiila and dismounting of riders

         
as one beast or another would be crowded between the gates

         
and the others, a Hundred and then another Hundred had

         
hurtled howling into the city, black lacquered shields on the

        
left arms, lance seized in the right hand. About us there were

         
the stamping paws of kaiila, the crying of men, the sound of

         
arms, and always more and more Tuchuks striking the top of

         
the wagon and bounding into the city uttering their war cry.

         
Each of the Hundreds that entered turned to its own destina

         
tion, taking different streets and turns, some dismounting and

         
climbing to command the roofs with their small bows. Al

         
ready I could smell smoke.

         
Under the wagon with us, crouching, terrified, were three

         
Turians, civilians, a wine vendor, a potter and a girl. The

         
wine vendor and the potter were peeping fearfully from

         
between the wheels at the riders thundering into the streets.

         
Harold, on his hands and knees, was looking into the eyes of

         
the girl who knelt, too, numb with terror. "I am Harold of

         
the Tuchuks," he was telling her. He deftly removed the veil

         
pins and she scarcely noticed, so terrified was she. "I am not

         
really a bad fellow," he was informing her. "Would you like

         
to be my slave?" She managed to shake her head, No, a tiny

         
motion, her eyes wide with fear. "Ah, well," said Harold,

         
repinning her veil. "It is probably just as well anyway. I

         
already have one slave and two girls in one wagon if I had

         
a wagon would probably be difficult." The girl nodded her

       
head affirmatively. "When you leave the wagon," Harold told

         
her, "you might be stopped by Tuchuks nasty fellows who

         
would like to put your pretty little throat in a collar you

 
        
understand?" She nodded, Yes. "So you tell them that you

         
are already the slave of Harold the Tuchuk, understand?"

         
She nodded again. "It will be dishonest on your part," said

         
Harold apologetically, "but these are hard times." There were

         
tears in her eyes. "Then go home and lock yourself in the

         
cellar," he said. He glanced out. There were still riders

         
pouring into the city. "But as yet," he said, "you cannot

         
leave." She nodded, Yes. He then unpinned her veil and took

         
her in his arms, improving the time.

           
I sat cross-legged under the wagon, my sword across my

 
knees, watching the paws and legs of the swirling kaiila

 
bounding past. I heard the hiss of crossbow quarrels and one

 
rider and his mount stumbled off the wagon top, falling and

 
rolling to one side, others bounding over him. Then I heard

 
the twang of the small ham bows of Tuchuks. Somewhere,

 
off on the other side of the wagon, I heard the heavy

 
grunting of a tharlarion and the squealing of a kaiila, the meeting of lances and shields. I saw a woman, unveiled, hair

streaming behind her, twisting, buffeted, among the kaiila,

somehow managing to find her way among them and rush

between two buildings. The tolling of the alarm bars was now

fearful throughout the city. I could hear screaming some

hundred yards away. The roof of a building on the left was

afire and smoke and sparks were being hurled into the sky

and swept by the wind across the adjoining buildings. Some

dozen dismounted Tuchuks were now at the great windlass

on its platform slowly opening the gates to their maximum

width, and when they had done so the Tuchuks, howling and

waving their lances, entered the city in ranks of twenty

abreast, thus only five ranks to the Hundred. I could now see

smoke down the long avenue leading from the gate, in a

dozen places. Already I saw a Tuchuk with a dozen silver

cups tied on a string to his saddle. Another had a screaming

woman by the hair, running her beside his stirrup. And still

more Tuchuks bounded into the city. The wall of a building

off the main avenue collapsed flaming to the street. I could

hear in three or four places the clash of arms, the hiss of the

bolts of crossbows, the answering featherswift flight of the

barbed Tuchuk war arrows. Another wall, on the other side

of the avenue, tumbled downward, two Turian warriors

leaping from it, being ridden down by Tuchuks, leaping over

the burning debris on kaiilaback, lance in hand.

 
Then in the clearing inside the gate, on his kaiila, lance in

 
his right fist, turning and barking orders, I saw Kamchak of

 
- the Tuchuks, waving men to the left and right, and to the

 
roof tops. His lance point was red. The black lacquer of his

 
shield was deeply cut and scraped. The metal net that de-

 
pended from his helmet had been thrown back and his eyes

 
and face were fearful to behold. He was flanked by officers

 
of the Tuchuks, commanders of Thousands, mounted as he

 
was and armed. He turned his kaiila to face the city and it

 
reared and he lifted his shield on his left arm and his lance in

 
his right fist. "I want the blood of Saphrar of Turia," he cried.

        
It had, of course, been the Tuchuk turn.

       
One makes a pretext of seriously besieging a city, spending

       
several days, sometimes weeks, in the endeavor, and then,

       
apparently, one surrenders the sedge and withdraws, moving

       
away slowly with the wagons and bask for some days in

       
this case four and then, the bask and wagons removed from

       
probable danger, swiftly, in a single night, under the cover of

       
darkness, sweeping back to the city, taking it by surprise. |

       
It had worked well.

       
Much of Turia was in flames. Certain of the Hundreds,

       
delegated the task, had immediately, almost before the alarm

       
bars could sound, seized many of the wells, granaries and I

       
public buildings, including the very palace of Phanius Turmus

       
itself. The Ubar, and Kamras, his highest officer, had fallen

       
captive almost immediately, each to a Hundred set that

       
purpose. Most of the High Council of Turia, too, now re- ~

       
posed in Tuchuk chains. The city was largely without leader- I

       
ship, though here and there brave Turians had gathered I

       
guardsmen and men-at-arms and determined civilians and

       
sealed off streets, forming fortresses within the city against

       
the invaders. The compound of the House of Saphrar, how-

       
ever, had not fallen, protected by its numerous guardsmen

       
and its high walls, nor had the tower elsewhere that sheltered

       
the tarn cots and warriors of Ha-Keel, the mercenary from

       
Port Karl

        
Kamchak had taken up quarters in the palace of Phanius

        
Turmus, which, save for the looting and the ripping down of

        
tapestries, the wanton defacing of wall mosaics, was un-

 
harmed. It was from this place that he directed the occupa-

 
tion of the city.

 
Harold, after the Tuchuks had entered the city, insisted on

 
squiring the young woman home whom he had encountered

 
under the wagon, and, for good measure, the wine vendor

 
and potter as well. I accompanied him, stopping only long

 
enough to rip away most of the upper portions of the baker's

 
tunic and rinse the dye from my hair in a street fountain. I

 
had no wish to be brought down with a Tuchuk arrow in the

 
streets as a Turian civilian. Also I knew many of the Tuchuks

 
were familiar with my perhaps too red hair and might, seeing

 
it, generously retain from firing on its owner. It seemed to

 
me that for once my hair might actually prove useful, a

 
turnabout I contemplated with pleasure. Do not take me

 
wrong, I am rather fond, on the whole, of my hair, it is

 
merely that one must, to be objective about such matters,