Nomads of Gor (71 page)

 
departure, but, as it turned out,' it did not, perhaps because

 
the first word Saphrar had of our intentions was the tumbling

 
of dying tarns behind the walls of the compound.

 
Harold and I chewed on some bask meat roasted over a

 
fire built on the marble floor of the palace of Phanius

 
Turmus. Nearby our tethered kaiila crouched, their paws on

 
the bodies of slain verrs, devouring them.

 
"Most of the people," Harold was saying, "are out of the

 
city now."

  
"That's good," l said.

 
"Kamchak will close the gates soon," said Harold, "and

 
then we shall get to work on Saphrar's house and that tarn

 
roost of Ha-Keel's."

  
I nodded. The city now largely clear of defenders, and

       
closed to the outside, Kamchak could bring his forces to bear

       
on Saphrar's house, that fort within a fort, and on the tower

       
of Ha-Keel, taking them, if necessary, by storm. Ha-Keel

       
had, we estimated, most of a thousand tarnsmen still with

       
him, plus many Turian guardsmen. Saphrar probably had,-

       
behind his walls, more than three thousand defenders, plus a

       
comparable number of servants and slaves, who might be of

     
  
some service to him, particularly in such matters as reinforc-

       
ing gates, raising the height of walls, loading crossbows,

       
gathering arrows from within the compound, cooking and

       
distributing food and, in the case of the women, or some of

       
them, pleasing his warriors.

       
After I had finished the bask meat I lay back on the floor,

       
a cushion beneath my head, and stared at the ceiling. I could

       
see stains from our cooking fire on the vaulted dome.

         
"Are you going to spend the night here?" asked Harold.

         
"I suppose so," I said.

       
"But some thousand bask came today from the wagons,"

       
he said.

       
I turned to look at him. I knew Kamchak had brought,-

       
over the past few days, several hundred bask to graze near

       
Turia, to use in- feeding his troops.

       
"What has that to do with where I sleep?" I asked. "You

       
are perhaps going to sleep on the back of a bosk because

       
you are a Tuchuk or something?" I thought that a rather

       
good one, at any rate for me.

       
But Harold did not seem particularly shattered, and I

       
sighed.

       
"A Tuchuk," he informed me loftily, "may if he wishes

       
rest comfortably on even the horns of a bask, but only a

       
Koroban is likely to recline on a marble floor when he might

       
just as well sleep upon the pelt of a larl in the wagon of a

       
commander."

         
"I don't understand," I said.

         
"I suppose not," said Harold.

         
"I'm sorry," I said.

         
"But you still do not understand?"

         
"No," I admitted.

       
"Poor Koroban," he muttered. Then he got up, wiped his

       
quiva on his left sleeve, and thrust it in his belt.

        
 
"Where are you going?" I asked.

       
"To my wagon," he said. "It arrived with the bask along

       
with better than two hundred other wagons today including

       
yours."

 
I propped myself up on one elbow. "I do not have a.

 
- wagon," I said.
     
                         

 
"But of course you do," he said. "And so do I."

 
I merely looked at him, wondering if it were merely

 
Harold the Tuchuk at work again.

 
"I am serious," he averred. "The night that you and I to

 
departed for Turia, Kamchak ordered a wagon prepared for
  

 
each of us to reward us."
                      

 
I remembered that night the long swim against the un-

 
derground current, the well, our capture, the Yellow Pool of

 
Turia, the Pleasure Gardens, the tarns and escape.

 
"At that time, of course," said Harold, "our wagons were
  

 
not painted red, nor filled with booty and rich things, for we
 

 
were not then commanders."
                     

 
"But to reward us for what?" I asked.
          

 
"For courage," said he.
                        

 
"Just that?" I asked.
                          

 
"But for what else?" asked Harold.
           

 
"For success," I said. "You were successful. You did what

 
you set out to do. I did not. I failed. I did not obtain the

 
golden sphere."
                                

 
"But the golden sphere is worthless," said Harold.

 
"Kamchak has said so."

 
"He does not know its value," I said.

 
Harold shrugged. "Perhaps," he said.

 
"So you see," I said, "I was not successful."

 
`'But you were successful," insisted Harold.
 

 
"How is that?" I asked.
                       

 
"To a Tuchuk," said Harold, "success is courage that is

 
the important thing courage itself even if all else fails

 
that is success."
                    
          

 
"I see," I said.
                               

 
"There is something here I think you do not realize," said

 
Harold.

 
"What is that?" I asked.
                       

 
He paused. "That in entering Turia and escaping as we

 
did even bringing tarns to the camp we the two of us

 
won the Courage Scar."

 
I was silent. Then I looked at him. "But," I said, "you do

 
not wear the scar."

 
"It would have been rather difficult to get near the gates

 
of Turia for a fellow wearing the Courage Scar, would it

 
not?"

 
"Indeed it would," I laughed.

       
"When I have time," said Harold, "I will call one from the

       
clan of Scarers and have the scar affixed. It will make me

       
look even more handsome."

          
I smiled.
        
                        
|

       
"Perhaps you would like me to call him for you as well?"

       
inquired Harold.

         
"No," I said.

       
Fit might take attention away from your hair," he men-

       
tioned.

         
"No, thank you," I said.

 
      
"All right," said Harold, "it is well known you are only a,

       
Koroban, and not a Tuchuk." But then he added, soldierly.

       
"But you wear the Courage Scar for what you did not all

       
men who wear the Courage Scar do so visibly."

     
    
I did not speak.

        
"Well," said Harold, "I am tired and I am going to my

        
wagon, I have a little slave there I am anxious to put to

        
work."

         
"I did not know of my wagon," I said.

        
. "I gathered not," said Harold, "seeing that you apparently

        
spent the night after the battle comfortably resting on the

        
floor - of Kamchak's wagon, I looked around for you that

        
night but didn't find you." He added, "Your own wagon,

        
you will be pleased to hear, was among the wagons, un-

        
touched by the Paravaci as was mine."

        
I laughed. "It is strange," I said, "I did not even know of

        
the wagon."

        
"You would have found out long ago," said Harold, "had

        
you not rushed off to Turia again immediately after our

        
return when the wagons were moving toward Ta-Thassa.

        
You did not even stop by Kamchak's wagon that day. Had

        
you done so Aphris, or someone, might have told you."

         
"From the sleen cage?" I asked.

        
"She was not in the sleen cage the morning of our return

        
from Turia with the tarns," said Harold.

         
"Oh," I said, "I am glad to hear it."

         
"Nor was the little barbarian," said Harold.

         
"What became of her?" I asked.

         
"Kamchak gave her to a warrior," he said.

        
"Oh," I said. I was not glad to hear it. "Why didn't you

        
tell me of my wagon?" I asked.

         
"It did not seem important," he said.

         
I frowned.

 
"I suppose, however," he said, "Korobans are impressed

 
with such things having wagons and such."

  
I smiled. "Harold the Tuchuk," I said, "I am tired."

  
"Are you not going to your wagon tonight?" he asked.

  
"I think not," I said.

 
'As you wish," said he, "but I have had it well stocked

 
with Paga and Ka-la-na wines from Ar and such."

 
In Turia, even though we had much of the riches of the

 
city at our disposal, there had not been much Paga or

 
Ka-la-na wine. As I may have mentioned the Turians, on the

 
whole, favor thick, sweet wines. I had taken, as a share of

 
battle loot, a hundred and ten bottles of Paga and forty