Smugglers of Gor (71 page)

I had never been this close to a tarn before, not even on the training field east of Tarncamp, en route to Shipcamp. How small the man appeared next to this terrible, winged monster, its broad wings restless, its head, with its fearful beak, high above the beach, moving alertly about, the large, wicked, round, shining, black eyes.

The rider descended the mounting ladder, and looked about himself, warily.

I saw my master half rise, and his hand drawn back, the knife held lightly by its tip. The usual cast with such a knife is overhand, with a powerful snap of the wrist. But the distance, I feared, was much too far for either accuracy or a suitable penetration. The men near the dock, who played the knife game, sometimes gambling on its outcome, threw not even half the distance.

“He does not wear the gray of the Pani’s cavalry,” I said.

“He would be of the cavalry, but not on the cavalry’s business,” said my master.

“On whose business then?” I asked.

“On that of the Shipcamp conspirators,” said my master. “Better then that the uniform not be worn.”

“What is he doing?” I asked.

“I fear,” said my master, “searching for me. It is I who carry the live ost in my hand.”

“I do not understand,” I said.

The tarnsman made his way to the two small boats tied up on the beach. He examined them, but, one supposes, found them of little interest, two boats left there, apparently abandoned on the beach. He did lift and cast aside the tarpaulin which had been in the boat brought by Axel, which had covered the unconscious form of Asperiche. He then threw three oars out into the river, and, with the remaining oar, punched an opening in the bottom of each boat, following which he thrust them out into the current, and then hurled the last oar after them. He then turned about, and, again, regarded the beach, east and west, and then, again, he looked out, into the brush, to the south.

I muchly feared he would see us.

“We should have freed the boats,” said my master.

“They would seem abandoned,” I said. “They lack goods, and supplies; they give no indication of preparation for flight.”

“Let us hope he judges the matter so,” he said.

“Do you recognize him?” I asked.

“No,” said my master, “but I fear it is a man of Tyrtaios.”

I shuddered. “I have heard him spoken of,” I said. Men usually spoke of him in whispers.

“My absence on the great ship may have been noted,” he said.

“Surely not so soon,” I said.

The tarnsman then climbed the mounting ladder, and drew it up, fastening it in its place.

He gave one last, long, sweeping glance about him.

“What a fool I am,” whispered my master.

“My master is no fool,” I said. I had long sensed he was a man not only of formidable size and strength, and virility, and desire, but of formidable intellect, as well. I would have been frightened to lie to him, not simply because I was a slave but because I had the sense I would be helplessly transparent to him, that he could simply look through me and immediately discern in me the least particle of deceit or dissimulation. Also, he might, without a second thought, put the liar’s brand in my thigh, marking me as a mendacious kajira.

The tarnsman drew on one of the straps, threaded through its ring, and the huge bird screamed, and smote the air with those great wings, scattering sand and pebbles about, and was into the air, low, several feet over the river.

“No,” said my master, “a fool! Did you not see he carried, slung at the saddle, a crossbow, and quarrels?”

“I did not notice,” I said.

“If our tarnsmen had been about,” he said, “that fellow could not have come within fifty pasangs of Shipcamp. He would have been slain over the forest or the river.”

“I do not understand,” I said.

“Our tarnsmen,” he said, “are differently armed. They carry the short, horn-reinforced saddle bow. It is a powerful bow, capable of rapid fire, like any string bow, and is designed for use from a saddle, which it may easily clear, from any side, or front and back.”

“I did notice,” I said, “the broad leather pad before the saddle, and the rings at the saddle’s side.”

“What do you think they are for, pretty barbarian?” he asked.

“I do not know, Master,” I said.

“The pad,” he said, “is useful for stretching a stripped captive over, on her back, belly up, her wrists crossed and tied to a ring on one side of the saddle, and her ankles crossed and tied to a ring on the other side.”

“I see,” I said, uneasily.

“She may then, in the leisure of flight, if the tarnsman wishes, be caressed into submission.”

“I see,” I said.

“At the conclusion of the flight,” he said, “she is ready for the iron.”

“Doubtless,” I said.

“And the rings on the side of the saddle,” he said, “and they are on both sides, are useful for tying stripped women.”

“I see,” I said.

“It is not unusual for tarnsmen to raid for females,” he said.

“To be made slaves?” I said.

“Certainly,” he said, “is that not what females are for?”

“Some, at least,” I said, “surely.”

“Such as you,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said, “such as I.” Even as a young girl, I had longed for a master, and the chains of a slave.

“I am pleased,” I said, “that the tarnsman withdrew.”

“And I, as well,” he said.

“You were too far away to strike him,” I said. “You would have had to rush upon him, sword drawn, and hope he had no time to react.”

“I had the knife,” he said, puzzled.

“I have seen the men play by the dock,” I said. “He was too far away, and the penetration, at the distance, would be insufficient, even if the blade reached him.”

“I had no idea,” he said, “that you understood so much of these things.”

“I watched,” I said.

“And now,” he said, “you will watch again.”

“Master?” I said.

“Stand before that tree,” he said, “face me, and do not move.”

“This tree?” I said, uneasily.

“That will do,” he said.

“Should I not face the tree,” I asked, “and my arms be bound about it, that I may be conveniently whipped?”

“You are not to be whipped, kajira,” he said, “at least not at the moment, however richly your smooth skin invites the lash.”

“What is Master going to do?” I asked.

He strode away from me.

“Am I as far now,” he called, “as was the tarnsman on the beach?”

“Farther,” I called back. “What is Master going to do?”

He slipped his dagger from the sheath.

“Do not, Master!” I cried.

“Do not fear,” he said. “How could the blade even reach you from this far, and, if it could, how could it produce an efficient wound?”

I saw his hand draw back.

“Do not!” I cried.

“Remain in place,” he said. “Do not move. You are in no danger, unless you move.”

“Please, no, Master!” I called.

“The blade,” he said, “will enter the wood three to five horts from your throat, on the left. If it is easier, close your eyes.”

I closed my eyes, trembling. It seemed I had them closed for a long time, though I would suppose the interval was actually quite short. I had just decided that he, mercifully, had decided not to cast the knife after all, when there was, close, to my left, at the level of my throat, a sudden, firm, unmistakable sound, like the slap of metal driven into wood, followed by the tremor of a briefly quivering blade.

I opened my eyes just long enough to catch sight of the handle still vibrating, a hand’s breadth from my throat, and then, I fear, I slumped into unconsciousness at the foot of the tree.

“It is my hope,” I said, “that Master’s slave has pleased him.”

“In two days,” he said, “we should reach the Laurius. We will avoid Laura, for I fear partisans may linger there. We will cross the Laurius by ferry, inconspicuously with others, at one point or other, and continue south, eventually to reach the Vosk, following which we will seek Victoria.”

I was on my master’s blanket. My left ankle was shackled, and a light chain ran from the shackle ring to a small tree, about which it was locked. I was naked, as my master commonly kept me.

“Is Victoria not a market town,” I said, “a major market for slaves, wholesale and retail? Are not many slaves disposed of there? Do not buyers come there, even from far beyond the Vosk basin?”

“It is the major slave market on the Vosk,” he said.

“A slave is uneasy,” I said.

“As well she might be,” he said.

“I have tried to be pleasing to my master,” I said.

“Of course,” he said, “you are a slave.”

“I gather,” I said, “you are in need of funds, and have little to sell.”

“I have you, of course,” he said.

“A slave is well aware of that,” I said.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked.

He had drawn a yellow disk from his wallet, which was as large as his palm.

“It is like a coin,” I said, “but it is too large.”

He held it toward me.

“May I touch it?” I asked, warily.

“Take it,” he said.

“It is heavy,” I said.

“It is a coin,” he said. “It is gold, a double tarn, from the mint of the state of Ar.”

He held out his hand, and I hastily, with relief, returned the coin. “It must be valuable,” I said.

“Yes,” he said. “Many laborers might not earn its equivalent in years. There are merchants who have never had their hands on such a coin. Certainly it is the first I have seen. It was given to me by Tyrtaios to hint at the riches which might accrue to one enleagued with him.”

“My master is not destitute,” I said.

“No,” he said.

“He could buy many slaves such as Laura,” I said.

“Dozens,” he said.

“It is my hope that he will not do so,” I said.

“Please me,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

***

I lay beside my master, my head at his thigh, on his blanket. My ankle was still clasped in its close-fitting shackle, the shackle chain running to the small tree, about which it was fastened.

“By the river,” I said, “Master spoke strangely, spoke of holding a live ost in his hand.”

“Do you know what an ost is?” he asked.

“It is a tiny, brightly colored serpent, commonly orange,” I said, “which is venomous.”

“It is the smallest, and deadliest, snake on Gor,” he said. “It moves quickly, and can hide almost anywhere. Its bite is lethal, unless the limb can be cut off within a few Ihn. It is an unpleasant death. It ensues within a few Ehn. The victim commonly cries out with joy, to die, rejoicing that the pain will end.”

“I fear Master is in danger,” I said.

“I bore the burden of knowledge,” he said, “of knowing fearful and important things, though I did not fully understand them. To protect this knowledge, and prevent its revelation, men would kill. Few are permitted to bear this knowledge, and, I fear, few for long. Even now I suspect several who had, of necessity, some sense of these things, having been utilized in certain actions, deliveries, and concealments, have been done away with, even creatures other than ourselves. That is what is meant, that knowing such things is dangerous, as dangerous as might be the carrying of a live ost in one’s palm.”

“It has to do,” I said, “with the contents of two large boxes, heavy, which it required several men to lift and carry.”

He looked at me, sharply.

“Two such boxes, concerning which the contents were obscure,” I said, “were disembarked from the galley which brought me and others north. They were carried overland, through the forest, at least as far as Tarncamp.”

“Beyond,” he said, “to Shipcamp, thence to be secretly stored on the south side of the river. They are now on the great ship, disguised as common goods.”

“The ship is departed,” I said, “and, I fear, from what I have heard, even should it reach Thassa, it will never reach the World’s End.”

“The danger to the world, or worlds,” he said, “is that it might reach the World’s End.”

“You have done your work,” I said, “for well, or ill. The ship has departed. You could now cry out your knowledge to all the world, with impunity.”

“Those who bear the knife in these matters,” he said, “are few, and those few are now, doubtless, on the ship.”

“The ship is departed,” I said. “It cannot be recalled. The game has begun. The tarn is aflight. Your knowledge makes no difference now.”

“I should have spoken,” he said.

“To whom?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, thoughtfully, “to whom?”

I went to my knees, and took up his right hand, gently, opened the fingers, and kissed the palm of his hand. “See, Master,” I said, “I kiss the ost from your hand.”

He then seized me, and threw me under him, with a rattle of chain.

***

“Do you know my caste?” he asked.

“The Slavers,” I said. “Surely Master is of the caste of Slavers.”

“I am of the Merchants,” he said. “The Slavers is a subcaste of the Merchants. It is merely a question of the goods with which one deals. The Slavers deal with soft, living goods.”

“I would rather,” I said, “Master dealt with leather or iron, fruit or grain, copper or tin, verr or kaiila.”

“You can see,” he said, “why a fellow might prefer buying and selling women.”

“I suppose so,” I said.

“But I am now thinking,” he said, “of other goods, perhaps ka-la-na or silk.”

“I am pleased to think so,” I said.

“But I do not understand why that is so,” he said, thoughtfully.

“Long ago,” I said, “Master suggested that my return to Shipcamp was not inadvertent, or accidental, but was rather an expression of my desire to be recaptured, to return to a chain, that I needed, and wanted, the collar, so to speak.”

“I think that is clear,” he said.

“But I had no understanding of that,” I said.

“And rejected the very thought,” he laughed.

“I understood very little of myself,” I said.

“Few of us do,” he said.

“And you spoke of the Panther Women who prematurely relaxed their vigilance in the forest,” I said.