Vagabonds of Gor (16 page)

The soldier looked over at me.

"Am I the only prisoner in the delta?" I asked.

"I do not know," he said.

Marcus and I had been kept separate even from the time of our capture. I had, however, known his location at least, until we had arrived, after several days, in the temporary camp of Ar, then west of Holmesk. We were then put apart, I caged, and he taken somewhere else. I assumed he had been taken to see Saphronicus, or at least conducted into the presence of appropriate officers, this in accord with the expressed intentions of our captor, the leader of the patrol encountered near Teslit.

"I was brought to the camp of Ar," I said, "with my fellow, a lad from Ar's Station."

"Your officer?" he asked.

"My fellow," I said.

"Spies, both of you," said he, grimly.

"What became of him?" I asked.

"What do you suppose became of him?" he asked.

"I do not know," I said.

"He was a spy," said the fellow.

"Do you know what became of him?" I asked.

"I suppose he was castrated, tortured and impaled," said the fellow.

"He was of Ar's Station," I said, "colony to Ar, and of ancient and honorable family."

"Of high family?" he asked.

"Of the Marcelliani," I said.

"Perhaps, then," said he, "he was merely scourged and beheaded."

"Is that known to you?" I asked.

"No," he said.

"You do not know where he is, then," I said.

"No," he said.

"I have been brought to the delta," I said. "Why?"

"That you may see the unavailingness of your lies," he said, "that you may see us close with the sleen of Cos, that you may see the slaughter of your friends, your paymasters, that you may see wreaked upon them the vengeance of the state of Ar! Glory to Ar!"

"Glory to Ar," repeated a nearby fellow. The low, spreading, sloping mound of sand, that bar in the delta, was crowded.

"How many Cosians have you taken?" I asked.

"We will soon close with them," he said, angrily. "Yes," said another fellow, listening.

"Tomorrow, maybe tomorrow," said another.

"Yes, maybe tomorrow!" said the fellow near me.

"Sleep now," said one of the fellows in the vicinity. The men were then silent.

I lay there for a time, looking up at the sky. I once saw, outlined against one of the moons, membranous, clawed wings outspread, the soaring shape of the giant, predatory ul, the dreaded winged tharlarion of the delta. It is, normally, the only creature that dares to outline itself against the sky in the area. I tried not to feel the tiny feet on my body. Toward morning, somehow, I fell asleep.

Chapter 6 - FORWARD

One of the men behind me, with the paddle, cursed. Our knees were in water.

The bow of the rence craft, still dry, nosed through reeds. Other craft, too, were about.

"Surely we must be upon the sleen of Cos by now!" wept a man.

"Hold!" called a voice, ahead.

A gant suddenly fluttered out of the reeds, darting up, then again down, away.

"There is a body here, in the water," said a fellow ahead, to the left, on a narrow raft.

"A Cosian?" asked a man, in a rence craft nearby.

"No," said the man.

We approached. The officer's boat, too, the fishing craft, propelled by poles, approached, he and others, as well.

In the marsh water, half submerged, its face down, floated a body.

"It is one of our fellows," said a man.

"Cosians did this," exclaimed a man.

"It is unlikely," I said.

"Who then?" asked a fellow.

"Consider the wounds," I said. There were three of them, in the back.

"He was struck three times," said a fellow.

"No, once," I said.

"There are three wounds," said the man.

"Consider them," I said, "the rectilinear alignment, their spacing."

"A trident," said a man.

"Yes," I said. "The three-pronged fish spear."

"That is not a weapon," said a man.

"It may be used as such, obviously," I said.

"And in the arena, it is," said a fellow. He referred to one of the armaments well known in the arena, that of the "fisherman," he who fights with net and trident. There are a number of such armaments, usually bearing traces of their origin.

"Surely here, in the delta, there are no arena fighters," said a man.

The body was pulled up, onto the raft.

"But it is by means of such weapons," I said, "that fishermen often fight. Indeed, it is from that practice, improved and refined, and made more deadly, that arena fighters have taken their example."

"Rencers?" asked the officer, of me.

"Undoubtedly," I said. Rencers live in the delta. They inhabit rence islands, huge floating rafts of woven rence. As the rence rots at the bottom, it is replaced, more rence being added to the surface. The sand bars, as I have suggested, are unsuitable for permanent locations. And, indeed, the rence islands, inhabited by the rencers, as they float, are movable. An entire village thus, on its island, may be shifted at will. Needless to say, this mobility can be very useful to the rencers, enabling them, for example, to seek new fishing grounds and harvest fresh stands of rence, their major trading commodity, used for various purposes, such as the manufacture of cloth and paper. It is also useful, of course, in withdrawing from occasional concentrations of tharlarion and avoiding undesired human contacts. The location of such villages is usually secret. Trade contacts are made by the rencers themselves, at their election, at established points. Such villages, given their nature, may even be difficult to detect from the air.

"Do you think there are any about?" asked the officer.

"I do not know," I said. "There might be. There might not be."

"They could be anywhere in the rence," said a fellow, uneasily.

"True," I said. To be sure, I doubted that there were any in the vicinity. Troops of Ar, in their numerous craft, some men even wading, were all about.

"Why would they have struck this fellow?" asked a man. "Who knows?" I asked. Actually I had a very good idea what might have been the case.

"Consign the body to the delta," said the officer. The body was rolled from the raft, into the water. "Forward," said the officer.

Chapter 7 - GLORY TO AR

"There!" cried a fellow. "The rence is broken there!"

There was a cheer from the several craft about us. This cheer was echoed, from flotilla to flotilla, of the small craft behind us, as well as to the sides.

"They cannot be far ahead now!" cried a man.

Eagerly the men of Ar then pressed through the break in the rence.

Those behind, in their numbers, for pasangs back, may have thought the enemy himself had been sighted.

By late afternoon, however, nothing more had been seen.

"I am hungry," said a man.

The fin of a marsh shark cut the water nearby. Men thrust it away with the butts of their spears.

A wading fellow discarded his shield. He could perhaps no longer bear its weight. He held to his spear, his eyes closed, using it like a pole, to keep his balance in the soft bottom.

"Are such sharks dangerous?" asked a fellow.

"Yes," I said. The common Gorean shark is nine-gilled. There are many varieties of such shark, some of which, like the marsh shark and the sharks of the Vosk and Laurius, are adapted to fresh water. In the recent conflicts at Ar's Station, blood had carried for hundreds of pasangs downriver, even to the gulf. This had lured many open-water sharks into the delta and eastward. Hundreds of these had perished. Their bodies could still be found along the shores of the Vosk.

I saw a fellow bend down from one of the small craft and lift water to his mouth, and drink. This, like the fin of the marsh shark, earlier, told me we were still far from the gulf. It was perhaps as much as four or five hundred pasangs away. I wondered if these men of Ar knew how fortunate they were. At this point in the delta, east of the tidal marshes, the water was still drinkable.

"Ai!" cried the fellow behind me, with the paddle. More water swirled up through the rence of our small craft. The water was now over our calves. I did not think the small craft would last another day. Normally a rence craft will last weeks, even months. Ours had begun to deteriorate in days. I did not think this was inexplicable. About us, too, many men were already wading, some clinging to the sides of rafts and small boats.

"Glory to Ar!" cried a fellow.

"Glory to Ar!" called others.

Chapter 8 - THE PURSUIT HAS CONTINUED

"I would speak with your officer," I said to the fellow, he tethering my ankles to a stake.

"I have spoken to him," said he. "Such permission has not been granted."

I was then thrust back to the sand. Another fellow then put the rope on my neck, that I might be again affixed, bound, between two stakes.

"You know something of the delta, do you not?" asked the fellow who had tethered my ankles, standing near me, looking down at me.

"Something of it," I said. I had once come to Port Kar through the delta.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"Only a rencer would know, if he," I said.

"We are well within the delta," he said.

"Yes," I said, "two or three hundred pasangs."

"Further," said he.

"Perhaps," I said. That could be true.

"Where are your fellows, the Cosian sleen!" he suddenly cried.

I was silent.

"Do not expect to be fed," he snarled.

"There is little enough to feed anyone," said a fellow, wearily, nearby.

The delta, of course, is teeming with wildlife. To be sure, the men of Ar, in their numbers, in their haste, with the relentlessness of their pursuit, only lately slowed, had not been in a position to take advantage of it. Too, the disturbance of their passage, given the noise, the splashing and such, had doubtless driven much of the normal game, particularly birds and fish, from the area.

"He is to be kept alive," said one of the men.

"Very well," said the first fellow. "I am sure we can find him something to eat, something delicious, something fit for a spy." He looked down at me, in hate. He fingered the hilt of the dagger at his belt. "But not tonight," he said.

He turned away from me.

"How could we not have yet closed with the sleen of Cos?" asked a fellow.