Magicians of Gor Page 11

  "Perhaps little by little," I said.

  "I do not understand," he said.

  "Study the campaigns of Dietrich of Tarnburg," I said.

  Marcus looked at me.

  "I do not doubt but what Myron, polemarkos of Cos, or his advisors, have done so."

  "You speak in riddles," said Marcus.

  "I can see them!" cried a man.

  "Look, too, the Central Cylinder!" cried a man!

  At the edge of the circular park, within which rears the lofty Central Cylinder, a platform had been erected, presumably that thousands more, gathered on the streets, could witness what was to occur. We were within a few yards of this platform. This platform could be ascended by two ramps, one in the back, on the side of the Central Cylinder, and one in front, opposite to the Central Cylinder, on the side of the Avenue of the Central Cylinder. Phoebe was close behind Marcus, clinging to him, that she not be swept from us in the throngs.

  "Look there, at the foot of the platform!" said a man.

  "The sleen, the scoundrel, the tyrant!" cried men.

  There were cries of rage and hatred from the crowd. Being dragged along the side of the platform, conducted by a dozen chains, each attached to, and radiating out from, a heavy metal collar, each chain held by a child, was a pathetic figure, stumbling and struggling, its ankles shackled and its upper body almost swathed in chains, Gnieus Lelius. Other children too, some five of them, with switches, hung about him like sting flies. At intervals, for which they watched eagerly, receiving the permission of a supervising Taurentian, they would rush forward, striking the helpless figure. Muchly did the crowd laugh at this. Gnieus Lelius was barefoot. Too, he had been placed in motley rags, not unlike the sort that might be worn by a comedic mime upon the stage. I supposed this was just as well. Gnieus Lelius, thus, might have some hope of evading impalement on the walls of Ar. He would perhaps rather be sent to the palace of Lurius of Jad, in Telnus, to be kept there for the amusement of Lurius and his court, as a caged buffoon.

  "Sleen! Tyrant!" cried men.

  Some fellows rushed out to cast ostraka at him. "Take your ostraka, tyrant!" they cried. Gnieus flinched, several of these small missiles striking him. These were the same ostraka, I supposed, which, a few days ago, would have been worth their weight in gold, permits, passes, in effect, to remain in the city. After the burning of the gates, of course, one need no longer concern oneself with ostraka and permits.

  "We are free now!" cried one of the men, flinging his ostrakon at Gnieus Lelius.

  Other men rushed out to fall upon the former regent with blows but Taurentians swiftly, with proddings and blows of their spears, drove them back.

  Gnieus Lelius was then, by the front ramp, conducted to the surface of the platform. Many in the crowd, now first seeing him, shrieked out their hatred. There he was put on his knees, to one side, the children locking their chains to prepared rings, set in a circle, then withdrawing. The five lads with switches were given a last opportunity, to the amusement of the crowd, to strike the former regent, then they, too, were dismissed.

  The sounds of the drums and trumpets to our right were now closer.

  "Look!" said a fellow. He pointed in the direction of the Central Cylinder from which, but moments before, Gnieus Lelius, and his escort, had emerged.

  "It is Seremides, and members of the High Council!" said a fellow.

  Seremides, whom I had not seen this clearly since long ago in Ar, in the days of Minus Tentius Hinrabius, and Cernus, of Ar, with others, members of the High Council, I gathered, now, from the side of the Central Cylinder, ascended the platform.

  "He is not in the robes of a penitent or suppliant!" shouted a fellow, joyfully.

  "No!" cried others.

  "He is in uniform!" cried a man.

  "Yes!" said others.

  "Look," cried a man. "He has his sword!"

  "Seremides retains his sword!" cried a man, calling back to those less near the platform.

  There was much cheering greeting this announcement.

  Then the High Council stood to one side, and Seremides himself returned to the point on the platform where the rear ramp, that near the Central Cylinder, ascended to its surface.

  The ringing of the bars then ceased, first those of the Central Cylinder and then those near it, and then those farther away, about the city. This happened so quickly, however, that it was doubtless accomplished not by the fellows at the bells apprehending that those most inward in the city had ceased to ring but rather in virtue of some signal, presumably conveyed from the Central Cylinder, a signal doubtless relayed immediately, successively, by flags or such, to other points.

  The crowd looked at one another.

  No longer now, the bars now quiet, did I even hear the drums and trumpets of the approaching Cosians. Those instruments, too, were silent. I did not doubt, however, that the approach north on the Avenue of the Central Cylinder was still in progress.

  Seremides now, at the rear of the platform, where the rear ramp ascended to its surface, extended his hand downward, to escort a figure clad and veiled in dazzling white to the surface of the platform. It was a graceful figure who, head down, the fingers of her left hand in the light grasp of Seremides, now came forward upon the platform.

  "No! No!" cried many in the crowd. "No!"

  "It is Talena!" wept a man.

  The figure, to be sure, was robed in white, and veiled, but I had little doubt that it was indeed Talena, once the daughter of Marlenus of Ar, Ubar of Ubars.

  "She is not gloved!" cried a man.

  "She is barefoot!" cried another.

  Marcus looked down, sharply, at Phoebe, who clung to his arm. Instantly Phoebe looked down. In that crush she could scarcely have knelt. She might have been forced from her knees and trampled. Phoebe, of course, was much exposed in the brief slave tunic, her arms and legs. I looked at her calves, ankles and feet. She, too, was barefoot. This was appropriate for her, of course, as she was a slave. Slaves are often kept barefoot. I then looked up, continuing to regard her, she clinging to Marcus. Yes, she was quite lovely. She looked up a moment, saw my eyes upon her, and then looked down again, quickly. The slave girdle too, tied high on her, crossed, emphasized the loveliness of her small breasts. I was pleased for Marcus. He had a lovely slave. I was lonely. I wished that I, too, had a slave.

  "She is in the robes of a penitent or suppliant!" cried another in dismay.

  "No, Talena!" cried a man.

  "No, Talena," cried another, "do not!"

  "We will not permit it!" cried a man.

  "Not our Talena!" wept a woman.

  "The crowd grows ugly," observed Marcus.

  "Ar is not worth such a price!" cried a man.

  "Better give the city to flames!" cried another.

  "Let us fight! Let us fight!" cried men.

  Several men broke out, into the street, where Taurentians, with spears held across their bodies, struggled to restrain them.

  "Good," said Marcus. "There is going to be a riot."

  "If so," I said, "let us withdraw."

  "It will give me a chance to slip a knife into a few of these fellows," said Marcus.

  "Phoebe might be hurt," I said.

  "She is only a slave," said Marcus, but I saw him shelter her in his arms, preparing to move back through the crowd.

  "Wait," I said.

  Talena herself, on the height of the platform, had her hands out, palms up, shaking them negatively, even desperately.

  I smiled.

  This behavior on her part seemed scarcely in keeping with the dignity of the putative daughter of a Ubar, not to mention her mien as a penitent or suppliant.

  "She urges us to calm!" said a man.

  "She pleads with us to stand back," said a man. "Come back."

  "Noble Talena!" wept a fellow.

  The crowd wavered. Several of the men in the street backed away, returning to the crowd.

  Talena then, now that the crowd, divided and confused,
seemed more tractable, put her head down and to one side, and, lifting her arms, the palms up, made a gesture as of resignation and nobility, pressing back the crowd.

  "She does not wish succor," said a fellow.

  "She fears that we may suffer in her behalf," moaned a man.

  It had been a narrow thing, I thought. Had Talena herself not suddenly interposed her own will, clearly, vigorously, even desperately, signaling negatively to the crowd, the platform and avenue might have swarmed with irate citizens, intent upon her rescue. The handful of Taurentians about would have been swept back like leaves before a hurricane.

  "Do not let this be done, Seremides!" cried a fellow.

  "Protect Talena!" cried several men.

  But now Seremides held forth his hands, calmly, palms down, and raised and lowered them, gently, several times.

  The crowd murmured, uneasily, threateningly.

  "Talena intends to sacrifice herself for us, for the city, for the Home Stone!" wept a man.

  "She must not be permitted to do so," said a fellow.

  "We will not permit it!" said another, suddenly.

  "Let us act!" cried a man.

  Again the crowd wavered. There was a sudden pressing forth toward the platform, a tiny, incipient surgency. Taurentians braced themselves and pressed back against the crowd with the shafts of their spears.

  Seremides' calming hands continued to beg for patience.

  Then, again, the crowd was quiet, tense. I did not think that it would take much to precipitate violence. Yet, for the moment, at least, it was still, if seething. There is often a delicate balance in such things, and sometimes in such situations even a small action, even a seemingly insignificant stimulus, can trigger a sudden, massive response.

  Seremides then, again, held out his hand to Talena. He then led her forward, as before, toward the front ramp. As they neared the figure of Gnieus Lelius, kneeling in his chains near the front ramp, Talena seemed to hesitate, to shrink back with distaste. One small hand, even, extended, palm out, toward the former regent, as though she would fend away the very sight of him, as though she could not bear the thought of his nearness. She even turned to Seremides, doubtlessly imploring him with all the piteous vulnerability of the penitent or suppliant, that she not be stationed close to that odious object, which had brought such lamentable catastrophe and misery upon her city.

  Seremides seemed to hesitate for a moment and then, as though he had made a determined decision, however unwise it might be, graciously, and with great courtesy, conducted Talena to a place further from the kneeling Gnieus Lelius.

  The crowd murmured its approval.

  "Good, Seremides!" cried a man.

  As Talena was conducted to her place, a few feet from Gnieus Lelius, she drew up the white robes a little with her right hand, so that they were above her ankles. In this way those who might not have noticed this fact before could now note that she was barefoot. I supposed this tiny act of exposure, so apparently natural, if not inadvertent, as though merely to aid her footing, this act so delicately politic, must have cost the modesty of the putative daughter of Marlenus of Ar much.

  A man near me put his head in his hands and wept. Marcus glanced at him, contemptuously.

  In a moment then, startling me, and doubtless many others in the crowd, there was a blast of trumpets and a roll of drums to our right. Regulars of Cos, regiments of them, in ordered lines, in cleaned, pressed blue, with polished helmets and shields, preceded by numerous standard bearers, representing far more units than were doubtless in the city at the moment, and musicians, advanced. Tharlarion cavalrymen, of both bipedal and quadrupedal tharlarion, flanked the lines. The street shook under the tread of these beasts. Turned on the crowd they might, in their passage, have trampled hundreds.

  The crowd, now that it had segments of the forces of Cos before it, seemed strangely docile. These were not a handful of Taurentians that might have been swept from their path like figures off a kaissa board. These were warriors in serried ranks, many of whom had doubtless seen battle. To move against such would have been much like throwing themselves onto the knife walls of Tyros. Similarly, should the troops wheel to the sides, charging, blades drawn, they might have slaughtered thousands, harvesting the crowds, trapped by their own numbers, like sa-tarna.

  With a roll of drums and a blast of trumpets, and the distinct, uniform sound of hundreds of men coming simultaneously to a halt, the Cosian array arrested its march not yards from the forward ramp.

  I thought I saw the figure of Talena, standing on the platform, with others, tremble. Perhaps now she realized, I thought, what it might mean to have Cosians in the city. Did she now, suddenly, I wondered, realize how vulnerable she really was, and Ar, and how such fellows could now do much what they pleased. She was in the white robes of a penitent or suppliant. The penitent or suppliant, incidentally, is supposed to be naked beneath such robes. I doubted, however, that Talena was naked beneath them. On the other hand, she would surely wish the good citizens of Ar to believe that she was.

  It seemed terribly quiet for a moment. If I had spoken, even softly, I am sure I would have been heard for yards, so still were the pressed throngs.

  "Myron," I heard whispered. "Myron, polemarkos of Cos!"

  I saw nothing for a time but the crowd, the platform, the people on the platform, and Cosians, for several yards to the right, standard bearers, some even bearing the standards of mercenary companies, probably not in the march, such as that of Raymond Rive-du-Bois, musicians, and soldiers, both foot and cavalry.

  "He is coming!" I heard.

  The polemarkos, if it were indeed he, I thought, must be very confident, to so enter Ar. I did not think that Lurius of Jad, Ubar of Cos, would have done so. To be sure, Lurius seldom left the precincts of the palace in Telnus. More than one triumph in a Gorean city has been spoiled by the bolt of an assassin.

  "I see him!" I said to Marcus.

  "Yes," he said. Phoebe stood on her tiptoes, clinging to Marcus' arm, her slim, lovely body very straight. She craned her neck. She could still see, I thought, very little. The close-fitting steel collar was lovely on her throat. The collar, with its lock, muchly enhances a woman's beauty.

  In a moment a large bipedalian saddle tharlarion, in golden panoply, its nails polished, its scales brushed bright, wheeled to a halt before the standard bearers. Behind it came several other tharlarion, resplendent, too, but lesser in size and panoply, with riders. Myron, or he who was acting on his behalf, then, by means of a dismounting stirrup, not the foot stirrup, the rider's weight lowering it, descended to the ground. It was curious to see him, as I had heard much of him. He was a tall man, in a golden helmet, plumed, too, in gold, and a golden cloak. He was personally armed with the common gladius, the short sword, the most common infantry weapon on Ar, and a dagger. In a saddle sheath, remaining there, was a longer weapon, a two-handed scimitar, the two-handed scimitarus, useful for reaching other riders on tharlarion. There was no lance in the saddle boot. He removed his helmet and handed it to one of his fellows. He seemed a handsome fellow, with long hair. I recalled he had once been under the influence of the beautiful slave, Lucilina, even to the point of consulting her in matters of state. She had been privy to many secrets. Indeed, her influence over the polemarkos had been feared, and her favor had been courted even by free men. Her word or glance might mean the difference between advancement and neglect, between honor and disgrace. Then Dietrich of Tarnburg had arranged for her to be kidnapped and brought to him, stripped. He had soon arranged for her to be emptied of all sensitive information. He had then renamed her 'Luchita', an excellent name for a slave and quite different from the prestigious name 'Lucilina', which might have graced a free woman. He had then given her to one of his lowest soldiers, as a work and pleasure slave. The last time I had seen her had been in Brundisium, among the slaves belonging to various mercenaries, men of the company of a fellow who was then identifying himself as Edgar, of Tarnwald. I did not know where
this Edgar, of Tarnwald, now was, nor his men. I suspected that by now Myron had come to understand, and to his chagrin, how he had been the pliant dupe of a female, and even one who was a slave. I did not think it likely that this would happen again. He now doubtless had a much better idea of the utilities and purposes of females.

  Myron now, as I suppose it was Myron, with two fellows behind him, each bearing a package, ascended the platform.

  Seremides approached him and, drawing his sword from its sheath, extended it to him, hilt first.

  "Myron does not accept his sword!" said a man.

  Myron, indeed, with a magnanimous gesture, had demurred to accept the weapon of Seremides, the high general of Ar. Seremides now sheathed the sword.

  "Hail Cos! Hail Ar!" whispered a fellow.

  The crowd then hushed as Seremides extended his hand to Talena and conducted her before Myron, her head down.

  "Poor Talena," whispered a man.

  The daughters of conquered ubars often grace the triumphs of victorious generals. This may be done in many ways. Sometimes they are marched naked at their stirrups, in chains; sometimes they are marched similarly but among slaves holding other loot, golden vessels, and such; sometimes they are displayed on wagons, or rolling platforms, caged with she-verr or she-tarsks, and so on. Almost always they will be publicly and ceremoniously enslaved, either before or after the triumph, either in their own city or in the city of the conqueror.

  Myron, however, bowed low before Talena, in this perhaps saluting the loftiness and honorableness of her status, that of the free female.

  "I do not understand," said Marcus.

  "Wait," I said.

  "Will he not now strip her and have her put in chains?" asked Marcus.

  "Watch," I said.

  "She will be in his tent, as one of his women, before nightfall," he said.

  "Watch," I said.

  "To be sure," he said, "perhaps she will be kept for the pleasure gardens of Lurius of Jad, or the kennels of his house slaves, if she is not beautiful enough for his pleasure gardens."

  "Watch a moment," I said.

  Talena, as I knew, was an exquisitely beautiful female, with that olive skin, and dark eyes and hair. I did not doubt but what she was worthy of a ubar's pleasure gardens, and even if, all things considered, she was not quite of that quality, she would still, undoubtedly, find herself there. Allowances are often made for special women, former enemies, and such, and I had little doubt that an allowance of one sort or another would be made for a ubar's daughter, or one taken to be such. It must be remembered, too, that the contents of a pleasure garden are not necessarily always viewed in only one light. For example, such a garden may contain women who are, in a sense, primarily trophies. Surely Talena might count, say, from the standpoint of a Lurius of Jad, as such a trophy. Indeed, some men, collectors, use their gardens mainly for housing their collections, say, of different types of women, selected perhaps primarily with an eye to illustrating, and exhibiting, various forms of female beauty, or, indeed, even for their unique or rare brands.