Magicians of Gor (11 page)

and, by the hair, or the chain, if one is used, pull her to you in the night.

These measures, however, if they were intended to be precautions against her

escape, were in my opinion unnecessary. Phoebe, as I have suggested, was held to

her master by bonds compared to which stout ropes. Woven of the strongest,

coarsest fibers, and chains or iron, obdurate, weighty and unbreakable, were

mere gossamer strands. She was madly, helplessly, hopelessly in love with her

master. And he, no less, rebellious, moody, angry, chastising himself for his

weakness, was infatuated with his lovely slave.

The fellow struggled to stay up on the bulging, shifting wineskin, and then

slipped off. He had actually done quite well. Nearly had he won the wine.

There was applause about the small circle.

I heard a fellow advertising the booth of a thought reader. This reader probably

read coins. One, presumably without the knowledge of the reader or a

confederate, selects one coin from several on a tray or platter, usually tarsk

bits, and then, holding it tightly in his hand, concentrates on the coin. Then,

after the coin has been replaced on the tray or platter, the thought reader

turns about and, more often than not, far more than the probabilities would

suggest, locates the coin. One then loses one’s tarsk bit. If the reader selects

the wrong coin, one receives all the tarsk bits on the tray or platter, usually

several. I assumed there must be some sort of trick to this, though I did not

know what it was. Goreans, on the other hand, often accept, rather uncritically,

in my mind, that the reader can actually read thoughts, or usually read them.

They reason that if one fellow can see farther than another, and such, why can’t

someone, similarly, be able to “see” thoughts. Similarly, less familiar with

tricks, prestidigitation, illusions, and such, than an Earth audience, some

Goreans believe in magic. I have meet Goreans who really believed, for example,

that a magician can make a girl vanish into thin air and then retrieve her from

the same. They accept the evidence of their senses, so to speak. The taking of

auspices, incidentally, is common on Gor before initiating campaigns,

enterprises, and such. Many Goreans will worry about such things as the tracks

of spiders and the flights of birds. Similarly, on Earth, there is a clientele,

(pg. 63) particularly in uncertain, troubled times, for those who claim to be

able to read the future, to tell fortunes, and such.

“Noble Sir!” called the owner of the wineskin. “What of you?”

I regarded him, startled.

“A tarsk bit a chance?” he invited me. “Think of the whole skin of wine for you

and your friends!”

A skin of wine might bring as much as four or five copper tarsks.

“Very well,” I said.

There was some commendation from others about. “Good fellow,” said more than one

fellow.

“Surely you do not intend to wear your sandals,” said the owner of the wineskin.

“Of course not,” I said, slipping them off. I then rubbed my feet well in the

dirt near the skin.

“Let me help you up,” said the fellow.

“That will not be necessary,” I said.

“Here, let me help you,” he said.

“Very well,” I said. I had not been able to get on the skin.

“Are you ready?” asked the owner, steadying me.

“—Yes,” I said. I wished Lecchio, of the troupe of Boots Tarsk-Bit, were about.

He might have managed this.

“Ready?” asked the owner.

“Yes,” I said.

“Time!” he cried, letting go of me.

“How well you are doing!” he cried, at which point I slipped from the skin. I

sat in the dirt, laughing. “How marvelously he did!” said a fellow. “Has he

gotten on the skin yet?” asked another, a wag, it seems. “He has already fallen

off,” he was informed. “He did wonderfully,” said another. “Yes,” said another,

“he must have been on the skin for at least two Ihn.” I myself thought I might

have managed a bit more than that. To be sure, on the skin, an Ihn seems like an

Ehn. Before one becomes too critical in these matters, however, I recommend that

one attempt the same feat. To be sure, some fellows do manage to stay on the

skin and win the wine.

“Next?” inquired the owner of the wineskin.

I looked about, and picked up my sandals. I had scarcely retrieved them when I

noticed a stillness about, and the men looking in a given direction. I followed

their gaze. There, at the edge of the circle, emerged from the darkness, there

was a large man, bearded, in a tunic and cloak. I took him as likely to be of

the peasants. He looked about himself, but almost as though he saw nothing.

“Would care to try your luck?” asked the owner of the wineskin. I was pleased

that he had addressed the fellow.

(pg. 64) The newcomer came forward slowly, deliberately, as though he might have

come from a great distance.

“One tries to stand upon the skin,” said the owner. “It is a tarsk bit.”

The bearded man then stood before the owner of the wineskin, who seemed small

before him. The bearded fellow said nothing. He looked at the owner of the

wineskin. The owner of the wineskin trembled a little. Then the bearded man

placed a tarsk bit in his hand.

“One tries to stand on the skin,” said the owner again, uncertainly.

The large man looked at him.

“Perhaps you will win,” said the owner.

“What are you doing?” cried the owner.

No one moved to stop him, but the large man, opening his cloak, drew a knife

from his belt sheath and slowly, deliberately, slit the skin open. Wine burst

forth from the skin, onto the ankles of the large fellow, and, flowing about,

seeking its paths, sank into the dirt. The dust was reddened. It was not unlike

blood.

The large fellow then sheathed his knife, and stood on the rent, emptied skin.

“I have won,” he said.

“The skin is destroyed,” said the owner. “The wine is lost.”

“But I have won,” said the bearded man.

The owner of the rent skin was silent.

“Twenty men were with me,” said the large, bearded man. “I along survived.”

“He is of the peasant levies!” said a fellow.

“Speak, speak!” cried men, anxiously.

“The skin is rent,” said the man. “The wine is gone.”

“Speak!” cried others.

The fellow pulled his cloak away and put it over his arm.

“He is wounded!” said a man. The left side of the fellow’s tunic was matted with

blood. The cloak had clung to it a bit, when he removed it.

“Speak!’ cried men.

“I have won,” said the man.

“He is delirious,” said a fellow.

“No,” I said.

“I have won,” said the man, dully.

“Yes,” I said. “You have stood upon the skin. You have won.”

“But the skin is gone, the wine is gone,” said a fellow.

“But he has won,” I said.

(pg. 65) “What occurred in the west?” demanded a man.

“Ar has lost,” he said.

Men looked at one another, stunned.

“The banners of Cos incline toward the gates of Ar,” said the man.

“No!” cried a man.

“Ar is defenseless,” moaned a fellow.

“Let the alarm bells sound,” wept a man. “Let her seal her gates!”

I had some concept of the forces of Cos. Too, I had some concept of the forces

of Ar in the city, now mostly guardsmen. She could never withstand a concerted

siege.

“I have won,” said the bearded man.

“How have you won?” asked a man, angrily.

“I have survived,” he said.

I looked at the rent skin and he reddened dust. Yes, I thought, he was the sort

of man who would survive.

Men now fled away from the circle. In Ihn, it seemed, the camp was in

consternation.

I stood there, for a time, holding my sandals.

Men moved past me, pulling their carts and wagons. Some had slave girls chained

to them. Some of these women, in their manacles, attached to the rear of the

vehicles, thrusting and pushing, helped to hurry them ahead. I heard the

bellowing of tharlarion being harnessed.

“How far is Cos?” I asked the man.

“Two, three days,” he said.

I gathered this would depend on Myron’s decision as to the rate and number of

marches. I did not think he would press his men. He was an excellent commander

and, from what I had gathered, there need be no haste in the matter. He might

even rest his men for a day or two. In any event, an excellent commander, he

would presumably bring them fresh to the gates of Ar.

I donned my sandals.

Many of the fires in the camp had now been extinguished. It might be difficult

finding my way back to the tent.

“Are you all right?” I asked the bearded fellow.

(pg. 66) “Yes,” he said.

I looked to the walls of Ar. Here and there, on the walls, like shadows

flickering against the tarn beacons, I could see the return of tarnsmen.

I looked to the west. Out there, somewhere, were the forces of Cos, their

appetites whetted by victory. Within a week, surely, they would be within sight

of Ar, eager for war, zestful for loot. I listened to the alarm bars in the

distance, from within the city. I wondered how well, tonight, would sleep her

free women. Would they squirm and toss in fear in their silken sheets? I

wondered if they better understood, this night, perhaps better than other

nights, their dependence on men. surely they knew in the bottoms of their lovely

bellies that they, too, as much as the slaves in their kennels, were spoils.

“Pray to the Priest-Kings! “Pray to the Priest-Kings!” wept a man.

I thrust him aside, moving through the press, the throng, the carts and wagons,

the tharlarion. In a few Ehn I had come to our tent.

4
     
Within Ar

“Revile the Home Stone of Ar’s Station while you may,” said the guard to a

tradesman. “We do not know what the future may hold.”

“No,” said the tradesman, looking about. He knew not who might be in the crowd,

nor what their sympathies might be. He did not enter between the velvet ropes,

forming their corridor to the roped enclosure within which rested the stone.

“I do not fear to do so, even now,” said a brawny fellow of the caste of metal

workers.

“Steady,” I said to Marcus, beside me.

“Nor do I fear,” said the brawny fellow, “the legions of Cos, nor her adherents

or spies! I am of Ar!” He then strode between the ropes of the stone, which

rested upon a plank, itself resting on tow huge terra-cotta vats, of the sort

into which slop pots in insulae are dumped. Such vats are usually removed once

or twice a week, emptied in one carnarium or another, outside the walls, rinsed

out and returned to the insulae. Companies have been organized for this purpose.

“Curses upon Ar’s Station,” he cried, “city faithless and without honor,

subornedally, taker of bribes, refuge of scoundrels, home of cowards, (pg. 67)

betrayer of the mother city! Down with Ar’s Station. Curses upon her!” He then

spat vigorously upon the stone.

“Steady,” I whispered to Marcus. “Steady.”

The fellow then, not looking about, exited between the velvet ropes on the other

side.

Only yesterday there had been lines, though smaller than when we had first come

to Ar, to revile the stone. Today almost no one approached it. The enclosure was

within sight of the Central Cylinder, on the Avenue of the Central Cylinder.

I put my hand on Marcus’ wrist, not permitting him to draw his sword.

“Remember,” I said. “They think that Ar’s Station opened her gates to Cos.”

“Cursed lie!” said he.

“Yes, indeed,” I said, rather loudly, for I saw some fellows look about at

Marcus, “it is a cursed lie for any to suggest that the men of Ar might lack

courage. Surely they are among the bravest on all Gor!”

“True, true,” said more than one fellow, returning his attention to his own

business.”

“Come away from her,” I said to Marcus.

Phoebe was not with us. We had stopped at one of the depots for fee carts on

Wagon Street, in southeast Ar. There we had backed her into a slave locker,

reached by a catwalk, on all fours, inserted the coin, a tarsk bit, turned and

removed the key. It is a simple device, not unlike the slave boxes used in

certain storage areas. Unlike the slave boxes, they do not require the immediate

services of an attendant. The lockers open outward, as opposed to the slave

boxes, which open upward. The lockers, thus, like slave cages, may be tiered.

The gate of the locker, like the lid of the slave box, is perforated for the

passage of air, usually, like the slave box, with a design in the form of the

cursive ‘Kef,’ the first letter of “Kajira,” the most common Gorean expression,

among several, for a female slave. The usual, and almost universal, temporary

holding arrangement is a simple slave ring, mounted in the wall. These are

conveniently available in most public places. The slave is usually chained to

them. Marcus had decided to keep Phoebe today in a box or locker, rather than at

an open ring. “Down on all fours, crawl within, backward!” Marcus had ordered

the slim beauty. She had obeyed, instantly. Gorean slave girls swiftly learn not

to demur at the orders of masters. I recalled her face, looking up at Marcus.

“Let this help you to keep in mind that you are a slave,” said Marcus. “Yes,