Magicians of Gor (13 page)

afoot in that metropolis.

At this point a fellow hurried among us. He had come from the darkness, away

from the gate. “Cosians!” he said. Men cried out. Some slaves among us screamed.

Some men ran to the wall. Some went to pound and cry at the gate.

“Where?” I asked, standing, my sword drawn. Marcus thrust Phoebe’s head farther

down, she covered totally by the blanket. He was then beside me, his weapon,

too, unsheathed. These were two of the few weapons in the group. These fellows,

I realized, could be pinned against the wall and gate, and slaughtered. (pg. 74)

I made as though to kick the tiny fire out. “No,” said the man. “No!”

“Scatter in the darkness!” I said.

“No!” he said.

“They will be on us with blades in an instant!” said a man.

“Let us in!” cried a fellow, upward to the wall, where there were guards.

“They are scouts, skirmishers?” asked Marcus.

“I think so,” said the man.

“Surely they will attack,” said a man.

“Perhaps we can be defended from the walls,” said a man. I did not think that

quarrel fire from the walls would be much to our advantage. We would be as

likely to be hit, I supposed, as Cosians. Too, it was very dark. Few archers

will waste quarrels in such light.

“I think we are in no danger, at least now,” said the man.

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“Look,” he said. He held his hand near the fire and opened it.

“A silver tarsk!” said a man.

“It was given to me by a Cosian, in the shadows,” said the man, wonderingly.

“I do not understand,” said a man.

“He pressed it into my hand,” said the man, “when I thought to be spitted by his

blade.”

“What did he say?” asked a man.

“That Cos was our friend,” said the man.

“How many were there?” I asked.

“Only a few, I think,” said the man.

“Scouts, or skirmishers,” I said to Marcus.

“It would seem so,” he said.

“What shall we do now?” asked a man.

“We will wait her,” said a man, “until the gate opens.”

“It is only an Ahn until dawn,” said a man.

I looked out into the darkness. Out there, somewhere, were Cosians. I then

looked at the fellow who had recently joined us. He was sitting by the tiny fire

now, trembling. He was perhaps cold. His fist was clenched. In it, I gathered,

was a silver tarsk.

“I do not think Ar will choose to defend itself,” I said.

“I do not think so either,” said Marcus, softly.

“Doubtless that is why there were no recruiting tables,” I said.

“Undoubtedly,” he said.

6
     
The Public Boards

(pg. 75) Marcus and I turned to the street for a moment, to watch a company of

guardsmen, at quick march, hasten by, their bootlike sandals, coming high on the

calf, resounding on the stones.

“Ar will defend herself to the death,” said a man.

“Yes,” said another.

I looked after the retreating guardsmen. I doubted if there were more than

fifteen hundred such in the city.

“There is no danger,” said a man.

“No,” said another.

“The tarn wire will protect us,” said a man.

“Our gates are impregnable,” said another. “Our walls cannot be breached.”

“No,” said another.

How little these fellows knew of the ways of war, I thought.

“Here it is,” said Marcus, calling back to me, “on the public boards.” The

public boards are posting areas, found at many points in Ar, usually in plazas

and squares. These boards were along the Avenue of the Central Cylinder , and

were state boards, on which official communiqués, news releases, announcements

and such, could be posted. Some boards are maintained by private persons, who

sell space on them for advertising, notifications, and personal messages. To be

sure, many folks, presumably poorer folks, or at least folks less ready to part

with a tarsk bit, simply inscribe their messages, in effect as graffiti, on

pillars, walls of buildings, and such. Too, posters, and such, usually

hand-inked, are common in public places, usually put up by the owners or

managers of palestrae, or gymnasiums, public baths, taverns, race courses,

theaters, and such. Sales of tharlarion and slaves, too, are commonly thusly

advertised. Heralds and criers, too, and carriers of signs, are not unknown.

Some proprietors rent space in their shops or places of business for small

postings. So, too, similarly, some homeowners who live on busy streets charge a

fee for the use of their exterior walls. There are many other forms of

communication and advertising as well, such as the parades of acrobats,

jugglers, clowns, animal trainers, mimes and such, and the passage of flatbedded

display wagons through the streets on which snatches of performances, intended

to whet the viewer’s interests, are (pg. 76) presented, or, say, slaves are

displayed usually decorously clad, in connection with imminent sales at various

markets and barns. The viewer, or the male viewer, at any rate, understands that

the decorous attire of the imbonded beauties of the moving platform is not

likely to be worn in the exposition cages or on the block. There is a Gorean

saying that only a fool buys a woman clothed. On these platforms the women are

usually chained only by an ankle, that there will be but little interference

with their movements and their appeals to the crowds. On the other hand, some

owners, who prefer more obvious restraints for their women, who are, after all,

slaves, use flatbedded wagons with mounted slave bars of various sorts,

sometimes with intricate chainings or couplings. Similarly, stout, multiply

locked cage wagons may be used for a similar purpose.

“I see,” I said, reading the boards.

“I have heard,” said a man, near me, speaking to another, “that many other free

women, like Talena herself, have offered themselves as slaves, that the city be

spared.”

“There is nothing to that effect here on the public boards,” said the other

fellow.

“True,” said the first.

“Read to me,” begged a fellow looking up at the boards. “I cannot read. What

does it say?”

“Greetings from Lurius of Jad, Ubar of Cos, to the people of Glorious Ar,” read

a man, rather slowly, pointing to letters with his fingers, which led me to

believe that his literacy was not likely to be much advanced over that of the

other. To be sure, I myself did not read Gorean fluently, as the alternate lines

changed direction. The first line is commonly written left to right, the second

from right to left, and so on. Cursive script is, of course, at least for me,

even more difficult. In particular I find it difficult to write. In defense I

might point out that I can print Gorean fairly well, and can sign my name with a

deftness which actually suggests to those who do not know better that I am fully

literate in the language. In further defense I might point out that many

warriors, for no reason that is clear to me, seem to take pride in a putative

lack of literacy. Indeed, several fellows I have known, of the scarlet caste,

take pains to conceal their literacy, seemingly ashamed of an expertise in such

matters, regarding such as befitting scribes rather than warriors. Thus,

somewhat to my embarrassment, I found I fitted in well with such fellows. I have

known, incidentally, on the other hand, several warriors who were quite

unapologetic about literacy interests and capacities, men who were, for example,

gifted historians, essayists and poets.

(pg. 77) “Know, people of Glorious Ar,” the man continued to read, “that Cos is

your friend.”

“Does it say that?” asked a man.

“Yes,” said the fellow, determinedly. He then continued to read. “Cos has no

quarrel with the people of Ar, whom it reveres and respects. The quarrel of Cos

is rather with the wicked and corrupt regime, and the dishonest and ruthless

policies, of Gnieus Lelius, subverter of peace, enemy of amity between our

states. It was only with the greatest reluctance and most profound regret that

Cos found herself, after all avenues of conciliation and negotiation were

exhausted, forced to take up arms, in the name of free peoples everywhere, to

resist, and call to account, the actions and policies of the tyrant, Gnieus

Lelius, enemy to both our states.”

“I did not know Gnieus Lelius was a tyrant,” said a fellow.

“That is absurd,” said another.

“But it is on the public boards!” said another.

“It must be true,” said another.

“Who made these postings?” asked a man.

“The members of the palace guard, the Taurentians themselves,” said another.

“They must then be true,” said another.

“No,” said a fellow. “All that is being done here is to inform us of the message

of Lurius of Jad.”

“True,” said another, relievedly.

“Read on,” said a man.

“Now, with sadness, given no choice, with the support and encouragement of all

the world, now allied with me, I, Lurius of Jad, who would be your friend and

brother, have been forced to come before your gates. The Priest-Kings are with

me. My arms are invincible. I have conquered in the delta. I have conquered in

Torcadino. I have conquered but three day’s march from your very gates.

Resistance to me is useless. Yet, although Ar, under the tyranny of Gnieus

Lelius, has been guilty of many crimes and my patience had been sorely tried. I

am prepared to be merciful. I offer you the alternatives of annihilation or

friendship, of devastation or prosperity. Make your decision not rashly, but

with care. Do not force me to give Ar to the flames. Rather let us live in peace

and brotherhood.”

“Is there more?” asked a man.

“A little,” said the fellow who was reading.

“What?” he was asked by several about.

“If Ar desires peace, and would survive, if she desires peace, and would be

freed of the onerous yoke of a tyrant, let her deliver to my plenipotentiary,

Myron, polemarkos of the (pg. 78) continental forces of the Cosian ubarate, some

sign of her desire for peace, some evidence of her hope for reconciliation, some

token of her good will.”

“What does he want?” asked a man.

“Is Gnieus Lelius a tyrant?” asked a fellow.

“There is the matter of the ostraka,” said a man.

“And the permits!” said another.

“Tyrannical actions!” said another.

“Gnieus Lelius is a tyrant,” said another.

“Absurd,” said a fellow.

“He is soft, weak, vacillating,” said a man.

“He is not a Ubar,” said another, “but, too, he is surely not a tyrant.”

“He is a weak fool,” said another.

“But not a tyrant,” said a man.

“No,” said another.

“There is the matter of the ostraka, the permits, the restrictions,” said

another.

“That is true,” said another.

“Perhaps he is a tyrant,” said a man.

“Perhaps,” said another.

“Yes,” said another. “He is a tyrant!”

From the public postings, I had now gathered that Gnieus Lelius was not likely

to have been of the party of treachery in Ar, which I was pleased to learn. To

be sure, he might have been of that party, and might have been, in the

development within that party, outmaneuvered, to find himself suddenly cast in

the role of the scapegoat, something to be thrown to the crowd, to satisfy it

and protect others. On the other hand, from what I knew of Gnieus Lelius, whom I

had met, I guessed he was an honest man. Indeed, in another time and place, it

was my speculation that he might have served as an efficient, beloved

administrator. I suspected that he was at worst a dupe, a trusting man, perhaps

even one of considerable talent, who had found himself, through no real fault of

his own, a pawn in games of state, games in which there seemed to be no rules

other than survival and victory.

“Read further,” demanded a man.

“That is the message,” said the fellow who had been reading it. “There is no

more.”

“No more?” asked a man.

“Only ‘I wish you well. Lurius of Jad, Ubar of Cos,’” said the fellow

“But what does Cos want?” asked a man.

(pg. 79) “Apparently she wants some sign of our desire for peace,” said a

fellow, looking up at the posting.

“Tell them to go back to Cos,” said a fellow, angrily, “and we shall consider

the matter.”

“The posting refers to some evidence of our hope for reconciliation,” said the

first fellow, “some token of our good will.”

“Give them our steel in their neck!” said a fellow.

“And with good will!” said another, a fellow of the potters.

“That is a token they will understand,” added another.

“But what do they want?” asked another.

“They may want our Talena,” said a man.

“That brave and noble woman, we will never surrender her!” said another.

“I myself would block the gate,” said a fellow, “before I would see her leave

the city at the stirrup of a Cosian envoy.”

“She has offered so to sacrifice herself,” said a man.

“It is here on the public postings,” said another, “over here.”

“They cannot have our Talena,” said a man.

“I do not think it is Talena they want,” said a man.

“But what, then?” asked another.

“What could be a suitable token of Ar’s desire for peace?” asked another.

“Who wants peace?” said a man.