Magicians of Gor (14 page)

“I do not understand what is going on,” said a fellow.

“Those who are high in the city,” said a fellow, “will inquire into these

matters. They are wiser than we and will do what is best.”

At this point there was much shouting in side streets, coming from the west. In

moments, too, men were shouting about us.

“Cos!” they cried. “Cos can be seen from the walls!”

I did not think, in these times, that they would let civilians ascend the walls.

Otherwise I might have hastened to the ramparts. From them, I gathered, might be

viewed the legions of Cos. Such armies appear first like small lines at the

horizons. It is often difficult, at first, to mark out the units. Sometimes, on

sunny days, there is a flashing along the horizon, from lifted standards. At

night one can usually see the fires of the camps, three of four pasangs away. To

be sure, what might be visible from the walls now might be only smoke from fired

fields or, more likely, dust from tharlarion cavalries.

“Are the Cosians numerous?” asked a man.

“They are like the leaves of trees, like the sands of the sea,” said a man.

“Look, overhead!” cried a man.

We saw a Cosian tarnsman over the city.

“Ar is doomed,” said a man.

(pg. 80) “We will fight to the death,” said another.

“Perhaps we can treat with the Cosians,” said another.

“Never!” said another.

“Way, make way!” we heard. Now, moving south on the Avenue of the Central

Cylinder, toward the great gate of Ar, were several riders of tharlarion.

“That is the personal banner of Seremides!” said a man.

The riders were muchly cloaked. From the precision of their lines, however, and

the ease and discipline of their seat on the tharlarion, I took them to be

soldiers. Too, if the fellow was right, that one of the banners in the group was

that of Seremides, then presumably he, or his empowered agent, was one of the

riders.

“Save us, Seremides!” cried a man.

Then the riders had passed.

“Where is Gnieus Lelius, the regent?” asked a man.

“He has not been seen in public in days,” said another.

“Perhaps he has fled the city!” suggested another.

“Tonight,” said another, “let our gates be sealed.”

“I have heard,” said a fellow, “that Cos is our friend, and that it is Gnieus

Lelius who is the enemy.”

“That is absurd,” said a man.

“Last night, Cosian scouts, outside the walls,” said a man, “distributed silver

tarsks to the homeless, assuring them of the good intentions of the maritime

ubarate!”

“That is preposterous,” said a man.

“I know a fellow who received one,” said the first fellow.

“Unfortunately,” said a fellow,” I was home in bed.”

“You should have been outside the walls,” said another.

“I could use a silver tarsk,” said a man.

“Do you think that Cos is truly our friend?” asked a man.

“No,” said a fellow.

Men looked at him.

“Why do you say that?” asked a man.

“I was in the delta,” he said, and turned away.

“Ar’s Station,” said a man, “has been well treated by Cos.”

“Do not respond to that,” I said to Marcus, and drew him back a bit from the

public boards, to the edge of the crowd.

The young warrior’s face was flushed.

“Perhaps Seremides can save us,” said a man.

“Or the intercessions of our beloved Talena,” said another.

“We must fight to the death,” said a man.

“Cos will show us no mercy,” said another.

“Perhaps the city will be spared if we confess our wrongs, and make clear our

desire for peace.”

(pg. 81) “What wrongs?” asked a man.

“Surely we must have wrongs,” said a man.

“I suppose so,” said another.

I myself could think of at least three, the failure to meet Cos at Torcadino,

the failure to relieve the siege of Ar’s Station, and the unprepared entry into

the delta, in putative pursuit of the Cosian expeditionary force in the north.

“We can do nothing,” said a man.

“We are helpless under the tyranny of Gnieus Lelius,” said another.

“Who can free us from the grip of this tyrant?” asked a man.

“Perhaps our friends in Cos,” said a fellow.

“Where is he?” asked a man.

“Hiding in the Central Cylinder,” said another.

“He had fled the city,” said another.

“Ar cannot be indefinitely defended,” said a man.

“We must declare ourselves an open city,” said another.

“Others wiser than we will know,” said another.

“How can we make Cos know we wish to be their friend?” asked another.

“I do not wish to be their friend,” said a man, angrily.

“Our military situation is hopeless,” said a man. “We must prove our desire for

peace to the Cosians.”

“How can we do that?” asked a man.

“I do not know,” he said.

“They will wish some clear, explicit token,” said a man.

“Yes,” said another.

“But what?” asked a man.

“I do not know,” said the first fellow.

“Come along,” I said to Marcus.

In a few minutes we had come to a slave ring where we had left Phoebe.

The ring to which she was attached was set quite close to the ground level, a

ring to which it was presumed a slave might be fastened by the ankle. Marcus,

however, using a pair of slave bracelets, had fastened her to it by the neck,

one bracelet about the ring, the other about her collar, pressing into her neck.

She lay on her stomach on the stones, her neck held close to the ring, her eyes

closed against the glare. Marcus kicked her, not gently, with the side of his

foot. “Master,” she said, and rose to her knees, bent over, her head held down

to the stones.

“She is Cosian,” he said to me.

“No,” I said. “She is only a slave.”

“Are you hungry?” Marcus asked Phoebe.

(pg. 82)”Yes, Master,” she said.

“Perhaps then,” he said, “you will not be fed today.”

“I am not permitted to lie to my master,” she said.

“A slave, like any other animal,” I said, “may grow hungry.”

“True,” said Marcus.

He then crouched down and removed the bracelets from the ring and collar.

“I, too, am hungry,” I said.

“Very well,” he said.

“There are food shops on Emerald Street,” I said.

“Is it far?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

Then, in a moment we left, retracing our steps, moving north on the Avenue of

the Central Cylinder, past shops, fountains, columns and such, until we would

make our left turn, toward Emerald Street, Phoebe heeling him, her hands now

fastened behind her in the bracelets.

“Look,” I said, while still on the Avenue of the Central Cylinder, pointing

upward.

“Another Cosian tarnsman,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Coppers, coppers for the temple,” called an Initiate, rattling some tarsk bits

in a tray.

“What do you think Cos wants?” asked Marcus.

“I think,” I said, “the destruction of the gates of Ar.”

“That is absurd,” said Marcus.

“True,” I said.

“They will never be given that,” he said.

“No,” I said.

7
     
Ar is Liberated

We were muchly jostled.

“Hear the bars,” asked Marcus.

“They are sounding out peals of rejoicing.” I said.

It was now two days after we had read the first postings of the conciliatory

message of Lurius of Jad on the public boards.

“Hail Ar! Hail Cos!” cried folks about.

It was difficult to keep our feet.

“Are they coming?” asked a man.

“Yes,” said another, moving out further onto the avenue.

(pg. 83) “Back,” said a guardsmen. “Back.”

We had come to this coign of vantage, such as it was, very early this morning,

even at the second Ahn. Yet, even at that time, many had been about, some with

blankets to sleep on the stones. It was in the open area near the Central

Cylinder, which loomed in the center of a circular park, the territory open

enough for defense, midway in the avenue.

“Hail Ar! Hail Cos!” cried a man.

Many folks held small Cosian banners which they might wave. Banners, too, of Ar

were much in evidence.

The night before last, the night of that day on which we had taken note of the

postings, the gates of Ar had been dismantled and burned. Some citizens had

attempted to interfere with this, but were discouraged with clubs and blades.

There had even been sporadic mutinies of small contingents of guardsmen,

determined to hold their posts, but these for the most part dissipated when it

became clear that the orders were from the Central Cylinder itself. Two of these

armed reluctances, yielding neither to reason nor orders, were quelled bloodily

by Taurentians. Gnieus Lelius, it seems, had been deposed, and Seremides, in a

military coup he himself characterized as regrettable, had seized temporary

power, a power to be wielded until the High Council, now the highest civilian

authority in Ar, could elect a new leader, be it Administrator, Regent, Ubar or

Ubara.

“I had not thought to see the gates of Ar burned, not by her own,” said Marcus.

“No,” I said.

The metal plating had been pried from them, to be melted down. The great timbers

then, shattered and separated, had been formed into gigantic pyres and burned. I

think the light of these would have been visible for fifty pasangs. Marcus and

I, and Phoebe, had watched the burning of the great gate for a time. Many folks

from the city, too, some in numbness, some in sorrow, some in disbelief, had

come out to watch. We could see their faces in the reflected light. Many had

wept. Some uttered lamentations, tearing their hair and clothes. It had been

uncomfortably hot even within a hundred pasangs of the flames, so great was the

heat generated. I had come through that gate many times.

We could hear cheering in the distance.

“Cos is within the city,” said Marcus.

“At last we are free!” cried a man.

“We have been liberated!” cheered another, waving a Cosian banner on a small

stick.

The city was festooned with ribbons and garlands. It was (pg. 84) hard to hear

Marcus beside me, what with the sound of the bars ringing and the shouts of the

crowd.

“Has there ever been such a day for rejoicing in Ar?” asked Marcus.

“I do not know,” I admitted. After all, I was not of Ar.

“Do you think Cos will now sack and burn the city?” asked Marcus.

“No,” I said.

“They are within the walls,” he said.

“Selected, controllable contingents, probably mostly regulars,” I said.

“You do not expect them to burn Ar?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “Ar is a prize, surely more valuable as she is, rather than in

ashes.”

“Is the population not to be slaughtered?” he asked.

“I would doubt it,” I said. “There is a great pool of skills and talent in Ar.

Such things, too, are prizes.”

“But surely they will sack the city,” he said.

“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 a man.

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, (pg. 85) 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