Magicians of Gor (32 page)

and elemental insights, the most essential and primitive promptings of their

blood, were to be repudiated in favor of self-denial and frustration, in favor

of vacuous principles, used by us as weapons against them, in favor stultifying

verbalisms, to cripple and bleed them, and entrap them in our tolls. And thus,

betrayed by those who sought advancement in the destruction and dissolution of

their own community, abetted by the well-intentioned, the simpleminded, the

idealists, the fools, they put themselves at our mercy, at that of another

community, one not so foolish, or not so sickened, as theirs. I saw strong men

gladly setting aside their weapons. I saw citizens of Ar singing as their gates

burned, as they tore down their walls with their own hands. That is no honest

victory for Cos, won at the walls, at the gates, in the streets. That is not a

victory of which we can be proud. That is a victory not of steel but by poison.”

(pg. 184) “You are a warrior,” I said.

“Once,” he said.

He turned and looked at the shop. “When the bodies are removed,” he said. “I

think I shall have this shop burned.”

“There are adjoining buildings,” I said.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “We must avoid incidents. We must keep the verr pacified,

lest they learn how they are milked and shorn.”

“Surely you do not believe the merchant is involved with the Delta Brigade,” I

said.

“No,” he said. “I do not really believe that.”

“And the slain men?” I asked.

“Well-known brigands,” he said, “insults to the armbands they wear.”

“And what report will you make of this?” I asked.

“Heroes, of course,” said he, “slain by overwhelming odds.”

“I see,” I said.

“There is a game here,” he said, “which I shall play/ I have no wish to lose my

post. You see, the sickness of Ar infects even her conquerors. We must pretend

to believe the same lies.”

“I understand,” I said.

“And even if I did not make such a report I do not doubt but what it would be

something to that effect which would eventually reach the tent of Myron, my

polemarkos.”

“He is a good officer,” I said.

“Yes,” said the captain/ I had always heard this of Myron. To be sure, I had

gathered that he had once been too much under the influence of a woman, a mere

slave, who had been named Lucilina. She had been captured and was now owned by a

common soldier in the retinue of Dietrich of Tarnburg. No longer was she a high

slave, pampered and indulged. She was now a low slave, and among the lowest of

the low, and was worked hard. She must often kneel and fear whipping. It was

said, too, that in the arms of her master, well handled and mastered, she had

discovered her womanhood. I doubted that Myron, for his part, would again make

the mistake he had made with her. I did not doubt but what his women would now

be well kept in their place, at his feet. They would kneel there, I did not

doubt, in all trembling and subservience, and be in no doubt as to their

collaring.

Again the captain looked angrily at the furrowed wall, the tracing of that

triangle, the delka.

“Captain?” I said.

“How many do you think are in the Delta Brigade?” he asked.

“I do not know,” I said. “Surely no more than a few.”

(pg. 185) “A few today may become a regiment tomorrow, and after that, who

knows?”

“The merchant spoke of only two men,” I reminded him.

“There had to be more than that,” said the captain, “though how many it is

difficult to say, perhaps ten, perhaps twelve.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked.

“The victims were not civilians, not tradesmen, not potters or bakers. They were

skilled swordsmen,” he said.

“Perhaps then there are ten in the Delta Brigade,” I said.

“I am sure there are many more,” he said.

“Oh?” I said, interested.

“This sign turns up frequently in the city, and more often from day to day,” he

said. “It is a symbol of resistance, smeared on a wall, scratched on a

flagstone, carved into a post, found inscribed on an unfolded napkin.”

I had not known these things. I myself had not seen much evidence of this sort

of thing. To be sure, Marcus and I usually prowled in the darkness, protected

from suspicion by our armbands, as though we might be on duty. And during the

day we had normal duties, guarding portals and such, or, when assigned them,

rounds, usually in public areas, as today, where the inscribing of the delka

would be more likely to be noticed. I suspected these delkas were mostly to be

found in the alleys and the back streets of Ar.

“The scratching of the delka,” I said, “ might even be permitted, as an outlet

for meaningless defiance, as a futile token of protest from those too helpless

or weak to do more.”

“I am sure you are right, for the most part,” said the captain.

“Then I would not concern myself with them,” I said.

“Four soldiers were found murdered this morning,” said the officer, “off the

Avenue of Turia. The delka was found there, too.”

“I see,” I said. I had certainly known nothing of this. Marcus and I, it seemed,

had allies.

The officer’s men, the guardsmen, looked at one another. I gathered that this

was information to them, too.

“Do you wish for us to remain on duty here, my fellow and myself,” I asked,

“until the arrival of the wagon?”

“No,” he said.

“Is there any way we may be of service?” I asked.

“We have our rounds,” said the officer. He glanced at the chest on the street,

outside the door of the shop.

“Yes, Captain?” I said.

“What do you think of the contents of this chest?” he asked.

“A pretty lass,” I said, “although young.”

(pg. 186) “Do you think she would look well in slave silk and a collar?”

I thought about it. “Yes,” I said. “But perhaps more so in a year or so.”

“Did you not see how, when the lid of the chest was held open, her veil had been

disarranged, that her lips and mouth might be visible?”

“It was impossible not to notice it,” I said. I recalled her father had chided

her about this. Such a lapse I was sure, had not been inadvertent, not on Gor,

with a free woman. If it had not been overtly intentional, consciously arranged,

so to speak, it had surely been covertly so, unconsciously so, a pathetic sign

manifested outwardly of a dawning sexuality and an innate need whose first

powerful promptings were doubtless felt even now.

“Do you think she would make a slave?” he asked.

“I assume you do not mean a child might be a slave,” I said, “carried into

bondage to be trained as a mere serving girl or page, to be in effect held for

true bondage later, say, to be auctioned as a pleasure object, if a female, or

say, to be sent to the fields or quarries, if a male.”

“No,” he said.

“Yes,” I said. “I suppose she is ready for the block now.”

“Do you think she is on the registries?” he asked.

“Probably,” I said.

“But it does not really matter one way or another,” he said, “as she is a girl

of Ar.”

“True,” I said. Ar, and its contents, belonged to Cos.

“Do you know where the loot area is,” he asked, “that in the district of Anbar?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I would be obliged if you would see to the chest, and the slave.”

I suppose the young woman within the chest could hear our conversation. I would

have supposed that she would then have pounded and wept, and scratched at the

inside of the chest, begging mercy, but she did not. Slaves, those fit by nature

for this elegant disposition, and whose minds and bodies crave it profoundly,

and will not be happy without it, pretending that they are actually free women,

commonly do such things. They are often among the most express in their

protestive behaviors, the most demonstrative in their lamentations, and such,

believing such things are expected of them, fearing only that they will be taken

seriously. But this girl was actually very quiet, lying like a caressable,

silken little urt in the chest. Indeed, for a moment, I feared there might be

insufficient air in the chest and that she might have fainted, or otherwise lost

consciousness. (pg. 187) But then I noted that the chest was well ventilated, as

made sense, considering it had probably been prepared to conceal her days ago,

if not months ago. She had doubtless not, however, expected to have its lid

nailed shut, and to find herself helplessly, nakedly, at the mercy of strong

men, imprisoned within it, and perhaps timidly, fearfully, trying to understand

her feelings.

“My fellow and I,” I said, “if you wish, will see to the chest, and the girl.”

“The slave,” he said.

“Yes,” I said, “the slave.”

“I wish you well,” said the captain.

“I wish you well,” I said.

He then, and his men, took their leave.

“Why did you not wish the bodies placed outside the shop?” Marcus asked of me,

when the officer with his small squad had departed.

I motioned him to one side, that the girl in the chest might not overhear our

conversation.

“Surely it would have been better if the bodies had been put outside,” said

Marcus, “that the strength of the Delta Brigade, as it is spoken of, and the

effectiveness of its work, might seem displayed.”

I spoke softly. “No, dear friend,” I said. “Better that the carnage wrought

within the shop should seem that those of Cos feared it to be known, that they

were concerned to conceal it from the public.”

“Ah!” said Marcus.

“But, too,” I said, “do not fear that it is not known. The shop is muchly open.

The door was ajar. I am confident men have spied within and see what lies strewn

upon its tiles. And even if they had not, the bodies will presumably be removed

and be seen then. And, too, if not this either, surely we may depend upon the

tradesman to speak of such things.”

“That the bodies were not put outside,” said Marcus, “makes it seem as though

Cos feared the Delta Brigade, and did not wish that the effectiveness of its

work be known, and that is much more to the advantage of the Brigade.”

“Yes,” I said. “I think so.”

“Accordingly,” said Marcus, “its work is known, or likely to be known, but it is

also made to seem that Cos fears the making broadcast of such intelligence.”

“Precisely,” I said.

(pg. 188) “Thusly increasing the reputation of the Delta Brigade,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“It is a form of Kaissa, is it not?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said.

“Well played,” he said.

“Perhaps,” I said. “But it is difficult to foresee the continuations.”

“I do not like such games,” he said.

“You prefer a fellow at sword point, in an open field, at noon?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said.

I was sympathetic with his view. The board had a thousand sides, and surfaces

and dimensions, the pieces were of unknown number, and nature and value, the

rules were uncertain, often you did not know whom you played, or where they

were, often the moves must be made in darkness, in ignorance of your opponent’s

position, his pieces, his strengths, his skills, his moves.

“Perhaps, I too,” I mused. Yet I had known men who enjoyed such Kaissa, the

games of politics and men. My friend, Samos, of Port Kar, was one such.

“You enjoy such things,” said Marcus.

“Perhaps,” I said. “I am not sure.” It is often easier to know others than

ourselves. Perhaps that is because there is less need to tell lies about them.

Few of us recognize the stranger in the shadows, who is ourself.

“I am a simple warrior,” said Marcus. “Set me a formation, or a field, or a

city. I think I know how to solve them, or set about the matter. Let things be

clear and plain. Let me see my foe, let me meet him face to face.”

“Subtlety and deception are not new weapons in the arsenal of war,” I said.

“They are undoubtedly as ancient as the club, the stone, the sharpened stick.”

Marcus regarded me, angrily.

“Study the campaigns of Dietrich of Tarnburg,” I said.

Marcus shrugged, angrily.

“He has sowed silver and harvested cities,” I said.

“More gates are opened with gold than iron,” he said.

“You pretend to simplicity,” I said. “Yet you quote from the Diaries.” These

were the field diaries attributed by many to Carl Commenius of Argentum. The

reference would be clear to Marcus, a trained warrior.

“That I do not care for such games,” said Marcus, “does not mean I cannot play

them.”

“How many are in the Delta Brigade? I asked him.

“Two,” he smiled. “We are the Delta Brigade.”

(pg. 189) “No,” I said, “there are more.”

He looked at me, puzzled.

“This morning,” I said, “four soldiers, doubtless Cosians, were found slain in

the vicinity of the Avenue of Turia. The delka was found there.”

Marcus was silent.

“We have allies,” I said. “Too, I have learned that the delka appears elsewhere

in Ar, presumably mostly in poorer districts.”

“I do not welcome unknown allies,” he said.

“At least we cannot betray them under torture, nor they us.”

“Am I to derive comfort from that thought?” he asked.

“Why not?” I asked.

“We cannot control them,” he said.

“Nor they us,” I said.

“We began this,” said Marcus. “But I do not know where it will end.”