Nomads of Gor (82 page)

      
wrapped object in his arms, would on his short legs hurry off

      
again. He would lock doors behind himself but they were

      
forced open. He would throw furniture down stairs towards

      
us, but we would step around it. Our pursuit carried us from

      
room to room, through hall after hall, in the great house of

      
Saphrar of Turia. We passed through the banquet hall, where

      
long before we had been entertained by the fleeing merchant.

We passed through kitchens and galleries, even through the

private compartments of Saphrar himself, where we saw the

multitudinous robes and sandals of the merchant,` each

worked predominantly in white and gold, though often mixed

with hundreds of other colors. In his own compartments the

pursuit had seemed to end, for it seemed Saphrar had disap

peered, but Kamchak did not show the least irritation or annoyance.
  

He dismounted and picked up a lounging garment from
   

He vast sleeping platform in the room, holding it to the noses
  

of the two sleen. "Hunt," said Kamchak.

The two sleen seemed to drink in the scent of the robe and
 

then they began to tremble, and the claws on their wide, soft
  

feet emerged and retracted, and their heads lifted and began
   

to sway from side to side. As one animal they turned and
   

pulled their keeper by the chain leashes to what appeared to
    

be a solid wall, where they rose on their back two legs and

set their other four legs against it, snarling, whimpering.
   

"Break through the wall," said Kamchak. He would not
  
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bother to search for the button or lever that might open the

panel.
 
In a few moments the wall had been shattered, revealing
    

the dark passage beyond.

"Bring lamps and torches," said Kamchak.

Kamchak now gave his kaiila to a subordinate and, on

foot, carrying torch and quiva, began to prowl down the

passage, beside him the two snarling sleen, behind him

Harold and I, and the rest of his men, several with torches,

even the slaves with gold. Guided by the sleen we had no

difficulty in following the track of Saphrar through the pas-

aage, though often it branched variously. The passage was, on

the whole dark, but where it branched there was often set a

mall, burning tharlarion oil lamp. I supposed Saphrar of

Curia must have carried lamp or torch, or perhaps that he

knew the passage by heart.

At one point Kamchak stopped and called for planks, The

door of the passage had been dropped, by the release of a

bolt, for an area of its width and for a length of about twelve

feet. Harold tossed a pebble into the opening and it took

about ten Ihn before we heard it strike water far below.

Kamchak did not seem disturbed at the wait, but sat like a

rock, cross-legged before the opening, looking across it, until

      
planks were brought, and then he, and the Sleen, were the

      
first to cross.

      
Another time he warned us back and called for a lance,

      
with which he tripped a wire in the passage. Four spears,

      
with bronze heads, suddenly burst across the passage, emerg-

      
ing from circular openings, their tips striking into other small

      
openings across the passage. Kamchak, with his boot, broke

      
the spear shafts and we moved between them.

      
At last we emerged into a large audience room, with a

      
domed ceiling, heavily carpeted and hung with tapestries. I

      
recognized it immediately, for it was the room in which

      
Harold and I had been brought prisoner before Saphrar of

      
Turia.

        
In the room there were four persons.

      
Sitting in the place of honor, cross-legged, calm, on the

      
merchant's cushions, on his personal dais, applying a bit of

      
oil to the blade of his sword, sat the lean, scarred Ha-Keel,

      
once of Ar, now a mercenary tarnsman of squalid, malignant

      
Port Karl

      
On the floor below the dais were Saphrar of Turia, frantic,

      
clutching the purple-wrapped object, and the Paravaci, he

      
who still wore the hood of the Clan of Torturers, he who

      
would have been my assassin, he who had been with Saphrar

      
of Turia when I had entered the Yellow Pool of Turia.

      
I heard Harold cry out with delight at the sight of the

      
fellow, and the man turned to face us, a quiva in his hand.

      
Beneath his black mask I wager he turned white at the sight

      
of Harold of the Tuchuks. I could sense him tremble.

      
The other man with them was a young man, dark-haired

      
and eyed, a simple man-at-arms, perhaps not more than

      
twenty. He wore the scarlet of a warrior. He carried a short

      
sword and stood between us and the others.

      
Kamchak regarded him, and I thought with the merest

      
trace of amusement.

      
"Do not interfere, Lad," said he, quietly. "There is the

      
business of men afoot in this place."

      
"Stand back, Tuchuk," cried the young man. He held his

      
sword ready.

      
Kamchak signaled for a bag of gold, and Phanius Turmus

      
was kicked forward, and from a large, bronze pan which he

      
carried, Kamchak removed a sack of gold and threw it to

      
one side.

      
The young man did not move from his place, but set

      
himself to take the charge of the Tuchuks.

 
Kamchak threw another sack of gold to his feet, and then
  

 
another.
                                      

 
"I am a warrior," said the young man proudly.

Kamchak signaled his archers and they came forward,

their arrows trained on the young man.

He then threw, one after another, a dozen bags of gold to

the floor.

"Save your gold, Tuchuk sleep," said the young man. "I

am a warrior and I know my codes."

 
"As you wish," said Kamchak and raised his hand to signal

 
the archers.
                                  
;`

 
"Do not" I cried.
                             

 
In that moment, uttering the Turian war cry, the young
    

man rushed forward with his sword on Kamchak and the

dozen arrows flew simultaneously, striking him a dozen times,

turning him twice. Yet did he try still to stagger forward and

then another arrow and another pierced his body until he fell

at Kamchak's feet.

To my astonishment I saw that not one of the arrows had

penetrated his torso or head or abdomen, but that each had

struck only an arm or leg.

 
It had been no accident.

Kamchak turned the young man over with his boot. "Be a

Tuchuk," he said.

"Never," wept the young man in pain, between clenched

teeth. "Never, Tuchuk sleen, never!"

Kamchak turned to certain of the warriors with him.

"Bind his wounds," he said. "See that he lives. When he can

ride teach him the saddle of the kaiila, the quiva, the bow

and lance Put him in the leather of a Tuchuk. We have need

of such men among the wagons."

 
I saw the astonished eyes of the young man regarding Kamchak, and then he was carried away.
   

"In time," said Kamchak, "that boy will command a Thou-

sand."

Then Kamchak lifted his head and regarded the other

three men, seated Ha-Keel, calm with his sword, and the

frantic Saphrar of Turia, and the tall Paravaci, with the

quiva.

 
"Mine is the Paravaci!" cried Harold.

The man turned angrily to face him, but he did not

advance, nor hurl his quiva.

 
Harold leaped forward. "Let us fight!" he cried.

      
At a gesture from Kamchak Harold stepped back, angry, a

      
quiva in his hand.

      
The two sleen were snarling and pulling at their collar.

      
The tawny hair hanging from their jaws was flecked with the

      
foam of their agitation. Their eyes blazed. The claws when

      
they emerged and retracted and emerged again tore at the

 
     
rug.

      
"Do not approach!" cried Saphrar, "or I shall destroy the

      
golden sphere!" He tore away the purple cloth that had

      
enfolded the golden sphere and then lifted it high over his

      
head. My heart stopped for the instant. I put out my hand, to

      
touch Kamchak's leather sleeve.

        
"He must not," I said, "he must not."

        
"Why not?" asked Kamchak. "It is worthless."

        
"Stand back!" screamed Saphrar.

     
   
"You do not understand!" I cried to Kamchak.

      
I saw Saphrar's eyes gleam. "Listen to the Koroban!" he

      
said. "He knows! He knows!"

      
"Does it truly make a difference," asked Kamchak of me,

      
"whether or not he shatters the sphere?"

      
"Yes," I said, "there is nothing more valuable on all

      
Gor it is perhaps worth the planet itself."

      
"Listen to him!" screamed Saphrar. "If you approach I

      
shall destroy this!"

        
"No harm must come to it," I begged Kamchak.

        
"Why?" asked Kamchak.

        
I was silent, not knowing how to say what had to be said.

      
Kamchak regarded Saphrar. "What is it that you hold?" he

      
asked.

        
"The golden sphere!" cried Saphrar.

        
"But what is the golden sphere?" queried Kamchak.

      
"I do not know," said Saphrar, "but I know that there are

      
men who will pay half the wealth of Gor for this"

      
"I," said Kamchak, "would not give a copper tarn disk for