Vagabonds of Gor (13 page)

In a moment we clasped hands.

"I feared you had been taken," he cried, in relief.

"I have been waiting for you, here," I said. "What kept you?"

He reddened, suddenly. "I was delayed at the Vosk," he said. "I could come no sooner."

"Business?" I asked.

"Of course," he said, evasively.

I laughed.

"You were waiting to hear news of me, if I had been taken," I said.

"No!" he said, rather too quickly.

"You should have come south immediately," I said, "to the vicinity of Teslit, and from thence, after a suitable interval, expeditiously, toward Holmesk."

"Perhaps," he said.

"But you did not do so," I observed.

He blushed.

"That was our plan, was it not?" I asked him, with an innocence that might have done credit to a Boots Tarsk Bit. It was not for nothing that I had traveled with a group of strolling players. To be sure, I had been used mostly to help assemble the stage and free the wheels of mired wagons.

"It doesn't matter, now," he said, somewhat peevishly.

"But surely one must stick to a plan," I said. "For example, one must be willing to sacrifice the comrade, the friend."

"Of course," he said, irritably. "Of course!"

"It is well that there are fellows like you, to instruct sluggards and less responsible fellows, like me, in their duty."

"Thank you," he said.

"But yet it seems in this instance you did not do so." He shrugged.

"Thank you, my friend," I said.

Again we clasped hands.

"Hist!" said he, suddenly. "Below!"

"Hola there, fellows!" called a man from the road, cheerfully. There were two others with him, tall, half-shaven, ragged, angular-looking fellows. All seemed dangerous, all were armed.

The hand of Marcus went to the hilt of his weapon.

"Hold," I whispered to him. I lifted my hand to the men on the road. "Tal," I called to them.

"We are travelers," called the man. "We seek directions to Teslit."

"It lies on this road, to the south," I said.

"They are not travelers," said Marcus to me.

"No," I said.

"Far?" called the fellow.

"A pasang," I said.

"They have come from the south," said Marcus to me.

"I know," I said. I had been watching the road. Had they been following Marcus, on the road, in the open, I would have seen them. More importantly, from this height, with the sun on the road, one could see the tracks in the dust.

"They carry no packs," said Marcus.

"Their packs are probably in Teslit," I said. I was not the only one who could make inquiries in Teslit.

"They may have followed me," said Marcus, bitterly.

"I think it unlikely," I said, "that is, directly. Surely you would have been alert to such surveillance."

"I would have hoped so," he said. It is dangerous to follow a warrior, as it is a larl or sleen. Such, too often, double back. Such, too often, turn the game.

"Have no fear," called the fellow on the road.

"They may have anticipated your trek southward from the camp," I said. "They may have thought you had left earlier. In Teslit they would learn someone of my description had been recently there, but alone, and had then supposedly gone south. They may have hurried southward as far as they dared, but are now returning north. More likely, as I was alone in Teslit, they may have suspected a projected rendezvous, that I would be waiting in the vicinity for you to join me."

"We would speak with you!" called the fellow.

I did not blame them for not wanting to approach up the hill.

"Perhaps they are brigands," said Marcus.

"I do not think so," I said.

"What then?" asked he.

"Hunters," I said. "Hunters of men." Then I called down to the men on the road. "We are simple merchants," I said.

"Come down," he called, "that we may buy from you!"

"You fellows may be from Ar," I called. It would surely seem to them possible, I suspected, that Ar might have secret patrols in the area.

They looked at one another. Something was said among them. Then, again, the fellow lifted his head. "No," he called. "We are not of Ar."

"It is likely then," smiled Marcus, "that they are from the camp near the Vosk."

"Yes," I said.

"Do not be afraid!" called the man. "You have nothing to fear from us."

"We are simple merchants," I reminded him.

"We would buy from you," he called.

"What would you buy from us?" I asked.

"We have need of many things," he called. "Display your wares!"

"Come up," I called to him.

"Come down," he called.

"It will be dark in two or three Ahn," said Marcus.

"Yes," I said. It was not unlikely that we could hold this small camp until then. Then, in the darkness, we might slip away. I did not think they would wish to ascend the hill toward us. But, too, I suspected they would like to complete their work quickly.

"They could follow us in the morning," said Marcus.

"Yes," I said.

"Come down!" called the man on the road.

"Perhaps we should see what they wish," I said.

"Yes," said Marcus, grimly.

"Smile," I advised him.

We then, together, slipping a bit, descended from the camp to the road.

"You did not bring your wares," said the man, grinning. His two fellows moved away from him. In this fashion they would have room for the movement of steel.

"Packs are heavy," I said. "I thought it best to first ascertain your interests." Surely he did not seriously think I was going to encumber myself with a pack, not descending the hill, not regaining my balance at its foot, not carrying it to the road.

"You are still afraid," said the man.

"No," I said.

He drew forth from his tunic a blue armband, which he thrust up, over his sleeve, above the left elbow, grinning. "You see," he said, "there is nothing to fear. We are not of Ar."

His two fellows, too, grinning, affixed identificatory insignia on their left arms, one an armband, the other a knotted blue scarf. Many mercenaries do not wear uniforms. Insignia such as armbands, scarves, ribbons and plumes, of given colors, serve to identify them, making clear their side. Needless to say, such casual devices may be swiftly changed, the colors sometimes alternating with the tides of battle.

Many mercenary companies consist of little more than rabbles of armed ruffians, others, like those of Dietrich of Tarnburg, Pietro Vacchi and Raymond, of Rive-de-Bois, are crack troops, as professional as warriors of Ar or Cosian regulars. In dealing with mercenaries, it is extremely important to know the sort of mercenaries with which one is dealing. That can make a great deal of difference, both with respect to tactics and strategy. More than one regiment of regular troops has been decimated as a result of their commanders having taken a mercenary foe too lightly.

With respect to switching sides, given the fortunes of the day, incidentally, the "turncoat," so to speak, to use the English expression, is not unknown on Gor. A tunic may be lined with a different color. The tunic may then, after dark, for example, be turned inside out. Such tunics, however, are seldom worn on Gor. For one thing, a fellow found wearing one is usually impaled, by either side. They have been used, of course, for infiltration purposes, much like civilian garb, false uniforms, and such.

"You are mercenaries," I observed, "in the pay of Cos."

"And you," grinned he, "are also loyal to the cause of Cos, as was clear from your presence in the Vosk camp."

"Perhaps you wish to purchase something?" I asked.

The three of them, together, drew their swords. My sword, too, had left the sheath.

"It is him we want," said the leader of the men to Marcus. "Do not interfere."

Marcus, of course, stood his ground.

"Stand back," I said to Marcus.

He did not move.

"Who is first sword?" I asked the leader.

"I am," said a fellow to the leader's left. I was sure then that it would not be he. Too, he was on the leader's left, where he could protect his unarmed side. His strengths would probably be in defense. It is difficult to break the guard of a man who is purely on the defensive. While concerning myself with the fellow on the left, or worrying most about him, the leader himself might have freer play to my own left. Too, I suspected the leader would be himself first sword. In small groups, it is often superior swordplay which determines that distinction. In Kaissa matches between clubs and towns, and sometimes even cities, incidentally, a certain form of similar deception is often practiced. One sacrifices the first board, so to speak, and then has one's first player engaging the enemy's second player, and one's second player engaging the enemy's third, and so on. To be sure, the enemy, not unoften, is doing the same thing, or something similar, and so things often even out. This tends not to be practical among members of the caste of Players, of course, as their ratings are carefully kept, and are a matter of public record.

"Very well," I said, seeming to measure the fellow on the left.

"Who is first sword?" asked the leader.

"I am," said Marcus. That interested me. It was possible, of course.

"We are not interested in you," said one of the men, uneasily. "You may withdraw."

Marcus did not move. If he withdrew, of course, that would put three against one. And then, of course, if they wished, it could be again three against one.

"I thought you wished to buy something," I said to the leader.

He laughed. "What are you selling?" he inquired.

"Steel," said Marcus, evenly.

The fellow on the leader's left backed a little away, putting another stride between himself and Marcus. The young man emanated menace.

"Bold young vulo cock," mocked the leader.

"Steady!" I said to Marcus.

I feared he would be lured prematurely forward, rashly.

"Go away," said the fellow on the leader's left to Marcus. "We do not want you."

Marcus did not move.

"Because I am young," said Marcus, "you think that I am stupid. You are mistaken."

"No," said the fellow on the left.

It seemed to me for a moment that the earth seemed to move a bit beneath our feet. Certainly it was a very subtle thing.

"You think we are spies," said Marcus. "You want us both, but only one at a time."