Vagabonds of Gor (14 page)

"No," said the fellow. "No!"

"So that is what this is all about," I exclaimed, as though in relief. "You are not mere brigands out to rob honest folks, as we feared. I think we may clear this all up quickly. It is simply a case of mistaken identity."

"Squirm," said the leader.

"Who do you think we are?" I asked.

"Our quarry," said the leader, grinning.

"Spies?" I asked.

"It makes no difference to me whether you are spies or not," said the leader.

"How did you find us?" I asked. There were three of them. I did not know Marcus' skill with the blade. I wished, if at all possible, to protect him.

"Policrates himself, it was," said he, "leader of the expeditionary force in the north, who summoned us to his tent. It was he who speculated that you might be most easily found to the south, in which direction lay Holmesk, after the official searches had concluded. It was then he speculated that you would least expect pursuit, that you would be most off your guard. Too, it was he who forbade the taking of the young fellow, but rather that he be permitted to leave the camp, unmolested, that he might lead us to you. He left southward, toward Holmesk."

"I am sorry, Tarl, my friend," said Marcus. "Aii!"

The leader looked at me, wildly, and then his sword lowered, slowly. He slipped to his knees, and fell to the dust in the road. I turned then to face the fellow who had been to the leader's right. Marcus stood quickly, white-faced, between myself and the fellow who had been on the left.

"Your leader," I said to the fellow who had been on the leader's right, "might have been better advised not to have engaged in explanations, conversation, and such. Had he been as clever as his commander, Policrates, I do not think he would have done so."

The fellow before me backed away.

"I did not even see your sword move," said Marcus, in awe.

"Your leader," I said to the man before me, "permitted himself to be distracted. Perhaps you will do the same."

The fellow shook his head, backing away.

The leader had thought himself the aggressor. He had thought me diffident, frightened. If there was a blow to be struck first he thought it his prerogative. He did not expect the thrust when it came, laterally, between the ribs, smoothly, only to the heart, no deeper, withdrawn instantaneously.

The earth then again seemed to move. Moreover, there was dust about.

I did not want to take my eyes off the man in front of me.

I heard a scream of fear from in back, from Marcus' man. Then the fellow before me, looked back, wildly, and then turned and ran.

I heard a voice behind me, from the dust. It was only when the ground had shaken near me, and I had spun half about, almost buffeted by a saddle tharlarion, and saw the running mercenary caught between the shoulder blades with the point of the lance, thrown then to the dust, rolling and bloody, and saw the tharlarion trampling the body, then turning about in a swirl of dust, the rider lifting the blood-stained lance, that I registered the voice I heard. "Tarsk!" it had said. That is a command used often in tarsk hunting, a signal to ride the animal down, plunging your lance into its back or side.

"Greetings, men of Ar!" said Marcus, lifting his hand. He had sheathed his sword. To one side, struck down by another lance, mangled, trampled in the dust, was the fellow who had been facing him. One could scarcely make out the blue of the identificatory scarf, tied high on the left arm, with the blood, the dust.

"Sheath your sword!" called Marcus to me.

I did so. There were some ten fellows about, all on tharlarion. Some five of them had crossbows. Three were trained on Marcus, two on me.

"Lower your bows," said Marcus.

The weapons did not lower.

"We are safe now," said Marcus to me. "These are men of Ar!"

I did not know this, of course, and if Marcus had been older, and more experienced, he might not have been as sure of this as he was. We did know they wore the uniforms of Ar. If it was a patrol of Ar it seemed rather far to the north. It could, of course, be a far-ranging patrol. Perhaps, too, the main body had left the winter camp, and was now marching toward the Vosk. If that were the case, the patrol might not be as far from its base as it might seem. The best evidence that these were indeed fellows from Ar, of course, was that they had ridden down the mercenaries, unhesitantly, mercilessly, giving no quarter. They would have been identified as being of the party of Cos, of course, by their recently affixed insignia, in the one case, by the blue armband, in the other case, by the blue scarf.

"We thank you for coming to our aid," said Marcus. "Glory to Ar!"

"Glory to Ar!" said four or five of the fellows about, high above us, in their saddles.

The leader of the men, however, did not respond to Marcus. He seemed weary. He was covered with dust. He looked at him, narrowly. His wind scarf hung down about his throat. This is commonly drawn down before engaging, that commands not be muffled, that air can more easily enter the lungs. His hood, too, was thrown back. This also is commonly done before engaging, to increase the range of peripheral vision. The men and beasts were covered with dust. The men seemed worn and haggard. I feared they were far from their base. Whereas the main forces of Ar might be well rested in their winter camp, perhaps unexercised, perhaps grown sleek and fat, men such as these, foragers, rangers, scouts, and such, had probably had more than their share of alarms and labors, of suspicions and dangers, more than their share of contacts with the enemy, more than their share of skirmishes in the no man's land that separated armies. I saw in their faces that these men were not strangers to hardship and war. They had seen times in which only the swift, ruthless and inexorable survive.

"I am Marcus Marcellus, of the Marcelliani!" said Marcus.

I saw no recognition in the eyes of the leader.

"Of Ar's Station!" announced Marcus.

"Renegades!" said one of the riders.

"Take us to Saphronicus, commandant at Holmesk!" said Marcus. "We are spies! We have come from the camp of Cos, to the north. We bring information!"

"I think they are spies, all right," said one of the men.

"Take us to Saphronicus!" said Marcus.

"Sleen of Ar's Station!" spat a man.

"Renegades!" said another.

"We of Ar's Station are not renegades!" exclaimed Marcus, angrily.

"Ar's Station was bought by the Cosians, by bribery," said a man.

"No!" cried Marcus.

"She now stands for Cos in the north," said a man.

"No!" said Marcus.

"And you two are spies!" said a man.

"Are you, too, from Ar's Station?" asked the leader of me.

"No," I said.

"From whence, then?" inquired he.

I was not too pleased to convey this information to these fellows, but on the other hand, there seemed little use in concealing it.

"From Port Kar," I said, adding, "Jewel of Gleaming Thassa."

"Worse than Ar's Station," laughed a fellow. "That is a den of cutthroats and pirates!"

"In Port Kar," I said, "there is a Home Stone."

"Take us to Saphronicus," said Marcus, angrily.

"Spies," said a man.

"If we were spies," said Marcus, "how is it that we were threatened by those of Cos, one of whom lay slain by my fellow before you came?"

"In such a way," said the leader, "you might think to allay our suspicions. Perhaps they were mere dupes, sent to be slain, that we might be convinced of your authenticity."

"I choose not to deal further with underlings," said Marcus. "I charge you, in virtue of the authority of my commission in the forces of Ar's Station, colony to the state of Ar, to conduct us into the presence of Saphronicus, your commander, at Holmesk. This is to be done as expeditiously as possible. If you do not do so, the responsibility will be fully yours."

"Saphronicus is not at Holmesk," said the leader. Marcus looked at him, wildly.

"The winter camp has been broken?" I asked. "Yes," said the man.

"Ar marches," said another fellow, proudly. "Where?" asked Marcus, stunned.

"West," said the leader.

"Toward Brundisium?" asked Marcus, incredulously.

"Yes," said the leader.

I betrayed no emotion, but I, too, was puzzled by this intelligence. Such a line of march would not carry the army of Ar toward the Cosians, certainly not directly. Perhaps they intended to cut the Cosians off from Brundisium. That would make sense.

"We have come from the camp of Cos," said Marcus, "where, at great risk to ourselves, we have spied for Ar. We have information. I am no longer certain of the value of this information. A judgment on its value, however, should be made by Saphronicus. Take us to him."

The leader spoke to subordinates. Two men dismounted.

"What are you doing?" asked Marcus, angrily, his hands jerked behind him, then snapped into manacles. My hands, too, were similarly secured. Our sword belts, weapons and accouterments were removed. Two other fellows then tossed down chain leashes, terminating in collars. These collars were locked about our necks. The other ends of the leashes were looped about the pommels of saddles.

"We have some things on the hill, above," I said, indicating the direction of the small camp I had kept.

The leader made a small sign. One of his men made his way up the hill and, in a moment, returned with our packs. These were thrown, tied together, with our other things, over the neck of one of the tharlarion.

"Your guise was that of merchants," said the leader of the men, looking about.

"Yes," I said. That had been told from the packs. They had been inspected.

"These fellows were following you?" asked the leader, indicating the fallen mercenaries.

"Yes," I said.

"It would seem that that was their mistake," he said.

"It would seem so," I said.

"What did they purchase from you?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said.

"No," he said, "they purchased death." Then he told one of his men to drag the bodies into the brush. "Leave them for sleen," he said. They would be removed from the road, of course, the better to conceal the movements of a patrol of Ar.

"Free us!" said Marcus, jerking his wrists in their obdurate confinements, moving his neck in the collar.

But the leader paid him no attention.

The butts of lances entered saddle boots. The crossbows were restored to their hooks on the saddles.

"We are partisans of Ar!" called Marcus, angrily.

"They do not know that," I said to him.

"What are you going to do with us?" called Marcus, angrily.

"Take you to Saphronicus," said the leader.

"Then," said Marcus, cheerfully, turning to me, "all is well!"

"I wish," said one of the men, looking down at us, "that you were slave girls."

He, I suspected, long on patrol, was as needful as I. The allusion, of course, was to a perhaps somewhat ostentatious custom, that of displaying beautiful slaves, chained naked to one's stirrup. There is perhaps a certain vanity in this, but they are beautiful there, and I suspect, we have all known women whom we would not have minded putting in such a place, women who would quite appropriately occupy such a place, and indeed, would look very well there. One of the pleasures of Gor, incidentally, is treating women in such ways, as they deserve.