Mercenaries of Gor (19 page)

"After tomorrow, too," said the officer, "unauthorized civilians will not be permitted within the walls. The penalty for the unauthorized male will be swift and honorable execution, that for the unauthorized female being fed to sleen, or, if she is comely enough, and zealous enough to please, perhaps bondage."

"There is little point in trying to hide in the city," said Mincon. "Eventually all the houses will be searched. Too, when they are hungry enough they will creep out at night to seek food. They may then, sooner or later, with the aid of tracking sleen, be taken."

"I see," I said.

"With the nature of Torcadino," said the officer, "the walls, and our control of the city, it is highly unlikely, sooner or later, that we will have every one of the women on our list."

I nodded. The listed females, under the particular circumstances currently prevailing in Torcadino, had little chance of escape. To be sure, many were not yet female slaves. For most practical purposes, for the Gorean female slave, properly identified, branded and collared, there is no escape. If she escapes from one master, which is exceedingly unlikely, she will doubtless soon find herself in the chains of another, and one who is perhaps worse. Certainly the new master will know that she is an escaped slave and will be likely to treat her with great harshness and keep her under the strictest confinements. He will probably make certain, as well, that sleen have her scent. Too, the penalties for running away can be severe, in the second case generally involving being fed to sleen or being hamstrung, to be used perhaps thereafter as a begging slave.

(pg. 137) "What is to be done with these women?" I asked the officer.

"Most of them will be sold in lots to contractors," he said.

"Like much of the other loot?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "The general contracts, for pickups of loot, projected quantities, and such, were let weeks ago."

"Of course," I said.

I noted one of the soldiers. He moved about, here and there within the chain lines, among the women. Occasionally he would put his whip before the lips of one of them. She would then kiss it.

"But some of these females are quite beautiful." I said.

"For example, 437 is extremely lovely."

"Her mother, 261, is also quite lovely." He said. "Certain of these women, of course, the better ones, like the more expensive loot, will not go to the contractors, but will be kept for distribution, the less beautiful ones to the troops, the more beautiful ones to the officers."

I nodded. These arrangements were typical.

"I have already made notations with respect to several of them," he said, indicating his papers, "including 437 and 261. In advance of course, when one enters them, if at all, only in the robes of concealment, one does not know which are the most beautiful."

"Such determinations now, of course," I said, "may be easily made."

"Yes," he said.

I regarded the women. For the past weeks, they had been going about their business, ignorantly, naively, unsuspectingly, totally unaware of how they might be included as humble objects in the plans of masters. Doubtless they had given much attention to the matters of their day, to their various competitions, pursuits, vanities, occupations and concerns. All that time they did not know that already, in dried, indelible ink, their names were recorded on seizure lists. I observed them. They knelt, chained. On the upper portion of the left breast of each was number. It was the number which had followed their name on the seizure lists. That (pg. 138) number was theirs. It had been theirs for weeks. But only now, to their horror, did they learn so, and find it literally inscribed on their bodies.

I saw the soldier hold the whip before 437. She bent forward and kissed it.

"Come along," said Mincon. "We must go to the Semnium."

We then followed him, Hurtha and I, and Boabissia, the hempen leashes of Tula and Feiqa in the grasp of Hurtha. (pg. 139)

14
   
The Semnium; The Outer Office

"These are new bodies, fresh bodies," I said.

"Of course," said Mincon.

We were at the foot of the low, broad steps of the Semnium, the hall of the high council, which building, it seemed, might now serve as the headquarters of the new masters of Torcadino. These steps extended before the building, for the entire length of its portico.

"Who are they?" I asked.

There were some two to three hundred new bodies hung now from tarred ropes along the Avenue of Adminius, in the vicinity of the Semnium.

"Collaborators, traitors, men who were of the party of Cos, betrayers of the alliance with Ar, and such," said Mincon.

"As those earlier were similarly adherents of Ar?" I asked.

"Perhaps," said Mincon.

"Some of those here," I said, regarding the dismal lines of bodies, dangling in the tarred halters, "are perhaps the same as those who had been active in bringing about the downfall of those who hung here formerly."

"Of course," said Mincon.

"The winds have shifted in Torcadino," I said.

"Yes," said Mincon.

"It seems your captain is in the pay of Ar." I said.

"Of that you may judge yourself," he said, "shortly."

"I?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"I do not understand," I said.

"Follow me," he said. I then, and the others, followed (pg. 140) him up the steps of the Semnium. I stopped once, at the entrance, to look back, at the bodies. I briefly recalled the girl at the chain, 437, and her mother, 261. Her mother, before her capture, I had gathered, had been important, having been the confirmation treasurer of one of Torcadino's commercial councils, the Spice Council. She had also, in her position, I had gathered, and doubtless by her influence and acts, supported the cause of Cos. This inclination, incidentally, is not all that uncommon among individuals whose fortunes tend to be intimately involved in such matters as importation and exportation, the location and exploitation of foreign markets, and, in general, the overseas trade, the Thassa and island trade. This is understandable. The navies of Tyros and Cos, for most practical purposes command the green waves of gleaming Thassa. They control many of the most familiar and practical trade corridors. Few coasts are free from their patrols. Few ports could scorn their blockades. 261, however, aside from all such considerations, was a citizeness of Torcadino, and Torcadino had been sworn to the cause of Ar. She had, it seemed, for whatever reason, presumably opportunism or greed, betrayed the pledge of her Home Stone. In the case of a man this can be a capital offense. She was not a man, however but a female. It was thus, doubtless, that she had not been placed on a proscription list, but only on a seizure list. It was her sex which had saved her. Had she been a man she would have been hung.

Within the entrance to the Semnium was a marble-floored, lofty hall. Passageways and stairways led variously from this broad vestibule. The walls were adorned with mosaics, scenes generally of civic life, prominent among them were scenes of public gatherings, conferences and processions. One depicted the laying of the first stone in Torcadino's walls, an act which presumably would have taken place more than seven hundred years ago, when, according to the legends, the first wall, only a dozen feet high, was built to encircle and protect a great, sprawling encampment at the joining of trade routes. Within the hall were several soldiers, and several officers, at tables, conducting various sorts of business. To one side, permanent fixtures, immovable and sturdy, their supports fixed in the (pg. 141) floor, were several rows of long, narrow, marble benches. It was on these that clients and claimants, with their various causes, grievances and petitions, would wait until their turn came to be called for their appointments or hearings. It was here, too, that witnesses, and such, might wait, before being summoned to give testimony on various matters before the courts.

"It is in here, I gather," I said, "that these letters of safety may be obtained." I eyed the various tables.

"Yes," said Mincon, making his way toward a guard station at the opening to one of the long corridors leading from the vaulted vestibule.

"Are we not to petition for these letters at one of the tables?" I asked, looking back.

"No," he said.

We were then following him down the corridor. He was known, it seemed.

"Is the city being administered from this building?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, "in most things, in most ways."

"The city is under martial law," I said. "Why is it not being administered from the central cylinder, or its arsenal?"

"This building supplies and appearance of civic normality," he said. "Thus it is more as though one form of municipal administration had merely succeeded another."

"I see," I said. "Your captain, however," I said, "is doubtless reigning in the central cylinder."

"No, he is conducting business in this building," said Mincon, continuing down the hall.

I said nothing. This seemed to me, however, politically astute, particularly since the city was not currently under attack. I had realized for years, of course, that Dietrich of Tarnburg was a capable mercenary, and one of Gor's finest commanders. I had not found mention, however, in the annals, or diaries, which had been generally concerned with marches and campaigns, a sufficient appreciation of this other side of his character. He was apparently not only a military genius but perhaps also a political one. Or, perhaps they are not really so separate as they are often considered to be. Territory must be held as well as won.

(pg. 142) "Civilians are being ejected from the city," I said. "Surely they are not being given letters of safety."

"No," said Mincon.

"You think, however that we might need them?" I asked.

"It seems very likely," said Mincon, "considering where you are going."

"I do not understand," I said.

"I have gathered that you are familiar with the sword," he said, "and that you re from Port Kar,"

"I know something of the sword," I said. "And I have a holding in Port Kar."

"Perhaps you are even of the scarlet caste," he said.

"Perhaps," I said.

"Port Kar is at war with Cos," he said.

"Yes," I said.

"We are here," he said. We stopped before a large door. He ushered us between guards. We found ourselves in a reception room. An officer was at a table at one end of the room, with two more guards. Behind him and to his right was another door. In this fashion, to pass him, as is common, one would have to pass him on his sword-arm side.

"Anything so simple as letters of safety could have been issued in the main hall," I said.

Mincon spoke to the officer at the table, who, it seemed, recognized him.

"I would think so," said Hurtha, righteously, adding "whatever a letter of safety might be." He looked about, with his Alar distrust of bureaucracy and enclosed spaces. "I trust there will be no necessity for me to read such a letter," he said, "as this would be difficult, as I cannot read."

"You could learn," I said, somewhat snappishly.

"Between now and when we receive the letters?" asked Hurtha, incredulously.

"Alars do not read," said Boabissia, proudly. "And we are Alars."

"I am an Alar," said Hurtha.

"Doubtless we will get the letters from that fellow," I said, indicating the officer to whom Mincon was speaking.

(pg. 143) "My letter of safety would be my ax," said Hurtha, "if I had it."

Mincon, however, to my surprise, went through the door behind the officer.

"I frankly do not understand what is going on," I said.

"I have sometimes had that experience," said Hurtha.

"Mincon is behaving strangely," I said.

"What can you expect?" said Hurtha. "He is not an Alar."

"Neither am I," I said.

"I know," said Hurtha.

"This whole business makes little sense to me," I said.

"Civilization is bizarre," said Hurtha.

"Perhaps you can get a poem out of this," I said.

"I already have," he said, "two. Would you care to hear them?"

"There is no time now," I said.

"They are quite short," he said. "One is a mere fifty liner,"

"By all means, then," I said.

" 'In the halls of Torcadino,' " he began. " ' 'neath sacks of noosed bones-' "

"You have composed more than one hundred lines of poetry while we have been standing here?" I asked.

"Many more," he said, "but I have eliminated many lines which did not meet my standards. 'In the streets of Torcadino, 'neath bundles of brittle bones-"

"Wait," I said. "That is not the same line."

"I have revised it," said Hurtha.

At this moment, Mincon, naively, his timing, from his point of view, tragically awry, emerged from the inner office. "What news, good fellow?" I called to him.

"Please go in," he said to me. "The rest of you please remain here."