Mercenaries of Gor (31 page)

"Yes," said Hurtha.

"Well," said Gnieus, "it is my habit to arise each morning by the fourth Ahn."

"The fourth Ahn?" cried Hurtha, aghast. "That is rather early."

"In my opinion," snapped the fellow, who seemed in a rather disagreeable mood, perhaps still somewhat disgruntled at having been turned out of Torcadino with little more than the clothes on his back, "folks who remain longer in the furs are no better than lazy sleen."

"Oh," said Hurtha. He shuddered.

"Yes," said the fellow.

"I am afraid I cannot dedicate my poem to you," said Hurtha. "You get up just too early."

"It is just as well," said Gnieus, "for I charge a fee for having poems dedicated to me."

"What?" cried Hurtha

I decided I liked Gnieus. He was not a bad fellow, even for coming from Brundisium.

"A silver tarsk," snapped Gnieus.

"That is very expensive," said Hurtha.

"That is what I charge," said the fellow.

"Do we have a silver tarsk?" asked Hurtha.

"You would sell your priceless dedications, for mere money?" I asked.

"Never!" cried Hurtha, resolved.

That was a close one. I had saved a silver tarsk, or its equivalent in smaller coins.

Gnieus Sorissius had now taken his leave.

(pg. 222) "What a scoundrel," growled Hurtha, looking after him.

"Indeed," I admitted. I wished that I had managed to handle my large friend as neatly as Gnieus Sorissius, even if he was from Brundisium. Perhaps he had had dealings with Alar poets before. Could that be?

"Perhaps I shall have to dedicate the poem to you, after all," said Hurtha.

"We have now come to the edge of the camp," I said.

We paused, to look back. We were on a slight slope.

"How beautiful it is," said Boabissia.

The camp was a splendid sight. Torcadino was in the distance.

"I think," said Hurtha, looking back, "I shall compose a poem, a mood piece."

"What about the poem about fellows who sleep late?" I asked.

"I think I shall discard it," he said. "The subject is trivial, and perhaps unworthy of my powers. Do you mind, much?"

"No," I said.

"Good fellow," said Hurtha.

"That also solves your problem about the dedication," I said.

"It does, doesn't it," he said.

"Yes," I said.

"Since I have saved us a silver tarsk then," he said, "perhaps you would be so good as to divide a silver tarsk with me, sharing and sharing alike, as always."

'Very well," I said. Alars are not always adept at mathematics, but many of them are large, fearsome fellows.

"Thank you," said Hurtha.

"Think nothing of it," I said. "How often can one save a tarsk so adroitly? Had there been two fellows we might have saved two tarsks."

"No," said Hurtha. "For there was only one dedication."

"You are right of course," I said.

"Let us go," said Hurtha.

"Wait just a moment," I said.

"Yes?" he said.

(pg. 223) "Do you notice anything unusual about the camp?" I asked.

"It is very beautiful," said Hurtha, "as was observed even by Boabissia, who is only a female."

"Something else," I said.

"What?" he asked.

"We are beyond the camp," I said.

"Yes?" he said.

"There is no contravallation here," I said, "no defending, outer ditches, nothing to protect the camp against outside attack."

"Interesting," said Hurtha.

"The Cosians," I said, "apparently do not fear the arrival of a relieving force from Ar."

"That seems very strange, does it not?" asked Hurtha.

"I find it very troubling," I said. "I do not understand it. It is simply, if nothing else, a matter of routine military precaution."

"How can they be so sure that Ar will not come to the relief of Torcadino?" asked Hurtha.

"I do not know," I said. I found this detail, however, the absence of external contravallation, like may others in the past weeks, disturbing. It seemed to be a new military anomaly. It, like several of the other things, such as the absence of fortified camps and defended supply trains, seemed inexplicable, and cumulatively now, alarmingly so.

"What can explain such things," asked Hurtha.

"I do not know," I said. "I am uneasy."

"I think we should go on," said a man, another refugee with us. "If we are caught here we may be taken for loiterers, or spies."

"That is true," I granted him.

I then looked back at Feiqa, the former Lady Charlotte of Samnium. She wore a brief slave tunic, with a neckline that plunged to her belly. The soft, interior curvatures of her breasts could be seen within the opening of the garment. This is suitable for women who are only slaves. I considered her. She was lovely. I went to stand near her, the camp and the walls of Torcadino behind her. I put my hands within her (pg. 224) garment. She looked up at me. My touch was gentle. The straps of my pack, which she bore for me, were wet and hot on her shoulders. There were bands of sweat beneath the straps, and beneath them, too, the tunic was wet and wrinkled. Some of the wrinkles would leave a mark on her skin for a time. Her breasts felt interesting, warm, full, moist with sweat. She had a collar locked on her neck. She was mine.

"Let us go," said Boabissia.

"Tonight," I said, "we will have to get you cleaned up. Your body is sweaty. Your feet are dirty."

"Yes, Master," she said, pressing herself softly, purring, like the small, sweet owned beast she was, against my hands. I put down my head and let her lift her lips to mine, where they briefly met. "Ah," she said, softly. Then I lifted my head away from her. I removed my hands from her. I drew then the sides of her tunic back to their original position. I held her then by the upper arms. My grip was tight. She could not think of freeing herself. "You are a slave, are you not?" I asked.

"Yes, Master, she said, "totally, and yours, completely!"

I turned her about, facing the camp, with Torcadino in the distance.

"Do you think you have the favor of your master?" I asked.

"It is my fervent hope that I do," she said.

"Do you see that area?" I asked, pointing.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Speak," I said.

"It is the enclosure of camp girls," she said.

"Yes," I said. "Do you recall a girl there," I asked, "one who had not been fully pleasing last night to a rent master?"

"Yes, Master," she said.

"What was done to her?" I asked.

"She was whipped, mercilessly," she said.

"Tonight," I said, "you will serve me."

"Yes, Master," she said.

"What will be done to you, if you are not fully pleasing?" I asked.

"I will be whipped, mercilessly," she said.

(pg. 225) "Do you object?" I asked.

"No, Master," she said. "I would have it no other way,"

I then stepped away from her, and rejoined the others.

"That is the Treasure Road," I said, indicating a narrow road in the distance. "At its end lies Ar."

"Let us be on our way," said Boabissia. "I am eager to reach Ar."

I glanced back once at Feiqa. She smiled. She was very beautiful. I would look forward to having her tonight. I was confident she would prove to be fully pleasing. If she were not, of course, I would whip her, and well. One cannot compromise with female slaves, They are women.

We began to descend from the crest of the slope, making our way slowly toward the road. Most of the refugees were already there, or in its vicinity. In my sheath were the letters of safety, and, below them, thrust down beneath them, the letters given to me by the officer, he who was now the master of Torcadino. These letters, all, bore his signature. The signature was written in an ascendant, bold script. It was not difficult to read. It was "Dietrich of Tarnburg." I noticed the small fellow with narrow eyes, he with the mustache like string, nearby. He had apparently lagged behind. I did not give this much thought at the time. (pg. 226)

17
   
Slavery Agrees with Feiqa

"Papers, papers?" inquired the soldier. "Have you papers?" "No," I said. I did not think it would be wise to advertise my possession of letters of safety until it should prove impossible to proceed further without them.

He then went to others, making the same inquiry. None of the refugees, of course, carried such papers.

We were in a roadside camp, eleven days from Torcadino. It was not a bad camp. There was shade, and a spring nearby. Peasants came there to sell produce. In a few Ehn Boabissia, Hurtha and I, and Feiqa, would be again on our way. I had purchased passage on a fee cart.

"It is good to see a uniform of Ar," said a man.

"Yes," I said.

"Does one need papers?" the small fellow with the mustache like string was asking a soldier.

The soldier did not respond to him.

"Can one enter Ar without them?" he asked.

But the soldier had then continued on his way.

Boabissia came up to see me. "I have spoken to the driver," she said. "He is ready to leave." Many of the refugees, afoot, had already left the camp.

I nodded.

"You are looking pretty, Feiqa," observed Boabissia, somewhat critically.

Feiqa looked up smiling from where she knelt, packing my things. "Thank you, beautiful Mistress," she said, and then put down her head.

"Slavery apparently agrees with you, slut," said Boabissia.

(pg. 227) "Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress," said Feiqa, smiling, looking down.

"Cart Seventeen will leave in two Ehn!" called a fellow.

"That is our car," said Boabissia.

"We had better get Hurtha," I said.

"He is still asleep," she said.

"Awaken him," I said. "He can sleep in the cart."

"Finish that packing, slut," said Boabissia to Feiqa.

"Yes, Mistress!" she said.

Boabissia then went to waken Hurtha. I did not envy her this task. It was not always easy to awaken the Alar giant.

"I am ready, Master," said Feiqa, smiling, shouldering my pack.

I went to Feiqa and put my hands on the collar on her throat. She looked up at me, eagerly.

"Apparently slavery does agree with you," I said, looking into her eyes.

"Oh, yes, Master," she whispered. "Yes, yes!" (pg. 228)

18
   
The Treasure Road

"Way! Make way!" called the driver. He sat on the wagon box, some yard or so below, and separated from, the high railed wagon bed, serving, with its benches, as the passenger area. The wheels of the cart were narrow, and some seven feet in height. There were two of them. They were treaded with strips of metal. The cart was drawn by a bipedalian tharlarion, a slighter breed than, but related to, and swifter than, the common shock tharlarion used generally by the lancers of the Gorean heavy cavalry.

"Rich tarsks," snarled a fellow on the road, moving to the side.

"Make way!" called the driver, cracking his whip. The arrival of the cart was announced as well by the jangling of two bells, affixed to projections on its sides, before the wheels. Then we were through the group of refugees, and moving swiftly again.

"I think little treasure moves these days upon this road," said Hurtha.

"You are doubtless right," I said, "and the traffic, it seems, flows toward Ar."

"Will the Cosians take this route?" asked Hurtha.

"Probably," I said. "It is the most direct route between Torcadino and Ar."

I glanced at Boabissia. She was standing at the front of the cart, grasping the front rail, looking forward. Her hair and dress were blown backward in the wind.

"Look," I said to Hurtha. "See the soldier by the road, there?"

"Yes," he said, turning about to get a better look.

(pg. 229) "That is another uniform of Ar," I said.

"That is comforting news," said the fellow to my right. We had seen few such uniforms lately.

"Are you going to Ar?" asked the small fellow sitting across from me. It was he who had the thin mustache.

"Yes," I said.

"Do you have papers?" he asked.

"No," I said.

"Oh," he said, smiling.

"Why?" I asked.

"I assume Ar will not accommodate all the refugees who may seek asylum there," he said. "It is hard to see how she could. Doubtless papers, or letters, might be needed."

"Perhaps," I said.

"Such might be worth their weight in gold," he speculated.

"Perhaps," I said.