Nomads of Gor (65 page)

 
recognize that it has, from time to time, involved me in

 
various difficulties beginning about my fourth year. Now,

 
however, it might not hurt at all to be promptly and accu-

 
rately identified by means of it.

 
When I lifted my head from the fountain in the Turian

 
street Harold cried out in amazement, "Why you ARE Tart

 
Cabot!"

  
"Yes," I had responded.

 
After we had taken the girl and the potter and wine

 
vendor to whatever safety their homes might afford, we set

 
out for the House of Saphrar, where, after some examination

 
of the scene, I convinced myself there was nothing immedi-

 
ately to be done. It was invested by better than two of the

 
Thousands. No assault of the place had yet begun. Doubtless

 
rocks and large pieces of building stone had already been

 
piled behind the gates. I could smell tharlarion oil on the

 
walls, waiting to be fired and poured on those who might

 
 
attempt to dig at the walls or mount ladders against them.

 
Occasional arrows and crossbow bolts were exchanged. One

 
thing troubled me. The standing wall about the compound

 
kept the Tuchuk bowmen far enough from the roof of the

 
keep within that tarns might, without too great a danger,

 
enter and leave the compound. Saphrar, if he chose, could

 
escape on tarnback. As yet, cut off, he probably had no way

 
of knowing how serious his danger was. Within he undoubt-

 
edly had ample food and water to withstand a long siege. It

 
seemed to me he could fly with safety when he chose, but

 
that he had merely not yet chosen.

        
I then wished to proceed immediately to the palace of

        
Phanius Turmus, where Kamchak had set up his headquar

        
ters, to place myself at his disposal, but Harold insisted

        
rather on trooping about the city, here and there examining

        
pockets of Turian resistance.

          
"Why?" I asked.

          
"We owe it to our importance," he said.

          
"Oh," I said.

        
At last it was night and we were malting our way through

        
the streets of Turia, sometimes between burning buildings.

        
We came to a high, walled structure and began walking

       
 
about it.

        
I could hear occasional shouts inside. Also, at one point,

        
the wailing of women carried to my ears.

          
"What place is this?" I asked.

          
"The palace of Phanius Turmus," he said.

          
"I heard the crying of women," I said.

        
"Turian women," said Harold, "taken by Tuchuks." Then

        
he added, "Much of the richest booty of Turia lies behind

        
these walls."

        
I was astonished when, at the gate to the palace of Phanius

        
Turmus, the four Tuchuk guards smote their lances three

        
times on their leather shields. The lance strikes the shield

        
once for the commander of a Ten; twice for the commander

        
of a Hundred; three times for the commander of a Thou-

        
sand. "Pass, Commanders," said the chief of the four guards,

        
and they stepped aside.

        
Naturally I inquired of Harold, shortly after entering, the

        
meaning of the guards' salutation. I had expected to be

        
challenged and then perhaps, if all went well, wrangled inside

        
on some stratagem dreamed up by Harold on the spur of, the

        
moment.

        
"It means," remarked Harold, looking about the court-

        
yard, "that you have the rank of a Commander of a Thou-

        
sand."

          
"I don't understand," I said.

        
"It is a gift of Kamchak," said Harold. "I suggested it as

        
appropriate in view of your manly, if somewhat clumsy,

        
efforts at the gate."

          
"Thank you," I said.

        
"I of course recommended the same rank for myself," said

        
Harold, "inasmuch as I am the one who really carried the

        
thing off."

          
"Naturally," I said.

       
"You do not, of course, have a Thousand to command,"
    
 

        
pointed out Harold.
   

         
"Nonetheless," I said, "there is considerable power in the
 
rank itself."

     
"That is true," he said.

 
Indeed it was true, for the next level beneath a Ubar

 
among the Wagon Peoples is that of the Commander of a

 
Thousand.

  
"Why did you not tell me?" I asked.

 
"It did not seem to me important," remarked the young

 
man.

 
I clenched my fists and considered punching him in the

 
nose, moderately hard.

 
"Korobans, though," remarked Harold, "are probably

 
more impressed with such things than Tuchuks."

  
By this time I had followed Harold over to a corner of the

courtyard wall, which was heaped high, banked into the
        
,

 
corner, with precious metals, plates, cups; bowls of jewels;

 
necklaces and bracelets; boxes of coins and, in heavy, wood

 
en crates, numerous stacked cubes of silver and gold, each ;

 
stamped with its weight, for the palace of a Ubar is also the

 
mint of a city, where its coins are struck one at a time by a

 
hammer pounding on the flat-cap of a die. Incidentally,

 
Gorean coins are not made to be stacked and accordingly,

 
because of the possible depth of the relief and the consequent

 
liberties accorded to the artist, the Gorean coin is almost

 
always more beautiful than the machine-milled, flat, uniform

 
coins of Earth. Some Gorean coins are drilled, incidentally, to

 
allow stringing, the coins of Tharna, for example; Turian

 
coins, and most others, are not.

 
Further on down the wall there were great piles of cloth,

 
mostly silk; I recognized them as Robes of Concealment.

 
Beyond them, again in a large heap, were numerous weap-

 
ons, saddles and harnesses. Beyond them I saw numerous

 
rugs and tapestries, rolled, for transport from the city.

 
"As n commander," said Harold, "you may take what you

 
want of any of this."

  
I nodded.

 
We now entered yet another courtyard, an inner court-

 
yard, between the palace and the inside wall of the outer

 
courtyard.

 
Here I saw, along one wall, a long line of Turian women,

 
unclothed, who were kneeling, fastened together in various

 
ways, some by chains, some by thongs. The wrists of each,

         
however, were bound, one girl's before her body and the next

         
behind her back, alternately. It was these women whom I

         
had heard outside the wall. Some were sobbing, others

         
wailing, but most were silent, numb with shock, staring at the

         
ground. Two Tuchuk guards stood over them. One carried a

         
slave whip and, occasionally, should the cries of one of the

         
girls grow too obtrusive, he would silence her with the lash.

         
"You are the commander of a Thousand," said Harold. "If

         
one of the girls pleases you, let the guard know and he will

         
mark her for you."

           
"No," I said. "Let us proceed directly to Kamchak."

         
At that moment there was a scream and commotion at the

         
gate to the inner courtyard and two Tuchuks, one laughing

         
and with a bloody shoulder, were dragging a fiercely resist-

         
ing, unveiled but clothed girl between them.

           
It was Dina of Turia!

         
The laughing Tuchuk, he with the bloody shoulder, hauled

         
her before us.

           
"A beauty," said he, "Commander!" He nodded to his

          
shoulder. "Marvelous! A fighter!"
         
1

         
Suddenly Dina stopped pulling and kicking and scratching. ',

         
She flung up her head and looked at me, breathing hard,

       
startled. - ~

         
"Do not add her to the chain," I said. "Neither remove her l

         
clothing nor put her in bonds. Permit her to veil herself if she

         
wishes. She is to be treated in all respects as a free woman.

         
Take her back to her home and while we remain in the city,

         
guard her with your lives."

         
The two men were startled, but Tuchuk discipline is re-

         
lensless. "Yes, Commander!" they both cried, releasing her.

         
"With our lives!"

           
Dina of Turia looked at me, gratitude in her eyes.

           
"You will be safe," I assured her.

           
"But my city burns," she said.

         
"I am sorry," I said, and turned swiftly away, to enter the I

         
palace of Phanius Turmus.

         
I knew that while the Tuchuks remained in Turia there

         
would be in all the city no woman more safe than lovely

         
Dina, she only of the Caste of Bakers.

         
I sprang up the steps, followed by Harold, and we soon

         
found ourselves in the marbled entry hall of the palace.