Nomads of Gor (68 page)

       
now, on their kaiila, easily outdistance the herd and I did not

       
wish the animals to be strung out over the prairie, at the

       
mercy of the Paravaci when they should at last turn and take

       
up the battle again.

       
By the time the Paravaci had reformed my Tuchuks had

       
managed to swing the herd, slow it, get it milling about and

       
then drive it back to a perimeter about the wagons.

       
It was now near nightfall and I was confident the Parava-

       
ci, who greatly outnumbered us, perhaps in the order of ten

       
or twenty to one, would wait until morning before pressing

       
the advantage of their numbers. When, on the whole, the

       
long-term balance of battle would seem to lie with them,

       
there would be little point in their undertaking the risk of

       
darkness.

         
In the morning, however, they would presumably avoid the

 
herd, find a clear avenue of attack, and strike, perhaps even
 
rid

 
through the wagons, pinning us against our own herd.

 
That night I met with Harold, whose men had been ,

 
fighting among the wagons. He had cleared several areas of

 
Paravaci but they were still, here and there, among the

 
wagons. Taking council with Harold, we dispatched a rider to

 
Kamchak in Turia, informing him of the situation, and that

 
we had little hope of holding out.

 
"It will make little difference," said Harold. "It will take

 
the rider, if he gets through, seven Ahn to reach Turia and

 
even if Kamchak rides with his full force the moment the

 
rider comes to the gates of the city, it will be eight Ahn

 
before their vanguard can reach us and by then it will be

 
too late."

 
It seemed to me that what Harold said was true, and that

  
there was little point in discussing it much further. I nodded wearily.

Both Harold and I then spoke with our men, each issuing
 
by

orders that any man with us who wished might now with-
  

draw from the wagons and rejoin the main forces in Turia.

Not a man of either Thousand moved.

We set pickets and took what rest we could, in the open,

 
the kaiila saddled and tethered at hand.
 

In the morning, before dawn, we awakened and fed on

dried bosk meat, sucking the dew from the prairie grass.

Shortly after dawn we discovered the Paravaci forming in

their Thousands away from the herd, preparing to strike the

wagons from the north, pressing through, slaying all living

things they might encounter, save women, slave or free. The

latter would be driven before the warriors through the wag

ons, both slave girls and free women stripped and bound

together in groups, providing shields against arrows and lance

 
charges on kaiilaback for the men advancing behind them.

Harold and I determined to appear to meet the Paravaci in

the open before the wagons and then, when they charged,

to withdraw among the wagons, and close the wagons on their

attacking front, halting the charge, then at almost point

blank range hopefully taking heavy toll of their forces by our

 
archers. It would be, of course, only a matter of time before

our barricade would be forced or outflanked, perhaps from

five pasangs distant, in an undefended sector.

The battle was joined at the seventh Gorean hour and, as

planned, as soon as the Paravaci center was committed, the

 
bulk of our forces wheeled and retreated among the wagons,

        
the rest of our forces then turning and pushing the wagons

 
       
together. As soon as our men were through the barricade

        
they leaped from their kaiila, bow and quiver in hand, and

        
took up prearranged positions under the wagons, between

        
them, on them, and behind the wagon box planking, taking

        
advantage of the arrow ports therein.

        
The brunt of the Paravaci charge almost tipped and broke

        
through the wagons, but we had lashed them together and

        
they held. It was like a flood of kailla and riders, weapons

        
flourishing, that broke and piled against the wagons, the rear

        
ranks pressing forward on those before them. Some of the

        
rear ranks actually climbed fallen and struggling comrades

        
and leaped over the wagons to the other side, where they

        
were cut down by archers and dragged from their kaiila to

        
be flung beneath the knives of free Tuchuk women.

        
At a distance of little more than a dozen feet thousands of

        
arrows were poured into the trapped Paravaci and yet they

        
pressed forward, on and over their brethren, and then arrows

        
spent, we met them on the wagons themselves with lances in

        
our hands, thrusting them back and down.

 
       
About a pasang distant we could see new forces of the

        
Paravaci forming on the crest of a sweeping gradient.

        
The sound of their bask horns was welcome to us, sig-

        
naling the retreat of those at the wagons.

        
Bloody, covered with sweat, gasping, we saw the living

        
Paravaci draw back, falling back between the newly forming

        
lines on the gradient above.

        
I issued orders swiftly and exhausted men poured from

        
beneath and between the wagons to haul as many of the

        
fallen kaiila and riders as possible from the wagons, that

        
there might not be a wall of dying animals and men giving

        
access to the height of our wagons.

        
Scarcely had we cleared the ground before the wagons

        
when the Paravaci bask horns sounded again and another

        
wave of kaiila and riders, lances set, raced towards us. Four

        
times they charged thus and four times we held them back.

        
My men and those of Harold had now been decimated and

        
there were few that had not lost blood. I estimated that there

        
was scarcely a quarter of those living who had ridden with us

        
to the defense of the herds and wagons.

        
Once again Harold and I issued our orders that any wish-

        
ing to depart might now do so.

          
Again no man moved.

          
"Look," cried an archer, pointing to the gradient.

There we could see new thousands forming, the standards
  

of Hundreds and Thousands taking up their position.
 

"It is the Paravaci main body," said Harold. "It is the end."
  

 
I looked to the left and right over the torn, bloody barri

cade of wagons, at the remains of my men, wounded and

exhausted, many of them lying on the barricade or on the

ground behind it, trying to gain but a moment's respite. Free

women, and even some Turian slave girls, went to and fro,

bringing water and, here and there, where there was point in

 
it, binding wounds. Some of the Tuchuks began to sing the

Blue Sky Song, the refrain of which is that though I die, yet

there will be the bask, the grass and sky.

I stood with Harold on a planked platform fixed across the

wagon box of the wagon at our center, whose domed frame

 
work had been torn away. Together we looked out over the

field. We watched the milling of kaiila and riders in the

distance, the movement of standards.
 

  
"We have done well," said Harold.

"Yes," I said, "I think so."

We heard the bosk horns of the Paravaci signaling to the

 
assembled Thousands.

  
"I wish you well," said Harold.

I turned and smiled at him. "I wish you well," I said.

Then again we heard the bask horns and the Paravaci, in

vast ranks, like sweeping crescents, like steel scythes of men

and animals and arms, far extending beyond our own lines,

began to move slowly towards us, gaining steadily in momen

tum and speed with each traversed yard of stained prairie.

Harold and I, and those of our men that remained, stood

with the wagons, watching the nearing waves of warriors,

observing the moment when the chain face guards of the

 
Paravaci helmets were thrown forward, the moment when

  
the lances, like that of a single man, were leveled. We could

now hear the drumming of the paws of the kaiila, growing

ever more rapid and intense, the squealing of animals here

and there along the line, the rustle of weapons and accou

terments.

"Listen!" cried Harold.

 
I listened, but seemed to hear only the maddeningly inten

sifying thunder of the Paravaci kaiila sweeping towards us, but then I heard, from the far left and right, the sound of distant bosk horns.

"Bosk horns!" cried Harold.

        
"What does it matter?" I asked.

        
I wondered how many Paravaci there could possibly be.

      
I watched the nearing warriors, lances ready, the swiftness

      
of the charge hurtling into full career.

      
"Look!" cried Harold, sweeping his hand to the left and

      
right.

      
My heart sank. Suddenly rising over the crest of rolling

      
hills, like black floods, from both the left and the right, I saw

      
on racing kaiila what must have been thousands of warriors,

      
thousands upon thousands.

      
I unsheathed my sword. I supposed it would he the last

      
time I would do so.

        
"Look!" cried Harold.

        
"I see," I said, "what does it matter?"

        
"Look!" he screamed, leaping up and down.

      
And I looked and saw suddenly and my heart stopped

      
beating and then I uttered a wild cry for from the left, riding