Renegades of Gor (39 page)

which, even hooded, she could heard well enough; too, several of the men, and

women, struck her as we passed, she reacting, startled, and in pain. By the time

we reached the wall I did not doubt she would be well bruised. Lady Claudia

followed, closely, frightened, miserable. It seemed she cried out, softly, as

the blows struck my moving, helpless, well-curved burden, almost as though she

felt rather they should have been hers to endure. She even sobbed. If Lady

Publia heard these tiny noises, and associated them with Lady Claudia,

presumably she thought that Lady Claudia was accompanying the executioner to the

wall, doubtless as she herself would have. She had been quite cruel to us, I

recalled, as our warder, and had much mocked Lady Claudia in her distress, when

Lady (pg.264) Claudia, rather than she, had worn the ropes. Now, to her horror,

she found that it was she herself, unknown to her compatriots, who was being

carried to the wall. She herself, doubtless, had the situation been reversed,

would have followed the executioner eagerly, and, later, with sardonic

amusement, as the spectacle unfolded, done her best to increase Lady Claudia’s

misery. That being so, perhaps she could not understand the sobs, and the sounds

of commiseration, she heard behind her. But she, unlike Lady Claudia, had not

yet been taught her form of humanity and her sex. She was, however, learning

something of the preciousness of life.

Then, after a long, spiral climb, we emerged through a guard station, and onto

the wall. It was bright and windy there. Lady Publia, feeling the cool air and

wind, emitted a long, helpless, miserable groan.

“There,” said the fellow we had been following. He pointed to the battlements

over the main gate, higher than those on the wall generally. On that creneled,

raised platform, already in its mount, I could see the long, slim, polished

impaling spear. He then left us.

I looked over the wall and noted that the long, rolling, shedlike structure was

quite near, beneath which the battering ram, on its ropes, was slung. It had not

been visible from the cell, as I had speculated, as it had been obscured by the

gate’s west bastion. Some of the ladder men and grapnel crews were already

probing the walls. The siege towers were still some hundreds of yards away.

A quarrel sputtered against the interior of an embrasure, chipping it and

glancing away, upward.

As I went toward the gate’s battlements a grapnel looped over the wall

gracefully and fell behind the walkway. Considering the arc, its width and

height, I assumed it had been lobbed there by an engine. It was drawn forward

and one of the hooks caught and the rope sprang taut. Such things are generally

not much good in this form of fighting except for secret ascents, say, at night,

when they are not noticed, or there are too many of them to deal with. They are

much more useful, in my opinion, at sea, as in, say, drawing ships within

boarding distance of one another, the ropes then usually being attached to

chains some ten feet or so behind the hooks. This makes it hard to cut them

free. Boarding hooks, on poles, are (pg.265) often used, too, for such purposes,

when one can get close enough. These are sometimes sheathed with tin near the

points, again to make it harder to cut or chop them away. Pikes for repelling

boarders, it might be noted, are often greased near the blade end. This makes it

harder for boarders to grasp them, wrenching them away, forcing gaps in the pike

wall, and so on.

I will append one qualification to these observations pertaining to grapnels

which is to acknowledge the giant, chain grapnel, and its relative, the grapnel

derrick. The giant grapnel is hurled by an engine and then, either with the

second arm of the engine, or by the same arm, reversed, drawn back with great

force. This can rip away the crests of walls, tear off roofs, and such. If

Cosians used them here they might have created gaps in the battlements. The

effectiveness of such a device, however, given the weights involved, and the

loss of force in the draw, is much compromised by the necessity of extreme

proximity to the target. Also the defenders may be expected to free or dislodge

the grapnel if possible.

The derrick grapnel is much what the name suggests. It is used from walls,

dangled down, and then drawn up with a winch. If the wall is a harbor wall it

can capsize a ship. If the wall is a land wall, it can, with luck, topple a

siege tower. This device also, however, tends to be ineffective except under

rather optimum, special conditions. For example, very few captains are likely to

get their ships within range of a derrick grapnel. Would you?

I watched the rope on the grapnel for a moment and noted that although it was

taut it did not exhibit the differential tensions which it would if it were

being climbed. I pulled it loose then and, letting it tautness do the work, let

it fly back over the walkway and the crenelation. Had I more time or been of

Ar’s Station, perhaps I might have waited until it was being climbed and then,

after a while, cut the rope. This sort of thing, as you might imagine, tends to

be somewhat frustrating to the fellows who are climbing the rope, particularly

if they are some seventy feet or so up the wall at the time. It take great

courage, incidentally, to climb such a rope in daylight under battle conditions.

I did not doubt but that one or tow of the fellows on the other side of the wall

were probably just as pleased that it had come back as it did. It (pg.266) also

takes great courage, incidentally, though it is much easier to do, to climb a

siege ladder, particularly when the walls are heavily or stoutly defended. It is

better, I think, for the individual attacker, particularly if the walls are

high, over twenty feet, say, to try to enter over the bridge of a siege tower

or, even better, through a breached wall or gate.

I looked through the crenelation again, standing back from it. It takes time to

move such cumbersome objects. Their progress forward was steady, but so slow, it

seemed sometimes almost like watching the hands of a clock move.

I passed a lad standing behind one of the embrasures with a crossbow. He was too

young to be on the wall. One quarrel reposed in the guide of his bow. Beside

him, leaning against the inside of the parapet, were some more quarrels, only

two of which were crafted, one feathered, one with light metal fins. The others

were little more than filed rods, neither feathered nor finned. With these, too,

there were some wooden quarrels, blunt-headed, such as boys sometimes use for

bringing down birds. I did not think they would be effective. Perhaps, ideally

targeted, launched from within a yard or so, one might cause a fellow to lose a

grip on a ladder. More likely they would serve as little more than irritants.

I smelled hot oil on the parapet, and a cauldron of it was boiling, which I

passed. Buckets on long handles could be dipped into this, the oil fired, and

then poured on attackers. The oil tends to hold the fire on the object. I passed

two catapults on the walkway. They were quiet now, not even manned.

I proceeded on toward the raised platform over the main gate, where the impaling

spear, flashing in the sun like a polished needle, was mounted. I passed another

lad, too, also, in my opinion, too young to be on the wall. Better these fellows

had been running about the windy corners of the markets, looking for the veils

to blow about the faces of free women or pursing slave girls, pulling up their

brief skirts, playing “brand guess,” or busying themselves playing stones or

hoops behind the shops. He was crouching beside a pike of stones, building

stones, and tiles. It is hard to throw these with accuracy without standing

above the crenelation. This exposes the caster, of course. He seemed lost in his

thoughts. (pg.267) I wondered if he had been on the wall before. I supposed he

had a mother, who loved him.

When I passed him, he looked up. I saw then that he had been on the wall before,

and that, though his age might indeed be that of a boy, that he was a man. He

then put down his head again, returning to his reflections, whatever might have

been their nature. Near the steps to the raised platform I passed two men with

long-handled tridents. These are used to thrust men and ladders back from the

wall.

Turning, about fifty yards behind me, I saw the upright of a single-pole ladder

jut from the outside over the wall. The two men, gaunt and weary, paid it no

attention. Back there, however, a cluster of defenders sped to the place. The

ringing of swords came to my ears. More than one fellow leapt over the

crenelation but the ladder itself was thrust back. This isolated the Cosians who

had attained the wall. Men swarmed about them. Two were cut down and a third

climbed back over the wall and leapt away, plunging to its foot, preferring to

risk the consequences of such a fall rather than face certain death on the

walkway. The bodies of his two comrades, stripped of weapons, half hacked to

pieces, were flung after him.

I hurried up the broad stone steps to the surface of the platform over the main

gate. This area, at least at the moment, perhaps because of its height, and its

position over the gate, the ground below soon to be blocked by the ram, the men

working it protected by its sturdy shed, was empty. It would have made an

excellent command post for Aemilianus, I thought, but, I gathered, he must be

below, in the vicinity of the gate. Perhaps he thought, and rightfully, for all

I knew, that there lay the greatest danger. I supposed that by now tons of rock

would have been piled behind the gate. Still the ram might attempt its entry

there, pounding through the brass facing riveted into the thick beams of the

gate, punching, driving it back, snapping the crossbars, forcing back, blow by

blow, even the rock and sand behind.

I placed Lady Publia on her back at our feet, near the mount for the spear.

I then dismissed her from my mind, for the moment.

I considered the approaching towers, the thousands of men I could see in the

field, the ladders being carried, the supporting (pg.268) engines. I then

regarded the walls. There were too few men there. The results of the battle were

a foregone conclusion. The Cosians had waited long for this day.

I looked up to my left. There, on a pole, defiantly, snapped a torn flag,

bearing in yellow the single ‘Ar’ on a red background with, beneath it, a wavy

yellow band. This was the flag of Ar’s Station, signifying the power of Ar on

the Vosk. I did not think it would be there long.

I then lifted the tall impaling spear from its mount, laying it, with a sound,

beside the supine, bound figure. She tried to rise but, her ankles thonged

together, she fell. She tried to scramble back, but I reached out and took her

ankle, and then pulled her where I wanted her, closer, across the stones.

“Please, no!” wept Lady Claudia, putting out her hand. I brushed her aside.

I then addressed myself to Lady Publia. “Would you car to confess yourself a

slave?” I inquired.

She thrashed about, uttering wild, affirmative whimpers, nodding her head in the

hood, vigorously.

“You recognize my voice, do you not?” I asked.

Again she nodded. This was the first she would have realized, for certain, I

supposed, that she had come to the height of the wall, to the foot of the

impaling mount, on my shoulder, and not on that of the executioner. Hope would

be springing up wildly within her, for the executioner not knowing who she was,

and thinking she was the Lady Claudia, would presumably have simple put her on

the spear and went about his business, probably, pulling off his mask, to some

post on the wall. I, on the other hand, she knew, knew well who she was. Too, my

word must have given her some hope that she might have, at my hands, at least

some slim chance for life, albeit that it might have to be purchased at so

alarming a cost as consigning herself by her own words to a fate no less than

the degradation and categoricality of uncompromising Gorean bondage.

Lady Claudia put out her head and touched me on the shoulder, gratefully.

I pulled Lady Publia to her knees.

“Are you a slave?” I asked.

She nodded, vigorously.

(pg.269) Lady Claudia clapped her hands with delight, she herself no better.

“Do you beg permission,” I asked, “to legalize the matter, to speak appropriate

words of self-enslavement?”

She nodded, vigorously, again.

I then loosened the hood and pushed it up, about her head and forehead. I had

not remembered she was so beautiful. I then loosened the two ties of the gag and

pulled the wadding out from her mouth, letting it hang over the loosened cords,

putting the whole by her throat. She looked at me, wildly, gratefully.

“Speak,” I said.

“I am a slave!” she said.

“She is a slave!” said Lady Claudia softly.

The prisoner shrank back, frightened, shuddering, helpless, thrilled, now

knowing herself a slave.

“You are now a slave, Publia,” said Lady Claudia, wonderingly.