Raiders of Gor (10 page)

shorter, dark-haired girl, who had carried a net over her left shoulder.

As the barges, loading, sand deeper in the water, I looked on Telima. She sat

beside me, bound, my arm about her shoulders. She stared at the distant barges.

Her eyes seemed vacant, empty. She was mine now.

On the island now, in its center, near the pole, there stood, packed together, a

miserable crowd of prisoners. The two wall nets, tied together and passed twice

around the group, pressed in on them, holding them together, standing. Many of

them had their fingers in the meshes, staring outward. Guards, with spears,

stood about the net, occasionally jabbing here and there, keeping the prisoners

quiet. Within the net there were men, and women and children. Some guards, with

crossbows, stood off a bit. Near the net I saw Henrak, still with the white

scarf tied across his body, still clutching the heavy wallet, filled perhaps

with gold. He was conversing with the bearded officer, tall and with the golden

slashes on the temples of his helmet. Within the net the rencers were clothed.

They were the last of the catch. There was perhaps a hundred of them. One by one

they were being taken from the net, the net being tightened again by the slaves,

and stripped and bound, hand and foot. The slaves who were loading the barges

would then gather up each new slave, carrying him to the barges, adding him to

the others.

Two wild gants alighted on the island, away from the men and their prisoners,

and began pecking about the ruins of one of the rence huts, probably after seeds

or bits of rence cake.

A small domesticated tarsk, grunting and snuffling, pattered across rence

matting that was the surface of the island. One of the slavers, a man with a

conical helmet, called the animal to him. He scratched it behind the ears and

then threw it squealing out into the marsh. There was a rapid movement in the

water and it was gone.

I sawa an UI, the winged tharlarion, high overhead, beating its lonely way

eastward over the marsh.

Then, after a time, the last of the slaves had been secured and placed on the

barges. The slaves of the men of Port Kar then separated the nets, rolling them,

then folding them, then placing them on the barges. They then drew up the planks

and took their seats at the rowers’ benches, to which, uprotesting, one by one,

they were shackled. The last two aboard had been Henrak, with his white scarf,

and the tall, bearded officer, he with the golden slashes on the temples of his

helmet. Henrak, I gathered, would be a rich man in Port Kar. The slavers of Port

Kar, being in their way wise men, seldom betray and enslave those such as

Henrak, who have served them so well. Did they so, they would find fewer Henraks

in the marshes.

The high-prowed marsh barge is anchored at both stem and sternn. Soon, each

drawn by two warriors, the anchor-hooks, curved and three-pronged, not unlike

large grappling irons, emerged dripping from the mud on the marsh. These

anchor-hooks, incidentally, are a great deal lighter that the anchors used in

the long galleys, and the round ships.

The officer, standing on the tiller deck of the flagship, lifted his arm. In

marsh barges there is no time-beater, or keleustes, but the count to the oarsmen

is given by mouth, by one spoken o fas the oar-master. He sits somewhat above

the level of the rowers, but below the leve of the tiller deck. He, facing the

rowers, faces toward the ship’s bow, they of corse, in their rowing facing the

stern.

The officer on the tiller deck, Henrak at his side, let fall his hand.

I heard the oar-master cry out and I saw the oars, with a sliding of wood,

emerge from the thole ports. They stood poised, parallel, over the water, the

early-morning sun illuminating their upper surfaces. I noted that they were no

more than a foot above the water, so heavily laden was the barge. Then, as the

oar-master again cried out, they entered as one into the water; and the, as he

cried out again, ear oar drew slowly in the water, and then turned and lifted,

the water falling in the light from the blades like silver chains.

The barge, deep in the water, began to back away from the island. Then, some

fifty yards away, it turned slowly, prow now facing away from the island, toward

Port Kar. I heard the oar-master call his time again and again, not hurrying his

men, each time more faintly than the last. Then the second barge backed away

from the island, turned and followed the first, and then so, too, did the

others.

I stood up on the raft of rence reed, and looked after the barges. At my feet,

half covered with the rence reeds with which we had concealed ourselves, lay

Telima. I reached to my head and drew away the garland of rence flowers which I

had worn at festival. There was some blood on it, from the blow I had received

during the raid. I looked down at Telima, who turned her head away, and then I

threw the bloodied garland of rence flowers into the marsh.

I stood on the surface of the rence island. I looked about myself. I had taken

some of the reeds which had been heaped on the raft and, bundling them, had used

them, paddling, to move the raft back to the island. I had not wished to place a

limb in the marsh, particularly in this area, though, to be sure, it seemed

clearer now. I had tethered the raft at the island’s shore. Telima still lay

upon the raft.

I climbed the curve of the matted shore until I came to the higher surface of

the island.

It was quiet.

A flock of marsh gants, wild, took flight, circled, and then, seeing I meant

them no harm, returned to the island, though to its farther shore.

I saw the pole to which I had been tied, the circle of the feast, the ruins of

huts, the litter and the broken things, and the scattered things, and the

bodies.

I returned to the raft and picked up Telima in my arms, carrying her to the high

surface of the island where, near the pole, I placed her on the matting.

I bent to her, and she drew away, but I turned her and unbound her.

“Free me,” I told her.

Unsteadily she stood up and, with fumbling fingers, untied the knot that bound

the five coils of the collar of marsh vine about my neck.

“You are free,” she whispered.

I turned away from her. There would be something edible on the island, if only

the pith of rence. I hoped there would be water.

I saw the remains of a tunic which had been cut from a rencer, doubtless before

his binding. I took what was left of it and, with its lacing, bound it about my

wrist.

I kept the sun behind me that I might follow, in the shadows on the rence

matting before me, the movements of the girl. I saw, thus, her bending down and

taking up of the broken shaft of a marsh spear, about a yard long, its three

prongs intact.

I turned to face her, and looked at her.

She was startled. Then, holding the pronged spear before her, crouching down,

she threatened me. She moved about me. I stood easily, turning when necessary to

face her. I knew the distance involved and what she might do. Then as, with a

cry of rage, she thrust at me I took the spear from her grasp, disarming her,

tossing it to one side.

She backed away, her hand before her mouth.

“Do not attempt again to kill me,” I said.

She shook her head.

I looked at her. “It seemed to me,” I said, “last night that you much feared

slavery.”

I indicated that she should approach me.

Only when I had unbound her had I noticed, on her left thigh, the tiny mark,

which had been burned into her flesh long ago, the small letter in cursive

script which was the initial letter of Kajira, which is Gorean for a femal

slave. Always before, in the lighted hut, she had kept that side from me; in the

day it had been covered by her tunic; in the night, in the darkness and tumult,

I had not noticed it; on the raft it had been concealed in the reeds of the

rence plant, with which I had covered her.

She had now come closer to me, as I had indicated she should, and stood now

where, if I wished, I might take her in my grasp.

“You were once slave,” I told her.

She fell to her knees, covering her eyes with her hands, weeping.

“But I gather,” said I, “you somehow made your escape.”

She nodded, weeping. “On beams bound together,” she said, “poling into the marsh

from the canals.”

It was said that never had a slave girl escaped from Port Kar, but this,

doubtless like many such sayings, was not true. Still, the escape of a slave

gir, or of a male slave, must indeed be rare from canaled Port Kar, protected as

it is on on side by the Tambar Gulf and gleaming Thassa, and on the other by the

interminable marshes, with their sharks and tharlarion. Had Telima not been a

rence girl she would, I supposed, most likely, have died in the marshes. I knew

that Ho-Hak, too, had escaped from Port Kar. There were doubtless others.

“You must be very brave,” I said.

She lifted her eyes, red with weeping, to me.

“And your master,” I said, “you must have hated him very much.”

Her eyes blazed.

“What was your slave name?” I asked. “By what name did he choose to call you?”

She looked down, shaking her head. She refused to speak.

“It was Pretty Slave,” I told her.

She looked up at me, red-eyed, and cried out with grief. Then she put her head

down to the rence, shoulders shaking, and wept. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, yes.”

I left her and went to look further about. I went to the remains of her hut.

There, though the hut itself was destroyed, I found much of what had been in it.

Most pleased I was to find the water gourd, which was still half filled. I also

took the wallet of food, that which she had once tied about her waist. Before I

left I noted, among the broken rence and other paraphernalia, some throwing

sticks and such, the tunic of rence cloth which she had slipped off before me

the night previously, before commanding me to serve her pleasure, before we had

heard the cry “Slavers!” I picked it up and carried it, with the other things,

to where she still knelt, near the pole, head down, weeping.

I tossed the tunic of rence cloth before her.

She looked at it, unbelievingly. The she looked up at me, stunned.

“Clothe yourself,” I said.

“Am I not your slave?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

She drew on the garment, fumbling with the laces. I handed the water gourd to

her, and she drank. Then I shook out what food lay in the wallet, some dried

rence paste from the day before yesterday, some dried flakes of fish, a piece of

rence cake.

We shared this food.

She said nothing, but knelt across from me, across from where I sat

cross-legged.

“Will you stay with me?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

“You are going to Port Kar?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“But why?” she asked. “I do not think you are of Port Kar,” she said.

“I have business there,” I said.

“May I ask your name?”

“My name is Bosk,” I told her.

Tears formed in her eyes.

I saw no reason to tell her my name was Tarl Cabot. It was a name not unknown in

certain cities of Gor. The fewer who knew that Tarl Cabot sought entry to Port

Kar the better.

I would take rence from the island, and marsh vine, and make myself a rence

craft. There were oar poles left on the island. I would then make my way to Port

Kar. The girl would be alright. She was intelligent, and brave, a strong girl,

as well as beautiful, a rence girl. She, too, would make a craft, take a pole,

and find her way deeper into the delta, doubtless to be accepted by another of

the small rence communities.

Before I had finished the bit of food we shared Telima had risen to her feet and

was looking about the island. I was chewing on the last bit of fish.

I saw her take one of the bodies by an arm and drag it toward the shore.

I rose, wiping my hands on the bit of rence tunic I wore, and went to her.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“We are of the marsh,” she said, woodenly. “The rence growers,” she said, “rose

from the marsh, and they must return to the marsh.”

I nodded.

She tumbled the body from the island into the water. Under the water I saw a

tharlarion move toward it.

I helped her in her task. Many times we went to the shore of the island.

Then, turning over the slashed side of some broken matting, that had been part

of the side of a rence hut, I found another body, that of a child.

I knelt beside it, and wept.

Telima was standing behind me. “He is the last one,” she said.

I said nothing.

“His name,” she said, “was Eechius.”

She reached to take him. I thrust her hand away.

“He is of the rence growers,” she said. “He arose from the marsh, and he must

return to the marsh.”

I took the child in my arms and walked down to the shore of the rence island.

I looked westward, the direction that had been taken by the heavily laden barges

of slavers of Port Kar.

I kissed the child.

“Did you know him?” asked Telima.