Vagabonds of Gor (88 page)

Then I turned about, in time to see a distraught Marcus hove into view. I was quite pleased to note that he was a picture of dejection and misery.

I watched him approach the camp.

"She is not there," he said.

"Oh?" I said. I had become, incidentally, a master actor while with the troupe of Boots Tarsk-Bit. To be sure, he had never permitted me upon the stage, and, after observing my audition, so to speak, had utilized me primarily for other tasks, such as, as I have mentioned, assembling the stage and freeing the wheels of mired wagons. He was perhaps jealous of his own stardom with the troupe.

"She is gone," he said.

"That is often the case with folks who are not there," I said.

But I noted he was in no mood to relish this deft dash of wit.

"I cannot live without her," he said.

"You managed quite well until yesterday morning," I said, "and doubtless, with effort, can do so again."

"No," he said, "not that I have now seen her."

"Just forget her," I said. "Put her out of your mind, like a good fellow."

"No," he said.

"Why are you unsheathing your sword?" I asked, somewhat apprehensively.

"Would you hold it for me, please?" he asked.

"What for?" I asked.

"I intend to throw myself upon it," he said.

"That is one way to avoid having to clean it after use," I said.

"Please," he said, bracing its hilt in the dirt.

"What if you fall sideways?" I asked. "I might get cut."

"Please, Tarl," he said.

"Ina is not here," I said. "Have you not noticed?"

"No," he said, glumly.

"I gave her to the mercenary," I said. "His man, with two others, came to pick her up."

"That is nice," said Marcus.

"It is my hope," I said, "that she will be safe."

"I share your hope," he said, attempting to get the sword adjusted to a suitable angle.

"Could you use some help there?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "Thank you."

"You will try to throw yourself straight on this, won't you?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "I will."

As he was poised to leap on the sword, I leaned it to the side.

"Are you sure you wish to go through with this?" I asked.

"Quite sure," he said.

"Would you not rather go to a paga enclosure?" I asked.

"Not at the moment," he said.

"Perhaps later?" I asked.

"Please, Tarl," he said.

I again leaned the blade to the side. "It is difficult to look well while leaping on a sword," I said.

"Perhaps," he said, irritably.

"I never realized that before," I said.

"Please hold the blade still," he said. I leaned it to the side again.

"Tarl!" he said, in exasperation.

"I gather that you find the girl of interest," I said.

"I am preparing to kill myself because of her," he said.

"I thought so," I said. "She has taken your fancy."

"Why do you not just drive the blade into my heart?" he asked.

"I suppose I could do that," I said.

"I am ready," he said, straightening up.

"Yes, you certainly seem to be ready, all right," I said. He had an unusually grim expression on his face, grim even for Marcus, who was a very serious young man.

"Are you sure you can go through with this?" asked Marcus, skeptically.

"I think so," I said. "Certainly it would seem easier, at least on the whole, for me than for you."

"Please, Tarl," he said.

"After all, what are friends for?"

"Strike!" he said.

I lowered the blade.

"What are we going to do for female companionship," I asked, "with Ina gone?"

"That would seem to be your concern, rather than mine," he said. "Strike!"

I lowered the blade again.

"But I have considered that contingency," I said.

"Excellent," said Marcus.

I feared he might become surly.

"I have arranged for a replacement female," I said.

"Excellent," he said.

"I thought you would be pleased," I said.

"Perhaps I have some poison in my pack," he said.

"Would you care to see her?" I asked.

"No," he said.

"You are not in the mood?" I said.

"Not now," he said. "I am trying to end my life."

"I have a better idea," I said.

"A better idea?" he asked.

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

"What is it?" he asked.

"Surely you recall the smoking ruins of Ar's Station? Surely you recall the vengeances which you have howled against those of Cos?"

A transformation, though a rather unsettling one, a quite menacing one, suddenly came over Marcus.

I handed him back his sword.

He thrust it angrily into his sheath.

"My thanks," said he, "Warrior. I have been weak. I am ashamed. I am grateful that you have recalled me to my senses."

"That is quite all right," I said.

"I do have something to live for," he said, grimly. "I can live for vengeance, deep and profound, terrible, vengeance against Cos and all things Cosian!"

"Certainly," I said. I was actually a bit apprehensive that Marcus, who was something of a man of action, might rush over to the Cosian camp, slashing away at fellows doing their washing, and so on.

"My thanks!" said Marcus.

"It is nothing," I said, uneasily.

"Where now is the replacement female?" he said. He now seemed strong, and angry. Something like the heat of the hunt seemed on him now. He was now ready to cuff a female, hurl her to his feet and throw apart her legs.

"Around somewhere," I said. This was, I was suddenly sure, not the very best time to introduce him to the girl, and for a very good reason.

"Come now," said he, "where is she?"

"Over here," I said.

I led him over to the stake, a few yards away, among other stakes, to which the female, tied kneeling, head down, covered with a sheet, was chained by an ankle.

"Unsheet her," he said.

I bent down and untied the cord which, about her neck, held the center of the sheet, hood-like, over her head. I put the cord in my pouch. I then, perhaps somewhat dramatically, suddenly drew the sheet away from the bound girl. She moved, wildly, but could not lift her head up, as it was tied down, fastened to her crossed ankles.

"It is she!" cried Marcus, startled, with joy.

The girl, as she could, turning her head in the rope, looked wildly, joyfully, at Marcus.

He fell to his knees beside her, fumbling with the ropes, almost beside himself.

"How! How!" he asked.

I put my fingers over my mouth, to warn the girl not to speak.

She was sobbing with joy.

"How is it possible!" cried Marcus, tearing at the ropes at her ankles.

"She was my captive, and full servant, from long ago," I said, "from the Crooked Tarn."

" 'Full servant'!" said Marcus.

I saw that he would not be too pleased to share this special female. I think he wanted every bit of her to himself. To be sure, I could presumably find a woman here and there on the road, or even, as we passed various markets, buy one and sell her, and then buy another and sell her, and so on, as we traveled.

"Ephialtes was holding her for me," I said.

"She is now a slave!" he announced.

"Yes," I said. I had had Ephialtes do this yesterday afternoon. He had taken her to a processing chain in the slave camp. On her neck there was a common iron collar, a strap collar, hammered shut, as there had been on the neck of she who, until a few Ehn ago, had had the name 'Ina'. Similarly, as she who had had the name 'Ina' this slave was now branded. She, too, as that slave, now wore the common Kajira brand, the tiny, delicate, lovely cursive Kef. This is a good brand for females, as it tells them that they are only common slaves.

"I must have her!" he cried. He tore the ropes from her neck.

She gasped, and uttered a joyous sound, but dared not speak. He seized her in his arms, she kneeling, her hands bound behind her, helpless, sobbing, laughing, and drew her toward him.

"The ankle!" I cried.

He had drawn her toward him and her left leg was now extended back, toward the stake, the chain taut.

"Free it! Free it!" cried Marcus, covering her with kisses. I got the key into the shackle and opened it, and he pulled her loose. I lifted my arm to the stake attendant. One pays two tarsk bits, one for the rental, one as a deposit against the key. Marcus and the slave were lost in the rapture of one another. In a moment I had turned in the key and received my tarsk bit back, that which had been held as a deposit. A tarsk bit may not be much but sometimes it can be very important, as, for example, when one does not have one.

"You are not going to use her here are you?" inquired the attendant of Marcus. "It is hard enough," he said, indicating a nearby blonde and redhead, both back-braceleted, chained, too, by their left ankles to their respective stakes, "to keep these other slaves from whimpering and moaning."

The girl we had just freed from the stake laughed with pleasure in Marcus' arms.

"Carry her back to the camp," I advised him. "She is a slave!" I reminded him.

And then he threw her over his shoulder, her head to the rear, as is proper for a slave, and carried her the few yards to our camp.

"Touch me, Master! I beg it!" cried the blonde to the attendant.

"No, touch me! Please touch me!" wept the redhead.

"See?" asked the attendant of me. "Yes," I said.

"Master!" called the blonde.

"Master!" called the redhead. "Please, Master!"

"Be silent, sluts," he said.

I followed Marcus to our camp. He had put the girl down there, on her knees, and she was looking up at him, rapturously.