of a kaiila, one may, as well, admire the pelt, the flanks, the curvature of a calf, the trimness of an ankle, the roundedness of a forearm, the delight of a shoulder and throat, the lissome figure, the exquisite features, of a lesser animal, a slave.
Talena had been said to be the most beautiful woman on all Gor. There was no doubt she was quite beautiful. I thought she might bring as much as four silver pieces off the block. To claim however that she was the most beautiful woman on all Gor seemed absurd. A similar claim might have been made of thousands of free women, and with considerably more justification, given their revelatory garmenture, their total lack of veiling, and such, of tens of thousands of slaves. Who is to assess the complementarities, and mysteries, of such matters? A woman who is a pot girl to one fellow may be a dream to another, worthy of a diamond collar and a chain at the foot of a Ubar’s throne. There was no doubt that the traitress, the former false Ubara, Talena, was lovely. I myself, however, would have preferred to have the lips and tongue of another on my feet.
She who had worn the medallion of power in Ar now passed me, far from the city, far from her flatterers and servitors, far from the throne, merely another slave, wrist-shackled, tunicked, and barefoot.
The climb to the castle would be lengthy, and arduous.
Looking up toward the rail from the wharf, I saw Seremides, watching the Pani below.
I supposed that he would remain on the ship.
On the wharf, I saw Tereus. A mariner, assigned the wharf watch, in charge of order here, posted to discourage loitering and prevent pilfering, spoke to Tereus, and he began to ascend the trail.
I thought it wise for Seremides to remain on the ship.
Many were those who wished him dead.
Some of the lesser Pani were already returning to the wharf. Some bore sedan chairs, by means of which contract women might be carried to the castle.
I waited about.
A light rain began to fall.
Such rains, I would learn, are common in the area, and, not unoften, rains far more severe.
I supposed that Philoctetes had preceded me.
Licinius Lysias passed, and we exchanged greetings. I was uneasy in his presence. Early in the voyage, when a galley was launched, he had often been chained to his bench. As we had no bench slaves on board, such fellows usually found on round ships, I supposed him a recreant of sorts, spared for his strength at an oar. Later he had sat his bench not otherwise than the rest of us. More than once we had drawn oar together.
I was not eager to ascend the long climb alone.
Men passed me, and I thought of joining them, but one prefers fellows one knows.
Leros, and Aeacus, whom I knew from the high watches, had been in the first contingent and were doubtless already within the castle, or its walls.
I had turned about, finally, to join others, to make my way upward, when I heard my name called, “Callias!”
I turned about, and, to my surprise, one not pleasant, I saw Seremides hobbling toward me, the crutch striking on the wharf planks.
“Noble Rutilius,” I said.
“You know me from Ar,” he snarled.
“So who are you?” I asked.
“Rutilius, Rutilius, of Ar,” he said.
“Of course,” I said.
“There are no bounties here,” he said.
“Clearly,” I said.
“You saved my life,” he said.
“I had not thought the matter through,” I said.
“It is a life worthless enough, as it is,” he said.
“It is worth what it is to you,” I said.
“You protected me on the ship,” he said, “from the sleen, Tereus, from the bullying urts, Aeson, Thoas, and Andros. I have never forgotten that.”
“Thoas and Andros were slain on the ship, during the boarding, near the Warning Ship,” I said. “Aeson was found in the water, near the ship, dead, the morning after the ambush, after the evacuation of the beach.”
“Oh?” he said.
“Their deaths were not well understood,” I said.
“I see,” he said.
“You smile,” I noted.
“Have you seen the oarsman, Tereus, about?” he asked.
“Surely you saw him from the rail,” I said. “He was ordered from the wharf.”
“He is gone?”
“Toward the castle,” I said.
“He was waiting for me,” said Seremides.
“I conjectured as much,” I said.
“He intends to kill me,” said Seremides.
“Do not be alone with him,” I said. “Do not accept a challenge.”
“In Ar,” he said, “I could have cut off his ears and nose, and hamstrung him, before ramming my blade into his heart.”
“You should have remained on the ship,” I said.
“I was roped, raging, and lowered to the wharf, helpless, while they laughed, like a bag of sa-tarna.”
“You are not of the Pani,” I said. “Neither are you an officer, nor a mariner.”
“They put me off to die,” he said.
“Perhaps,” I said. I thought that possible.
“Protect me,” he said.
“Are you afraid?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, angrily.
“Seremides, afraid?” I said.
“As Seremides is,” he said, “Seremides is entitled to fear.”
“Certainly you have sent many before you to the Cities of Dust,” I said.
“Never without cause,” he said.
“Causes are easily come by,” I said.
“Help me,” he said.
“Why?” I asked.
“People pay me little attention,” he said. “They ignore me. They do not know I am about. I do not matter. They speak freely before me. I hear things. I know matters which might be of interest to you, and others.”
“I must be on my way,” I said.
“How can I climb that hill?” he asked, angrily, gesturing with the tip of the narrow crutch.
“It will be difficult,” I said.
“In Ar, we were brothers in arms,” he said.
“In Ar,” I said, “I was a fellow of the occupation, you were a traitor.”
“We are of the ship,” he said.
“You are a killer,” I said. “And I think you are a murderer.”
“You see me as one betrayed by fortune,” he said. “Behold, I who once was formidable, mighty and feared, high in Ar, second only to Myron,
“I depart,” I said. “Do not expect me to wish you well.”
“Help me,” he said.
“If I am with you,” I said, “the same blade which seeks you may strike me.”
“Are you afraid?” he asked.
“Certainly,” I said.
