It was with this in mind that I had climbed the fence where I had. I was searching for Kazrak's tent, which lay in the outer ring near the tharlarion corrals. My calculations had been correct, and in a moment I had slipped inside the domed framework of his tent. I dropped the ring that I wore, with the crest of Cabot, to his sleeping mat.
For what seemed an interminable hour, I waited in the dark interior of the tent. At last the weary figure of Kazrak, helmet in hand, bent down to enter the tent. I waited, not speaking, in the shadows. He came through the opening, dropped his helmet on the sleeping mat, and began to unsling his sword. Still I would not speak, not while he controlled a weapon; unfortunately, the first thing a Gorean warrior is likely to do to the stranger in his tent is kill him, the second is to find out who he is. I saw the spark of Kazrak's fire-maker, and I felt the flush of friendship as I saw his features briefly outlined in the glow. He lit the small hanging tent lamp, a wick set in a copper bowl of tharlarion oil, and in its flickering light turned to the sleeping mat. No sooner had he done so than he fell to his knees on the mat and grasped the ring.
'By the Priest-Kings!' he cried.
I leaped across the tent and clapped my hands across his mouth. For a moment we struggled fiercely. 'Kazrak!' I said. I took my hand from his mouth. He grasped me in his arms and crushed me to his chest, his eyes filled with tears. I shoved him away happily.
'I looked for you,' he said. 'For two days I rode down the banks of the Vosk. I would have cut you free.'
'That's heresy,' I laughed.
'Let it be heresy,' he said. 'I would have cut you free.'
'We are together again,' I said simply.
'I found the frame,' Kazrak said, 'half a pasang from the Vosk, broken. I thought you were dead.'
The brave man wept, and I felt like weeping, too, for joy, because he was my friend. With affection I took him by the shoulders and shook him. I went to his locker near the mat and got out his Ka-la-na flask, taking a long draught myself and then shoving it into his hands. He drained the flask in one drink and wiped his hand across his beard, stained with the red juice of the fermented drink.
'We are together again,' he said. 'We are together again, Tarl of Bristol, my sword brother.'
Kazrak and I sat in his tent, and I recounted my adventures to him, while he listened, shaking his head. 'You are one of destiny and luck,' he said, 'raised by the Priest-Kings to do great deeds.'
'Life is short,' I said. 'Let us speak of things we know.'
'In a hundred generations, among the thousand chains of fate,' said Kazrak, 'there is but one strand like yours.'
There was a sound at the entrance of Kazrak's tent. I darted back into the shadows.
It was one of the trusted strap-masters of Mintar, the man who guided the beasts that carried the merchant's palanquin.
Without looking around the tent, the man addressed himself directly to Kazrak.
'Will Kazrak and his guest, Tarl of Bristol, please accompany me to the tent of Mintar, of the Merchant Caste?' asked the man.
Kazrak and I were stunned, but arose to follow the man. It was now dark, and as I wore my helmet, there was no chance of the casual observer determining my identity. Before I left Kazrak's tent, I placed the ring of red metal, with the crest of Cabot, in my pouch. Hitherto I had worn the ring almost arrogantly, but now it seemed to me that discretion, to alter a saying, was the better part of pride.
Mintar's tent was enormous and domed, similar in shape to others in his camp; however, not only in size, but in splendor of appointment, it was a palace of silk. We passed through the guards at the entrance. In the center of the great tent, seated alone on cushions before a small fire, were two men, a game board between them. One was Mintar, of the Merchant Caste, his great bulk resting like a sack of meal on the cushions… The other man, a gigantic man, wore the robes of one of the Afflicted, but wore them as a king might. He sat cross-legged, his back straight and his head high, in the fashion of a warrior. Without needing to approach more closely, I knew the other man. It was Marlenus.
'Do not interrupt the game,' commanded Marlenus.
Kazrak and I stood to one side.
Mintar was lost in thought, his small eyes fastened to the red and yellow squares of the board. Having recognized our presence, Marlenus, too, turned his attention to the game. A brief, crafty light flickered momentarily in. Mintar's small eyes, and his pudgy hand hovered, hesitating an instant, over one of the pieces of the hundred squared board, a centered Tarnsman. He touched it, committing himself to moving it. A brief exchange followed, like a chain reaction, neither man considering his moves for a moment, First Tarnsman took First Tarnsman, Second Spearman responded by neutralizing First Tarnsman, City neutralized Spearman, Assassin took City, Assassin fell to Second Tarnsman, Tarnsman to Spear. Slave, Spear Slave to Spear Slave.
Mintar relaxed on the cushions. 'You have taken the City,' he said, 'but not the Home Stone.' His eyes gleamed with pleasure. 'I permitted that, in order that I might capture the Spear Slave. Let us now adjudicate the game. The Spear Slave gives me the point I need, a small point but decisive.'
Marlenus smiled, rather grimly. 'But position must figure in any adjudication,' he said. Then, with an imperious gesture, Marlenus swept his Ubar into the file. opened by the movement of Mintar's capturing Spear Slave. It covered the Home Stone.
Mintar bowed his head in mock ceremony, a wry smile on his fat face, and with one short finger delicately tipped his own Ubar, causing it to fall.
'It is a weakness in my game,' lamented Mintar. 'I am ever too greedy for a profit, however small.'
Marlenus looked at Kazrak and myself. 'Mintar,' he said, 'teaches me patience. He is normally a master of defense.'
Mintar smiled. 'And Marlenus invariably of the attack.'
'An absorbing game,' said Marlenus, almost absentmindedly. 'To some men this game is music and women. It can give them pleasure. It can help them forget. It is Ka-la-na wine, and the night on which such wine is drunk.
Neither Kazrak nor myself spoke.
'Look here,' said Marlenus, reconstructing the board. 'I have used the Assassin to take the City. Then, the Assassin is felled by a Tarnsman… an unorthodox, but interesting variation…»
'And the Tarnsman is felled by a Spear Slave,' I observed.
'True,' said Marlenus, shaking his head, 'but thusly did I win.'
'And Pa-Kur,' I said, 'is the Assassin.'
'Yes,' agreed Marlenus, 'and Ar is the City.'
'And I am the Tarasman?' I asked.
'Yes,' said Marlenus.
'And who,' I asked, 'is the Spear Slave?'
'Does it matter?' asked Marlenus, sifting several of the Spear Slaves through his fingers, letting them drop, one by one, to the board. 'Any of them will do.'
'If the Assassin should take the City,' I said, 'the rule of the Initiates will be broken, and eventually the horde with its loot will scatter, leaving a garrison.'
Mintar shifted comfortably, settling his great bulk more deeply into the cushions. 'The young tarnsman plays the game well,' he said.
'And,' I went on, 'when Pa-Kur falls, the garrison will be divided, and a revolution may take place.'
'Led by a Ubar,' said Marlenus, looking fixedly at the game piece in his hand. It was a Ubar. He smashed it down on the board, scattering the other pieces to the silken cushions. 'By a Ubar!' he exclaimed.
'You are willing,' I asked, 'to turn the city over to, Pa-Kur — that his horde should swarm into the cylinders, that the city may be looted and burned, the people destroyed or enslaved?' I shuddered involuntarily at the thought of the uncontrolled hordes of Pa-Kur among the spires of Ar, butchering, pillaging, burning, raping or, as the Goreans will have it, washing the bridges in blood.
The eyes of Marlenus flashed. 'No,' he said 'But Ar will fall. The Initiates can only mumble prayers to the Priest-Kings arrange the details of their meaningless, innumerable sacrifices. They crave political power, but can't understand it or manipulate it. They will never withstand a well-mounted siege. They will never keep the city.'
'Can't you enter the city and take power?' I asked. 'You could return the Home Stone. You could gather a following.'
'Yes,' said Marlenus. 'I could return the Home Stone — and there are those who would follow me — but there are not enough, not enough. How many would rally to the banner of an outlaw? No, the power of the Initiates must first be broken.'
'Do you have a way into the city?' I asked.
Marlenus looked at me narrowly. 'Perhaps,' he said.
'Then I have a counter plan,' I said. 'Strike for the Home Stones of those cities tributary to Ar — they are kept on the Central Cylinder. If you seize them, you can divide Pa-Kur's horde, give the Home Stones to the contingents of the tributary cities, provided they withdraw their forces. If they do not, destroy the Stones.'
'The soldiers of the Twelve Tributary Cities,' he said, 'want loot, vengeance, the women of Ar, not just their Stones.'
'Perhaps some of them fight for their freedom for the right to keep their own Home Stone,' I said. 'Surely not all of Pa-Kur's horde are adventurers, mercenaries.' Noting the Ubar's interest, I went on. 'Besides, few of the soldiers of Gor, barbarians though they might be, would risk the destruction of their city's Home Stone — the luck of their birthplace.'
'But,' said Marlenus, frowning, 'if the siege is lifted, the Initiates will be left in power.'
'And Marlenus will not resume the throne of Ar,' I said 'But the city will be safe.' I looked at Marlenus, testing the man. 'What is it, Ubar, that you hold dearest your city or your title? Do you seek the welfare of Ar or your private glory?'
Marlenus leaped to his feet, hurling the yellow robes of the Afflicted from him, drawing his blade from its sheath with a metallic flash. 'A Ubar,' he cried, 'answers such a question only with his sword! My weapon, too, had flashed from its sheath almost simultaneously. We faced each other for a long, terrible moment; then Marlenus threw back his head and laughed his great lion laugh, slamming his sword back into its sheath. 'Your plan is a good one,' he said 'My men and I will enter the city tonight.'
'And I shall go with you,' I said.
'No,' said Marlenus. 'The men of Ar need no help from a warrior of Ko-ro-ba.'
'Perhaps,' suggested Mintar, 'the young tarnsman might attend to the matter of Talena, daughter of Marlenus.'
'Where is she?' I demanded.
'We are not certain,' said Mintar. 'But it is presumed that she is kept in the tents of Pa-Kur.'
