It is now clear to me that we were flying southeastward.
Shortly after we had attained the skies, and he had set his direction, he turned me on my flank, facing him, and, with the fingers of his right hand, fingered my brand. 'Only a Kajira,' he said. Then, with the palm of his hand he thrust me back on my back.
In a moment or two, he reached down and took my hair, lifting my head, painfully, and turning it from side to side. 'Your ears are pierced,' he said. Then he dropped my head back against the side of the saddle.
I groaned, helplessly.
The tarn streaked on.
Once, he said to me, 'We are crossing the Vosk.'
I knew then we were within the territory of Ar, and must be high over the Margin of Desolation, a barren area, now recovering itself, which, years ago, had been cleared and devastated, that the northern fields of Ar by such a natural barrier, by such a wall of hunger and thirst, might be protected, presumably from invasion from the north or, more likely, from the incursions of Vosk pirates. In the reign of Marlenus, prior to his exile, and later, after his restoration, the Margin of Desolation had been deliberately left untended, that it might recover. Marlenus had set a swift fleet of light, Vosk galleys to clear the river waters adjoining his Ubarate of pirates. They had been successful, or muchly so. Seldom did Vosk pirates ply their trade where the Vosk bordered the regions of Ar. Other cities, to the north, of course, looked with apprehension on Marlenus' permitting the Margin of Desolation to recover its fertility and shade. He may have been only intending to extend the arable lands of Ar. On the other hand, under Marlenus, it became clear that Ar no longer feared for her borders. Also, the ambition of Marlenus, the Ubar of Ar, said to be the Ubar of Ubars, was well known. If it was now possible, or soon would be possible, to bring a land army easily southward to Ar, once the Vosk was traversed, by the same token, it would be similarly possible for Ar to bring, swiftly a considerable force of men northward, to the very shore of the Vosk. Of tradition, the northern shore of the Vosk was disputed by various cities. Ar, among others, had mde her claims.
Ahn after Ahn, the tarn flew.
He did not unbind me to feed me.
'Open your mouth,' he said.
He thrust yellow Sa-Tarna bread into my mouth. I chewed the bread and, with difficulty, swallowed it. He then, with his tarn knife, from a piece of raw bosk meat, cut four small pieces of meat, which he placed in my mouth. 'Feed,' he said. I chewed the meat, eyes closed, swallowing it. 'Drink,' he said. He thrust the horn nozzle of a leather bota of water between my teeth. I almost choked. He withdrew the nozzle and capped the bota, replacing it in his saddle pack. I closed my eyes, miserable. I had been fed and watered.
The tarn flew on.
After a time I looked up at the warrior who had captured me.
He seemed broad chested, and broad shouldered. He had a large head, muchly concealed within the war helmet. He carried his head proudly. His arms were strong, muscular and bronzed. His hands were large, and rough, fit for weapons. He wore scarlet leather. His helmet, with its 'Y'-like aperture, was gray. Neither his leather nor his helmet were distinguished by insignia. I supposed then, that he must be a mercenary, or an outlaw.
To have been taken by such a man, I had no idea what my fate would be. There seemed something familiar about the strong figure, before whom I was bound.
Somehow he frightened me. I felt I had know him, or met him before. Perhaps in Laura, near the compound of Targo!
'Are you,' I asked, trembling, 'a hireling of Haakon of Skjern?'
'No,' he said.
'Will youa€”' I asked, 'will you keep me for yourself?' I shuddered. 'A smelly, dirty little Kajira, with pierced ears, who steals meat from peasant villages?' he said.
I groaned.
'I would not even put you with my women,' he said.
I closed my eyes.
I realized then that such a warrior had undoubtedly captured many women, that many beauties, both slave and free, before me, and doubtless after me, would, as bound prized, helplessly grace his saddle. Among such riches, I, Elinor Brinton, realized that to such a man, a warrior, a tarnsman among tarnsmen, I was of little account, only another girl and perhaps a poor sort of one at that. He had little more interest in me than in a piece of meat, which he had captured and tied.
'You should be sold to a peddler,' he said. 'Or I should have left you in the peasant village. Peasants know well how to treat thieving wenches.' 'Please sell me in Ar,' I begged. 'I am white silk.'
He looked at me, I could see the mouth grinning. I shuddered.
'You are unworthy of being sold in Ar,' he said. 'Perhaps you might be sold at a smaller town, a village, or a border outpost.'
'Please,' I begged.
'I will dispose of you as I wish,' he said. 'Now be silent on the matter.' I closed my eyes.
When I opened them, I saw him regarding me. He was grinning.
'I am white silk!' I cried. 'I will bring a higher price if I am sold white silk!'
'You mistake me, Lady,' said he, courteously, 'if you think that I am interested only in gold.' 'No!' I cried. 'No!'
He bent to undo the lashings at my ankles.
I screamed, helplessly.
Suddenly, before he had even touched the lashings at my ankles, he turned about, abruptly, in the saddle.
A crossbow bold flashed by, like a swift, hissing needle in the sky. In one moment, as I screamed, terrified, thrown rudely against my bonds, he had jerked his shield from the saddle straps, and wheeled the tarn, with a cry of rage, a strange war cry, to face his foe.
He was met with another war cry, and suddenly, only feet from us, another tarn streaked past, and I heard the forcible, tearing scrape of a broad, bronze spear blade, its blow turned, sliding across the metal-bound, layered, bosk-hide shield of my captor.
The other tarn streaked away, and its rider, standing in his stirrups, braced in the saddle, held to it by the broad safety strap, was redrawing his crossbow, a quarrel held in his teeth.
My captor attacked, giving him no instant in which to set again his bow. When only yards separated us, the other man flung away his bow and quarrel, seizing up his shield. My captor, standing in his stirrups, flung his own great spear. it struck the other's shield, piercing it. If the other man had not been fastened in his saddle by the great strap the force of my captor's blow would have struck him from the saddle. As it was, it spun him, tearing the shield from his arm.
He cursed. 'For Skjern!' he cried.
The two tarns wheeled again, for another passage.
Again the other's spear struck, and again the blow was countered by my captor's shield. I again heard the terrible, startling scrape of the spear blade diverted by the seven-layered, metal-bound boskhide shield. Twice more the attacker pressed in, and each time, again, the shield turned the blow, once but inches from my body. My captor was trying to close with him, to bring him within the range of his own steel, his now-drawn, swift, unadorned blade. Again the spear struck, but this time my captor took the point in the shield. I, bound, saw, suddenly, the bronze point, a foot of it, inches from my face, explode through the hide. I screamed. My captor then wheeled away, the other, his blade now drawn, trying to press close. My captor had wished to rid his enemy of the spear, because of its reach, but, to do so, his own defense was impaired. With incredible strength, his sword dangling from its wrist strap, commonly used by tarnsmen in flight, I saw him withdraw the spear from the shield, but at the same time the other's tarn struck ours, and his blade, flashing downwards, struck the heavy shaft of the spear, splintering it, half severing it. He struck again and the spear shaft, with a scattering of wood, split apart. My captor now thrust his shield before him, and over my body. I heard the blade of the other strike twice, ringing on the metal hoops of the shield that guarded me. Then my captor again had his sword in his grip, but the other dragged his tarn upward, cursing, and its long, curved talons raked downwards, clutching for us. I heard the talons tear across the shield. My captor was thrusting upward, to keep the bird away. Then its talons locked over the shield and it smote its wings, ripping the shield straps, half tearing my captor from the saddle, and the tarn was away, the shield then dropping like a penny, turning, toward the field below.
'Yield her!' I heard the cry.
'Her price is steel!' was the answer that met the attacker.
Bound, I screamed, helplessly.
Then the tarns swooped together again, side by side, saddle to saddle, while blades flashed over my head, in a swift dialogue of steel, debating my possession.
I screamed.
The tarns then, rearing up in the sky, facing one another, began to tear at one another with their beaks and talons, and then, talons locked, they began, beaks snapping and tearing, to twist and roll, turning, locked together, falling, climbing, tumbling, wings beating, screaming in rage.
I was thrown one way and the other, violently, helplessly. Sometimes it seemed I was standing as the tarn would veer, or hanging head downwards as it would veer, turning wildly, in another direction. When it spun onto its back, tearing upwards at its foe, I hung stomach downwards, my full weight on the lashings, seeing in terror the earth hundreds of feet below.
The men fought to regain control of their mounts.
And then again, saddle to saddle, they fought, and once more steel flashed about my face and body. My ears, had they been tongues, would have screamed for mercy. Sparks from the steel stung my body.
Then, suddenly, with a cry of rage, of frustration, the blade of the other struck downwards towards my face. My captor's steel interposed itself. I saw the broad blade of his sword but an inch from my face, for one terrifying instant of immobility, the other's blade, edge downward, resting on it, stopped. The blow would have cut my face in two.
There was blood on my face. I did not know whose it was, even if it might be mine.
'Sleen!' cried my captor. 'I have played with you enough!' once more, over my head, there was a flash of steel, and I heard a cry of pain, and then suddenly the other tarn veered sharply away, and I saw its rider, clutching his shoulder, reeling in the saddle.
His tarn spun crazily, and then, a hundred yards away, to one side and below us, turned and fled.
