I led the way to the stockade, the men of Sarus falling into step beside me. Before I entered the stockade I heard Sarus speak to two of his men. “Keep the beacon burning,” he said, “Build it high.” I entered the stockade and looked about.
“It is not a bad stockade,” I told him, “for having been swiftly built.” The gate swung shut behind me.
I must wait until the two men who tended the beacon returned to the interior. “Do not stand close to me,” I told two men of Tyros. They moved back a few feet. Inside the stockade I was the immediate center of attention. I looked from face to face, particularly those of the men. Some seemed alert, swift. Other’s hands seemed well fitted to the hilts of blades. I noted which pommels were worn. Two carried crossbows. I noted them.
“Do not press me closely,” I told them.
I was the center of a circle. The women, too, of Hura, stood at the edge of the circle, among the men of Sarus. The women, who had seen me, long ago at the camp of Marlenus, did not recognize me. But Mira did. She stood there, behind two men of Tyros.
Her eyes were wide. Her hand was before her mouth. It was I to whom she had submitted herself in the forest. It was I who had used her, a mere slave, insolently, before returning her, with the drugged wine, to the camp of Sarus. I was her master. Had I come for her? “I think I know him,” said Hura, the tall girl, long-legged, with black hair, leader of the panther girls. She stood boldly before me, in the brief skins of the panther girls, in her golden ornaments.
I drew her swiftly to me, and she cried out, frightened. I held her helplessly, and raped her lips with a kiss, an insolent kiss, such as a master might use to dismiss a slave girl, and then threw her from me, against the feet of the men of Tyros. The women of Hura gasped, and cried out with indignation. They screamed their rage. The men of Tyros were startled.
“Kill him!’ screamed Hura, her dark hair before her eyes, crouching at the edge of the circle, to which, after my kiss, I had spurned her.
“Be silent, Woman,” said Sarus.
Hura struggled to her feet, and swept her hair back from her face. She regarded me with rage. Her women, too, cried out with fury.
“Be silent,” said Sarus.
Angrily, the panther girls, breathing heavily, eyes flashing, restrained themselves.
I gathered that Hura, and her girls, proud panther women, were not popular among the men.
Moreover, I gathered that they feared the men, as well as hated them. Little love, or respect was lost between them. They were strange allies, the men of Tyros, the women of Hura.
“I claim vengeance!’ cried Hura.
Again, behind her, her girls shouted.
“Be silent.” Said Sarus, sharply, “or we will put you all in bracelets!” The girls gasped, and were silent.
The mood of the men of Tyros toward them was not pleasant. They shrank back. At a word from Sarus they might be enslaved, and would be then no different from the poor wenches, bound head to foot, lying behind them.
The slaves in the stockade, the twenty-two wenches behind the circle of the men of Tyros, and the women of Hura, and beyond them, lying on their stomachs, chained, facing the back wall of the stockade, Marlenus and the twenty others, could know little or nothing of what was transpiring.
I did, however, as well as I could, note the positions of Sheera and Verna among the tied, prone slave girls.
I might have need of them.
“Entrance,” called one of the two men who had been outside, adding fuel to the beacon fire.
The gate was opened and the two men were admitted. All the men of Sarus, then, were within the stockade.
The gate was shut again.
I was pleased to see the beam slid into place, thrust by two men, securing it. There was no catwalk about the interior of the stockade.
A man of Tyros threw more wood on a fire inside the stockade, well illuminating the interior.
“I have heard,” said Sarus, folding his arms, “that you would speak with me.” “That it true,” I said.
I measured Sarus. He would be quick. He was intelligent. He was hard. His accent bespoke a low caste. He had doubtless risen through the ranks to a position of prominence, which, given the aristocracies of Tyros, was unusual. Family was important on the cliffed island, as, indeed it was, on the terraces of Cos. Island ubarates, with their relatively stable populations, over a period of generations, tend to develop concentrations of wealth and power among successful families, which wealth and power, first producing oligarchy, becomes gradually invested with the prestige of dynastic tradition, at which point, one supposes, one may fairly speak of aristocracy. Most Gorean cities are, in effect, governed by the influence, direct or indirect, of several important families. In the city of Ar, one of the great families was once the Hinrabians.
But Sarus did not owe his authority, his responsibility, to his family. He had achieved it against great odds, on the isle of Tyros. He would be quite dangerous.
He reminded me a bit of Chenbar of Tyros, her Ubar, also of lowly origin. Perhaps it was to the influence of Chenbar, some years ago, that Sarus had been advanced. Chenbar, as far as I knew, lay chained in a dungeon of Port Kar. There had been much warfare in Tyros over the succession to the throne of the Ubar. Five families, with their followers, had fought for the medallion. I did not know, now, how things stood in Tyros.
I did know, however, that Sarus and his men had engaged in a well-organized mission to capture Marlenus of Ar and one called Bosk of Port Kar.
I found that of interest.
It seemed to me unusual that with the succession in doubt such an expedition had been launched.
Then I knew what must be the case.
“I had not known,” I said, “that Chenbar of Tyros has escaped.”
Sarus looked at me, warily. “Men of Torvaldsland,” he said. “They were not suspected. Their fees were large. With their axes they broke though to him, shattered the rings from the stones, and carried him safe to Tyros. Many men were killed. Hey escaped at night. An hour after his arrival on Tyros, the Rhoda, under my command, raised mast and dipped oars for Lydius.” “What was your mission?” I asked.
“It is not of your business,” said Sarus.
“I note,” I said, “that you have taken slaves.”
“Some,” said Sarus.
The escape of Chenbar would have taken place directly shortly after I had left the city.
“Who, of Torvaldsland,” I asked, “dared to free Chenbar of Tyros?”
“A madman,” laughed Sarus. “Ivar Forkbeard.”
“A madman?” I asked.
“Who else?’ said Sarus. “Who but a madman would have attempted such work? Who but a madman could have succeeded in it?” “His fees were large?” I asked.
“To be sure,” said Sarus wryly. “The weight of Chenbar in the sapphires of Shendi.” “His price,” I said, “was high for one afflicted with madness.” “All those of Torvaldsland are mad,” said Sarus. “They have no sense. They fear only that they will die in war.” “I trust,” I said, “that you, and men of Tyros, are less mad.” “It is my hope that that is true,” smiled Sarus. Then his eyes grew hard. “Why have you come to this stockade? What is it that you wish?” “Kill him,” cried Hura.
Sarus paid her no attention.
“I had come to negotiate,” I said.
“I do not understand,” said Sarus.
I looked about, noting the position of the men, and the women of Hura, and where Sheera and Verna, hidden behind the feet of those at the circle, lay bound. “It is my wish,” I said, “that you surrender to me, without dispute, those whom you now hold as slave.” “I see now,” smiled Sarus,” that Ivar Forkbeard, of Torvaldsland, was sane.” I shrugged.
“Do you understand what these slaves have cost us?’ asked Sarus.
“I am sure their price was high,” I granted.
“Kill him! Hill him!” cried certain of Hura’s women.
“How many men do you have outside the stockade?” asked Sarus.
I did not speak.
“Obviously,” said Sarus, “you would not have approached us without a considerable force.” I did not respond to him.
“Doubtless you come as a representative of those who have followed us in the forest.” “That is an intelligent supposition of your part,” I said.
“I am not an irrational man,” said Sarus, “but on some matters I cannot compromise.” “Oh,” I said.
“Are you a slaver?” he asked.
“I have taken slaves,” I admitted.
“What will satisfy you?” he asked.
“What do you offer?” I queried.
“There are twenty-two female slaves here, lying bound,” said Sarus. “it does not please me to give them to up, but, if that is your price, we will do so.” I shrugged.
“Would you like to examine them?” asked Sarus.
“I have seen them,” I said.
“Of course,” said Sarus. “In the forest.”
“Yes,” I said. I did not wish to be seen closely by the slaves, for fear of reaction among them, which would give my identity away. Sheera, for example, and Verna, and Grenna, well knew me.
The slave girls lay bound in the shadows, head to foot, behind the men of Tyros, the women of Hura. They knew little of what was occurring.” “It is not enough,” I told Sarus, sternly.
“How many men do you have?” he asked, angrily. “let us be reasonable. You cannot take us without losing men, many men!” “It is true,” I said, “that you have a defensive stockade.” “Yes!’ said Sarus. “Take the slave girls and be satisfied.” I looked at Sarus. My eyes were hard. “I want more,” I told him.
“Kill him! Kill him quickly, you fool!” screamed Hura.
