“There are fifty-five of us,” said Sarus.
“My city,” I said, “was the city of Ko-ro-ba. It is sometimes called the Towers of Morning.” “Surrender,” whispered Sarus.
“Long ago,” I said, “I dishonored my caste, my Home Stone, my blade. Long ago, I fell from the warriors. Lone ago, I lost my honor.” Sarus slowly drew his blade, as did those behind him.
“But once,” I said, “I was of the city of Ko-ro-ba. Hat must not be forgotten. That cannot be taken from me.” “He is mad,” said one of the men of Tyros.
“Yes,” I said, “once long ago, in he delta of the Vosk, I lost my honor. I know that never can I find it again. That honor, which was to me my most precious possession, was lost. It is gone, and gone forever. It is like a tarn with wings of gold, that sits but once upon a warrior’s helm, and when it departs, it returns no more. It is gone, and gone forever.” I looked at them, and looked, too, upward at the stars of the Gorean night. They were beautiful, like points of fire, marking the camps of armies in the night. “Yes,” I said, again regarding the men of Tyros. “I have lost my honor, but you must not understand by that that I have forgotten it. On some nights, on such a night as this, sometimes, I recollect it.” “We are fifty-five men!” screamed Sarus.
“Marlenus!” I called. “Once, on the sands of an arena in Ar, we fought, as sword companions.” “It is true!” he called.
“Silence!” cried Sarus.
“And once I saw you remove your helm in the stadium of tarns, and claim again the throne of Ar.” “It is true!” called Marlenus.
“Let me hear again, now,” said I, “the anthem of Ar.”
The strains of the great song of Ar’s victories broke from the Ubar’s collared throat, and, too, from the throats of the men of Ar beside him.
“Silence!” cried Sarus.
He turned to face me, wildly. He saw that my blade was no drawn.
“You are not of Ar!” he cried.
“It would be better for you,” said I, “if I were.”
“You are mad,” he cried. “Mad!”
“My Home Stone,” I told him, “was once the Home Stone of Ko-ro-ba. Will it be you, Sarus, who will come first against me?”
20 What Occurred in the Stockade of Sarus of Tyros
I thrust.
A man reeled away.
“Kill him!” cried Sarus.
I thrust again, slipping to one side. He who had thrust at me fell, slipping to his hands and knees, startled, red swift in the firelit yellow of his tunic. He did not know his wound was mortal. He had challenged one of Ko-ro-ba. I turned. I thrust twice more. Two more men fell. I turned. Twice more I thrust, shallow thrust, swift, delicate, like the biting of the ost, that the blade not be ensnared. The heart lies but the width of a hand within the body, the jugular but the width of a finger.
“Kill him!’ screamed Sarus.
I moved, as an eyes moves, no longer where I had stood before. Twice again I thrust. I felt a blade cut my tunic, and felt blood at my waist. Again I moved. I heard the swift snap of the leaves of a crossbow, the leaping his of the quarrel. There was a scream behind me. I must move to the fire. Twice more I thrust. There was another loaded crossbow I knew. I thought I knew its location. I moved so to place a man of Tyros between me and the quarrel.
“Stand aside!” screamed a man.
I fended the blade of the man of Tyros from my heart. I did not fell him. I felt another blade cut down and my left sleeve leaped away from my arm. I felt blood course down my arm.
The war cry of Ko-ro-ba, wild, roared from my throat. Twice more I thrust, and then, kicking, broke the fire into a scattering of brands, plunging the stockade into darkness. The women of Hura, bound, naked, among the men and blades, screamed.
“Kill him!” I heard Sarus cry.
“Free us!” begged Hura. “Free us!”
“Fire! Torches!” cried Sarus.
I had not worn the yellow of Tyros for nothing. I moved among them, as one of them. And where I moved, men fell.
“Where is he?” cried one of my enemies.
“Lift torches!” cried Sarus.
Holding his mouth, I thrust my blade into the body of the man who carried the second crossbow. He should have realized he was important. He should have changed his position in the darkness. Did he not know I would come for him? In the darkness, amidst the shouting, I went swiftly to the slave girls, prone and bound, near the rear of the stockade.
Sheera, I knew, lay at one end of the line. In an instant with my blade, I cut her free. I quickly moved down the line of bound women, tightly thonged slave girls. They were tied alternately, in a common manner for securing slave girls, the lashed ankles of one tied to the throat of the next. I counted, placing my hand swiftly on the head of one, gagged, the crossed ankles, bound, of the next. Cara and Tina were no longer in the coffle. I was looking for the girl who would now be ninth. I felt the squirming, tied ankles of the eighth girl, heard her muffled, gagged whimper, sensed her body rearing in its bonds. Then my hand was on the head of the ninth girl. I felt beneath my fingers a woman’s head and hair, and, in her ear, a large ring of gold. She struggled. I cut Verna loose. I felt myself, briefly, illuminated in the glare of a torch, nor more than a yard from me.
“He is here!” I heard cry.
The torch fell in the darkness. My blade whipped back, freed of the body. “Torches!” cried Sarus. “Rebuild the fire!” I moved again. Another man fell. And another.
“I have him!” cried a man. “I have slain him!”
But it was not I whom he had struck.
I thrust again. Another man of Tyros, reeled away from me, stumbling, falling against the chained slaves.
Then I struck another.
Two torches were raised.
In their light I could see the men of Tyros, blades drawn, back to back, eyes wild.
Behind them, tied, on their knees, were Hura and her women. Some were screaming. “Free us!” cried Hura. “Free us!” “Free the women!” suddenly, cried Sarus. “Free them!” He had need of them.
I saw two men of Tyros running, breaking suddenly for the gate.
They began to thrust back the beam.
“Stop!” cried Sarus.
The men paid Sarus, their leader, no heed. Four other men, too, broke, running to the gate.
A yellow-clad man of Tyros suddenly thrust at me with a spear. I did not know if her knew me for the enemy or not.
I twisted.
The head of the spear stabbed past me. His thrust had brought him within range of my blade.
He fell from the spear, leaving it in my hand.
Now there stood a man with a torch at the gate. “Open it!” he cried. Four men thrust on the beam, lifting it, shoving it, in its looped, leather brackets.
“Hurry!” cried the man with the torch.
“Stop. Cowards!” screamed Sarus. “Stop!”
They paid him no heed. Rather, other men ran, too, to the gate.
I thrust my sword into the dirt at my feet, and held the spear.
The beam began to slide free of the leather brackets. The spear, a Gorean war spear, its head tapered of bronze, some eighteen inches long, its shaft more than an inch and a half in thickness, more than six feet in length, sped from my grasp.
I seized again my sword, and moved again, to one side, mixing in the shadows. The men fell back from the gate. One of them, through the back, was pinned to the beam, fastening it in place. It could no longer slip through the leather bracket.
“Sarus has slain his own men!” cried the fellow with the torch.
The men at the gate turned wildly. Several of them stood with blades drawn. “Not I, fool!” screamed Sarus. “The enemy! The enemy!” “Attack!” cried the man with the torch.
Four of the men at the gate, thinking to protect themselves, ran against other men of Tyros.
I saw Hura darting free, cut loose by a man of Tyros.
I moved about the inside of the stockade wall. I encountered a man of Tyros, back against the wall. He struck out wildly. I left him at the foot of the wall. I must hold the gate.
Some six men of Tyros, near the center of the stockade, some fifteen yards from the gate, were engaged with blades, striking at one another. I saw two fall. “Do not fight!” screamed Sarus. “Locate the enemy! The enemy!” The men fought. Now some eight or ten were engaged. They were half crazed in fear.
“Do not fight!” screamed Sarus.
I saw two more fall.
I saw Mira, free, leap to one side. Other panther women, too, were being cut free.
One of them, I saw, found her weapons.
A shape leaped from the darkness, tumbling her to the dirt, rolling with her. It was Sheera.
