To be sure, I had seen, from time to time, over the past few days, riders, in small groups, scouting us.
When the guards or the men of our escort rode toward them, they faded away into the hills.
“In the vicinity,” said Hamid, “though do not speak this about, there is a party of Kavars, in number between three and four hundred.”
“Raiders?” I asked.
“Kavars.” he said. “Tribesmen. And men of their vassal tribe, the Ta’Kara.” He looked at me closely. “There may soon be war,” he said. “Caravans will be few.
Merchants will not care to risk their goods. It is their intention that Suleiman not receive these goods. It is their intention to divert them, or most of them, to the Oasis of the Stones of Silver.” This was an oasis of the Char, also a vassal tribe of the Kavars. Its name had been given to it centuries before, when thirsty men, who had moved at night on the desert, had come upon it, discovering it. Dew had formed on the large flat stones thereabout and, in the light of the dawn, had made them, from a distance, seem to glint like silver. Dew, incidentally, is quite common in the Tahari, condensing on the stones during the chilly nights. It burns off, of course, almost immediately in the morning.
Nomads sometime dig stones before dawn, clean them, set them out, and, later, lick the moisture from them. One cannot pay the water debt, of course, with the spoonful or so of moisture obtainable in this way. It does, however, wet the lips and tongue.
“If there are so many Kavars about,” I said, “and Ta’Kara, you do not have enough men to defend this caravan.” Indeed, in such a situation, militarily, so small an escort as a hundred men would seem rather to invite attack.
Hamid, lieutenant to Shakar, captain of the Aretai, did not respond to my remark. Rather he said, “Give me the stones. I will keep them safe for you. If you do not give them to me, you may lose them to Kavars. I will see Suleiman for you. He will not see you. I will bargain for you. I will get you a good price in date bricks for them.”
“I will see Suleiman myself,” I said. “I will bargain for myself.”
“Kavar spy!” he hissed.
I did not speak.
“Give me the stones,” he said.
“No,” I said.
“It is your intention.” he said, “to gain access to the presence of Suleiman, and then assassinate him!”
“That seems an ill-devised strategem to obtain a good price in date bricks,” I said. “You have drawn your dagger,” I observed.
He lunged for me but I was no longer there. I moved to my feet, and kicking loose the pole which held the tent, slipped outside, drawing my scimitar. “He!”
I cried. “Burglar! A burglar!”
Men came running. Among them came Shakar, captain of the Aretai, blade drawn, and several of his men. Drovers, slaves, crowded about. Inside the fallen tent, struggling was a figure. Then the tent, as men held torches, at a sign from Shakar, was thrown back.
“Why,” cried I in amazement, “it is the noble Hamid. For give me, Noble Sir. I mistook you for a burglar!”
Grumbling, brushing sand from his robes, Hamid climbed to his feet.
“It was clumsy to let a tent fall on you,” said Shakar. He sheathed his scimitar.
“I tripped.” said Hamid. He did not look pleased as, following his captain, looking back, he disappeared in the darkness.
“Set the tent aright,” I told Alyena, who was looking up at me, frightened.
“Yes, Master,” she said.
I then went to find Farouk. There was little point in his losing men.
We did not have to wait long for the attack of the Kavars. It occurred shortly after the tenth hour, the Gorean noon, the following day.
Not much to my surprise the men of the escort of Aretai rushed forth to do battle, but, seeing the numbers of their enemy, which indeed seemed considerable, sweeping down from the hills, wheeled their kaiila and, abandoning the caravan, rode rapidly away.
“Do not offer resistance!” cried Farouk to his guards, riding the length of the caravan. “Do not fight! Do not resist!”
In a few moments the Kavars, howling, lances high, burnooses swirling, were among us.
The guards of Farouk, following his example, dropped their bucklers to the dust, thrust their lances, butt down, in the earth, took out their scimitars and, flinging them blade downward from the saddle, hurled them into the ground, disarming themselves.
Slave girls screamed.
With lances the Kavars gestured that the men dismount. They did so. They were herded together. Kavars rode down the caravan line, ordering drovers to hurry their animals into lines.
With their scimitars, they slashed certain of the bags and crates on the kaiila, determining their contents.
One Kavar warrior, with the point of his lance, drew a line in the graveled dust.
“Strip your women,” he called. “Put them on this line.” Women were hurried to the line. Some of them were stripped by the scimitar. I saw Alyena pulled by the arm from her kurdah and thrown to the gravel. As she knelt on her hands and knees in the gravel, looking up, terrified, a warrior, behind her, on kaiila, thrust the tip of his lance beneath her veil, between the side of her head and the tiny golden string, and, lifting the lance, ripped the veil from her, face-stripping her. She turned to face him, terrified, crouching in the gravel.
“A beauty!” he cried. “Oh!” she cried. The steel, razor-sharp point of the lance was at her bosom. “Run to the line, Slave Girl,” she was ordered. “Yes, Master,” she cried.
“Why have you not disarmed yourself?” asked a Kavar, riding up to me.
“I am not one of Farouk’s guards,” I said.
“You are a member of the caravan, are you not?” he asked.
“I am journeying with it,” I said.
“Disarm yourself,” he said. “Dismount.”
“No,” I said.
“We have no wish to kill you,” he said.
“I am pleased to hear it,” I said. “I, too, have no wish to kill you.”
“Find Aretai,” said the man, riding by. “Kill them.”
“Are you Aretai?” asked the man.
“No,” I said.
I saw certain of the kaiila being led past. Others were left with their drovers.
There was dust about, raised by the paws of the animals. I saw the girls, standing on the line. There was dust on their ankles and calves and, light, on their bodies. Their eyes were squinting, half shut, in the dust and sun. Two of them coughed. Some of them shifted about, for the dust and gravel was hot on the soles of their small, bare feet. They were all stripped. None left the line. An officer rode rapidly back and forth the length of the line, examining them. He called orders. The first one to be prodded with the side of a lance from the line was Alyena.
This pleased me, that she had been found suitable to be a slave of Kavars.
“Stand there, Girl,” ordered a man.
It did not surprise me, however. She was becoming more beautiful each day, as she, not knowing it herself, and repudiating the very thought, was coming to love her collar. She was a slave. On Gor, sooner or later, she would be forced to face this fact; she would be forced to look deeply within herself; to confront herself, perhaps for the first time, with candor, and uncompromising honesty; I wondered if, at that time, seeing herself, truly, she would go mad, or if, boldly, with joy, she would dare to be what she found that she was; a human of Earth she had been carefully conditioned to imitate stereotyped images, produced by others, alien to her own nature; what Earth most feared was the peril of men, and women, becoming themselves; on Earth it was regarded as horrifying that millions of beautiful, feminine women, in spite of conditioning, wanted to be the slaves of strong, powerful men; on Gor it was not regarded as horrifying but appropriate; indeed, what other sort of woman is worth putting in a collar; one of the most common emotions felt eventually by an enslaved girl, in a slave culture, where their sort, if not respected, is accepted, is, perhaps surprisingly, gratitude. I am not clear what they have to be grateful about.
They are totally under the power of strong masters, and must do what they are told.
Eight other girls now stood behind Alyena, ready for chains. Some six girls had been rejected by the Kavars. “Run to your masters,” cried a Kavar to the rejected girls. In tears they fled from the line. I could see that Alyena was pleased to lead the line. I saw she was pleased that Aya, who had caused her much trouble, had been rejected. Alyena stood, naked, very proud, very straight, waiting for her chains. They would not be put on her, of course.
“It is my recommendation to you,” said the Kavar, “to disarm yourself and dismount.”
“It is my recommendation to you,” I said, “that you, and your fellows, ride for your lives.”
“I do not understand,” he said.
“If you were Aretai,” I asked, “would you have surrendered the caravan without a fight?”
“Of course not,” he said.
His face turned white.
“Fortunately,” I said. “1 see only dust rising in the east. I would not, however, strike due west. That would be the natural path of departure of surprised, startled men. Others may await you there. Considering the extent of the terrain, and the likely numbers that the Aretai can muster, it will be difficult for them to encircle you unless you permit them to close with the caravan. My own recommendation, though it may be imperfect, given that I have not scouted the terrain, would be to depart, with haste, south.”
“South,” he said, “is Aretai territory!”
“It seems unlikely they would expect you to move in that direction,” I said.
“You may always deviate from that course later.”
He stood in his stirrups. He cried out. An officer rode up. Together they looked to the east. Dust, like the blade of a dark scimitar, for pasangs, swept toward us.
“Let us fight!” cried the man.
