combat.' He turned to one of the four young men, and Bran Loort. 'Give me another staff,' he said to one of them. The young man looked at him and, frightened, threw him the staff, not wanting to come close to him. 'A better weapon,' said Thurnus, hefting the staff. He looked at the fellow who had thrown him the staff. 'Come here,' he said. Uneasily the lad approached. 'The first lesson you must learn,' said Thurnus, swiftly jabbing the staff deeply, without warning, into his stomach, 'is never to give a weapon to an enemy.' The young man, bent over, retched in the dirt. Thurnus smote him sharply on the side of the head, felling him. He then turned to the other two young men, and Bran Loort. 'You should keep your guard up,' said Thurnus to one of them, who immediately, warily, raised his staff. Thurnus then smote the other fellow, at whom he did not appear to be looking. He turned, watching the fellow fall into the dirt. 'You, too, of course,' said Thurnus, 'should keep your guard up. That is important.' The other young man, he beside Bran Loort, then suddenly struck at Thurnus, but Thurnus, clearly, had been expecting the blow. He parried it and slipped behind the other's staff, bringing up the lower end of his own staff. The fellow's face turned white and he sank away. 'Aggressiveness is good,' said Thurnus, 'but beware of the counterstroke.' Thurnus looked about himself. Of the nine men only one, Bran Loort, now stood ready. Thurnus grinned. He indicated the young men, strewn about. 'These others, I now gather,' said Thurnus, 'will not enter our competition.'
'You are skillful, Thurnus,' said Bran Loort. He held his staff ready.
'I am sorry that I must now do this to you, Bran Loort,' said Thurnus. 'I had thought you had in you the makings of a caste leader.'
'I am caste leader here,' said Bran Loort.
'You are young, Bran Loort,' said Thurnus. 'You should have waited. It is not yet your time.'
'I am caste leader here,' said Bran Loort.
'The caste leader must know many things,' said Thurnus. 'It takes many years to learn them, the weather, the crops, animals, men. It is not easy to be caste leader.'
Thurnus turned away, his head down, to tie his sandal. Bran Loort hesitated only an instant, and then he struck down, the staff stopped, striking across Thurnus's turned shoulder. It had been like striking a rock. Bran Loort stepped back.
'Too, to earn the respect of peasants,' said Thurnus, straightening up, retrieving his staff, his sandal tied, 'the caste leader should be strong.'
Bran Loort was white-faced.
'Now let us fight,' said Thurnus.
Swiftly did the two men engage with their quick staves. There was a fierce ringing of wood. Dust flew about their ankles. Blows, numerous and fierce, were struck and parried. Bran Loort was not unskilled, and he was young and strong, but no match was he for the grim and mighty Thurnus, caste leader of Tabuk's Ford, my master. As well might a young larl with spotted coat be matched against a giant, tawny claw Ubar of the Voltai. At last, bloodied and beaten, Bran Loort lay helpless at the feet of Thurnus, caste leader of the village of Tabuk's Ford. He looked up, glazed-eyed. Some five of his cohorts, two of whom had recovered consciousness, seizing their staves, edged nearer.
'Beat him!' cried Bran Loort, pointing out Thurnus.
There was a cry of anger from the onlookers.
The young men raised their staves, together, to charge upon Thurnus, who turned, to accept their challenge.
'Stop!' cried a voice. There were the shrill squeals of sleen. Sandal Thong stood at the edge of the circle, in each fist the leash, a short leash, of a sleen. The animals strained against the leashed collars, trying to creep forward, their eyes blazing, saliva loose and dripping from their jaws, the wet fangs shining in the firelight. 'On the first man who moves,' cried Sandal Thong, 'I shall set a sleen!'
The young men drew back.
Melina cried out with fury.
'Throw down your staves,' ordered Thurnus. They, looking at the sleen, threw down their staves.
'She is only a slave!' cried Melina. 'How dare you interfere?' she cried to Sandal Thong.
'I freed her this afternoon,' laughed Thurnus. I saw no rope collar on her throat. She had removed it when she had stolen away from the circle of the fire.
She stood there, holding the sleen leashes, a proud free woman, in the firelight, though she wore still the rag of a slave.
'On your feet, Bran Loort,' said Thurnus.
The young man, unsteadily, stood up. Thurnus, swiftly, tore away the tunic about his waist, and, taking him by the arm rudely thrust him to the heavy rack, where I lay helplessly secured. 'Here is the little slave you find so lovely, Bran Loort,' said Thurnus. 'She lies before you, helpless.' Bran Loort looked at me, miserable. 'She is a juicy little beauty, is she not?' asked Thurnus. I recoiled on the beams, so spoken of. 'Is she not a pretty little cake?' asked Thurnus. 'Yes,' whispered Bran Loort. 'Take her,' said Thurnus. 'I give you my permission.' Bran Loort looked down. 'Go ahead,' urged Thurnus. 'Take her!' 'I cannot,' whispered Bran Loort. He was a defeated man.
Bran Loort turned away from the rack and bent down to pick up his tunic. He went to the gate and it was opened for him. He left the village of Tabuk's Ford.
'Follow him, who will,' said Thurnus to the young men who had been his cohorts.
But none made to follow their former leader.
'Of what village are you?' asked Thurnus.
'Tabuk's Ford,' they said, sullenly.
'And who is caste leader in Tabuk's Ford?' asked Thurnus, sweating, grinning.
'Thurnus,' they said.
'Go to your huts,' he said. 'You are under caste discipline.' They withdrew from the circle of the fire. I expected that they would tend his fields for a season.
Melina had withdrawn from the circle of the fire, returning to the hut she shared with Thurnus.
'Let there be made a feast,' decreed Thurnus. There was a cheer.
'But first, Thurnus, my love,' said Melina, speaking now from the doorway of their hut, 'let us drink to the victory of the night.'
There was silence.
She carried a metal goblet, and, slowly, in stately fashion, descended the steps to the ground, approaching Thurnus.
She lifted the cup to him. 'Drink, noble Thurnus, my love,' said she to him. 'I bring you the brew of victory.'
Suddenly I realized what must be her plan. Melina was a shrewd, clever woman. She had counted on Bran Loort and his young men defeating Thurnus. Yet, in the event they did not manage this, she had purchased a powder from Tup Ladletender, the peddler. Had Bran Loort been victorious she had promised me to him. But, too, I had been promised to Tup Ladletender, in exchange for the powder, were it successful. In each plan Dina, the slave girl, had been the bauble with which to bring about her will. Had Bran Loort been successful, I would have been his. Ladletender's powder would then be unnecessary, and would be returned to him. If Bran Loort was unsuccessful, then the way would be clear to use Ladletender's powder, and I, of course, Bran Loort defeated, could then be straightforwardly tendered in payment for it. The plans, sharp alternatives, excluded one another; their common element was I, as payment. Melina had planned well.
'Drink, my love,' said Melina, lifting the cup to Thumus. 'Drink to your victory, and mine.'
Thurnus took the cup.
I tried to cry out, but could not. I struggled in the stock. My eyes were wild over the heavy gagging that had been inflicted upon me.
None looked upon me. I struggled in the stock. I tried to scream. I could utter no sound. I wore a Gorean gag.
'Do not drink it, Master!' I wanted to scream. 'It is poisoned! Do not drink! It is poison!'
'Drink, my love,' said Melina.
I could utter no sound. I wore a Gorean gag.
Thurnus lifted the cup to his lips. He paused. 'Drink,' urged Melina.
