'Yes,' he said.
'This seems an unpropitious place for a meeting,' I said. We were in the remainsof a half-fallen, ruined tarn complex, built on a wide platform, at the edge ofthe rence marshes, some four pasangs from the northeast delta gate of Port Kar.
In climbing to the platform, and in traversing it, the guards with us, who hadnow remained outside, had, with the butts of their spears, prodded more than onesinuous tharlarion from the boards, the creature then plunging angrily, hissing,into the marsh. The complex consisted of a tarn cot, now muchly open to the sky,with an anterior building to house supplies and tam keepers. It had beenabandoned for years. We were now within the anterior building. Through theruined roof, between unshielded beams, I could see patches of the night sky ofGor, and one of her three moons. Ahead, where a wall had mostly fallen, I couldsee the remains of the large tarn cot. At one time it had been a huge, convex,cage like lacing of mighty branches, lashed together, a high dome of fastened,interwoven wood, but now, after years of disrepair, and the pelting of rains andthe tearings of winds, little remained of this once impressive and intricatestructure but the skeletal, arched remnants of its lower portions.
'I do not care for this place,' I said.
'It suits them,' said Samos.
'It is too dark,' I said, 'and the opportunities for surprise and ambush are tooabundant.'
'It suits them,' said Samos.
'Doubtless,' I said.
'I think we are in little danger,' he said. 'Too, guards are about.'
'Could we not have met in your holding?' I asked.
'Surely you could not expect such things to move easily about among men?' askedSamos.
'No,' I granted him.
'I wonder if they know we are here,' said Samos.
'If they are alive,' I said, 'they will know.'
'Perhaps,' said Samos.
'What is the purpose of this parley?' I asked.
'I do not know,' said Samos.
'Surely it is unusual for such things to confer with men,' I said.
'True,' granted Samos. He looked about himself, at the dilapidated, ramshacklebuilding. He, too, did not care overly much for his surroundings.
'What can they want?' I wondered.
'I do not know,' said Samos.
'They must, for some reason, want the help of men,' I speculated.
'That seems incredible,' said Samos.
'True,' I said.
'Could it be,' asked Samos, 'that they have come to sue for peace?'
'No,' I said.
'How can you know that?' asked Samos.
'They are too much like men,' I said.
'I shall light the lantern,' said Samos. He crouched down and extracted a tinyfire-maker from his pouch, a small device containing a tiny reservoir oftharlarion oil, with a tharlarion-oil-impregnated wick, to be ignited by aspark, this generated from the contact of a small, ratcheted steel wheel, spunby a looped thumb handle, with a flint splinter.
'Need this meeting have been so secret?' I asked.
'Yes,' said Samos.
We had come to this place, through the northeast delta gate, in a squarish,enclosed barge. It was only through slatted windows that I had been able tofollow our passage. Any outside the barge, on the walkways along the canals, forexample, could not have viewed its occupants. Such barges, though with the slatslocked shut, are sometimes used in the transportation of female slaves, thatthey may not know where in the city they are, or where they are being taken. Asimilar result is obtained, usually, more simply, in an open boat, the girlsbeing hooded and bound hand and foot, and then being thrown between the feet ofthe rowers.
I heard the tiny wheel scratch at the flint. I did not take my eyes from thethings at the far end of the room, on the floor, half hidden by a large table,the area open behind them leading to the ruined tarn cot. It is not wise to lookaway from such things, if they are in the vicinity, or to turn one's back uponthem. I did not know if they were asleep or not. I guessed that they were not.
My hand rested on the hilt of my sword. Such things, I had reason to know, couldmove with surprising speed.
The wick of the fire-maker was now aflame. Samos, carefully, held the tiny flameto the wick of the now- unshuttered dark lantern. It, too, burned tharlarion oil.
I was confident now, in the additional light, that the things were not asleep.
When the light had been struck, with the tiny noise, from the steel and flint,which would have been quite obvious to them, given the unusual degree of theirauditory acuity, there had been only the slightest of muscular contractions. Hadthey been startled out of sleep, the reaction, I was confident, would have beenfar more noticeable. I had little doubt they were, and had been, from the first,clearly and exactly aware of our presence.
'The fewer who know of the warrings of worlds, the better,' said Samos. 'Littleis to be served by alarming an unready populace. Even the guards outside do notunderstand, clearly, on what business we have come here. Besides, if one had notseen such things, who would believe stories as to their existence? They would beregarded as mythical or stories of wondrous animals, such as the horse, the dogand griffin.'
I smiled. Horses and dogs did not exist on Gor. Goreans, on the whole, knew themonly from legends, which, I had little doubt, owed their origins to forgottentimes, to memories brought long ago to Gor from another world. Such stories, forthey were very old on Gor, probably go back thousands of years, dating from thetimes of very early Voyages of Acquisition, undertaken by venturesome,inquisitive creatures of an alien species, one known to most Goreans only as thePriest-Kings. To be sure, few Priest-Kings, now, entertained such a curiositynor such an enthusiastic penchant for exploration and adventure. Now, thePriest-Kings had be- come old. I think that perhaps one is old only when one haslost the desire to know. Not until one has lost ones curiosity, and concern, canone be said to be truly old.
I had two friends, in particular, who were Priest-Kings, Misk, and Kusk. I didnot think that they, in this sense, could ever grow old. But they were only two,two of a handful of survivors of a once mighty race, that of the lofty andgolden Priest-Kings. To be sure, I had managed, long ago, to return the lastfemale egg of Priest-Kings to the Nest. Too, among the survivors, protected fromassassination by the preceding generation, there had been a young male. But Ihad never learned what had occurred in the Nest after the return of the egg. Idid not know if it had been viable, or if the male had been suitable. I did notknow if it had hatched or not. I did not know if, in the Nest, a new Mother nowreigned or not. If this were the case I did not know the fate of the oldergeneration, nor the nature of the new. Would the new generation be as aware ofthe dangers in which it stood, as had been the last? Would the new generationunderstand, as well as had the last, the kind of things that, gigantic, shaggyand dark, intertwined, lay a few feet before me now? 'I think you are right,Samos,' I said.
He lifted the lantern now, its shutters open.
We viewed the things before us.
'They will move slowly,' I said, 'that they may not startle us. I think that we,too, should do the same.'
'Agreed,' said Samos.
'There are tarns in the tarn cot,' I said. I had just seen one move, and theglint of moonlight off a long, scimitar like beak. I then saw it lift its wings,opening and shutting them twice. I had not detected them earlier in the shadows.
'Two,' said Samos. 'They are their mounts.'
'Shall we approach the table?' I asked.
'Yes,' said Samos.
'Slowly,' I said.
