'That must be it,' she said.
'Perhaps,' I said.
'Would you care to hear my latest poem now,' asked Hurtha, 'that which lightly chides those lazy fellows who choose upon occasion to sleep late?'
'Of course,' I said, grimly.
'It is a jolly poem,' Hurtha informed me.
'I am certain of it,' I said.
' 'Awake, abominable sluggards! ' quoth Hurtha. 'That is a strong first line, isn't it?'
'Catchy,' I admitted.
' 'Arise, loathsome miscreants! ' said Hurtha.
'Already you have revised the first line?' I asked.
'Certainly not,' said Hurtha. 'One does not tamper with that which is already perfect. That is the second line.'
'You are certain that this is a humorous poem?' I asked.
'Definitely,' said Hurtha, chuckling.
'I did not know you wrote humorous poems,' I said.
'I am versatile,' Hurtha reminded me. 'I suppose you thought I spent all my time composing tragic odes?'
'I had not given it that much thought,' I admitted.
'I have a lighter side,' said Hurtha, 'though doubtless only those who know me well have detected it. Too, it is not, in my opinion, salutary for poetic growth to be too fixedly despondent.
'I suppose not,' I said.
'You may believe me in the matter,' said Hurtha.
'Very well,' I said.
'A little despair goes a long way,' he said.
'I am sure of it,' I said.
'I shall begin again,' said Hurtha. ' 'Get up, you odious, foul, stinking, dawdling sleen! ' said Hurtha.
'I thought you said you were going to begin again,' I said.
'I am beginning with the third line,' he said. He then turned to the fellow near him, an innocent fellow, 'is dedicated to my friend, Tarl, there. Indeed, it was he who inspired me to compose it.'
'I see,' said the fellow, looking at me narrowly. He then moved a bit further away.
' 'Up, up, I say, inert tarsks, vile, loathsome, somnolent slimy urts! ' cried Hurtha.
Several folks were looking at me in a strange way. I quickened my pace, staring ahead.
' 'It is noon! ' called out Hurtha. Then he stopped, and began to laugh. Tears rolled down his cheeks.
'What is wrong?' I asked.
Some folks passed us.
'I told you it was funny,' laughed Hurtha, bent over.
'Yes?' I said.
'Surely the humor is not too subtle for you?' he asked suddenly, startled. 'I am not an Alar,' I admitted.
Boabissia laughed merrily, but I thought, a bit uneasily, uncertainly.
'You see,' explained Hurtha, patiently, 'I did not say it was morning. I said it was noon.'
'Yes?' I said.
'So you would expect me to say morning, but you see, it is already past morning. I said it was noon.
'Oh, yes,' I said, thinking that perhaps I had a glimmer of his point, 'excellent, excellent.' Many Goreans arise quite early. Perhaps it is well to keep that in mind. It may help somewhat, though perhaps not significantly. Boabissia made a noise, one I think intended to desperately simulate a laugh. She was, I am sure, merely attempting to improve her claim as to being an Alar. Feiqa, happily, laboring under no such onus, looked aghast.
'We are here,' I said, happily, 'at the gate!'
Certain of the folks passed through the great gate of Torcadino were searched rather thoroughly. Some of the women, probably because the guards were interested in seeing them, were stripped stark naked, standing on the stones before the portal and, to their dismay, examined with Gorean efficiency. Certain coins and rings were found. After such a search a woman is sometimes good for nothing more than being a slave. But they were thrust through the gate, their clothes then clutched in their hands. Boabissia, interestingly, though quite comely, was spared this indignity. Some objects were confiscated from various folks, men and women, but little, really, was taken. I began to suspect that the treatment this group was receiving was, on the whole, little more than pro forma.
I also suspected, after a few Ehn, that Boabissia's immunity from Gorean Strip Search, in spite of the promise of pleasure to the guards of such a search, might be due to her party, that she was with us. The letters of the officer were now within my sheath. This tightened the draw, but the hiding place, considering the few options at my disposal, seemed a sensible one. Papers can be easily detected within a tunic or cloak linings. To be sure, if one has time, the messages can be written on cloth within the linings, and then should elude search, unless the garment is torn open. There are many possible hiding places for messages or valuables, of course. A few that might be mentioned are false heels or divided soles in sandals, tiny secret compartments in rings, brooches, ornate hair pins, hollow combs, fibulae, studs and clasps. The pommels of some swords are made, too, in such a way as to unscrew, revealing such a compartment. Similarly walking sticks and staffs often have one or more such compartments in them, reached by unscrewing various sections of the stick or staff. Needless to say, some of these, too, contain, daggers or thrusting swords. Such concealed compartments and weapons, and sometimes even builder's glasses, sun chronometers, and compasses, and such, are found in such objects. It is cultural for white-clad pilgrims from certain cities to carry such staffs, often entwined with flowers, in pilgrimages to the Sardar. Such folks are not as harmless as they might seem, as various brigands have learned to their sorrow. 'You are together, all of you?' asked a guard.
'Yes,' I said.
'Pass,' he said.
In moments we were past the great gate, and blinking against the sun, outside the walls of Torcadino. I looked back. The walls, from this close to them, the fall sun bright on them, seemed very high and formidable. No common scaling ladders could ascend them. Too, numerous, low, horizontal wall slots, some three or four inches in height, through which metal-shod poles, stout metal crescents at their tips, could be thrust, and maneuvered, marked their bleakness. Such poles, with little danger to the defenders, at sufficient heights, where sufficient leverages can be exerted, address themselves to the enemy's ladders. Their effects are often devastating. The slots through which the poles are thrust may serve also, of course, as arrow ports. Individuals behind us were still coming through the gate. I then turned my eyes forward. I could see, some two hundred yards or so away, pennons of Cos, marking presumably the first row of siege trenches.
My hand I inadvertently against the sheath of my sword. It was there that I had concealed the documents I carried.
'You were not searched,' said a small fellow, near me. He had a mustache, like string, and narrow eyes. He had a pack on his back.
'Many were not searched,' I said.
He then continued on his way, toward the pennons in the distance. 'What are we to do?' asked Boabissia, uneasily.
'Keep moving,' said a soldier, outside the gate, pointing toward the pennons. Boabissia and I, then, followed by Hurtha and Feiqa, she bearing my pack, set out, with others, toward the pennons. 'I think there will be little difficulty in clearing the lines of Cos,' I said. 'Refugees, I suspect, will be sped on their way. I am not sure what would be the best way to approach Ar. We might reach the Argentum Road and take it east to the Viktel Aria. We would then trek south to Ar.'
'That is a longer route, is it not?' asked Boabissia.
'Yes,' I said.
'Why take it?' she asked.
'It is not the route we might be expected to take,' I said.
