slipped away unnoticed, but when I checked he had not done so. He did not wish to lose his place in line, it seemed. I decided that I, as a simple soldier, and unpretentious fellow devoted to the profession of arms, had best reserve judgement on such things as poets and poetry. It was dangerous, weighty stuff. I felt a sudden twinge of jealousy for Hurtha. He was both a warrior and a poet.
Hurtha then regaled us with his poem, which, truly, seemed to capture something of the inscrutability and ponderousness of the institution which had inspired it. I listened in awe, keeping my attention from time to time, and actually rather often, as my attention wandered, on the so-called Philebus. Boabissia, as I occasionally noted, with an admixture of skepticism and envy, seemed enraptured. Feiqa's countenance was cheerfully inscrutable. She would not meet my eyes. The so-called Philebus seemed as though he might desire to withdraw from our vicinity now and then, even giving up his place inline, particularly when Hurtha would come to an often-repeated, stirring refrain, but my hand on his collar kept him in his place. I will not attempt to give Hurtha's poem in its entirety, but I think I may have suggested something of its drift already. I might also mention that it is possible that it might lose something in the reading of it. Poetry, after all, or most poetry, is presumably meant to be heard, not read. It is intended for the ear, not the eye. And certainly the mere reading of it could scarcely convey the impact of hearing it proclaimed in the living voice, and particularly in a voice such as Hurtha's.
The line had been moving along rapidly enough, incongruous though this might have seemed, given the thesis of Hurtha's poem. We were now rather near the checkpoint.
'You are a Taurentian, are you not?' I asked a fellow in a purple helmet. He did not answer me.
'You are a bit far from Ar, for Taurentians, are you not?' I inquired. We must be at least a day from Ar. It did not seem to make much sense to me that Taurentians, supposedly the palace guard, though they also patrol certain portions of the city, should be this far abroad, particularly in these troubled times.
He turned away from me, not answering me.
'A surly fellow,' remarked Hurtha, somewhat offended. We were now a few yards from the checkpoint. Only a few feet away, set off from the road a little, on our right, was the impaling pole we had seen from the cart. It was some six inches in diameter. On it was a small body. It had apparently been twisted and jerked until the point of the pole had emerged through the chest. It had then been drawn down the pole better than a yard. I could see some ribs erupted through the tunic. Its limbs were askew, hanging downward. The pole itself was red with blood. Nailed to it were some papers, fluttering in the wind.
'Wait,' I said.
'What is it?' asked Boabissia.
'We know that fellow do we not?' I said, looking up to the impaled body. Boabissia averted her eyes, sick. Feiqa did not raise her head.
'He seems familiar,' admitted Hurtha.
'He should,' I said. 'He came with us from Torcadino. He was our fellow passenger for several days.'
I looked up at the dangling head. The mouth was open. The roof of the mouth would be exposed. I could see the upper teeth. From the upper lip, on either side, the two ends of the mustache dangled back, as the head hung, on the sides of the neck, like two pieces of oiled string.
'So they have finally caught up with him,' said the fellow before us.
'Yes,' agreed a man a place or two behind us.
'Do you know him?' I asked the fellow before us.
'Of course,' said the man. 'He is well known to everyone in Torcadino.' 'Hold my place,' I said to Hurtha.
'I do not think any will strive to take it,' said Hurtha, adjusting his ax on his shoulder, cheerfully looking about himself.
I walked to the side where the pole had been set up. I examined the papers nailed to the pole. They were partly ripped by the wind, and were stained with blood, where the blood had run down the pole.
'What are you doing there?' said a Taurentian. 'What was his crime?' I asked.
'Carrying false papers,' he said.
'I see,' I said.
'Return to your place,' said the Taurentian.
I returned to my place.
'Do you know that fellow?' I asked the fellow before me, he whom I had treated so harshly.
'Of course,' he said.
'It was he who identified you as Ephialtes of Torcadino, to me,' I said. 'I am Philebus of Torcadino,' said the man.
'Do you know who he is?' I asked.
'Of course,' he said. 'That is your man. That is Ephialtes of Torcadino.' 'I am sorry for the way in which I treated you,' I said.
'My bruises rejoice,' said the fellow.
'I am really sorry,' I said. 'I hope I did not hurt your feelings.' 'My feelings are fine,' he said. 'It is only my body which was damaged. It is only that which, as a whole, is in acute misery.'
'I am really very sorry,' I said.
'It could have been far worse,' he said. 'Think how sorry you would have had to have been, had you broken my neck before you discovered your error.'
'That is right,' said Hurtha. 'There is much to be thankful for.'
'What were the papers?' asked Boabissia.
'I shall tell you later,' I said.
'Next,' said a Taurentian. 'You, there, what is your business in Ar?' 'I am a vintner,' said the fellow before me. 'I was put out of Torcadino. I have relatives in Ar. It is my intention to seek caste asylum in Ar.'
'Have you papers?' asked the Taurentian.
'I have documents certifying my caste standing,' he said. He then produced some papers from his pack.
The Taurentian then wrote a notation on the papers and motioned him ahead. 'I am called Tarl,' I said, stepping forward. 'I am from Port Kar, a city neutral to Ar. My friend is Hurtha, an Alar. The free woman is Boabissia, a woman from the Alar camp. The shapely collar slut bearing my pack is mine. I call her Feiqa. We are venturing to Ar on various errands, such as the seeking of our fortunes.' The use of 'we' in the sentence, of course, was understood, as is common in Gorean, to refer only to free persons. The collar slut, Feiqa, my lovely slave, was along only as any other animal in such a situation might be along, because her master had brought her.
'Have you papers?' asked the man.
'No,' I said.
'You have no papers whatsoever?' asked the man.
'No,' I said. 'We have none whatsoever.'
He looked at me for a moment, and then he waved us through. Boabissia was shuddering. In a few Ehn we had climbed up through the cart gate and, beyond the checkpoint, were again moving toward Ar.
As we left the checkpoint it was not toward Ar that I looked but back toward the checkpoint. There I could still see people waiting in line, and other carts coming up to the point. I could also see the twisted, bent body of Ephialtes of Torcadino on the impaling pole, and the flutter of papers nailed to it. I had been a fool. It had been Ephialtes of Torcadino himself who had cleverly directed my attention away from himself, focusing it on an innocent vintner. In a way I had to admire him. It seemed clear to me now that, in asking if I was carrying valuables, he had tricked me into inadvertently betraying their hiding place, by the incipient movement of my hand toward the sheath. Too, he had certainly removed the letters of safety from my sheath with great skill, even replacing he blade. Had I not checked the draw this morning, as is my wont, I might not have known the papers were missing until I arrived at the checkpoint. I had determined, incidentally, that the deeper papers, the letters, some addressed to Ar's regent, Gnieus Lelius, and the others to her high general, Seremides, were still in the sheath. I now had strong, mixed feelings about them. I was now convinced more than ever of their importance, but also of the danger of carrying them.
The Taurentians were far from Ar. I suspected that it was their mission, on behalf of some high-placed power in Ar, to sift through refugees and travelers, seeking out those who might be inimical to their interests, or party, in Ar. I now understood more clearly than before why earlier messengers or agents might have failed to
