'Kneel,' I whispered to him.
He knelt.
I then put him on his belly and, kneeling over him, my knife in my teeth, whipped out a length of binding fiber and lashed his hands together, behind his back.
'Do not cry out,' I told him.
As far as I could determine there were no others in the immediate vicinity. To be sure, from the marks upon his face, and the shrubbery with which he had altered his outline, that of the tor shrub, he was not a simple rencer going about his normal round of duties, plying a livelihood in the delta. He was perhaps a scout, or a hunter of men. To be sure, he was young, little more than a boy. Yet such, too, can be dangerous, terribly dangerous. An experienced warrior does not take them lightly.
'On your feet,' I said.
I then pushed him forward, toward our camp.
'A rencer,' I announced, in a moment, thrusting him into our midst.
Men crowded about.
'Keep watch,' I said.
Titus and another fellow went out, as pickets.
Ina came forward, too, to see.
'This is a male,' I said to Ina. Then she swiftly knelt before him, the palms of her hands in the sand, putting her head to the sand, in obeisance. He was young, but she, as she was a female, would put herself in obeisance before him, submitting her femaleness to his maleness.
He looked at her for a moment, startled. I would suppose that on his rence island he was not used to receiving such attention and deference from beautiful females. Rence women, on the whole, tend to be ill- tempered, frustrated and jealous of men. Many of them seem to feel that it is demeaning to them to be women. Many of them, it seems, would rather be imitation men than true women. Nowadays, with the increasing numbers of female slaves in the delta, a tendency muchly resented by the free females, though for whatever reason it is hard to imagine, given their claims of superiority to such creatures, many of the men, those lucky enough to own a slave, are less frustrated and deprived than once they were wont to be. Rence women, incidentally, once they themselves are enslaved, and learn that their absurdities and pretenses are now irrevocably behind them, make excellent slaves, as slavers have recognized for years. I have mentioned how they come often come to the delta to bargain for women, usually extra daughters. Interestingly the daughters are usually eager to leave the rence. So, too, are many other women, who propose themselves to their village chieftains, for such extradition. On some rence islands I have heard, incidentally, that the men have revolted, and enslaved their women. These are usually kept in cord collars, with small disks attached to them, indicating the names of their masters. Branding irons, usually with the common Kajira design, are now supposedly a trade item in the delta. These men are supposedly the most dangerous of rencers, being the truest of men. A similar abundance and release of masculine energy, it seems, has taken place in Tharna, dating from the overthrow of the gynocracy.
'A rencer,' snarled one of our men.
The lad straightened up a little, but moved back.
'Remember the tharlarion, the arrows,' said a fellow.
'Yes,' said another.
'Remember the trek through the rence,' said another.
'Yes,' said a fellow.
The lad seemed to me a brave one.
'See the marks on his face,' said another.
'Yes,' said another, 'and these,' tearing the bits of shrubbery from him.
'Murdering rencer,' said a man, drawing his knife.
'Kill him,' said a man.
'Hold,' said I.
'I will cut his throat now,' said a fellow.
'Hold.' I said. 'Where is Labienus?'
'Over there,' said a man. He indicated Labienus, several yards away. He was facing a tree, leaning meditatively against it, his arms outstretched, his hands braced against the trunk.
'Let us bring him to the captain,' I said.
This seemed to me the most likely way to save the boy's life. His youth would make little difference, I feared, to men who had been under the arrows from the rence, who had lived in terror, who had lost beloved comrades. They would understand, and correctly, that such a lad, large, strapping and strong, might even now be able to draw the great bow, and if not now, then in a year or two. Also a wild idea had come to me. I was curious to see if Labienus might have similar thoughts.
'Yes,' said a fellow, brandishing his knife, 'let us take him to the captain!'
The lad turned pale.
The lad was thrust and shoved toward Labienus who roused himself from his thoughts to turn and face us.
'It is a rencer we put before you,' said a man.
'A spy!' said another.
'Caught by Tarl!' said another.
'His appearance suggests that of a hunter and killer,' said another.
'It is a lad,' I said.
Labienus turned his head toward us. The eyes were a mass of disfigured scar tissue.
'What is your name, lad?' asked Labienus.
'Ho-Tenrik,' he said, proudly.
'Is that significant?' I asked. I thought it meet to inquire for his way of announcing this suggested that it might be of some importance. 'Ho, , incidentally, in Gorean, is a common prefix indicating a lineage. It is sometimes used, and sometimes not. In this context it would presumably indicate that the young man was the son, or descendant, natural or adopted, of a fellow named 'Tenrik'. I might have translated the name, I suppose, as «Tenrikson» but I have preferred to retain the original Gorean, supplemented by this note.
'I am the son of Tenrik,' he said, 'brother to Tamrun.' The men looked at one another. I saw that that name meant little to them.
'Nephew then,' said he, 'to Tamrun.'
'I understand,' I said.
Labienus, I noted, appeared to recall the name. I had once mentioned it to him, long ago.
'Do you come from the village of Tamrun?' I asked.
'No,' he said.
'But from one in its vicinity?'
'Yes,' he said.
'You are a long way from home,' I said.
'We hunt the men of Ar,' he said.
'Kill him,' said a man.
'Who is Tamrun?' asked a fellow.
'Tamrun is a high leader in the rence,' I said, 'something of a legend, a strategist and statesman of sorts, much like Ho-Hak, of the tidal marshes, one of the few fellows who can organize and summon a number of villages at one time.'
'Then he was involved in the attacks?' asked a man.
'I would suppose so,' I said.
'Yes!' said the lad, proudly. 'And so, too, was I, and the men of my village.'
I did not think these eager asseverations on the part of the lad, under the circumstances, were necessary.
'A sweet vengeance,' said a man, 'to have a nephew of this Tamrun in our power.'
'I do not fear torture!' said the lad.
He was indeed a brave lad. I myself have always entertained a healthy dislike of torture, even, one might
