'She is in the robes of a penitent or suppliant!' cried another in dismay. 'No, Talena!' cried a man.
'No, Talena,' cried another, 'do not.'
'We will not permit it!' cried a man.
'Not our Talena!' wept a woman.
'The crowd grows ugly,' observed Marcus.
'Ar is not worth such a price!' cried another.
'Better give the city to flames!' cried another.
'Let us fight! Let us fight!' cried men.
Several men broke out, into the street, where Taurentians, with spears held across their bodies, struggled to restrain them.
'Good,' said Marcus. 'There is going to be a riot.'
'If so,' I said, 'let us withdraw.'
'It will give me a chance to slip a knife into a few of these fellows,' said Marcus.
'Phoebe might be hurt,' I said.
'She is only a slave,' said Marcus, but I saw him shelter her in his arms, preparing to move back through the crowd.
'Wait,' I said.
Talena herself, on the height of the platform, had her hands out, palms up, shaking them negatively, even desperately.
I smiled.
This behavior on her part seemed scarcely in keeping with the dignity of the putative daughter of a Ubar, not to mention her mien as a penitent or suppliant. 'She urges us to calm!' said a man.
'She pleads with us to stand back,' said a man. 'Come back.'
'Noble Talena!' wept a fellow.
The crowd wavered. Several of the men in the street backed away, returning to the crowd.
Talena then, now that the crowd, divided and confused, seemed more tractable, put her head down and to one side, and, lifting her arms, the palms up, made a gesture as of resignation and nobility, pressing back the crowd.
'She does not wish succor,' said a fellow.
'She fears that we may suffer in her behalf,' moaned a man.
It had been a narrow thing, I thought. Had Talena herself not suddenly interposed her own will, clearly, vigorously, even desperately, signaling negatively to the crowd, the platform and avenue might have swarmed with irate citizens, intent upon her rescue. The handful of Taurentians about would have been swept back like leaves before a hurricane.
'Do not let this be done, Seremides!' cried a fellow.
'Protect Talena!' cried several men.
But now Seremides held forth his hands, calmly, palms down, and raised and lowered them, gently, several times.
The crowd murmured, uneasily, threateningly.
'Talena intends to sacrifice herself for us, for the city, for the Home Stone!' wept a man.
'She must not be permitted to do so,' said a fellow.
'We will not permit it!' said another, suddenly.
'Let us act!' cried a man.
Again the crowd wavered. There was a sudden pressing forth toward the platform, a tiny, incipient surgency. Taurentians braced themselves and pressed back against the crowd with the shafts of their spears.
Seremides' calming hands continued to beg for patience.
Then, again, the crowd was quiet, tense. I did not think that it would take much to precipitate violence. Yet, for the moment, at least, it was still, if seething. There is often a delicate balance in such things, and sometimes in such situations even a small action, even a seemingly insignificant stimulus, can trigger a sudden, massive response.
Seremides then, again, held out his hand to Talena. He then led her forward, as before, toward the front ramp. As they neared the figure of Gnieus Lelius, kneeling in his chains near the front ramp, Talena seemed to hesitate, to shrink back with distaste. One small hand, even, extended, palm out, toward the former regent, as though she would fend away the very sight of him, as though she could not bear the thought of his nearness. She even turned to Seremides, doubtlessly imploring him with all the piteous vulnerability of the penitent or suppliant, that she not be stationed close to that odious object, which had brought such lamentable catastrophe and misery upon her city.
Seremides seemed to hesitate for a moment and then, as though he had made a determined decision, however unwise it might be, graciously, and with great courtesy, conducted Talena to a place further from the kneeling Gnieus Lelius. The crowd murmured its approval.
'Good, Seremides!' cried a man.
As Talena was conducted to her place, a few feet from Gnieus Lelius, she drew up the white robes a little with her right hand, so that they were above her ankles. In this way those who might not have noticed this fact before could now note that she was barefoot. I supposed this tiny act of exposure, so apparently natural, if not inadvertent, as though merely to aid her footing, this act so delicately politic, must have cost the modesty of the putative daughter of Marlenus of Ar much.
A man near me put his head in his hands and wept. Marcus glanced at him, contemptuously.
In a moment then, startling me, and doubtless many others in the crowd, there was a blast of trumpets and a roll of drums to our right. Regulars of Cos, regiments of them, in ordered lines, in cleaned, pressed blue, with polished helmets and shields, preceded by numerous standard bearers, representing far more units than were doubtless in the city at the moment, and musicians, advanced. Tharlarion cavalrymen, of both bipedal and quadrupedal tharlarion, flanked the lines. The street shook under the tread of these beasts. Turned on the crowd they might, in their passage, have trampled hundreds.
The crowd, now that it had segments of the forces of Cos before it, seemed strangely docile. These were not a handful of Taurentians that might have been swept from their path like figures off a kaissa board. These were warriors in serried ranks, many of whom had doubtless seen battle. To move against such would have been like throwing themselves onto the knife walls of Tyros.
Similarly, should the troops wheel to the sides, charging, blades drawn, they might have slaughtered thousands, harvesting the crowds, trapped by their own numbers, like sa-tarna.
With a roll of drums and a blast of trumpets, and the distinct, uniform sound of hundreds of men coming simultaneously to a halt, the Cosian array arrested its march not yards from the forward ramp.
I thought I saw the figure of Talena, standing on the platform, with others, tremble. Perhaps now she realized, I thought, what it might mean to have Cosians in the city. Did she now, suddenly, I wondered, realize how vulnerable she really was, and Ar, and how such fellows could now do much what they pleased. She was in the white robes of a penitent or suppliant. The penitent or suppliant, incidentally, is supposed to be naked beneath such robes. I doubted, however, that Talena was naked beneath them. On the other hand, she would surely wish the good citizens of Ar to believe that she was.
It seemed terribly quiet for a moment. If I had spoken, even softly, I am sure I would have been heard for yards, so still were the pressed throngs.
'Myron,' I heard whispered. 'Myron, polemarkos of Cos!'
I saw nothing for a time but the crowd, the platform, the people on the platform, and Cosians, for several yards to the right, standard bearers, some even bearing the standards of mercenary companies, probably not in the march, such as that of Raymond Rive-de-Bois, musicians, and soldiers, both foot and cavalry.
'He is coming!' I heard.
The polemarkos, if it were indeed he, I thought, must be very confident, to so enter Ar. I did not think that Lurius of Jad, Ubar of Cos, would have done so. To be sure, Lurius seldom left the precincts of the palace of Telnus. More than one triumph in a Gorean city has been spoiled by the bolt of an assassin. 'I see him!' I said to Marcus.
'Yes,' he said. Phoebe stood on her tiptoes, clinging to Marcus' arm, her slim, lovely body very straight. She
