I wandered about the outskirts of Mintar's compound, which was separated, like many of the merchant compounds, from the main camp by a tough fence of woven branches. Over the compound, as if it were a small city under siege, was stretched a set of interlaced taro wires. The compound of Mintar enclosed several acres of ground and was the largest merchant compound in the camp. At last I reached the section of the tharlarion corrals. I waited until one of the caravan guards passed. He didn't recognize me.
Glancing about to see that no one was watching, I lightly climbed the fence of woven branches and dropped down inside among a group of the broad tharlarions. I had carefully determined that the corral into which I dropped did not contain,the saddle lizards, the high tharlarions, those ridden by Kazrak and his tharlarion lancers. Such lizards are extremely short-tempered, as well as carnivorous, and I had no intention of attracting attention to myself by beating my way through them with a spear butt.
Their more dormant relatives, the broad tharlarions, barely lifted their snouts from the feed troughs. Shielded by the placid, heavy bodies, some as large as a bus, I worked my way toward the interior side of the corral.
My luck held, and I scaled the interior corral wall and dropped to the trampled path between the corral and the tents of Mintar's men. Normally, the merchant camp, like the better-organized military camps, not the melange that constituted the camp of Pa-Kur, is laid out geometrically, and, night after night, one puts up one's tent in the same relative position. Whereas the military camp is usually laid out in a set of concentric squares, reflecting the fourfold principle of military organization customary on Gor, the merchant camp is laid out in concentric circles, the guards' tents occupying the outermost ring, the craftsmen's, strap-masters', attendants', and slaves' quarters occupying inner rings, and the center being reserved for the merchant, his goods, and his bodyguard.
It was with this in mind that I had climbed the fence where I had. I was searching for Kazrak's tent, which lay in the outer ring near the tharlarion corrals. My calculations had been correct, and in a moment I had slipped inside the domed framework of his tent. I dropped the ring that I wore, with the crest of Cabot, to his sleeping mat.
For what seemed an interminable hour, I waited in the dark interior of the tent. At last the weary figure of Kazrak, helmet in hand, bent down to enter the tent. I waited, not speaking, in the shadows. He came through the opening, dropped his helmet on the sleeping mat, and began to unsling his sword. Still I would not speak, not while he controlled a weapon; unfortunately, the first thing a Gorean warrior is likely to do to the stranger in his tent is kill him, the second is to find out who he is. I saw the spark of Kazrak's fire-maker, and I felt the flush of friendship as I saw his features briefly outlined in the glow. He lit the small hanging tent lamp, a wick set in a copper bowl of tharlarion oil, and in its flickering light turned to the sleeping mat. No sooner had he done so than he fell to his knees on the mat and grasped the ring.
'By the Priest-Kings!' he cried.
I leaped across the tent and clapped my hands across his mouth. For a moment we struggled fiercely. 'Kazrak!' I said. I took my hand from his mouth. He grasped me in his arms and crushed me to his chest, his eyes filled with tears. I shoved him away happily.
'I looked for you,' he said. 'For two days I rode down the banks of the Vosk. I would have cut you free.'
'That's heresy,' I laughed.
'Let it be heresy,' he said. 'I would have cut you free.'
'We are together again,' I said simply.
'I found the frame,' Kazrak said, 'half a pasang from the Vosk, broken. I thought you were dead.'
The brave man wept, and I felt like weeping, too, for joy, because he was my friend. With affection I took him by the shoulders and shook him. I went to his locker near the mat and got out his Ka-la-na flask, taking a long draught myself and then shoving it into his hands. He drained the flask in one drink and wiped his hand across his beard, stained with the red juice of the fermented drink.
'We are together again,' he said. 'We are together again, Tarl of Bristol, my sword brother.'
Kazrak and I sat in his tent, and I recounted my adventures to him, while he listened, shaking his head. 'You are one of destiny and luck,' he said, 'raised by the Priest-Kings to do great deeds.'
'Life is short,' I said. 'Let us speak of things we know.'
'In a hundred generations, among the thousand chains of fate,' said Kazrak, 'there is but one strand like yours.'
There was a sound at the entrance of Kazrak's tent. I darted back into the shadows.
It was one of the trusted strap-masters of Mintar, the man who guided the beasts that carried the merchant's palanquin.
Without looking around the tent, the man addressed himself directly to Kazrak.
'Will Kazrak and his guest, Tarl of Bristol, please accompany me to the tent of Mintar, of the Merchant Caste?' asked the man.
Kazrak and I were stunned, but arose to follow the man. It was now dark, and as I wore my helmet, there was no chance of the casual observer determining my identity. Before I left Kazrak's tent, I placed the ring of red metal, with the crest of Cabot, in my pouch. Hitherto I had worn the ring almost arrogantly, but now it seemed to me that discretion, to alter a saying, was the better part of pride.
Mintar's tent was enormous and domed, similar in shape to others in his camp; however, not only in size, but in splendor of appointment, it was a palace of silk. We passed through the guards at the entrance. In the center of the great tent, seated alone on cushions before a small fire, were two men, a game board between them. One was Mintar, of the Merchant Caste, his great bulk resting like a sack of meal on the cushions… The other man, a gigantic man, wore the robes of one of the Afflicted, but wore them as a king might. He sat cross- legged, his back straight and his head high, in the fashion of a warrior. Without needing to approach more closely, I knew the other man. It was Marlenus.
'Do not interrupt the game,' commanded Marlenus.
Kazrak and I stood to one side.
Mintar was lost in thought, his small eyes fastened to the red and yellow squares of the board. Having recognized our presence, Marlenus, too, turned his attention to the game. A brief, crafty light flickered momentarily in. Mintar's small eyes, and his pudgy hand hovered, hesitating an instant, over one of the pieces of the hundred squared board, a centered Tarnsman. He touched it, committing himself to moving it. A brief exchange followed, like a chain reaction, neither man considering his moves for a moment, First Tarnsman took First Tarnsman, Second Spearman responded by neutralizing First Tarnsman, City neutralized Spearman, Assassin took City, Assassin fell to Second Tarnsman, Tarnsman to Spear. Slave, Spear Slave to Spear Slave.
Mintar relaxed on the cushions. 'You have taken the City,' he said, 'but not the Home Stone.' His eyes gleamed with pleasure. 'I permitted that, in order that I might capture the Spear Slave. Let us now adjudicate the game. The Spear Slave gives me the point I need, a small point but decisive.'
Marlenus smiled, rather grimly. 'But position must figure in any adjudication,' he said. Then, with an imperious gesture, Marlenus swept his Ubar into the file. opened by the movement of Mintar's capturing Spear Slave. It covered the Home Stone.
Mintar bowed his head in mock ceremony, a wry smile on his fat face, and with one short finger delicately tipped his own Ubar, causing it to fall.
'It is a weakness in my game,' lamented Mintar. 'I am ever too greedy for a profit, however small.'
Marlenus looked at Kazrak and myself. 'Mintar,' he said, 'teaches me patience. He is normally a master of defense.'
Mintar smiled. 'And Marlenus invariably of the attack.'
'An absorbing game,' said Marlenus, almost absentmindedly. 'To some men this game is music and women. It can give them pleasure. It can help them forget. It is Ka-la-na wine, and the night on which such wine is drunk.
Neither Kazrak nor myself spoke.
'Look here,' said Marlenus, reconstructing the board. 'I have used the Assassin to take the City. Then, the Assassin is felled by a Tarnsman… an unorthodox, but interesting variation…»
'And the Tarnsman is felled by a Spear Slave,' I observed.
'True,' said Marlenus, shaking his head, 'but thusly did I win.'
'And Pa-Kur,' I said, 'is the Assassin.'
'Yes,' agreed Marlenus, 'and Ar is the City.'
