I did not much care for the prospect of emerging again into the cold, rainy night, of tramping once more through the streets, miserable, chilled to the bone, looking for a place to eat and sleep. I took a coin from the leather sack and threw it to the proprietor. He snatched it expertly from the air like a skeptical cormorant. He examined the coin. It was a silver tarn disk. He bit against the metal, the muscles on his jaw bulging in the lamplight. A trace of avaricious pleasure appeared in his eyes. I knew he would not care to return it.
'What caste is it?' I demanded.
The proprietor smiled. 'Money has no caste,' he said.
'Bring me food and drink,' I said.
I went to an obscure, deserted table near the back of the room, where I could face the door. I leaned my shield and spear against the wall, set the helmet beside the table, unslung the sword belt, laying the weapon across the table before me, and prepared to wait.
I had hardly settled myself behind the table when the proprietor had placed a large, fat pot of steaming Kal-da before me. It almost burned my hands to lift the pot. I took a long, burning swig of the brew and though, on another occasion, I might have thought it foul, tonight it sang through my body like the bubbling fire it was, a sizzling, brutal irritant that tasted so bad and yet charmed me so much I had to laugh.
And laugh I did.
The men of Tharna who were crowded in that place looked upon me as though I might be mad. Disbelief, lack of comprehension, was written on their features. This man had laughed. I woundered if men laughed often in Tharna. It was a dreary place, but the Kal-da had already made it appear somewhat more promising.
'Talk, laugh!' I said to the men of Tharna, who had said not a word since my entrance. I glared at them. I took another long swig of Kal-da and shook my head to throw the swirling fire from eyes and brain. I seized my spear from the wall and pounded it on the table.
'If you cannot talk,' I said, 'if you cannot laugh, then sing!' They were convinced they were in the presence of one demented. It was, I suppose, the Kal-da, but I like to think, too, it was just impatience with the males of Tharna, the intemperate expression of my exasperation with this grey, dismal place, its glum, solemn, listless inhabitants. The men of Tharna resfused to budge from their silence.
'Do we not speak the Language?' I asked, referring to the beautiful mother tongue spoken in common by most of the Gorean cities. 'Is the Language not yours?' I demanded.
'It is,' mumbled one of the men.
'Then why do you not speak it?' I challenged.
The man was silent.
The proprietor arrived with hot bread, honey, salt and, to my delight, a huge, hot roasted chunk of tarsk. I crammed my mouth with food and washed it down with another thundering draught of Kal-da.
'Proprietor!' I cried, pounding on the table with my spear.
'Yes, Warrior,' cried he.
'Where are the Pleasure Slaves?' I demanded.
The proprietor seemed stunned.
'I would see a woman dance,' I said.
The men of Tharna seemed horrified. One whispered, 'There are no Pleasure Slaves in Tharna.'
'Alas!' I cried, 'not a bangle in all Tharna!'
Two or three of the men laughed. At last I had touched them.
'Those creatures that float in the street behind masks of silver,' I asked, 'are they truly women?'
'Truly,' said one of the men, restraining a laugh.
'I doubt it,' I cried. 'Shall I fetch one, to see if she will dance for us?'
The men laughed.
I had pretended to rise to my feet, and the proprietor, with horror, had shoved me back down, and rushed for more Kal-da. His strategy was to pour so much Kal-da down my throat that I would be unable to do anything but roll under the table and sleep. Some of the men crowded around the table now.
'Where are you from?' asked one eagerly.
'I have lived all my life in Tharna,' I told them.
There was a great roar of laughter.
Soon, pounding the time on the table with the butt of my spear, I was leading a raucous round of songs, mostly wild drinking songs, warrior songs, songs of the encampment and march, but too I taught them songs I had learned in the caravan of Mintar the Merchant, so long ago, when I had first loved Talena, songs of love, of loneliness, of the beauties of one' s cities, and of the fields of Gor.
The Kal-da flowed free that night and thrice the oil in the hanging tharlarion lamps needed to be renewed by the sweating, joyful proprietor of the Kal-da shop. Men from the streets, dumbfounded by the sounds which came from within, pressed through the squat door and soon had joined in. Some warriors entered, too, and instead of attempting to restore order had incredibly taken off their helmets, filled them with Kal-da and sat cross-legged with us, to sing and drink their fill.
The lights in the tharlarion lamps had finally flickered and gone out, and the chill light of dawn at last bleakly illuminated the room. Many of the men had left, more had perhaps fallen on the tables, or lay along the sides of the room. Even the proprietor slept, his head across his folded arms on the counter, behind which stood the great Kal-da brewing pots, at last empty and cold. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. There was a hand on my shoulder.
'Wake up,' demanded a voice.
'He' s the one,' said another voice, I seemed to remember.
I struggled to my feet, and confronted the small, lemon-faced conspirator. 'We' ve been looking for you,' said the other voice, which I now saw belonged to a burly guardsman of Tharna. Behind him in their blue helmets stood three others.
'He' s the thief,' said the lemon-faced man, pointing to me. His hand darted to the table where the bag of coins lay, half spilled out in the dried puddles of Kal-da.
'These are my coins,' said the conspirator. 'My name is stitched into the leather of the sack.' He shoved the sack under the nose of the guardsman. 'Ost,' read the guardsman. It was also the name of a species of tiny, brightly orange reptile, the most venemous on Gor.
'I am not a thief,' I said. 'He gave me the coins.'
'He is lying,' said Ost.
'I am not,' I said.
'You are under arrest,' said the guardsman.
'In whose name?' I demanded.
'In the name of Lara,' said the man, 'Tatrix of Tharna.'
Chapter Ten: THE PALACE OF THE TATRIX
Resistance would have been useless.
My weapons had been removed while I slept, foolish and trusting in the hospitality of Tharna. I faced the guards unarmed. Yet the officer must have read defiance in my eyes because he signaled his men, and three spears dropped to threaten my breast.
'I stole nothing,' I said.
'You may plead your case before the Tatrix,' said the guard.
'Shackle him,' insisted Ost.
'Are you a warrior?' asked the guardsman.
'I am,' I said.
'Have I your word that you will accompany me peaceably to the palace of the Tatrix?' asked the guardsman.
'Yes,' I said.
The guardsman spoke to his men. 'Shackles will not be necessary.' 'I am innocent,' I told the
