The man who had boasted that he had drink Kal-da three times in the mines of Tharna wept as he gazed upward and caught sight of one of the three hurtling moons of Gor.
I sent several men climbing to the top of the chains, so high above. 'You must protect the chains,' I said. 'They must not be cut.' Determined dark shapes, agile with the fury of hope, began to climb the chain toward the moons above.
To my pride none of the men suggested that we follow them, none begged that we might steal our freedom before the general alarm could be given. No! We climbed to the second mine!
How terrible those moments for the guards and Whip Slaves, to suddenly see, unchained and irresistible, the avalanche of wrath and vengaence that broke in upon them! Dice and cards and game boards and drinking goblets scattered to the rocky floors of the guard chambers as Whip Slaves and guardsmen looked up to find at their throats the blades of desperate and condemned men, now drunk with the taste of freedom and determined to free their fellows.
Cell after cell was emptied of its wretched chained occupants, only to be refilled with shackled guardsmen and Whip Slaves, men who knew that the least sign of resistance would bring only a swift and bloody death. Mine after mine was freed, and as each mine was freed, its slaves, forsaking their own best chance of safety, poured into the mines above to liberate their fellows. This was done as if by plan and yet I knew that it was the spontaneous action of men who had come to respect themselves, the men of the mines of Tharna.
I was the last of the slaves to leave the mines. I climbed one of the great chains to the huge windlass set above the shaft and found myself among hundreds of cheering men, their chains struck off, their hands boasting weapons even if only a piece of jagged rock or a pair of shackles. The dark cheering shapes, many of them crooked and wasted with their labours, saluted me in the light of the three rushing moons of Gor. They shouted my name, and without fear, that of my city. I stood upon the brink of the great shaft and felt the wind of the cold night upon me.
I was happy.
And I was proud.
I saw the great valve which I knew would flood the mines of Tharna, and saw that it remained closed.
I was proud when I saw that my slaves had defended the valve, for about it lay the bodies of soldiers who had tried to reach it; but I was most proud when i realised that the slaves had not now opened the valve, when they knew that below, in the confines of those dismal shafts and cells, chained and helpless, were their oppressors and mortal enemies. I could imagine the terror of those poor creatures cringing in those traps beneath the ground waiting to hear the distant rush of water through the tunnels. Yet it would not come.
I wondered if they would understand that such an action was beneath the hand of a truly free man, and that the men who fought them — who had conquered on this windy and cold night, who had fought like larls in the darkness of the tunnels below, who had not sought their own safety bu the liberation of their fellows — were such men.
I leaped to the windlass and raised my arms, the darkness of the central shaft looming beneath me.
There was silence.
'Men of Tharna,' I cried, 'and of the Cities of Gor, you are free!' There was a great cheer.
'Word of our deeds even now hurries to the Palace of the Tatrix,' I cried. 'Let her tremble!' cried Kron of Tharna in a terrible voice.
'Think, Kron of Tharna,' I cried, 'soon tarnsmen will fly from the walls of Tharna and the infantry will move against us.'
There was a mutter of apprehensions from the masses of freed slaves. 'Speak, Tarl of Ko-ro-ba,' said Kron, using the name of my city as easily as he might have said the name of any other.
'We do not have the weapons or the training or the beasts we would need to stand against the soldiers of Tharna,' I said. 'We would be destroyed, trampled like urts underfoot.' I paused. 'Therefore we must scatter to the forests and the mountains, taking cover where we can. We must live off the land. We will soon be sought by all the soldiers and guardsmen Tharna can set upon our trail. We will be pursued and ridden down by the lancers who ride the high tharlarions! We will be hunted and slain from the air by the bolts of tarnsmen!'
'But we will die free!' cried Andreas of Tor, and his cry was echoed by hundreds of voices.
'And so must others!' I cried. 'You must hid by day and move by night. You must elude your pursuers. You must carry your freedom to others!' 'Are you asking us to become warriors?' cried a voice.
'Yes!' I cried, and such words had never before been spoken of Gor. 'In this cause,' I said, 'whether you are of the Caste of Peasants, or Poets, or Metal Workers, or Saddle- Makers, you must be warriors!'
'We shall,' said Kron of Tharna, his fist holding the great hammer with which he had struck off our shackles.
'Is this the will of the Priest-Kings?' asked a voice.
'If it is the will of the Priest-Kings,' I said, 'let it be done.' And then I raised my hands again and standing on the windlass over the shaft, blown by the wind, with the moons of Gor above me, I cried. 'And if it be not the will of the Priest-Kings — still let it be done!'
'Let it be done,' said the heavy voice of Kron.
'Let it be done,' said the men, first one and then another, until there was a sobre chorus of assent, quiet but powerful, and I knew that never before in this harsh world had men spoken thus. And it seemed strange to me that this rebellion, this willingness to pursue the right as they saw it, independently of the will of the Priest-Kings, had come not first from the proud Warriors of Gor, nor the Scribes, nor the Builders nor the Physicians, nor any of the high castes of the many cities of Gor, but had come from the most degraded and despised of men, wretched slaves from the mines of Tharna.
I stood there and watched the slaves depart, silently now, like shadows, forsaking the precincts of the mines to seek their outlaw fortunes, their destinies beyond the laws and traditions of their cities.
The Gorean phrase of farewell came silently to my lips. 'I wish you well.' Kron stoppped by the shaft.
I walked across the bar of the windlass and dropped to his side. The squat giant of the Caste of Metal Workers stood with his feet planted wide. He held that great hammer in his massive fists like a lance across his body. I saw that the once close-cropped hair was now a shaggy yellow. I saw that those eyes, usually like blue steel, seemed softer than I remembered them.
'I wish you well, Tarl of Ko-ro-ba,' he said.
'I wish you well, Kron of Tharna,' I said.
'We are of the same chain,' he said.
'Yes,' I said.
Then he turned away, abruptly I thought, and moved rapidly into the shadows.
Now only Andreas of Tor remained at my side.
He mopped back that mane of black hair like a larl' s and grinned at me. 'Well,' said he, 'I have tried the Mines of Tharna, and now I think I shall try the Great Farms.'
'Good luck,' I said.
I fervently hoped that he would find the auburn-haired girl in the camisk, gentle Linna of Tharna.
'And where are you off to?' asked Andreas lightly.
'I have business with the Priest-Kings,' I said.
'Ah!' said Andreas, and was silent.
We faced one another under the three moons. He seemed sad, one of the few times I had seen him so.
'I' m coming with you,' he said.
I smiled. Andreas knew as well as I that men did not return from the Sardar Mountains.
'No,' I said. 'I think you would find few songs in the mountains.' 'A poet,' said he, 'will look for songs anywhere.'
'I am sorry,' I said, 'but I cannot allow you to accompany me.' Andreas clapped his hands on my shoulders. 'Hear, dull- witted scion of the Caste of Warriors,' he said, 'my friends are more important to me than even my songs.'
I tried to be light. I feigned skepticism. 'Are you truly of the Caste of Poets?'
'Never more truly than now,' said Andreas, 'for how could my songs be more important than the things they celebrate?'
