Eclavdra was clever to hide her shame and fury. Bowing, she quickly obeyed King Graz'zt's command and departed. Her triumph would come, and then Vuron would be cursing.
Chapter 6
'Salaam, stranger. May I have permission to enter your camp?'
Gord had been aware of the nomad's approach for some time. He was but one of three riders who had walked their horses to a bowshot's distance, dropped the reins, and split into three. There was a warrior on either flank even now, just beyond the range of the firelight. The third was just inside the circle of illumination from the small blaze the young adventurer had kindled to cook the grouse he had brought down with his sling at twilight. Gord called back casually, 'Of course you may come closer, and so can the two who lurk to either hand.'
The nomad laughed at that, for the Ourmi, as he surely was from his accent, had not even bothered to look up from the fowl he was eating. 'You must have the eyes and ears of a cat, stranger! Come, my brothers,' he called to those beyond the light. 'We have the hospitality of this one's fire!'
'I do not like those who creep up on lone wayfarers,' Gord said as the fellow approached.
'One must be cautious on the plains,' the man replied with no hint of apology in his voice.
'That is true, Okmani,' the young thief said as he eyed the swarthy-featured man in the firelight. His striped robe of green and gray, the leatherwork of girdle and boots, and the big sword across his back identified the man as from the Okman tribes, which held the area north of the Yolspur Tors.
The nomad seemed surprised that Gord knew his people. 'Does the fame of the Okmanl stretch all the way to the Ourmi kingdoms, then?'
'Robbers and muggers are recognized throughout the whole of Oerth,' Gord noted dryly. 'And tell your… brothers… to stop skulking out there and come openly into my camp, or I'll have no choice but to kill you all here and now.'
'You are either a great warrior, gray-eyes, or a stupid braggart,' the Okmani said. He looked Gord over, noting the sword and dagger he wore, and the lance that lay nearby. The small man's movements were smooth and precise. He used economy in all he did, and his bearing was that of one who had no fear at all. 'Come now, as I told you,' he said to his comrades. 'Our host is a paragon of warriors, and we will be safe camping here tonight.'
Gord stared at the nomad. The fellow seemed to admire Gord's casual demeanor and self-assurance in the face of three potential foemen. 'I am called Gord,' he said to the Okmani.
'Hail, Gord-the-Ourmi. I am Eflam. These are my fellow warriors, Hukkasin and Ushtwer,' he added as two similarly garbed and armed men came hesitantly into the circle of soft firelight.
'Be not shy, boys,' Gord said without smiling. 'Sit, all of you. There is but half the bird I roasted left, but you may have it if you hunger. With it, you will eat of this bread and flavor it with my salt.'
The other two hesitated to accept the offering, but Eflam grinned and took a piece of the flat loaf Gord had produced. The Okmani smiled, sprinkled a pinch of salt atop it and swallowed the piece in a gulp. 'You too!' he managed to say through a mouth crammed with bread. As Hukkasin and Ushtwer did the same, gobbling the stuff hungrily, the Okmani warrior swallowed, then grinned again and said admiringly to Gord, 'So you know that my people honor the customs of those who dwell in the dry lands. You are indeed a most unusual man, even if you are an outlander. I like not calling you Gord, though. It has too foreign a sound for one so well versed in the ways of true folk. I will call you Pharzool, our name for the gray-striped cats who hunt the hills of Okmanistan.'
Gord shrugged indifferently. The two other nomads clapped their hands and cried agreement, however. 'He sees and hears like a pharzool!' said Ushtwer. That one is as fierce as such hunters — Eflam, you name him well!'
Then the four men settled down to conversation and a bit of bragging. When Gord mentioned the Al-babur, all the Okmani scowled. These were hereditary enemies of their tribe. Then Eflam, the brightest of the three and their natural leader, laughed. 'We Okmani are very perceptive, too,' he said. 'You are adopted by the Al-babur — the Tribes of the Tiger, do you see?' Gord shook his head.
'We have named you as a cat!' Eflam exclaimed. 'The tiger-folk have no merit in their adoption. I now make you a brother warrior of the Okmani, Pharzool!' All three then jumped up and pounded the young adventurer on the back. Gord, although he did not wish to belittle the privilege just bestowed upon him, could not help wondering why these tribes were so free with their pronouncements of brotherhood — first the Al-babur, and now these Okmani. He was just about to say something to this effect, when he found out what 'brotherhood' meant in the Okmani sense of the word.
'You have nothing much to give us as presents for this honor,' Ushtwer said as he eyed Gord's fine stallion. The horse laid back its ears at the approach of the nomad, and then it snorted and bared its teeth. Ushtwer took a cautious step backward.
'Don't worry, brother,' Hukkasin said to Ushtwer. 'Tomorrow we will find a caravan to plunder or wild horses to capture. Then will our new brother, Pharzool the Generous, bestow his gifts of appreciation upon us.'
'I have a much better idea,' Gord said loudly to be sure that he had the full attention of all three Okmani warriors. 'In gratitude for your generosity in making me a fellow warrior of your worthy tribe, I will give you all a lesson in the weapon play of my people.' With that the young man was on his feet, and his hands displayed long dagger and short sword. Not having seen him draw either blade, the nomads made signs against magic.
'There is no need for any gifts, brother,' Eflam assured the small, gray-eyed man who stood poised before him. 'We have sufficient honor in sharing your food and camp and in counting you amongst the ranks of the Men of Okman!' Both Hukkasin and Ushtwer seemed to agree very much with that statement. They stopped sweating when Gord put his weapons away and sat down again. Then they began sharing stories, and kept that up until they set-tied down to spend the night around Gord's fire.
Morning brought with it a heavy, patchy fog. Gord could make out large features of the landscape, but details were not visible from more than a few hundred yards away. He realized that his special sight did not give him any advantage in this sort of condition, and this worried him, but only briefly. After the group had readied for the day's travel, Eflam suddenly pointed into the distance and began to shout a high, yipping call. The other two Okmani warriors took up this cry, and Gord demanded to know what was the matter. 'Nothing is the matter, Pharzool,' said Eflam in a vaguely condescending tone. 'That line of riders there, see? That is the rest of our group. Soon the other warriors of our tribe will greet you, and we can all ride to ravage the lands of the Yollite dogs!'
The nomads mounted and kicked their mounts into a gallop, not bothering to see if their new brother was following, intent on going to meet their fellow Okmani raiders. Hukkasin, the smallest of the three and the one riding the swiftest horse, took the lead, opening a gap of a few dozen yards between himself and the other two. Gord followed their lead but kept Windeater to a canter, allowing the nomad warriors to stay ahead. A minute later he still could not figure out how many men were approaching through the fog, because they seemed to be riding in close quarters. Then Hukkasin's yip-ping cries turned to another sort of sound, a braying shout, and he reined in his steed.
'Hurry, Pharzool!' Eflam called over his shoulder. 'Those are the curs of Yoll before us!' As he spoke, he and his comrade slowed their movement to a trot. Hukkasin had wheeled his horse and was almost back with the rest.
'What made you so sure that these would be your men?' Gord said as he came up near the nomads.
'See the two low ridges on the horizon?' Eflam said, pointing with his head as he fumbled free a small bow from its case on his steed's flank. 'The space between them marks a place of rendezvous for the Okmani warriors. The disease-ridden Yollites must have accidentally come through there.'
'What now?' the young adventurer asked. The question was voiced in an offhand tone, but as he spoke it Gord pulled his sling from his belt and reached into his pouch for a stone.
Eflam looked resigned as he nocked a broad-headed arrow. 'We stand and shoot until they are upon us. Then we fight,' and so saying he released the shaft at the charging Yollites.
Gord saw that the other two Okmani had done likewise, so he spun his sling and sent a stone flying forth. A pair of the foemen fell from arrows, and a second later Gord's stone hit a horse. The steed stumbled and sent its rider tumbling, to be trampled beneath the hooves of the other animals.
'Good shot, Pharzool!' Eflam cried. 'Give those dogs another such kiss!'
