'Yes,' Gord replied.
The two there are spare steeds,' the warrior called back softly as he mounted. Take whichever pleases you and bring the other behind.'
The three left the little bazaar by the narrow road opposite the passage they had entered it from. To Gord's sensitive ears, the iron-shod hooves of their horses made enough noise sufficient to awaken all of Hlupallu as they rapidly walked the mounts along the building fronts that walled the lane. He peered nervously about, but nobody was watching, no windows above were opened.
Thinking that he much preferred his own silent mode of movement through sleeping cities, Gord hunched low atop his mount and followed the fleeing pair ahead. It was better, he decided, to stay with the warrior and the woman for now; they did seem to have a plan for getting out of the city, and Gord certainly had to do that. Everything he wasn't carrying would have to be left behind, but that was no matter. Only some clothing and small coins remained in the caravansary where Gord had been lodged.
'Get off your horse and lead both of them,' Zulmon called back softly. 'We come to the gate, and you must be my slave for the moment.'
Gord complied without comment. Trotting briskly to keep up, the young man followed the riders on foot for the next hundred yards or so up to the gate. There were four guards flanking the closed doors, well armed with recurved bows and long spears in addition to their swords. These men refused to open the portal and called their corporal out from inside the guardhouse. This man started to complain and threaten, but when Zulmon put some copper and bronze coins in a small purse and tossed the bag to him, the corporal quieted down and made only a cursory inspection of horses and riders, not even bothering to look at Gord. Then the gates opened, and they were free of the city. In seconds the night had swallowed them.
Chapter 3
By morning the group was miles away from the city, but they had been moving in a direction that made no sense to Gord. When he questioned the other man, Zulmon explained his deception. 'We ride southeast into the middle regions of Ket — but the garments we wore at the city gate last night were of Tusmiti sort. I think that pursuit will sweep the northwest and west, expecting us to head for Tusmit,' the big nomad said. Then he gave out a barking laugh and added, 'Who in their right mind would seek safety from the agents of the Marcher Lord by riding deeper into his very realm?'
'That is a novel approach to escape,' Gord commented dryly. 'It also places me in a most undesirable situation, for I desire to travel southwest.'
'Why that way, Gord of Greyhawk?' The Pearl asked in her sweet voice. 'Why not just come with us and dwell with Zulmon's tribe?'
Before the young thief could answer, Zulmon spoke to the point. 'We will turn due southward soon enough, Gord. The Toosmik River flows to our left hand, and as it bends southward so too will our path.' The tall hillman looked inquiringly at Gord, and the black-garbed thief nodded for the Kirkir to speak on. 'The land between the great forest you easterners call Briartangle and the river is a wild and lawless region. Bandits might try to molest us, but none of Ket's soldiery will be in our way. We will ford the Toosmik and be in the hills by tomorrow evening.'
True to Zulmon's prediction, the three riders came to the first slopes of the Pennor Hills before the sun set the next day. The locals avoided them, and a handful of motley-dressed outlaws posed the only threat they encountered. The Kirkir's huge bow, so large the nomad had to dismount to nock an arrow and draw it, easily discouraged the ragged men from coming close enough to ply their weapons against the three.
The Pearl was silent for several hours as they rode, her expression impassive. Finally, when the sun had all but disappeared below the horizon and Zulmon decided they would stop for the night, the girl dismounted with a huff. As if getting off the horse was a signal for her to begin talking again, she told her troubles to no one in particular. 'I hate horseback riding!' she shouted. 'I hate it!' This was the first time Gord had ever heard her voice sound so harsh, and the dancing girl looked bedraggled and cross, too. 'I will never be able to dance again if I must sit on a horse for so long, and I want a soft bed and a place to bathe!'
'I am sorry, my golden dove,' Zulmon told her softly, 'but we can rest only a few hours here. In but one more day of riding we will be in the lands of my people. Then all will be made right.'
The Pearl grumbled and still looked miserable and unhappy, but she sighed with resignation and tried to get comfortable on the hard ground. 'Ow! Rocks stab me all over,' she cried, 'and the smell of horse sweat makes me sick!'
Zulmon offered to take the first watch, so Gord found his own piece of flat ground, lay down on his side, and tried to get to sleep. Meanwhile, Zulmon helped his intended bride get more comfortable, assured her over and over that soon all would be fine, and urged her to rest while he stood guard over her. Things were not going to be all mare's milk and honey for this couple, Gord reflected. He knew a little of nomadic life, and these hills would not provide the every comfort The Pearl seemed to desire. Nonetheless, he thought to himself, eventually she would get used to it. A better man than Zulmon would be unlikely for her. The adjustment, however, would be difficult for both, he mused. Then Gord fell asleep. When Zulmon woke him later for his turn at the watch, The Pearl was sleeping fitfully — but at least she was sleeping, and she dozed that way until dawn.
The Al-babur tribe welcomed the three of them joyfully when they rode up to the camp late the next afternoon. Gord was surprised and mildly impressed to find that Zulmon was the first son of the tribe's hetman — a fact that Zulmon, to his credit, had not seen fit to reveal. The young man's return with four splendid horses and the gorgeous girl who was to be his wife was more than sufficient cause for the whole group to celebrate wildly. Gord was accepted as a member of their people by the hetman, named Mulha, after Zulmon described the fight in the Dar Peshdwar and the young adventurer's victory over so many swordsmen.
Like all the Kirkirs, this tribe was not truly nomadic. The Al-babur built stone villages and their women tended crops. Periodically the tribe would move from one village site to another, each place matching one of the four seasons. The men of the tribe hunted and fought. Occasionally there would be disagreements or even feuds between the tribes, but usually the Al-babur and the other Kirkir tribesmen made war upon the wandering Bayomens and the roving Yollites. Their celebration on this evening of Zulmon's return was a dual one, for it was also time to move from the village they occupied in high summer to the fortress in which the tribe dwelled during the coming autumn months.
Just as promised, the latter part of his journey with Zulmon had taken Gord back in the direction he wished to go. And with the move of the Al-babur tribe, if he remained with the group, he would be taken farther along his intended path, ending up in the hills between the southern grasslands claimed by the Yollites and the broad steppes where the Bay-omen tribesmen roamed in bands with their herds of grazing animals.
'Stay with us this season, Gord of Greyhawk,' The Pearl pleaded when the three of them found themselves alone inside Zulmon's tent during a lull in the revelry. 'I am bored here, and it will be nice to have someone who knows more of civilized life to converse with.'
A scowl crossed Zulmon's countenance momentarily when he heard that statement, but he did not allow it to remain and even managed a slight smile to go with his next words. 'As my bride wishes, Gord my brother, let it be. I too ask you to remain with us. A warrior such as you will be a great honor to the Al-babur, and you will soon become wealthy and respected. Already my father tells me there are two men who wish to have their daughters married to you!'
Gord had to laugh at that last remark. 'I am honored,' he said quickly, so as to show no offense to his host, 'but imagine a man such as I trying to settle down — and with two women, not just one! I would be crazed or fleeing within a month. I am much honored, Zulmon my brother, but my feet can never be still — and I have duty to consider also. On the morrow I must bid you farewell.'
'You are too young for such wandering,' The Pearl said petulantly.
Zulmon started to retort angrily on Gord's behalf, but Gord managed to interject his own reply. 'Not so, dear sister. I look but a youngster of twenty summers, but I am older. The years have been kind to me…'
'Hah! At sixteen, warriors of the Al-babur tribe ride alone to steal horses from our enemies,' the tall hillman told his wife-to-be. 'You shame Gord by suggesting he is not equal to his manhood!'
Offering vague excuses, Gord managed to slip away from the two and go outside. He was greeted heartily by
