Gor - Nomads For Gor Part 37

Fit might take attention away from your hair," he men- tioned.

"No, thank you," I said.

"All right," said Harold, "it is well known you are only a, Koroban, and not a Tuchuk." But then he added, soldierly.

"But you wear the Courage Scar for what you did not all men who wear the Courage Scar do so visibly."

I did not speak.

"Well," said Harold, "I am tired and I am going to my wagon, I have a little slave there I am anxious to put to work."

"I did not know of my wagon," I said.

. "I gathered not," said Harold, "seeing that you apparently spent the night after the battle comfortably resting on the floor - of Kamchak's wagon, I looked around for you that night but didn't find you." He added, "Your own wagon, you will be pleased to hear, was among the wagons, un- touched by the Paravaci as was mine."

I laughed. "It is strange," I said, "I did not even know of the wagon."

"You would have found out long ago," said Harold, "had you not rushed off to Turia again immediately after our return when the wagons were moving toward Ta-Tha.s.sa.

You did not even stop by Kamchak's wagon that day. Had you done so Aphris, or someone, might have told you."

"From the sleen cage?" I asked.

"She was not in the sleen cage the morning of our return from Turia with the tarns," said Harold.

"Oh," I said, "I am glad to hear it."

"Nor was the little barbarian," said Harold.

"What became of her?" I asked.

"Kamchak gave her to a warrior," he said.

"Oh," I said. I was not glad to hear it. "Why didn't you tell me of my wagon?" I asked.

"It did not seem important," he said.

I frowned.

"I suppose, however," he said, "Korobans are impressed with such things having wagons and such."

I smiled. "Harold the Tuchuk," I said, "I am tired."

"Are you not going to your wagon tonight?" he asked.

"I think not," I said.

'As you wish," said he, "but I have had it well stocked with Paga and Ka-la-na wines from Ar and such."

In Turia, even though we had much of the riches of the city at our disposal, there had not been much Paga or Ka-la-na wine. As I may have mentioned the Turians, on the whole, favor thick, sweet wines. I had taken, as a share of battle loot, a hundred and ten bottles of Paga and forty bottles of Ka-la-na wine from Tyros, Cos and Ar, but these I had distributed to my crossbowmen, with the exception of one bottle of Paga which Harold and I had split some two nights ago. I decided I might spend the night in my wagon.

Two nights ago it had been a night for Paga. Tonight, I felt, was a night for Ka-la-na. I was pleased to learn there would be some in the wagon.

I looked at Harold and grinned. "I am grateful," I said.

"Properly so," remarked Harold and leaped to his kaiila, untethering the beast and springing to its saddle. "Without me," he said, "you will never find your wagon and I for one will dawdle here no longer!"

"Wait!" I cried.

His kaiila sprang from the room, bounding across the carpet in the next hall, and then thudding down a corridor toward the main entrance.

Muttering I jerked loose the reins of my kaiila from the column to which I had tethered it, leaped to the saddle and raced after Harold, not wishing to be left behind somewhere in the streets of Turia or among the dark wagons beyond the gate, pounding on wagon after wagon to find which one might be mine. I bounded down the stairs of the palace of Phanius Turmus, and sped through the inner and outer court- yard and out into the street, leaving the startled guards trying to salute me as a commander.

A few yards beyond the gate I hauled my kaiila up short, rearing and pawing the air. Harold was sitting there calmly on the back of his kaiila, a reproachful look on his face.

"Such haste," he said, "is not seemly in the commander of a Thousand."

"Very well," I said, and we walked our kaiila at a stately pace toward Turia's main gate.

"I was afraid," I said, "that without you I would not be able to find my wagon."

"But it is the wagon of a commander," said Harold, as though puzzled, "so anyone could tell you where it is."

"I did not think of that," I said.

"I am not surprised," said Harold. "You are only a Koro- ban."

"But long ago," I said, "we turned you back."

"I was not there at the time," said Harold.

"That is true," I admitted.

We rode on a while.

"If it were not for your dignity," I remarked, "I would settle these matters by racing you to the main gate."

"Look out!" cried Harold. "Behind you!"

I spun the kaiila and whipped my sword from its sheath. I looked about wildly, at doorways, at roof tops, at windows.

"What?" I cried.

"There!" cried Harold. "To the right!"

I looked to the right but could see nothing but the side of a brick building.

"What is it?" I cried.

"It is," cried Harold decisively, "the side of a brick build- ing!"

I turned to look at him.

"I accept your wager," he cried, kicking his kaiila toward the main gate.

By the time I had turned my animal and was racing after him he was almost a quarter of a pasang down the street, bounding over beams and rubbish, and litter, some of it still smoking. At the main gate I overtook him and together we sped through it, slowing our mounts on the other side to a decorous pace suitable to our rank.

We rode a bit into the wagons and then he pointed. "There is your wagon," he said. "Mine is nearby."

It was a large wagon, drawn by eight black bask. There were two Tuchuk guards outside. Beside it, fixed in the earth, on a pole, there was a standard of four bask horns. The pole had been painted red, which is the color of commanders.

Inside the wagon, under the door, I could see light.

"I wish you well," said Harold.

"I wish you well," I said.

The two Tuchuk guards saluted us, striking their lances three times on their shields.

We acknowledged the salute, lifting our right hands, palm inward.

"You certainly have a fast kaiila," remarked Harold.

"The race," I said, "is all in the rider."

"As it was," said Harold, "I scarcely beat you."

"I thought I beat you," I said.

"Oh?" asked Harold.

"Yes," I said. "How do you know I didn't beat you?"

"Well," said Harold, "I don't know but that would cer tainly seem unlikely, would it not?"

"Yes," I sail, "I suppose so."

"Actually," said Harold, "I am uncertain who won."

"So am 1,"1 admitted. "Perhaps it was a tie," I suggested.

"Perhaps," he said, "incredible though that might seem."

He looked at me. "Would you care to guess seeds in a tospit?" he inquired. "Odd or even?"

"No," I said.

"Very well," said he, grinning, and lifted his right hand in Gorean salute. "Until morning."

I returned the salute. "Until morning," I said.

I watched Harold ride towards his wagon, whistling a Tuchuk tune. I supposed the little wench Hereena would be waiting for him, probably collared and chained to the slave ring.

Tomorrow I knew the a.s.sault would begin on the House of Saphrar and the tower of Ha-Keel. Tomorrow one or both of us, I supposed, might be dead.

I noted that the bask seemed well cared for, and that their coats were groomed, and the horns and hoofs polished.

Wearily I gave the kaiila to one of the guards and mounted the steps of the wagon.

I entered the wagon and stopped, startled.

Within, a girl, across the wagon, beyond the tiny fire bowl - in the center of its floor, standing on the thick rug, near a hanging tharlarion oil lamp, turned suddenly to face me,, clutching about herself as well as she could a richly wrought yellow cloth, a silken yellow sheet. The red band of the Koora bound back her hair. I could see a chain running across the rug from the slave ring to her right ankle.

"You!" she cried.

She held her hand before her face.

I did not speak, but stood dumbfounded, finding myself facing Elizabeth Cardwell.

"You're alive!" she said. And then she trembled. "You must flee!" she cried.

"Why?" I asked.

"He will discover you!" she wept. "Go!"

Still she would not remove her hand from before her face.

"Who is he?" I asked, startled.

"My master!" she cried. "Please got"

"Who is he?" I inquired.

"He who owns this wagon" she wept. "1 have not yet seen him!', Suddenly I felt like shaking, but did not move, nor betray emotion. Harold had said that Elizabeth Cardwell had been given by Kamchak to a warrior. He had not said which warrior. Now I knew "Has your master visited you often?" I asked.

"As yet, never," said she, "but he is in the city and may this very night come to the wagon!"

"I do not fear him," I said.

She turned away, the chain moving with her. She pulled the yellow sheet more closely about her. She dropped her hand from before her face and stood facing the back of the wagon.

"Whose name is on your collar?" I asked.

"They showed me," she said, "but I do not know I cannot read"

What she said, of course, was true. She could speak Gorean but she could not read it. For that matter many Tuchuks could not, and the engraving on the collars of their slaves was often no more than a sign which was known to be theirs.

Even those who could read, or pretended to be able to, would affix their sign on the collar as well as their name, so that others who could not read could know to whom the slave belonged. Kamchak's sign was the four bask horns and two quivas.