Gor - Raiders Of Gor Part 18

"Telima," said I, thinking of Ho-Hak, "why was Ho-Hak so moved, when together we spoke of the boy Eechius?"

She said nothing.

"He would know him, of course," said I, "from the island."

"He was his father," said Telima.

"Oh," I said.

I looked down at the golden armlet I held in my hand. I put it on the floor and then, with the pair of slave bracelets I had removed from Midice, following her dance, I secured Telima to the kitchen's slave ring, fastened in its floor. I braceleted the left wrist first, pa.s.sed the chain throught the ring, and then braceleted the right wrist. I then picked up the golden armlet, and again regarded it.

"It is strange," I said, "that a rence girl should have a golden armlet."

Telima said nothing.

"Rest," said I, "Kettle Slave, for tomorrow you will doubtless have much to do."

At the door of the kitchen I turned again to face her. For a long time, not speaking, we looked at one another. Then she asked, "--Is Master pleased?"

I did not respond.

In the other room I tossed the golden armlet to Midice, who caught it and slipped it on her arm with a squeal of delight, holding up her arm, showing the armlet.

"Do not chain me," she wheedled.

But, with the ankle rings, taken from her following the dance, I secured her. I put one ring about the slave ring near which she had served me, and the other ring about her left ankle.

"Sleep, Midice," I said, covering her with the love furs.

"Master?" she asked.

"Rest," I said, "Sleep."

"I have pleased you?" she asked.

"Yes," I told her, "you have pleased me." Then I touched her head, moving back some of the dark hair. "Now sleep," said I, "now sleep, lovely Midice."

She snuggled down in the love furs.

I left the room, going down the stairs.

I found myself alone in the darkness. It was about an Ahn, I conjectured, before daylight. I trod the narrow walkway lining the ca.n.a.l. Then, suddenly, falling to my hands and knees, I threw up into the dark waters. I heard one of the giant ca.n.a.l urts twist in the water somewhere beneath me. I threw up again, and then stood up, shaking my head. I had had too much paga, I told myself.

I could smell the sea, but I had not yet seen her.

The buildings lining the ca.n.a.ls on each side were dark, but, here and there, in the side of one, near a window, was a torch. I looked at the brick, the stone, watched teh patterns and shadows playing on the walls of the buildings of Port Kar.

Somewhere I heard the squealing and thrashing of two of the giant urts fighting in the water, among the floating garbarge.

My steps took me again to the paga tavern where I had begun this night.

I was alone, and miserable. I was cold. There was nothing of worth in Port Kar, nor in all the worlds of all the suns.

I pushed open the doors of the paga tavern.

The musicians, and the dancer, had gone, long ago I suppose.

There were not so many men in the paga tavern now, and those there were seemed mostly lost in stupor. Here and there lay among the tables, their tunics soiled with paga. Others lay, wrapped in ship's cloaks, against the wall. Some two or three still sat groggily at the tables, staring at goblets half-filled with paga. The girls, saving those who served still in the curtained alcoves, must have been somewhere chained for the night, probably in a slave room off the kitchen. The proprietor, when I entered, lifted his head from the counter, behind which hung a great bottle of paga in its pouring sling.

I threw down a copper tarn disk and he tilted the great bottle.

I took my goblet of paga to a table and sat down, cross-legged, behind it.

I did not want to drink. I wanted only to be alone. I did not even want to think. i wanted only to be alone.

I heard weeping from one of the alcoves.

It irritated me. I did not wish to be disturbed. I put my head in my hands and leaned forward, elbows on the table.

I hated Port Kar, and all that was of it. And I hated myself, for I, too, was of Port Kar. That I had learned this night. I would never forget this night. All that was in Port Kar was rotten and worthless. There was no good in her.

The curtain from one of the alcoves was flung apart. There stood there, framed in its conical threshold, Surbus, he who was captain of Port Kar. I looked upon him with loathing, despising him. How ugly he was, with his fierce beard, the narrow eyes, the ear gone from the right side of his face. I had heard of him, and well. I knew him to be pirate; and I kenw him to be slaver, and murderer, and thief; I knew him to be a cruel and worthless man, abominable, truly of Port Kar and, as I looked upon him, the filth and rottenness, I felt nothing but disgust.

In his arms he held, stripped, the bound body of a slave girl. It was she who had served me the night before, before Surbus, and his cutthroats and pirates, had entered the tavern. I had not much noticed her. She was thin, and not very pretty. She had blond hair, and, as I recalled, blue eyes. She was not much of a slave. I had not paid her much attention. I remembered that she had begged me to protect her and that I, of course, had refused.

Surbus threw the girl over his shoulder and went to the counter.

"I am not pleased with her," he said to the proprietor.

"I am sorry, n.o.ble Surbus," said the man, "I shall have her beaten."

"I am not pleased with her!" cried Surbus.

"You wish her destroyed?" asked the man.

"Yes," said Surbus, "destroyed."

"Her price," said the proprietor, "is five silver tarsks."

From his pouch Surbus placed five silver tarsks, one after the other, on the counter.

"I will give you six," I said to the proprietor.

Surbus scowled at me.

"I have sold her for five," said the proprietor, "to this n.o.ble gentleman. Do not interfere, Stranger, this man is Surbus."

Surbus threw back his head and laughed. "Yes," he said, "I am Surbus."

"I am Bosk," I said, "from the Marshes."

Surbus looked at me, and then laughed. He turned away from the counter now, taking the girl from his shoulder and holding her, bound, in his arms. I saw that she was conscious, and her eyes red from weeping. But she seemed numb, beyond feeling.

"What are you going to do with her?" I asked.

"I am going to throw her to the urts," said Surbus.

"Please," she whispered, "please, Surbus."

"To the urts!" laughed Surbus, looking down at her.

She closed her eyes.

The giant urts, silken and blazing-eyed, living mostly on the garbage in the ca.n.a.ls, are not stranger to bodies, both living and dead, found cast into their waters.

"To the urts!" laughed Surbus.

I looked upon him, Surbus, slaver, pirate, thief, murderer. This man was totally evil. I felt nothing but hatred, and an ugly, irrepressible disgust of him.

"No," I said.

He looked at me, startled.

"No," I said, and moved the blade from the sheath.

"She is mind," he said.

"Surbus often," said the proprietor, "thus destroys a girl who has not pleased him."

I regarded them both.

"I own her," said Surbus.

"That is true," said the proprietor hastily. "You saw yourself her sale. She is truly his slave, his to do with as he wishes, duly purchased."

"She is mine," said Surbus. "What right have you to interfere?"

"The right of Port Kar," I said, "to do what pleases him."

Surbus threw the girl from him and, with a swift, clean motion, unsheathed his blade.

"You are a fool, Stranger," said the proprietor. "That is Surbus, one of the finest swords in Port Kar."

Our discourse was brief.

Then, with a cry of hatred and elation, my blade, parallel to the ground, that it not wedge itself between the ribs of its target, pa.s.sed through his body. I kicked him from the blade and withdrew the bloodied steel.

The proprietor was looking at me, wide-eyed.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Bosk," I told him, "Bosk from the Marshes."

Several of the men around the tables, roused by the flash of steel, had awakened.

They sat there, startled.

I moved the blade in a semicircle, facing them. None of them moved against me.

I tore off some of his tunic and cleaned the blade on it.

He lay there on his back, blood moving from his mouth, the chest of his tunic scarlet, fighting for breath.

I looked down on him. I had been of the warriors. I knew he would not live long.

I felt no compunction. He was totally evil.

I went to the slave girl and cut the binding fiber that fastened her ankles and wrists. The chains which she had worn while serving paga, and when she had asked for my protection, had been removed, doubtless while she had been in the alcove, sometime after I had left the tavern, that she might have better rendered Surbus, Captain of Port Kar, the dues of the slave girl. They had been serving bracelets, with two lengths of chain, each about a foot long, which linked them.

I looked about the room. The proprietor stood back, behind his counter. None of the men had arisen from the tables, though many were of the crew of Surbus himself.

I looked at him.

His eyes were on me, and his hand, weakly, lifted. His eyes were agonized. He coughed blood. He seemed to want to speak, but could not do so.

I looked away from him.

I resheathed the blade.

It was good that Surbus lay dying. He was evil.

I looked upon the slave girl. She was a poor sort. She was scrawny, and thin faced, with narrow shoulders. Her blue eyes were pale. The hair was thin, stringy. She was my poor slave.

To my surprise she went and knelt next to Surbus, and held his head. He was looking at me. Again he tried to speak.

"Please," said the girl to me, looking up at me, holding he head of the dying man.

I looked upon them both, puzzled. He was evil. She, perhaps, was mad. Did she not understand that he would have hurled her bound to the urts in the ca.n.a.ls?

His hand lifted again, even more weakly, extended to me. There was agony in his eyes. His lips moved, but there was no sound.

The girl looked up at me and said, "Please, I am too weak."

"What does he want?" I asked, impatient. He was pirate, slaver, thief, murderer.

He was evil, totally evil, and I felt for him only disgust.

"He wants to see the sea," she said.