Nomads of Gor (72 page)

 
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 assault 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.

I walked about the fire bowl to approach the girl.
  
"Don't look at me," she cried, bending down, holding her face from the light, then covering it with her hands. I reached over and turned the collar somewhat. It was

 
attached to a chain. I gathered the girl was in Sirik, the chain on the floor attached to the slave ring running to the twin ankle rings. She would not face me but stood covering her face, looking away. The engraving on the Turian collar consisted of the sign of the four bask horns and the sign of

 
the city of Ko-ro-ba, which I took it, Kamchak had used for

my sign. There was also an inscription in Gorean on the collar, a simple one. I am Tart Cabot's girl. I restraightened the collar and walked away, going to the other side of the wagon, leaning my hands against it, wanting to think.

I could hear the chain move as she turned to face me.

"What does it say?" she begged.

I said nothing.

"Whose wagon is this?" she pleaded.

I turned to face her and she put one hand before her face, the other holding the yellow sheet about her. I could see now that her wrists were encircled with slave bracelets, linked to the collar chain, which then continued to the ankle rings. A second chain, that which I had first seen, fastened the Sirik

itself to the slave ring. Over the hand that shielded the lower