Renegades of Gor (2 page)

is all right now. They have righted it.”

The first tharlarion now had its heavy, clawed feet on the stones of the road. I

heard its claws on the stone. Some other men, too, came to the second

tharlarion, hauling on its harness, and others, too, seized the wagon sides and

the forward wheels, lending their efforts to getting the wagon on the road. This

was done in part in the camaraderie of the road, but, too, men were anxious to

be on their way. It was not now safe in the north, in this area, particularly

for refugees from the vicinity of Ar’s Station.

“I see only one fellow down there,” said a man from the road. I went to retrieve

my pack from where I had cast it on the embankment. It was soaked through, I was

sweating, in spite of the cold and the rain. Too, I had been very afraid, for a

moment. I had feared the wagon would tip. I saw it now above me, mostly on the

road, though, tilting, the left wheels were still over the edge of the stones.

The darkness and the traffic on the other side made it hazardous to pull fully

across the road. Harnesses might be fouled. Men can be trampled by tharlarion,

wagons can be torn apart.

(pg.14) I ascended to the surface of the road. I put my pack at the back of the

wagon.

“It is one of the scarlet caste,” said a fellow to another.

“Hold the lantern here,” I said to the fellow of the driver, who had now, having

arrested the progress of the following tharlarion, released his hold on the

beast’s harness.

“That is Andron, the brigand!” suddenly said a man, pointing to the leader of

the brigands.

There were angry shouts.

“Put their necks under the wheels!” said a man.

“Impale them,” cried another.

“Tie their feet together and drag them behind the wagons,” said another.

“Kneel,” I suggested to the brigands. There was a large number of people here

and I was not sure I could protect them. I had not counted on them being well

known. “Put your heads down,” I encouraged them. “Look as harmless as possible.”

“Chain them and hang them in iron collars at the inn!” said a fellow. Sometimes

a man lasts two or three days in this fashion.

“Chain them on the boards,” cried another. That is a similar form of punishment.

In it the victim is fastened, by collars and shackles, on structures of

parallel, upright boards, vertical platforms, in effect, mounted on posts. These

structures are most common in harbor cities, near the wharves. The fellow who

had made the suggestion was probably from the river port of Ar’s Station. In the

country, impalement is often used, the pole usually being set up near a

crossroads.

“Let them be trampled by tharlarion,” sad a fellow.

“No, let them be torn apart by them,” said another. In this fashion ropes are

tied separately to the victim’s wrists and ankles, these ropes then attached to

the harnesses of two different tharlarion, which are, of course, then driven in

opposite directions.

“Yes, that is better,” agreed the first.

If one shares a Home Stone with the victim, of course, the punishment is often

more humane. A common punishment where this mitigating feature obtains is to

strip the victim, tie him to a post, beat him with rods and then behead him.

This, (pg. 15) like the hanging in chains, the exposure on boards, and such, is

a very ancient modality of execution.

I saw a knife leave a sheath in the driving rain. “There is no time,” said a

man. “I will cut their throats now.”

There were murmurs of assent.

The brigands looked up, bound, from their knees.

“There is no time to waste,” said a man. “If the storm ceases, and the cloud

cover scatters, the tarnsmen of Artemidorus may strike at the columns.”

Artemidorus was a Cosian, the captain of a band of flighted mercenaries.

“In a few Ahn it will be morning,” said a man.

The fellow with the knife stepped forward, but I blocked his path.

“These prisoners are mine,” I said.

“They are known in this area,” said the man with the knife.

“Step aside,” said another. “Let justice be done.”

“Move the wagons!” called a fellow in the back.

“There are many of us here,” said the fellow with the knife, not unpleasantly.

“The wagon is still off the road,” I said, indication the left wheels. “Let us

move the column forward.”

“To cut three throats will take but three Ihn,” said the fellow.

“Help me return the wagon to the road,” I said.

“You are clever,” said the fellow in the rain. “You would enlist our support,

and thus have us be your fellows, and thus deny us our will.”

“You will not help?” I said.

“Get ten men to help!” said he. “I will not be deterred.”

“Move the wagons!” called a man from behind him. I heard tharlarion snorting and

bellowing, even in the rain. There were some five lanterns where we were. I

could see others lit, farther back in the arrested line.

“I myself am prepared to cut throats if we do not move in two Ehn,” said a

fellow. “I have a companion in my wagon, and two children. I would get them to

safety.”

“You will not help?” I asked the fellow with the knife.

“No,” said he.

“Stand back,” I said. I then bent over, and backed under the rear of the wagon.

(pg.16)”Do not,” said the fellow of the driver, who held one of the lanterns.

“He is mad,” said another.

“Look!” cried another.

I straightened up slowly, lifting the laden wagon. I looked at the man with the

knife. The wheel of the wagon, that to my right, spun slowly, free, the rain

glistening in the lantern light on its iron rim. The men were quiet in the rain.

I moved to my left, inch by inch. I then slowly, observing the man with the

knife, lowered the wagon to the road. It settled on the blocks of fitted stone.

I emerged from beneath the end of the wagon. Painfully I straightened up. I

looked down at the fellow with the knife.

He stepped back. He resheathed his knife. “They are your prisoners,” he said.

“Get to the wagon box,” I said to the fellow of the driver. “Lose no time. Get

out of here. When you can I would hood the prisoners, coarse sacking, cloth,

anything, and tie it down securely about their necks. Do not let them be

recognized for a hundred pasangs. If they are slain on you they will fetch

little from the master of a work gang.”

“Our wagon was that of Septimus Entrates,” he said.

“Very well,” I said. That meant nothing to me.

“I wish you well!” he said, hurrying around the wagon.

“I wish you well,” I said after him, and drew my pack from the back of the

wagon. In a moment I heard the snap of the whip, and the cries of the beast.

Other men, too, hurried back to their wagons. The heavy wagon trundled away. I

stood on the road, watching it leave, my pack in hand. Some men hurried after

it, to strike and kick at the prisoners, who were only too willing to hurry

after the wagon. They had been brigands, accumulating loot. Now, in a way, they

themselves were loot, and would bring something good, at long last, to honest

men, their captors. I continued to look after them, for a time. Yes, they were

now themselves loot, as much more commonly were women.

“Perhaps you will now permit us to proceed,” said a man.

“In a moment,” I said. I wanted the wagon to get a bit down the road. With the

slow going, and the storm, and its start, it was not likely another wagon would

catch up quickly with it.

(pg.17) “Had some of you lost goods to those fellows?” I asked.

“I have,” said a man.

“Most of a wagonload of loot,” I said, speaking in the rain, “was emptied down

there, by the ditch. Perhaps you fellows would like to see if you can reclaim

anything.”

“The loot of Andron!” cried a man.

“Perhaps the tracks of the wagon, too, might lead to some cache, or hideaway,” I

said.

Men lifted lanterns.

“There is something down there,” said a man. Almost immediately he began to

descend the embankment. Two other men followed him. “Take the wagon ahead,” said

another man. “I will catch up with you later.” He then followed the others. I

moved to one side as the wagons, then, began to pass. “The loot or Ardon,” I

heard someone say. “Where?” asked another. “Where those men are,” said another.

Two more men left the road. The wagons continued to move by. The fellow who had

had the knife looked at me. “Is there really anything down there?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Well,” said he, “perhaps I shall get something for the evening,

after all.” He slipped down the embankment, to join the others. I went then

again to the left side of the road and, when a wagon trundled by, unknown to the

driver, I put my pack in it, and, again, as I had before, held to its right side

with my left hand, to keep from falling in the road.

I thought the storm might have abated a bit but the rain was still heavy. Too,

from time to time, lightning shattered across the sky, suddenly bathing the road

and countryside in flashes of wild, white light, this coupled almost

momentarily, sometimes a little sooner, sometimes a little later, with a

grinding and explosion of thunder.

“It seems the Priest-Kings are grinding flour,” laughed a man near me.

“It would seem so,” I said.

This was a reference to an old form of grinding, for some reason still

attributed to Priest-Kings, in which a pestle, striking down, is used with a

mortar. Most Sa-Tarna is now ground in mills, between stones, the top stone

usually turned by water power, but sometimes by a tharlarion, or slaves. In some

villages, however, something approximating the old mortar and pestle is

sometimes used, the two blocks, a pounding (pg.18) block strung to a springy,

bent pole, and the mortar block, or anvil block. The pole has one or more ropes

attached to it, near its end. When these are drawn downward the pounding block

descends into the mortar block, and the springiness of the pole, of course,

straightening, then raises it for another blow. More commonly, however, querns

are used, usually, if they are large, operated by two men, if smaller, by two

boys. Hand querns, which may be turned by a woman, are also not unknown.

The principle of the common quern is as follows: it consists primarily of a

mount, two stones, an overhead beam and a pole. The two stones are circular

grinding stones. The bottom stone has a small hub on its upper surface which

fits into an inverted concave depression in the upper stone. This helps to keep

the stones together. It also has shallow, radiating surface grooves through

which the grindings may escape between the stones, to be caught in the sturdy

boxlike mount supporting the stones, often then funneled to a waiting

receptacle, or sack. The upper stone has two holes in it, in the center a

funnel-shaped hole through which grain is poured, and, near the edge, another

hole into which one end of the turning pole is placed. This pole is normally

managed by two operators. Its upper portion is fitted into an aperture in the

overhead beam, which supplies leverage and, of course, by affording a steadying

rest, makes the pole easier to handle. The principle of the hand quern is

similar, but it is usually turned with a small wooden handle. The meal or flour

emerging from these devices is usually sifted, as it must often be reground,

sometimes several times. The sifter usually is made of hide stretched over a

wooden hoop. The holes are punched in the hide with a hot wire.

Most Goreans, incidentally, do not attribute lightning and thunder to the

grinding of flour of Priest-Kings. They regard such things as charming myths,

which they have now outgrown. Some of the lower castes, however, particularly

that of the peasants, and particularly those in outlying villages, do entertain

the possibility that such phenomena may be the signs of disunion among

Priest-Kings and their conflicts, the striking of weapons, the rumbling of their

chariots, the trampling of their tharlarion, and such. Even more sophisticated

Goreans, however, if not of the Scribes or Builders, (pg.19) have been noted to

speculate that lightning is the result of clouds clashing together in the sky,

showering sparks, and such. Few people, I suppose, see the unity of such

phenomena as lightning and the crackling in the stroked fur of a hunting sleen.

In the wagon ahead, briefly illuminated, I saw, swinging from its strap, slung

over a hook on the rear axle housing, a narrow, cylindrical, capped “grease

bucket,” the handle of the brush protruding though a hole in the cap. Such

accessories are common on Gorean wagons. The “grease” in such a container is

generally not mineral grease but a mixture of tar and tallow. Applied with a

brush it is used, as would be mineral grease, were it more commonly available,

to lubricate the moving parts of the wagon, in particular the axles, and where

the rare wagon has them, metal springs, usually of the leaf variety. Some Gorean

“coaches,” and fee carts, not many, are slung on layers of leather. This gives a

reasonably smooth ride but the swaying, until one accommodates oneself to it,

can induce nausea, in effect, seasickness. This seems to be particularly the

case with free women, who are notoriously delicate and given to imaginary