Hunters of Gor (45 page)

I moved again. Another man fell. And another.

“I have him!” cried a man. “I have slain him!”

But it was not I whom he had struck.

I thrust again. Another man of Tyros, reeled away from me, stumbling, falling

against the chained slaves.

Then I struck another.

Two torches were raised.

In their light I could see the men of Tyros, blades drawn, back to back, eyes

wild.

Behind them, tied, on their knees, were Hura and her women. Some were screaming.

“Free us!” cried Hura. “Free us!”

“Free the women!” suddenly, cried Sarus. “Free them!”

He had need of them.

I saw two men of Tyros running, breaking suddenly for the gate.

They began to thrust back the beam.

“Stop!” cried Sarus.

The men paid Sarus, their leader, no heed. Four other men, too, broke, running

to the gate.

A yellow-clad man of Tyros suddenly thrust at me with a spear. I did not know if

her knew me for the enemy or not.

I twisted.

The head of the spear stabbed past me. His thrust had brought him within range

of my blade.

He fell from the spear, leaving it in my hand.

Now there stood a man with a torch at the gate. “Open it!” he cried.

Four men thrust on the beam, lifting it, shoving it, in its looped, leather

brackets.

“Hurry!” cried the man with the torch.

“Stop. Cowards!” screamed Sarus. “Stop!”

They paid him no heed. Rather, other men ran, too, to the gate.

I thrust my sword into the dirt at my feet, and held the spear.

The beam began to slide free of the leather brackets. The spear, a Gorean war

spear, its head tapered of bronze, some eighteen inches long, its shaft more

than an inch and a half in thickness, more than six feet in length, sped from my

grasp.

I seized again my sword, and moved again, to one side, mixing in the shadows.

The men fell back from the gate. One of them, through the back, was pinned to

the beam, fastening it in place. It could no longer slip through the leather

bracket.

“Sarus has slain his own men!” cried the fellow with the torch.

The men at the gate turned wildly. Several of them stood with blades drawn.

“Not I, fool!” screamed Sarus. “The enemy! The enemy!”

“Attack!” cried the man with the torch.

Four of the men at the gate, thinking to protect themselves, ran against other

men of Tyros.

I saw Hura darting free, cut loose by a man of Tyros.

I moved about the inside of the stockade wall. I encountered a man of Tyros,

back against the wall. He struck out wildly. I left him at the foot of the wall.

I must hold the gate.

Some six men of Tyros, near the center of the stockade, some fifteen yards from

the gate, were engaged with blades, striking at one another. I saw two fall.

“Do not fight!” screamed Sarus. “Locate the enemy! The enemy!”

The men fought. Now some eight or ten were engaged. They were half crazed in

fear.

“Do not fight!” screamed Sarus.

I saw two more fall.

I saw Mira, free, leap to one side. Other panther women, too, were being cut

free.

One of them, I saw, found her weapons.

A shape leaped from the darkness, tumbling her to the dirt, rolling with her. It

was Sheera.

At the gate two men, frenzied, worked at the spear that fastened their fellow to

the beam. Four others crowded about. The man who held the torch at the gate was

facing the fighting in the center of the stockade.

Four times my blade thrust, and four men of Tyros slipped back, stumbling from

the gate.

The two men working at the spear jerked it free of the wood and the body,

impaled, was rudely thrown aside.

They turned and saw me.

Twice more my blade struck.

The man, then, with the torch, turned to face the gate. The torch fell.

The gate was again in darkness.

“Get your weapons!” screamed Hura.

In the center of the stockade, two torches were lifted. I placed my sword in the

dirt before the gate and, turning the impaled body on its back, drew free the

great war spear, pulling the shaft through the body, holding the body beneath my

foot to free the shaft.

“Our bowstrings have been cut!” wailed a panther woman. Others, too, cried out.

I heard, from one side, the laughter of Verna, and saw her briefly, a sleen

knife in her hand.

Then she disappeared in the shadows.

“We must escape!” cried one of the panther girls. “Escape!” cried others.

“Stand where you are!” cried Hura, her voice shrill. ”We do not know where he

is!”

“Take knives!” cried another girl.

They scrambled among their discarded skins and accouterments.

“They are gone!” cried one of the girls.

“Our spears, too, are gone!” cried another.

I saw, in the light of two torches, men fighting, still in the center of the

stockade. I saw two more men of Tyros fall, one with Sarus, one with those who

had attempted to flee.

Then there was the light of only one torch, for the Gorean war spear had left my

hand.

Another man of Tyros fell, at the hands of one of his fellows, and then another.

“Stop fighting!” cried Sarus. “Stop fighting!”

Still blades clashed.

I breathed heavily, standing at the gate, in the darkness.

“Stop!” cried Sarus. “Stop, in the name of Chenbar!”

The men of Tyros, wild-eyed, half crazed with fear, fell back.

I knew then how in Tyros stood the word of Chenbar.

“Stand side by side,” ordered Sarus. “Form a circle!”

“We are weaponless!” cried Hura. “Let us within your circle!”

None knew where within the stockade I stood.

The girls looked about, crouching and cowering. They had no weapons. They were

naked. Their wrist doubtless still bore the deep, red, circular marks of Gorean

binding fiber. About the necks of most, knotted still, was a tight loop of

binding fiber, though it had been cut on both sides, to free them from the

coffle. They were terrified.

“Please!” wept Hura.

They were defenseless. And they knew I stood, somewhere, within the stockade,

unseen, with a steel blade.

Perhaps I stood at their very side.

Would the blade, suddenly, without warning, from the darkness leap forward to

claim them?

“Please let us within your circle!” cried Hura. “Please!”

“Please!” cried Mira. “Please!” cried others.

“Be silent!” snapped Sarus, looking about, peering into the darkness. He had

little concern with the women, particularly inasmuch as their weapons had been

destroyed, or had vanished.

He had freed them, it seemed, for nothing.

“You are men!” cried Hura. “We are only women!” She fell to her knees before

Sarus. “As women,” she cried, “we beg your protection!”

“Proud Hura!” sneered Sarus.

“Please, Sarus!” she wept.

“Into the circle,” he snapped.

Gratefully the women, weaponless and naked, defenseless, crept within the

circle.

“Bosk of Port Kar!” called Sarus. “Bosk of Port Kar!”

I did not, of course, answer him.

I wondered where in the stockade were Sheera and Verna.

“You have done well!” called Sarus. “But now we stand in formation. Soon we

shall rebuild the fire. We shall then be able to see you. You will not then

escape us.”

Only silence answered him.

“No longer do we fear you!” he called. “Yet that there be less bloodshed we are

prepared to be merciful. We are prepared to bargain.”

I did not respond.

“You man have all the women,” said Sarus, “all.”

Within their circle, naked and helpless, crouching, huddled together, the women

of Hura moaned.

“Sleen,” cried Hura.

“And, too,” called Sarus, “you may have all male slaves, including your men,

saving only Marlenus, Ubar of Ar.”

There was silence.

“On him there can be no compromise!” cried Sarus. “Can you hear me? Do you

accept these terms?”

I made no sound.

“He is gone!” cried one of the men. “He has escaped! He has left!”

“hold your formation,” said Sarus. “Keep formation!”

There was only silence.

Sarus called the name of two men. “Gather,” said he, “Wood.”

“No!” cried one of the men. “No!”

He had no wish to leave the circle.

“There is wood within the circle,” said Hura.

“Gather it,” said Sarus.

Within the circle, obediently, the women, in the light of the torch, gathered

wood, mostly the remains of the original fire, which I had destroyed earlier.

In the darkness, silently, I prowled the interior of the stockade. A man from

the circle darted from it, clutched a fallen torch, and retreated to the circle.

This torch was lit from the other.

“He is here!” suddenly cried a voice, that of Rim.

My heart leaped.

“Do not break formation!” cried Sarus.

But already two men, eager, blades ready, had sped toward Rim’s voice.

It was not difficult, accordingly, to follow them.

“He is not here!” cried one of the men.

He was mistaken.

Twice my blade struck.

I heard a woman scream to one side. Then she cried, “He is here!”

“Hold formation!” screamed Sarus.

They should have understood that the slave girls had been bound and gagged, and

that the women of Hura were within their own circle.

Two men again rushed toward the sound. Again they did not find me.

It was they who instead were found.

I moved my blade back from the body of the second. I saw Sheera slip away in the

darkness.

“Keep your formation!” cried Sarus.

“We must escape!” screamed one of the men. “He will kill us all!”

he ran toward the gate. I caught him at the gate and, with my fist, sword in it,

struck him across the face. He spun back, staggering, turning, and fell at the

feet of Sarus.

“He is at the gate,” said one of the men. He lifted the torch.

I stood at the gate, sword drawn.

“More torches,” said Sarus. “More fire.”

In a few moments, two more torches had been lit. and, within the circle, lit by

torches, burned a fire.

The men of Sarus broke their circle and faced me.

There were haggard. They breathed heavily. Some were bloodied.

There were now, standing, seven of them, together with Sarus. The man I had

struck lay unconscious before them. Elsewhere two men moaned, somewhere in the

darkness.

I felt my tunic thick with blood at my left side. There was blood from a cut on

my left arm. I could feel it running to my wrist.

At the line of the men of Tyros the torches were lifted.

“Greetings, Bosk of Port Kar,” said Sarus.

“Greetings,” said I, “Sarus of the island of Tyros.”

“We have searched for you,” he said.

“I am here,” I informed him.

Sarus turned to his men. “Find crossbows,” he said. I leaned back against the

gate. I shook my head.

The fire burned higher now.

Sarus and I looked at one another.

I had slain one man with a crossbow. I did not know what had happened to the

weapon. I had not encountered the other man, the other crossbowman. No quarrels

had sped. No man at the line of men of Tyros carried it.

It had been important. But I had failed to locate it, or its bowsman. I had

failed.

Sarus smiled.

“You know where he is now,” he said to two of his men. “Find the crossbows.”

“They are here,” said a voice at my side, that of a woman. it was Sheera. At my

other side stood Verna, she, too, with a crossbow. The women held the bows

leveled.

“You have lost,” said I to Sarus.

“I found the bow,” said Sheera, “among the bodies.”

“He who held this bow,” said Sheera, “lies now wounded in the darkness, struck

by one of his own fellows. The bow fell to one side and it was I who found it.”

Suddenly Sarus laughed. “I have not lost,” he said. “it is you who have lost!”

His men gave a ragged cheer. Even the women of Hura cried out.

I did not understand.

“Look behind you!” cried Sarus. “Look behind you, Bosk of Port Kar! It is over!

Over!”

“If one moves,” said I to Sheera and Verna, “fire upon him.”

The men of Sarus were grinning.

I turned. Through the crack in the gate, at the beach, beside the embers of

Sarus’ great beacon, I could see lanterns. Two longboats, filled with men, were

being drawn on the beach. Then, in two long lines, lanterns high, men began to

approach the stockade.

“It is the men of the Rhoda and Tesephone,” said Sarus. “You have lost, Bosk of

Port Kar!”

I turned to the beam which I barred the gate. I sheathed my sword. Slowly, foot

by foot, I thrust back the heavy beam. It fell from its loop and slowly, I swung

open the gate. The men, with lanterns, stood outside.

A large fellow, clad in the yellow of Tyros, entered. He grinned. A tooth was

missing on the upper right side of his mouth.

“Greetings, Captain,” said Thurnock.

21
   
My Business is Concluded in the Stockade

The men of Sarus, one by one, hurled their blades into the earth.

“Step away from your steel,” ordered Thurnock, gesturing that they should stand

to one side.

They did so, in the yellow tunics of Tyros, sullen, ringed by the blades and

spear points of my men.

Sarus had not surrendered his weapon. He stood facing us, breathing heavily.