Джон Норман - Outlaw of Gor

I smiled to myself, thinking of the teeth of the urt and the whip, both of which had found my flesh.

"Why did you not kneel, Stranger?" asked the Tatrix of Tharna. "I am a warrior," I responded.

"You are a slave!" hissed Dorna the Proud from behind that expressionless mask. Then she turned to the Tatrix. "Remove his tongue!" she said. "Do you give orders to she who is First in Tharna?" asked the Tatrix. "No, Beloved Tatrix," said Dorna the Proud.

"Slave," said the Tatrix.

I did not acknowledge the salutation.

"Warrior," she said.

Beneath the yoke I raised my eyes to her mask. In her hand, covered with a glove of gold, she held a small, dark leather sack, half filled with coins. I assumed they were the coins of Ost and wondered where the conspirator might be. "Confess that you stole these coins from Ost of Tharna," said the Tatrix.

"I stole nothing," I said. "Release me."

Thorn laughed unpleasantly from behind me.

"I advise you," said the Tatrix, "to confess."

I gathered that, for some reason, she was eager that I plead guilty to the crime, but as I was innocent, I refused.

"I did not steal the coins," I said.

"Then, Stranger," said the Tatrix, "I am sorry for you."

I could not understand her remark, and my back felt ready to snap under the weight of the yoke. My neck ached under its weight. The sweat poured down my body and my back still stung from the lash.

"Bring in Ost!" ordered the Tatrix.

I thought Dorna the Proud stirred uneasily in the curule chair. She smoothed the silver folds of her robes with a nervous hand, gloved in silver.

There was a whimpering and a scuffling from behind me, and, to my astonishment, one of the guardsmen of the palace, the tiny silver mask blazed across the left temple of his helmet, flung Ost, the conspirator, yoked and sniveling, to the foot of the throne. Ost" s yoke was much lighter than mine but, as he was a smaller man, the weight might have been as much for him.

"Kneel to the Tatrix," commanded Thorn, who still retained the whip. Ost, squealing with fear, tried to rise, but could not lift the yoke. Thorn" s whip hand was raised.

I expected the Tatrix to intervene on his behalf, as she had on mine, but, instead, she said nothing. She seemed to be watching me. I wondered what thoughts glittered behind that placid mask of gold.

"Do not strike him," I said.

Without taking her eyes from me, Lara spoke to Thorn. "Prepare to strike," she said.

The yellowish, purple-marked face split into a grin and Thorn" s fist tightened on the whip. He did not take his eyes from the Tatrix, wanting to strike at the first instant she permitted the blow.

"Rise," said the Tatrix to Ost, "or you will die on your belly like the serpent you are."

"I can" t," wept Ost. "I can" t."

The Tatrix coldly lifted her gloved hand. When it fell so too would the whip.

"No," I said.

Slowly, every muscle straining to keep my balance, the cords in my legs and back like tortured cables, I reached out my hand to Ost" s and, struggling in agony to keep my balance, added the weight of his yoke to mine as I drew him to his knees.

There was a gasp from the silver-masked women in the room. One or two of the warriors, heedless of the proprieties of Tharna, acknowledged my deed by smiting their shields with the bronze heads of their spears. Thorn, in irritation, hurled the whip back into the hands of the man with wrist straps.

"You are strong," said the Tatrix of Tharna.

"Strength is the attribute of beasts," said Dorna the Proud.

"True," said the Tatrix.

"Yet he is a fine beast, is he not?" asked one of the silver- masked women. "Let him be used in the Amusements of Tharna," urged another.

Lara held up her gloved hand for silence.

"How is it," I asked, "that you spare a warrior the whip and would use it on so miserable a wretch as Ost?"

"I had hoped you guiltless, Stranger," said she. "The guilt of Ost I know." "I am guiltless," I said.

"Yet," said she, "you admit you did not steal the coins."

My brain reeled. "That is true," I said, "I did not steal the coins." "Then you are guilty," said the voice of Lara, I thought sadly. "Of what?" I asked to know.

"Of conspiracy against the throne of Tharna," said the Tatrix. I was dumbfounded.

"Ost," said the Tatrix, her voice like ice, "you are guilty of treason against Tharna. It is known that you conspire against the throne." One of the guards, the fellow who had brought Ost in, spoke. "It is as your spied reported, Tatrix. In his quarters were found seditious documents, letters of instruction pertaining to the seizure of the throne, sacks of gold to be used in obtaining accomplices."

"Has he confessed these things as well?" asked Lara.

Ost blubbered helplessly for mercy, his thin neck wiggling in the yoke. The guardsman laughed. "One sight of the white urt and he admitted all." "Who, Serpent," asked the Tatrix, "supplied the gold? From whom came the letters of instruction?"

"I do not know, Beloved Tatrix," whined Ost. "The letters and the gold were delivered by a helmeted warrior."

"To the urt with him!" sneered Dorna the Proud.

Ost writhed, squealing for mercy. Thorn kicked him to silence him. "What more do you know of this plot against the throne?" asked Lara of the sniveling Ost.

"Nothing, Beloved Lara," he whimpered.

"Very well," said Lara, and turned the glittering mask to the guardsman who had hurled the yoked Ost to her feet, "take him to the Chamber of the Urts."

"No, no, no!" whimpered Ost. "I know more, more!"

The silver-masked women leaned forward in their chairs. Only the Tatrix herself and Dorna the Proud sat straight. Although the room was cool I noted that Thorn, Captain of Tharna, was sweating. His hands clenched and unclenched.

"What more do you know?" demanded the Tatrix.

Ost looked about himself as well as he could, his eyes bulging with terror. "Do you know the warrior who brought you the letters and gold?" she demanded.

"Him I do not know," said Ost.

"Let me," begged Thorn, "bloody the yoke." He drew his sword. "Let me end this wretch here!"

"No," said Lara. "What more then do you know, Serpent?" she asked the miserable conspirator.

"I know," said Ost, "that the leader of the conspiracy is a high person in Tharna — one who wears the silver mask, a woman."

"Unthinkable!" cried Lara, rising to her feet. "None who wear the silver mask could be disloyal to Tharna!"

"Yet it is so," sniveled Ost.

"Who is the traitress?" demanded Lara.

"I do not know her name," said Ost.

Thorn laughed.

"But," said Ost, hopefully, "I once spoke with her and I might recognise her voice if I were but allowed to live."

Thorn laughed again. "It is a trick to buy his life."

"What think you, Dorna the Proud?" asked Lara of she who was Second in Tharna.

But instead of answering, Dorna the Proud seemed strangely silent. She extended her silver-gloved hand, palm facing her body and chopped brutally down with it, as though it might have been a blade.

"Mercy, Great Dorna!" screamed Ost.

Dorna repeated the gesture, slowly, cruelly.

But the hands of Lara were extended, palms up, and she lifted them slightly; it was a gracious gesture that spoke of mercy.

"Thank you, Beloved Tatrix," whimpered Ost, his eyes bursting with tears, "Thank you!"

"Tell me, Serpent," said Lara, "did the warrior steal the coins from you?" "No, no," blubbered Ost.

"Did you give them to him?" she demanded.

"I did," he said. "I did."

"And did he accept them?" she asked.

"He did," said Ost.

"You pressed the coins upon me and ran," I said. "I had no choice." "He accepted the coins," muttered Ost, looking at me malevolently, determined apparently that I would share whatever fate lay in store for him.