John Norman - Nomads of Gor

I saw the astonished eyes of the young man regarding Kamchak, and then he was carried away.

“In time,” said Kamchak, “that boy will command a Thousand.”

Then Kamchak lifted his head and regarded the other three men, seated Ha-Keel, calm with his sword, and the frantic Saphrar of Turia, and the tall Paravaci, with the quiva.

“Mine is the Paravaci!” cried Harold.

The man turned angrily to face him, but he did not advance, nor hurl his quiva.

Harold leaped forward. “Let us fight!” he cried.

At a gesture from Kamchak Harold stepped back, angry, a quiva in his hand.

The two sleen were snarling and pulling at their collar.

The tawny hair hanging from their jaws was flecked with the foam of their agitation. Their eyes blazed. The claws when they emerged and retracted and emerged again tore at the rug.

“Do not approach!” cried Saphrar, “or I shall destroy the golden sphere!” He tore away the purple cloth that had enfolded the golden sphere and then lifted it high over his head. My heart stopped for the instant. I put out my hand, to touch Kamchak’s leather sleeve.

“He must not,” I said, “he must not.”

“Why not?” asked Kamchak. “It is worthless.”

“Stand back!” screamed Saphrar.

“You do not understand!” I cried to Kamchak.

I saw Saphrar’s eyes gleam. “Listen to the Koroban!” he said. “He knows! He knows!”

“Does it truly make a difference,” asked Kamchak of me, “whether or not he shatters the sphere?”

“Yes,” I said, “there is nothing more valuable on all Gor it is perhaps worth the planet itself.”

“Listen to him!” screamed Saphrar. “If you approach I shall destroy this!”

“No harm must come to it,” I begged Kamchak.

“Why?” asked Kamchak.

I was silent, not knowing how to say what had to be said.

Kamchak regarded Saphrar. “What is it that you hold?” he asked.

“The golden sphere!” cried Saphrar.

“But what is the golden sphere?” queried Kamchak.

“I do not know,” said Saphrar, “but I know that there are men who will pay half the wealth of Gor for this”

“I,” said Kamchak, “would not give a copper tarn disk for it.”

“Listen to the Koroban!” cried Saphrar.

“It must not be destroyed,” I said.

“Why?” asked Kamchak.

“Because,” I said, “It is the last seed of Priest-Kings an egg a child the hope of Priest-Kings, to them all — everything, the world, the universe.”

The men murmured with surprise about me. Saphrar’s eyes seemed to pop. Ha-Keel looked up, suddenly, seeming to forget his sword and its oiling. The Paravaci regarded Saphrar.

“I think not,” said Kamchak. “I think rather it is worthless.”

“No, Kamchak,” I said, “please.”

“It was for the golden sphere, was it not,” asked Kamchak, “that you came to the Wagon Peoples?”

“Yes,” I said, “it was.” I recalled our conversation in the wagon of Kutaituchik.

The men about us shifted, some of them angrily.

“You would have stolen it?” asked Kamchak.

“Yes,” I said. “I would have.”

“As Saphrar did?” asked Kamchak.

“I would not have slain Kutaituchik,” I said.

“Why would you steal it?” asked Kamchak.

“To return it to the Sardar,” I said.

“Not to keep it for yourself, nor for riches?”

“No,” I said, “not for that.”

“I believe you,” said Kamchak. He looked at me. “We knew that in time someone would come from the Sardar. We did not know that you would be the one.”

“Nor did I,” I said.

Kamchak regarded the merchant. “Is it your intention to buy your life with the golden sphere?”

“If necessary,” said Saphrar, “yes”

“But I do not want it,” said Kamchak. “It is you I want.”

Saphrar blanched and held the sphere again over his head.

I was relieved to see that Kamchak signalled his bowmen not to fire. He then waved them, and the others, with the exception of Harold and myself, and the Sleen keeper and his animals, back several yards.

“That is better,” wheezed Saphrar.

“Sheath your weapons,” ordered the Paravaci.

We did so.

“Go back with your men” cried Saphrar, backing away from us a step. “I will shatter the golden sphere!”

Slowly Kamchak, and Harold and I, and the sleen keeper, dragging the two sleen, walked backwards. The animals raged against the chain leashes, maddened as they were drawn farther from Saphrar, their prey.

The Paravaci turned to Ha-Keel, who had now resheathed his sword and stood up. Ha-Keel stretched and blinked once.

“You have a tarn,” the Paravaci said. “Take me with you. I can give you half the riches of the Paravaci Bosk and gold and women and wagons!”

“I would suppose,” said Ha-Keel, “that all that you have is not worth so much as the golden sphere and that is Saphrar of Turia’s.”

“You cannot leave me here” cried the Paravaci.

“You are outbid for my services,” yawned Ha-Keel.

The Paravaci’s eyes were white in the black hood and his head turned wildly to regard the Tuchuks clustered in the far end of the room.

“Then it will be miner” he cried and raced to Saphrar, trying to seize the sphere.

“Miner Mine” screamed Saphrar, trying to retain the sphere.

Ha-Keel looked on, with interest.

I would have rushed forward, but Kamchak’s hand reached out and touched my arm, restraining me.

“No harm must come to the golden sphere!” I cried.

The Paravaci was much stronger than the fat, tiny merchant and he soon had his hands well on the sphere and west tearing it out of the smaller man’s clutching hands. Saphrar was screaming insanely and then, to my astonishment, he bit the Paravaci’s forearm, sinking the two golden upper canine teeth into the hooded man’s flesh. The Paravaci suddenly cried out in uncanny fear and shuddered and, to my horror, the golden sphere, which he had succeeded in wresting from Saphrar, was thrown a dozen feet across the room, and shattered on the floor.

A cry of horror escaped my lips and I rushed forward.

Tears burst from my eyes. I could not restrain a moan as I fell to my knees beside the shattered fragments of the egg. It was done, gone, ended My mission had failed! The Priest-Kings would diet This world, and perhaps my other, dear Earth, would now fall to the mysterious Others, whoever or whatever they might be. It was done, gone, ended, dead, dead, hopeless, gone, dead.

I was scarcely aware of the brief whimpering of the Paravaci as, twisting and turning on the rug, biting at it, holding his arm, his flesh turning orange from ost venom, he writhed and died.

Kamchak walked to him and tore away the mask. I saw the contorted, now-orange, twisted, agonized face. Already it was like coloured paper and peeling, as though lit and burned from the inside. There were drops of blood and sweat on it.

I heard Harold say, “It is Tolnus.”

“Of course,” said Kamchak. “It had to have been the Ubar of the Paravaci for who else could have sent their riders against the Tuchuk wagons, who else could have promised a mercenary tarnsman half the bosk and gold and women and wagons of the Paravaci?”

I was only dimly aware of their conversation. I recalled Tolnus, for he had been one of the four Ubars of the Wagon Peoples, whom I, unknowing, had met when first I came to the Plains of Turia, to the Land of the Wagon Peoples.

Kamchak bent to the figure and, opening his garments, tore from his neck the almost priceless collar of jewels which the man had worn.

He threw this to one of his men. “Give this to the Paravaci,” he said, “that they may buy back some of their bosk and women from the Kataii and the Kassars.”