John Norman - Marauders of Gor

But these thoughts were for others, not for Bosk of Port Kar, not for Tarl Red Hair.

Let others fight for Priest-Kings. Let others do war. Let others concern themselves with such struggles. If I had had any duty in these matters, long ago I had discharged it.

Suddenly, for the first time since I had left Port Kar, my left arm, my left leg, the left side of my body, felt suddenly cold, and numb. For an instant I could not move them. I nearly fell. Then it passed. My forehead was covered with sweat. The poison of the blade of Tyros lurked yet in my system. I had come north to avenge the slaying of the wench Telima. This resolution, the hatred, had driven me. Yet it seemed I had failed. In my pouch now lay the armlet, which Ho-Hak had given me in Port Kar, that found where Telima had been attacked. I had failed.

"Are you all right?" asked Ivar.

"Yes," I said.

"I have found your bow, and your arrows," said Gorm. "They were among weapons in the loot."

"I am grateful," I said. I strung the bow and drew it, and unstrung it. I slipped the quiver, with its arrows, flight and sheaf, over my left shoulder.

"In four days, when supplies can be gathered," said Svein Blue Tooth, "we shall have a great feast, for this has been a great victory."

"Yes," I said, "let us have a great feast, for this has been a great victory."

The Kur came that night, the night of the battle, in the light of torches, ringed by men with spears. It held, in sign of truce, over its head, the two parts of a broken ax.

Many men stood about, armed, several with torches. Down a hall of men, standing in the field, came the Kur.

It stopped before Svein Blue Tooth and Ivar Forkbeard, who, on seats of rock, awaited it. Ivar, chewing on a vulo wing, motioned Hilda, and Gunnhild, Pudding and Honey Cake, who, naked and collared, his girls, knelt about him, to withdraw. They crept back, bond-maids, behind him. Their flesh was in the shadows. They knelt.

At the feet of the two leaders the Kur laid the pieces of the broken ax. Then it surveyed the grouping. To the astonishment of all the beast did not address itself to the two leaders.

It came and stood before me.

With one hand I thrust Leah to one side. I stood. The lips of the beast drew back from its teeth. It towered over me.

It did not speak. It reached into a pouch, slung over its shoulder, and handed me a paper, rolled, bound, incongruously, with a ribbon.

Then the beast went to Svein Blue Tooth and Ivar Forkbeard, and there, from the ground at their feet, lifted again the two parts of the ax.

There were angry cries from the men. Spears were lowered.

But Svein Blue Tooth, regal, stood. "The peace of the camp is on him," he said.

Again the lips of the Kur drew back from its teeth. Then, holding the pieces of the ax over his head, he departed, escorted by armed men from the fire, to the edge of the camp, past the guards.

The eyes of those of the camp, in the torchlight, were upon me. I stood, holding the piece of paper, rolled, bound with its ribbon.

I looked at Leah, standing back, the light of the torches felicitous and provocative on her flesh. Her eyes were terrified. She trembled. Her breasts, in her agitation, rose and fell, her hand at them. I smiled. Women fear Kurii, terribly. I was pleased that I had not given her clothing. She looked at me. Her collar became her. "Kneel, Slave," I said. Swiftly, Leah, the slave girl, obeyed the word of a free man.

I opened the note, and unrolled it.

"Where is the Skerry of Vars?" I asked.

"It is five pasangs to the north," said Ivar Forkbeard, "and two pasangs offshore."

"Take me there," I said.

"Very well," he said.

I crumpled the note. I threw it away. But inside the note curled within it, was a length of hair, long and blond. It was the hair of Telima. I put it in my pouch.

The girl approached me.

She wore a long gown, white. She threw back the hood. She shook loose the long, blond hair.

"I have been a fool," I said. "I have come to the north, thinking you slain. I had come north, in fury, tricked, to avenge you."

It was near dusk. She faced me. "It was necessary," she said.

"Speak," I told her.

The Skerry of Vars is roughly a hundred foot, Gorean, square. It is rough, but, on the whole, flat. It rises some fifteen to twenty feet from the water. It is grayish rock, bleak, upthrust, igneous, forbidding.

We stood alone, facing one another.

"Are you unarmed?" she asked.

"Yes," I told her.

"I have arranged this meeting," she said.

"Speak," I told her.

"It is not I," she smiled, "who wishes to speak to you."

"I had supposed as much," I said. "Does Samos know of this?" I asked.

"He knows nothing," she said.

"You are acting, then, independently?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, drawing herself up, beautifully. I wondered if she were wise, to stand so beautifully before a Gorean warrior.

"You fled my house," I said. "You returned to the marshes."

She tossed her head. "You sought Talena," she said.

"Talena, once," I said, "was my companion."

Telima shrugged. She looked at me, irritably. I had forgotten how beautiful she was.

"When I, in the hall of Samos, before leaving for the northern forests to seek Talena, learned of your flight, I wept."

"Always," she said, "you were weak." Then she said, "We have more important things to discuss."

I regarded her.

"In the marshes," she said, "I was contacted by Kurii." She looked at me. "They desire peace," she said.

I smiled.

"It is true," she said, angrily. "Doubtless," she said, "you find it difficult to believe. But they are sincere. There has been war for centuries. They weary of strife. They need an envoy, one known to Priest-Kings, yet one independent of them, one whom they respect, a man of valiance and judgment, with whom to negotiate, one to carry their proposals to Priest-Kings."

"I thought you knew little of these matters," I said.

"What little I know," said Telima, "is more than enough. In the marshes was I contacted by a mighty Kur, but one courteous, one strong and gentle. It would be difficult to speak directly with you. It would be difficult to begin this work if Priest-Kings understood our enterprise."

"And so," I said, "you pretended to be slain in the marshes. A Kur was seen. Your screams were heard. A bloodied armlet, bloodied hair, was found on the rence. The Kur departed north. I, as expected, informed of this deed, took pursuit."

"And now," she smiled, "you are here. It is the first act in the drama wherewith peace will be purchased between warring peoples."

"Your plan," said I, "was brilliant."

In the gown, long and white, flowing, Telima straightened, glowing.

"Your raiment," said I, "is of high quality. There is little like that in the rence."

"The Kurii, misunderstood," she said, "are a gentle people. They have treated me as a Ubara."

I looked now beyond Telima. I saw now, head first, then shoulders, then body, a Kur, climbing to the surface of the skerry. It was large, even for a Kur, some nine feet in height. Its weight, I conjectured, was some eight or nine hundred pounds. Its arms were some seven feet in length. About its left arm was a spiral band of gold. It carried, on its shoulder, a large, long, flattish object, wrapped in purple cloth, dark in the dusk. I knew the Kur. It had been he who had addressed the assembly. It had been he who had been first in the hall of Svein Blue Tooth, the night of the attack. It had been he who had rallied the Kurii in the raid on their camp, in the ensuing battle. It had been he, doubtless a Kur from the steel worlds themselves, who had commanded the Kurii army, who had been the leader of their forces.