John Norman - Explorers of Gor

“Be silent,” said a guardsman.

“She is the one who cooperated in the attack upon you?” asked the praetor, indicating the bound girl.

“Yes,” said the man with blood behind his ear.

“No!” cried the girl. “I have never seen him before in my life!”

“I see,” said the praetor. He apparently was not unfamiliar with the girl.

“Ha!” snorted the man who had accused her.

“How did you come to be helpless and tied beside the canal?” inquired the praetor.

The girl looked about, wildly. “We were set upon by brigands, robbed, and left tied,” she said.

There was laughter.

“You must believe me,” she said. “I am a free woman!”

“Examine the pouch of the man,” said the praetor.

It was opened by a guardsman, who sifted his hands through coins.

The girl looked, startled, at the pouch. She had apparently not understood that it had contained as much as it did. Her small hands pulled futilely, angrily, at the binding fiber which restrained them.

“It seems that the fellow who robbed you,” smiled the praetor, “neglected to take your pouch.”

The bound man said nothing. He glared sullenly downward.

“He also left you a tarsk bit,” said the praetor, to the girl.

“It was all I could save,” she said, lamely.

There was more laughter.

“I was not robbed,” said the bound man. “But I was unaccountably, from behind, struck down. I was then tied to this little she-urt. Her guilt is well known, I gather, on the wharves. Clearly enemies have intended to unjustly link me to her guilt.”

“Turgus!” she cried.

“I have never seen her before in my life,” he said.

“Turgus!” she cried. “No, Turgus!”

“Did you see me strike you?” asked the fellow who had been addressed as Turgus.

“No,” said the fellow who had been struck. “No, I did not.”

“It was not I,” said the bound man. “Unbind me,” said he then to the praetor. “Set me free, for I am innocent. It is clear I am the victim of a plot.”

“He told me what to do!” she said. “He told me what to do!”

“Who are you, you little slut?” asked the bound man. “It is obvious,” he said, to the praetor, “that this she-urt, whoever she is, wishes to implicate me in her guilt, that it will go easier on her.”

“I assure you,” smiled the praetor, “it will not go easier on her.”

“My thanks, Officer,” said the man.

The girl, crying out with rage, tried to kick at the man tied beside her. A guardsman struck her on the right thigh with the butt of his spear and she cried out in pain.

“If you should attempt to do that again, my dear,” said the praetor, “your ankles will be tied, and you will hear the rest of the proceedings while lying on your belly before the tribunal.”

“Yes, Officer,” she said.

“What is your name?” asked the praetor of the girl.

“Sasi,” she said.

“Lady Sasi?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, “I am free!

There was laughter. She looked about, angrily, bound, I did not think she would need be worried much longer about her freedom.

“Usually,” smiled the praetor, “a free woman wears mere than binding fiber and a neck strap.”

“My gown was taken, when I was tied,” she said. “It was torn from me.”

“Who took it,” asked the praetor, “a casual male, curious to see your body?”

“A girl took it,” she cried, angrily, “a blond girl. She was naked. Then she took my garment. Then I was naked! Find her, if you wish to be busy with matters of the law! I was the victim of theft! It was stolen from me, my garment! You should be hunting her, the little thief, not holding me here. I am an honest citizen!”

There was more laughter.

“May I be freed, my officer?” asked the bound man. “A mistake has been made.”

The praetor turned to two guardsmen. “Go to where you found these two tied,” he said. “I think our missing slave will be found in the garment of the she-urt.”

Two guardsmen left immediately. I thought the praetor’s conjecture was a sound one. On the other hand, obviously, the girl would not be likely to linger in the place where she had stolen the she-urt’s brief, miserable rag. Still, perhaps her trail could be found in that area.

“I demand justice,” said the girl.

“You will receive it, Lady Sasi,” said the praetor.

She turned white.

“At least she will not have to be stripped for the iron,” said a fellow near me, grinning.

The girl moaned.

The praetor then addressed himself to the fellow who had the dried blood caked behind his left ear. It was dried in his hair, too, on the left side of his head.

“Is this female, identified as the Lady Sasi, she who detained you, when you were attacked?” asked the praetor.

“It is she,” he said.

“I never saw him before,” she wept.

“It is she,” he repeated.

“I only wanted to beg a tarsk bit,” she said. “I did not know he was going to strike you.”

“Why did you not warn him of the man’s approach behind him?” asked the praetor.

“I didn’t see the man approaching,” she said, desperately.

“But you said you didn’t know he was going to strike him,” said the praetor. ‘Therefore, you must have seen him.”

“Please let me go,” she said.

“I was not seen to strike the man,” said the fellow whom the girl had identified as Turgus. “I claim innocence. There is no evidence against me. Do what you will with the little slut. But set me free.”

The girl put down her head, miserably. “Please let me go,” she begged.

“I was robbed of a golden tarn,” said the fellow with the blood at the side of his head.

“There is a golden tarn in the pouch,” said a guardsman.

“On the golden tarn taken from me,” said the man, “I had scratched my initials, Ba-Ta Shu, Bem Shandar, and, on the reverse of the coin, the drum of Tabor.”

The guardsman lifted the coin to the praetor. “It is so,” said the praetor.

The bound man, suddenly, irrationally, struggled. He tried to throw off his bonds. The girl cried out in misery, jerked choking from her feet. Then two guardsmen held the fellow by the arms. “He is strong,” said one of the guardsmen. The girl, gasping, regained her feet. Then she stood again neck-linked to him, beside him, his fellow prisoner.

“The coin was planted in my pouch,” he said. “It is a plot!”

“You are an urt, Turgus,” she said to him, “an urt!”

“It is you who are the she-urt!” he snarled.

“You have both been caught,” said the praetor, beginning to fill out some papers. “We have been looking for you both for a long time.”

“I am innocent,” said the bound man.

“How do you refer to yourself?” asked the praetor.

“Turgus,” he said.

The praetor entered that name in the papers. He then signed the papers.

He looked down at Turgus. “How did you come to be tied?” he asked.

“Several men set upon me,” he said. “I was struck from behind. I was subdued.”

“It does not appear that you were struck from behind,” smiled the praetor.

The face of Turgus was not a pretty sight, as I had dashed it into the stones, and had then struck the side of his head against the nearby wall.

“Is the binding fiber on their wrists from their original bonds, as you found them?” asked the praetor of one of the guardsmen.

“It is,” he said.

“Examine the knots,” said the praetor.

“They are capture knots,” said the guardsman, smiling.

“You made a poor choice of one to detain, my friends,” said the praetor.

They looked at one another, miserably. Their paths had crossed that of a warrior.