John Norman - Rogue of Gor

The merchant then looked at the thief. “I will have him taken to Port Cos,” he said, “where there are praetors.”

“Please, Master,” said the thief, “do not deliver me to praetors!”

“Are you so fond of your hands?” asked the merchant. I noted that the thief’s left ear had already been notched. That had doubtless been done elsewhere than in Victoria.

“Please, Master, have mercy on me,” begged the thief.

“He has had a rather hard day already,” I said, putting in a word on the thief’s behalf.

“Let us then just slit his throat now,” said a fellow standing nearby.

The thief squirmed. “No,” he begged. “No!”

“What do you suggest?” asked the merchant of me.

“Give him to me,” I said.

“No, please, Master!” whined the thief to the merchant.

“He is yours,” said the merchant.

I yanked the fellow by the neck leash of twisted cloth to his feet. I thrust the silver tarsk into his mouth, so that he could not speak. “Seek a physician,” I told him. “Have your wrist attended to. It appears to be broken. Do not be in Victoria by morning.” I then turned him about and, hurrying him with a well-placed kick, sent him running, awkwardly, painfully, whimpering and stumbling, from the dock.

“Surely you are a guardsman,” said the merchant.

“No,” I said.

The men gathered about watched the thief hurrying, bound, away. There was laughter.

“You are magnanimous,” said the merchant.

“He was not a woman,” I said. “Too, it was not my purse he stole.”

The merchant laughed.

I looked after the fleeing fellow, now disappearing between warehouses. I did not think honest folk in Victoria would again find him troublesome.

“One thing more, Fellow,” said the merchant. “I am in Victoria on business. I seek one once of Port Cos, a warrior, one whose name is Callimachus.”

I was startled to hear this name, for it was the name of he who had saved me, some weeks ago, from the steel of Kliomenes, the pirate.

“At night,” said I, “he often drinks at the tavern of Tasdron. You might find him there, I think.”

“My thanks, Fellow,” said the merchant, and, smiling, turned about and made his way back among the boxes and bales on the crowded wharf.

“Have you no work to do this day,” asked the man in whose fee I was that afternoon.

“That I have, Sir,” I grinned, and turned again to my labors.

“Stand back,” said the pirate.

Two blades, his, and that of a companion, were leveled at my breast.

“Beverly!” I said. My hand, palm sweating, was poised over the hilt of my sword.

“Make no unfortunate move,” said the pirate, he who had spoken to me before.

“Who is that fellow?” asked Beverly, airily. She knelt, in the position of the free woman behind the small table.

“Come home with me now,” I said. “I have sought for you long.” Returning from the wharves to the house I had not found her on the premises. There had been no sign of forced entry or struggle. Anxious, I had begun to search the public places of Victoria. Then, after two Ahn of searching, I had found her here, near the wharves, unattended, in the tavern of Hibron, a miserable tavern, a low place, called the Pirate’s Chain.

“I do not wish to come home with you now,” she said, lightly, a bit of Ka-la-na spilling from the silver goblet she held. At a gesture from Kliomenes, who sat, cross-legged, beside her, a half-naked paga slave, whose left ankle was belled, refilled Miss Henderson’s cup.

“Come home with me,” I said, “you little fool.” I felt the points of the two swords, through my tunic, against my flesh.

“If you may pleasure yourself in taverns,” she said, “surely so, too, may!”

“Free women,” I said, “do not come here. It is too close to the wharves. It is dangerous. This is Gor.”

“I am not afraid,” she laughed.

“You do not know the danger in which you stand,” I said to her.

“May I introduce my new friend,” she said, “Kliomenes, a river captain.”

“Surely you remember him well,” I said. “It was he, and his men, who captured you from Oneander when you were a slave, and sold you.”

“Perhaps that was a mistake,” said Kliomenes. He grinned at her. She had thrust back the hood of her robes and unpinned her veil. Her face was bared; her hair, darkly brown and silken, cascaded down about her shoulders. These things were not unnoted by the men in the tavern. There was probably not a man there but was wondering how she would look stripped and in a collar.

“That you captured me?” she asked, puzzled.

“No,” said he, “that I sold you.”

She laughed merrily, and shoved at him, playfully. “Do not insult a free woman, Sleen,” she laughed.

There was much laughter, but there was an undercurrent of menace in the laughter which, I think, the girl did not recognize.

“But that sort of thing is behind me now,” she said to me, throwing back her head and quaffing deeply of the ruby-red Ka-la-na in her cup. She again looked at me. “Kliomanes is a merchant,” she told me. “I am now a free woman. We are met now on different terms. We meet now as equals. He is really a nice man, and my friend.”

“Come with me now,” I said to her. “Come home with me, now.”

“I do not wish to do so,” she said.

Kliomenes again gestured to the half-naked slave, with the belled ankle, that she refill the girl’s cup. The slave did so, deferentially, smiling. Her hair had been cut short. There was a steel collar on her neck.

“Come home with me, now,” I said to the girl.

“Kliomenes is buying me a drink,” she said. “He is a gentleman, and a true man.”

“I did not know she was yours,” said Kliomenes, amused. “That is delightful.”

“I am not his!” said the girl. “I am a free woman!”

“Are you his companion?” asked Kliomenes.

“No!” she said.

“Is she your wench slave?” asked Kliomenes.

“No,” I said, angrily.

“I share his quarters,” she said, angrily. “We are not even friends.”

“Are you concerned for her?” asked Kliomenes, amused.

“I wish her to return home with me now,” I said.

“But she does not wish to do so,” he smiled. “Do you wish to go with him now?” he asked.

“No,” she said, snuggling against him.

“You see?” asked Kliomenes.

“I am a free woman, in all respects,” she said, “and may, and will, do precisely as I please.”

“You have heard the Lady,” said Kliomenes, putting his arm about her shoulders.

“Kliomenes, meet Jason,” she said. “Jason, meet Kliomenes. “

Kliomenes inclined his head, amused.

“We have met,” I said. I remembered the tavern of Tasdron. I would presumably have been slain there had it not been for the intervention of the derelict, Callimachus, once a warrior of Port Cos.

“Begone, Buffoon,” said Kliomenes, not pleasantly. I felt again the points of the swords of the two pirates at my chest.

“Begone, Buffoon,” laughed the girl.

“Have no fear,” grinned Kliomenes. “I will see that she is taken care of properly.” There was laughter in the tavern.

“Begone, Buffoon!” laughed the girl.

“Unless,” said Kliomenes, rising to his feet, “you care to meet me with steel.”

My hand, wet with sweat, fingers moving against one another, opened and shut at the hilt of the sword I wore.

Kliomenes looked at me, grinning.

“Please, Master,” said Hibron, the proprietor of that low tavern, “I do not wish trouble. Please, Master!”

I turned about, angrily, and strode from the tavern. There were tears of fury, of helpless rage, in my eyes. I knew myself no match for Kliomenes, or the others. I did not even know the first uses of the steel which I wore at my hip. As I left the tavern I heard the laughter of Kliomenes and his men behind me, and the laughter, too, of the girl.