John Norman - Rogue of Gor

“Draw your weapon,” said Miles of Vonda.

More men had now gathered about. One of them had muttered something angrily, when Miles of Vonda had spoken as he had. I saw the hands of several on their swords. I suddenly realized, with a certain amount of gratification, that these fellows were not pleased with what was ensuing. I had learned from Peggy that I was not unknown in Victoria. Men, I now gathered, knew me from the docks. Too, perhaps they had learned of my dismissal of Grat, the Swift, the thief, from Victoria, and how I had entered the tavern of Hibron to extract Miss Henderson from her danger there, though in this I had been unsuccessful. Perhaps they knew, too, of my outspoken displeasure at the wharves when the pirates had looted and burned there, punishing Victoria, for having at that time refused their demands for tribute. With some of these fellows I had drunk, and worked.

“Draw,” said Miles of Vonda.

I do not think Miles of Vonda knew the danger he was in. My major concern now was to save his life.

“I had thought you a man of honor,” I said.

“It is my hope that I am so,” said Miles of Vonda.

“I work on the docks,” I said. Out of the corner of my eye I noted Krondar squaring about, to face several of the men tensed about us. He, at least, knew the danger in which his Master stood. I had little doubt Krondar would charge against several of these men, though he might take five swords in his chest doing so. “How then, as I am a worker on the docks, could I have had the leisure to develop skills with the blade which might be the match of yours?”

Angrily, Miles of Vonda thrust his sword back in its sheath. He need not know that I had taken the leisure, and much of it, as it pleased me, to develop blade skills, nor need he know I was, for my times of training, reasonably adept with the blade. Callimachus was a master and he had lavished intelligence and time on my development. Too, I had discovered, as did not displease me, perhaps as a result of my reflexes and aggressions, that I possessed something of an aptitude for the manipulation of that wicked Gorean blade. Indeed, I suspected that I might find myself at no disadvantage in bladed contest with the proud Vondan. Indeed, I was curious to know if I might kill him. On the other hand, I had no wish to do him injury. And beyond these things, I did not wish for those of Victoria to know of my skills with the blade. Jason, the worker on the docks, and a fellow of some popularity in Victoria, was not thought to be skilled with the blade. As Callimachus pretended still to dereliction to further our projects so, too, I must pretend to ineptness with the blade.

“I shall not kill you,” said Miles of Vonda, irritably.

“That is welcome news,” I said.

I saw the men about relax. Miles of Vonda, although he did not know it, had just saved his own life, and that of Krondar, and possibly that of the slave. Before he could have reached me a dozen blades might have cut him down.

I felt a fondness then for the men of Victoria.

“Krondar,” said Miles of Vonda, indicating me, “beat him.”

“I shall attack him if you wish, Master,” said Krondar, “but I cannot beat him.”

“How then,” asked Miles of Vonda, looking at me, “is my honor in this matter to be satisfied?”

“I do not know,” I said.

He walked up to me and, with the flat of his right hand, gave me a stinging slap. He then drew back and spit upon me. Men cried out angrily. Krondar gasped. Florence cried out with misery. I tensed, but did not respond.

Miles of Vonda then turned about and, gesturing to Krondar to shoulder the burdens he had been guarding, left, walking down the avenue of Lycurgus, followed by Florence, and then later, a few feet behind, by Krondar, bearing his gear.

I wiped my tunic, and then wiped my hand on my thigh.

“Why didn’t you break his neck?” asked one of the men about.

“He is really a good fellow,” I said. “Besides,” I added, “look at the slave girl.” We looked after her, the, scantily clad, auburn-haired beauty heeling her master. “Who would not be jealous of such a slave?” I asked.

“Perhaps you are right,” grinned the man beside me.

It was now the nineteenth Ahn, an Ahn before the twentieth Ahn, the Gorean midnight.

I was more careless than I should have been. I had been thinking of Miles of Vonda and the slave he owned, who had once been the Lady Florence of Vonda. I was pleased with her happiness, and regarded him as a fortunate fellow.

“Hold!” said a voice, menacingly.

I spun about, near a pile of lumber on the wharves. It was lonely there now.

I had no opportunity to draw my sword. The point of the other’s blade was entered into my gut. I backed against the lumber.

“So you have followed me, Miles of Vonda,” I said. He did not respond.

“The mask is not necessary,” I said. “It is dark here, and we are alone.”

The blade drew back a few inches. “Hold your hands at your sides, and kneel, very slowly,” said the man.

I did so.

“Now, slowly, very slowly, place your sword belt and scabbard on the boards,” said the voice.

I slowly slipped the belt and scabbard, with the sheathed blade, from my shoulder, and placed them on the boards.

“You are not Miles of Vonda,” I said. I could now tell that it was not his voice. “Who are you,” I asked, “a brigand?”

He said nothing. I watched the sword.

“I have some money with me,” I said. “I will give it to you. You do not need to slay me.”

“Do not be a fool,” he said “Where is it?” he said.

“What?” I asked.

“The topaz,” he said.

“You are the courier of Ragnar Voskjard,” I said. It would have been he who would have, to protect himself during the search of the tavern of Cleanthes, by the guardsmen of Ar’s Station, placed the topaz in my pouch. I had not been searched within the tavern because I, like certain others, had been searched outside the tavern, but moments before. He would presumably be an important man, and the security of his identity a closely guarded secret.

“Where is the topaz?” he pressed.

“It was you, was it not,” I asked, “who raided my house, who ransacked it, and put the Lady Beverly under interrogation in the matter of the topaz?”

“I did not find it there,” he said, menacingly.

“But you received something for your trouble,” I reminded him. “You tied the Lady Beverly as a slave and made her beg for her rape, after which you courteously acceded to her request.”

“She was not displeasing,” he said.

“The rape of a free woman is a serious offense,” I said.

“I know women,” he said. “She was a natural slave.”

“I cannot gainsay it,” I said. I had learned in the stronghold of Policrates, the pirate, that the beautiful Miss Henderson was, in her heart, a slave among slaves. It was not inappropriate, thus, but quite appropriate, that she had been subjected to merciless slave rape.

“The guardsmen of Port Cos, who, too, searched your house, and the gardens, upon the informings of the Lady Beverly, who turned against you, were no more successful.”

“You are well informed,” I said.

“Where then is the topaz?” he asked.

“Safe,” I said. He surely need not know I had delivered it, in accord with a plan, to Policrates myself.

“Do you wish to be slain now?” he asked.

“If you slay me,” I said, “how, then, will you find the topaz?”

He drew back the sword a little. “I have watched you,” said he. “I have been patient. But you have not led me to the topaz. You must understand I cannot wait indefinitely. There are those to whom I must answer.”