John Norman - Vagabonds of Gor

"I have been long aflight and have now reported to my captain," said he. "I am weary of the saddle, and would have drink, and something softer to ride!"

There was laughter, and cheering. Men crowded about him. The chained girls shrank down, frightened, making themselves as small and inconspicuous as they could, close to the post.

This fellow, I gathered, was well known. Unfortunately I, too, had once made his acquaintance.

Temione gasped. She, too, had recognized him.

He wore the uniform and insignia of the tarnsmen of Artemidorus, the well-known Cosian mercenary.

"Let feasting begin!" he called, expansively. There was more cheering. "It is Borton!" called a man. "Borton has returned!" cried another. "Borton!" said another. Others, taking note of the commotion, outside the railings, hastened now to enter. Philebus, as I took him to be, the taverner, and Temione's master, was calling out orders to a couple of fellows, his lieutenants, or assistants, I gathered, having to do with food and drink. One of them closed the gate of the enclosure. Some other fellows were climbing over the railing.

"Are you not in my spot?" inquired the newcomer heartily, of a poor fellow sitting rather near the center of the enclosure, usually regarded as a preferred position for prompt service, for observing the dancing of slaves, and such. Swiftly, on all fours, the fellow beat a hasty retreat.

There was again much laughter.

The fellow called Borton hurled his helmet down in the place, marking it for himself. Few, I gathered, would be eager to displace this token of his claimancy.

I put down the cup of paga, and tested the draw, an inch or so, of my blade.

"No, fellow," whispered a man near me. "That is Borton."

"I had gathered that," I said.

"He is one of the best swords in the camp," he warned me.

I returned my blade to the sheath, almost entirely.

"Master," whispered Temione to me, breathless, her eyes shining. "It is he."

"Yes," I said. I did not then understand her emotion. "It is he."

The newcomer strode to the post. The girls there, not yet serving, clung about it, in their neck chains, as though it might provide them some security, some safety or refuge. He pulled one and another of them about, examining them. He turned one over with his foot and had her lie before him, her back arched. Temione gasped, startled at the boldness with which the women were handled.

"You, too, are a slave," 1 reminded her, "and you, too, could be so treated."

"I know," she said.

"Bring me the girls in the cages!" said the fellow, settling down in the spot he had marked for himself.

The two girls, in a moment, wincing, were brought forth by Philebus and, one of his hands in the hair of each, drawn hastily on all fours to his place. They were naked save for their collars. He thrust one to his side on the dirt, and threw the other, a blonde, on her back over his knees as he sat, cross-legged. "Do not interfere," he warned her.

"Borton!" called a fellow cheerfully, from well across the enclosure, "has it been necessary to redeem you from any inns lately!"

"I think I paid something in that fee!" called another, a fellow also in the uniform of the tarnsmen of Artemidorus.

"I paid you back, and fivefold, you sleen!" roared Borton, laughing.

The girl across his knees, on her back, suddenly cried out, startled. "Do not interfere," he warned her, again. The other girl, the one near him, in the dirt, made as though to edge away. "No, you don't!" he said. "Stay here." She came then even closer to him, on her side, frightened and excited, and, lifting her head, timidly kissed him on the knee. The girl across his knees cried out again. Her eyes were open, looking up, wildly, at the moons. Her feet moved. Her hands opened and closed. She moaned.

"Some weeks ago," said the man near me, "before the fall of Ar's Station, Borton, carrying dispatches for Artemidorus, stayed at an inn on the Vosk Road. There, while he refreshed himself with a morning bath, sonic rascal stole his clothing, his money, his tarn, the dispatches, everything."

"Interesting," I said.

The fellow chuckled. "He was kept at the inn, chained naked to a ring in the courtyard, until his bills, which I gather were considerable, had 'been satisfied."

"Who redeemed him?" I asked.

"His fellows," said the man. "Other tarnsmen in the command of Artemidorus, some days later, stopped at the inn. They were much amused to find him in such straits. They kept him as he was for two or three days, teasing him, and making him suffer much, raising his anxieties that they might not be able to scrape together his redemption fee, or that they had done so, but had then lost it in gambling, and such things, and also discussing, as you might well imagine, the honor of the troop, and whether or not one who was so foolish as to have gotten himself into such a predicament should be redeemed at all. He roared and ranted much, you may not doubt, but what could he do, naked in a courtyard, in chains! In the end, of course, after obtaining promises of immunity from him for their jokes, they redeemed him, and he was released."

"Surely there must have been repercussions concerning the dispatches and such," I ventured.

"They were not important, it seems, but routine. It is said they were not even coded. Too, his bravery, his skill with tarns and the sword, and such, were valued. To be sure, he was fined and reduced in rank. His monetary fortunes, I gather, if not his dignity, have been apparently recouped, presumably from loot distributed to the command of Artemidorus, acquired in the fall of Ar's Station."

"You must flee, Master," whispered Temione to me.

"I have not yet finished my paga," I said. To be sure, I had not expected to see this burly fellow again. I, and Ephialtes, had both had run-ins with him. In a camp of thousands, of course, in which there might be two dozen paga enclosures, I had had, it seems, to pick just this one. To be sure, it was not as absurd as it might seem for the enclosure of Philebus was said to be one of the best in the camp. I had inquired, naturally. At any rate, there was little to fear. The fellow had not seen me, and might not remember me. Besides, perhaps he would see the humor of the whole affair, and we might have a friendly drink together. But I moved the sword just a bit more from the sheath. A quarter of an inch, where hundredths of an Ihn are involved, can be a considerable advantage. In many situations, warriors discard the scabbard altogether. That is one reason it is often carried on a loop over the left shoulder, that it may be immediately, lest it prove an encumbrance, or present an encircling strap an enemy may seize, the blade drawn, discarded.

"Roast tarsk!" announced Philebus, proudly, approaching the burly fellow, gesturing to one of his helpers, who was accompanying him, bearing a tray of steaming meat. The burly fellow seized a joint of hot, dripping tarsk from the platter and bit into it. "Excellent!" beamed Philebus, then indicating to his assistant that he should carry the tray about, to serve others, as well. The other helper, too, was distributing food, sausages and bread. One of the serving slaves, close behind Philebus, knelt before the burly fellow, putting her head to the dirt in obeisance, and then put a goblet of paga before him. When she straightened up Philebus, behind her, tore back the sides of her silk. Philebus was doubtless quite pleased with her, to so display her. He had probably personally used her many times. She was perhaps one of his best. She moved before the burly fellow, on her knees, excitingly, brazenly, lifting her hands to her body, as though the better to call attention to her charms, as a slave.

"The forward hussy!" exclaimed Temione, angrily. "I hate her!"

Temione's soft outburst, so indignant, interested me. "Do you wish it was you, instead, who were so displaying yourself before him?" I asked.