"One tries to stand on the skin," said the owner again, uncertainly.
The large man looked at him.
"Perhaps you will win," said the owner.
"What are you doing?" cried the owner.
No one moved to stop him, but the large man, opening his cloak, drew a knife from his belt sheath and slowly, deliberately, slit the skin open. Wine burst forth from the skin, onto the ankles of the large fellow, and, flowing about, seeking its paths, sank into the dirt. The dust was reddened. It was not unlike blood.
The large fellow then sheathed his knife, and stood on the rent, emptied skin. "I have won," he said.
"The skin is destroyed," said the owner. "The wine is lost."
"But I have won," said the bearded man.
The owner of the rent skin was silent.
"Twenty men were with me," said the large, bearded man. "I along survived."
"He is of the peasant levies!" said a fellow.
"Speak, speak!" cried men, anxiously.
"The skin is rent," said the man. "The wine is gone."
"Speak!" cried others.
The fellow pulled his cloak away and put it over his arm.
"He is wounded!" said a man. The left side of the fellow's tunic was matted with blood. The cloak had clung to it a bit, when he removed it.
"Speak! cried men.
"I have won," said the man.
"He is delirious," said a fellow.
"No," I said.
"I have won," said the man, dully.
"Yes," I said. "You have stood upon the skin. You have won."
"But the skin is gone, the wine is gone," said a fellow.
"But he has won," I said.
"What occurred in the west?" demanded a man.
"Ar has lost," he said.
Men looked at one another, stunned.
"The banners of Cos incline toward the gates of Ar," said the man.
"No!" cried a man.
"Ar is defenseless," moaned a fellow.
"Let the alarm bells sound," wept a man. "Let her seal her gates!"
I had some concept of the forces of Cos. Too, I had some concept of the forces of Ar in the city, now mostly guardsmen. She could never withstand a concerted siege.
"I have won," said the bearded man.
"How have you won?" asked a man, angrily.
"I have survived," he said.
I looked at the rent skin and he reddened dust. Yes, I thought, he was the sort of man who would survive.
Men now fled away from the circle. In Ihn, it seemed, the camp was in consternation.
I stood there, for a time, holding my sandals.
Men moved past me, pulling their carts and wagons. Some had slave girls chained to them. Some of these women, in their manacles, attached to the rear of the vehicles, thrusting and pushing, helped to hurry them ahead. I heard the bellowing of tharlarion being harnessed.
"How far is Cos?" I asked the man.
"Two, three days," he said.
I gathered this would depend on Myron's decision as to the rate and number of marches. I did not think he would press his men. He was an excellent commander and, from what I had gathered, there need be no haste in the matter. He might even rest his men for a day or two. In any event, an excellent commander, he would presumably bring them fresh to the gates of Ar.
I donned my sandals.
Many of the fires in the camp had now been extinguished. It might be difficult finding my way back to the tent.
"Are you all right?" I asked the bearded fellow.
"Yes," he said.
I looked to the walls of Ar. Here and there, on the walls, like shadows flickering against the tarn beacons, I could see the return of tarnsmen. I looked to the west. Out there, somewhere, were the forces of Cos, their appetites whetted by victory. Within a week, surely, they would be within sight of Ar, eager for war, zestful for loot. I listened to the alarm bars in the distance, from within the city. I wondered how well, tonight, would sleep her free women. Would they squirm and toss in fear in their silken sheets? I wondered if they better understood, this night, perhaps better than other nights, their dependence on men. surely they knew in the bottoms of their lovely bellies that they, too, as much as the slaves in their kennels, were spoils. "Pray to the Priest-Kings! "Pray to the Priest-Kings!" wept a man.
I thrust him aside, moving through the press, the throng, the carts and wagons, the tharlarion. In a few Ehn I had come to our tent.
4 Within Ar
"Revile the Home Stone of Ar's Station while you may," said the guard to a tradesman. "We do not know what the future may hold."
"No," said the tradesman, looking about. He knew not who might be in the crowd, nor what their sympathies might be. He did not enter between the velvet ropes, forming their corridor to the roped enclosure within which rested the stone. "I do not fear to do so, even now," said a brawny fellow of the caste of metal workers.
"Steady," I said to Marcus, beside me.
"Nor do I fear," said the brawny fellow, "the legions of Cos, nor her adherents or spies! I am of Ar!" He then strode between the ropes of the stone, which rested upon a plank, itself resting on tow huge terra-cotta vats, of the sort into which slop pots in insulae are dumped. Such vats are usually removed once or twice a week, emptied in one carnarium or another, outside the walls, rinsed out and returned to the insulae. Companies have been organized for this purpose. "Curses upon Ar's Station," he cried, "city faithless and without honor, subornedally, taker of bribes, refuge of scoundrels, home of cowards, betrayer of the mother city! Down with Ar's Station. Curses upon her!" He then spat vigorously upon the stone.
"Steady," I whispered to Marcus. "Steady."
The fellow then, not looking about, exited between the velvet ropes on the other side.
Only yesterday there had been lines, though smaller than when we had first come to Ar, to revile the stone. Today almost no one approached it. The enclosure was within sight of the Central Cylinder, on the Avenue of the Central Cylinder. I put my hand on Marcus' wrist, not permitting him to draw his sword.
"Remember," I said. "They think that Ar's Station opened her gates to Cos."
"Cursed lie!" said he.
"Yes, indeed," I said, rather loudly, for I saw some fellows look about at Marcus, "it is a cursed lie for any to suggest that the men of Ar might lack courage. Surely they are among the bravest on all Gor!"
"True, true," said more than one fellow, returning his attention to his own business."
"Come away from her," I said to Marcus.
Phoebe was not with us. We had stopped at one of the depots for fee carts on Wagon Street, in southeast Ar. There we had backed her into a slave locker, reached by a catwalk, on all fours, inserted the coin, a tarsk bit, turned and removed the key. It is a simple device, not unlike the slave boxes used in certain storage areas. Unlike the slave boxes, they do not require the immediate services of an attendant. The lockers open outward, as opposed to the slave boxes, which open upward. The lockers, thus, like slave cages, may be tiered. The gate of the locker, like the lid of the slave box, is perforated for the passage of air, usually, like the slave box, with a design in the form of the cursive "Kef, the first letter of "Kajira," the most common Gorean expression, among several, for a female slave. The usual, and almost universal, temporary holding arrangement is a simple slave ring, mounted in the wall. These are conveniently available in most public places. The slave is usually chained to them. Marcus had decided to keep Phoebe today in a box or locker, rather than at an open ring. "Down on all fours, crawl within, backward!" Marcus had ordered the slim beauty. She had obeyed, instantly. Gorean slave girls swiftly learn not to demur at the orders of masters. I recalled her face, looking up at Marcus. "Let this help you to keep in mind that you are a slave," said Marcus. "Yes, Master," she had said. He had then closed the door, turning the key, removing it, placing it in his pouch. I did not object to this incarceration of his beauteous slave as such things are excellent for their discipline. Also, it seemed to me, aside from the value of its effect of Phoebe, an excellent idea. If her were successful in his mad attempt to obtain the Home Stone of his city he would doubtless be a recognized wanted man. Some might recall that Phoebe was his slave, and thus attempt to trace him through her. In the locker she would not be as easily recognized, surely not as easily as if she were kneeling at a wall, braceleted to a ring. The keeping her in a box or locker seemed to me superior, too, incidentally, to renting a tenement room, even though these were now cheaper and more available than when I had been last in Ar, because of the new egress of refugees, now from Ar herself. We might be remembered by the proprietor or other tenants in such a place. Had we used such a room we could have left her there, chained to a slave ring. In such a room, assuming slaves are allowed in the building, there are usually two of these, one at the wall and one at the foot of a straw-filled pallet. The depot, incidentally, had been muchly crowded, thought not with fee carts. Most of the wagons, coaches, fee carts, and such were gone. No longer were the schedules within and outside of the city, being kept. Tharlarion, and such transportation, were now said to be worth their weight in gold. I had heard that certain rich men had exchanged as many as fifteen high slaves, choice «flowers» from their pleasure gardens, trained even to Curulean quality, for a single tharlarion and wagon. But I did not know, even then, how far they might get, with the need of such conveyances, brigands on the road, advanced scouts of Cos, and such. Some, I had had heard, had been turned back even by guardsmen of Ar, outside the city. That seemed hard to understand. In any event, most of those in the city, surely the largest part, by far, of its population, had no practical way to leave the city, lest it be on foot. Even then they would have surely, most of them, nowhere to go, or stay. Who knew what dangers might lie outside the walls? Too, they could always be overtaken by tharlarion cavalry or Cosian tarnsmen. The citizenry of Ar, for the most part, was trapped in the city. Indeed, there were even rumors circulating that the gates of the city would soon be closed, and even sealed, reinforced against siege weapons. There was much talk, too, of course, about defending the city. Indeed, it was with this in mind, that I had come this morning to the city, to lend my sword, a modicum of mercenary iron, to her defense. On the other hand, this cause, I suspected, was doomed. It was not that I doubted that those of Ar, suitably rallied and led, might effect a stout and fierce resistance, but that I had some concept, as many did not, Marcus, for example, of the arithmetic of war. In any normalcy of combat, assuming the equivalence of the units, the comparability of weaponry, the competence of the commanders, and such, Ar would be doomed. The army of Cos was the largest ever brought to the field of Gor, and it was now, after the fall of Ar's Station, abetted by numerous reinforcements from the north. Furthermore, it had had the winter to restore its siege train, the original train burned in Torcadino, fired by Dietrich of Tarnburg, and, because of its recent success in the field, west of Ar, it could draw on thousands of square pasangs for its logistical support. Further, its lines of communication, from the palace at Telnus, in Cos, to the tent of Myron, the polemarkos, were swift and reliable. I doubted that Ar, even if rallied by a Marlenus of Ar, could hold out for more than a few weeks. And, once one added to the reckoning of these dismal tables, the skewing factor of treachery in Ar, and that her high general, Seremides, of Tyros, was traitorous to his oaths, as I had learned at Holmesk, in the north, Ar, I was sure, was doomed.