In the distance, perhaps some forty pasangs away, I saw a set of ridges, lofty and steep, rearing out of a broad, yellow meadow of talenders, a delicate, yellow-petaled flower, often woven into garlands by Gorean maidens. In their own quarters, unveiled Gorean women, with their family or lovers, might fix talenders in their hair. A crown of talender was often worn by the girl at the feast celebrating her Free Companionship. In perhaps ten minutes the ridges were almost below us.
"Four-strap!" I shouted.
The great bird paused in flight, braking with its wings, and then smoothly descended to a high ledge on one of the ridges, a ledge accessible only on tarnback.
I leaped from the back of the monster and rushed to the Tatrix, to protect her in case the tarn should begin to feed. I pulled the locked talons from her body, calling to the tarn, shoving its legs back. The bird seemed puzzled. Had I not cried "Tabuk!"? was this thing it had seized not now to be devoured? Was it not prey?
I shoved the tarn back and away from the girl, and gathered her in my arms. I set her down gently against the far wall of the cliff, as far from the edge as I could. The rocky shelf on which we found ourselves was perhaps twenty feet wide and twenty feet deep, about the size that a tarn chooses for nesting.
Standing between the Tatrix and the winged carnivore, I cried "Tabuk!" It began to stalk toward the girl, who rose to her knees, her back pressed against the unyielding wall of the cliff, and screamed.
"Tabuk!" I cried again, taking the great beak in my hands and turning it toward the open fields below.
The bird seemed to hesitate, and then, with a motion almost tender, it thrust its beak against my body. "Ta-buk," I said quietly, once more turning it toward the open fields.
With one last look at the Tatrix the bird turned and stalked to the brink of that awesome ledge and, with a single snap of its great wings, leaped into space, its soaring shadow a message of terror to any game below. I turned to face the Tatrix.
"Are you hurt?" I asked.
Sometimes when the tarn strikes a tabuk, the animal" s back is broken. It was a risk which I had decided to take. I did not feel I had much choice. With the Tatrix in hand, I might be in a position to bargain with Tharna. I did not think I would be able to work any reform in her harsh ways, bit I did hope to sue for the freedom of Linna and Andreas, and perhaps for that of the poor wretches whom I had met in the arena. It would surely be a small enough price for the return of the golden Tatrix herself. The Tatrix struggled to her feet.
It was customary on Gor for a female captive to kneel in the presence of her captor, but she was, after all, a Tatrix, and I did not wish to enforce the point. Her hands, still in their gloves of gold, went to the golden mask, as if she feared most that it might not be in place. Only then did her hands try to arrange and smooth her torn robes. I smiled. They had been ripped by the talons, tattered by the raging winds. Haughtily she drew them about herself, covering herself as best she could. Aside from the mask, metallic, cold, glittering as always, I decided the Tatrix might be beautiful.
"No," she said proudly, "I am unhurt."
It was the answer I had expected, though undoubtedly her body was almost broken, her flesh bruised to the bone.
"You are in pain," I said, "but mostly, now, you are cold and numb from the loss of circulation." I regarded her. "Later," I said, "it will be even more painful."
The expressionless mask gazed upon me.
"I, too," I said, "was once in the talons of a tarn."
"Why did the tarn not kill you in the arena?" she asked.
"It is my tarn," I said simply. What more could I tell her? That it had not killed me, knowing the nature of tarns, seemed almost as incredible to me as it did to her. Had I known more of tarns, I might have guessed that it held me in some sort of affection.
The Tatrix looked about, examining the sky. "When will it return?" she asked. Her voice had been a whisper. I knew that if there was anything that struck terror into the heart of the Tatrix, it was the tarn.
"Soon," I said. "Let us hope it finds something to eat in the fields below."
The Tatrix trembled slightly.
"If it doesn" t find game," she said, "it will return angry and hungry." "Surely," I agreed.
"It may try to feed on us — " she said.
"Perhaps," I said.
At last the words came out, slowly, carefully formed. "If it doesn" t find game," she asked, "are you going to give me to the tarn?"
"Yes," I said.
With a cry of fear the Tatrix fell to her knees before me, her hands extended, pleading. Lara, Tatrix of Tharna, was at my feet, a supplicant. "Unless you behave yourself," I added.
Angrily the Tatrix scrambled to her feet. "You tricked me!" she cried. "You tricked me into assuming the posture of the captive female!"
I smiled.
Her gloved fists struck at me. I caught her wrists and held her fast. I noted that her eyes behind the mask were blue. I allowed her to twist free. She ran to the wall, and stood, her back to me.
"Do I amuse you?" she asked.
"I" m sorry," I said.
"I am your prisoner, am I not?" she asked, insolently.
"Yes," I said.
"What are you going to do with me?" she asked, her face to the wall, not deigning to look upon me.
"Sell you for a saddle and weapons," I said. I thought it well to alarm the Tatrix, the better to improve my bargaining position.
Her frame shook with fear, and fury. She spun about to face me, her gloved fists clenched. "Never!" she cried.
"I shall if it pleases me," I said.
The Tatrix, trembling with rage, regarded me. I could scarcely conjecture the hatred that seethed behind that placid golden mask. At last she spoke. Her words were like drops of acid.
"You are joking," she said.
"Remove the mask," I suggested, "in order that I may better judge what you will bring on the Street of Brands."
"No!" she cried, her hands flying to the golden mask.
"I think the mask alone," I said, "might bring the price of a good shield and spear."
The Tatrix laughed bitterly. "It would buy a tarn," she said.
I could tell that she was not certain that I was serious, that she did not really believe I could mean what I said. It was important to my plans to convince her that she stood in jeopardy, that I would dare to put her in a camisk and collar.
She laughed, testing me, holding the tattered hem of her robe towards me. "You see," she said, in mock despair, "I will not bring much in this poor garment."
"That is true," I said.
She laughed.
"You will bring more without it," I added.
She seemed shaken by this matter of fact answer. I could tell she was no longer confident of where she stood. She decided to play her trump card. She squared off against me, regal, haughty, insolent. Her voice was cold, each word a crystal of ice. "You would not dare," she said, "to sell me." "Why not?" I asked.
"Because," she said, drawing herself to her full height, gathering the golden tattered robes about her, "I am Tatrix of Tharna."
I picked up a small rock and threw it from the ledge, watching it sail toward the fields below. I watched the clouds scudding across the darkening sky, listened to the wind whistling among those lonely ridges. I turned to the Tatrix.
"That will improve your price," I said.
The Tatrix seemed stunned. Her haughty manner deserted her.