Talena spoke, her voice muffled in the hood. "Scavengers come to feast on the bodies of wounded tarnsmen." It was a Gorean proverb, which seemed to be singularly inappropriate, coming from a hooded captive.
"I did not speak to the girl," said the warrior.
I excused Talena. "She has not worn her bracelets long," I said.
"She has spirit," said the warrior.
"Where are you bound for?" I asked.
"To the banks of the Vosk, to the City of Tents," said the warrior.
"What news of Marlenus, the Ubar?" demanded Talena.
"You should beat her," said the warrior, but responded to the girl. "None. He has fled."
"What news of the Home Stone of Ar and the daughter of Marlenus?" I asked, feeling it would be the sort of thing the warrior would expect me to be interested in.
"The Home Stone is rumored to be in a hundred cities," he said. "Some say it has been destroyed. Only the Priest-Kings know."
"And the daughter of Marlenus?" I insisted.
"She is undoubtedly in the Pleasure Gardens of the boldest tarnsman on Gor," laughed the warrior. "I hope he has as much luck with her as the Home Stone. I have.heard she has the temper of a tharlarion and a face to match!"
Talena stiffened, her pride offended.
"I have heard," she said imperiously, "that the daughter of the Ubar is the most beautiful woman on all Gor."
"I like this girl," said the warrior. "Yield her to me!"
"No," I said.
"Yield her or I will have my tharlarion trample you," he snapped, "or would you prefer to be spitted on my lance?" "You know the codes," I said evenly. "If you want;_ her, you must challenge for her and meet me with the weapon of my choice."
The warrior's face clouded, but only for an instant. He threw back his fine head and laughed, his teeth white in his bushy beard.
"Done!" he cried, fastening his lance in its saddle sheath and slipping from the back of the tharlarion. "I challenge you for her!"
"The sword," I said.
"Agreed," he said.
We shoved Talena, who was now frightened, to the side of the road. Hooded, she cowered there, the prize, her ears filled with the sudden violent ringing of blade on blade as two warriors fought to the death to possess her. Kazrak of Port Kar was a superb swordsman, but in the first moments we both knew that I was his master. His face was white beneath his helmet as he wildly attempted to parry my devastating attack. Once I stepped back, gesturing to the ground with my sword, the symbolic granting of quarter should it be desired. But Kazrak would not lay his sword on the stones at my feet. Rather, he suddenly launched a vicious attack, forcing me to defend myself as best I could. He seemed to fight with new, fury, perhaps enraged that he had been offered quarter.
At last, terminating a frenzied exchange, I managed to drive my blade into his shoulder, and, as his sword arm dropped, I kicked the weapon from his grasp. He stood proudly in the road, waiting for me to kill him.
I turned and went to Talena, who was standing piteously by the side of the road, waiting to see who it was that would unhood her.
As I lifted the hood, she uttered a small, joyful sound, her green eyes bright with pleasure. Then she saw the wounded warrior. She shuddered slightly. "Kill him," she commanded.
"No," I replied.
The warrior, who held his shoulder, blood streaming down from his hand, smiled bitterly. "It was worth it," he said, his gaze sweeping over Talena. "I'd challenge you again."
Talena seized her dagger from my belt and raced to the warrior. I caught her braceleted hands as she was going to drive the dagger into his breast. He had not moved. "You must kill him," said Talena, struggling. Angrily I removed her bracelets and replaced them so that her wrists were bound behind her back.
"You should use the whip on her," said the warrior matter-of-factly.
I tore some inches from the bottom of Talena's gown to make a bandage for Kazrak's shoulder. She endured this in fury, her head in the air, not watching me. I had scarcely finished bandaging his wound when I was aware of a ringing on metal, and, lifting my head, I saw myself surrounded by mounted spearmen, who wore the same livery as Kazrak. Behind them, stretching into the distance, came a long line of broad tharlarions, or the four footed draft monsters of Gor. These beasts, yoked in braces, were drawing mighty wagons, filled with merchandise protected under the lashings of its red rain canvas.
"It is the caravan of Mintar, of the Merchant Caste," said Kazrak.
Chapter 10
The Caravan
"Do NOT HARM HIM," SAID Kazrak. "He is my sword brother, Tarl of Bristol." Kazrak's remark was in accord with the strange warrior codes of Gor, codes which were as natural to him as the air he breathed, and codes which I, in the Chamber of the Council of Ko-ro-ba, had sworn to uphold. One who has shed your blood, or whose blood you have shed, becomes your sword brother, unless you formally repudiate the blood on your weapons. It is a part of the kinship of Gorean warriors regardless of what city it is to which they owe their allegiance. It is a matter of caste, an expression of respect for those who share their station and profession, having nothing to do with cities or Home Stones.
As I stood tensely, ringed by the lances of the caravan guards, the wall of tharlarions parted to allow the approach of Mintar, of the Merchant Caste. A bejeweled, curtained platform slung between the slow, swaying bodies of two of the broad tharlarions appeared. The beasts were halted by their strap-master, and after some seconds the curtains parted. Seated inside on several pillows of tasseled silk was a mammoth toad of a man, whose head was as round as a tarn's egg, the eyes nearly lost in the folds of fat, pocked skin. A slender straggling wisp of hair dropped languidly from the fat chin. The little eyes of the merchant swept the scene quickly, like a bird's, startling in their contrast with the plethoric giganticism of his frame.
"So," said the merchant, "Kazrak of Port Kar has met his match?"
"It is the first challenge I have ever lost," replied Kazrak proudly.
"Who are you?" asked Mintar, leaning forward a bit, inspecting first me and then Talena, whom he regarded with small interest.
"Tarl of Bristol," I said. "And this is my woman, whom I claim by sword-right."
Mintar closed his eyes and opened them and pulled on his beard. He had, of course, never heard of Bristol, but did not wish to admit it, at least before his men. Moreover, he was far too shrewd to pretend that he had heard of the city. After all, what if there was no such city?
Mintar looked at the ring of mounted spearmen encircling me. "Does any man in my service challenge for the woman of Tarl of Bristol?" he asked.
The warriors shifted nervously. Kazrak laughed, a derisive snort. One of the mounted warriors said, "Kazrak of Port Kar is the best sword in the caravan."
Mintar's face clouded. "Tarl of Bristol," he said, "you have disabled my finest sword."
One or two of the mounted warriors readjusted their grip on their lances. I became acutely conscious of the proximity of the several points.
"You owe me a debt," said Mintar. "Can you pay the hiring price of such a sword?"
"I have no goods other than this girl," I said, "and I will not give her up."
Mintar sniffed. "In the wagons I have four hundred fully as beautiful, destined for the City of Tents." He looked at Talena carefully, but his appraisal was remote, detached. "Her sale price would not bring half the hiring price of a sword such as that of Kazrak of Port Kar." Talena reacted as if slapped.
"Then I cannot pay the debt I owe you," I said.
"I am a merchant," said Mintar, "and it is in my code to see that I am paid."