Mercenaries of Gor coc-21 Page 5

  The warriors about the fire, and the woman, and two other women, too, who had now come from the wagon, looked at him.

  Then Genserix reached down and lifted up the child. The women cried out with pleasure and the men grunted with approval. Genserix held the child up now, happily, it almost lost in his large hands, and then he lifted it up high over his head.

  "Ho!" called the warriors, standing up, rejoicing. The women beamed.

  "It is a son!" cried one of the women.

  "Yes," said Genserix. "It is a son!"

  "Ho!" called the warriors. "Ho!"

  "What is going on?" asked Feiqa.

  "The child has been examined," I said. "It has been found sound. It will be permitted to live. It is now an Alar. Too, he has lifted the child up. In this he acknowledges it as his own."

  Genserix then handed the child to one of the warriors. He then drew his knife. "What is he going to do?" gasped Feiqa.

  "Be quiet," I said. Genserix then, carefully, made two incisions in the face of the infant, obliquely, one on each cheek. The infant began to cry. Blood ran down the sides of its face, about the sides of its neck and onto its tiny shoulders. "Let it be taken now," said Genserix, "to its mother."

  The woman who had brought the child to the side of the fire now took up the blanket in which it had been wrapped, and, wrapping it again on its folds, took it then from the warrior, and made her way back to the wagon.

  "These are a warrior people," I said to Feiqa, "and the child is an Alar. It must learn to endure wounds before it receives the nourishment of milk." Feiqa shrank back, frightened to be among such men.

  On the face of Genserix, and on the faces of those about us, the males, were the thin, white, knife-edge lines, the narrow scars, by which it might be known that each had, in his time, undergone the same ceremony. By such scars one may identify Alars.

  "I rejoice in your happiness," I said to Genserix, who had now resumed his place by the fire.

  Genserix declined his head briefly, smiling, and spread his hands, expansively. "At a time of such happiness," said a fellow, his long dark hair bound back with a beaded leather talmit, "you need not even be killed for having come to our camp uninvited."

  "Hold," I said, uneasily. "I was told in the camp of the wagoners, some of those in the supply trains of Cos, that there might be work here for me."

  One or two of the men struck each other about the shoulders in amusement.

  "I gather that is not true," I said.

  "Shall we kill him anyway?" asked a fellow.

  "Surely folks come often to the wagons," I said.

  "Do not mind Parthanx and Sorath," said a tall, broad shouldered fellow sitting cross-legged beside me. He, too, like Genserix, had long, braided hair and a yellow mustache. Too like Genserix, he was blue-eyed. Many of the Alars are fair in complexion, blond-haired and blue-eyed. "They jest. They are the camp wits," he explained. "Many folks come to the wagons, as you know, informers, slavers, tradesmen, metal workers, craftsmen, peasants who will barter produce for skins and trinkets, and so on. If this were not so we could not easily have the goods we have, nor could we keep up as well with the news. If it were not so, we would be too cut off from the world. We would consequently be unable to conduct our affairs as judiciously as we do."

  I nodded. Folk like the Alars tended to move in, and about, settled territories. They were not isolated in vast plains areas, for example, as were certain subequatorial Wagon Peoples, such as Tuchucks and Kassars.

  The fellows identified as Parthanx and Sorath shoved at one another good-naturedly, pleased with their joke.

  "Let rings be brought!" called out Genserix.

  "I am Hurtha," said the blond fellow beside me. "You must not think of us as barbarians. Tell us about the cities."

  "What would you like to know?" I asked. He would be interested, I assumed in such matters as the nature of their walls, the number of gates, their defenses, the strength of garrisons, and such.

  "Is Ar as beautiful as they say?" he asked. "And what is it like to live there?" "It is very beautiful," I said. "And although I am not a citizen of Ar, nor of Telnus, the capital of Cos, it is doubtless easier to live in such places than among the wagons. Why do you ask?"

  "Hurtha is a weakling, and a poet!" laughed Sorath.

  "I am a warrior, and an Alar," said Hurtha, "but it is true that I am fond of songs."

  "There is no incompatibility between letters and arms," I said. "The greatest soldiers are often gifted men."

  "I have considered going abroad, to seek my fortune," he said.

  "What would you do?" I asked.

  "My arm is strong," he said, "and I can ride."

  "You would seek service then with some captain?" I said.

  "Yes," he said, "and if possible with the finest."

  "Many are the causes on Gor," I said, "and so, too, many are the captains." "My first appointments," he said, "might be with anyone." "Many captains," I said, "choose their causes on the scales of merchants, weighing their iron against gold. They fight, I fear, only for the Ubar with the deepest purse."

  "I am an Alar," said Hurtha. "The cities are always at war with us. It is always the fields against the walls. No matter then which way I face, nor whom I strike, it would be a blow, against enemies."

  " I am a mercenary, of sorts," I said, "but I have usually selected my causes with care."

  "And one should," agreed Hurtha, "for otherwise one might not improve one's fortunes."

  I looked at him.

  "Right," said Hurtha, "if that is what you are interested in, seems to me a very hard thing to understand. I am not sure there is really any such thing, at all. I have never tasted it, nor seen it, nor felt it. If it does exist, it seems likely to me that it would be on both sides, like sunlight and air. Surely no war has been fought in which both sides have not sincerely claimed, and presumably believed, for one reason or another, that they were right. Thus, if right is always on both sides, one cannot help but fight for it. If that then is the case, why should one not be paid as well as possible for the risks he takes?"

  "Have you ever tasted, or seen, or felt honor?" I asked.

  "Yes," said Hurtha. "I have tasted honor, and seen it, and felt it, but it is not like tasting bread, or seeing a rock, or feeling a woman. It is different." "Perhaps right is like that," I said.

  "Perhaps," said Hurtha. "But the matter seems very complex and difficult to me." "It seems so to me, too," I said. "I am often surprised why it seems so easy to so many others."

  "Yes," said Hurtha.

  "Perhaps they are more gifted than we in detecting its presence," I speculated. "Perhaps," said Hurtha, "but why, then, is there so much disagreement among them?"

  "I do not know," I admitted. Rings were then brought, heavy rings of silver and gold, large enough for a wrist or arm, and Genserix distributed these to high retainers. From the same box, he then distributed coins among the others. Even I received a silver tarsk. There were treasures among the wagons, it seemed. The tarsk was one of Telnus. In this small detail I suspected there might be found evidence of the possible relationship between the movements of Cos and the coming of the Alar wagons to the Genesian Road.

  "Are there such women as these in the cities?" asked Hurtha, indicating Feiqa. "Thousands," I informed him.

  "Surely we should study siege work," smiled Hurtha.

  Feiqa shrank back a bit.

  "Such women may be bought in the cities," I said, "in slave markets, from the houses of slavers, from private dealers. Surely you could have such among the wagons, if you wished. You could have strings brought out to be examined, or accepted, on approval. I see no problem in the matter." Interestingly, I had noted few, if any, slaves among the wagons. This was quite different from the Wagon Peoples of the far south. There beautiful slaves, in the scandalously revealing chatka and curla, the kalmak and the koora, tiny rings in their noses, were common among the wagons. "You mentioned, as I recall, that slavers among others, came
occasionally to the wagons."

  "Yes," he said, "but usually to buy our captures, picked up generally in raids or fighting."

  "Why are there so few slaves among the wagons?" I asked.

  "The free women kill them," said Hurtha.

  Feiqa gasped. I decided that perhaps I had best be soon on my way. She was a beauty, and was extremely sexually exciting, sometimes almost maddeningly so, to men. I had no wish to risk her in this place. She was exactly the sort of female which, in her helplessness and collar, in her vulnerability and brief tunic, tends to inspire jealous hatred, sometimes bordering almost on madness, in free women, particularly homely and sexually frustrated ones. "Oh!" said Feiqa, as he called Sorath closed his hand about her upper arm. His grip was tight. There was no mistaking its nature. He had her in mind. "Hold," I said to him, putting my hand on his arm.

  "Hold?" he asked.

  "Yes," I said. "Hold."

  "You are not an Alar," he said. "I will take her."

  "No," I said.

  "This is our camp," he said.

  "It is my slave," I said.

  "Give her to me," he said. "I will give her back to you happier, and with only a few bruises."

  "No," I said.

  "In the camp I do what I wish," he said.

  "I doubt that that is always the case," I said.

  He stood up. I, too, stood up. He was a bit shorter than I, but was extremely broad and powerful. It is a not uncommon build among Alars.

  "You have taken food here," said Sorath.

  "And I have been pleased to have done so," I said. "Thank you."

  "You are a guest here," said Sorath.

  "And I expect to receive the respect and courtesy due a guest," I said. "Let him have her for a few Ehn," suggested Hurtha.

  "He has not asked," I said.

  "Ask," suggested a fellow to Sorath.

  "He will not know the ax," said Hurtha. "He is not of the wagons." "Let them then be blades!" roared Sorath.

  "The ax will be fine," I said. I had learned its use in Torvaldsland. I had little doubt that the Torvaldslanders could stand up to any folk in the use of the ax.

  "Let the axes be headless," said Genserix. This proposal surprised me somewhat, but I welcomed it. It seemed a decent and generous gesture on the part of Genserix. Not every chieftain of the Alars, I supposed, would have been so thoughtful. In this fashion the worse that was likely to happen was that the loser would have his head broken open. The men about the fire grunted their agreement. They all seemed rather decent fellows. Sorath, too, I was pleased to see, nodded. Apparently he, at least after a moment of choler, upon a more sober reflection, had no special wish to kill me. He would probably be satisfied to beat me unconscious. In the morning then I might awaken naked, tied to a stake outside the wagons. In a few days, then, which I might have spent ruminating on my ingratitude, while living on water poured into a hole near me, and on vegetables thrown to me, like a tarsk, when the wagons moved I might have been freed, a well-used Feiqa then returned to me, perhaps with a fresh Alar brand in her hide, that I might be reminded, from time to time, of the incident.

  Two of the long heavy handles were brought.

  I hefted one. It had good weight and balance.

  "Beware, friend" said Hurtha. "Sorath well knows the ways of the ax." "Thank you," I said.

  Feiqa whimpered.

  "Prepare yourself for the future," I said.

  "Master?" she asked, puzzled.

  "Shall the female be held?" asked a fellow.

  "That will not be necessary," I said. "Stay, Feiqa"

  "Yes, Master," she said. She would now keep her place, kneeling as she was, until a free person might permit her to move.

  Sorath spit upon his hands and gripped the handle. He cut the air with a stroke or two.

  I went to an open place near the fire.

  "See?" said one of the fellows, "He takes a position with the fire at his back." Some of the others nodded, too, seemingly having noted this.

  When possible, of course, given consideration of the land, warriors like to have both the sun and wind at their back. The glare from the sun, even if it is not blinding, can be wearing upon an enemy, particularly if the battle persists for Ahn. The advantages of having the wind at one's back are obvious. It flights one's arrows, increasing their range; it gives additional impetus to one's movements and charges; and whatever dust or debris it might carry is more likely to effect the enemy than oneself.

  Sorath struck fiercely down at me with the handle and I blocked the blow, smartly. His blow had been a simple, obvious one, and unless he had intended to use it in wearing down my strength or perhaps breaking the handle I carried, it made little sense. He stood back, considering matters.

  "Surely you would not have struck at an Alar like that," I said. He must be clear that I had not brought my handle back, under the blow, slashing upward to his neck, a blow that can, with the Torvaldsland ax, at least, cut the head from a man.

  "True, Stranger," said a woman's voice. I stepped back a little, sensing that there was momentary truce between Sorath and myself, but also keeping track of him. He could not change position without my detecting it. "I have seen tharlarion who could handle and ax better than that," she said. Sorath reddened, angrily. It was apparently a free woman of the Alars, only she was not dressed as were the other women of the camp, in their coarse, heavy, ankle-length woolen dresses. She wore rather the garmenture of a male, the furs and leather. At her belt there was even a knife. She was strikingly lovely, though, I supposed, given her mien and attitude, she would not have taken such an observation as a compliment. She was about the same size as Feiqa, though perhaps a tiny bit shorter, and like Feiqa, was dark-haired and dark-eyed. I thought they might look well together, as a brace of slaves.

  Sorath then, stung by her remark, flung himself wildly toward me and fought frenziedly, but rashly. I blocked blows, not wishing to take advantage of his recklessness. I refrained from striking him. Had we been using real axes, the handles armed with iron, I might have finished him several times. I do not know if he was fully aware of this, but I am sure some of the others were. Hurtha and Genserix, for example, judging from the alarm which I noted in their expressions, seemed to be under no misapprehensions in the matter. To be sure, had the handles been armed perhaps he would have addressed himself to our match with much greater circumspection. Panting, Sorath backed away.

  "Fight, Sorath," taunted the woman. "He is an outsider. Are you not an Alar?" "Be silent, woman," said Genserix, angrily.

  "I am a free woman," she said. I may speak as I please."

  "Do not seek to interfere in the affairs of men," said Genserix.

  She faced the group, standing on the other side of the fire. Her feet were spread. On her feet were boots of fur. Her arms were crossed insolently upon her chest. "Are there men here?" she asked. "I wonder."

  There was a rumble of angry sounds from the gathered warriors. But none did anything to discipline the girl. She was, of course, free. Free women, among the Alars, have high standing.

  "Do you think you are a man?" inquired one of the warriors.

  "I am a female," she said, "but I am not different from you, not in the least." There were angry murmurs from the men.

  "Indeed," she said, "I am probably more a man than any of you here." "Give her an ax," said Genserix.

  An ax, a typical Alar ax, long handled, armed with its heavy iron blade, was handed to the girl. She took it, holding it with difficulty. It was clear it was too heavy for her. She could scarcely lift it, let alone wield it.

  "You could not use that blade, even for chopping wood," said Genserix. "What is your name?" I asked her.

  "Tenseric," she said.

  "That is a male's name," I said.

  "I chose it myself," she said. "I wear it proudly."

  "Have you always been called that?" I asked.

  "I was called Boabissia," she said, "until I came of age, and chose my own name."

&
nbsp; "You are still Boabissia," said one of the warriors. "No!" she said. "I am Tenseric."

  "You are a female, are you not?" I asked.

  "I suppose so," she said, angrily. "But what is that supposed to mean?" "Does it mean nothing?" I asked.

  "No," she said. "It means nothing."

  "Are you the same as a man?" I asked.

  "Yes!" she said.

  There was laughter from the warriors about the fire.

  "It takes more than fur and leather, and a dagger worn pretentiously at one's belt, to make a man." I said.

  She looked at me with fury.

  "You are a female," called one of the men. "Be one!"

  "No!" she cried.

  "Put on a dress!" called another of the men.

  "Never!" she cried. "I do not want to be one of those pathetic creatures who must wait on you and serve you!"

  "Are you an Alar?" I asked.

  "Yes!" she said.

  "No," said Genserix. "She is not an Alar. We found her, years ago, when she was an infant, beside the road, abandoned in blankets, amidst the wreckage of a raided caravan."

  "One which had fallen to the Alars?" I inquired.

  "No," said a fellow, chuckling.

  "I wished it had fallen to us," said another. "From the size of the caravan, we conjecture the loot must have been considerable."