Magicians of Gor

7 Ar is Liberated

We were muchly jostled.

"Hear the bars," asked Marcus.

"They are sounding out peals of rejoicing." I said.

It was now two days after we had read the first postings of the conciliatory message of Lurius of Jad on the public boards.

"Hail Ar! Hail Cos!" cried folks about.

It was difficult to keep our feet.

"Are they coming?" asked a man.

"Yes," said another, moving out further onto the avenue.

"Back," said a guardsmen. "Back."

We had come to this coign of vantage, such as it was, very early this morning, even at the second Ahn. Yet, even at that time, many had been about, some with blankets to sleep on the stones. It was in the open area near the Central Cylinder, which loomed in the center of a circular park, the territory open enough for defense, midway in the avenue.

"Hail Ar! Hail Cos!" cried a man.

Many folks held small Cosian banners which they might wave. Banners, too, of Ar were much in evidence.

The night before last, the night of that day on which we had taken note of the postings, the gates of Ar had been dismantled and burned. Some citizens had attempted to interfere with this, but were discouraged with clubs and blades. There had even been sporadic mutinies of small contingents of guardsmen, determined to hold their posts, but these for the most part dissipated when it became clear that the orders were from the Central Cylinder itself. Two of these armed reluctances, yielding neither to reason nor orders, were quelled bloodily by Taurentians. Gnieus Lelius, it seems, had been deposed, and Seremides, in a military coup he himself characterized as regrettable, had seized temporary power, a power to be wielded until the High Council, now the highest civilian authority in Ar, could elect a new leader, be it Administrator, Regent, Ubar or Ubara.

"I had not thought to see the gates of Ar burned, not by her own," said Marcus. "No," I said.

The metal plating had been pried from them, to be melted down. The great timbers then, shattered and separated, had been formed into gigantic pyres and burned. I think the light of these would have been visible for fifty pasangs. Marcus and I, and Phoebe, had watched the burning of the great gate for a time. Many folks from the city, too, some in numbness, some in sorrow, some in disbelief, had come out to watch. We could see their faces in the reflected light. Many had wept. Some uttered lamentations, tearing their hair and clothes. It had been uncomfortably hot even within a hundred pasangs of the flames, so great was the heat generated. I had come through that gate many times.

We could hear cheering in the distance.

"Cos is within the city," said Marcus.

"At last we are free!" cried a man.

"We have been liberated!" cheered another, waving a Cosian banner on a small stick.

The city was festooned with ribbons and garlands. It was hard to hear Marcus beside me, what with the sound of the bars ringing and the shouts of the crowd.

"Has there ever been such a day for rejoicing in Ar?" asked Marcus.

"I do not know," I admitted. After all, I was not of Ar.

"Do you think Cos will now sack and burn the city?" asked Marcus.

"No," I said.

"They are within the walls," he said.

"Selected, controllable contingents, probably mostly regulars," I said.

"You do not expect them to burn Ar?" he asked.

"No," I said. "Ar is a prize, surely more valuable as she is, rather than in ashes."

"Is the population not to be slaughtered?" he asked.

"I would doubt it," I said. "There is a great pool of skills and talent in Ar. Such things, too, are prizes."

"But surely they will sack the city," he said.

"Perhaps little by little," I said.

"I do not understand," he said.

"Study the campaigns of Dietrich of Tarnburg," I said.

Marcus looked at me.

"I do not doubt but what Myron, polemarkos of Cos, or his advisors, have done so."

"You speak in riddles," said Marcus.

"I can see them!" cried a man.

"Look, too, the Central Cylinder!" cried a man.

At the edge of the circular park, within which rears the lofty Central Cylinder, a platform had been erected, presumably that thousands more, gathered on the streets, could witness what was to occur. We were within a few yards of this platform. This platform could be ascended by two ramps, one in the back, on the side of the Central Cylinder, and one in front, opposite to the Central Cylinder, on the side of the Avenue of the Central Cylinder. Phoebe was close behind Marcus, clinging to him, that she not be swept from us in the throngs. "Look there, at the foot of the platform!" said a man.

"The sleen, the scoundrel, the tyrant!" cried a man.

There were cries of rage and hatred from the crowd. Being dragged along the side of the platform, conducted by a dozen chains, each attached to, and radiating out from, a heavy metal collar, each chain held by a child, was a pathetic figure, stumbling and struggling, its ankles shackled and its upper body almost swathed in chains, Gnieus Lelius. Other children too, some five of them, with switches, hung about him like sting flies. At intervals, for which they watched eagerly, receiving the permission of a supervising Taurentian, they would rush forward, striking the helpless figure. Muchly did the crowd laugh at this. Gnieus Lelius was barefoot. Too, he had been placed in motley rags, not unlike the sort that might be worn by a comedic mime upon the stage. I supposed this was just as well. Gnieus Lelius, thus, might have some hope of evading impalement on the walls of Ar. He would perhaps rather be sent to the palace of Lurius of Jad, in Telnus, to be kept there for the amusement of Lurius and his court, as a caged buffoon.

"Sleen! Tyrant!" cried men.

Some fellows rushed out to cast ostraka at him. "Take your ostraka, tyrant!" they cried. Gnieus flinched, several of these small missiles striking him. these were the same ostraka, I supposed, which, a few days ago, would have been worth their weight in gold, permits, passes, in effect, to remain in the city. After the burning of the gates, of course, one need no longer concern oneself with ostraka and permits.

"We are free now!" cried one of the men, flinging his ostrakon at Gnieus Lelius. Other men rushed out to fall upon the former regent wit blows, but Taurentians swiftly, with proddings and blows of their spears, drove them back.

Gnieus Lelius was then, by the front ramp, conducted to the surface of the platform. Many in the crowd, now first seeing him, shrieked out their hatred. There he was put on his knees, to one side, the children locking their chains to prepared rings, set in a circle, then withdrawing. The five lads with switches were given a last opportunity, to the amusement of the crowd, to strike the former regent, then they, too, were dismissed.

The sounds of the drums and trumpets to our right were now closer.

"Look!" said a fellow. He pointed in the direction of the Central Cylinder from which, but moments before, Gnieus Lelius, and his escort, had emerged.

"It is Seremides, and members of the High Council!" said a fellow.

Seremides, whom I had not seen this clearly since long ago in Ar, in the days of Minus Tentius Hinrabius, and Cernus, of Ar, with others, members of the High Council, I gathered, now, from the side of the Central Cylinder, ascended the platform.

"He is not in the robes of a penitent or suppliant!" shouted a fellow, joyfully. "No!" cried others.

"He is in uniform!" cried a man.

"Look," cried a man. "He has his sword!"

"Seremides retains his sword!" cried a man, calling back to those less near the platform.

There was much cheering greeting this announcement.

Then the High Council stood to one side, and Seremides himself returned to the point on the platform where the rear ramp, that near the Central Cylinder, ascended to its surface.

The ringing of the bars then ceased, first those of the Central Cylinder and then those near it, and then those farther away, about the city. This happened so quickly, however, that it was doubtless accomplished not by the fellows at the bells apprehending that those most inward in the city had ceased to ring but rather in virtue of some signal, presumably conveyed from the Central Cylinder, a signal doubtless relayed immediately, successively, by flags or such, to other points.

The crowd looked at one another.

No longer now, the bars now quiet, did I even hear the drums and trumpets of the approaching Cosians. Those instruments, too, were silent. I did not doubt, however, that the approach north on the Avenue of the Central Cylinder was still in progress.

Seremides now, at the rear of the platform, where the rear ramp ascended to its surface, extended his hand downward, to escort a figure clad and veiled in dazzling white to the surface of the platform. It was a graceful figure who, head down, the fingers of her left hand in the light grasp of Seremides, now came forward upon the platform.

"No! No!" cried many in the crowd. "No!"

"It is Talena!" wept a man.

The figure, to be sure, was robed in white, and veiled, but I had little doubt that it was indeed Talena, once the daughter of Marlenus of Ar, Ubar of Ubars. "She is not gloved!" cried a man.

"She is barefoot!" cried another.

Marcus looked down, sharply, at Phoebe, who clung to his arm. Instantly Phoebe looked down. In that crush she could scarcely have knelt. She might have been forced from her knees and trampled. Phoebe, of course, was much exposed in the brief slave tunic, her arms and legs. I looked at her calves, ankles and feet. She, too, was barefoot. This was appropriate for her, of course, as she was a slave. Slaves are often kept barefoot. I then looked up, continuing to regard her, she clinging to Marcus. Yes, she was quite lovely. She looked up a moment, saw my eyes upon her, and then looked down again, quickly. The slave girdle too, tied high on her, crossed, emphasized the loveliness of her small breasts. I was pleased for Marcus. He has a lovely slave. I was lonely. I wished that I, too, had a slave.

"She is in the robes of a penitent or suppliant!" cried another in dismay. "No, Talena!" cried a man.

"No, Talena," cried another, "do not."

"We will not permit it!" cried a man.

"Not our Talena!" wept a woman.

"The crowd grows ugly," observed Marcus.

"Ar is not worth such a price!" cried another.

"Better give the city to flames!" cried another.

"Let us fight! Let us fight!" cried men.

Several men broke out, into the street, where Taurentians, with spears held across their bodies, struggled to restrain them.

"Good," said Marcus. "There is going to be a riot."

"If so," I said, "let us withdraw."

"It will give me a chance to slip a knife into a few of these fellows," said Marcus.

"Phoebe might be hurt," I said.

"She is only a slave," said Marcus, but I saw him shelter her in his arms, preparing to move back through the crowd.

"Wait," I said.

Talena herself, on the height of the platform, had her hands out, palms up, shaking them negatively, even desperately.

I smiled.

This behavior on her part seemed scarcely in keeping with the dignity of the putative daughter of a Ubar, not to mention her mien as a penitent or suppliant. "She urges us to calm!" said a man.

"She pleads with us to stand back," said a man. "Come back."

"Noble Talena!" wept a fellow.

The crowd wavered. Several of the men in the street backed away, returning to the crowd.

Talena then, now that the crowd, divided and confused, seemed more tractable, put her head down and to one side, and, lifting her arms, the palms up, made a gesture as of resignation and nobility, pressing back the crowd.

"She does not wish succor," said a fellow.

"She fears that we may suffer in her behalf," moaned a man.

It had been a narrow thing, I thought. Had Talena herself not suddenly interposed her own will, clearly, vigorously, even desperately, signaling negatively to the crowd, the platform and avenue might have swarmed with irate citizens, intent upon her rescue. The handful of Taurentians about would have been swept back like leaves before a hurricane.

"Do not let this be done, Seremides!" cried a fellow.

"Protect Talena!" cried several men.

But now Seremides held forth his hands, calmly, palms down, and raised and lowered them, gently, several times.

The crowd murmured, uneasily, threateningly.

"Talena intends to sacrifice herself for us, for the city, for the Home Stone!" wept a man.

"She must not be permitted to do so," said a fellow.

"We will not permit it!" said another, suddenly.

"Let us act!" cried a man.

Again the crowd wavered. There was a sudden pressing forth toward the platform, a tiny, incipient surgency. Taurentians braced themselves and pressed back against the crowd with the shafts of their spears.

Seremides' calming hands continued to beg for patience.

Then, again, the crowd was quiet, tense. I did not think that it would take much to precipitate violence. Yet, for the moment, at least, it was still, if seething. There is often a delicate balance in such things, and sometimes in such situations even a small action, even a seemingly insignificant stimulus, can trigger a sudden, massive response.

Seremides then, again, held out his hand to Talena. He then led her forward, as before, toward the front ramp. As they neared the figure of Gnieus Lelius, kneeling in his chains near the front ramp, Talena seemed to hesitate, to shrink back with distaste. One small hand, even, extended, palm out, toward the former regent, as though she would fend away the very sight of him, as though she could not bear the thought of his nearness. She even turned to Seremides, doubtlessly imploring him with all the piteous vulnerability of the penitent or suppliant, that she not be stationed close to that odious object, which had brought such lamentable catastrophe and misery upon her city.

Seremides seemed to hesitate for a moment and then, as though he had made a determined decision, however unwise it might be, graciously, and with great courtesy, conducted Talena to a place further from the kneeling Gnieus Lelius. The crowd murmured its approval.

"Good, Seremides!" cried a man.

As Talena was conducted to her place, a few feet from Gnieus Lelius, she drew up the white robes a little with her right hand, so that they were above her ankles. In this way those who might not have noticed this fact before could now note that she was barefoot. I supposed this tiny act of exposure, so apparently natural, if not inadvertent, as though merely to aid her footing, this act so delicately politic, must have cost the modesty of the putative daughter of Marlenus of Ar much.

A man near me put his head in his hands and wept. Marcus glanced at him, contemptuously.

In a moment then, startling me, and doubtless many others in the crowd, there was a blast of trumpets and a roll of drums to our right. Regulars of Cos, regiments of them, in ordered lines, in cleaned, pressed blue, with polished helmets and shields, preceded by numerous standard bearers, representing far more units than were doubtless in the city at the moment, and musicians, advanced. Tharlarion cavalrymen, of both bipedal and quadrupedal tharlarion, flanked the lines. The street shook under the tread of these beasts. Turned on the crowd they might, in their passage, have trampled hundreds.

The crowd, now that it had segments of the forces of Cos before it, seemed strangely docile. These were not a handful of Taurentians that might have been swept from their path like figures off a kaissa board. These were warriors in serried ranks, many of whom had doubtless seen battle. To move against such would have been like throwing themselves onto the knife walls of Tyros.

Similarly, should the troops wheel to the sides, charging, blades drawn, they might have slaughtered thousands, harvesting the crowds, trapped by their own numbers, like sa-tarna.

With a roll of drums and a blast of trumpets, and the distinct, uniform sound of hundreds of men coming simultaneously to a halt, the Cosian array arrested its march not yards from the forward ramp.

I thought I saw the figure of Talena, standing on the platform, with others, tremble. Perhaps now she realized, I thought, what it might mean to have Cosians in the city. Did she now, suddenly, I wondered, realize how vulnerable she really was, and Ar, and how such fellows could now do much what they pleased. She was in the white robes of a penitent or suppliant. The penitent or suppliant, incidentally, is supposed to be naked beneath such robes. I doubted, however, that Talena was naked beneath them. On the other hand, she would surely wish the good citizens of Ar to believe that she was.

It seemed terribly quiet for a moment. If I had spoken, even softly, I am sure I would have been heard for yards, so still were the pressed throngs.

"Myron," I heard whispered. "Myron, polemarkos of Cos!"

I saw nothing for a time but the crowd, the platform, the people on the platform, and Cosians, for several yards to the right, standard bearers, some even bearing the standards of mercenary companies, probably not in the march, such as that of Raymond Rive-de-Bois, musicians, and soldiers, both foot and cavalry.

"He is coming!" I heard.

The polemarkos, if it were indeed he, I thought, must be very confident, to so enter Ar. I did not think that Lurius of Jad, Ubar of Cos, would have done so. To be sure, Lurius seldom left the precincts of the palace of Telnus. More than one triumph in a Gorean city has been spoiled by the bolt of an assassin. "I see him!" I said to Marcus.

"Yes," he said. Phoebe stood on her tiptoes, clinging to Marcus' arm, her slim, lovely body very straight. She craned her neck. She could still see, I thought, very little. The close-fitting steel collar was lovely on her throat. The collar, with its lock, muchly enhances a woman's beauty.

In a moment a large bipedialian saddle tharlarion, in golden panoply, its nails polished, its scales brushed bright, wheeled to a halt before the standard bearers. Behind it came several other tharlarion, resplendent, too, but lesser in size and panoply, with riders. Myron, or he who was acting on his behalf, then, by means of a dismounting stirrup, not the foot stirrup, the rider's weight lowering it, descended to the ground. It was curious to see him, as I had heard much of him. He was a tall man, in a golden helmet, plumed, too, in gold, and a golden cloak. He was personally armed with the common gladius, the short sword, the most common infantry weapon on Ar, and a dagger. In a saddle sheath, remaining there, was a longer weapon, a two-handed scimitar, the two-handed scimitarus, useful for reaching other riders on tharlarion. There was no lance in the saddle boot. He removed his helmet and handed it to one of his fellows. He seemed a handsome fellow, with long hair. I recalled he had once been under the influence of the beautiful slave, Lucilina, even to the point of consulting her in matters of state. She had been privy to many secrets. Indeed, her influence over the polemarkos had been feared, and her favor had been courted even by free men. Her word or glance might mean the difference between advancement and neglect, between honor and disgrace. Then Dietrich of Tarnburg had arranged for her to be kidnapped and brought to him, stripped. He had soon arranged for her to be emptied of all sensitive information. He had then renamed her "Luchita, an excellent name for a slave and quite different from the prestigious name "Lucilina, which might have graced a free woman. He had then given her to one of his lowest soldiers, as a work and pleasure slave. The last time I had seen her had been in Brundisium, among the slaves belonging to various mercenaries, men of the company of a fellow who was then identifying himself as Edgar, of Tarnwald. I did not know where this Edgar, of Tarnwald, now was, nor his men. I suspected that by now Myron had come to understand, and to his chagrin, how he had been the pliant dupe of a female, and even one who was a slave. I did not think it likely that this would happen again. He now doubtless had a much better idea of the utilities and purposes of females.

Myron, now, as I suppose it was Myron, with two fellows behind him, each bearing a package, ascended the platform.

Seremides approached him and, drawing his sword from its sheath, extended it to him, hilt first.

"Myron does not accept his sword!" said a man.

Myron, indeed, with a magnanimous gesture, had demurred to accept the weapons of Seremides, the high general of Ar. Seremides now sheathed the sword.

"Hail Cos! Hail Ar!" whispered a fellow.

The crowd then hushed as Seremides extended his hand to Talena and conducted her before Myron, her head down.

"Poor Talena," whispered a man.

The daughters of conquered ubars often grace the triumphs of victorious generals. This may be done in many ways. Sometimes they are marched naked at their stirrups, in chains; sometimes they are marched similarly but among slaves holding other loot, golden vessels, and such; sometimes they are displayed on wagons, or rolling platforms, caged with she-verr or she-tarsks, and so on. Almost always they will be publicly and ceremoniously enslaved, either before or after the triumph, either in their own city or in the city of the conqueror. Myron, however, bowed low before Talena, in this perhaps saluting the loftiness and honorableness of her status, that of the free female.

"I do not understand," said Marcus.

"Wait," I said.

"Will he not now strip her and have her put in chains?" asked Marcus.

"Watch," I said.

"She will be in his tent, as one of his women, before nightfall," he said. "Watch," I said.

"To be sure," he said, "perhaps she will be kept for the pleasure gardens of Lurius of Jad, or the kennels if his house slaves, if she was not beautiful enough for his pleasure gardens."

"Watch a moment," I said.

Talena, as I knew, was an exquisitely beautiful female, with that olive skin, and dark eyes and hair. I did not doubt but what she was worthy of a ubar's pleasure gardens, and even if, all things considered, she was not quite of that quality, she would still, undoubtedly, find herself there. Allowances are often made for special women, former enemies, and such, and I had little doubt that an allowance of one sort or another would be made for a ubar's daughter, or one taken to be such. It must be remembered, too, that the contents of a pleasure garden are not necessarily always viewed in only one light. For example, such a garden may contain women who are, in a sense, primarily trophies. Surely Talena might count, say, from the standpoint of a Lurius of Jad, as such a trophy. Indeed, some men, collectors, use their gardens mainly for housing their collections, say, of different types of women, selected perhaps primarily with an eye to illustrating, and exhibiting, various forms of female beauty, or, indeed, even for their unique or rare brands.

Myron then turned about to one of the two fellows who had ascended the ramp with him, each of which held a package.

"What is in the package?" asked a man.

"A slave collar, slave bracelets, shackles, such things," said a man.

"No, look!" said a man.

"Ai!" said Marcus.

Myron, from the package held by one of the two fellows who had ascended the ramp with him, drew forth a shimmering veil. He shook this out and displayed it to the crowd.

"It is the veil of a free woman!" said a man.

Myron handed this to Talena, who accepted it.

"I do not understand," said Marcus.

"It will be all she will be given," said a man, angrily.

"A Cosian joke," said another, "then to be removed from her when they wish."

"Cosian sleen," said a man.

"We must fight," said another.

"We cannot fight," said another. "It is hopeless."

Another fellow moaned.

Myron then, however, from the same package, drew forth a set of the ornate robes of concealment, displaying these to the crowd, as he had done with the veil. These, too, he then delivered to Talena.

"Why are they giving her such garments?" asked a man.

"They are Cosian garments," said a man.

"Perhaps it is that Lurius of Jad is to be the first to look upon her fully, in his pleasure chambers," said a man.

"Woe is Talena," whispered a man.

"Woe is us, woe is Ar!" said another.

"We must fight," said the man, again.

"No, it is hopeless!" said the other.

"No, see!" said another. "He again bows before her. Myron, the polemarkos, bows before our Talena!"

Talena then bowed her head, too, as though shyly, gratefully, before the polemarkos.

"She accepts his respects!" said a man.

"It seems she now wishes to withdraw," said a man.

"Poor modest little Talena!" said another.

To be sure, it seemed that Talena now, overcome with modesty, clutching the garments to her gratefully with one hand and with the other seeming to try to pull down the white robes, to more cover her bared feet, wished to leave the platform.

The hand of Seremides however gently stayed her.

"Modest Talena!" exclaimed a man.

"She is not a slave," said another, glaring angrily at Phoebe who, frightened, in her slave tunic, pressed herself more closely against Marcus.

"Myron will speak," said a man.

The polemarkos, or him I took to be he, then advanced to the front of the platform. Gnieus Lelius, chained, was kneeling to his right.

At the front of the platform, after a pause, Myron began to speak. He spoke in a clear, strong, resounding voice. His accent was Cosian, of course, but it was a high-caste Cosian accent, intelligible to all. Too, he spoke deliberately, and slowly. "I bring greetings," said he, "from my ubar, your friend, Lurius of Jad." He then turned to Talena, who stood somewhat behind him, the hand of Seremides on her arm, as though to supply her with perhaps much-needed kindly support in these trying moments. "First," said Myron, "I bring greetings from Lurius of Jad to Talena of Ar, daughter of Marlenus of Ar, Ubar of Ubars!" Talena inclined her head, accepting these greetings.

"Hail Cos!" cried a fellow in the crowd.

Myron now turned to the crowd.

The impressiveness of greeting Talena first, I had no doubt, had its significance. Also, I noted that she was being accepted as the daughter of Marlenus of Ar by Cos, in spite of the fact that Marlenus had disowned her. In accepting her as the daughter of Marlenus, of course, Cos had made it reasonably clear that they would not be likely to challenge any claims she, or others on her behalf, might make with respect to the succession in Ar. Also, though I did not think Lurius of Jad himself would have approved of Marlenus being spoken of as the ubar of ubars, as he perhaps thought that he himself might better deserve that title, the reference seemed a judicious one on the part of Myron. It was a clear appeal to patriotic sentiment in Ar. And, naturally, this sort of reference to Marlenus would scarcely be expected to tarnish the image of Talena, who was thus implicitly being characterized as the daughter of the ubar of ubars.

"And greetings, too," called Myron, "to our friends and brothers, the noble people of Ar!"

The crowd looked at one another.

"Today," said Myron, "you are free!"

"Hail Cos! Hail Ar!" cried a fellow in the crowd.

"The tyrant, our common enemy," cried Myron, gesturing to Gnieus Lelius, "has been defeated!"

"Kill him!" cried men in the crowd.

"To the walls with him!" cried a fellow.

"Fetch an impaling spear!" cried another.

"Peace, friendship, joy and love," called Myron, "to out brothers in Ar!" One of the members of the High Council, presumably its executive officer, who would have had been directly subordinate to Gnieus Lelius, the regent, in a civilian capacity, as Seremides would have been in a military capacity, stepped forth to respond to Myron, but he was warned back by Seremides. "I speak on behalf of Talena of Ar, daughter of Marlenus of Ar, Ubar of Ubars," called Seremides. "She, in her own name, and of the name of the people and Home Stone of Ar, gives thanks to our friends and brothers of Cos, for the delivery of her city from the tyranny of Gnieus Lelius and for the liberation of her people!" At this point, doubtless by a prearranged signal, the great bars of the Central Cylinder began to ring, and, in moments, so, too, did the other bars about the city, near and far. But it seemed, too, then, for a time, one could scarcely hear the bars, so loud, so unrestrained, so wild, so grateful, so elated and tumultuous, were the cheers of the crowd.

"Hail Cos! Hail Ar!" we heard.

The cries seemed deafening.

On the platform Myron then, and the fellows with him, now reached into the second package, seizing out handfuls of coins, even silver tarsks, and showered them into the crowd. Men seized them as they could. Taurentians stepped back from the crowd's perimeter. No longer was there danger of seething, ignitable surgency. I noted that while Myron and his fellows scattered these coins about, Seremides, waving to the crowd, and Talena, lifting her hand, too, and the High Council, withdrew from the surface of the platform. Also, almost unnoticed a squad of fellows from Cos ascended to the platform. The head of Gnieus Lelius was pushed down to the platform. A chain, about two feet Gorean in length, was put on his neck and attached to the short chain on his neck he could not stand upright, but must, rather, remain bent over, deeply, from the waist. A Taurentian then freed his neck of the heavy collar with the radiating chains, by means of which the children had conducted him to the height of the platform. Gnieus Lelius, then, former regent of Ar, in the motley rags suitable to a comedic mime, his ankles shackled, his upper body wrapped in chains, bent far over, held in this fashion by the short chain between his neck and ankles, trying to keep his balance, taking short steps, was dragged by Cosians from the platform on the leash. He fell twice in my view, after which incidents he was struck by spear butts and pulled rudely again to his feet, to be again hastened, with more blows, on his way south on the Avenue of the Central Cylinder. Some in the crowd, seeing him as he passed, so clad, so hobbled, so helpless, so conducted, pointed and roared with mirth; others cried out hatred and insults, shrieked imprecations upon him, spat upon him, and tried to strike him. "Fool!" cried some. "Buffoon!" cried some. "Tyrant! Tyrant!" cried others. Dressing Gnieus Lelius in the garments of a comedic mime, in effect, a fool, a buffoon, seemed to me a politic decision on the part of the party of treachery in Ar. This would almost certainly preclude not only his return to power, if he should manage to regain his freedom, but even the formation of a party that might favor this. Indeed, even his closest supporters were inclined to grant his dupery. Too, the party of treachery must have realized that many in Ar would know, or surely eventually come to understand, that Gnieus Lelius, whatever might have been his faults as a leader in a time of crisis, was a far cry from a tyrant. If anything, his faults had been on the lines of tolerance, compromise and permissiveness, policies which had allowed Cos and her partisans to operate almost unopposed in the city, policies which had allowed Ar to be taken from him, and from herself. No, they would be likely to say to themselves, he was not a tyrant, but, indeed, he was perhaps a fool.

"Tyrant! Tyrant!" cried men.

Lurius of Jad, of course, would know that Gnieus Lelius was not a tyrant. "Tyrant!" cried men. "Tyrant!"

I looked after Gnieus Lelius.

I assumed he would be taken to Cos.

Perhaps he would eventually adorn the court of Lurius of Jad, as a chained fool. Perhaps he might eventually entertain at banquets, pretending on his leash to be a dancing sleen.

The coins cast forth, Myron lifted his arms to the crowd.

Muchly he was cheered.

Then he, with his fellows, descended the ramp and were in a moment again, utilizing the mounting rings, in the saddle. They then wheeled their mounts and began to move south. His helmet bearer, on his own beast, followed him. showing his face to the crowd was judicious, I thought. It suggested openness, candor, trust, rejoicing. Too, the common Gorean helmet, with its "Y"-shaped aperture, of which his helmet was a variant, tends to have somewhat formidable appearance. He smiled. He waved. Peals of rejoicing rang from the signal bars about the city. The crowds, on both sides of the avenue, cheered. Then the musicians struck up a martial air, and the standards turned about. The forces of Cos, too, about-faced. Then they withdrew, south on the avenue, between cheering crowds. Girls rushed out to give flowers to the soldiers. Some of the men tied them on their spears. "Hail Cos! Hail Ar!" cried hundreds of men. "We are free!" cried others. "Hail our liberators!" called others. "Gratitude to Cos!" cried others. "Hail Lurius of Jad!" cried others. Children were lifted on shoulders to see the soldiers. Thousands of small Cosian pennons, together with pennons of Ar, appeared, waving. Both sides of the street were riots of color and sound. "Hail Lurius of Jad!" cried men. "Hail Seremides!" cried others. "Hail Talena!" cried others. "Hail Talena!"

I looked at Marcus.

Phoebe had her head down, her eyes shut, covering her ears with her hands, so great was the din.

But, in a few Ehn, with the passage of the Cosians south on the avenue, the crowd melted away from us.

Phoebe opened her eyes and removed her hands from her ears, but she kept her head down.

We could trace the withdrawal of the Cosians by the sounds of the crowd, even farther away.

I looked at the platform, deserted now. On that platform, barefoot, Talena had stood. She had worn the robe of a penitent or suppliant. She should have been by custom naked beneath that robe, but I doubted that she had been. I wondered what might have occurred had things turned out differently, and not as planned, say, had Myron removed that robe and found her clothed. I smiled to myself. She might have been killed. At the least she would have soon learned the lash of a man's displeasure, in detail and liberally. But I did not think that she, or Seremides, had feared that eventuality. Surely she was of more use to the party of treachery, in which she doubtless stood high, and to the Cosians, on the throne of Ar than as merely another woman, naked and in chains, gracing a conqueror's triumph. Seremides, too, and Myron, as well, I though, had played their parts well.

As I pondered these things some workmen came forth to dismantle the platform. It had served its purpose. Too, at this time the great bars in the Central Cylinder ceased their ringing. We could still hear the ringing of other bars elsewhere in the city, farther away. Too, far off now, like the sounds of Thassa breaking on a distant shore, we could hear the crowds.

I again considered the platform. On it Talena, of Ar, had stood barefoot. I trusted that she had not injured her feet.

Phoebe now knelt beside Marcus, her head down.

"It is strange," I said to Marcus. "The war betwixt Cos and Ar has ended."

"Yes," he said.

"It is done," I said. "It is over."

"With victory for Cos," said Marcus.

"Complete victory," I said.

Marcus looked down at Phoebe. "You have won," he said.

"Not I," she said.

"Cos has won," he said.

"Cos," she said. "Not I."

"You are Cosian," he said.

"No longer," she said. "I am a slave."

"But doubtless you rejoice in her victory," he said.

"Perhaps Master rejoices," she said, "that Ar, who refused to succor Ar's Station, the city of the slave's master, had now fallen?"

Marcus looked down upon her.

"Am I to be now slain?" she asked, trembling.

"No," he said.

She looked up at him.

"You are only a slave," he said.

Swiftly, weeping, she put down her head to his feet. She laughed and cried, and kissed his feet. Then she looked up at him, through her tears. "But am I no longer to be your little «Cosian»? she asked, laughing.

"You will always be my little Cosian," he said.

"Yes, Master," she said.

"Spread your knees, Cosian," he said.

"Yes, Master!" she laughed.

"More widely!" said he.

"Yes, Master!" she said.

"Slave," said he.

"Your slave, my Master!" she said.

I heard the sound of hammers as the workmen struck boards from the platform. "We should seek lodging," said Marcus.

"Yes," I said.

Phoebe rose to her feet beside her master, clinging to him, pressing herself to him, soft, her head down. He nestled her in his arms. How must she was his! "Tomorrow," said Marcus. "I would conjecture that Myron will have a triumph."

"More likely the Ubar of Cos, by proxy," I said.

"Doubtless its jubilation and pomp will dwarf the celebrations of this morning."

"Ar will do her best, I am sure, to officially welcome, and express her gratitude to, her liberator, the great Lurius of Jad," I said.

"Represented by his captain, and cousin, Myron, polemarkos of Temos," he said. This was Myron's exact title, incidentally. Temos is one of the major cities on the island of Cos. The crowd, of course, or many in it, regarded him simply as the polemarkos, or, say, understandably enough, and, I suppose, correctly enough, as the polemarkos of Cos.

"Of course," I said.

"Seremides will doubtless participate in the triumph," he said.

"He should," I said. "It is his, as well. He has doubtless worked hard and long to realize such a day."

"And Talena," he said.

"Yes," I said.

"You sound bitter," he said.

"Perhaps," I said.

"Myron did not accept the sword of Seremides," he said.

"That is understandable," I said.

"I suppose so," he said.

"Certainly," I said.

The acceptance of the sword would have constituted a public token of the surrender of Ar's forces, foot and cavalry, both tarn and tharlarion. That Myron had refused to accept it publicly on the platform was fully in keeping with the pretense of liberation.

"It is my speculation," I said, "that the sword was surrendered yesterday, in the tent of Myron, or, more likely, before his troops, outside the city, and then, later, privately returned."

"Yes!" said Marcus. "I wager you are right!"

"The troops of the polemarkos would expect such a thing," I said.

"Of course," he said.

"So, too, would Lurius of Jad," I said.

"Yes," he said.

"In any event," I said, "with or without such tokens, the surrender of Ar is complete. It has been clearly and indisputable effected. Resistance to Cos has been ordered to cease. The forces of Ar, such as remain of them, have laid down their arms. They will presumably be soon reduced in numbers, perhaps to handfuls of guardsmen subject to Cosian officers, if not completely disbanded and scattered. Weapons will presumable, in time, be outlawed in the city. Her gates have been burned. I would expect, eventually, that her walls, stone by stone, will be taken down. She will then be utterly vulnerable, dependent completely on the mercies of Cos or her puppets."

"It will be the end of a civilization," said Marcus.

"A civilization of sorts will remain," I said, "and arts of a sort, a literature of a sort, and such things."

"Perhaps Gor will be the better for it," said Marcus, bitterly.

I was silent.

"How will the men retain their manhood?" he asked.

"Perhaps they will manage," I said. I had great respect for the men of Ar. "And what will become of the women?" he asked.

"I do not know," I said. "If the men do not retain their manhood, it will be difficult, or impossible, for the women, at least those who are in relationships to such men, to be women."

"Yes," he said.

"Cos," I said, "is master on Gor." I recalled that Dietrich of Tarnburg had feared such an eventuality, the coming of sovereignty of a major power. Such might mean the end of the free companies.

"Only in a sense," said Marcus.

I regarded him.

"In many cities and lands, indeed, in most parts of the world," he said, "things will be surely much as they were before."

I considered such things as the difficulties of communication, the difficulties of maintaining supply lines, the lengths of marches, the paucity of roads, the isolation of cities, the diversities of cultures and such.

"I think you are right," I said.

It would be merely that Cos would now be the dominant force on the continent. Also, geopolitically, it did not seem likely that Cos could indefinitely maintain her power. Her seat of power was overseas and her forces were largely composed of mercenaries who were difficult to control and expensive to maintain. The recent campaigns of Lurius of Jad must have severely drained the treasury of Cos, and perhaps of Tyros, too, her ally. To be sure, her outlays might now be recouped here and there, for example, from conquered Ar. Cos had succeeded in defeating Ar. It was not so clear, I now realized, that she had managed to guarantee and secure her own hegemony indefinitely. Indeed, with Ar vulnerable and helpless, nullified militarily, if the power of Cos should collapse, a new barbarism might ensue, at least within the traditional boundaries of Ar, a lawless barbarism broken here and there by the existence of minor tyrannies, places where armed men imposed their will.

"I do not hear the bars any longer," said Marcus. "Nor the crowds."

"Nor do I," I said.

It now seemed quiet at the park of the Central Cylinder, save for the sounds of the workmen, striking apart the boards of the platform. Few people, too, were about. Some papers blew across the park, some of them tiny banners of colored paper, banners of both Cos and Ar.

Again I considered the platform. On it Talena had stood, barefoot.

"Look," I said to Marcus, indicating some of the boards removed from the platform and piled to one side.

"What?" he asked.

"The boards," I said, "on their upper surfaces, they are smoothed."

"And from the reflection of light, sealed," he said.

"Yes," I said.

"Doubtless prepared for the feet of the noble Talena," he said.

"Yes," I said.

"Unusual solicitation for a penitent or suppliant," said Marcus.

"Yes," I granted him.

"But we would not wish to risk her little feet, would we?" Marcus asked Phoebe. "No, Master," said Phoebe.

Although Marcus had spoken in irony, Phoebe's response was quite serious, and appropriately so. She did not even begin to put herself in the category of a free woman. An unbridgeable and, to the slave, terrifying chasm separates any free woman on Gor from a slave, such as Phoebe.

"It is regrettable, is it not," Marcus asked Phoebe, "that she was forced to appear degradingly unshod?"

"Yes, Master," said Phoebe, "for she is a free woman."

Indeed, I suppose that it had cost Talena much to be seen in public, barefoot. Phoebe, of course, was barefoot. That is common with slaves.

I watched another board being thrown on the pile.

For the most part the platform was held together by wooden pegs, pounded through prepared holes. In this way I supposed it might be easily reassembled. Perhaps there was some intention that it might be used again, perhaps, say, for the coronation of a ubara.

Then the portion of the platform nearest us was down.

I wondered how Talena might look on another sort of platform, say, on an auction platform, stripped and in chains, being bid upon by men. such a surface, would be likely to be quite smooth to her feet, too, presumably having been worn smooth by the bared feet of numerous women before her.

"Let us seek lodging," said Marcus.

"Very well," I said.