Magicians of Gor

16 In the Vicinity of the Teiban Market

"Ho!" cried the mercenary. "Behold! We have captured one of the Delta Brigade!"

"One side! One side!" cried his fellow, pushing men back.

"Will no one rescue me?" cried the bearded, bound fellow, struggling in the grasp of the mercenary who had first cried out.

"Are you not men?"

We were at Teiban and Venaticus, at the southwest corner of the Teiban Sul Market. It was morning, the eight Ahn, on the second day of the week. Naturally there were many folks about in such a place, at such a time.

"Careless," said Marcus, "that these fellows, not even guardsmen, should so boldly, so publicly, conduct their prisoner to this area, where hostility toward Cos might be rampant."

"Certainly an apparent lack of judgment," I granted him.

"Release me!" cried the bearded fellow to the two mercenaries. "I demand to be freed!"

"Silence, despicable sleen!" shouted one of the guardsmen, cuffing the prisoner, who reacted as though he might have been struck with great force.

"Sleen of a traitor to Cos!" said the other mercenary, adding a blow, to which the bearded prisoner once again reacted.

"I think I could have struck him harder than that," speculated Marcus.

"Release him!" cried a vendor of tur-pah, pushing through baskets of the vinelike vegetable."

"Do not interfere!" warned one of the mercenaries.

"Back, you disgusting patriots of Ar!" exclaimed the other.

"Strange," remarked Marcus, "that the prisoner has on his sleeve the armband with the delka upon it."

"Doubtless that is how the mercenaries recognized him as a member of the Delta Brigade," I said.

"The work of Seremides would be much simpler, to be sure," said Marcus, "if all fellows in the Delta Brigade would be so obliging."

"Perhaps they could all wear a uniform," I suggested, "to make it easier to pick them out."

"There are only two of them!" cried the bearded prisoner. "Take me from them! Hide me! Glory to the Delta Brigade!"

None in the crowd, it seemed, dared echo this sentiment, but there was no mistaking its mood, one of sympathy for the fellow, and of anger toward the mercenaries, and there was a very definite possibility, one thing leading to another, that it might take action.

"Help! Help, if there be true men of Ar here!" cried the prisoner.

One of the fellows from the market pushed at a mercenary who thrust him back, angrily.

"Make way! Make way!" cried the mercenary.

"Let him go!" cried a man. Men surged about the two mercenaries.

"It is my only crime that I love Ar and am loyal to her!" cried the prisoner.

"Release him!" cried men. More than one fellow in the crowd had a staff, that simple weapon which can be so nimble, so lively, so punishing, in the hands of one of skill. This was only to be expected as many of the vendors in the market, were peasants, come in with produce from outside the walls. Indeed, in many places they could simply enter through breaches in the wall, or climb over mounds of rubble, and enter the city. With respect to the staff, it serves of course not only as a weapon but, more usually, and more civilly, as an aid in traversing terrain of uncertain footing. Too, it is often used, yokelike, fore and aft of its bearer, to carry suspended, balanced baskets. Weaponwise, incidentally, there are men who can handle it so well that they are a match for many swordsmen. My friend Thurnock, in Port Kar, was one. Indeed, many sudden and unexpected blows had I received in lusty sport from that device in his hands. Eventually, under his tutelage, I had become proficient with the weapon, enabled at any rate to defend myself with some efficiency. But still I would not have cared to meet him, or such a fellow, in earnest, each of us armed only in such terms. I prefer the blade. Also, of course, all things being equal, the blade is a far more dangerous weapon. The truly dangerous peasant weapon is the peasant bow, or great bow. It is in virtue of that weapon that thousands of villages of Gor have their own Home Stones.

"Release him!" cried a man.

"What is to be done with him?" inquired another.

"Doubtless to be impaled," said one of the mercenaries.

"No! No!" cried men.

"I wonder if those mercenaries realize they are in danger," said Marcus. "I trust that they are being well paid," I said. "Otherwise they are certainly being exploited."

"Save me!" cried the bearded fellow. "Do not let them take me! Save me, if there be true men of Ar here!"

"Back, sleen of Ar!" cried the mercenary with the prisoner in hand.

"Back!" cried the other.

"Certainly they are not being very politic," said Marcus.

"Nor very courteous," I said.

"Help!" cried the prisoner, struggling. His hands were bound behind him and there were some ropes, as well, about his upper body, binding his arms to his sides.

"There is one hopeful sign here," said Marcus. "there is obviously sympathy for the Delta Brigade."

"Yes," I said.

"Help!" cried the prisoner.

"Does it seem to you that there are secret guardsmen about?" I asked Marcus. I had been trying to determine this.

He, too, surveyed the crowd, and area. "I do not think so," he said.

"Perhaps then," I said, "it is time to remove our armbands and reverse our cloaks, and adjust our wind scarves."

"Yes," said Marcus, grimly, "as the poor fellow is surely in desperate need of rescue."

In a moment then, our armbands removed, and certain adjustments effected in our garmenture, we thrust through the crowd.

"Unhand him!" I cried. It was not for nothing that I had once been granted a tryout with the troupe of Boots Tarsk-Bit. To be sure, the tryout had come to naught.

"Who are you?" cried one of the mercenaries. I did not think he was bad either. Surely he knew whom to expect, at any rate, in this situation. The prisoner's face suddenly beamed. With our wind scarves in place, and our blades drawn, there would be little doubt who we would be, at least in general.

"The Brigade!" whispered men, elated, about us.

"Unhand them!" cried one of the men about.

A fellow flourished a staff. I trusted the crowd would not now close with the mercenaries, for if it did I genuinely feared there would be little but pulp left of them. But, still, it seemed, they did not recognize that they were in actual danger. So little respect they had, it seemed, for the men of Ar. On the other hand, perhaps they read the crowd better than I. But I really doubt it. I think I was much more aware, and had been earlier from my position and perspective, and my awareness of the mood of Ar, of its tenseness, its readiness, its ugliness, like a dark sky that might suddenly, without warning, blaze and shatter with destruction and thunder. Indeed, it was the mercenaries whom Marcus and I, I believe, as it was turning out, were rescuing.

"We yield to superior force," said the first mercenary.

"We have no choice," said the second, apparently similarly resigned, the one who had the prisoner in hand.

A murmur of victory, of elation, coursed through the crowd.

"There are only two of us," I said to the mercenary who I took it was first of the two. "Let us have it out with blades."

"No, no, that is all right," he said.

"Here is seems you have many allies," said the second.

"I am sure they will be good fellows and not interfere," I said.

"No, we will not interfere!" said a fellow enthusiastically.

"Clear some space," said another.

The crowd began to move back.

"I tell you," we surrender the prisoner," said the first, somewhat unpleasantly. "We are surrendering him. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I said.

"We are yielding to superior force," he said.

"There is no choice for us," said the second.

"Very well," I said.

They then turned about, and expeditiously withdrew.

"You must now escape," said a man. "They will inform guardsmen, they will return with reinforcements."

"I do not think so," I said.

Men looked at me, puzzled.

"My thanks, brothers!" said the prisoner. "But our brethren of Ar are right! We must flee! Take me with you, hide me!"

I sheathed my blade, and so, too, did Marcus his.

"Hurry! Untie me! Let us make away!" said the prisoner.

"You do not seem to be well tied," I said, inspecting his bonds.

"What are you doing?" he cried. "Ugh!"

"Now," I said, "you are well tied."

He struggled briefly, startled, frustratedly. Then he understood his helplessness.

"What is the meaning of this?" he said.

"What are you doing?" asked a fellow, puzzled.

I bent down and pushed the prisoner's ankles together, and then looped a thong about them, that they might not be able to move more than a hort or two apart. He could not now run. To be sure, he could stand.

"Untie me!" he said. "We must escape!"

"You are of the Delta Brigade?" I inquired.

"Yes," he said, "as must be you!"

"Why do you say that?" I inquired.

"You have rescued me," he said.

"You regard yourself as rescued?" I said.

"Surely you, like myself, are of the Delta Brigade!" he said.

"I do not think I know you," I said.

"I am not of your component," he said.

"But perhaps we are not of the Delta Brigade," I said.

"But who then?" he said.

"Perhaps we are loyal fellows of Ar," I said, "who, as is presumably appropriate for those of the new Ar, hate the Delta Brigade, and are opposed to it, who see in it a threat to Ar's ignominious surrender, that is, to harmony and peace, who see in it a challenge to the imperious governance of Cos, that is, to the glorious friendship and alliance of the two great ubarates?"

"He speaks like the public boards," said a fellow.

"Like part of them, at any rate," said another.

"I thought only the pusillanimous, and naA?ve adolescents, took such twaddle seriously," said another.

"I do not understand," said the prisoner uncertainly.

"Are you for the old Ar or the new Ar?" I asked.

"I am of the Delta Brigade!" he said. "And there is only one Ar, the old Ar, the true Ar!"

"Yes!" said a man.

"Brave fellow!" said a man.

"Release him, and hide him!" urged another.

"No," said the prisoner. "They are right. They must make certain of me! In their place I would do the same."

"Make certain quickly then," said a man. "There may be little time!"

"Do not fear," I said.

The prisoner now stood straighter, more proudly, more assuredly. He now suspected he was being tested. Indeed, he was, but not in the sense he thought. "You then acknowledge," I asked him, "that the only Ar, and the true Ar, is the Ar of old, the Ar which was betrayed and which stands in defiance of Cos?" For a moment the prisoner turned white. Then he said, boldly, "Yes, that is the true Ar."

"And you further acknowledge that Seremides and the Ubara are traitors to Ar, and puppets of Cos?"

"Of course," he said, after a moment.

Here and there there were gasps in the crowd. Whereas presumably there were few in the crowd who were not prepared to resent, and as possible, oppose Cos, not all were convinced of the depth and extent of the treason which had contributed so significantly to her victory. I thought it well to have the crowd hear these sentiments from the lips of the prisoner. To be sure, such understandings were surely not new to the Cosians of Ar, nor to many of the more reflective in Ar herself.

"Treason on the part of Seremides?" asked a man.

"Talena a traitor?" said another.

"Yes!" said the prisoner.

"Clearly he is of the Delta Brigade," said a man. "Release him!"

"You would have us hide you?" I asked.

"Yes," said the prisoner.

"Take you into our confidence, bring you to our secret places, tell you our plans, introduce you to our leaders, our pervasive, secret networks of communication?"

"Only if later you deem me worthy of such trust," he said.

I hoped by this last question to lead the crowd to believe that the Delta Brigade was a determined, disciplined, extensive, well-organized force in Ar, one which might realistically inspire hope in the populace and fear in the forces of occupation. Actually, of course, I had no idea of the nature or extent, or power, or resources, of the Delta Brigade. I was not even sure there was such an organization. At one time Marcus and I thought we were the Delta Brigade. Certainly at that time there had been no organization. Then, later, it seemed, there had been acts performed in the name of the Delta Brigade, sabotage, and such, in which we had had no part. These might have been the acts of individuals, or groups of individuals, for all we knew, perhaps patriots, or criminals, or fools, but not of an organization. There had apparently been concerted action in the existence of the «brigade». It could have been done by a small group of men, presumably mostly veterans of the delta, interested in making it difficult for Cos to trace there identities.

"Were you in the delta?" I asked.

"Certainly," said he.

"Who was the commander of the vanguard?" I asked.

"Labienus," said he, "of this city."

"And his first subaltern?" I asked.

"I do not know," he said. "I was not of the vanguard."

"Who commanded the 17th?" I asked.

"I do not remember," he said.

"Vinicius?" I said.

"Yes," he said. "Vininius."

"And the 11th?"

"I do not know," he said.

"Toron, of Venna," I said.

"Yes," he said. "Toron, of Venna."

"In which command were you?"

"In the 14th," he said.

"Who commanded the 14th?"

"Honorius."

"And his first subaltern?"

"Falvius."

"His second?"

"Camillus."

"You were with the 14th then when it was defeated in the northern tracts of the delta?"

"Yes," he said.

"With the 7th, the 11th and the 9th?"

"Yes," he said.

I then removed the armband with the delka on it and tucked it in my belt. I then tore loose a part of his tunic and thrust it in his mouth. I then tied it in place with the armband. His eyes regarded me, questionably, over it, frightened. I then crossed his ankles, causing him to fall, and tied them together, crossed. He tried, ineffectually, to speak. He tried to sit up but I thrust him back, my sandal on his chest, supine on the pavement, and looked down at him. He looked up at me. He was as helpless as a slave girl.

"Vicinius," I said, "did not command the 17th, nor Toron the 11th. Vicinius commanded the 4th, and Toron the 3rd. Your answers with respect to the chain of command in the 14th were correct, but the 14th was not defeated in the northern tracts, but in the southern tracts, with the 7th, 9th and 11th. It was the 3rd, the 4th and the 17th which were defeated in the north."

He struggled, futilely.

"He is a Cosian spy," I said.

Men cried out in fury.

The prisoner, now truly a prisoner, looked up at us, terrified. He tried to rise up a little, to lift his shoulders from the pavement, but angry staffs thrust him back down, and in a moment he was kept in place, on his back on the pavement, pinioned by staffs, some caging him at the sides, others pressing down upon him.

"Bring a sack," I said. "Put him in it."

"We shall bring one," said a fellow.

"Let it be a sack such as we use for tarsk meat," said another.

"Yes," said another.

"We will hang it with the meat," said a fellow. "In that way it will attract little notice."

"And we shall beat it well with our staffs," said a fellow, grimly, "as we tenderize the sacked meat of tarsks."

"That is fitting," laughed a fellow.

"That, too, will attract little attention," said another.

"We will break every bone in his body," said another.

"In the morning see that it is found on the steps of the Central Cylinder."

"It will be so," said a fellow.

"And on the sack," I said, "let there be inscribed a delka."

"It will be so!" laughed a man.

In moments a sack was brought and the fellow, his eyes wild, was thrust, bound and gagged, into it. I then saw it tied shut over his head, and saw it being dragged behind two peasants toward the far side of the market, to the area where the butchers and meat dressers have their stalls.

"What if he survives?" asked Marcus.

"I hope he does," I said. "I think his broken bones, his bruises, his blood, his groans, his gibbering, his accounts of what occurred, his terror, such things, would better serve the Delta Brigade than this death."

"It is for that reason that you have sparred him?" he asked.

"Not only that," I said. "He seemed a nice fellow, and he did know the chain of command in the 14th."

"With you," said Marcus, "it is a game, but it is not so with certain others."

"You are referring to the two fellows who were found hung in an alley, near a tavern in the Anbar district?" I asked.

"Yes, with bloody delkas cut into their chests," he said.

"I heard of it, too," I said.

"It is speculated they were attempting to infiltrate the Delta Brigade."

"Interesting," I said.

"I fear there may actually be a Delta Brigade," he said.

"I do not know," I said. "But I, too, think that it is possible."

"Did you discern the support of the crowd for the Delta Brigade?" he asked. "Yes," I said. "And so, too, did the mercenaries."

"And the spy,"

"Of course," I said. "Let us hope he lives to make a report on the matter."

"And, further, their support for the delta veterans?"

"Yes," I said. "They were much in support of the spy when he claimed to be such."

"That is very different from a few months ago," said Marcus.

"Only lately has Ar become aware of what those men did for her, what they suffered, and how much she owes them."

"Better led they could have turned back Cos at the Vosk and stopped her at Torcadino," he said.

"You see what the Cosians here must now do, do you not?" I asked.

"What?" he asked.

"At this stage of the game?"

"What?"

"They must attempt to discredit the Delta Brigade."

"Of course," said Marcus.

"But no longer by identifying it with the veterans of the delta," I said. "Why not?" he asked.

"Because of the popular support now rising in favor of the veterans," I said. "Seremides no doubt links the Delta Brigade with the veterans of the delta, and perhaps on the whole correctly, but he is clever enough to recognize that the popularity of the actions of the Delta Brigade has increased support for the veterans. He must now attempt to drive a wedge between the veterans and the Delta Brigade."

In what fashion?" asked Marcus.

"It is not obvious?" I asked.

"Speak," said Marcus.

"Seremides needs something, or someone, to dissociate the Delta Brigade from the veterans."

"Continue," said Marcus.

"He desires to turn the population away from the Delta Brigade."

"Yes?"

"Therefore the Delta Brigade must be presented as inimical to Ar, as the tool of her enemies."

"What enemies?" asked Marcus. "Surely not her true enemies, Cos and Tyros."

"Who betrayed Ar in the north? I asked. "What city open her gates to the expeditionary force of Cos?"

"No city," said Marcus, angrily.

"Ar's Station!" I smiled.

"I see," he said.

"This had to happen," I said. "Cos require an enemy for Ar which is not herself. She must divert attentions from her tyranny. If we dismiss the delta veterans the only practical choice is Ar's Station. As you know, many in Ar blame Ar's Station, and her supposed surrender in the north, not only for her current misfortunes but for the disaster in the delta."

"Absurd," said Marcus.

"Not if you do not know the truth," I said, "but have at your disposal only the propaganda of Cos and the lies of a traitorous government in the Central Cylinder."

"That is your Kaissa?" he said.

"Yes," I said. "In our way, and in what we began, for better or for worse, we have forced Seremides to renew the vilification of Ar's Station."

"And in this campaign of vilification will be brought forth once more the Home Stone of Ar's Station?"

"Exactly," I said.

"You have planned this?" he said.

"For both our sakes," I said.

"For yours as well?"

"I, too, have a interest in these matter," I said.

"But I do not think it has to do with the Home Stone of Ar's Station."

"No," I said. "It has to do with something else."

"The crowd has dissipated," said Marcus. "I think it would be well for us, too, to withdraw."

"Yes," I said, and, in a few moments, in a sheltered place, between buildings, we had resumed our customary guise, that of auxiliary guardsmen, police in the pay of Cos.

"How do you plan on attacking the place of the Home Stone's display, if Seremides chooses to expose it once more to the abuse of Ar?"

"He will," I said.

"And how do you plan on attacking the place of its display?" asked Marcus. "I do not plan on attacking anything," I said.

"How will you obtain it?" he asked.

"I intend to have it picked up," I said.

"Picked up?"

"Yes," I said.

"Do you think it might be missed?" he asked.

"No," I said.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because it will still be there," I said.

"You are mad," he said.