Tribesmen of Gor John Norman

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moving only a few miles a year, to reach the eases. Diurnal air temperatures in the
shade are commonly in the range of 120 degrees Fahrenheit. Surface temperature,
diurnally, is, of course, much higher in the dune country, by day, if one were so
unwise as to go barefoot, the bright sand would quickly cripple a man, abraiding
and burning the flesh from his feet in a matter of hours.
It is here, said Samos, pointing to the map, that the secret lies.
The dancer turned from the tables and, hands high over her head, approached me.
She swayed to the music before me. You commanded me to dance my beauty for
the guests of Samos, said she, Master. You, too, are such a guest.
I looked upon her, narrow lidded, as she strove to please me.
Then she moaned and turned away, and, as the music swirled to its maddened,
frenzied climax, she spun, whirling, in a jangle of bells and clashing barbaric
ornaments before the guests of Samos. Then, as the music suddenly stopped, she
fell to the floor helpless, vulnerable, a female slave. Her body, under the
torchlight, shone with a sheen of sweat. She gasped for breath; her body was
beautiful, her breasts lifting and falling, as she drank deeply of the air. Her lips
were parted. Now that her dance was finished she could scarcely move. We had
not been gentle with her. She looked up at me and lifted her hand. It was at my
feet she lay.
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10 Tribesmen of Gor
I gestured her to her knees, head down. She obeyed. Her hair fell to the map
floor.It touched the portion of the map which, together Samos and I had been
contemplating. I regarded the lettering, in Gorean script.
The secret is there, said Samos, pointing to the map, in the Tahari.
Delicately, timidly the dancer reached out, with her two hands, to touch my ankle.
She looked at me, agonized.
I signaled to the guards. She cried out with misery as she was dragged by the ankle
across the door and thrown over two of the small tables.
I would let others warm her.
The men cried out with pleasure.
Her final yieldings I would force from her later, when it pleased me.
She who had once been Miss Priscilla Blake-Allen, a free Earth girl prior to her
enslavement, struggled to her feet, her eyes wide with horror, trying to struggle
backward but the guards hands on her arms, she now only a nameless slave, for
her master had not yet given her a name, held her in place.
She looked at her master, Samos of Port Kar. He gave a sign. She screamed.
She fought the harness.
She too was thrown across the tables.
Ibn Saran, salt merchant of Kasra, did not rise from behind the table behind which,
cross-legged, he sat. His eyes were half closed. He paid no attention to the raping
of the slaves. He, too, it seemed, contemplated the map.
Either girl s use is yours, noble Ibn Saran, said Samos, if you wish.
My thanks, said he, Noble Samos. But it will be in my own tent, on the
submission mats, that I will teach a slave to be a slave.
I turned to Samos. I will leave in the morning I said.
Do I understand, asked Ibn Saran, that your path leads you to the Tahari?
Yes, I said.
That direction, too, is mine, said Ibn Saran. I, too, leave in the morning.
Perhaps we might travel together?
Good, I said.
Ibn Saran rose to his feet, and brushed his hand against the right palm of Samos,
twice, and against my right palm, twice. May your water bags be never empty.
May you always have water.
May your water bags be never empty, I said. May you always have water.
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10 Tribesmen of Gor
He then bowed, turned, and left the room.
The Kur, I said. I referred to the beast in the dungeons of Samos.
Yes? said Samos.
Free it, I said.
Free it? he asked.
Yes, I said.
Is it your intention to follow it?
No, I said. Few, if any humans, in my opinion, could long follow an adult Kur.
They are agile, highly intelligent beasts. Their senses are unusually keen. It would
be difficult, if not impossible to trail, perhaps for weeks, such a keen-sensed,
wary, suspicious creature. It would be almost suicidal, in my opinion, to attempt it.
Sooner or later the beast would become aware of the pursuit. At that point the
hunter would become the hunted. The night vision of the Kur is superb.
Do you know what you are doing? asked Samos.
There are factions among Kurii I said. It is my feeling that this Kur may be our
ally.
You are mad, said Samos.
Perhaps, I granted.
I shall release the Kur, said Samos, two days after you have departed Port
Kar.
Perhaps I shall meet it in the Tahari, I said.
I would not look forward to the meeting, he said.
I smiled.
You leave in the morning? asked Samos.
I shall leave before morning, I said.
Are you not traveling with Ibn Sarah? asked Samos.
No, I said. I do not trust him.
Samos nodded. Nor do I, he said.
2 The Streets of Tor
Water! Water! called the man.
Water, I said.
He came to me, bent over, tattered, swarthy, grinning up at me, the verrskin bag
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10 Tribesmen of Gor
over his shoulder, the brass cups, a dozen of them, attached to shoulder straps and
his belt, rattling and clinking. His shoulder on the left was damp from the bag.
There were sweat marks on his torn shirt, under the straps. One of the brass cups
he unhooked from his belt. Without removing the bag from his shoulder, he filled
the cup. He wore a head scarf, the wrapped turban, wound about his head. It was
of rep-cloth. It protects the head from the sun; its folds allow beat and perspiration
to escape, evaporating, and, of course, air to enter and circulate. Among lower-
class males, too, it provides a soft cushion, on which boxes, and other burdens,
may be conveniently carried on the head, steadied by the right hand. The water
flowed into the cup through a tiny vent-and-spigot device, which wastes little
water, by reducing spillage, which was tied in and waxed into a hole left in the
front left foreleg of the verr skin. The skins are carefully stripped and any rents in
the skin are sewed up, the seams coated with wax. When the whole skin is
thoroughly cleaned of filth and hair, straps are fastened to it so that it may be
conveniently carried on the shoulder, or over the back, the same straps serving,
with adjustment, for either mode of support. The cup was dirty. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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