Magicians of Gor coc-25, page 11
part #25 of Chronicles of Counter-Earth Series
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.
