John Norman Gor 15 Rogue Of Gor

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"I would have thought," I said, "that it would be men such as you who might
strike terror into the hearts of men such as they, that it would be men such
as you whom groveling slave girls, wary of the whip, might fear even more to
displease than they."
"Give me a drink," he said.
"You are, then, so fond of Kliomenes and Policrates that you are willing,
graciously, to surrender to them the women and other treasures of this town."
"I am not of Victoria," he said.
"Few in Victoria,"' I said, "are of Victoria, it seems. Yet many reside here.
If not men such as we, who, then, is of Victoria?"
"I am sick," he said.
"There was no leadership at the wharves," I said. "Insult was done upon this
town with impunity. I saw hundreds of men, fearful, milling about, with no one
to lead them. I saw them intimidated by a handful of organized, ruthless
fellows, strutting and vain as vulos. I saw free men impressed into the
service of loading the goods of the town onto the galleys of the thieves. Men,
unprotesting, fearful, saw their properties purloined and burned. Flames
linger yet on the wharves. Smoke hangs in the air."
He was silent.
"We missed you on the wharves," I said.
"Why did you interfere in my affairs?" he asked.
"Once," said I, "in the tavern of Tasdron you saved my life. Is it not my
right, then, to save yours?"
"We are, then, even," said he, bitterly. "We now owe one another nothing. Go
now, leave me."
"I have seen Glyco, a merchant, a high merchant, of Port Cos, these several
days in earnest converse with you. I think, surely, that he, fearing the union
of the pirates of the east and, west, was entreating you to lend support to
some scheme of resistance."
"You are shrewd," said the man.
"Yet his entreaties, I gather, have proven fruitless."
"I cannot help him," said the man.
"Yet that he came to you suggests that your courage, your brilliance in such
matters, have never been forgotten."
"I am no longer who I once was," he said.
"I gather you once stood high among the guardsmen of Port Cos," I said.
"Once I was captain in Port Cos," he said. "Indeed it was I who once drove the
band of
Policrates from the vicinity of Port Cos." He looked up at me. "But that was
long ago," he said.
"I no longer remember that captain. I think he is gone now."
"What occurred?" I asked.
"He grew more fond of paga than of his cods," he said. "Disgraced, he was
dismissed.
He came west upon the river, to Victoria."
"What was his name?" I asked.
"I have forgotten," he said, sullenly.
"Had you been upon the wharves," I said, "things might have gone differently."
"Why did you not lead them?" he asked, angrily.
"I am only a weakling and a fool," I said, "and I am untrained."
He said nothing.
"One such as you might have made a difference."
He extended his right hand. It was large, but unsteady. It shook.
"At one time," he said, "I could strike a thousand blows, to the accuracy of a
hair, I
could thrust a thousand times, within the circle of half a hort, but now, now,
see what has
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become of me." His hand, shaking, then fell. He closed his fist and pressed it
against the stones of the dark street. He wept. "Policrates could have killed
me in the tavern," he said.
"He knew my weakness. But he did not do so. For the sake of old memories, I
deem, vestiges of vanished realities, he spared me." He looked up at me. "We
were youths together on the wharves of Port Cos," he said. "Each of us turned
to the trades of steel, I to that of the guardsman, he to that of the
marauder."
"What did Glyco wish of you?" I asked.
"A plan, a rallying point, a flag of memory, a leader, an assault upon the
stronghold of
Policrates."
"And what did you tell him?" I asked.
"It would take a hundred siege ships, and ten thousand men to take the
stronghold of
Policrates," he said.
I nodded. I did not think his estimates in error. For all practical purposes,
considering the forces that could realistically be marshaled upon the river
the stronghold of Policrates was impregnable. I had heard similar
asseverations from others. Miss Beverly Henderson, and her beauty, the thought
crossed my mind, were now locked behind those lofty, dark walls.
"The situation, then, is hopeless?" I asked.
"Yes, hopeless," he said.
"Tomorrow," I said, "the tribute is to be paid to Policrates."
The man shrugged.
"It is said," I said, "that the pirates own Victoria."
"It is true," he said. "It is true."
"And are there none to gainsay them?" I asked.
"None," said he., "What can I do for you?" I asked, sadly.
"Give me a drink," he said.
I turned away from him and walked up the street, to the tavern of Tasdron,
which was still open, though much subdued. I entered the tavern. I did not
speak to anyone, nor did any meet my eyes. I purchased a bottle of paga which
I then took from that tavern, retracing my steps to the slumped, dark figure
sitting against the wall. I stopped before him, and he lifted his head from
his knees, and looked at me, blearily. I handed the bottle to him, which,
fumbling, quickly, he reached for. He bit and pulled the cork from the bottle.
He clutched the bottle with both hands. He looked up at me, sitting by the
wall.
"I am sorry," I said, "to have spoken cruelly to you. It was not my right. It
was in anger, in rage, in frustration, that I spoke. I am truly sorry."
"Do you pity me?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. "I pity you."
Slowly, by an act of will, in cold fury, movement by movement, the man
struggled unsteadily to his feet. There was a terrible fury in his eyes.
"Pity?" he asked. "Me?"
"Yes," I said "You have fallen. You cannot rise. You cannot help yourself. It
is not your fault. I do not blame you."
"Pity?" he asked. "Me?"
"I know that you have been disgraced," I said. "I know that the scarlet has
been taken from you."
"No one," said he, "can take the scarlet from me, once it is granted, unless
it be by the sword."
He tore open the tunic he wore, revealing beneath it, dark, blackish in
appearance, in the moonlight, the scarlet.
"This," said he, "can be taken from me only by the sword. Let him dare to do
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so who will."
"You are finished," I said. "Drink."
He looked dismally, angrily, at the bottle clutched in his right hand.
"You have forgotten the name of the warrior," I said, "who was once of Port
Cos. He is no more. Drink."
The man then held the bottle near the necks with both hands. For a long moment
he looked at it. His shoulders then hunched forward, and he moaned in pain.
Then, slowly, painfully, he straightened his body. He lifted his head to the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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