do not die for my sake. In the end it will all be the same.” Then, raising her voice, she spoke to the officer. “Do not kill him, Thorn of Tharna. I will go with you.”
She stepped out from behind me, proud but resigned to her fate, ready to give herself over to these wretches to be collared and chained, stripped and sold in the markets of Gor.
I laughed.
“She is mine,” I said, “and you may not have her.”
The girl gave a gasp of astonishment and looked at me questioningly.
“Unless you pay her price,” I added.
The girl closed her eyes, crushed.
“And her price?” asked Thorn.
“Her price is steel,” I said.
A look of gratitude flashed in the girl's face.
“Kill him,” said Thorn to his men.
Chapter Seven:
THORN, CAPTAIN OF THARNA
With one sound three blades sprang from their sheaths, mine, that of the officer and that of the warrior who would first engage me. The man on the right would not draw his blade but wait until the first warrior had made his attack and would then strike from the side with his spear. The warrior in the rear only lifted his spear, ready to cast it should a clean opening present itself.
But it was I who attacked first.
I suddenly turned on the warrior on my right with the spear and with the swiftness of the mountain larl sprang at him, evaded his clumsy, startled thrust, and drove my blade between his ribs, jerking it free and turning just in time to meet the sword attack of his companion. Our blades had not crossed six times when he, too, lay at my feet, crowded into a knot of pain, clutching at the grass.
The officer had rushed forward but now stopped. He, like his men, had been taken aback. Though they were four and I was one I had carried the battle to them. The officer had been an instant too late. Now my sword stood between him and my body. The other warrior, behind him, his spear poised, had approached to within ten yards. At that distance he would not be likely to miss. Indeed, even if the missile struck and penetrated my shield, I would have to cast the shield away and would find myself at a serious disadvantage. Yet, the odds were more even now.
“Come, Thorn of Tharna,” I said, beckoning to him. “Let us try our skill.”
But Thorn backed away and signaled to the other warrior to lower his spear. He removed his helmet, and sat on his heels in the grass, the warrior behind him.
Thorn, Captain of Tharna, looked at me, and I at him.
He had a new respect for me now, which meant that he would be more dangerous. He had seen the swift engagement with his swordsmen and he was probably considering whether or not he could match my prowess. I felt that he would not cross blades with me unless he were convinced he could win, and that he was not altogether convinced, at least not yet.
“Let us talk,” said Thorn of Tharna.
I squatted down on my heels, as he did.
“Let us talk,” I agreed.
We resheathed our weapons.
Thorn was a large man, big boned, powerful, now tending to corpulence. His face was heavy and yellowish, but mottled with patches of purple where small veins had burst under the skin. He was not bearded, save for the trace of a tiny wisp of hair that marked each side of his chin, almost like a streak of dirt. His hair was long, and bound in a knot behind his head in Mongol fashion. His eyes, like those of an urt, one of the small horned rodents of Gor, were set obliquely in his skull. They were not clear, their redness and shadows testifying to long nights of indulgence and dissipation. It was obvious that Thorn, unlike my old enemy Pa-Kur, who presumably had perished at the siege of Ar, was not a man above sensual vices, not a man who could with fanatical purity and single-minded devotion sacrifice himself and entire peoples to the ends of his ambition and power. Thorn would never make a Ubar. He would always be a henchman.
“Give me my man,” said Thorn, gesturing to the figure that lay in the grass, still moving.
I decided that Thorn,
She stepped out from behind me, proud but resigned to her fate, ready to give herself over to these wretches to be collared and chained, stripped and sold in the markets of Gor.
I laughed.
“She is mine,” I said, “and you may not have her.”
The girl gave a gasp of astonishment and looked at me questioningly.
“Unless you pay her price,” I added.
The girl closed her eyes, crushed.
“And her price?” asked Thorn.
“Her price is steel,” I said.
A look of gratitude flashed in the girl's face.
“Kill him,” said Thorn to his men.
Chapter Seven:
THORN, CAPTAIN OF THARNA
With one sound three blades sprang from their sheaths, mine, that of the officer and that of the warrior who would first engage me. The man on the right would not draw his blade but wait until the first warrior had made his attack and would then strike from the side with his spear. The warrior in the rear only lifted his spear, ready to cast it should a clean opening present itself.
But it was I who attacked first.
I suddenly turned on the warrior on my right with the spear and with the swiftness of the mountain larl sprang at him, evaded his clumsy, startled thrust, and drove my blade between his ribs, jerking it free and turning just in time to meet the sword attack of his companion. Our blades had not crossed six times when he, too, lay at my feet, crowded into a knot of pain, clutching at the grass.
The officer had rushed forward but now stopped. He, like his men, had been taken aback. Though they were four and I was one I had carried the battle to them. The officer had been an instant too late. Now my sword stood between him and my body. The other warrior, behind him, his spear poised, had approached to within ten yards. At that distance he would not be likely to miss. Indeed, even if the missile struck and penetrated my shield, I would have to cast the shield away and would find myself at a serious disadvantage. Yet, the odds were more even now.
“Come, Thorn of Tharna,” I said, beckoning to him. “Let us try our skill.”
But Thorn backed away and signaled to the other warrior to lower his spear. He removed his helmet, and sat on his heels in the grass, the warrior behind him.
Thorn, Captain of Tharna, looked at me, and I at him.
He had a new respect for me now, which meant that he would be more dangerous. He had seen the swift engagement with his swordsmen and he was probably considering whether or not he could match my prowess. I felt that he would not cross blades with me unless he were convinced he could win, and that he was not altogether convinced, at least not yet.
“Let us talk,” said Thorn of Tharna.
I squatted down on my heels, as he did.
“Let us talk,” I agreed.
We resheathed our weapons.
Thorn was a large man, big boned, powerful, now tending to corpulence. His face was heavy and yellowish, but mottled with patches of purple where small veins had burst under the skin. He was not bearded, save for the trace of a tiny wisp of hair that marked each side of his chin, almost like a streak of dirt. His hair was long, and bound in a knot behind his head in Mongol fashion. His eyes, like those of an urt, one of the small horned rodents of Gor, were set obliquely in his skull. They were not clear, their redness and shadows testifying to long nights of indulgence and dissipation. It was obvious that Thorn, unlike my old enemy Pa-Kur, who presumably had perished at the siege of Ar, was not a man above sensual vices, not a man who could with fanatical purity and single-minded devotion sacrifice himself and entire peoples to the ends of his ambition and power. Thorn would never make a Ubar. He would always be a henchman.
“Give me my man,” said Thorn, gesturing to the figure that lay in the grass, still moving.
I decided that Thorn,
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