''They are being paid by both sides?" I asked.

"Of course," said Kamchak, irritably.

For some reason this angered me, though, naturally, I was pleased that the wagons and boss; were yet safe. I suppose I was angered because I myself was a tarnsman, and it seemed somehow improper for warriors astride the mighty tarns to barter their favors indiscriminately for gold to either side.

"But," said Kamchak, "I think in the end Saphrar of Turia will meet their price and the wagons will be fired and the bask slain" He gritted his teeth. "He has not yet met it,"

said Kamchak, "because we have not yet harmed him nor made him feel our presence."

I nodded.

"We will withdraw," said Kamchak. He turned to a subor- dinate. "Let the wagons be gathered," he said, "and the bosk turned from Turia."

"You are giving up?" I asked.

Kamchak's eyes briefly gleamed. Then he smiled. "Of course," he said.

I shrugged.

I knew that I myself must somehow enter Turia, for in Turia now lay the golden sphere. I must somehow attempt to seize it and return it to the Sardar. Was it not for this purpose that I had come to the Wagon Peoples? I cursed the fact that I had waited so long even to the time of the Omen Taking for thereby had I lost the opportunity to try for the sphere myself in the wagon of Kutaituchik. Now, to my chagrin, the sphere lay not in a Tuchuk wagon on the open prairie but, presumably, in the House of Saphrar, a merchant stronghold, behind the high, white walls of Turia.

I did not speak to Kamchak of my intention, for I was confident that he would have, and quite properly, objected to so foolish a mission, and perhaps even have attempted to prevent my leaving the camp.

Yet l did not know the city. I could not see how I might enter. I did not know how I might even attempt to succeed in so dangerous a task as that which I had set myself.

The afternoon among the wagons was a busy one, for they were preparing to move. Already the herds had been eased westward, away from Turia toward Tha.s.sa, the distant sea.

There was much grooming of wagon bask, checking of har- ness and wagons, cutting of meat to be dried hanging from the sides of the moving wagons in the sun and wind. In the morning the wagons, in their long lines, would follow the slowly moving herds away from Turia. Meanwhile the Omen I Taking, even with the partic.i.p.ation of the Tuchuk haruspexes, ~ continued for the haruspexes of the people would remain j behind until even the final readings had been completed. I had heard, from a master of hunting sleen, that the Omens were developing predictably, several to one against the choice of a Ubar San. Indeed, the difficulty of the Tuchuks with the Turians had possibly, I guessed, exerted its influence on an omen or two in pa.s.sing. One could hardly blame the Ka.s.sars, the Kataii and Paravaci for not wanting to be led by a Tuchuk against Turia or for not wanting to acquire the Tuchuk troubles by uniting with them in any fashion. The Paravaci were particularly insistent on maintaining the inde- pendence of the peoples Since the death of Kutaituchik, Kamchak had turned ugly in manner. Now he seldom drank or joked or laughed. I missed his. .h.i.therto frequent proposals of contests, races and wagers. He now seemed dour, moody, consumed with hatred for Turia and Turians. He seemed particularly vicious with Aphris. She was Turian. When he returned that night from the wagon of Kutaituchik to his own wagon he strode angrily to the sleen cage where he had confined Aphris with Eliza- beth during the putative attack. He unlocked the door and ordered the Turian maiden forth, commanding her to stand before him, head down. Then, without speaking, to her consternation he tore swiftly away the yellow camisk and fastened slave bracelets on her wrists. "I should whip you,"

he said. The girl trembled. "But why, Master?" she asked.

"Because you are Turian," he said. The girl looked at him with tears in her eyes. Roughly Kamchak took her by the arm and thrust her into the sleen cage beside the miserable Elizabeth Cardwell. He shut the door and locked it. "Mas- ter?" questioned Aphris. "Silence, Slave," he said. The girl dared not speak. "There both of you will wait for the Iron Master," he snarled, and turned abruptly, and went to the stairs to the wagon. But the Iron Master did not come that night, or the next, or the next. In these days of siege and war there were more important matters to attend to than the branding and collaring of female slaves. "Let him ride with his Hundred," Kamchak said. "They will not run away let them wait like she-sleep in their cage not knowing on which day the iron will come." Also, perhaps for no reason better than his suddenly found hatred for Aphris of Turia, he seemed in no hurry to free the girls from their confinement.

"Let them crawl out," he snarled, "begging for a brand."

Aphris, in particular, seemed utterly distraught by Kamchak's unreasoning cruelty, his callous treatment of herself and Eliza- beth perhaps most by his sudden, seeming indifference to her. I suspected, though the girl would not have dreamed of making the admission, that her heart as well as her body might nova rightfully have been claimed as his by the cruel Ubar of the Tuchuks. Elizabeth Cardwell refused to meet my eyes, and would not so much as speak to me. "Go away!" she would cry. "Leave me!" Kamchak, once a day, at night, the hour in which sleen are fed, would throw the girls bits of bask meat and fill a pan of water kept in the cage. I remonstrated with him frequently in private but he was adamant. He would look at Aphris and then return to the wagon and sit cross-legged, not speaking, for hours, staring at the side of the wagon. Once he pounded the rug on the polished floor in front of him and cried out angrily, as though to remind himself of some significant and inalterable fact, "She is Turian! Turian!" The work of the wagon was done by Tuka and another girl, whom Kamchak hired for the pur- pose. When the wagons were to move, Tuka was to walk beside the cart of the sleen cage, drawn by a single bask, and with a bask stick guide the animal. I once spoke harshly to her when I saw her cruelly poke Elizabeth Cardwell through the bars with the bask stick. Never did she do so again when I was nearby. She seemed to leave the distressed, red-eyed Aphris of Turia alone, perhaps because she was Turian, perhaps because she had no grievance against her. "Where now is the pelt of the red larl, Slave?" Tuka would taunt Elizabeth, threatening her with the bask stick. "You will look pretty with a ring in your nose!" she would cry. "You will like your collar! Wait until you feel the iron, Slave like Tuka!" Kamchak never reproved Tuka, but I would silence her when I was present. Elizabeth endured the insults as though paying no attention, but sometimes at night I could hear her sobbing.

I searched among the wagons long before I found, sitting cross-legged beneath a wagon, wrapped in a worn bosk robe, his weapons at hand folded in leathers the young man whose name was Harold, the blond-haired, blue-eyed fellow who had been so victimized by Hereena, she of the First Wagon, who had fallen spoils to Turia in the games of Love War.

He was eating a piece of bask meat in the Tuchuk fashion, holding He meat in his left hand and between his teeth, and cutting pieces from it with a quiva scarcely a quarter inch from his lips, then chewing the severed bite and then again holding the meat in his hand and teeth and cutting again.

Without speaking I sat down near him and watched him eat. He eyed me warily, and neither did he speak. After a time I said to him, "How are the bask?"

"They are doing as well as night be expected," he said.

"Are the quivas sharp?" I inquired.

"We try to keep them that way," he said.

"It is important," I observed, "to keep the axles of wagons greased."

"Yes," he said, "I think so."

He handed me a piece of meat and I chewed on it.

"You are Tart Cabot, the Koroban," he said.

"Yes," I said, "and you are Harold the Tuchuk."

He looked at me and smiled. "Yes," he said, "I am Harold the Tuchuk."

"I am going to Turia," I said.

'That is interesting," said Harold, "I, too, am going to Turia."

"On an important matter?" I inquired.

"No," he said.

"What is it you think to do?" I asked.

"Acquire a girl," he said.

"Ah," I said.

"What is it you wish in Turia?" inquired Harold.

"Nothing important," I remarked.

"A woman?" he asked.

"No," I said, "a golden sphere."

"I know of it," said Harold, "it was stolen from the wagon of Kutaituchik." He looked at me. "It is shill to lie worth- less."

"Perhaps," I admitted, "but I think I shall go to Turia and look about for it. Should I chance to see it I might pick it up and bring it back with me."

"Where do you think this golden sphere will be lying about?" asked Harold.

"I expect," I said "it might be found here or there in the House of Saphrar, a merchant of Turia."

"That is interesting," said Harold, "for I had thought I might try chain luck in the Pleasure Gardens of a Turian merchant named Saphrar."

"That is interesting indeed," I said, "perhaps it is the same."

"It is possible," granted Harold. "Is he the smallish fellow, rather fat, with two yellow teeth."

"Yes," l said.

"Then I shall attempt not to he hitter," I said.

"I think that is a good idea," granted Harold.

Then we sat there together for a time, not speaking fur- ther, he eating, I watching while he cut and chewed the meat that was his supper. There was a fire nearby, but it was not his fire. The wagon over his head was not his wagon. There was no kaiila tethered at hand. As far as ~ could gather Harold had little more than the clothes on his back, a boskhide robe, his weapons and his supper.

"You will be slain in Turia," said Harold, finishing his meat and wiping his mouth in Tuchuk fashion on the back of his right sleeve.

"Perhaps," I admitted.

"You do riot even know how to enter the city," he said.

"That is true," I admitted.

"I can enter Turia when I wish," he said. "I know a way."

"Perhaps," I suggested, "I might accompany you."

"Perhaps," he granted, carefully wiping the quiva on the back of his left sleeve.

"When are you going to Turia?" I asked.

"Tonight," he said.

I looked at him. "Why have you not gone before?" I asked.

I-Ic smiled. "Kamchak," he said, "told me to wait for you."

"I expect," I said "it might be found here or there in the House of Saphrar, a merchant of Turia."

"That is interesting," said Harold, "for I had thought I might try chain luck in the Pleasure Gardens of a Turian merchant named Saphrar."

"That is interesting indeed," I said, "perhaps it is the same."

"It is possible," granted Harold. "Is he the- smallish fellow, rather fat, with two yellow teeth."

"Yes," l said.

"Then l shall attempt not to he hitter," I said.

"I think that is a good idea," granted Harold.

Then we sat there together for a time, not speaking fur- ther, he eating, I watching while he cut and chewed the meat that was his supper. There was a fire nearby, but it was not his fire. The wagon over his head was not his wagon. There was no kaiila tethered at hand. As far as ~ could gather Harold had little more than the clothes on his back, a boskhide robe, his weapons and his supper.

"You will be slain in Turia," said Harold, finishing his meat and wiping his mouth in Tuchuk fashion on the back of his right sleeve.

"Perhaps," I admitted.

"You do riot even know how to enter the city," he said.

"That is true," I admitted.

"I can enter Turia when I wish," he said. "I know a way."

"Perhaps," I suggested, "I might accompany you."

"Perhaps," he granted, carefully wiping the quiva on the back of his left sleeve.

"When are you going to Turia?" I asked.

"Tonight," he said.

I looked at him. "Why have you not gone before?" I asked.

He smiled. "Kamchak," he said, "told me to wait for you.

It was not a pleasant path to Turia that Harold the Tuchuk showed to me, but I followed him.

"Can you swim?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. Then I inquired, "How is it that you, a Tuchuk, can swim?" I knew few Tuchuks could, though some had learned in the Cartius.

"I learned in Turia,' said Harold, "in the public baths where I was once a slave."

The baths of Turia were said to be second only to those of Ar in their luxury, the number of their pools, their tempera- tures, the scents and oils.

"Each night the baths were emptied and cleaned and I was one of many who attended to this task," he said. "I was only six years of age when I was taken to Turia, and I did not escape the city for eleven years." He smiled. "I cost my master only eleven copper tarn disks," he said, "and so I think he had no reason to be ill satisfied with his investment."

"Are the girls who attend to the baths during the day as beautiful as it is said?" I inquired. The bath girls of Turia are almost as famous as those of Ar.

"Perhaps," he said, "l never saw them during the day I and the other male slaves were chained in a darkened cham- ber that we might sleep and preserve our strength for the work of the night." Then he added, "Sometimes one of the girls, to discipline her, would be thrown amongst us but we had no way of knowing if she were beautiful or not."

"How is it," I asked, "that you managed to escape?"

"At night, when cleaning the pools, we would be unchained, in order to protect the chain from dampness and rust we were then only roped together by the neck, I had not been put on the rope until the age of fourteen, at which time I suppose my master adjudged it wise prior to that I had been free a bit to sport in the pools before they were drained and sometimes to run errands for the Master of the Baths it was during those years that I learned how to swim and also became familiar with the streets of Turia one night in my seventeenth year I found myself last man on the rope and I chewed through it and ran, I hid by seizing a well rope and descending to the waters below there was movement in the water at the foot of the well and I dove to the bottom and found a cleft, through which I swam under- water and emerged in a shallow pool, the well's feed basin I again swam underwater and this time emerged in a rocky tunnel, through which flowed an underground stream fortunately in most places there were a few inches between the level of the water and the roof of the tunnel it was very long, I followed it."

"And where did you follow it to?" I asked.

"Here," said Harold, pointing to a cut between two rocks, only about eight inches wide, through which from some underground source a flow of water was emerging, entering and adding to the small stream at which, some four pasangs from the wagons, Aphris and Elizabeth had often drawn water for the wagon bask.

Not speaking further, Harold, a quiva in his teeth, a rope and hook on his belt, squeezed through and disappeared. I followed him, armed with quiva and sword.

I do not much care to recall that journey. I am a strong swimmer but it seemed we must confront and conquer the steady press of flowing water for pasangs and indeed we did so. At last, at a given point in the tunnel, Harold disappeared beneath the surface and I followed him. Gasping, we emerged in the tiny basin area fed by the underground stream. Here, Harold disappeared again under the water and once more I followed him. After what seemed to me an uncomfortably long moment we emerged again, this time at the bottom of a tile-lined well. It was a rather wide well, perhaps about fifteen feet in width. A foot or so above the surface hung a huge, heavy drum, now tipped on its side. It would contain literally hundreds of gallons-of water when filled. Two ropes led to the drum, a small rope to control its filling, and a large one to support it; the large rope, inciden- tally, has a core of chain; the rope itself, existing primarily to protect the chain, is treated with a waterproof glue made from the skins, bones and hoofs of bask, secured by trade with the Wagon Peoples. Even so the rope and chain must be replaced twice a year. I judged that the top of the well might lie eight or nine hundred feet above us.

I heard Harold's voice in the darkness, sounding hollow against the tiled walls and over the water. "The tiles must be periodically inspected," he said, "and for this purpose there are foot knots in the rope."

I breathed a sigh of relief. It is one thing to descend a long rope and quite another, even in the lesser gravity of Gor, to climb one particularly one as long as that which I now saw dimly above me.

The foot knots were done with subsidiary rope but worked into the fiber of the main rope and glued over so as to be almost one with it. They were s.p.a.ced about every ten feet on the rope. Still, even resting periodically, the climb was an exhausting one. More disturbing to me was the prospect of bringing the golden sphere down the rope and under the water and through the underground stream to the place where we had embarked on this adventure. Also, I was not clear how Harold, supposing him to be successful in his shopping amongst the ferns and flowers of Saphrar's Pleasure Gardens, intended to conduct his squirming prize along this unscenic, difficult and improbable route.