JК
Tarnsman of Gor :: Норман Джон
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"How long will it last," I queried, "with Pa-Kur on the throne of Ar?"
Kazrak seemed suddenly to darken with thought.
"Pa-Kur will not destroy the city," I said, "and he will keep as much of his horde as he can."
"Yes," said Kazrak. "There will be little cause for rejoicing."
"Marlenus had a dream of empire," I said, "but the ambition of Pa-Kur will yield only a nightmare of oppression and tyranny."
"It is unlikely that Marlenus will ever again be a danger," said Kazrak. "Even should he survive, he is outlawed in his own city."
"But Pa-Kur," I said, "as Ubar of Ar, will threaten all Gor."
"True," said Kazrak, looking at me questioningly.
"Why should not the free cities of Gor unite to defeat Pa-Kur?"
"The cities never unite," responded Kazrak.
"They never have," I said. "But surely, if Pa-Kur is to be stopped, this is the time, not after he is master of Ar."
"The cities never unite," repeated Kazrak, shaking his head.
"Take this ring," I said, giving him the ring that bore the crest of Cabot. "Show it to the Administrator of Ko-ro-ba and to the Administrator of Thentis and to the Ubars or Administrators of whatever cities you can. Tell them to raise the siege. Tell them they must strike now, and that you come with this message from Tarl Cabot, Warrior of Ko-ro-ba."
"I will probably be impaled," said Kazrak, rising to his feet, "but I will go."
With a heavy heart I watched Kazrak loop his sword belt over his shoulder and pick up his helmet. "Good bye, Sword Brother," he said, and turned and left the tent, as if he might have been merely going to the tharlarion corrals or to take his post for guard duty, as in our caravan days. I felt a choking sensation in my throat and asked myself if I had sent my friend to his death.
In a few minutes I gathered together my own gear and put on the heavy black helmet of the Assassin, left the tent, and turned my steps in the direction of the tents of Pa-Kur. I made my way to the interior perimeter of the second ditch, opposite the great gate of Ar in the distance. There, on a hillock overlooking the palisades that rimmed the rampart to the ditch, I saw the wall of black silk that surrounded the compound of Pa-Kur. Inside were the dozens of tents that formed the quarters for his personal retinue and bodyguard. Above them, at several places, flew the black banner of the Caste of Assassins.
I had neared the compound a hundred times before, but this time I was determined to enter.
"How long will it last," I queried, "with Pa-Kur on the throne of Ar?"
Kazrak seemed suddenly to darken with thought.
"Pa-Kur will not destroy the city," I said, "and he will keep as much of his horde as he can."
"Yes," said Kazrak. "There will be little cause for rejoicing."
"Marlenus had a dream of empire," I said, "but the ambition of Pa-Kur will yield only a nightmare of oppression and tyranny."
"It is unlikely that Marlenus will ever again be a danger," said Kazrak. "Even should he survive, he is outlawed in his own city."
"But Pa-Kur," I said, "as Ubar of Ar, will threaten all Gor."
"True," said Kazrak, looking at me questioningly.
"Why should not the free cities of Gor unite to defeat Pa-Kur?"
"The cities never unite," responded Kazrak.
"They never have," I said. "But surely, if Pa-Kur is to be stopped, this is the time, not after he is master of Ar."
"The cities never unite," repeated Kazrak, shaking his head.
"Take this ring," I said, giving him the ring that bore the crest of Cabot. "Show it to the Administrator of Ko-ro-ba and to the Administrator of Thentis and to the Ubars or Administrators of whatever cities you can. Tell them to raise the siege. Tell them they must strike now, and that you come with this message from Tarl Cabot, Warrior of Ko-ro-ba."
"I will probably be impaled," said Kazrak, rising to his feet, "but I will go."
With a heavy heart I watched Kazrak loop his sword belt over his shoulder and pick up his helmet. "Good bye, Sword Brother," he said, and turned and left the tent, as if he might have been merely going to the tharlarion corrals or to take his post for guard duty, as in our caravan days. I felt a choking sensation in my throat and asked myself if I had sent my friend to his death.
In a few minutes I gathered together my own gear and put on the heavy black helmet of the Assassin, left the tent, and turned my steps in the direction of the tents of Pa-Kur. I made my way to the interior perimeter of the second ditch, opposite the great gate of Ar in the distance. There, on a hillock overlooking the palisades that rimmed the rampart to the ditch, I saw the wall of black silk that surrounded the compound of Pa-Kur. Inside were the dozens of tents that formed the quarters for his personal retinue and bodyguard. Above them, at several places, flew the black banner of the Caste of Assassins.
I had neared the compound a hundred times before, but this time I was determined to enter.