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Tarnsman of Gor :: Норман Джон
Страница: 56 из 145The Robes of Concealment, in function, resemble the garments of Muslim women on my own planet, though they are undoubtedly more intricate and cumbersome. Normally, of men, only a father and a husband may look upon the woman unveiled.
In the barbaric world of Gor, the Robes of Concealment are deemed necessary to protect the women from the binding fibers of roving tarnsmen. Few warriors will risk their lives to capture a woman who may be as ugly as a tharlarion. Better to steal slaves, where the guilt is less and the charms of the captive are more readily ascertainable in advance.
Now the eyes of the daughter of the Ubar were blazing at me furiously from the narrow aperture in her veil. I noted that they were greenish in cast, fiery and untamed, the eyes of a Ubar's daughter, a girl accustomed to command men. I also noted, though with considerably less pleasure, that the daughter of the Ubar was several inches taller than myself. Indeed, her body seemed somehow to be out of proportion.
"You will release me immediately," announced the daughter of the Ubar, "and dismiss this filthy insect."
"Spiders are, as a matter of fact, — particularly clean insects," I remarked, my eyes informing her that I was inspecting her comparatively filthy garments.
She shrugged haughtily.
"Where is the tarn?" I demanded.
"You should ask," she said, "where is the Home Stone of Ar."
"Where is the tarn?" I repeated, more interested at the moment in the fate of my fierce mount than in the ridiculous piece of rock I had risked my life to obtain.
"I don't know," she said, "nor do I care."
"What happened?" I wanted to know.
"I do not care to be questioned further," she announced.
I clenched my fists in rage.
Then, gently, the mandibles of Nar closed around the girl's throat. A sudden tremor of fear shook her heavily robed body, and the girl's hands tried to force the implacable chitinous pincers from her throat. Apparently the Spider Person was not as harmless as she had arrogantly assumed. "Tell it to stop," she gasped, writhing in the insect's grip, her fingers helplessly trying to loosen the mandibles.
"Do you wish her head?" asked the mechanical, voice of Nar.
I knew that the insect, who would allow his kind to be exterminated before he would injure any rational creature, must have some plan in mind, or at least I assumed he did. At any rate, I said, "Yes." The mandibles began to close on her throat like the blades of giant scissors.
"Stop!" screamed the girl, her voice a frenzied whisper.
I motioned to Nar to relax his grip.
"I was trying to bring the tarn back to Ar," said the girl. "I was never on a tam before.
In the barbaric world of Gor, the Robes of Concealment are deemed necessary to protect the women from the binding fibers of roving tarnsmen. Few warriors will risk their lives to capture a woman who may be as ugly as a tharlarion. Better to steal slaves, where the guilt is less and the charms of the captive are more readily ascertainable in advance.
Now the eyes of the daughter of the Ubar were blazing at me furiously from the narrow aperture in her veil. I noted that they were greenish in cast, fiery and untamed, the eyes of a Ubar's daughter, a girl accustomed to command men. I also noted, though with considerably less pleasure, that the daughter of the Ubar was several inches taller than myself. Indeed, her body seemed somehow to be out of proportion.
"You will release me immediately," announced the daughter of the Ubar, "and dismiss this filthy insect."
"Spiders are, as a matter of fact, — particularly clean insects," I remarked, my eyes informing her that I was inspecting her comparatively filthy garments.
She shrugged haughtily.
"Where is the tarn?" I demanded.
"You should ask," she said, "where is the Home Stone of Ar."
"Where is the tarn?" I repeated, more interested at the moment in the fate of my fierce mount than in the ridiculous piece of rock I had risked my life to obtain.
"I don't know," she said, "nor do I care."
"What happened?" I wanted to know.
"I do not care to be questioned further," she announced.
I clenched my fists in rage.
Then, gently, the mandibles of Nar closed around the girl's throat. A sudden tremor of fear shook her heavily robed body, and the girl's hands tried to force the implacable chitinous pincers from her throat. Apparently the Spider Person was not as harmless as she had arrogantly assumed. "Tell it to stop," she gasped, writhing in the insect's grip, her fingers helplessly trying to loosen the mandibles.
"Do you wish her head?" asked the mechanical, voice of Nar.
I knew that the insect, who would allow his kind to be exterminated before he would injure any rational creature, must have some plan in mind, or at least I assumed he did. At any rate, I said, "Yes." The mandibles began to close on her throat like the blades of giant scissors.
"Stop!" screamed the girl, her voice a frenzied whisper.
I motioned to Nar to relax his grip.
"I was trying to bring the tarn back to Ar," said the girl. "I was never on a tam before.