Tarnsman of Gor by John Norman

Author:John Norman
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Science Fiction, Adventure, Fiction
ISBN: 9780345275837
Publisher: Del Rey
Published: 1967-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

In the morning we left our camp early. A swallow of water from the flask and

small, dry berries gathered from the nearby shrubbery were our only sustenance.

We had not been on the road long when Talena clutched my arm. I listened

carefully, hearing the distant clank of a shod tharlarion on the road. “A

warrior,” I guessed.

“Quick,” she commanded. “Hood me.”

I hooded her and snapped her wrists together in the slave bracelets. The ringing

of the tharlarion's shod claws on the road grew louder.

In a minute the rider appeared in view–a fine, bearded warrior with a golden

helmet and a tharlarion lance. He drew the riding lizard to a halt a few paces

from me. He rode the species of tharlarion which ran on its two back feet in

great bounding strides. Its cavernous mouth was lined with long, gleaming teeth.

Its two small, ridiculously disproportionate forelegs dangled absurdly in front

of its body.

“Who are you?” demanded the warrior.

“I am Tarl of Bristol,” I said.

“Bristol?” asked the warrior, puzzled.

“Have you never heard of it?” I challenged, as if insulted.

“No,” admitted the warrior. “I am Kazrak of Port Kar,” he said, “in the service

of Mintar, of the Merchant Caste.”

I did not need to ask about Port Kar. It is a city in the delta of the Vosk and

as much a den of pirates as anything else.

The warrior gestured at Talena with his lance. “Who is she?” he asked.

“You need not know her name of lineage,” I said.

The warrior laughed and slapped his thigh. “You would have me believe that she

is of High Caste,” he said. “She is probably the daughter of a goat keeper.”

I could see Talena move under the hood, her fists clenched in the slave

bracelets.

“What news of Ar?” I asked.

“War,” said the mounted spearman approvingly. “Now, while the men of Ar fight

among themselves for the cylinders, an army is gathering from fifty cities,

massing on the banks of the Vosk to invade Ar. There is a camp there such as you

have never seen–a city of tents, pasangs of tharlarion corrals; the wings of the

tarns sound like thunder overhead. The cooking fires of the soldiers can be seen

two days' ride from the river.”

Talena spoke, her voice muffled in the hood. “Scavengers come to feast on the

bodies of wounded tarnsmen.” It was a Gorean proverb, which seemed to be

singularly inappropriate, coming from a hooded captive.

“I did not speak to the girl,” said the warrior.

I excused Talena. “She has not worn the bracelets long,” I said.

“She has spirit,” said the warrior.

“Where are you bound for?” I asked.

“To the banks of the Vosk, to the City of Tents,” said the warrior.

“What news of Marlenus, the Ubar?” demanded Talena.

“You should beat her,” said the warrior, but responded to the girl. “None. He

has fled.”

“What news of the Home Stone of Ar and the daughter of Marlenus?” I asked,

feeling it would be the sort of thing the warrior would expect me to be

interested in.

“The Home Stone is rumoured to be in a hundred cities,” he said. “Some say it

has been destroyed. Only the Priest-Kings know.”

“And the daughter of Marlenus?” I insisted.

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