Tarak sat upon his drif with the easy familiarity of one who might have ridden such a beast for years, and turned to speak to Foss, who rode a similar mount, a few feet to his left.
"It is no wonder men are so weak, Foss. They are afraid to walk."
Foss laughed. "The traditions of the military are ancient and rigid, my friend. Officers do not walk during a march. Nor to their guests."
Tarak smiled, and looked down with some distaste at the green tunic Foss had persuaded him to wear. He had never worn clothes before, except a brief scrap of loincloth, and except for the crude garments he had fashioned to protect him from the bitter mountain cold.
The To-rok had insisted, however, explaining that civilized men invariably clothed themselves, and that it was in fact unlawful to appear in public without clothing.
Tarak scoffed at these ideas, insisting that it was no concern to him what others did, but that in such a warm climate clothes seemed foolish. The To-rok had prevailed, however, and Tarak had agreed to wear the common green tunic of the Nerosian warrior and plain leather sandals. He found the garment to be quite comfortable, but grumbled occasionally nonetheless, for he enjoyed testing the patience and temper of the To-rok.
Foss had been relieved as commander of Neros Fort Nine some days before, by another To-rok, a man who had been a friend of Foss for many years.
His name was Maron, and like Foss he had once held a higher rank in the military councils of the city. A former O-rok, he had been demoted by Jaren, and now spent his time traveling from fort to fort, relieving the various commanders, so they could travel to the city on periods of leave.
A large, grizzled, good-humored man, Maron was hard of body and spirit, yet never far from laughter.
Tarak had liked him immediately, and the three men spent long hours in conversation during the few days after he arrived, and before Foss and Tarak left for the city.
Tarak listened to the two to-roks discuss the affairs of Neros, and noted the affection which both men expressed for her citizens, as well as the thinly-veiled bitterness which each felt at the city's present plight.
Maron had tried to dissuade Tarak from entering the city, warning that he had recently left Neros, and that it was presently a dangerous place, even for Nerosians.
Weeks earlier Foss might have joined in his pleas, but now he merely smiled and shrugged, for he had long since learned the futility of attempting to appeal to any appreciation of danger which Tarak might possess.
The young barbarian had exerted a profound influence upon the commander, awakening his spirit, and firing his once indomitable will. Foss was filled with renewed hope, strength, and purpose. Over the years he had become increasingly resigned to his fate, and to the iron grip in which Jaren held his beloved city.
The young barbarian had entered his camp, however, and some of the savage spirit of the stranger had infected the To-rok, rekindling his own fighting nature. Once more was Foss a warrior, and he was ready to fight, and perhaps to die, for his city and for his ideals.
He gazed at Tarak speculatively as he blond giant rode effortlessly upon the drif. You may die in Neros, he thought, and I too may die, but no more will I sit idly and ignore the passions which once moved me. I will live as I wish to live, and if I die, I will die as a warrior.
Followed by a sizable contingent of the fort's warriors, who were also due their periodic leave, Foss and Tarak had left Neros Fort Nine a few days after Maron's arrival, to begin the long journey to Neros.
Most of the forts were far from the city, forming the extreme outer perimeter of her boundaries, although several were situated at strategic points nearer the city, to patrol the countryside and the interior roads and countryside.
They had traveled for five days, marching steadily across grassy plains, cultivated fields, and through forests laced with streams and rivers, and teeming with game. As they traveled the density of the population increased dramatically.
Peasants lived even near the outer boundaries of the city-state, but none had approached the marching men. Foss explained that in recent years the people had learned to fear the military, unfortunately not without reason.
Tarak was eager to meet with the citizens of Neros, and particularly he was anxious to meet young women.
Amena had been the only woman he had ever really known, and his curiosity was aroused, as was his sexuality, at the prospect of meeting females of his species.
Alone among beasts and men for his entire adult life, he hungered for feminine companionship in a way he could not explain, but which he experienced as a feeling of incomprehensible power deep within himself.
Foss had been amused when Tarak explained these desires, and shortly thereafter the To-rok stopped a group of peasants who crossed their path, so that Tarak might meet a young female, and judge for himself the beauty of Nerosian women.
The peasants had been nervous and fearful at being stopped, but some recognized Foss, for he was a well-known figure even outside the city.
The stranger who rode with the commander was such a striking figure of a man that the girls had blushed under the unwavering, intense gaze which emanated from his emerald eyes.
He was rewarded with flirting smiles and giggles, and arousal stirred deeply within his loins; pleasure and hunger of such magnitude that he was amazed. Reluctantly he had continued upon their journey, goaded by the commander, but several times he had looked back at the peasant girls, who stood at the side of the road, waving and laughing.
Tarak felt an emotional sense of well-being which he had never before experienced, yet at the same time a desperate longing to know these girls more intimately.
Foss promised that the girls of the city were even more attractive, and much more numerous, so Tarak rode on, smiling to himself and thinking that it had indeed been a fine idea to travel to Neros.
As they neared the city they encountered military checkpoints with increasing frequency, but Foss had little difficulty negotiating these, for those in the army of Neros who had been loyal to men such as Foss were generally the same men who now found themselves patrolling the forests and plains outside Neros, separated from their families and many of their friends.
Tarak noted that Foss was held in great esteem by these men, regardless of rank or position.
The To-rok explained that entering the city might prove somewhat difficult, for the gates would be manned by Jaren's men, and commanded by a To-rok, equal in rank to Foss.
Tarak listened, unconcerned, for he had confidence that the grizzled commander would gain them ready admittance.
They continued to ride, passing many abandoned homes, homes which had belonged to many of the citizens now confined to the city.
Only peasants and warriors now lived outside the great walls of Neros.
Entering a small forest, they rode for a short distance along a wide road, so deeply shaded it seemed like a tunnel through the dense trees. Rounding a bend, Tarak discerned bright light ahead, signaling the end of the dense trees.
As the forest ended, they emerged at the crest of a hill, which sloped gently down to the city. Here they halted, and Tarak sat in amazement, gazing in wonder at the Great City of Neros, City of Warriors, which lay before them in the valley below.
It was still some distance to the city, but even from their present position Tarak could see that the city was truly immense. The walls of Neros towered more than one hundred feet above the ground, and completely surrounded the city.
Although the men sat at the crest of a hill, the towering walls hid the interior of Neros, and nothing could be seen of the buildings which lay within.
Set in a shallow valley between two ridges, and bounded by forests, Neros was truly a magnificent sight.
A wide river passed before her gates, a hundred yards from the walls, spanned by a bridge which Foss explained could be drawn back across the river, in the event of an attack by a force which threatened the city, although tremendous manpower was required to move the bridge, which was solid and extremely heavy.
The walls extended for more than a mile in each direction, a solid, impenetrable barrier which was testimony to the might of the city itself.
The sight was truly breathtaking.
Foss explained that a deep trench had been constructed entirely around the city, extending from the river north of the bridge, and circling around the walls, at a distance of a hundred feet, to rejoin the river south of the bridge. The trench was as wide as the river, and was constructed so that it became a temporary branch, with a current, although slower than that of the river, scouring its sides as it flowed around the island which had been thus created.
Since the trench was much closer to the walls than the river itself, anyone attempting to cross was subject to attack from the high walls. Tarak surmised that any invader who tried to force his way to the island city was facing a an extremely difficult task, once the bridge was withdrawn.
The bridge itself was fronted by a small stockade, the walls of which extended into the water on either side of the bridge. The immense gates of Neros, which were nearly always kept open, required a measure of time to close, and the stockade provided a buffer, which would temporarily impede an attacking force, while the bridge was withdrawn, and the massive gates closed.
They approached this stockade, and were halted by a soldier who, noting Foss's rank, quickly saluted and disappeared into a nearby structure, reappearing a moment later with an officer whose tunic proclaimed him to be a To-rok.
Tarak noted that the man's tunic appeared new, and spotless, indicating that this To-rok took exceptional care of his uniform, and probably exercised rarely in the field.
The man was young, and walked with the arrogant swagger of a man who has been given a command as a favpr, rather than earning it, and who seeks to impress those around him through his bravado and important manner.
Many of the warriors manning the stockade seemed to know Foss, and shouted greetings to the commander.
Foss smiled, and waved at these men, which appeared to irritate the commanding To-rok, who shouted for silence as he strode forward.
"State your names, and your business here?" he snapped, "And by what authority you propose to enter Neros, City of Warriors, City of Jaren, Greatest Tarkan of Aantor!"
Foss looked down at the man with contempt and some amusement. "You know who I am, Milak, and my purpose. You knew me when you were a kennel-boy cleaning up drif-dung. Perhaps you remember?"
The stockade To-Rok scowled. "I am a kennel-boy no longer, Foss. As you are no longer a Rok! Now I am your equal."
He smiled smugly. "Soon I may be an O-rok! Then I may have you as my kennel-boy."
Foss chuckled. "Indeed. If you place your pretty face upon the Tarkan's chair often enough, it may be as you say."
Laughter rippled through the ranks of men, its spontaneity indicative of the truth of the To-rok's words, and of the affection which the warriors held for the former Rok.
Milak reddened, momentarily speechless in his fury.
Unthinking, he drew his sword half-way, and uttered a curse.
"You should die for such words!"
The stockade fell suddenly quiet, and everyone looked at Milak with incredulous stares.
The stockade To-rok stood alone, suddenly shaken, realizing the monumental blunder he had made with his thoughtless utterance. His habit of continually bullying and threatening his subordinates had caused him to utter words which might not be taken so casually by a warrior of equal rank. Particularly a warrior such as Foss.
He let his sword slip back into the scabbard, and raised his hand, attempting to speak, but Foss cut him off sharply.
"So!" Foss cried, raising his voice. "I have been challenged, To-rok to To-rok!"
He looked down at Milak, a smile playing about his lips.
He then continued in a booming voice. "One officer has threatened death to another of equal rank! A challenge has been issued, and I must of course accept, or face dishonor before all!" He again looked around at the watching men, many of whom nodded with heightened interest, smiles creeping onto their faces.
Foss looked back down at his challenger, who was attempting to smile ingratiatingly, shaking his head, and trying to withdraw his thoughtless challenge, but who could not get a word said in the face of Foss' booming words.
"Fearless Milak, keeper of the stockade, soon-to-be-O-Rok, wonder-boy of Jaren; I await your pleasure!"
Foss began to dismount from the drif as he spoke these words, a half-smile playing upon his grizzled face.
A few of the men began to snicker, but Milak paid them no attention.
His face was bloodless white, and he hastily attempted to soften and retract his words.
"No! No, To-rok Foss! I did not mean to challenge you! I was angry, nothing more. It was no challenge! No threat! Remain seated upon your noble mount, Commander, and pass through to the city. Please, the ground is quite dusty."
Foss stopped his dismount, and seemed perplexed.
"I am certain that I heard you indicate that I should die for my words, Milak. I distinctly remember the phrase, `you should die for those words'. Are you now attempting to insult me further, claiming that I cannot even remember words which were spoken but a moment before?"
He looked around at the watching warriors in apparent consternation.
Milak was ashen. "Well...no....of course not, To-rok. I did use that phrase, but I did not mean that you should die, or mean it as a threat."
Foss seemed further confused.
"Are you now telling me that although I remember words satisfactorily, I cannot understand simple phrases that even children understand? Is this some new example of your biting wit, ridiculing my own ability to reason?"
"No, of course not, To-rok! It was I who did not understand what I was saying! I have some difficulty with such words and phrases. I meant to say that you should die some day, as every warrior dies, in gallant battle!"
Foss did not seem convinced, and frowned down at the To-rok.
"Are you so stupid, Milak, that you do not even know how to use common words and phrases?"
"No, Commander Foss, but I--"
"Well then," Foss interrupted, "I appears there was no misunderstanding after all. Let us do battle, To-Rok to To-Rok." He began to dismount again, casually.
"No!" pleaded Milak, desperate now. "You are entirely correct, as always, To-Rok Foss. I am too stupid to understand such things!" He shook his head from side to side, looking down at the dust.
Foss stopped again, and looked contemptuously at Milak, considerable doubt still clouding his features. Warriors smiled openly, listening intently to the exchange, while Tarak looked happily down upon the To-rok of the stockade.
He understood little of the significance of the verbal exchange between the To-Roks, but it was apparent to him that Foss was enjoying himself hugely, and it was also apparent that the watching warriors were also having fun at the expense of the stockade commander.
"You do appear to be quite stupid, Milak," Foss said, "Yet you claim to be To-rok, and Commander of the stockade. Such a position requires a man of bravery and intelligence, does it not?"
"Of Course...." Milak began.
"It most assuredly does!" retorted Foss, who looked around at the assembled warriors for emphasis. "The stockade protects the city herself! It's commander must be intelligent, unswervingly loyal, with unerring judgment and timing. Many lives will depend upon his actions during an invasion. The safety of Neros herself may depend upon such a man."
Murmurs and shouts of approval and agreement were heard from many of the warriors who surrounded the To-Roks.
"Tell me, Milak", Foss continued, "Do you truly think you are intelligent enough to command this stockade?"
The question was obvious in its insult and import, but Milak was beyond caring. His only thought was to save his own life, for he knew Foss would be within his rights to demand combat, and he knew also that Foss could and would kill him within seconds.
"No, Foss. I am perhaps not intelligent enough for this command! At times I do not understand words and phrases, as you have seen."
"Then you would agree you should not hold this command?"
"Certainly, To-rok." Fear and hate clutched in Milak's bowels, but the To-rok felt that he would agree to anything, to get Foss moving again.
"I quite agree, Milak." Foss appeared somewhat mollified, and Milak felt a sense of relief pass over him.
He was shamed, but he would live, and one day he would repay the former Rok, as he would repay the disloyal warriors who smiled so openly at his present discomfiture. He burned with shame, but soon this ordeal would be over, and Foss would pass through the gates.
Milak had friends among the present rulers of his city, and was confident this episode would be forgotten. He would let Foss have his victory now, but he would have revenge soon. His thoughts were interrupted as Foss began speaking again.
"There are few positions within our great city, I believe," Foss continued, as if an afterthought, " which could be entrusted to a person who did not understand words and phrases which little children use routinely."
Milak looked up in confusion, wishing that Foss would move on.
Foss was silent for a moment, considering. "Even the kennel-boys must know the meanings of certain words and phrases. I have heard of such stupidity among the kitchen-girls, but generally it is my understanding that boys and men who are so retarded are generally confined, for their protection and the protection of the citizens."
Foss frowned again, shaking his head, then directed his steely eyes at the gate commander. "Tell me, Milak. Are you so retarded, then, that you should be confined for life; or perhaps put to work in the kitchens? Are you truly that ignorant?"
He paused, a puzzled expression on his face. "Or are you perhaps taunting me, and shall we resolve this matter with steel."
Milak raged at the question, and stood silently for a moment, ashamed beyond belief, his rage and shame battling within him against his abject fear of the To-Rok. He looked into the bleak grey eyes of his tormentor, and fear triumphed.
"Yes, to-rok," he said, biting off the words. "I am truly so incompetent."
Foss brightened. "Well, then! You have convinced me, Milak, of your stupidity, and I am sorry I took offense at your remarks, which I thought were spoken by a man, but which I now realize were merely the babblings of a retarded boy."
He looked around at the assembled warriors, most of whom were grinning in amazement, and then he turned his attention back to Milak. His words were now condescending, and his tone chastising, rather than threatening.
"You shouldn't garb yourself in the clothing of a warrior, boy. You might get hurt. Not all men are as patient or understanding as Foss-pan-Velsor, To-rok of Neros Fort Nine!"
Foss turned his attention to a So-rok who stood nearby, one of Milak's subordinates, and a man who had been a To-rok in better days.
"Take this boy's weapons, So-rok. Such dangerous items are not for boys to play with! He has had fun pretending he was a warrior, but he will certainly come to harm if he is allowed a man's weapons and the clothing of a warrior. Then take him into the city, and place him in the care of the kitchen master. Explain the nature of Milak's mental problems, and tell him that Milak and Foss have agreed that Milak belongs in the kitchens. Undoubtedly Milak will be happier and will stay out of trouble there, and perhaps he is intelligent enough to fetch and carry for the girls in one the kitchens of Neros."
"Kitchen girls are mostly slaves!" protested Milak, horrified at this unexpected turn of events, and aghast as what he was hearing.
Foss's tone hardened. "Yes, this is true. They are slaves. Illiterate, ignorant, and without legal status. Most, however, can understand speech, and know the meaning of common words and phrases, which makes them somewhat superior to boys such as you. They will therefore direct your labors. They will feed you, clothe you, and use you for their pleasure. You will live beneath the kitchens of the palace, a boy among dozens of girls, working as they direct, and eating and sleeping when they say."
"They may not allow you to wear boy's clothing, since kitchen girls wear only coarsely woven dresses, but if so, I am confident you will become accustomed to these, and some say that they can be quite attractive when properly cleaned and pressed. Dresses will certainly be more appropriate for such as you, for example, than the clothes of a warrior."
Foss nodded, as if in thought. "You will probably be better off in the kitchens, mopping and cleaning and scrubbing, than you will be if imprisoned for life in a musty dungeon, boy."
He beamed for an instant, then became stern again. "Unless you have been fooling with me, boy, and are truly more intelligent than you have indicated?"
Foss gripped the hilt of his sword as he spoke, and the muscles of his forearm rippled as if impatient to draw the weapon.
Milak ground his teeth, hatred in his eyes, but he knew he was speaking with death itself. "No, To-rok. I am not more intelligent."
"Good! Then the matter is settled." Foss nodded to the So-rok, discussing Milak as if he were discussing a child, or a slave, no longer worthy of being addressed as a citizen.
"Remove this boy's weapons and uniform, So-rok, and give him a scrap of cloth to cover himself until he arrives in the kitchens."
The So-rok, grinning, roughly unbuckled Milak's harness, and handed it to a nearby warrior. Next he removed the helmet, and told Milak to remove his tunic. The former To-rok complied, to the open laughter of the watching warriors, one of whom threw a piece of rough cloth to Milak's feet.
Milak bent down and retrieved the cloth, and attempted to cover himself, a task which was unsuccessful because of the meager size of the cloth.
His swaggering bravado was a thing of the past. Horrified, still fearing for his life, he looked around at the warriors, and saw only loathing and contempt, while he heard only jeering laughter. He felt as if he had become a boy among men, and he trembled.
"Don't cry, boy," Foss admonished. "Soon you will belong to a lusty kitchen girl, or perhaps several! Serve them faithfully, and they may treat you reasonably well. Think of it. Good exercise, ample food, though not what you're used to. Before long you'll have lost that fat belly, and will undoubtedly have made new and lifelong friends."
"I shall be in the city for some time," Foss continued, "and naturally, being an old and experienced To-rok, I am both intelligent and suspicious. I will visit the kitchens occasionally, and will question the girls, to insure that their new boy is happy, and a hard, even though somewhat retarded, worker. I am confident that the kitchen girls will have no cause for complaint."
Foss started his drif moving, and turned for the last time to Milak. "Move aside, boy. I would enter my city!" The drif lumbered forward, and Milak hastily scrambled out of the way. A warrior grabbed his arm, jerking him aside roughly, and delivering a stinging cuff to Milak's head.
"Move aside, boy! You heard the Commander." the warrior said, and Milak stumbled away from the warrior, holding his hand to his head where he had been struck.
Foss rode across the great bridge as if he were a Tarkan entering a conquered city, and the soldiers watched reverently as he passed. Some saluted the former Rok, their eyes glistening with the loyalty they felt for the grizzled commander. Foss halted upon reaching the opposite side, and turned to Tarak, who had crossed behind him.
Tarak was smiling. "How does such a fool come to command warriors?", he asked the To-Rok.
Foss grinned back, and spat upon the ground. "Many such as Milak now hold positions of power in Neros. Most have never tasted battle, but they are favorites of Jaren and his followers. In recent years rank and power have been awarded as badges of favor, rather than for courage and prowess. These are indeed unfortunate times for our city."
"Why did the To-rok allow you to humble him so?"
"He was afraid to die."
"You would have killed him, then?"
"Of course."
Tarak frowned. "It seems a strange and savage custom, Foss, to kill over a spoken word."
"We are an ancient people, Tarak, with many traditions. Such duels are rarely fought, or fought to the death, in any event. Normally less violent means are utilized to settle disagreements, and when duels are fought, the victor rarely kills, particularly when his opponent has fought with honor, although some men die, and many are disabled."
"But you would have killed this man?"
Foss nodded. "He is a fool. A man without honor. He has ordered innocent men killed, and others maimed, in the name of our city and our Tarkan. For such a man to command warriors is an insult to Neros. I haven't the power to remove all like him, but while I wield a sword, I will dispose of them when I can."
He shrugged. "Perhaps if he had fought, I would merely have crippled him. I do not know, and it is of no consequence, for he is finished as a warrior."
"His powerful friends will not save him?"
Foss shook his head. "They have no choice but to leave him to his fate, for today he disgraced himself both as a warrior and as a man. His disgrace reflects upon those who selected him, too, and they will not be pleased with Milak. What happened today will be told throughout the city, and no man will ever respect him again. Even in Jaren's army a warrior must possess at least some courage, and some honor. He will find that he no longer has any friends."
"But surely he can find other work, once you have left the city?"
Foss shook his head. "Probably not. Today he destroyed his right to be a warrior. He is afraid to die, and his fear will keep him enslaved while I visit the city. Once he submits to the girls in the kitchens, he will have destroyed himself as a man."
"I don't understand."
"Neros is a society dominated by men. Never will a free man permit himself to be dictated to by a female. It is simply not allowed in our city. Fear has prompted Milak to consent to work beneath the lowest of females, slaves or convicted female criminals sentenced to labor in the kitchens. Nerosians will never forgive him for this cowardice, and once he submits, he will never be permitted to again take a place as a free Nerosian male. He will probably live out his life in the kitchens, although he does not yet realize this."
The To-Rok smiled. "He will soon learn, however."
Tarak considered these comments, and the probable fate which Milak faced in such a constricted society. "Are there not many men who find it hard to be warriors, or to compete with other men? What happens to those who are weak, Foss, or disabled?"
Foss shrugged. "Men who are disabled in battle may live within the city in various houses set aside specifically for them. They live in honor, fed and clothed well, and cared for as they wish. In the veteran's compound, the veterans rule, and their wish is the command of those who work there."
"All Nerosians spend at least a portion of their lives in the military. Most are successful and brave men, who discharge their duties well during their tenure. For the others; men who are cowardly, and will not fight like men; they are treated like boys thereafter."
"Many such remain in the households of their mothers, keeping house, cooking, and generally earning their keep for being fed and clothed by doing all the domestic tasks which normally are done by women. When their mothers die, sisters will often take them into their homes, since they are skilled at all aspects of domestic life. This allows the sister to become the household supervisor, rather than laboring herself, and many such women enjoy having such a houseboy, whether as a child or sibling."
"Men have nothing to do with them, of course, and they generally remain in the company of women."
"Other men, those who are courageous, but weak, and unable to meet the rigors of military life, are given jobs cleaning the streets, sweeping the kennels, or other mundane tasks. Such men are not, however, directed or supervised by women."
"What happens to the strong, ambitious women?"
Foss laughed. "They must find men who are even stronger, for usually they cannot attain a position in which they rule men. Even the Tarkan's mate, the Tarkana, must attain her ends through the power of the Tarkan, for she cannot command free men. She has many slaves, of course, and numerous houseboys."
"It seems unfair that people should be enslaved," Tarak said. He remembered his long years without freedom in the fortress, and how Amena was enslaved there.
Foss shrugged. "It is unfair that men die in war. It is unfair that they become crippled. It is unfair that they steal from others, and that the strong dominate the weak."
He looked at Tarak. "The strong make the rules, and the rules make life easier for the strong. It has always been so. The rulers have no incentive to change our system, nor do the people wish it changed. Nerosians, except for those enslaved because of criminal acts, are free Nerosians, and accordingly reap the benefits of the system, which provides cheap labor to perform tasks which are mundane, dangerous, filthy, or servile in nature."
"Our city enslaves captives and criminals, and the average citizen supports this system, knowing that he will never be a slave unless he commits a crime, or is captured by a hostile force. Since these possibilities are remote for the average Nerosian, and since he benefits so markedly from the system, he accepts it without a trace of guilt. This is true in Neros, and in most other cities."
Foss smiled. "You will learn, my friend, that moral philosophies find few supporters when they run against principles which the rulers and most citizens find to be in their best interests."
Tarak considered the To-rok's words. Listening to Amena discuss the world of men, he had wrought a scenario within his imagination of splendid cities, filled with compassionate, intelligent citizens, working together to achieve justice and fairness for all the people who dwelled within.
As he was learning, however, such citizens were in many ways as self-serving and uncaring as the men who had kept him imprisoned for so may years.
Reality was a force which seemed to continually assail his previous conceptions of man and civilization.
He changed the subject.
"What happens now to you, Foss? Surely Milak's superiors will not look kindly upon the man who has caused them so much embarrassment."
Foss shrugged. "They will probably do nothing, for I was within my rights, and they are aware that any attempt to discipline me for my actions would be looked upon with anger and contempt by Nerosian citizens and warriors, who hold honor dearly. Weak and corrupt men hold power in our city, but they must have the loyalty of the warriors, who are the real power in Neros. The corruption and fear which infest the present administration may be the salvation of our city, and these I must expose and exploit."
"They are cautious men, however, and will sacrifice Milak, or a thousand like him, rather than risk a confrontation with the ideals and honor of the armies of Neros."
The men rode in silence as they approached the gates of Neros, which stood open, a hundred yards from the near side of the bridge. Tarak marveled at the size of the gates. They hung in an opening which measured twenty yards across, and fifteen yards high, and were constructed so that when closed they would seal the opening completely. Four feet thick, constructed of metal and wood, the doors were immensely heavy.
The gates hung upon great hinges, which appeared to be constructed of the same material as the doors. At first Tarak thought that the doors were smaller than their actual height, but as they approached more closely he noticed that perhaps half of their height was below ground level. To enter the city it was necessary to descend into a channel, which reached its lowest point directly below the midpoint of the doorway, Once through the doors, the ground rose again, rising to ground level inside the city.
Foss explained that once the gates were closed, the channel inside the gate could be flooded, and huge bars slid into place behind them, insuring an impassable barrier. The vast doors, sealed and barred, and weighted from within by a body of water twenty yards wide and fifteen deep, were unbreachable when closed. They were almost never closed, however, since a great deal of effort was necessary to move them into position.
Within the walls, on either side of the gates, teams of Drifs were fastened to wooden rams. If the city were assaulted, these rams would be driven against the gates, pushing them shut. The teams were maintained in a constant state of readiness, although Neros had not tested her gates in months, and no enemy had ever attempted to assault the gates of the City of Warriors.
The sunken area was kept immaculately clean and free of debris, and only one vehicle was permitted at any particular time within the radius of the doors. Warriors lined the channel at regular intervals to enforce these restrictions.
Foss commented that many of the restrictions seemed absurd, because of the power of the Drifs, and because of the defenses at the bridge, which provided a buffer against any attack. As a warrior, Foss tended to view any overly defensive position as inconsistent with honor and bravery, and with the tradition of Neros as the City of Warriors.
Tarak was inclined to agree that the elaborate defenses seemed superfluous, particularly when the city was filled with warriors who would prefer to fight and conquer than to hide behind massive wall and gates.
They reached the point at which they would begin their descent into the channel, and were again halted, this time by a small group of soldiers, commanded by a stout man whose tunic sported four stripes, proclaiming him to be a O-rok, or commander of twenty thousand. Foss explained that the gate commander also commanded the walls, the stockade, and the various forts which ringed the city. He was responsible for the initial defense of the city and administration of the territory, with several thousand men at his immediate command.
The O-rok was dark in complexion, as were all Nerosians, and of medium height. He walked forward with a confident, purposeful stride, his features craggy in a humorless face, which split into a grin as he neared the travelers.
"Ho, Foss!" the man hailed. "Too long have you been away from Neros. It is good to see you again."
Tarak noted that the man treated Foss as an equal, although his friend was of an inferior rank.
"Ho, Abar." Foss replied, smiling. "I see that the gates of Neros are still in the hands of a warrior."
Abar laughed. "It is the most isolated place they can find for me, and yet keep you and I apart. I myself am rarely allowed within the city, yet I am forbidden to cross the bridge to command the forts, even though I am responsible for them. Perhaps they fear I would find my troublesome friend Foss." His black beard shook with laughter.
Abar chuckled. "I think perhaps they also fear I would also break the neck of the stockade commander, should I be afforded the opportunity."
"The bridge commander has troubles enough," said Foss, and related the encounter at the bridge.
His narrative delighted the O-Rok, and Abar shook with mirth, his fierce eyes gleaming with pleasure.
"It is no less than he deserves," he bellowed. "The fool should have known better than to cross words with Foss of Neros. But then....." Abar moved closer as he talked, "....I have never learned, either---"
To Tarak's surprise Abar suddenly launched himself at the mounted To-rok, knocking Foss from his drif, and both men fell to the dirt. It appeared that Foss was not taken completely by surprise, however, for he managed to land atop the O-rok, and they rolled in the dirt, each fighting to subdue the other, cursing and threatening, and each searching for an advantageous hold.
Abar's men cheered the O-rok, while Foss' men exhorted their commander to greater efforts, and placed wagers with the warriors of the gate.
Tarak thought Foss must surely lose this bizarre contest, for Abar was larger and looked, in fact, like a man who might wrestle for sport. Foss was faster, however, and Tarak had already experienced his cleverness. The To-Rok proved in the next moments to be the equal of his adversary, although he could not achieve a superior hold.
After a few moments the men released each other, and struggled to their feet, exhausted and filthy, their tunics torn and smeared with dirt and sweat. For a moment their eyes locked, hard and challenging. Then a smile tugged at Abar's mouth, and soon he was laughing, and Foss joined him. They clapped their arms around each other in affectionate greeting, then they turned towards Tarak.
"I thought surely I had you, Foss." Abar chortled. "How could you have anticipated my carefully disguised attack?"
Foss smiled. "I have learned to expect little else from Abar-Pan-Toromin, who will go to any length to attempt to best one whom he considers his superior."
Abar's massive shoulders shook with laughter. "Well, my friend, you were fortunate this time. Even thought you were ready, still I could have easily broken your neck any number of times. You seemed much older and more feeble than I had remembered, and feeling sorry for you, I held my efforts considerably."
Foss nodded. "I thought as much, Abar. You were very convincing in your acting, too, particularly when I rubbed your face in the dirt. Even now you pretend that you are exhausted and out of breath."
Abar shrugged. "Your mocking tone shall be your misfortune, Foss. The next time I shall show no mercy."
"We shall see," laughed Foss.
His expression grew more serious. "It is indeed good to see you again, my friend. It is unfortunate that you cannot leave the gates of the city, for I feel we might accomplish much together."
Abar nodded. "It is for that reason that we are separated. We two commanded the Armies of Neros, and pose too great a potential threat to the Tarkan. Now we are separated, and only O-rok and To-Rok."
Foss shrugged, then introduced Tarak to the Gate Commander. Tarak was gaining an appreciation of the power which the name of Foss carried within the city. The two men who stood before him had once commanded the military might of City of Warriors. They were known and respected by all, yet now were relegated to positions which were minor when compared with their former power.
Tarak did not wonder at the Tarkan's strategy. If Abar possessed qualities at all comparable to Foss, these two would be formidable foes, indeed.
Foss gestured at Tarak. "Perhaps you would like to show Tarak what a great wrestler you are, Abar?"
Abar examined the blond giant, noting with the same practiced eye which Foss had possessed the muscular curves of the barbarian, his relaxed indifference, and the suggestion of speed and explosive violence which seemed to surround him.
He shrugged. "Perhaps another day. He is, after all, a guest in our city."
Foss nodded, smiling, "Of course. I had forgotten."
"You know that it is forbidden for strangers to enter our city, except as prisoners," commented Abar.
"It does appear," he continued, "That this time you have fooled me into believing that this man is one of your warriors, even though his size, manner, and hair mark him clearly as a stranger. I am easily fooled, of course. Be careful within the city, however, for Jaren's men will kill him if he is captured, and they are often more perceptive than I."
"You are indeed dull-witted and easy fooled," agreed Foss, smiling broadly. "I sometimes wonder if perhaps you would not be happier if you were reassigned to the kitchens, where you could work with your friend and mentor, Milak. Perhaps I will put in a good word for yo-"
Foss stopped in mid-sentence to duck beneath Abar's swiftly delivered blow, and backed away, laughing. The watching warriors joined in the laughter, easily and with familiar humor. It was apparent that the antics of Foss and Abar were familiar to the warriors of Neros.
The old friends spoke for a few moments about matters pertaining to current events within the city, and Foss told Abar how he had met Tarak. Foss then brushed himself off, removing as much of the dirt and dust as possible, and remounted his drif.
The O-Rok led them through the gate, bidding them good luck, and returned to his post. Tarak looked at the departing figure.
"Will you join with him, Foss? Together you could unite your armies, and perhaps defeat your Tarkan."
"Such a victory would not be achieved easily, Tarak. Jaren controls most forms of communication, and has spies placed nearly everywhere. In addition, it would be difficult for men to fight against their Tarkan. He is, after all, the Tarkan."
Foss was silent for a moment. "Still", He finally continued, "I have determined that I must attempt this task, for no alternative seems likely."
Foss frowned in thought. "I have many friends within the city, and I have conceived a number of differing strategies, although each has its weaknesses." He dismissed them abruptly, with a wave of his hand.
"But first", he said, smiling broadly, "I must show you our city, for its beauty, and the beauty of its women!"
Tarak was eager to see Neros, which now stretched away as far as he could see. Buildings, towers, streets and congested alleys, teeming with people, filled his vision and assailed his senses, as the myriad sounds of city life filled his hearing, and strange and pungent smells tantalized him.
He stood for a long moment, watching and listening to the citizens of Neros as they noisily engaged in the numerous activities which are so common to every city.
The cacophony of sound and the overpowering array of smells seemed to drown the barbarian in a barrage of sensory stimuli, and he was content for long moments to simply stand and take in all the various stimuli present in this new and strange environment.
They moved slowly through the city, and Tarak noted that the people generally wore the same types of garments as the solders, except that their tunics were woven in a great variety of fabrics and colors. The only color lacking among the citizens was the green reserved for the military.
The tunics of women were longer, reaching nearly to the ankle, and were worn over one shoulder only, leaving the other shoulder bare. Many of the women also adorned themselves with jewelry, and their hair was often curled and styled in one complicated fashion or another. Delicate sandals of various colors adorned their feet.
Foss explained that the women of Neros had always prided themselves on their appearance, and that the isolation of the city in recent years had been especially discomfiting upon its feminine citizens, who could no longer purchase foreign goods and fashions or stay informed as to the latest designs and trends, or literature.
Eventually they came to the central military quarters, which were located near the Palace of Neros. Tarak could see the walls of the palace rising above the surrounding buildings, and the heavy, ornate gates which opened onto the palace grounds. Everywhere they traveled men greeted Foss with affection, and women blew kisses to the grizzled commander.
Foss secured quarters for them without difficulty, and after dismissing his men, he led Tarak to a favorite tavern, where over the course of the next few hours they proceeded to partake in the pleasures of food, drink, and the public and intimate company of beautiful and passionate women.
The tavern was one of the few establishments in Neros which still offered the pleasures of female slaves to its guests. Formerly many such establishments had flourished, Foss explained, but the Tarkan had confiscated many of the slaves for his own uses soon after he had closed the city.
The Tarkan had proclaimed that the needs of the city were paramount, and that since Neros could no longer anticipate the receipt of new slaves in trade or capture, most tavern slaves and certain other types of slaves had been commandeered for an indefinite period.
A great deal of grumbling had accompanied the edict, but the Tarkan had tactfully permitted taverns which catered to the military to retain slaves, thus assuring the continued pleasures and loyalty of his forces, and providing them with increased social status at the same time.
Together the To-Rok and the barbarian drank and laughed, caressing the girls and shouting to those other patrons who greeted Foss by name, who were present in large numbers. Tarak met many new soldiers, but his attention was largely riveted upon the slave girls who waited on tables and danced to the soothing music which flowed from a many-stringed instrument played by a slender young man.
Tarak was mesmerized by the slave girls, and was experiencing bodily sensations which were almost overpowering in their intensity, and he nodded absently to many of the soldiers to whom he was introduced as his focus remained riveted upon the tavern girls.
Foss noticed Tarak's intense stares, and grinning broadly, he whispered to the owner of the establishment. Soon thereafter a lithe blonde slave detached herself from her duties and moved seductively over to their table, seating herself next to the barbarian, and stroking his thigh with one slender fingertip.
Tarak's breathing grew harsh, and his eyes glowed with excitement. The girl giggled, and winking at Foss, she rose and led Tarak back through the crowd, and up a stone stairway.
Tarak looked back momentarily, to see Foss laughing and shouting encouragement, the To-Rok's goblet raised in a drunken salute. Tarak returned the veteran's huge grin, then turned and followed the slave girl up into the darkened stairway, his senses for once oblivious to his surroundings as his entire being concentrated upon the shape of the girl who moved so sensuously before him.
An hour later he returned, his movements relaxed, and an irrepressible grin etched upon his young face. He drained a goblet as he sat next to Foss, and slammed the empty container to the table as the dregs ran down his chin.
"If your Tarkan captures me this night, my friend, skins me and stakes my bleeding carcass out in the sun tomorrow, to die slowly and in torment, yet shall I thank you for showing me this marvelous thing called civilization!"
They both laughed, pounding their fists upon the table and calling for more drink, more food, and more women. Hours passed, and twice more Tarak left his table to accompany the sinewy blonde slave back to her room. Fatigue and the cumulative effects of strong drink, finally set in, and both men began to nod as they attempted to continue their revelry long after they had exhausted their capabilities.
Finally they departed, in the early hours of dawn, as the morning light topped the eastern wall of the city. Foss led Tarak awkwardly back to their sleeping quarters, where they lay comatose until mid-afternoon, when they reluctantly came awake.
Tarak felt terrible, feeling pains in his head such as he had not previously experienced, and he cursed his friend the To-Rok as he sat glowering beneath furrowed brows; but his eyes gleamed with the memories of the previous night, and he smiled in spite of his pains.
Foss was obviously in similar agony, holding his head as if to somehow confine the pain, and squinting with a fearsome expression. He ordered an herbal drink for each of them, and after finishing it he seemed to feel better. Tarak also felt somewhat less agony after consuming the bitter drink.
Foss rubbed his temples, and said, "We must make you a common-appearing citizen of Neros, Tarak, for your presence will not go long unnoticed in military garb. Your light hair and green eyes set you apart from any Nerosian, but dressed as a common citizen you will have a somewhat better chance to avoid a confrontation. Ours is a large city, and some fair-haired persons dwell here who are not slaves."
"I will procure a tunic for you, and arrange to have your hair cut to a more acceptable length. You must leave your sword with me, for presently only the military are permitted weapons other than knives."
Tarak looked up. "I am glad that you are permitting me to keep a knife," he said, with mock gratitude. "After telling me that I must give up my sword, my clothing, and my hair. First you insist that I wear clothing. Now you wish me to remove it. I would prefer to do away with it entirely."
"You would probably feel more comfortable,"Foss responded, laughing. "But you will find that you can see much more of our city in this manner, and I will arrange for you to accompany me to the tavern whenever you wish, so that your new blonde love shall not grow too lonely for her barbarian."
Tarak smiled. "It is I, I am afraid, who will grow lonely. As a matter of fact, I feel particularly lonely at present, notwithstanding your excellent companionship."
The To-Rok smiled. "You will become more accustomed to the pleasures of women as you learn, and practice, but you will never become so accustomed that you will find them less stimulating."
Foss left, promising to return shortly, and Tarak went to the window to gaze out upon the sights of this, his first Aantorian city since he had been taken from Kalnor so many years ago. No memories of that city stirred within him, for he had been too young then. Still, as he looked out upon this city, he had a strange feeling that he had once lived in such a place.
After a period of time Foss returned with a dark blue tunic, which he exchanged for Tarak's green clothing, and instructed him to remove the sword and shield from his harness.
"You may return here whenever your choose, Tarak, but it would be preferable for you to meet me at the tavern, for I often spend my evenings there. The owner is a close friend and ally, and should you find it necessary to leave a message, you may trust him to deliver it to me."
Foss paused for a long moment, then continued. "In addition, try to keep me informed as to your location within the city, so that I may reach you quickly should it become necessary to leave Neros. My business here is becoming somewhat delicate, and though I shall proceed with discretion, there are many who know that I have no love for Jaren, and I shall be watched."
He looked up, smiling. "Go now, my friend, and enjoy our fair city. I think you will handle civilization..... though I wonder how it will handle you. Stop at the tavern and one of the girls will cut your hair."
Tarak nodded, and left their quarters. He sought the tavern, but allowed the girl to trim his shaggy hair only slightly, for his tawny mane was a familiar part of his being, and he did not relish parting with it without good reason.
The owner provided him with basic street directions and a list of the familiar landmarks within the city, and instructed him how to find the tavern from various parts of the city, should he become lost. Tarak listened politely, while inwardly scoffing at the idea of becoming lost within a walled enclosure. When the tavern keeper had concluded, Tarak thanked him, and left the tavern, entering into the crowded streets of Neros.
He walked the noisy streets, savoring the innumerable sights, sounds, and smells, exploring the many shops, and watching and listening to the people of the city as they gossiped, haggled, laughed, shouted, and cried, engaging in behaviors common to all denizens of cities, everywhere. He walked for several hours, and several times citizens stopped to stare at him, but none ventured to halt him as he made his way leisurely through the streets.
Foss had provided him with a small pouch filled with coins, explaining the monetary units of Neros, which were the same in all cities throughout this region of Aantor. Stopping in front of a public tavern, Tarak gazed into its dark interior for a moment, then deciding that he could use some refreshment, he entered the tavern.
Grateful for some respite from the hot streets, he looked around briefly, and moved to an empty table. As soon as he had seated himself a serving girl approached, and he ordered food and drink, which arrived soon after. He quenched his thirst, and began to eat, tearing chunks of meat from the joint of beef brought by the girl, and watching the surrounding tables, his natural sense of self-preservation rising to the surface, subconsciously preparing for the defense of his food source.
As he ate he watched and listened to the other patrons. Their gregariousness amazed him, for they seemed never to stop talking. From snatches of conversation he gathered that generally the citizens seemed unhappy with the current isolation, and rumors of expected attack and enemy armies provoked much argument.
Many of the customers were accompanied by women, but Tarak noticed that the females rarely intruded upon the conversations of the men, usually chatting among themselves about other matters. No unaccompanied women were present, a fact which Tarak found displeasing, for the women of Neros were beautiful, and he was interested in meeting more of them.
He was to learn that Nerosian women enjoyed fewer freedoms than in some other Aantorian cities, and in this city females were not permitted to enter taverns and similar establishments alone, or in the company of other women, without a male escort.
Other activities and establishments were denied to women completely, whether or not accompanied by males.
A heated argument was in progress at the table next to that at which Tarak was seated. One man thought that Neros was in threat of imminent attack, while his companion disagreed.
The first man was large, almost as tall as Tarak, and his manner of movement and speech indicated that he had undoubtedly consumed a relatively large quantity of wine. He was shabbily dressed, and had a craggy, weathered face. His companion was smaller, but richly dressed, and his bearing was more refined.
This man appeared sober, but was obviously irritated at the brashness and vulgarity of manner expressed by the intoxicated member of the group, whose arrogant, drunken speech was causing several other patrons to stare in disgust.
"I know that we are threatened," the large man shouted, "for I have recently returned from the country, and even now the forts are engaged with the enemy! Malenot's forces are encircling our land, from all directions."
"I myself was involved in the fighting!" he shouted, looking around belligerently.
"Always we hear the same stories, Borgin," the smaller man responded. "From you or from others. For years now it seems Malenot has been practically within our walls, and yet never do we see any wounded warriors, any official reports from reputable officers, nor any other evidence that Neros is threatened by the forces of Kalnor or any other city!"
"I am evidence!" the large man shouted. "I tell you I myself fought against the invaders, near Neros IX!" Borgin again looked around defiantly.
"Who is there who dares to dispute the word of Borgin?" His expression was malevolent and challenging, a sneer upon his face, as if he knew none had the courage to speak against him.
"You are mistaken," Tarak replied, evenly, and both of the men who had been arguing turned sharply in their seats to look at him. Borgin's face exhibiting a startled expression, which was becoming a mask of rage.
"I have recently left Neros IX," Tarak continued, "and to my knowledge the entire area within the boundaries of Neros is free of any enemies, and the border is secure. Nowhere do men fight, and it seems that Malenot sits in Kalnor, besieged by his own troubles."
Tarak paused for a moment, and looked over at the large, drunken man, a puzzled expression upon the barbarian's face.
"Surely you must know this," he continued, "if you were truly outside this city."
"Who are you, to question the word of Borgin?" The man rose from his chair, glaring down at Tarak, who remained seated.
"Are you a slave!" Borgin shouted, "light-haired one, who listens to the chatter of his mistress? Surely you have not been permitted to leave the city!"
Borgin had intended to threaten this challenger, but as he focused more closely, and examined the stranger, he noticed the size of the blond man, and the calm green eyes which met his own steadily, without a trace of fear.
Puzzlement perhaps, and a slight flaring within, but no fear.
Borgin hesitated.
Tarak looked directly into the man's eyes.
"I am Tarak. Either you are mistaken, or you are a liar, for I speak the truth."
His words enraged Borgin, who without thinking, and embolded by drink and aggression, lunged forward, drawing his knife.
Tarak moved in a blur, his left hand grabbing Borgin's right wrist as his right hand shot forward toward his attacker's throat. A sharp snapping sound was followed instantly by a scream abruptly choked off as powerful fingers closed about Borgin's neck.
Now Borgin's eyes bulged with fear, for he could not move, though he exerted his strength fully, and the green eyes which bored into his now glittered with a lust which Borgin had never seen in any man's eyes. His right arm was broken, but he could not scream for the grip which choked him; Nor could he breathe.
Vainly he grabbed at Tarak's right arm with his good hand, trying to dislodge the grip upon his throat, while he fought the nausea which accompanied the pain from his fractured right wrist. The blond stranger's fingers closed slightly upon his throat, and Borgin knew even as he struggled for breath that this man could kill him instantly; that this man could crush his throat at any time.
Sweat began to pour down his body, his face reddened, and his eyes began to bulge as his body became depleted of oxygen.
"Do not kill him, said the other man at the table. "You will be arrested, for Borgin has friends high in the military councils of the City."
Tarak looked down at the other man, and then back into the terrified eyes of Borgin. With an almost careless gesture he flung the man aside, where he collapsed with a scream against a table, and slid to the floor, gasping for air and massaging his neck with his good hand.
Tarak turned again to the seated man. "What is his life to you?"
"It is nothing to me, but it would mean unnecessary trouble." The man rose, and smiled.
"It would be a good idea for you to leave. Perhaps I can show you a more hospitable place in which to rest and refresh?"
Tarak hesitated, intrigued by the offer, but suspicious. After a few seconds he nodded, reasoning that perhaps he could learn something from this man, the first he had met within the city without an introduction from Foss, and who appeared somewhat friendly.
He was in addition impressed with the man's appearance, and with his confident, affable manner. Together they left the tavern, while behind them Borgin watched silently, his face projecting the hate and fear which lay within him.
Tarak followed the other man down an alley, then across a small square, into another alley. There the man stopped, and looked back, as if to see if they had been followed.
"I am Karn-Pan-Cormoran." He watched Tarak's face for a moment, and seeing no sign of interest or recognition, he continued.
"Borgin is a powerful man, yet you handled him as easily as if he were a child. You are not Nerosian, yet walk our streets freely."
Karn paused, but Tarak did not comment. "Where are you from?"
Tarak shrugged.
"It is not important." He looked deeply into Karn's eyes. "You seem to be quite inquisitive concerning me." he continued. "Perhaps you should tell me the source of your interest, and your intentions, before we continue."
Karn stopped, and turned to face his new companion. He looked into the quiet green eyes, liquid and unfathomable, set in a handsome, impassive face. Eyes which looked steadily back into his own. Karn returned the gaze, unafraid.
"There is no source, other than my natural curiosity. You are alien to our culture. This fact is, as I have indicated, quite obvious. It is of no concern to me why you are here, or from where you come. I invited you to join me because you seem to be an unusual man, and I must confess, because I enjoyed the way you disposed of Borgin. The fool has been insufferable of late. If you wish to leave rather than to accompany me, I promise I shall not shout for your arrest."
Tarak was silent for a moment, as he studied Karn of Neros, appraising the handsome, gray-eyed features, and the trim, muscular body. Karn was dressed in a tunic of light blue, woven from a silken fabric which Tarak had not encountered before. The man's sandals, too, seemed to be fashioned of a richer leather than seemed to be common, and were highly polished.
Though not an unusually large man, Karn carried himself with confidence and with a quiet assurance similar to that of Foss. Tarak instinctively liked him, and some of his wariness disappeared. He smiled.
"Forgive my suspicions, but your city has too often been described to me as unsafe for a stranger, and as you have pointed out, a stranger is apparently what I appear to be. For the present I am perhaps in danger within its walls. I will accompany you, if you wish. I have nowhere else to go for the present."
They continued on, as Karn led the way.
"It will be better for you to travel in the company of another," Karn said, "for alone you are quite conspicuous. Our destination is not far, and you will be safer indoors, away from the suspicious eyes of Jaren's police."
"You seem richly dressed, Karn, for a man who associates with men such as were present in that tavern."
Karn smiled. "I am a merchant. My family has traded in many kinds of goods and services, for generations, and we have been very successful. In recent years, however, the isolation of the city has greatly decreased the supply of goods, and I have had little to do."
"Borgin, the man you almost killed in the tavern, always seems to have many connections, and at times is even permitted to travel outside the city walls. Dealing with him enables me to communicate with men of the countryside, to arrange transactions in advance of the time when they normally bring their goods to Neros."
Karn shrugged. "He is expensive, and a surly fellow, but he has been necessary, and has served my purposes well. Since men such as he are not permitted in taverns of noblemen, I must deal with him in places of his choosing, and I must admit that I prefer it that way."
"You are a nobleman, then?"
"Yes. I am of the House of Cormoran. I am a Tark of Neros, as are many of my family. In Neros, of course, a Tark carries little real power, for the Tarkan is supreme. Titles here are rather a means of establishing societal castes, so that some persons may feel superior to others for no apparent reason."
Karn grinned. "Still, nobility has its advantages, and for all my disparaging remarks concerning nobility I must confess that I enjoy the privileges and wealth which it affords."
Tarak smiled at the candor of the Nerosian noble, and followed Karn through the streets until they cam to a huge building near the palace grounds. Karn explained that it was a facility which catered only to the wealthy nobility of the city, providing them luxury and assorted pleasures unavailable to the common citizen. Tarak noted the ornate splendor of the building, and the richly dressed, heavily armed guards which stood purposefully near the doorway. They greeted Karn respectfully, but cast a suspicious eye upon Tarak, though they said nothing as the two men entered the structure.
Inside they passed through several beautiful rooms, each lavishly decorated with brightly colored fabrics, couches, chairs, tapestries, and thick rugs. Fireplaces were strategically placed in each room, and numerous flaming torches assured abundant light for the guests.
As they passed from room to room Karn greeted a number of the patrons, but continued on, passing through each room without halting, and climbing wide stairways to the upper floors. Eventually they entered a small room high in the building, in which a small group of people sat around a heavy table, drinking wine and talking softly. As the two men entered the occupants looked up, and smiled their greeting.
As they approached the table Tarak studied the group seated there. Two of them, a man and woman, appeared to be some years older than Karn, but possessed features not unlike his. Tarak guessed, correctly, that these were probably his parents.
They were a strong, handsome couple, and their features reflected the same qualities of spirit and candor which Tarak had first noticed in Karn. Of the two remaining figures, one was a large, dark man, muscular and hairy, who glowered at the intruders with cruel eyes.
His features were crude compared to those of his companions, and Tarak noted that he wore a sword, although his tunic was black, not the green of the military.
Tarak noted these details in an instant, for as soon as he fixed his gaze upon the fourth occupant, his eyes would not willingly leave her. Never had he seen a more beautiful creature. Dark hair spilled shimmeringly from her head and ran down across her shoulders, framing a face which was incomparable in its beauty. Her features were slight, yet firm, and the direct gaze of her deep blue eyes shone with fire and spirit.
She was dressed in a long silken tunic of lavender, and her thin sandals matched her tunic. Her jewelry was simple, three golden bangle bracelets encircled on each arm, and golden hoops dangled from her ears.
The tunic draped softly and delightfully across the contours of her breasts and hips, creating a picture of loveliness which stirred Tarak immediately.
As they approached the table Tarak felt her blue eyes upon him, and he was warmed by her presence and her gaze, although her features revealed more inquisitiveness than friendliness.
"This is my father, Barkan-Pan-Cormoran," Karn said by way of introduction, and Tarak acknowledged the greeting of the other man. "This is my mother, Aleana," Karn continued, "and my sister, Leanna."
Tarak bowed slightly, and squarely met the gaze of the girl, smiling at her openly, and noting the immediate frown this action brought to her delicate features.
Tarak longed to linger with his stare, but Karn was introducing the fourth man.
"This, Tarak, is Pusk-Pan-Delan, Administrator of Neros."
" Administrator and First Sword of the city!" The man interjected. Tarak turned to him, meeting the scowl with blank indifference, immediately disliking the man, but curious as to the meaning of the term `first sword'.
For a moment the two men looked at each other, then Karn motioned for Tarak to be seated, and ordered wine and roasted meat. Karn began to inquire into house affairs of his parents, but Pusk, still looking at Tarak, rudely interrupted.
"I have never seen one such as you before," he said, looking at Tarak. "Were you raised in the fields?"
It was an obvious insult to one who was a guest in such a noble structure, and Tarak recognized the intent of the words. Calmly he met the gaze of the administrator, but his eyes held a gleam as he answered.
"Your contempt for that which you do not understand is better reserved for those whom you command, administrator."
"I command all such as you!" Pusk snorted. "Each slave and peasant works at my direction."
"Enough, Pusk!" warned Karn, his voice low and edged with steel. "If you value your life, you shall not insult a guest of mine!" The Tark gripped his knife by the hilt, and Pusk turned toward him, his fist clenched, but Barkan raised his hand.
"My friends, let us be patient." He turned to Karn. "My son, I am sure the Administrator meant no insult, for naturally it would be an insult not only to your friend and yourself," Barkan paused, and looked searchingly at the administrator, but to the House of Cormoran itself."
Barkan was smiling, but his eyes were cold.
"Reassure Karn of your good will, Pusk, so that we will all know how harmless were your words."
Pusk hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "Of course, Karn, I was merely jesting."
Even as he spoke his eyes were filled with hate, however, and he turned his gaze slowly from Karn to Tarak, and back to Karn, without speaking again.
Leanna, her interest piqued, raised one eyebrow, and looked haughtily at Tarak.
"Well, he certainly looks like a peasant to me. Or a barbarian."
She studied him for a moment, then tossed her head prettily. "I don't care whose guest he is, I think he belongs elsewhere."
Karn laughed. "Ignore her, Tarak. In the opinion of my royal sister anyone beneath the title of Tark is a barbarian and a common lout. I think she feels she would dirty her pretty sandals if she were to behave graciously to a common citizen."
Tarak grinned, and Barkan too smiled at Karn's words, but Leanna raised her chin in defiance, refusing to be intimidated.
"You are a barbarian yourself, Karn. You have associated with common people so often that you cannot understand any longer what it means to be truly of the nobility!"
"And you do not understand anything else!" retorted Karn, laughing even harder, and infuriating his sister. She blushed, and Tarak could see that she was angry. Her eyes darted about the table, searching for a missile, but again the calming influence of Barkan was felt as he spoke.
"Come now, Leanna," he soothed. "Whatever the differences between you and Karn, we must all be courteous to our guest."
His tone was soft, but the firmness of his paternal voice was not lost upon the girl, and she reluctantly ceased her attack.
It was obvious to Tarak that Barkan was a man to be respected within this city. Still, he guessed that even the stately Tark often found it difficult to control this daughter.
Pusk was again intently staring at Tarak.
"I have never seen you before," he said. "From what part of the city do you hail?"
Before Karn could protest, Pusk continued. "I am within my rights as Administrator to demand this information."
Whatever this man's game might be, Tarak was rapidly tiring of it. His was the manner of the wild, which was to be candid and direct.
"I am not from within the city," he answered, before Karn could speak.
Pusk smiled. "But no one is allowed to enter or leave the city, without my direct permission, by my authority as Administrator of Neros! Tell me, how did you enter Neros? And when?"
Tarak shrugged. "If you do not know, then perhaps you are a poor Administrator."
Pusk's smile vanished. "Do not tempt me, barbarian, with your words. It does not matter, however, if you answer, for you match the description of the man who entered the city with that fool To-Rok, Foss."
"Milak reported it, as he tried to squirm out of the hole into which his stupidity and cowardice had dragged him."
Tarak raised one eyebrow. "Perhaps you would care to tell Foss face to face what a fool you consider him to be?"
Pusk sneered. "I do not waste my time with minor To-Roks such as he!"
Tarak smiled. "I do not imagine you waste your time on anyone who happens to carry a sword, and who uses it well."
Pusk rose angrily, gripping the hilt of his sword, glaring down upon Tarak.
"I have wasted enough time!" He snarled. "I will now have my questions answered! Where are you from, and what is your purpose, barbarian?"
Tarak looked calmly up into the eyes of the Administrator.
"I am Tarak," he replied. "Tarkan of all Aantor." He frowned slightly. "Surely you have heard of me?"
Pusk's scowl deepened, and he began to draw his sword, but Karn and Barkan rose as one man, and their hands too were upon the hilts of their weapons, knives only, but deadly in their practiced hands.
Pusk flashed a glance at them, and then again back to Tarak, who still sat unconcernedly, looking up at him.
Pusk slammed his weapon back into its scabbard. "This is a large city, barbarian, but you cannot hide forever from those who rule here!"
He looked quickly at Karn and Barkan. "And the power of your friends is not without limits."
Tarak shrugged. "Then perhaps I shall leave the city. He yawned, and stretched his arms casually.
"You will not leave. You shall die within our walls," Pusk hissed. "And you shall die slowly, barbarian!"
Pusk glared savagely down at Tarak for a long moment, and no one spoke. Tarak returned the man's stare, watching him with calm eyes. Then the Administrator abruptly turned and strode purposefully out of the room.
"It is not wise to so anger the Administrator," cautioned Karn, but he was smiling at the memory of the preceding few moments, and was beginning to understand how such a man might intrigue the legendary Foss.
"He is after all the man who ranks just below our Tarkan in authority within our city, Karn continued. "Nevertheless, your words were quite refreshing."
"You did not seem overly intimidated by his claimed powers and influence," commented Tarak.
"The House of Cormoran is among the most respected in Neros. We are not well liked by Jaren, but he is hesitant to move openly against us, for ours is still a divided city. Pusk is not as cautious, and but for the restraining hand of our Tarkan he would try to destroy our House. Or in any event were it not for the fact that he wishes to mate with our pretty Leanna."
Leanna's eyes flashed. "I would sooner mate with a wrok! He is a brute and a fool!" She raised her head. "Still, he is very powerful, and brings me nice gifts."
She looked at Tarak. "You are certainly a barbaric fool, for angering him, and will undoubtedly die a horrible death."
Tarak shrugged. "If words were weapons, Leanna, I am certain that you and Pusk might rule all Aantor."
Leanna flinched. "You are the most insolent man I have ever met!" She turned angrily to her brother. "Kill him, Karn, for he has insulted your sister!"
"But Leanna," said Karn, "He is a guest. Would you have me destroy him here before your eyes, simply for voicing a simple truth?"
"You are a coward, Karn," she snapped, tossing her hair. "If I were a man, I would kill him here and now!"
"If you were a man, Leanna, "replied Karn, "You would be more reasonable, and we would all be having an enjoyable conversation with our guest."
She glared at her brother, then turned at Barkan. "Father, must I put up with such barbarism?"
Barkan looked at her, amusement in his eyes. "You are insulted, my daughter, perhaps because Tarak is the only man you have ever encountered who has not trembled before your beauty, and begged to be allowed to serve your pleasure."
He smiled. "Perhaps you should be encouraged to associate further with this man. A touch of humility is becoming in a woman."
"Men!" she shouted. "The forests shall claim Neros again before I shall allow myself to be alone with such a brute!"
Leanna shot a withering look at Tarak. "Why ever should I consent to associate with a poor barbarian such as you?"
Tarak returned her gaze, drinking in the beauty of her brilliant eyes. She was truly a stunning girl, vibrant, intelligent, spirited. He smiled slightly, his eyes appraising her.
"If you wish, Leanna, I would consent to such an association." Then he looked away, as if in thought, and frowned slightly. "I would first, of course, require that you demonstrate competency in the minimal skills required in a female mate, such as cooking, cleaning, and taking care of my clothes and weapons." He turned back to her.
"Do you know how to tan the hide of a nir? Can you build a fire on a snowy plateau?"
He shrugged, as the girl's eyes widened in surprise and horror.
"Well", he continued, "I suppose it does not matter. You are young. I will teach you these things when we move into the mountains....."
"Never!" she screamed, her face livid with rage and embarrassment. None had ever taken such liberties of speech with Leanna-Pan-Cormoran, and she was crimson with fury. Swiftly she snatched up a goblet, and flung it at Tarak's head, but he caught it effortlessly, and carefully set it down. Then he looked up at her, innocence reflected in his green eyes.
"You beast!" she cried. "I hope Pusk takes you apart piece by piece! I shall be present and I shall torture the pieces! And I shall shout encouragement to the torturers. To think that Leanna-Pan-Cormoran would consider such a life, with a gurt such as you!"
Tarak merely smiled good-naturedly at her, but inwardly winced at the comparison, for the gurt was a foul-smelling rodent, commonly thought to be the one of most repulsive animals upon Aantor.
Large and slimy, it carried oversized jowls, tusks, and sharp rectangular teeth. Omnivorous, the gurt snuffled through swamps, always hunting, always leaving a noxious odor where ever it went. Few other animals would inhabit an area frequented by a gurt, and they were rarely hunted, for the meat was foul-tasting. Because of this, they often reached large numbers in some areas, and they could be very dangerous to travelers in marshy lands, particularly when they were encountered in large numbers.
He looked at Karn, and noticed that the Nerosian was hiding his expression behind the goblet he had raised to his lips.
Tarak turned again to Leanna, but as he was about to speak she whirled abruptly and stalked from the room. Aleana, her mother, spoke softly to Barkan, and then followed her daughter, although first she bowed gracefully to Tarak, a flicker of amusement in her eyes.