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Behind Those Eyes	By : CanPsycho337 Category: G through L Series > Gor Views: 9735 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Gor and I make no profit from this story.

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The Courtyard And The Market

Daden jumped back and parried as the sword point was thrust toward him. His green eyes gleamed as a feral smile crossed his lips. He stood in the hot sun, his bronze skin covered in the slick sheen of sweat. In front of him stood Nox. Cold, calculating, completely intent, his companion had never shared the same love of battle that he did. For Nox there was no emotion, no intuition.

He just simply did the math.

Lunging forward, Daden drove his blade toward the pale man. It was countered easily and as he braced for a return attack he was somewhat surprised when it didn’t come. Raising his hand, he signalled the end of the match.

Men dressed in simple grey tunics, each with swords at their sides stepped forward handing each of them a dampened cloth. “Nox, why did you not attack?” Daden asked after a moment, his eyebrow arched. “After you parried there was an opening.” There was a moment of silence before the other man answered.

“Precisely.” The other man replied simply. “An opening you intentionally created. I have noticed in our previous matches that you prefer to slash high after countering a thrust, forcing your enemy to move his sword from one unbalanced position to another. By countering with a similar thrust, you allow your enemy to regain his balance and thus his confidence. I have also noticed that you prefer your enemies to be as confident as possible. Thus I chose not to engage you.”

Clear, methodical, concise and devastating. That was his companion in the simplest definition. As Daden turned away from the sun, he moved toward a nearby table and began to oil his sword. It was a simple process; instilled in him from the time he was a child. Oil helped to keep the sword from rusting as well as from sticking inside the scabbard.

As he worked he noticed three new shadows coming across the cobblestone courtyard. Myranda and her daughter, with his man Stolas in tow.

The women approached reverently and immediately dropped to their knees, their heads bowed. “Master.” Said the older woman, her voice musical in intonation. The younger girl remained silent. In Ko-ro-ba it was customary that when several slaves were gathered only the first girl speak.

“You tell me she has been trained.” Daden replied simply, his voice immediately becoming as cold as Nox’s.

“Yes, Master.” Myranda replied.

“Good slaves take years to be trained, not a mere month.” He spoke again, an edge creeping into his voice. “Certainly your training lasted longer.”

“It did, master.”

“Then you have lied to me.” Reaching forward, he took his sword by the hilt. There was only one suitable punishment for a slave who lied or kept anything from her master.

Myranda did not move, nor did she speak. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the younger girl squirm, but she also did not speak. She was young, still inexperienced, but after a moment he decided she was well trained.

“I see that you have not lied. The girl has discipline, if not seasoning.” Again neither girl responded. Turning his back Daden returned to his oiling. It was several moments longer before he continued.

“I have thought about how best to put you to work,” He said glancing toward the girl. “You will go to the market with Stolas. There is a man there that may interest you.”

With not so much as another word, Daden waved the women off. In the small glance that Myranda gave her, Sariah could tell that her mother was worried. She doubted that the older woman knew anymore about why she was being sent to market than she did.

Following behind Stolas, she studied him. He moved slowly, but with grace. It was easy to dismiss him, he had an unremarkable face and his body was average for a man of Gor. It was well muscled but not overly beautiful, simply average. His face was neither ugly, nor beautiful with its dark brown hair and similarly coloured eyes.

The two walked in silence, Sariah with her head down and Stolas moving slowly but purposefully throughout the busy streets of the city. With the exception of her master’s collar, Sariah noted that she had not been otherwise bound. She wondered if she would have been able to escape should she wish it. A sudden tensing in Stolas’ muscles as a group of raucous men passed by gave her the answer.

Stolas was far too easy to dismiss.

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Corlas sat in the paga tavern watching the before him dance. His hard amethyst eyes were slightly blurred from the drink and his ears buzzed with the noise of conversation. He had only recently returned to Ko-ro-ba with a new crop of slaves, the first since the death of his brother and former leader Dodric.

The last few months had been difficult. Following Dodric’s death, men had left the band. First had been quiet, unremarkable Stolas. While nobody had missed the bumbling fool, it had served to awaken some of the others to new ideas. Dodric’s cruel manner had kept any from openly questioning his wishes, but since Corlas has taken control it seemed that every raid was more an argument than anything else.

One the second day of their latest excursion, two of his men had attempted to do the same to him that he had done to Dodric. The battle had been quick, and Corlas’ victory had managed to quiet the camp some. Still, with an original party of seven, only two now remained with him.

As he took another drink he failed to notice the man and young girl who entered the tavern. His attention instead was fixed on a stain of purple that had become affixed to this red tunic.

Traditionally slavers were an offshoot of the Merchant Caste and wore blue, but since Corlas had been wounded four years earlier during the great siege of Ar he found that he had neither the will nor inclination to serve other men. He still held true to the tenets of the Warrior’s Caste. He never shied from battle and he tried to conduct himself fairly and honourably whenever possible. As such he felt justified in continuing to wear the red tunic.

Besides, in a world where one of Port Kar now administered in glorious Ar, why should he fight and die for others?

Corlas was lost in his thoughts when his head was jerked back suddenly and he felt the cold touch of steel pressed against his throat. He stiffened and his hand went reflexively to the hilt of his sword but his brain already knew it was beaten. Whoever it was that had him could kill him at any time and the fact that they hadn’t meant that they weren’t likely to.

Unless he forced them.

Some in the Warriors would interpret the code in such a way as to call him a coward. But Corlas held that the code meant for men to fight and die with honour, not have their throats slit in the middle of a paga tavern.

“What do you want?” He rasped, unable to breath fully. He could feel that there was strength in the hands that held him, but something felt odd to him. It was as if he were being held by an exceptionally strong child, or a woman.

A soft voice whispered in his ear. “I would like my innocence back.” It said, dark and cold as the winters in Tovaldsland. “Barring that, perhaps my mother’s dignity or both of our freedom?” As the woman spoke, the blade dug into his flesh and he had to force back a wince. His eyes focused as a quiet and utterly unremarkable man slid gracefully into the chair in front of him.

“Stolas?” He croaked, becoming confused. “What are you doing here?”

The other man shrugged and allowed a small smile to play across his average lips. Corlas was drunk and held at an extreme disadvantage, but he was not stupid. He knew at this moment that he had been played.

“You made a mistake, Corlas.” The man called Stolas said after a moment. “You should have killed me and left Dodric alone. It was I who convinced him to take your girl from you.”

As the moment the knife’s pressure wavered. Reacting instantly, Corlas grabbed the small wrist that held it and twisted it down. At the same time he lifted his other arm and drove his elbow into his attacker’s nose, sending her flying to the floor with a startled scream.

Before Stolas could move, Corlas had his sword at the man’s throat. Narrowing his hard eyes, he growled. “I believed I asked a question. What do you want?”

Unperturbed, Stolas smiled. “I have a job for you, Warrior.” He replied. “I need you to take this girl to Thentis. There is a man there who has something for her. See her safely there and back and you will be paid seven gold pieces.”

It was not an insignificant amount, but Corlas hardly trusted the man in front of him. “Why don’t you do it yourself?” He said, asking the obvious question.
Stolas shrugged a little. “My Master has other uses for me. Besides there are those who watch his household and believe it or not, they keep tabs on even one so unremarkable as me.”

Corlas leaned into his sword a little, driving the tip of it just underneath the other man’s skin. “Don’t play coy with me, if their watching you then they’ll certainly be watching me after this stunt of yours.” He growled once more.

“You are a tarnsman, Corlas. Only another tarnsman could follow you through the air and I’m quite sure that not even you could fail to notice someone like that. Take the scenic route, change directions often and you won’t be followed. You aren’t important enough to warrant that kind of effort.”

Corlas yearned to lean forward just a half-inch more and be done with it, but he slowly relaxed his grip and slid his sword back into its scabbard. That was a lot of gold for an easy job.

“Make it nine pieces and I will go.” He replied after a moment. It was only now that he spared a glance at the raven-haired girl struggling to her feet. Blood flowed from her nose where he had elbowed her and tears ran down her face as she regarded Stolas unwaveringly.

Reaching into his grey tunic, the man called Stolas pulled out a leather pouch and dropped it onto the table. The sound of metal from within told Corlas that the money was indeed there. Somehow he doubted he would have to count it.

“Bring the girl back here when you are finished.” Stolas instructed as he stood. “We will have people watching and she will be collected promptly. I don’t need to tell you that if you do not complete the task your life will be a short one. You’re intelligent enough to realize that you have no control over any of this.”

With that, the unremarkable man was gone. Corlas turned to find the girl was standing facing him. Her arms were at her sides and she still gripped the wicked looking dagger. Surprisingly, she looked utterly calm as she regarded the man.

“Well now, that’s quite a sudden mood change in a girl who’s just been struck.” He said with a hint of approval.

The girl merely shrugged. “I wasn’t crying because you hit me.” She replied simply, her voice smooth and silky. “I was crying over shattered trust.”

“Trust?” Corlas asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I trusted my master, but now I know that his man had my innocence ripped from me.” She replied. “I no longer trust him.”

Corlas nodded slowly. “And me?”

She shrugged once more. “You killed the man who raped me. However you also sold me into slavery.” She cocked her pretty head to the side and studied him with an expression that made him oddly uncomfortable.

“I wouldn’t sleep too soundly if I were you.”
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Behind Those Eyes