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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.

Chapter List
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The Final Battle of Corlas of Ar

Nearly a year had passed since Corlas of Ar had left the slaver’s trade. It hadn’t been such a hard thing he’d learned quickly. Throughout his tenure as a slaver, he’d continued to wear the Crimson tunic of a warrior, claiming that he still followed the code even if he didn’t serve any city in particular.
He hadn’t been an outlaw exactly, since he still maintained a house and homestone in the city of his birth, Ar. He’d just enjoyed travelling, and making some coin selling women was far more lucrative than the caravan duties he’d otherwise be relegated to. His injury made it impossible for him to stand on the wall of Ar, and even in all-out war, he knew he would have barely qualified as an auxiliary.
The knowledge of his disability burned him anew each and every time he was reminded of it. What presented as only a small limp would not likely have barred him from serving in any of a dozen castes, but as a warrior even something so slight could mean the death of himself and his comrades.
Still, the Caste of his birth did not discard wounded or older warriors. Instead, they did their best to find them work or convalescence if needed. It was a pity that Corlas had refused to endure and a large part of what had driven both he and his brother out of Ar.
The thought of Dodric rarely came to Corlas these days, so long as he kept his cup full of paga. Dodric had been the eldest and the two had never been close. When Corlas had made the decision to leave, he’d been surprised that Dodric had opted to come with him. That was, until he learned that it only so that he could impose his will on his younger brother at every turn.
Dodric had been a cunning warrior and in fact had been the Sergeant of their cadre, but he had also been a sadist and a fiend. He had visited no small torments on Corlas, or the other soldiers. The final straw had been literally years in the making when finally, Corlas had watched as Dodric robbed him of one of his own slaves. He had defiled her, costing him much more than the measly six coins he’d been offered.
Corlas often tried to convince himself that it had been the money that had driven him to murder his brother, but in truth there was something to evil in the way that he’d damaged the child that he’d had no other choice. It didn’t really make a lot of sense to Corlas, for on Gor women were property to be used as men saw fit. Corlas had taken his fair share of women, slaves and freewomen alike.
But he had never destroyed someone the way Dodric had done to the girl. The shell that he’d travelled to Thentis with a year earlier was no longer a women. It was a beast who had somehow taken all of Dodric’s evil inside of her and made it her own. That she had taken in with that traitor Stolas and whoever it was that he worked for certainly hadn’t done her any favors.
Though he was somewhat ashamed to admit it, that look that had been on her face as she’d stepped out of the Player’s house in Thentis had kept him awake many more nights than he’d have liked.
Thoughts such as these troubled Corlas deeply, so he did what he always did when confronted by something he didn’t understand or something he feared, he drank. Taking his half full mug of paga, he drained it in a single long gulp before slamming it down on the tavern’s table and declaring in a loud voice, “I NEED ANOTHER!”
The tender at the bar glanced in his direction, but made no move to pour another glass. Instead, the fat balding man simply nodded to the nearest paga girl and she proceeded to approach.
“This girl is so sorry to say this to you, Master.” The mousy girl intoned. “But my Master has decided that he will pour you no more paga on this night.”
Struggling to his feet, Corlas stood over the girl causing her to shrink back. Though he attempted to look intimidating, he felt himself sway a little to and then a little fro before finally finding something resembling equilibrium.
“And why has he decided that?” Corlas growled.
Looking down at her feet, the girl answered slowly. “This girl apologizes again, Master, but it is because you have drank her for three nights straight and have yet to pay your tab. My Master respects the Caste of Warriors, but he cannot continue to allow you to drink for free. He has instructed me to offer you pleasure if you wish, but then you must leave.”
Corlas regarded the woman perhaps a moment too long before letting out a deep, powerful, belly laugh. “And of course the sleen is too much of a coward to tell me himself. So he sends you instead!”
The girl, wisely, remained silent on the matter and soon she left Corlas’ attention as he turned toward the doorway. “Fine then!” He shouted at nobody in particular. “I will take myself somewhere else! Somewhere that knows how to treat a Warrior of Ar!”
Stepping out into the darkness, Corlas suppressed a shiver. “It is too early in the season to be so cold in Ar…” He muttered to himself as he stumbled along. “Unless, I’m not in Ar.” Stopping, Corlas looked around and found that he didn’t immediately recognize his surroundings. He wasn’t in Ar, that much he’d worked out on his own. He wasn’t in Thentis or Ko-ro-ba. He hadn’t returned to either of those cities since he’d returned the girl to Stolas.
Instead, he travelled over half the continent with numerous caravans. He’d supped with the Tuchuk and fought raiders in Torvaldsland and now he was in… “Where the hells am I?” He muttered to himself.
“You’re in Lydius.” A voice from the darkness supplied.
Immediately, the knowledge flooded back to him. He’d accompanied a caravan from the Tahari Desert to the free port here in Lydius. That had been a week ago and he’d already burned through most of his earnings.
“You have my thanks,” Corlas said as he took a step onward, only to realize that the way was now blocked. In the dim torch light of the Lydian street, Corlas saw a figured dressed all in black. He didn’t have to ask, because he already knew who the man was.
“Har-Ashem,” Corlas said quietly.
“Yes,” The figure replied. “It is I.”
“It’s been a long time.”
“Five years,” Ashem confirmed. “Since we met in battle on the wall of Ar.”
“Since you and Pa-Kur overreached yourselves you mean.” Corlas mocked. “Since you got your entire Caste banished from the greatest of all cities.”
“Yes, and since I robbed you of your manhood and turned you into a creature to be pitied and taken care of like a pet.”
With a roar, Corlas pulled his sword from its hilt. He was old, and drunk, but more than those things he was still a Warrior. He would not allow himself to be besmirched in such a way, not by this lowly scum of an Assassin.
As Corlas started forward, the figure moved out of the shadow and into the light. His features were roughly the same as they had been when the two had last clashed swords with two glaring exceptions. The first, was that his skin seemed pale, almost unnaturally white as if he were some sort of spirit rather than a man, and the second was that he had a black dagger drawn over his forehead.
While the first difference might have slowled Corlas, the second stopped him short completely. “Y-you’re on a contract?”
“I am.”
“I am your target?”
“Yes.”
Corlas had a difficult time wrapping his around the concept. Even in his prime, he had never been famous nor wealthy. His brother had attracted his share of enemies, but Corlas had rarely wronged another and certainly not someone powerful enough to send an assassin after him. “Why?” He asked. “Who?”
“You must know that you will not have the answer to either of those questions. Even if I die here tonight, you will find no knowledge to help you. The only thing I am permitted to tell you is that you are right in your thoughts, you are not worthy of such a contract on your own. Instead, you die tonight as a message to another.”
“H-how could you know my thoughts?” Corlas murmured, more to himself than to the figure. Ashem didn’t answer, instead he simply started to draw closer. As Corlas prepared to meet his fate with sword in hand, he muttered one last thing.
“I don’t remember your eyes being so red.”
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Behind Those Eyes