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Rebels of Gor	By : legion Category: G through L Series > Gor Views: 3928 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Gor series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Rebels of Gor
- 1
He was asleep; of that she had no doubt. His first nights off the ship were always like this. A tearful "Tal, my Companion!" followed by long minutes of deep, hot kisses, mutually crushing embraces, neither seeing anything but the other's eyes...:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />
But for her, the tears didn't begin when she saw her Companion's stone-cut face and broad form, his tousled shock of golden brown hair passing beneath the thickly greened limbs of the trees that bordered the narrow cobblestone lane where their spotlessly-kept house stood.
That's when they ended. Tonight, they had ended for good.
A Zarlit fly banged to a touchdown on the bedroom window, eliciting a gasp of dismay from her as she crept toward the hanging-peg on which her grey dress hung suspended. She stopped, barely daring even to breathe.
But long months on a creaking ship tossed by the temper of the Vosk had inured the sleeping man to any such night clatter. His ice grey eyes remained closed, his lips curled faintly upward at the corners. She stared over her shoulder at him and choked back a silent sob.
Even now that he was home, he was still no more real to her than a mirage on the featureless wastes of the Tahari.
As the hand of grief clutched her heart in a fist of agony once again, squeezing hot tears from deep hazel eyes which she'd already thought were dry as dust, she took her dress down from the peg, folding it over one long arm, and draped a grey hurt-wool cloak over that.
With the other hand, she scooped up her tabuk boots, and slipped quietly from the bedchamber, closing the door silently behind her.
Had Wash Rau wakened in time, he might have heard her body-racking sobs finally take voice.

27 YEARS LATER

The city was busier than usual, and Mal liked that just fine. Reaching up to brush a few wayward strands of auburn hair from his face, he leaned forward slightly to try to "feel out" the lock on the heavily-laden freight wagon's strongbox.
He already knew which picks he should use. He also knew that the men who'd left this wagon out here would only be inside the Scribe's office for a scant few minutes while they straightened out their permit to trade in Fina. A scant few minutes was going to be a minute too few for this lock. Whatever these folk had come to trade, it wasn't blankets or bosk-steaks.
Whatever it was, in a couple minutes it would belong to Mal.
He reached into a pocket in his calf-length dun cloak – taken off a man he'd robbed, politely, a week ago – and withdrew a tall, slim black case. Rolling it open on the flagstones between his knees, he began to extract two long, slim steel probes.
The first was serpentine, a quarter inch of ninety-degree angles forming open-ended boxes mere millimeters in size. He clamped this between his teeth as he worked the second probe free, this one needle-thin and straight until it reached the tip, where it hooked forty-five degrees like the bill of a tarn.
He slid this probe into the mouth of the lock, then gently raked it back until he had felt the distinct resistances of six tumblers within the lock's tarnished brass casing. He repeated this action, resting the bill of the probe lightly on the outermost tumbler, then braced the lock against the iron flank of the strongbox and held the casing carefully with his fingers, the inserted probe resting on the web of skin between his thumb and forefinger.
He inserted the second probe into the casing as the first fell back into his fingers. A faint raking motion of the tiny teeth of the second probe rewarded him with an inaudible but easily felt click as the first tumbler caught and was fixed in place beneath the tarn-billed probe. Working more confidently now, he looked up.
In the near distance, a murmur rose in the arena. The unmistakable sound of steel on steel rang out across the concrete walls of the rectangular structure, carrying easily to him over two dozen meters away. As the last of the tumblers clicked and the lock sprang open, Mal grinned and congratulated himself on his superbly honed hearing.
"Congratulations," the guard said as Mal felt a gentle nip of steel at his throat. "You're under arrest."
Mal reflected that he just might have congratulated himself prematurely.

"Present the Accused." Wash sighed. He rested his chin in his left hand, shoulders slumped. His hair was close-cropped but wild and had somehow deepened, over the years, to a dark auburn. His face was a portrait of the most hopeless variety of boredom. It was as if the light had gone entirely out of him.
He'd awakened with a start that morning, kicked bolt upright in bed and staring around him in the darkness as his left hand wandered, despite his better judgement, to the empty space beside him. He had long ago managed to fight the impulse, for the most part, but the missive tucked into his robes had resurrected all but the most painful of his memories of her, and their attendant habits.
The Guardsmen did not so much march Mal forward at sword-point, as would have been usual in Cognitio under Magistrate Rau, as simply nudged him casually toward the podium. Wash took note of this, pointed to the senior guard, Kensei, and beckoned him to his podium, which dominated the rearmost central area of the Basilica.
The guard approached, his face lowered in deference to the Magistrate. Wash leaned toward Kensei but kept his icy gaze fixed on Mal. "Guard, why is the accused not under arms as I've instructed?"
Kensei's voice was low and calm. "Magistrate, he seeks parlay with you, privately."
Wash snorted derisively. "Of course he does. But that doesn't answer my question. Why are your swords sheathed?"
"He's been very cooperative." The guard shrugged. "And to be honest, he's so weakened from hunger and lack of sleep, my First Girl could take him in a fight right now. Besides, once you give the execution order - "
"So." Rau snapped, "You simply saw no need to follow my order." He sighed. "When this is over, Kensei, you and I are going to have a personal chat. Send him up."
The guard paled visibly, retreating to where his brother guardsman stood sharing a shockingly companionable silence with Mal. Perhaps a touch more roughly than necessary, the guard wrenched Mal forward by the shoulder and then gave him a shove toward the podium. "Go have your damned parlay."
Without so much as a backward glance, Mal brushed the hair from his eyes and strode with shoulders squared and head held high toward the waiting Magistrate. Despite his practiced air of bravado, however, the muted, casual tones of the city official followed by the whipped-dog expression of the senior guard left Mal with a growing sense of dread. The oft-tasted and well-remembered clinical air of the Finian judicial process was absent here, replaced by a notably earthy energy.
One could always cling to the faintest glimmer of hope of being lost amongst the cogs and gears that comprised the machinery of the great city. The warmth of this Magistrate's smile, however, only compounded the absence of warmth in his gaze, silently promising that this was no bureaucrat and that there would be no such miracle for Mal.
"Tal, friend." The Magistrate hadn't lifted his chin from his palm, opting instead to fix Mal with a more appraising variety of that reptilian stare. Mal found himself shivering in his threadbare black linen tunic and weathered bosk-hide breeches despite the midday warmth.
"Tal, Magistrate." Mal silently but bitterly cursed the tremor in his voice. There was no dishonor in taking note of an adversary's skill in the attack, and the Magistrate's lazy, folksy style of attack was indeed a clever and skilled approach. Still, letting it show… he pressed ahead, regardless. "I'd like to discuss – "
Rau looked away with a small, dismissive sweep of his free hand. "You're not here to discuss anything. You're here because you're a thief with a wretched sense of timing." The congeniality had vanished from his voice. When his eyes returned to meet Mal's again, Rau's expression had gone from cool to glacial. "I would have you put to the blade where you stand."
Cold fingers of fear clamped down on Mal's spine, racing up to clench his heart and down to press into his gut. Not at the words;, rather, at the utter disinterest with which they were spoken. No righteous indignation, no outrage or gloating lent weight to the Magistrate's voice… just blank indifference.
But this time, Mal showed nothing. Instead, he nodded, his own features rapidly mirroring the Magistrate's own stoic mask. Rau tilted his head, his lips turning in a barely-perceptible smile.
"I'm not going to do that, though." Rau continued. "First, because corpses are worth nothing. Second, because I was once a criminal, though I still fancy the notion that I was not so petty a thief as you, and I was given a path to redemption; I think you might find your way along that path, as well…"
Rau leaned forward, the warmth and light of mischief suddenly lending his face humanity as he continued in a hushed voice that teetered on the brink of a whisper and a chuckle. "But mostly because the guard who arrested you wants to be the one to slay you - and frankly, I just don't like him."
Mal blinked, confusion written on his face in bold letters.
Rau raised himself to his full height, sliding open a drawer beneath the angled surface of the podium and placing a parchment-board atop it. He then produced and inked an expensively crafted quill before raising his voice. "Your use-name."
"Mal Paine."
The Magistrate recorded this, then: "Your Home Stone."
Mal lowered his gaze. "I have none."
An arched eyebrow and a half-smile met this answer, and Rau scrawled something further upon the parchment. "You are in error, Mal Paine. The correct answer is, 'Fina.'" Mal's confusion deepened further still.
"You stand before this Cognitio accused," Rau continued, his deep, rich voice projecting powerfully throughout the amphitheatre, "of the offense of Theft."
The guards straightened to attention. The senior guard thumbed the pommel of his spatha, a grin of predatory delight painting his face in ugly tones.
"On the power of the honor of the Guardsmen who apprehended you, I hereby find you Guilty." Mal's face fell, and still Rau continued, "For your offense, you shall be enslaved, con proviso: You will report to the City Armory, there to be issued a spatha, a Marksman's Bow and not less than four dozen arrows properly suited thereunto."
Mal's eyes could not have been wider, nor the guards', nor the few passersby pulled in by the Magistrate's voice, had they all just witnessed the birth of a fully grown slave-girl from the womb of a dog.
"Magistrate!" Kensei blurted in outrage, "Have you gone mad?"
Rau fixed the senior guard with a glare that might have withered weeds down to their roots. "Repeat that question, Guardsman. Word for word."
"Magistrate – " It wasn't clear whether this was, in fact, repetition of the original outburst or a fresh one; Rau held up a hand to silence the man.
"That word. Again."
Kensei's eyes, burning in indignation as much as shame and discomfort, locked on the tiles at his feet. "Magistrate."
"Fix your mind upon that word, Guardsman," Rau said, every word a dagger, "and ponder its meaning. Elsewhere."
"Yes, Magistrate." The man fairly snarled, and caught the younger guard by the shoulder as he stormed off.
"Jed!" Rau called to the younger guard, then beckoned him back. The senior guard paused, but offered no argument, opting wisely to simply continue stalking away into the gathering crowd.
"Magistrate?" Jed stopped beside Mal, casting a bemused glance sidelong at the convicted thief and improbable Magistrate's Emissary.
Rau took a small bundle of scrolls from a lower cavity in the podium, handing it to the guard. "See that he reads these. When he's done, quiz him on them. But first, give him arms, decent clothing and a hot meal." Rau turned his eyes on Mal. "Your indenture will last as long as it takes for you to complete one assignment. You'll receive 50 silver tarsks when you return with what I'm sending you for, intact of course."
"What if I can't find it, or steal it?"
Rau's eyes betrayed a flash of horror and dismay. "Let's hope you don't have to steal her…"
"It's a her?!" Mal wondered if this man would stop to take a breath between surprises.

Mal looked up for the sixth time since unrolling the first scroll given him by the Magistrate, a brief history of the Magistrate himself and his kajira Solace. The furrowed brows over his ocean-blue eyes betrayed mild confusion.
Sitting across the low, small wooden table, the guard Jed lifted himself.from his plush orange-and-gold patterned cushion long enough to stretch his legs out and soothe his own exasperation with the younger man's stubborn inability to grasp the background of his assignment.
Around them, the large open tavern rang with the half-bellowed demands, praises, laughter and complaints of Free Men, most of them scarlet caste. Beneath that lay the breathy drone of kajirae in various phases of service.
A mild breeze ruffled Mal's hair, tickling it lightly across his forehead as he flattened the scroll protectively under his palms.
"So," Mal shook his head, doggedly trying once more to wrap his understanding around the scroll's story, "he freed her, took her as his Companion, and - now that part I understand."
"Well, thank the Priest-Kings..." Jed sighed.
"And he did that because he had just taken command of a ship." Mal shook his head, still baffled. "But he was going to be gone for months at a time, so.... And where does the sister come in, or whomever she is, the woman Chani?"
A stunningly endowed kajira, her city collar smothered beneath a wild mane of black curls, appeared from the crowd. She waited, her crimson lips teamed with aquamarine eyes in a solicitous smile. She waited until both men had been rendered dumb, transfixed by the unconcealed vistas of her body, then breathed, "Greetings, Masters. May I serve?"
Jed's scowl melted away. "Aye, girl." The sun peeked beneath the lip of the tavern's upper floor, bathing the girl's generous assets in a golden glow.
Mal, unaccustomed to seeing the finer features of the city at such close quarters, cleared his throat nervously and fidgeted. The girl's eyes widened even as her smile deepened. Impishly, she shook back the heavy mass of black ringlets from her shoulders, giving him an even better view.
It took Jed a second longer to read what the girl had intuited instantly and effortlessly. "You have no experience of women?"
Mal's cheeks flushed with hot embarrassment, but Jed only gazed evenly at him. The girl licked her lips, her hand straying in Mal's direction before she caught herself.
"Well... I... That's not strictly..." Mal fumbled, a faintly fearful look flashing through his eyes, before confessing, "But for the most part, you're right. I don't know a thing about Companionship, obviously, or kajirae... never even been with..."
He stole.another eyefull of the kajira, then quickly looked away, pretending to watch a great brown kaiila leading a cart overburdened with produce clattering toward the marketplace.
Jed gave the girl a wry smile. "What's your name, girl?"
"I'm called Kia, Master." she answered.
"Have you ever had another?" he looked pointedly at Mal to see if the younger man was following his meaning.
"Yes, Master. Before I was kajira, I was called Drianna." Kia adopted a practiced look of mild distaste at the utterance of her Free name and the life it represented, drawing a nod of approval from Jed.
"Thank you, girl. We'll want food and drink now. I would like roast bosk and grilled vulo sliced small, mixed with peppers and laid under melted cheese, a slice of toasted and buttered sa-tarna separate, and cold ale in a tall mug."
"Yes, Master." Kia lowered her eyes and smiled demurely. The smile shifted to Mal, becoming a handful of degrees more provocative. "Would you like anything, Master?"
Mal shifted on his cushion again, though it was unclear whether the discomfort was the result of the unfamiliar deference he was being shown or the nearly predatory look in the girl's eyes as her lips wrapped around the word, "anything."
"Uh... Aye, girl." Mal followed Jed's example. "The same as this man, but mead instead of ale, also in a mug."
"Yes, Master, right away." The girl bowed her head, backing away a few steps before turning and making her way toward the kitchen.
Mal watched the tantalizing sway of her exit. "You could have just said they were the same woman."
"Could've. But then you would have had less time to admire that view. You're really a - ?"
"Aye." Mal cut him off before the last word could take flight.
"But why? You're not a bad looking kid. Maybe not following the best career track before today, but many a girl seems to like a rogue. None have begged your ko-lar?"
Mal watched two kajirae giggling, playfully wrestling with each other on the lap of a man who reclined on a huge burgundy cushion. For just an instant, a shadow clouded his expression.
"When I was eight winters old, my parents were ambushed on the road outside Tarnburg as we made for the Eastern Foothills. It was late, and my mother hated to travel at night, but my father...
They made us watch while they raped and then gutted my father alive. When my mother refused to join them, they had sport with her, too, until they grew weary of her screams and slit her throat. They called themselves the Var Viverra."
Jed said nothing, but his eyes and the set of his jaw betrayed well-worn disgust.
"They sold Kara." he looked up from studying his fingers. "My sister." he added by way of explanation. "They kept me. They never used me for..." he seemed momentarily lost. "They said I was too young for that. But they found something else they could use me for, and even later they liked their new sport better."
One hand strayed to his side, a grimace on his lips. "Let's just say a woman's thighs - "
Jed held up a hand. "Drink."
Mal turned to see Kia's eyes gazing into his own, filled with sympathy and dismay. She knelt beside the table, setting a heavy tray bearing their drinks to her side.
"Your ale, Master." she intoned, then kissed the mug lightly before bowing her head and offering the mug in outstretched hands.
Jed accepted the mug, eyeing it thirstily. "Thank you, girl."
She repeated the small ceremony for Mal, stealing a glance at him from beneath long lashes.
"Thank you, Kia." Mal took the mug in both hands and ventured a small sip. "Oh... Kia, this is good."
"I'm glad it pleases you, Master." the girl showed him her smile again, gentler this time. "Is there anything else I can do to please the Masters?" she asked, though she'd politely extinguished the light of hunger from her eyes when she looked at Mal now.
Jed shook his head. "I think that will do, Kia. Be well." Mal raised no objection.
"I wish you well, Masters." She purred, and backed away to disappear into the throngs of tavern patrons once more.
"So the Magistrate is sending me after his runaway Companion, who was known as Solace in his collar and then Chani once he had Freed her." Mal said after a longer draught of the mead.
Jed cleared his throat and returned his eyes from another kajira, a lithe blonde who had just sashayed past and thrown him a saucy smile and a wink. "Aye, now you've got it. Should've got some mead into you earlier, we'd have had you armed and on her track by now." Jed laughed, and despite the faintly chiding spirit of the words Mal joined him.
Jed gauged the angle of the sun. "As it is, you'd do well to bunk down at the inn tonight. We'll kit you out in the morning and send you on your way with a full day's ride worth of sunlight. Oh, now that I'm thinking of it, that bow you had wouldn't have been much use at range. The design is clever, though. Who crafted it?"
Mal's cheeks tinted with pride, and he flashed a grin. He took another drink of his mead before answering, "I did."
Jed toasted him with his mug, then reached into a purse on his belt and dropped a trio of silver tarsks on the table.
"What's that for?" Mal looked at the heavy coins but didn't reach for them.
"For the bow." Mal checked the bow-sleeve of his cloak, and – indeed – the compact weapon was missing.
"I found it in your cloak, so now I've purchased it from you. It was either that or let Kensei find it. Had he done, you wouldn't have lived to see the Magistrate. I didn't want to see that happen."
"Not that I'm complaining, but why not? We're still practically strangers."
Jed appeared to be looking for just the right way to articulate the thought. Finally, he merely shrugged and said, "Good bow." It seemed that was all the answer there was to be had, and when it came right down to it, coupled with the fact that he was still breathing, that was good enough for Mal.

They finished their meal and thanked Kia again just before sunset painted the city in shades of crimson and burnt orange. Mal's head felt more stuffed than his belly. He felt a momentary pang of regret at how much he'd eaten, then dismissed it with a rueful smile. He hadn't eaten that well as far back as he could cast his considerably honed memory; he resolved not to regret seizing the opportunity this night.
The inn was colorfully named the Hanged Woman according to both ornate lettering and crude imagery on the sign affixed above its simple doorway. Its Spartan but comfortable sitting-room was tended by a matronly woman who called herself Jade. It wasn't immediately obvious whether she had once been a bitterly cynical kajira or a world-weary panther girl. The lines in her face combined with a long-kept scowl and merrily twinkling eyes to present an intriguing character study.
"Tal, Sirs." Her pronunciation of 'sirs' made it clear she would have spelled it 'curs' had she been made to write it down.
"Oi, Jade, you scatter-assed old bog-wench," Jed grinned at her. "How are the rooms fitted tonight?" He fished a slip of vellum from his purse, holding it between his fingers.
The woman rolled her eyes, "It's fall we're coming into, you bosk-furring, half-witted sonofawhore." She grinned back with easy warmth. "Which is to say I've got more tenants tonight than you've had willing women. None."
Mal watched this exchange with baffled amusement. "You two know each other?"
"Oh, look out for this one, Jed, he's a quick study." She poked a finger in Mal's direction. "He's just barely smart enough to do your job. And speaking of your job, how's the standing-about-scratching-your-balls business these days?"
Mal was about to throw in a scathing rebuttal when Jed chuckled and passed the slip of vellum with the Magistrate's order for use of the room. "Booming, Jade. Here's a lift to yours." Jed turned and clapped him on the shoulder. "Be well, Mal. Tomorrow we put a proper bow in your hand and your ass on a kailla. For tonight, bolt your door." He winked at Jade, "Been awhile since she wrapped herself around anything that – " He ducked out the door, laughing, under a hail of joyful curses.
Later that night, the sounds of the city filtering in through the narrow lead-paned window of his room, Mal studied the drawing of his quarry. Her eyes were dark and filled with joy, her full lips stretched into a smile. Her hair was long and wild, flowing in lazy curls down past her shoulders.
He was dreaming of that face even before he finally drifted into sleep.
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Rebels of Gor