Read Online Outlaw of Gor by John Norman - Free Book Online

whatever he was or wasn't, was a good officer.
    “Take him,” I said.
    The spearman beside Thorn went to the fallen man and examined his wound. The other warrior was clearly dead.
    “He may live,” said the spearman.
    Thorn nodded. “Bind his wound.”
    Thorn turned to me again.
    “I still want the woman,” he said.
    “You may not take her,” I said.
    “She is only one woman,” said Thorn.
    “Then give her up,” I said.
    “One of my men is dead,” said Thorn. “You can have his share of her selling price.”
    “You are generous,” I said.
    “Then it is agreed?” he asked.
    “No,” I said.
    “I think we can kill you,” said Thorn, plucking a stalk of grass and meditatively chewing on it, regarding me all the while.
    “Perhaps,” I admitted.
    “On the other hand,” said Thorn, “I do not wish to lose another man.”
    “Then give up the woman,” I said.
    Thorn looked at me intently, puzzled, chewing on the piece of grass.
    “Who are you?” he asked.
    I was silent.
    “You are an outlaw,” he said. “That I can see by the lack of insignia on your shield and tunic.”
    I saw no reason to dispute his opinion.
    “Outlaw,” said he, “what is your name?”
    “Tarl,” I responded.
    “Of what city?” he asked.
    It was the inevitable question.
    “Ko-ro-ba,” I said.
    The effect was electric. The girl, who had been standing behind us, stifled a scream. Thorn and his warrior sprang to their feet. My sword was free of its sheath.
    “Returned from the Cities of Dust,” gasped the warrior.
    “No,” I said, “I am a living man, as you.”
    “Better you had gone to the Cities of Dust,” said Thorn. “You are cursed by the Priest-Kings.”
    I looked at the girl.
    “Your name is the most hated on Gor,” she said, her voice flat, her eyes not meeting mine.
    We four stood together, not speaking. It seemed a long time. I felt the grass on my ankles, still wet from the morning dew. I heard a bird cry in the distance.
    Thorn shrugged.
    “I will need time,” he said, “to bury my man.”
    Silently, Thorn and the other warrior scooped out a narrow trench and buried their comrade. Then wrapping a cloak about two spears, and fastening it with binding fibre, they formed an improvised litter. On this, Thorn and his warrior placed the wounded companion.
    Thorn looked at the girl and, to my astonishment, she approached him and extended her wrists. He snapped slave bracelets on them.
    “You do not need to go with them,” I told her.
    “I would bring you no pleasure,” she said bitterly.
    “I will free you,” I said.
    “I accept nothing from the hands of Tarl of Ko-ro-ba,” she said.
    I reached out my hand to touch her, and she shuddered and drew back.
    Thorn laughed mirthlessly. “Better to have gone to the Cities of Dust than to be Tarl of Ko-ro-ba,” he said.
    I looked at the girl, now after her long days of suffering and flight at last a captive, her slender wrists encircled at last by Thorn's hated bracelets, beautifully wrought bracelets, like many, of exquisite workmanship, bright with colour, set even with jewels, but like all slave bracelets, of unyielding steel.
    The bracelets contrasted with the meanness of her coarse brown garment. Thorn fingered the garment. “We will get rid of this,” he told her. “Soon, when you have been properly prepared, you will be dressed in costly pleasure silk, given sandals perhaps, scarves, veils and jewels, garments to gladden the heart of a maiden.”
    “Of a slave,” she said.
    Thorn lifted her chin with his finger. “You have a beautiful throat,” he said.
    She looked at him angrily, sensing his meaning.
    “It will soon wear a collar,” he said.
    “Whose?” she demanded haughtily.
    Thorn looked at her carefully. The chase had apparently in his eyes been well worth it. “Mine,” he said.
    The girl almost swooned.
    My fists were clenched.
    “Well, Tarl of Ko-ro-ba,” said Thorn, “it ends thus. I take this girl and leave you to the