“Get your kaiila, escape!” said Hassan. The roof was hot; the inn, below, was burning; to our right, through the roof, flames licked upwards.

“Are you not coming?” I asked.

“Presently,” he said. “I am curious to see one of these Kavars.”

“I am coming with you,” I said.

“Save yourself,” said he.

“I am coming with you,” I said.

“We have not even shared salt,” he said.

“I shall accompany you,” I said.

He looked at me, for a long time. Then he thrust back the sleeve of his right hand. I pressed my lips to the back of his right wrist, tasting there, in the sweat, the salt. I extended to him the back of my right wrist, and he put his lips and tongue to it.

“Do you understand this?” he asked.

“I think so,” I said.

“Follow me,” said he. “We have work to do, my brother.”

Hassan and I leaped from the roof, which was now partly aflame, to the stable yard there, tethered, shifting, their nostrils stung with smoke, their heads covered with saddle blankets, were our two kaiila. By the reins we led them from the yard, once outside removing the saddle blankets. I saw the body of one of the inn boys to one side, against the wall of the opposite building. It must have been past the twentieth Gorean hour. The sand clock had not been turned. We heard the roof of the inn fall. Far off there was screaming. We led the beasts through the streets of the oasis. Twice we skirted pockets of fighting men.

Once, four Tashid soldiers sped by.

Once, looking through an alley, to the street at its end, we saw mounted men fighting, There were some ten Tashid soldiers, on kaiila, attacking the command group of the raiders. Then they were forced back, with lances, by dozens of raiders. They wheeled away, pursued by the raiders, the command group, in its purple and yellow burnooses following. I saw Tarna, the leader of the raiders, standing in her stirrups, scimitar high, urging her men forward, then joining in the pursuit.

“Who are you?’’ cried a voice.

We spun about.

‘‘Aretai sleen!’’ cried the man. He, mounted on his kaiila, urged the beast forward. We blocked the charge with our kaiila. The animals squealed and grunted. None of us, because of the animals, could get a good stroke at the other. The man, with a cry of rage, pulled his animal back, and sped into the darkness. It was not unwise on his part. In the alley, with two of us, it might not have gone well for him.

“We have lost him,” I said.

“There are others,” said Hassan.

In a few moments we came to a high, thick wall of red clay. Before this wall were some six of the raiders, four with scimitars drawn. Against the wall, kneeling, stripped, bellies pressed tight against it, points of the scimitars against their backs, between their shoulder blades, chins high, against the wall, hands high over their heads, palms pressed tight against the wall, were four beautiful girls. One of the men with sheathed scimitar was preparing to bracelet the first girl; the other man with sheathed scimitar was unlooping a light slave chain with snaplocks to put the lovely prisoners in throat coffle.

“Tal,” said Hassan, greeting them.

They spun to face him. Each wore the garments, the agal cording of the Kavars.

The saddles on their nearby kaiila were Kavar.

They rushed toward us, the two with sheathed scimitars last, freeing their weapons. By the time they reached us, the other four were down. They backed away, then turned and ran. We did not pursue them.

The girls remained as they had been placed. They did not even dare to turn their heads.

Hassan kissed one on the back of the neck. “Oh!” she cried.

“Are you female slaves?” he asked.

“No, Masters!” cried one.

“Run then to the desert,” said Hassan.

They turned about, crouching, by the wall, trying to cover themselves.

“But we are stripped,” cried one.

“Run!” said Hassan, smacking her smartly with the flat of his blade.

“Oh!” she cried and fled, the others following, into the darkness.

We laughed.

“They are pretty,” said Hassan. “Perhaps we should have kept them.”

“Perhaps,” I admitted. One, a wide-hipped little brunet, I thought, would have looked well at my feet.

“Yet,” said Hassan, “this seems scarcely a time propitious for the braceleting of wenches’’ “You are right’’ I observed.

“Besides,” said Hassan, “they were young. In two years or so they would be more ripe for the picking.”

“Others may have them then,” I said.

He shrugged. “There are always young, beautiful wenches to make slaves,” he said.

“True,” I said.

He looked at our fallen foes. We saw in the light of the moons, and in the light of a torch in a ring on a wall opposite the wall.

“Here,” said Hassan, kneeling beside one of the fallen men. I joined him. Hassan thrust up the left sleeve.

“He is Kavar,” I said. I saw on the man’s left forearm the blue scimitar.

“No,” said Hassan. “Look. The point of the scimitar curves inward, toward the body.”

“So?” I asked.

“The Kavar scimitar,” be said, “points away from the body, to the outside, toward the foe.”

I looked at him.

Hassan smiled. He thrust up his left sleeve. Startled, I saw the mark on his left forearm.

“This,” said Hassan, smiling, “is the Kavar scimitar.”

I saw the point, as he had said, was curved away from the body, to the outside, as be had said, toward foes.

“You are Kavar,” I said.

“Of course,” said Hassan.

We spun about. We heard the tiny noise. We looked up. We stood within a ring of mounted warriors, with purple and yellow burnooses, others behind them in more common desert garb. Lances threatened us, pinning us at the wall. Arrows, fitted to bows, were trained upon our hearts.

“There they are.” said the man whom we had skirmished with earlier in the alley.

“Shall we kill them?” asked one of the men in the purple and yellow burnoose.

“Discard your weapons,” said Tarna.

We did so.

“Stand.” she said.

We did so.

“Shall we kill them?” asked the man.

“Lift your heads,” said the girl.

We did as she bad commanded.

“Tarna?” be asked.

“No,” she said. “They are handsome and strong. They are not without interest to me. Take them as slaves.”

“Yes, Tarna,” said the man.

“This one,” said the girl, looking down at me, calmly, strip him, and chain him to my stirrup.”

12 What Occurred in Tarna’s Kasbah; Hassan and I Decide to Take Our Leave from that Place

I rolled about, on my back, splashing in the water.

It was quite pleasant. The temperature of the water, perhaps, was a bit warm.

Also, it was perfumed. Yet I did not mind. It had been weeks since I had had a bath. I was appreciative of this hospitality in the male seraglio of the kasbah of Tarna, bandit chieftain of the Tahari.

“Hurry, Slave,” said the tall, dark-haired girl, bare-armed, in an ankle-length, flowing white garment. “The mistress will be ready for you soon.” She held four large, heavy snowy towels, each of a different absorbency. To one side another girl, clad similarly, was replacing bath oils in a rack, with which I had been rubbed prior to entering the second sunken bath. I had now rinsed them from my body, but I was not eager to leave the water. I reveled in it.

Hassan, in a brief, white-silk garment, sat cross-legged nearby.

“You do not appear too dismal,” said he to me.

“Is your mistress, Tarna, pretty?” I asked the tall dark-haired girl.

“Emerge and towel yourself,” said the girl.

“I can well use the bath,” I said to her, grinning.

“That is true,” she conceded. “Hurry!”

Four days ago, at dawn, Tarna, at the head of her men, left the Oasis of the Battle of Red Rock in flames. Only its citadel, its kasbah, had been impregnable. Its palm groves had been cut down, its gardens destroyed, four of its five public wells caved in and filled. The other well, by two many men, had been defended with too much vigor. There had been some four or five hundred raiders. When they left Red Rock their kaiila had been heavy with loot. Some forty female slaves, coffled, braceleted, had been taken. Two males, too, had been taken, myself and Hassan. As Tarna had left Red Rock, not looking back, straight in the saddle, burnoose swelling in the morning wind over the sand, I had marched beside her, stripped, wrists manacled behind my back, chained by the neck to her stirrup. Hassan, similarly secured, trudged at the stirrup of one of her lieutenants. Before the sun was high and the sands burning we reached her loot wagons, kept in the desert. There, Hassan and I, locked in slave hoods, and chained, were thrown into one of the wagons, with other loot. Even the female slaves, when fastened in their wagons, were hooded. The location of the kasbah of Tarna, bandit chieftain of the Tahari, her lair, was secret. We had reached its vicinity this morning, shortly after dawn. We, and the other prisoners, had been unhooded. Then, again, Hassan and I had been chained at stirrups. I at Tarna’s own, by her boot. “Where are we?” I had asked Hassan. The kaiila crop of a guard had struck me across the mouth. “I do not know,” had said Hassan. He, too, was struck. The female prisoners were ranged, in coffle, between two riders, one at the head and one at the foot of the chain, A chain from the neck of the first, some ten feet in length, ascended to the pommel of the lead guard; a chain from the neck of the last, some ten feet in length, ascended to the pommel of the guard bringing up the rear. They were marched this way that residents and the garrison of the kasbah, in the great yard, behind the gate, regardless of the side on which they stood, might, with unimpeded vision, see the flesh loot well displayed. The canvas covers of the wagons, too, were thrown back, that the goods taken at Red Rock could be seen in their abundance and richness.