At the very edge of the terrace, the Lady Constanzia turned about and waved to me.
I nodded my head to the. I did not know if they were able to detect the movement, at the distance.
Then they had disappeared.
It was still morning. I looked up at the sun. it would not yet be the ninth bar. The tenth bar signifies the tenth Ahn, or noon. There are twenty Ahn in the day.
I sat back against the wall.
I pretended not to notice as men, passing by, regarded me. Men think nothing on this world of scrutinizing slaves.
Toward noon another slave was chained to a nearby ring, but, an Ahn or so later, her master returned for her and I watched her leave, heeling him. She had excellent legs.
It was now rather warm and so I decided to lie down, at the wall, under the ring, and sleep. The sunlight was red though my closed eyelids. Then I turned to my side, my back to the wall.
I thought of the Lady Constanzia and the scarlet-clad stranger.
In a little while I fell asleep.
24
It can not be so late, I thought, the bar ringing so many times, I have not slept that long. Look, the sun is still high. It can be no more than late afternoon!
I saw two men running across the terrace, robes fluttering behind them.
Far off I saw a woman in the robes of concealment rushing away.
I saw a fellow by the balustrade pointing outward, toward the mountains. “Look!” he was crying. “Look!”
I suddenly became aware that the bars were those of alarm, ringing incessantly.
The pad of the lock gag was in my mouth. The curved metal bars were like a bit between my teeth.
I rose to my knees. Then I rose to my feet. I could stand at the ring, as the leash permitted it.
I could hear other bars, too, now, about the city.
“There!” cried the fellow by the balustrade.
I went to the end of the chain. I stood up on my tiptoes, even pulled the ring up.
I could see, now, over the balustrade, a line of tarns, perhaps some twenty or so, knifing their way toward some part of the city, to my right, beyond the bridge, beyond the docking area.
They are not of this city, I thought. They are strangers! It is a raid! They have come through the defenses!
I, standing, watched them.
They seemed placid enough, so far away, moving swiftly, in single file, toward the right, toward some other part of the city.
Perhaps they had moved in stages, by night, coming closer and closer to the city, concealing themselves by day in ravines, now, at this time of day, making their dash toward the city. They might have three Ahn until darkness. That was quite possible the time they had allotted for their work. Then they would doubtless attempt to withdraw, their work done, whatever it might be, under the cover of darkness.
Then I turned back toward the wall, in a rattle of chain, for a gigantic shadow, frightening me, fleeting and wild, had been cast upon the wall. It was a tarnsman of the city, hurrying forth, overhead, to intercept the raiders. Behind him there came two more. One of the tarns screamed. It was an incredibly loud, frightening, piercing sound. It rang from the wall.
What could twenty men, or so, do against a city?
The line of tarns in the distance had no disappeared.
Surely it could be only a token raid, a response, a reprisal, at best.
A line of guardsmen hurried across the terrace.
Some men now emerged from buildings. Some made their way over to the balustrade. Others crossed the bridge, toward the docking area. Whatever was going on did not, it seemed, concern this part of the city. I saw even the robes of a free woman coming out onto the terrace.
Some more tarns, from the city, hastened by, overhead.
The bars continued to sound.
“What is it?” cried a man.
“Strangers! Tarnsmen!” he heard.
“A raid,” said another.
“Whence?” asked a man.
“Who knows?” asked another.
“How man?” asked one.
“Not many,” said a man.
“Twenty, thirty,” said another.
“So few?” said a fellow. “They must be mad!”
“They cannot be interested in the city,” said another.
“There must be a tarn caravan approaching the city!”
“It would have its escort,” said a man.
“There are non scheduled,” said another, one with the sleeves of a blue robe rolled up.
“What could they want?” asked a man.
“Women?” suggested a man.
I backed away a bit toward the wall. We, I knew, to men such as those on this world, did count as booty, obedient, trainable, well-curved booty. We learned to serve our masters well. And, indeed, women such as I, slaves, as we were domestic animals, constituted booty in a most uncontroversial, immediate and obvious sense, a form of booty as taken for granted here, as, on another world, cattle to Huns, horses to Indians. To be sure, we were not the only sort of animal which counted as booty. Many other sorts would have, as well, even the mighty tarns. And, as I have indicated, we are not specially privileged. Here, on this world, even the free woman counts as booty.
“What was their direction?” asked another.
“There!” said a man, pointing.
“That is it,” said a man, convinced.
“The pens!” said a fellow.
“Yes,” said another.
“But it is madness,” said another. “The pens are guarded.”
“They must be mad,” said another.
“Look!” said a fellow. “There come our lads!”
“Are they ours?” asked a man.
“See the banners!” said another.
I stood up, again, on my tiptoes, to look, between the men. There must have been nearly a hundred tarnsmen now in flight.
Only too obviously were they on the trail of the earlier party.
“Those poor sleen,” said a fellow. “They will be cut to pieces.”
Though none seemed to notice me, I thought it best to kneel. There were, after all, free men present.
“They can stop the bars,” said a fellow.
“No,” said another. “Let the city stay alert.”
“It may even be over by now,” said a man.
This seemed to me possible, particularly if the strangers had reached the pens. They would be, I assumed, well secured, well defended. Too, tarnsmen and guardsmen from about the city had doubtless rendezvoused at that point by now. But moments ago I had seen tarnsmen even from this part of the city hurrying in that direction.
“We may as well go home now,” said a man.
“But why would so few men try to reach the city?” asked a fellow. “And why, so few in number, would they strike at the pens?”
“They are mad,” said a fellow.
“Drunk,” suggested another.
A man looked down at me, and I quickly lowered my head, that I not meet his eyes.
“It is over now,” said a fellow.
“We do not know,” said a fellow. “There may still be fighting.”
“There were less than fifty, surely,” said a man.
“I think it would be over,” said another.
At about that time the bars began to diminish, first one stopping sounding, and then another.
“Yes,” said a fellow. “It is over now.”
They began then, wishing one another well, separating the one from the other, to take their diverse ways from the terrace.
I lifted my head.
It was still bright, still late afternoon.
I wondered if, elsewhere, some skirmish was done, some steel reddened.
It was a strange feeling, being where I was, where it seemed so quiet, the sky so blue and calm, the clouds moving overhead, unhurried, knowing that not far away some terrible action might be ensuant, perhaps at the pens. But the bars had stopped sounding. It was done then. It was over.
I sat back against the wall.