Dunes of Gor Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Six: The Council of Steel

The fortified Kasbah that was situated many pasangs northwest of Klima had once been a closely guarded secret, back in the days when it was the stronghold of the Salt Ubar, Abdul, also known as Ibn Saran; the man who had controlled and manipulated the lucrative salt trade throughout the Tahari. Then, following the intervention of Tarl Cabot in 1975, the Kasbah had fallen into a succession of hands, as warring tribes had settled within its walls only to be expelled by other tribes through rite of conquest.

Decades passed, and as new powers rose to dominance in the arid wastes of the hamada desert, the claws of the Steel Worlds once again took hold of the region. Now the Kasbah was occupied and fortified once more, and its location guarded by lances loyal to a man known only as ‘the Sleen’. Few men had ever seen him, fewer even had lived to tell the tale, for in Kur circles he was known as the ‘Tarl Cabot’ of the Steel Worlds – the sacred executioner and bloody red hand who enforced the will of the Kurii amongst its ranks on Gor and sometimes even Gor’s twin, the world known as Earth. 

The walls of this mighty Kasbah were over seventy feet high with seventeen square battlements that climbed to ninety feet at their highest point. The front wall was more than four hundred feet long and the side walls were four hundred and fifty feet long. The walls of the Kasbah were several feet thick, formed of stones and mud brick. The walls were then covered with a sheen of whitish-pink plaster which over time tended to flake off due to the heat and sun. In the centre of the main wall stood a great gate, its doors opening in the middle. A mere two pasangs away lay another, smaller kasbah, which had belonged to the notorious bandit chieftain: Tarna. Unknown to most men, an underground tunnel existed that joined these two Kasbahs together. 

To this Kasbah rode Daan Shahzad with sixty of his lancers, a journey that had taken him many days by kaiila. Ostensibly he was riding to review his province, to see for himself the area of hamada that was the home to various water wells, oasis, Kasbahs and Bedouin towns and villages. And perhaps this is what he would have done upon his occupancy of Al-Quada-a-Dhum, but Daan had caught word of the coming together of the Landsraad families within Tor, and of their urgent petitioning of the Emir against his House. Daan knew that with or without the backing of the Emir, those lances would ride out in large numbers to storm his fortress home before long. To resist them he would need allies.

“This will be awkward,” said Pedram of Tor as he greeted Daan, as he and his lancers dismounted in the vast courtyard of the Kasbah. Silken slave girls gazed down from high terraces, peering curiously at the men who had entered the keep of the Kasbah in force, and whispering cautiously to one another. 

“Needs must,” said Daan as he handed the rein of his kaiila to one of his men. “My enemies flock to their banners, and so I turn to the Council of Steel.”

“The Council of Steel is already assembled and to be honest, Daan, they are not happy with you. You were supposed to simply take occupancy of Al-Quada-a-Dhum and secure it for our cause. Now you have brought the Houses of the Landsraad together against you.”

“The Houses of the Landsraad do not stand together for long,” said Daan as he followed Pedram inside, into the cool, shaded cloisters of the keep. “There are too many ancient divisions and feuds to make that possible. They are like urts, gathering together to feed, and then turning on one another afterwards.”

“Yes, well, right now they gather to feed, and it seems you are on the menu. Come.”

The men entered a series of open air pathways sided with high walls. These paths led further into the Kasbah, through ornamental gardens where other silk slaves lay enticingly in the sunshine. Daan appreciated their curvaceous bodies as he walked by, but he had no time to enjoy their bodies personally.

“Is the Sleen present?” asked Daan.

“No. He is currently on Earth, or so I understand. Be thankful he is not here to lead the council. You will have a hard enough time, as it is.”

“I can count on your vocal support, though?” asked Daan.

“As always. I stand with you, as always.”

“Good.” The men entered the council chamber where seven chairs were arrayed around a heart shaped table. An eighth chair, empty, sat at the sharpest point of the heart design. It was high backed and reserved for the Sleen. Five men with sun bronzed features occupied their requisite number of chairs. The other two were empty, for Pedram and Daan.

“Gentlemen,” said Daan as he took a seat and stretched his legs, leaning back, as if nothing much was amiss. Pedram took the remaining chair, seated opposite and to the left.

“Well, this is unfortunate,” said a man who leaned forward with his palms resting on the table. He wore many jewelled rings on his fingers. “Your recent actions have overturned three decades of intrigue.”

“A moment,” said one of the other men who sat back in his curule chair, fingers clasped under his hook nose. “Daan has just arrived. No doubt he has an explanation to give us. Let us hear him before we condemn him outright.”

“I’m to be condemned, then?” said Daan with a smile as he tapped the table. “Perhaps you have all made up your minds before I even speak?”

“Perhaps we have,” said the hook nose, “but we will listen to your words anyway.” 

Pedram rose to his feet and motioned to his six fellows. “I stand chair within the Council of Steel this season. Let it be known that my friendship for Daan Shahzad will not sway my support for the verdict of this council. Daan, as you know, you do not have a vote in these proceedings.”

A man in a white burnoose laughed as he picked up a goblet of wine. “We all know your vote is already decided, Pedram. Daan took a blade for you thirty years ago. You can skip the pretence.”

“Gentlemen,” Daan thumped the table twice with his knuckles. “Are we women? Are we skittish females? Do we care what the common herd does? The Houses of the Landsraad will always be divided. WE divide them, as much as the Emir does. They are cattle, in the end, and we feed on cattle. Let us not act like they are any threat to us.”

“They are a threat to YOU,” accentuated the man in the white burnoose. “Whether they are a threat to US is another matter entirely. What have you done, Daan?”

“I have done what any man would do in my place,” snarled Daan. “My eldest daughter was abducted by House Sasani. I am Kur. I do not sit in my great hall and bleat like a frightened verr. I do not petition the Emir for justice while my enemy laughs at me for my weakness. I am Kur. When a man takes one of my eyes, I kill him. That is our way.”

“Words,” said the white burnoose. “Emotive words. We want facts, Daan. Do you know House Sasani abducted your daughter for a fact?”

“I do.” Daan thumped the table with his fist. “There is no doubt in my mind. My woman’s spies have confirmed it. Serafina is held, naked, in their dungeons.”

“And why would they do that?” asked the hook nose. “It serves no purpose except to make you retaliate. It seems out of keeping with the timid nature of the Landsraad.”

“My occupancy of Al-Quada-a-Dhum seems to have stirred House Sasani to some state where they seem brave enough to bark like curs. Perhaps they think I will come running, pleading for my daughter? But that is not the Kur way. I have struck back, and I have taken their eldest daughter. She now resides in Al-Quada-a-Dhum.”

“That we all know,” said the white burnoose. “And now the courts of Tor are a cacophony of noise, with the Houses of the Landsraad calling for your crucifixion. My spies have told me three hundred lances have already ridden out into the desert to scout ahead. The Landsraad intend to assemble three thousand more.”

“They will dash themselves against the rocks at the base of my high walls,” said Daan. “Those walls have never been taken. Never. I took Al-Quada-a-Dhum for the steel worlds. The Emir was naive enough to give the fortress to me on a plate, and now we have it in perpetuity, because no one, not the tribes of the desert, nor the lances of the Landsraad, nor the Sardaukar of the court, can take that fortress by force if we choose to keep it.”

“War is not in our interests, Daan,” said the hook nose. “If there is to be war we will have to display the cards in our hands and then the Sardar will know our strength, our dispositions, and our organisation. It is too soon. You know our way. We wait, and we wait, and when the time is right, then we…”

“Listen to you all!” Daan rose to his feet and thumped the table again. “We wait, and we wait and we wait… is this what we have become? Is this the Kur way? Waiting? Waiting for what?! Oh, waiting comes easy, doesn’t it? There is no risk to waiting. And while we wait, the Nest grows stronger. The Priest Kings rebuild patiently, calmly, with perfect co-ordination. We have waited far too long!” Daan struck the table again with the palm of his right hand. “This is what my woman would advise! Waiting! Playing the long game! For there will always be a tomorrow. But we do not wear skirts! I am sick of waiting. We are stronger now, with the acquisition of Al-Quada-a-Dhum, than we could ever hope to have been! We control this area of the desert! We control access to salt! To water! This fortress that the Emir rashly gave me is impregnable if we want it to be! “ Daan began to pace around the table. “Let me tell you why you will back me. It’s not because you are men who understand that violence requires violence in turn, but because we now have a precious prize in our grasp, and we cannot give that up. We work with the cards we are dealt, and right now we have been dealt cards that say we hold what is ours by force of arms. Let the Landsraad come with their tired banners of faded gold and scarlet. How many desert riders have we bought over the years with our gold? We will summon them together and we will cut the supply lines of this Landsraad army. Let it sit outside the walls of Al-Quada-a-Dhum with dwindling supplies of water and food, and then when they try to retreat, our riders will attack up and down their line of march. We will break the armies of the Landsraad and scatter them across the Tahari! And then we will control the silk roads in and out of Tor. And then the Emir himself will have to negotiate with me in my stone fortress perched high on its granite shelf. THAT is our way now. No more hiding in the shadows! No more chattering like women! We take the path of steel, not the path of indecision.”

Daan returned to his chair and slouched back, gazing sternly into the eyes of each man around the table. “I should not have to tell any of you this. We stand together or we lose everything.”

“Well said, Daan,” remarked Pedram as he nodded sagely.

“Oh, can you be just a little more subtle with your support?” said hook nose with a sigh to Pedram. “Daan could suggest we all wear skirts and veils in future and you would probably say he makes a valid point!”

The man in the striped dejellaba spoke for the first time. “Supposing our vote goes in your favour, Daan. What are you asking for?”

“Three thousand desert lances from the Bedouin tribes. A surprise force that will strike at the Landsraad without warning, cutting their supply lines and cutting bloody wounds in their numbers as they try to besiege Al-Quada-a-Dhum.”

“Well, at least he didn’t ask us to move Al-Quada-a-Dhum onto a mountain peak!” said hook nose with a laugh. “Three thousand desert lances, you say? Do we even have three thousand desert lances?”

“Eight hundred, possibly,” mused the man with thick set rings on his fingers. “Possibly eight hundred. But they would be scattered across the vastness of this place. A few here, a few there, like tufts of sa-tarna grass struggling to sprout in the sand. It would take time to assemble them in any coherent fashion. Would you like a series of Kur drop ships to add weight to your strategy, perhaps?” he added with a sly grin.

“If we do not have three thousand already, it will be simple enough to buy them. Do so now before they take Landsraad gold.”

“And where is all this money coming from?” asked the white burnoose. “Do you have a gold mine to hand?”

“Yes. It is called Al-Quada-a-Dhum. Gentlemen, when we play for the highest of stakes, we should not make the mistake that the Landsraad and the Emir will make, which is to cut corners and worry about coin. A bold stroke is required. They will not be expecting a relief force to come thundering out of the dunes. Let us crush them, once and for all. The Landsraad will be assembled in a single time and place, far from the high walls of any Kasbah or city. On broken ground with precious little water. Why can you not see what I can see? Do you think Dietrich of Tarnburg would squander such a golden opportunity? Do you think he would quibble about short term expense? We can dominate the Tahari with a single bold stroke.”

“An expensive bold stroke.”

“A dangerous bold stroke.”

“I am done here,” snarled Daan. “Sit and talk. Talk as much as you want. And then decide whether you wish to give Al-Quada-a-Dhum to the Sasanis. And while you’re at it, think what you are going to say to the Sleen when he returns from Earth. Oh, we could have kept this prize, AND shattered the military might of the Landsraad, but we didn’t want to take any risks…”

Daan rose again from his chair and walked towards the door. “I go to fortify my bastion. Send me three thousand lances, if you consider yourselves worthy of serving the Kurii.”