Adventures on Hor Ch. 02: Master

CHAPTER 2: MASTER

The man who had at one time been Andrew Frank gazed down on the approaching trade caravan as he slowly and carefully made his way down the sloping hillside. These caravans, like much of the actions of people on HOR, were consistent and predictable. It seemed to him to be a general lack of imagination and forethinking that failed to adequately consider or anticipate problems and danger. This world, as a whole, was primitive and violent, yet so many failed to think past the primitive instinctual reaction that mere numbers are meaningful and protective.

But he wasn't interested in challenging the caravan. Not this time, anyway. His only intention was to resupply before the train reached the rendezvous oasis where caravan trains waited to travel across the most dangerous part of the route together. Safety in numbers, again. His needs were simple but he knew the best bargaining occurred before the caravans were settled and the masters were rested and feeling safe and protected. He smiled openly as he watched the guards retreat to the caravan instead of intercepting his path. These men lacked real skill in combat, though their number could present him with a challenge if it came to that.

As he often did, he glanced over his shoulder at the impossibly large moons in the sky now behind him. He was often curious why he did it so regularly. Was it as a reminder that he was on this primitive planet and not on Earth? Was it merely a focal point when his mind unconsciously wandered to consideration of what had become of the events of his past life when he left? Or, was it the magnificence of the spectacle like the view of staggering, snowcapped, jagged mountains? All were probably true at different times.

His past life... he had been on this rock for three years. Three years and he had no better idea how he came to be here. Three years and he had no better idea if it was possible to return to that life he had been taken from. That life... December 1864... a farm boy growing up in Ohio, the first of his family to finish school and go to college, even if it was an appointment to West Point due to contacts his uncle had with a politician. When war broke out, he had asked to be assigned to the US Army's 10th Ohio Cavalry Volunteers. Though ranked as a Lieutenant initially, war and death had a way of rushing promotions and he soon became Captain leading a cavalry platoon with the 10th Ohio. A skirmish outside Waynesboro, Georgia, in December 1864 altered his life forever. They had bumped into a line of Southern defenses as both sides readied for what would become known as the Battle of Waynesboro. The skirmish was small units of both sides until the order came down that the way needed to be opened. Captain Frank rode behind the Northern line gazing intently across the open field at the men blocking the way of their main army unit. Captain Frank was well-known and regarded by his senior officers. He was known as a somewhat brash young officer who had an intuitive eye for analyzing a battlefield situation and took bold, aggressive action. As he surveyed the opposing line and the officers on the other side, he found the weakness he was looking for. He ordered heavy volleys after assembling his unit for a charge. He had a knack for finding the point in their lines where a cavalry charge collapsed a weak spot, this one volunteers on the west end that was ill-prepared and organized. Such a charge usually resulted in other units on the line rotating to block the charge which opened up several other openings.

The tactic worked the same way in this case. The outcome was dramatically different, at least for Captain Frank and the men of his unit who followed him without hesitation no matter what his orders. He was at the point of the charge, as usual, his hands filled with pistols blazing rather than the ceremonial lead of a saber. A cannon explosion ahead of him forced him to leap his horse through the cloud of dirt midway between the lines, which he thought might be advantageous. How more imposing than to have a leaping rider crashing suddenly from the cloud. The skirmish was quickly won as the Northern line charged after the cavalry charge.

Men died and seemed to disappear in battle all the time in that war. Hundreds, if not thousands, of combatants, died in major conflicts. Many men injured by cannon or volleys of bullets were unrecognizable. Others were trapped underneath other dead. What was different in the case of Captain Frank was that his men followed him in the charge, several almost alongside him as he leaped through the cloud of dirt. Captain Frank, though, never came out the other side. His horse did. They even found his hat and pistols, but the man... impossibly disappeared.

That was three years ago. Captain Andrew Frank found himself dazed and disoriented on HOR, though he didn't know where he was at the time. Captured and enslaved by a warlord's passing army, he was stripped of his unusual garments and given the loose garment of the enslaved warriors. At the time, he was 6' 1" tall and 190 pounds, and a youthful but seasoned 26 years old. The army he found himself in used slaves in the front lines, the initial probes against the opposing forces. He was to find himself in a brutal world where battles were fought as if it were the times of Roman armies and weapons of lance, blades, and arrows. Desperate to survive in the hope of returning 'home' and relying on the same intuitive sense of the battlefield around him, he did survive. Initially given a rusty, dull sword that didn't slice into flesh as much as break bones, he fought with a brutality that surprised even him, all the while scouring the ground for better blades and weapons.

As in the war he disappeared from, his bold, decisive actions and success on the field drew the attention of higher and higher commanders. He was equipped with better protection and better weapons when they saw men who were assigned to follow him did so in brash probes and charges into the opposing lines. Something else was happening very quickly, too. It happened quickly enough that those around him didn't much notice the change for he was only a slave intended only to sacrifice himself in the scheme of the battle plan. He bulked up to 240 pounds of raw, savage, powerful muscle. The rapid change in his body caused him to ache constantly, a feeling he wasn't completely sure wasn't the result of battle or like the growing pains of his youth on the farm. And, he didn't understand why. His physical appearance was quickly so imposing that other slaves gave him a wide berth and deference, while the experienced warriors and commanders began noticing him, either as a possible tool or competition. He was left with the only possible explanation that HOR's environment and the protein peculiar in the largely wild diet of the army induced muscle growth, agility, and strength in his Earth body that wasn't occurring in those around him.

Eventually, he acquired his freedom. After a series of battles, he became regarded as a threat in the ranks, sold into the service of another, and accepting an assignment thought to be a suicide mission: infiltrate a warring stronghold and assassinate the battle leader. Despite the bulk and power his new body displayed on the battlefield, he found he had surprising agility, stealth, and the ability to leap higher and further than ever before, something he attributed to gravitational effects on his body of the large moons. After several days, he returned secretly and stood at the foot of his sleeping commander who awoke with fright at the shadow of the looming, massive warrior. Shedding light within the tent, his commander found him standing holding the severed head of the opposing commander and his gleaming sword. The head Frank presented to his commander; the sword he kept for his own.

Frank quickly became a feared but much sought-after weapon for both delicate and blunt actions men of power thought necessary to further appetites for power and control as a mercenary and assassin. On a brutal planet where death and control of others was the way of power and survival, Captain Andrew Frank became Goran, already a legend who brought death along with him.

So, it wasn't the appearance of a lone rider on the rise alongside the caravan that caused the attention but the recognition that the lone rider was the one many never wanted to meet personally... the man only known as Goran.

Catherine James's attention was drawn to the singular image descending the sandy slope just like every other set of eyes, free or slave. Even though she didn't understand the reputation of the man's appearance, his image and carriage were imposing, threatening, and intriguing. As the caravan slowed and the guards collapsed closer to the wagons, the man drew closer, coming up from behind the line of slaves Catherine James was attached to. She turned as she walked to appraise his approach despite the realization that the other slaves and most of the men diverted their eyes as if not looking at him might negate his presence.

So much was different about this place that she found it hard to be surprised for long. The animals pulling the wagons were like oxen but not quite as she was used to on Earth. The animals the guards rode were something like a horse but bulkier like a bull. What this man rode was entirely different and everyone shied away from it. Her attention was first drawn to the beast, which she was reminded of an American bison on Earth with several exceptions in size. It was half again as large with a shoulder height of nearly 10 feet and head to the rear length of about 13 feet. The legs were thicker and stronger looking. The head was as massive in proportion as she remembered but it had a main and tail similar to a horse. The horns were curved as she remembered but these were about 3 feet long. The hide was sleek and shiny like a magnificent horse from rear to head missing the shaggy hide at the shoulders and head.

If his ride was imposing, the man was equally so. He looked like a bodybuilder actor from a barbarian movie set. But this was real she had to remind herself. He wore tight hide pants and thick hide boots. A thick belt held several knives while another was strapped to the side of his calf. Two large swords were strapped across his back, the straps crossing his chest that were like massive slabs of beef. It might be a cliché of biceps the size of her thigh, but his were. Fibers in his muscles could be seen quivering with slight movement under the skin. It appeared that he might not have any visible body fat. He rode the beast bareback, his left hand wrapped in the mane. Under his left thigh was strapped a 10-foot long lance with a glistening curved blade pointing backward. Under his right thigh was a long recurve bow and arrows. Behind him was strapped several large packs. She had the impression the animal might not even notice the weight it carried.

As he moved casually, confidently along the line of wagons, he moved closer as if inspecting the contents. Catherine James noticed with amusement how the man crowded the guards tighter and tighter against the caravan line. As he approached her position, she noticed everyone had diverted their eyes. In her short time on this barbaric, brutal planet, she had been abused and dominated by man and slave and she had no understanding of the extent of her condition. Now, there appears a stranger who causes all of them to react in deference (in plain fear?) to him. Her subconscious reacted with delight at the turn of events for these people and a laugh escaped her throat as only she gazed up at the intruder and verbalized her curiosity, "Who are you?"

His head snapped down to her and she immediately recognized her mistake. She dropped her head but nervously tracked his movement by watching the lower legs of the animal. When the man passed, the slave in front of her turned and glared at her, a guard on the other side lashed out with his whip on her bareback and softly uttered a warning or threat... she didn't know which.

With the train now at a stop, she moved to the side to see ahead. She saw the intruder sitting astride his beast looking down on the leader sitting in his wagon. There were murmurs along the line of the caravan but still within the levels of deferential tones. She smiled, again. One man can cause that reaction? Who is that man that draws such a response? She stepped further out of line to see ahead. She found him pointing back down the line, the leader turning to look at something, then animate talk, gesturing of arms, shaking of heads. The intruder suddenly turned away, then was called back. Then, it occurred to her... they were negotiating, bartering for something but what could the intruder have to offer and what was it he was needing?

When the leader jumped down from his wagon and walked alongside the intruder who remained on his animal, the entire line of people shrank away from them as far as they could. Catherine held her ground, impeding the movement of the slaves in front of her. She was not only curious, her natural character not to back down from any situation rose strong within her. She wasn't a slave... not in character. They might treat her as one, but she would rather die than lose herself like that to men such as those in the caravan.

When they stopped alongside her, she impulsively took a step back, but immediately regained her original position, tugging the rope to force the next slave to yield some position. She not only held her ground but looked up into the eyes of the intruder and ignored the leader as more words were spoken. A guard approached her hesitantly and she responded by tensing her naked body in preparation of feeling the lash fall on her back, again. It didn't, however. To her shock, and equal shock to everyone else around her, the rope at her wrist was cut and unwound from her body. She looked from the loose rope at her feet back to the intruder who held a faint smile at the corners of his mouth while his eyes held a menacing look over the guards nearby. His hand extended down toward her as he leaned over the side of the beast. Startled by the apparent offer, she reached her left hand up, grasped his wrist as he grasped hers and a combination of her leaping and his pulling, she found herself astride the animal behind him. It happened so fast and easily. On Earth, she could not have anticipated a movement like that being successful and nobody around them could believe it, either.

He turned the beast and walked it 100 feet from the caravan before turning again to point in the same direction as it. Soon, the caravan began moving, again, and the beast moved at the same pace in the same direction while men, guards, and slaves glanced tentatively at them. Catherine James tensely wrapped her arms around the waist of the intruder, her naked breasts pressed into the sheathed swords strapped to his back as the beast moved casually beneath them. Her entire focus was on settling herself on the beast without falling off while considering what had just happened might mean for her. If what had just happened was a shock, the next thing sent a jolt through her body.

Without turning or changing his composure, the intruder she was holding onto softly spoke, "Don't overtly react and don't utter a word." Wait, she thought. She understood that. English? He spoke English! "You are my slave, now. They will not harm you further. I will explain everything but in private. For now, you must take my word for it that you do not speak except for two words: Ai Sar. In Horean, that means, Yes Master." He felt her tense behind him. "Trust me. It is better to be my slave than a lowly slave sold in the marketplace." He waited a moment, then, "Do you understand? For both of our safety?"

She looked at the muscled shoulders and back before her and felt the strength of his body under her arms. So... she was still to be a slave. She would have to be patient to see what that would mean. As he said, though, to be a lowly, common slave to be bartered and sold as an object... to be his has to be better, doesn't it?

"Ai Sar."

Andrew Frank smiled and the tension that had built up in his body released. This was a terrible risk to take. He had survived this long by not caring about anyone but himself. But how could he ignore her when he realized she was also from Earth? If they were careful, this might just work. If she wouldn't cooperate, though, he would have to think only of himself, again. He hoped he could do that. He hoped she could accept the terms.

The caravan leader passed the word among his people and she could see immediate deference provided to this intruder she was now attached to. As he rode up and down the line of wagons and slaves, he barked out orders to the guards and those driving the wagons. She smiled inwardly at their reactions as they quickly corrected their position in line or place guarding the line. She also noticed with satisfaction the looks the other slaves gave her when no man was watching. Their jealousy told her enough. She was better off no longer being one of them.

That first night they were camped separately from the others. The beast had settled between them and the gathered caravan. She was told the beast might seem asleep but would react to the slightest sound out of place. They had eaten food supplied by the caravan and were settled at the fire.

He started, "I told you we need to talk. You may speak now but keep your voice lowered. Nobody is to hear us speak English."

She nodded. Then, "Ai Sar." She gave him a shy smile. Her easy use of the term surprised her and pleased him.

He asked her to describe herself, her background, what she did... everything. She did. It took a considerable time. He listened intently, seeming surprised at some points, curious at others, and smiled at still others. In the end, he asked many questions about the United States in 2019, about the outcome of his war, and was pleased to be able to ask about military strategy and how it had changed. He conceded there was too much to consider at the moment but he was very interested in hearing about jungle warfare in Viet Nam and the tactics the Native Americans used. She could see how those might fit with the current situation.

He looked intently at her. "So, you speak other languages?"

She nodded. "Spanish, Arabic, and Chinese. Three languages representing some of the most populous regions."

He nodded, thinking. "Yes... good... smart." He looked up smiling, "You will pick up Horean easily, then. Good, very good. We cannot use English except like this."

"May I ask why you didn't want me to eat the slave food?"

He nodded, still thinking about everything she had told him. And, he knew there was still so much more to learn from her. "Yes... slave food... they add an herb for slaves intended for the marketplace. It makes them compliant so they accept their fate better." He saw the look on her face, "Yes, this is a brutal, harsh, and unforgiving planet."

He then shared with her his story. She marveled at the description of war at that time, his description telling her the feeling of it that no book ever came too close to.

In the end, she murmured, "Andrew Frank." It just felt good to repeat an Earth person's name.

He looked at her sharply and in a firm, commanding voice warned her, "No! My name is now Goran, but you will not use it, either. What is my name?"

"Sar... Ai Sar." Master... yes Master.

He nodded. "My name... Goran... I assumed it when I won my freedom with that assassination. That act was so bold, so cunning, so mysterious to everyone, they called me Goran. The closest in English would be Demon. I liked that. I liked that others whispered that. I have won an advantage when others encounter me thinking I am a demon. That is the way of this world. Find advantage and take advantage." He looked over the woman who knew herself only as Catherine James and came to a decision. "I think you will be named, Cat. I think it will suit you. Short for Catherine... something for you to hold onto. But I believe your body will react as mine did. Have you noticed anything since being here?"