Beasts of Gor coc-12

by John Norman

  It gestured again that I should approach it. Again I did not do so.

  I backed away from it. I had no illusions that I could outrun a Kur.

  It dropped down to all fours. I saw it begin to tremble in anticipation. Then it threw back its huge, shaggy head and, jaws widely distended, it long fangs white, exposed, gazed savagely upon the three calm moons of Gor. Then to the moons and to the frozen world about us, to the ice and the sky and stars, it uttered a wild, fearsome, howling cry, a long, horrifying cry. The origins of that cry, I conjecture, are lost in the vanished antiquities of the prehistory of the Kur, or of the beast that, in time, became the Kur. It was a cry that was both territorial and imperial. It was the challenge of a predator and carnivore to a world. It said, “I am here. This is my place.” Too, it seemed to say, “This meat, this kill, is mine. Dispute it with me who will.” It was a cry that might once have been heard in the mouths of caves, or in the darkness of forests. I had little doubt but what, eons ago, on the native world of the Kur, that cry had antedated speech and fire. Man, doubtless, has forgotten such cries. The Kur has not.

  The beast turned about, twice, happily, almost leaping: then again it faced me. Its claws emerged. It scratched delightedly at the ice. It gazed upon me. It uttered a shriek anew, but one of pleasure. Its breathing was swift. It could scarcely control itself.

  I backed away, further.

  It watched me, alertly, with pleasure. It growled softly, almost a purrlike sound, but more intense, more excited.

  Then its ears lay back against the side of its head.

  I stumbled backward, and it sped toward me, swiftly.

  I struggled, seized in its arms. I saw the blazing eyes. It lifted me from the ice, lifting me toward its mouth. It held me, looking at me for a moment. Then it turned its head to one side. I struggled and twisted futilely. Its breath was hot in my face, and I could scarcely see it for the vapors of our mingled breathings. Then its jaws reached for my throat. Suddenly and so suddenly for a moment I could not comprehend it there was a hideous shriek from the beast and I could hear nothing else for a moment and it was one of surprise and pain and I was momentarily deafened and then, too, at the same time, reflexively I was flung from it the stars and ice suddenly wild and turned and I struck the ice and rolled and slid across it. I scrambled to my knees. I was more than forty feet from the beast.

  It stood, not moving, hunched over, looking at me.

  I rose unsteadily to my feet.

  It tried to take a step toward me, and then its face contorted with excruciating pain. It lifted its paw toward me.

  Then, suddenly, as though struck from the inside, it screamed and fell, rolling, on the ice. Twice more it cried out, and then lay, motionless, but alive, on the ice, on its back, looking up at the moons.

  The digestive juices, already released into the true stomach, continued with their implaccable chemical work. Bit by bit, loosened molecule by loosened molecule, in accordance with the patient, relentless laws of chemistry, the sinew slowly dissolved, weakening the bond which held the compressed, contorted, sharpened baleen, until the slender bond broke. The beast screamed again.

  Thoughtlessly the beast must have devoured fifteen or twenty of the hidden traps.

  I thought now I had little to fear.

  I went to the sled. There seemed little of use there.

  Fortunately I glanced upward. Somehow it was again on its feet.

  It stood hunched over. It looked at me. How indomitable it was. It coughed, wracked with the pain of it, and spat glots of blood on the ice.

  Slowly, step by step, it began to move toward me, its paws outstretched.

  It then screamed with pain, bent over, as another of the wicked traps sprang open.

  It stood there, whimpering on the ice. For a moment I felt moved.

  Then, scrambling, on all fours, it charged. I overturned the sled between us. It fell screaming against the head of the sled and, with one paw, swept the sled to one side. It rolled on the ice, leaving it dark with blood. It coughed and screamed, and raged. Then two more of the treacherous baleen traps sprung open. It looked at the moons, agonized. It bit its lips and jaws in pain. It tore at its thigh.

  I moved warily away from the beast. I did not think, now, I would have great difficulty in eluding it.

  It was bleeding now, profusely, at the mouth and anus. The side of its mouth was half bitten through. The ice was covered with blood, and defecation. Too, it had released its water on the ice.

  I moved away from it, drawing it in a circle from the sled. I then doubled back and, taking up the traces of the sled, turned back toward the complex concealed in the ice island.

  I pulled the sled, returning toward the complex. The beast, step by painful step, bloody in the snow, followed. I did not let it approach too near.

  Judging by its cries, those uttered before, and those which it uttered as it followed me, it must have taken nineteen of the traps into its body. It amazed me that it was not content to lie still and die. Each step must have been torture for it. Yet it continued to follow me. I learned something from it of the tenacity of the Kur.

  At last, on the return to the complex, some four Ahn later, it died.

  It is not easy to kill a Kur.

  I looked down at the huge carcass. I had no knife. I must use my hands and teeth.

  35. I Return To The Complex; What Occurred In The Complex

  “It is not a Kur!” cried the man. “Fire!”

  Then I had my hands on his throat, and threw him between me and his fellow. I heard the dart enter his body and I thrust him back and away from me and I saw him, rent and scattered, burst apart. The other fellow, also in what seemed to be a suit of light plastic, with a heating unit slung at his hip, fumbled with the weapon, to insert another charge in the breech. I dove toward him and the breech snapped shut and the weapon, struck to the side, discharged and I flung him to the ground, we both half tangled in the white fur of the Kur. With my left arm about his neck I struck his head to the side with the flat of my right hand. He lay still, the neck broken. It is a thing warriors are taught.

  I looked up. It seemed quiet. Yet two weapons had been discharged. The tubular weapons discharge with a hiss. It is not particularly loud. The explosion of the darts, however, timed to detonate an instant after fixing themselves in the target, is much louder. The first explosion had been muffled in the body of its victim. The second, however, might have been heard. It had burst, after a long, parabolic trajectory, over a thousand feet below, showering ice upward more than two hundred feet into the air.

  I had returned to the complex, crossing the ice near it, with the sled. This would assure me, I hoped, that I would not be mistaken for a common ice beast. I did not know what signs and countersigns, or signals, the white Kur might have had at its disposal to protect itself in this regard. I, at any rate, had none. Ice beasts, or common ice beasts, of course, do not use sleds. I think the sled let me approach more closely than I might otherwise have been capable of doing. The fur of the Kur, too, in the uncertain light, of course, was helpful. I had kept, too, as I could, to the cover of the pack ice. I had left the sled at the foot of the ice island and, with the fur of the Kur as a camouflage, had climbed, crag by crag, projection by projection, foothold by foothold, to the height of the island. The hatch through which I had exited did not have an obvious opening from the outside. Again, I did not know any signs or countersigns, or signals. I had climbed the height of the ice island looking for some mode of ingress to the complex. I was interested not so much in official thresholds, of a sort which I supposed would be provided to facilitate the work of lookouts and guards, as apertures more practical to my purposes, apertures unguarded through which passage would not require any system of recognition devices. The air in the complex had been fresh. It was my hope that there would be ventilation shafts. If the Kurii relied on a closed system I must take my chances with more standard portals.

  It seemed quiet. I reached again for the fu
r of the Kur.

  It came so swiftly I was not sure I saw it. I may have heard or sensed it the object cutting the fur of the parka and lodging a foot behind me in the ice and I flung myself away from it and the ice shattering and exploding outward and the blast and ice pushing me like a hand and I struck a projection of ice and slipped downward, and then I saw them coming two of them both armed and I slipped and lay contorted at the foot of the ice projection.

  “He’s dead,” said one of the men.

  “I shall put another dart into him,” said the other.

  “Do not be a fool,” said the first.

  “Can you be sure he is dead?” asked the other.

  “See?” said the first. “There is no breath. If he were alive his breath, its vapor in the cold, would be clearly visible.”

  “You are right,” said the second man.

  Neither of these men, I gathered, had ever hunted the swift sea sleen. I was pleased that once, in kayaks, with Imnak, I had made the acquaintance of that menacing, insidious beast.

  “Aiii!” cried the first man, as I leaped upward, striking him aside with my right hand. It was the second man whom I must fist reach. He was the more suspicious, the more dangerous of the two. His weapon contained a dart, at the ready. The weapon lifted swiftly but already I was behind it. The other man had not reinjected a dart into the riflelike contrivance he carried. I turned to him when I had finished the first. I did not realize until later he had struck me with its stock from behind. His scream was long and fading as he fell to the ice below the cliffs.

  I quickly sorted through the accouterments of the second man. I must move quickly. Not only was dispatch of tactical significance but exposure to the arctic winter could bring a swift death on the summit of the ice island. In moments I wore one of the light, plastic suits, with hood, with the heating unit slung at the hip. I did not know how long the charge in the unit would last but I did not expect to be needing it long. I then took the sack of darts from the second man and threw it, on its strap, about my shoulder. I gathered in the two weapons which they had carried.

  Another object lay on the ice, a small, portable radio. A voice, in Gorean, was speaking urgently on the device, inquiring as to what was occurring. I did not attempt to respond or confuse the operator. I thought it better to let him ponder what might have happened high above on the surface of that rugged island of ice. If I responded I was sure I would be soon marked as a human intruder. If my voice would not betray me surely my failure to produce code words or identificatory phrases would do so. As it was the operator could speculate on possibilities such as a transmitter malfunction, an accident, or an attack of wandering ice beasts. An investigatory party would soon be sent forth to investigate. This did not displease me. The more men there were outside the complex the fewer there would be inside. The various hatches, also, I was confident, would not open from the outside. If they did, the mechanisms could always be jammed or destroyed. I knew I had at least one ally within, Imnak, who would risk his life to protect me. He had already done so.

  In short order I managed to find one of the ventilator shafts through which fresh air was drawn into the complex; there was a system of such shafts, some for drawing in fresh air and others for expelling used, stale air. Kurii, with their large lungs, and the need to oxygenate their large quantities of blood, are extremely sensitive to the quality of an atmosphere. Ship Kurii, crashed or marooned on Earth, have usually made their way to remote areas, not simply to avoid human habitations but to secure access to a less polluted, more tolerable atmosphere. Kurii, incidentally, because of their unusual lung capacity, can breathe easily even at relatively high altitudes. They have little tolerance, however, for pollutants. Kur agents on Earth are almost always humans.

  I could not remove the grating at the top of the shaft. It was fixed into the metal, welded therein.

  I stepped back and depressed the firing switch on one of the tubular weapons. I then set another dart into the breech. It was not, however, necessary. The metal was broken loose and twisted crookedly upward. The opening was not too large, but it would be enough. I felt around inside the darkened shaft with my hand, and then with the barrel of a weapon. I could find no handholds or footholds. I did not know the depth of the shaft, but I supposed it must be a hundred or more feet, at least. I had no rope. I slipped into the shaft, sweating, my back against one side, my two feet against the other side. Thus began a slow and tortuous descent, inch by inch. The slightest mistake in judgment, as to position or leverage, and I would plummet within the shaft, helpless, until I struck its bottom, however far below it might be.

  It took more than a quarter of an Ahn to descend the shaft.

  The last twenty feet I slipped and, pushing and thrusting. fell clattering to its bottom.

  The grille at the lower end, some seven feet above a steel floor, and opening into a hall, was not fixed as solidly as the one above. Indeed, to my amazement, I lifted it out.

  “What kept you?” asked Imnak.

  He was sitting on two boxes, at the side, whittling a parsit fish from sleen bone.

  “I was detained,” I said.

  “You were very noisy,” said Imnak.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  I saw that the screws holding the lighter grille in place had been removed. That is why it lifted out.

  “You removed the screws from the grille with your knife,” I said.

  “Would you have preferred to kick it loose?” asked Imnak.

  “No,” I said. Then I said, “How did you know to find me here?”

  “I thought you would have difficulty explaining your right to enter to the guards at the hatches,” said Imnak.

  “Surely there are many ventilator shafts,” I said.

  “Yes,” said Imnak, “but not many with people crawling down them.”

  “Here,” I said, handing Imnak one of the tubular weapons, and several of the darts from the bag which I carried,

  “What good is this?” asked Imnak. “It blows apart the meat, and there is no place to put a line on the point.”

  “It is good for shooting people,” I said.

  “Yes,” said Imnak, “it might do for that.”

  “It is my intention, Imnak,” I said, “to locate and detonate the device concealed in this complex which is intended to prevent the supplies here from falling into the hands of enemies.”

  “That is a long thing to say,” he said.

  “I want to find a switch or lever,” I said, “which will make this whole place go boom bang crash, as when the dart hits a target and makes a big noise.”

  “I do not know the words ‘boom’ and ‘bang’,” said, Imnak. “Are they Gorean?”

  “I want to make a thing like thunder and lightning, crash, crash,” I said, angrily.

  “You want to cause an explosion?” asked linnak.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “That seems like a good idea,” said Imnak.

  “Where did you hear about explosions?” I asked Imnak.

  “Karjuk told me,” said Imnak.

  “Where is Karjuk?” I asked.

  “He is somewhere outside,” said Imnak.

  “Did he ever speak to you of a device to destroy the complex?” I asked.

  “Yes,” said Ininak.

  “Did he tell you where it is?” I asked.

  “No,” said Imnak. “I do not think he knows where it is.”

  “Imnak,” I said, “I want you to take this weapon, and get yourself, and as many of the girls as you can, out of the complex.”

  Imnak shrugged, puzzled.

  “Do not dally,” I told him.

  “What about you?” he asked.

  “Do not worry about me,” I said.

  “All right,” said Imnak.

  He turned to leave. “If you see Karjuk,” I said, “kill him.”

  “Karjuk would not like that,” said Imnak.

  “Do it,” I said.

  “But where will we get another guard?�
�� he asked.

  “Karjuk does not guard the People,” I said. “He guards Kurii.”

  “How do you know what he guards?” asked Imnak.

  “Forget about Karjuk,” I said.

  “All right,” said Imnak.

  “Hurry, hurry!” I told him. “Leave! Hurry!”

  “Is it all right if I worry a little about you, Tarl, who hunts with me?” he asked.

  “Yes, yes,” I said, “you can worry a little.”

  “Good,” said Imnak. Then he turned about and hurried down the hall.

  I looked upward. In the ceiling where the slave tracks, those steel guides determining, by virtue of the steel spheres and neck chains, the permissible movements of various girls.

  At that moment, down the hall, coming about a corner, were two men, in brown and black tunics,

  “Why are you in the suit?” they asked me.

  “I came from the surface,” I said. “There is trouble up there.”

  “What sort of trouble?” asked one.

  “We do not know yet,” I said.

  “Are you in security?” asked one of the men.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “We do not see much of you fellows,” said one.

  “It is better that you fellows know only your own sections,” I said.

  “There is greater security that way,” said one.

  “Yes,” agreed the other.

  “If you see anything suspicious, report it,” I advised them.

  “We shall,” said the first man.

  “In the meantime, see that the grille on that shaft is replaced,” I said.

  “We’ll take care of it,” they said.

  “Why is it open?” asked one.

  “I was checking it,” I said.

  “Oh,” said the other.

  “You forgot to turn off the heat unit on your suit,” said one. “That will use up the charge.”

  I pushed in the button which was more raised than its fellow on the panel of the device.

  “I forgot that once,” said one of the men. “It is easy to do, the suit maintaining a standard temperature.”

  “Perhaps they should have a light on the panel,” I said.