Blood Brothers of Gor

by Norman, John;

  Emerging then from the ranks of the enemy came a gigantic Kur, some nine feet in height, some nine hundred pounds in weight. It carried a huge shield and lance, the accouterments of a man. Behind it, on each side, similarly armed, came others.

  "Aiii!" cried a man, turning his kaiila.

  "Hold your lines!" cried Mahpiyasapa.

  But the lines, men screaming, kaiila wheeling about, were shattered. Fear became flight, and flight rout, and rout slaughter. Yellow Knives and soldiers pressed in. Women and children screamed.

  "Run!" cried Mahpiyasapa. "Run!"

  Men fled. Women and children sought the free kaiila which had been brought for them.

  I lowered my lance. I trained it on the heart of the gigantic Kur. It was Sardak, the leader of the death squad from the steel worlds. Then soldiers came between us and I could not reach him. A woman on a kaiila, a child before her, clutching her, bounded past.

  "Cuwignaka!" I called.

  "I am here!" he cried.

  I saw him, afoot. He had discarded his lance. He thrust a second child, behind the first, to the back of his kaiila. "Run, little brothers!" he cried, slapping the kaiila sharply. Squealing, it bounded away.

  "Come!" I cried to him. "Come! Ride behind me!"

  He shook his head. "There are not enough kaiila!" he said.

  I dismounted, next to him. Two kaiila, bearing Yellow Knives, charged past. All was confusion. Men fought here and there about us.

  "Get on your kaiila, you fool!" cried Cuwignaka. "Ride! Run!"

  "Look!" I said.

  Hci sat on his kaiila, almost as though stunned. He seemed paralyzed, frightened, immovable.

  "Look out!" I cried. I saw a Yellow Knife wheel his kaiila about and drop his lance into the attack position.

  "Look out!" I cried.

  Hci turned, seeing the man. The Yellow Knife, the advantage of surprise lost, pulled back on the jaw rope of his kaiila. The animal almost backed to its haunches. Then it was on its feet again. The man, the point of his lance moving slightly, studied Hci. Hci regarded him.

  "Beware!" I cried.

  It was almost as though Hci did not see the man, almost as though he was looking through him, almost as though the very real man, and the physical point of the lance, of sharp bronze, were little more than tokens or emblems of something he feared far more.

  Hci did not bring his kaiila about. He did not set himself to repel the charge.

  The Yellow Knife hesitated, frightened, puzzled. This inactivity, so unexpected, so unnatural, so eerie, unsettled him. Did he see a man before him or something else, perhaps a guest from the medicine world, something through which he might charge, touching nothing, something that might disappear like smoke behind him?

  Then Hci cried out in anguish. His shield began to rise. It seemed, for a moment, that he tried to struggle with it, but, inexorably, as though with a will of its own, it rose.

  The Yellow Knife aligned his lance.

  Hci, resigned, no longer fighting, calmly, not moving, sat astride his kaiila, his arms lifted to the moons of Gor.

  "Look out!" I cried.

  The Yellow Knife's lance took him low in the left side, hurling him from the kaiila, and then the Yellow Knife, with a whoop of victory, whirled away.

  "His shield would not defend him," said Cuwignaka, in horror. "His shield betrayed him! I have heard of such things. I never saw it until now!"

  A soldier, on a kaiila, bolted past. His lance was black in the dusk.

  I seized a woman running past. I caught her wrist before she could drive her knife into me. With a cry of pain she dropped it. I slapped her. I threw her to the back of my kaiila. Cuwignaka took the child who had been with her and threw him to the back of the beast, behind her.

  "You will not go?" asked Cuwignaka of me.

  "I will not leave without you," I said.

  "Go!" said Cuwignaka, slapping the kaiila sharply. "Go!" It bounded away in the darkness, darting through the confusion.

  A tarn's wings smote the air above us, not twenty feet over our heads. Dust swirled up from the ground. I was buffeted from my feet by the forequarters of a running kaiila. I climbed to my feet. I wiped dust from my eyes.

  "I am here," said Cuwignaka, seizing me by the arm. "Come with me."

  "Kinyanpi," I said, "they will be patrolling the outskirts of the camp. They will be searching the fields for fugitives."

  "That is why we must stay in the camp," said Cuwignaka.

  We made our way then, through the shadows, sometimes running, sometimes crouching down, sometimes crawling, from the scene of the slaughter. In a few moments we had hidden ourselves in one of the lodges. A short time later we heard the thunder of kaiila paws leaving the camp.

  "They are mounting a pursuit," I said.

  "They are tenacious," said Cuwignaka.

  "It is the discipline of the soldiers and the beasts," I said.

  "Probably," said Cuwignaka.

  "Where are you going?" I asked.

  "He may not be dead," said Cuwignaka.

  "Hci?" I asked.

  "Of course," said Cuwignaka.

  "You are going back?" I asked.

  "Yes," he said.

  "I will come with you," I said.

  "You need not do that," said Cuwignaka.

  "I will come with you," I said.

  "It will be dangerous," he said.

  "It will be less dangerous for two than for one," I said.

  "Mitakola," said Cuwignaka.

  "Mitakola," I said. This, in the language of the Kaiila, means 'my friend'.

  I did not find it necessary to tell Cuwignaka that I myself had intended to return for Hci. Before we had left the center of the camp I had seen him move.

  We left the lodge stealthily. Our business must be done soon, before the return of the Yellow Knives and the soldiers. After their return the discipline would be at an end. Then would be the time of the falling upon the slain, the time of the knives, the time of the trophies.

  31

  In Grunt's Lodge

  "I lied," said Hci.

  He lay in the darkness, in Grunt's lodge. I had wished to return to this lodge. There were objects in it which remained of interest to me. In it, too, were stocks of dried meat and wakapapi, pemmican.

  "It was I who took the arrow of Canka," he said. "It was I who feigned an attack on Mahpiyasapa. It was I who accused Canka of attempting to kill him."

  "That is known to us," said Cuwignaka. "I think, too, it is understood by Mahpiyasapa, and many others."

  "I swore upon my shield," said Hci.

  Cuwignaka did not respond.

  "It knew," said Hci. "It fought me. Dishonored, it would not defend me."

  "Rest now," said Cuwignaka.

  We could hear the sounds of revels in the distance, where, together, Yellow Knives, soldiers and Kurii celebrated their victory.

  "You came back for me," said Hci.

  "Yes," said Cuwignaka.

  "Why?" asked Hci.

  "I am Kaiila," said Cuwignaka.

  "I did not think you were Kaiila," said Hci.

  "You were wrong," said Cuwignaka.

  "Yes," said Hci. "I was wrong."

  "Is he dead?" I asked.

  "No," said Cuwignaka. "He is sleeping."

  32

  What Cuwignaka Decided to Do

  "They enjoy their revels," said Cuwignaka.

  We lay on our stomachs, on the small rise, overlooking the campfires of the victors.

  I had a determination to make. Cuwignaka, too, who had insisted on accompanying me, also had a determination to make, something in which he was interested.

  "There," I said, "in the great circle, in places of honor, the beasts, you see?"

  "Yes," said Cuwignaka.

  "They are Kurii," I said. "They were with the mercenaries of Alfred, the captain from Port Olni. They were housed in the small wagons near the end of his column."

  "When I was with the column, as a slave," said
Cuwignaka, "I never saw them."

  "Their presence was kept secret, too, from the soldiers," I said.

  "You are sure they are not from the medicine world?" asked Cuwignaka.

  "You do not believe in the medicine world," I said.

  "I believe in what I see," said Cuwignaka.

  "They are as real as you or I," I said. "They have their histories and their purposes, like men."

  "They terrify my people," said Cuwignaka.

  "Do you see the largest one?" I asked.

  "Yes," said Cuwignaka. It was squatting in a place of great honor, at the height of the large circle, its weight resting on its feet and the knuckles of its hands. On one side of it sat Alfred, captain of the mercenaries, with certain of his lieutenants. On the other side of it sat the three war chiefs of the Yellow Knives, those who had been earlier in the camp. Doubtless they had used their time with Watonka to well scout the camp. With them were certain of their high warriors.

  "That is the leader of the Kurii," I said. "Its name, in Gorean, is Sardak. Behind it is another high Kur, one called, in Gorean, Kog."

  "Such things have names?" asked Cuwignaka.

  "Yes," I said. "How many do you count? Be careful. It is important."

  "Seven," said Cuwignaka.

  "I, too, count seven," I said. There had been seventeen of the small wagons, of the sort which I had conjectured contained Kurii, with the mercenary column. Given the irritability and territoriality of the Kur, it had seemed likely that there would have been but one Kur to a wagon. This gave me a figure of seventeen Kurii in the original death squad, including its leaders, Sardak and Kog. When Grunt and I had come to the field of the massacre we had learned from Pumpkin, the Waniyanpi slave, Waniyanpi being used to clear the field, that the bodies of nine such beasts had been found. I had been unable to determine, at that time, whether or not Kog and Sardak had been among the slain. The bodies of the beasts had been dragged away, into the fields, by red savages. It seemed they did not know much what else to do with them. I had learned later from the former Lady Mira of Venna, whom her red masters had decided to make a Waniyanpi slave, that a small group of Kurii had apparently made its way, at least largely unopposed, from the field. The savages, it seemed, were reluctant to attack them. She had speculated that there had been some seven or eight beasts in this group. I also knew of the survival of one Kur whom I had encountered, personally, on the field, preventing it from attacking a party of Waniyanpi. It had had wounds, and a great deal of dried blood matted in its fur. I speculated that it might have fallen in the fighting, and lost consciousness, from the loss of blood, and then, later, awakened. It seemed unlikely that it had been one of the party which had escaped, and had then been sent back, perhaps to look for food. It was probably separate from the group which had escaped. It had then withdrawn from the field. I had not pursued it. As nearly as I could determine now, it had not made contact with the others. It had, perhaps, perished on the prairie.

  "One would be enough," said Cuwignaka.

  "What do you mean?" I asked. I did not think that any one Kur, singly, would be likely to look forward to meeting Zarendargar, Half-Ear, in a battle to the death.

  "One would be enough to hearten the Yellow Knives," he said, "one would be enough to frighten and dispirit the Kaiila."

  "Of course," I said. In my own concerns, in my own purposes in the Barrens, to locate and warn Zarendargar of his danger, I had given too little thought to the obvious role of the fierce Kurii in the military politics of the vast grasslands east of the Thentis mountains. Cuwignaka, as a matter of fact, did not even know of my true mission in the Barrens. He thought me one who merely dealt in trading, much like Grunt.

  "The Kaiila are broken," said Cuwignaka, bitterly.

  "Many must have escaped," I said.

  "They are disunited and scattered," said Cuwignaka. "The meat for the winter is lost."

  "Doubtless some will survive," I said.

  "Perhaps like Dust Legs," said Cuwignaka, "traders, diplomats, interpreters, serving the needs of others, not as Ubars of the plains, as masters of the grasslands in their own right."

  I felt ashamed. How stupid I had been. How absorbed we can be sometimes in our own concerns, and sometimes, then, so little alert to the affairs of others. I was concerned with the life of a friend. Cuwignaka was concerned with the survival of a people.

  "Perhaps the Kaiila will rise again," I said.

  "No," said Cuwignaka. "Nothing, now, can save them."

  "You do not know that," I said.

  "What can save them?" asked Cuwignaka.

  "Nothing, perhaps," I said. "I do not know."

  Cuwignaka looked down from the small rise, onto the broad, firelit spaces of the revels and feasts.

  "There are the victors," he said.

  The area, a large one, was crowded. There was a great circle, in which dignitaries had their places, and many smaller circles. In the center of each there was a fire. In the center of the great circle the huge fire blazed from a kindling of broken lodge poles. Slave girls, stark naked, kneeling and sweating, tended hundreds of cooking pots. Other slave girls, similarly stark naked, hurried about, serving the men, bringing them food and water, and, when desired, themselves. The ankles of the cooks wore six-inch tethers, keeping them close to their pots. The ankles of the serving slaves wore longer tethers, permitting them to walk with ease, but not to run. When one of the soldiers or Yellow Knives wished one of these girls he simply unfastened the tether from one of her ankles and, when finished, put it again in place. Sometimes the girls were pulled into the shadows, and sometimes not. I saw two soldiers fighting over one. The collars of most of these girls had been cut from their throats, for they had been Kaiila collars. Most of the girls, on their left breast, fixed there in black paint, wore a mark. It identified them, making it clear to whom they belonged.

  "Yes," I said.

  We saw a Kur leap up and seize a slave girl. He lifted her well above his head, by an arm and thigh. She was screaming, her body helpless, bent in a lovely bow. The Kur then lowered her and put his great jaws half about her waist. Her eyes were wild. He let her feel the print of his fangs. Then he flung her from him, into the dirt. He then bounded up and down, turning, in a small circle. The girl, terrified, crawled away. The Kur, its lips drawn back from its white fangs, returned to its place.

  "It is Kur humor," I said.

  "You are sure they are just like us?" asked Cuwignaka.

  "There are some differences," I admitted.

  "There are lance dancers," said Cuwignaka.

  "I see them," I said.

  From between lodges there was emerging a long line, of perhaps forty to fifty men, bearing lances. The line, snakelike, weaved its way toward the fires, and then began, its dancers shuffling, bending down, rising up, chanting, to wind its way among them.

  "It is a dance of the Snake Society, a warrior society of the Yellow Knives," said Cuwignaka. "We have a similar dance among the Kaiila, but any warrior who has counted coup may dance it."

  "At least she is still alive," I said.

  "Yes," said Cuwignaka.

  "I gather that that is the determination which you wished to make in this small reconnaissance," I said.

  "Yes," said Cuwignaka.

  "She is now fetching for Iwoso," I said.

  "Yes," said Cuwignaka.

  "Do you think she will make her a good maiden?" I asked.

  "Of course," said Cuwignaka.

  "Does it outrage you to see her as a female slave?" I asked.

  "She betrayed the Kaiila. No," said Cuwignaka.

  "She now returns and kneels before Iwoso, head down, handing her food."

  "That must be very pleasant for Iwoso," said Cuwignaka.

  "She does it well," I said.

  "Good," said Cuwignaka.

  "She appears to have been much beaten," I said.

  "Good," said Cuwignaka. "That will accustom her the more quickly to her new condition."


  "Do you think she will make Iwoso a good slave?" I asked.

  "I think she will make anyone a good slave," said Cuwignaka.

  "She seems to be the only red slave at the feast," I said.

  "We know there are other red slaves," said Cuwignaka. "We saw several."

  "Do you think the fact that she is the only red slave at the feast, the only one among all the white slaves, is deliberate?" I asked.

  "Of course," said Cuwignaka. "That is done to humiliate her. It is a stroke worthy of Iwoso's high intelligence."

  "You have noted, also, I suppose," I said, "that she is one of the few slaves who wears a collar and that she is the only slave, or one of the few, whose ankles are not thonged."

  "That her ankles are not thonged is intended as a further humiliation," said Cuwignaka. "That suggests that she, though red, is of even less value than a white female. In any case, of course, escape is impossible."

  "Yes," I said.

  "The collar is doubtless Iwoso's," said Cuwignaka.

  "Doubtless," I said.

  "Iwoso must have received much pleasure in secretly preparing it for her," said Cuwignaka, "and again when she first put it on her."

  "Iwoso's triumph seems complete," I said.

  "Yes," agreed Cuwignaka.

  "Look," I said.

  "I see," said Cuwignaka.

  A warrior had seized the red slave by the hair and pulled her, twisting her, to her feet. He then held her before him, bent backwards, examining the sweet bow of her beauty.

  Iwoso leaped to her feet. She shouted something, angrily, at the man. He, laughed, hurled the red slave away from him, a dozen feet away, into the dust.

  "The lance dancers are approaching," I observed.

  "Iwoso does not want the slave to learn the pleasures of men," said Cuwignaka. "Doubtless she fears it will spoil her as a serving slave for a woman."

  "She is right," I said.

  The lance dancers, then, were swirling about the fallen red slave, weaving and spinning, in spiraling, swiftly moving circles about her. Some of them merely laid the cold metal points of the lances, or the sides of the lance blades, on her flesh. Others jabbed her, dancing, with the points. She lay in the dust, her hands over her head, her knees drawn tightly up, small, shuddering and trembling, helpless under the points.