below. Another portion of the roof fell, not more than twenty feet from me.
Below, covered with sparks scarcely visible in the smoke, I saw Kurii looking
up, cheated of their prey. A beam fell, not more than a dozen fee from them.
Their leader uttered some sound to them. His eyes, blazing, looked up at me.
About his left arm was the spiral golden band. Then he, with the others, turned
abou and, swiftly shambling, some looking back, fled the hall. I sheathed my
sword. "Hurry!" cried the Forkbeard. I leaped from beam to beam to join him.
After him, I squeezed through one of the smoke holes in the roof of the burning
hall. Then we were standing on the wooden-shingled blaz lng roof of the hall of
Svein Blue Tooth. I looked up and saw the stars and moons of Gor. "Follow me,"
cried Ivar. In the distance I saw the Torvaldsberg. There was moonlight
reflecting from its snows. He sped to the northwesl corner of the hall. He
disappeared over the edge of the roof I looked over and saw him, in the
moonlight, making his way downward, hand by hand, foot by foot, using the clefts
projections and niches in the ornate carvings of the exterior corner beams of
the Blue Tooth's hall. Swiftly, my arm scorched from the fire which had torn at
my sleeve, hear pounding, breathing heavily, I followed him. Chapter 15 On the
Height of the Torvaldsberg It was noon, on the snowy slopes of the Torvaldsberg.
Ivar and I looked behind us. We could see them following, four of them, like
black dots. "Let us rest," said Ivar. I shut my eyes against the glare of the
sun on the snow. He sat down, with his back against a rock. I, too, sat down,
crosslegged, as a warrior sits. We had climbed down from the roof of the Blue
Tooth's burning hall, using the projections and relief of the ornately carved
corner beams. Climbing down, I had seen Kurii moving about, but near the front
of the hall. In the light of the burning hall, here and there, scattered in the
dirt of the courtyard, we saw sprawled, scattered bodies, and parts of bodies.
Some Kurii, squatting among them, fed. In one corner of the stockade, huddled
together, their white bodies, now stripped, red in the light of the flames, were
the bond-maids, in their leather collars, leashed, the straps in the furred
fists of their master. Several Kurii, not feeding, carrying shields, axes, moved
to and fro. We dropped to the courtyard, unseen. We slipped behind the hall,
keeping, where possible, buildings between us and the yard. We reached the
palisade, climbed to its catwalk and, unnoticed, leaped over. I opened my eyes,
and looked down into the valley. The four dots were larger now. The Forkbeard,
after our escape from the stockade of Svein Blue Tooth, had been intent upon
reaching his camp. It had been dangerous, furtive work. To our astonishment the
countryside was swarming with Kurii. I could not conJecture their numbers. There
might have been hundreds; there might have been thousands. They seemed
everywhere . Twice we were pursued, but, in the midst of the scents, and
distracted by fresh blood, our pursuers turned aside. We saw, at one point, two
Kurii fighting over a body. Sometimes we threw ourselves to the ground, among
the fallen. Once a Kur passed within a yard of my hand. It howled with pleasure
at the moons, and then was gone. As many as four or five times we crept within
yards of feeding Kurii, oblivious to our presence. The attack had been
simultaneously launched, obviously, on the hall and the surrounding thing-camps.
Even more to our astonishment than the Kurii, and their numbers, about, was the
presence of men, wearing yellow scarves, among them, men whom they did not
attack. My fists clenched in rage. Kurii, as is often the case, had enlisted
human allies. "Look," had said the Forkbeard, pointing from a height, on which
we lay prone, to the beach. Offshore, some few yards, among the other ships, lay
new ships, many of them, strange ships. They lay black, rocking, on the
sparkling water. One ship was prominent among them. It was large. It had eighty
oars. "Black Sleen," said Ivar, "the ship of Thorgard of Scagnar!" There were
hundreds of Kurii between us and the ships. Ivar and I had looked at one
another. We now understood the meaning of the Kur we had seen on Black Sleen,
long ago, who had accompanied Thorgard of Scagnar into his holding. We had seen
the beast from the darkness, from our longboat, when we were escaping Scagnar.
Thorgard's daughter hooded and secured, bound hand and foot, lying between our
feet. Kurii are land animls, not fond of water. In their march south, the fleet
of Thorgard of Scagnar would cover their western flank. More importantly, it
would give them the means of communication with the Gorean islands, and, if
desirable, a means whereby their invasion might be accomplished. The fleet,
further, could, if necessary, provision the advancing horde and, if necessary,
if danger should threaten, evacuate large portions of it. The Kurii march would
have its sea arm, its naval support. Kurii, as I have indicated, are rational
animals. The strategies seemed elementary, but sound. The full extent of the
strategy, however, I suspected, was known only on the steel worlds, the steel
worlds in space on which it had doubtless been constructed and from which,
perhaps, it might be conducted. If Kurii native to Gor could, within the laws of
Priest-K;ngs, not violating technology restrictions, much advance the Kurii
cause on the planet, those on the ships had little to lose and much to gain. It
was even possible that Priest-Kings, a usually consistent form of life, might
permit the Kurii conquest of Gor rather than surrender their accustomed
neutrality. I could imagine the words on Misk's translator, one after the other,
ticked off mechanically, "We have given our word." But if Priest-Kings,
eventually, should halt the invasion, that, too, might be of interest to the
Kurii of the steel ships, remote, prowling outside the fifth ring, that of the
planet on Earth called Jupiter, that on Gor called Hersius, after one of Ar's
legendary heroes. Not only would the decision to halt the invasion be in
violation of the practices and commitments of Priest-Kings, which would
doubtless create dissension in the Nest, producing a leverage the Kurii might be
able to exploit, but, if the invasion were halted, it being a large movement,
complex, its termination might provide useful data on the nature and disposition
of the powers of the Priest-Kings. It might provide the equivalent of drawing a
sniper'sfire, using a dupe or fool to do so, in order to ascertain his position.
In the Nest War, when the Priest-Kings had been locked in internecine warfare,
their powers had been severely reduced and disrupted. The Nest itself had been
severely damaged. I knew that ships of Priest-Kings flew, but I knew little of
their numbers, or power, or of the retained power in general of the delicate,
tall, golden masters of Gor. I thought it quite likely that they would be unable
to resist a full-scale invasion. Probes, I had learned from Misk, had become
increasingly frequent. Slave raids on Earth, I recalled, had become a matter of
course, routine. These were small matters in the scope of planetary
politics but
were indicative. In just the past few days we had encountered, even in far
Torvaldsland, two Earth females, suitably collared, Peggy Stevens of
Connecticut, Honey Cake, and the girl, Leah, of Canada. The movements of Kurii
and their allies were becoming bolder. Their boldest move had begun most
recently, the gathering of the Gorean Kurii, the initiation of the march to the
south, the incursion into lands of human habitation, the beginning of the
invasion from the north. This was the boldest and most fearful probe of the
Kurii of the ships, directed toward humans but doubtless, in fact, a testing of
the will and nature of Priest-Kings their true foes. If Priest-Kings permitted
the conquest of Gor, perhaps over a generation or two, by Kurii, they would have
lost the security of their own base; they would become an island in the midst of
a hostile sea; it would then be a matter of tirne until the end, until adequate
weaponry could be smuggled to Gor, or built upon it, to destroy them. This would
now be no simple matter of policing primitive weapons, crude attempts at the art
of gunnery or explosives, but of protecting themselves against perfected weapons
of great technological power. Sooner or later, if Gor fell to native Kurii,
those of the ships would destroy the denizens of the Sardar. Earth, too, then,
would inevitably fall. Earth was so proud. It had managed to put a handful of
men, for a few hours, on the surface of its moon. The Kurii, for more than
twenty thousand years at least, had possessed deep-space capability. Ivar had
motioned me to silence. We lay still. Within yards of us, strung out,
approaching, was a column of pairs of men, each wearing a yellow scarf Some
carried torches. Kurii were not among them. They were led by a large man in
swirling cape, and horned helmet, a bearded man. It was Thorgard of Scagnar. He,
too, tied at his shoulder, wore a yellow scarf. They passed. "Would we not move
about more freely," inquired Ivar Forkbeard, "if we, too, sported scarves of
yellow?" "It is not impossible," I said. "Let us borrow some then," suggested
he. "Very well," I agreed. Two shadows enveloped the last two men in the column
of pairs led by Thorgard of Scagnar. Ivar had thrust the yellow scarf into his
belt; I looped mine over the right shoulder, fastening it loosely at the left
hip; we left Thorgard's two men for the Kurii. In the journey to Ivar's tent a
Kur loomed before us, snarling. "Foolish beast, stupid animal," said Ivar,
brandishing his scarf, "can you not see the yellow scarf?" He then brushed past
the Kur. I felt its fur as I moved by it. It was smooth, not unpleasant to the
touch, some two inches or so in depth. Its body, beneath the fur, was hot,
large. The Kur, doubtless, could not understand Gorean. If it had it might have
slain us both. It could see the scarf, however. Reluctantly, snarling, it let us
pass it. Shortly thereafter Ivar, fists clenched, stood on the site of his camp.
The tent had been half burned, and poles were down. It was deserted. There was
no sign of life. Boxes lay about. An overturned pan lay in ashes. We saw spilled
coins. A piece of rope, cut, lay to one side. The stake, to which the chains of
the bond-maids had been fixed, had been torn from the ground. "Look," I said to
him, throwing back a part of the tent. Ivar joined me. We looked down on the
carcass of a dead Kur, its jaws opened, its eyes staring at the moons. Its head
was half cut from its body. "Some man of mine did well," said the Forkbeard.
Then he look about. "In the morning," I said, "we will be recognized as not
being of Thorgard's forces. In the morning, we will be hunted." "It is quite
possible,". said Ivar, looking at me, "that we are being hunted now, by those
from the hall." "Our scent is known," I said. "Yellow scarves will not protect
us from those from the hall." "What do you propose?" asked Ivar. "We must flee,"
I told him. "No," said Ivar. "We must go to the Torvaldsberg." "I do not
understand," I said. "It is time," he said. He looked about himself, at the
ruins of his camp. In the distance we could see buring tents. Too, in the
distance, there was a great redness in the sky. Beneath this redness blirned the
hall of Svein Blue Tooth. Far off, we could hear the howls of Kurii. "It is
time," said Ivar Forkbeard, turning away from me, "to go to the Torvaldsberg."
He strode from his camp. I followed him. It was shortly past noon, on the snowy
slopes of the Torvaldsberg. I looked down into the valley. We could not make out
clearly the lineaments of the Kurii pursuing us. They moved rapidly. They were
perhaps a pasang and a halfaway. They carried shlelds, axes. "Let us continue
our journey," said Ivar. "Shall we meet them here?" I asked ';No," said Ivar,
"let us continue our journey " I looked up at the looming crags of the
Torvaidsberg. "It is madness to attempt to climb," I said. "We do not have
ropes, equipment. Neither of us are of the mountain people I looked back. The
Kurii were now a pasang away, on the rocky, lower slopes, scrambling upward.
They had slung thelr shields and axes on their backs. When they came to a sheet
of steep ice they did not go around it but, extending thelr claws, climbed it
rapidly. The Forkbeard and I had lost several Ehn in circling such obstacles. In
snow the Kurii, spreading their large, six-digited appendages, dropped to all
fours. For their weight, they did not sink deeply. It had taken the Forkbeard
and me an Ahn, wading through crusts of snow, to reach our present position.
Kurii, it was evident, would accomplish the same distance in a much shorter
time. When snow gave way to patches of rock they would pause, momentarily,
nostrils lowered, reading signs that would have been undetectable to a human.
Then they would lift their heads, scan the rocks above them, and proceed
swiftly. Ivar Forkbeard stood up. There was no cover now for us between our
present position and the beginning of the steeper heights. Below us we heard
Kurii, seeing him, howl with pleasure. One pointed us out to a fourth who had
not yet seen us. Then all of them stood below, leaping, lifting their arms.
"They are pleased," I said. The Kurii then. with redoubled speed, began to move
toward us. "Let us continue our journey," suggested the Forkbeard. My foot
slipped, and I hung by the hands, from the rocky ledge. Then I had my footing
again. The sun struck the cliff. My fingers ached. My feet were cold from the
ice, the snow. But the upper part of my body sweated. "Move only one hand or a
foot at a time," said Ivar. It was now the twelfth hour, two Ahn past the Gorean
noon. I would not look down. A rock struck near me, shattering into the granite
of the mountain, scarring it. It must have been the size of a tarsk. Startled I
almost lost my grip. I tried to remain calm. I heard a Kur climbing below me.
The Torvaldsberg is, all things considered, an extremely dangerous mountain. Yet
it is clearly not unscalable, as I learned, without equipment. It has the shape
of a spear blade, broad, which has been bent near the tip. It is something over
four and a half pasangs in height, or something over seventeen thousand Earth
feet. It is not the highest mountain on Gor but i
t is one of the most dramatic,
and most impressive. It is also, in its fearful way, beautiful. I followed, as
closely as I could, the Forkbeard. It did not take me long to understand that he
knew well what he was dolng. He seemed to have an uncanny sense for locating
tiny ledges and cuts in the stone which were almost invisible from even two or
three feet below. Kurii are excellent climbers, well fitted for this activity
with their multiple jointed hands and feet, their long fingers, thelr suddenly
extendable claws, but they followed us, nonetheless, with difficulty. I
suspected why this was. It must have been about the fourteenth Ahn when Ivar
reached down and helped me to a ledge. I was breathing heavily. "Kurii," he
said, "cannot reach this ledge by the same route. ' "Why?" I asked. "The hand
holds," said he, "are too shallow, their weight "Hand holds?" I asked. "Yes,"
said he. "Surely you have noticed their convemence.'' I looked at him. More than
once I had almost slipped down the escarpment. "And you have noticed how they
have become shallower?" "I noticed the climbing was more difficult " I admitted.
"You seem to know the mountain well," I told him. Ivar smiled. It had been no
accident that he had seemed to have an uncanny knack for locating an ascent
path, where none seemed to promise. "You have been here before," I told him.
"Yes," he said. "As a boy I climbed the Torvaldsberg." "You spoke of hand
holds," I said. "I cut them," he said. It then seemed to me no wonder that he
had moved with such confidence on the escarpment. I had suspected earlier that
he knew the mountain, this facilitating our ascent, and that this explained why
the pursuing Kurii, natively better climbers than men, could do little better
than keep our pace, if that. I had not suspected, however, that the Forkbeard
was taking advantage of a previously wrought path, and one which, in part at
least, he had made for himself in years past. The Forkbeard leaned back,
grinning. He rubbed his hands. His fingers were cold. We heard, some sixty feet
below us, a Kur scraping with its claws on the mountain below us, feeling for
crevices or chinks. "This ledge," said the Forkbeard, "is a Kur trap. In my
youth I was hunted by a Kur in this vicinity. It had trailed me for two days. I
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