Norman, John - Gor 09 - Marauders of Gor.txt

by Marauders of Gor [lit]

  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