by John Norman
I followed the Priest-King for a long time through the passages.
For all its size it moved with a delicate, predatory grace. It was perhaps very light for its bulk, or very strong, perhaps both. It moved with a certain deliberate, stalking movement; its tread was regal and yet it seemed almost dainty, almost fastidious; it was almost as if the creature did not care to soil itself by contact with the floor of the passage.
It walked on four extremely long, slender, four-jointed stalks that were its supporting legs, and carried its far more muscular, four-jointed grasping legs, or appendages, extremely high, almost level with its jaw, and in front of its body. Each of these grasping appendages terminated in four much smaller, delicate hooklike prehensile appendages, the tips of which normally touched one another. I would learn later that in the ball at the end of its forelegs from which the smaller prehensile appendages extended, there was a curved, bladed, hornlike structure that could spring forward; this happens spontaneously when the leg’s tip is inverted, a motion which at once exposes the hornlike blade and withdraws the four prehensile appendages into the protected area beneath it.
The Priest-King halted before what appeared to be a blind wall.
He lifted one foreleg high over his head and touched something high in the wall which I could not see.
A panel slid back and the Priest-King stepped into what seemed to be a closed room.
I followed him, and the panel closed.
The floor seemed to drop beneath me and my hand grasped my sword.
The Priest-King looked down at me and the antennae quivered as though in curiosity.
I resheathed my sword.
I was in an elevator.
***
After perhaps four or five minutes the elevator stopped and the Priest-King and I emerged.
The Priest-King rested back on the two posterior supporting appendages and with a small cleaning hook behind the third joint of one of his forelegs began to comb his antennae.
“These are the tunnels of Priest-Kings,” it said.
I looked about meand found myself on a high, railed platform, overlooking a vast circular artificial canyon, lined with bridges and terraces. In the depths of this canyon and on the terraces that mounted its sides were innumerable structrues, largely geometrical solids – cones, cylinders, lofty cubes, domes, spheres and such – of various sizes, colours and illuminations, many of which were windowed and possessed of numerous floors, some of which even towered to the level of the platform where I stood, some of which soared even higher into the lofty reaches of the vast dome that arched over the canyon like a stone sky.
I stood on the platform, my hands clenched on the railing, staggered by what I saw.
The light of energy bulbs set in the walls and in the dome like stars shed a brilliant light on the entire canyon.
“This,” said the Priest-King, still grooming the golden hairs of his antennae, “is the vestibule of our dominion.”
From my position on the platform I could see numerous tunnels at many levels leading out of the canyon, perhaps to other such monstrous cavities, filled with more structures.
I wondered what would be the function of the structures, probably barracks, factories, storehouses.
“Notice the energy bulbs,” said the Priest-King. “They are for the benefit of certain species such as yourself. Priest – Kings do not need them.”
“Then there are creatures other than Priest-Kings who live here,” I said.
“Of course,” it replied.
At that moment to my horror a large, perhaps eight feet long and a yard high, multilegged, segmented arthropod scuttled near, its eyes weaving on stalks.
“It’s harmless,” said the Priest-King.
The arthropod stopped and the eyes leaned toward us and then its pincers clicked twice.
I reached for my sword.
Without turning it scuttled backwards away, its body plates rustling like plastic armour.
“See what you have done,” said the Priest-King. “You have frightened it.”
My hand left the sword hilt and I wiped the sweat from my palm on my tunic.
“They are timid creatures,” said the Priest-King, “and I am afraid they have never been able to accustom themselves to the sight of your kind.”
The Priest-King’s antennae shuddered a bit as they regarded me.
“Your kind is terribly ugly,” it said.
I laughed, not so much because I supposed what it said was absurd, but because I supposed that, from the viewpoint of a Priest-King, what it said might well be true.
“It is interesting,” said the Priest-King. “What you have just said does not translate.”
“It was a laugh,” I said.
“What is a laugh?” asked the Priest-King.
“It is something men sometimes do when they are amused,” I said.
The creature seemed puzzled.
I wondered to myself. Perhaps men did not much laugh in the tunnels of the Priest-Kings and it was not accustomed to this human practice. Or perhaps a Priest-King simply could not understand the notion of amusement, it being perhaps genetically removed from his comprehension. Yet I said to myself the Priest-Kings are intelligent and I found it difficult to believe there could exist an intelligent race without humour.
“I think I understand,” said the Priest-King. “It is like shaking and curling your antennae?”
“Perhaps,” I said, now more puzzled than the Priest-King.
“How stupid I am,” said the Priest-King.
And then to my amazement the creature, resting back on its posterior appendages, began to shake, beginning at its abdomen and continuing upward through its trunk to its thorax and head and at last its antennae began to tremble and, curling, they wrapped about one another.
Then the Priest-King ceased to rock and its antennae uncurled, almost reluctantly I thought, and it once again rested quietly back on its posterior appendages and regarded me.
Once again it addressed itself to the patient, meticulous combing of its antennae hairs.
Somehow I imagined it was thinking.
Suddenly it stopped grooming its antennae and the antennae looked down at me.
“Thank you,” it said, “for not attacking me in the elevator.”
I was dumbfounded.
“You’re welcome,” I said.
“I did not think anaesthesia would be necessary,” it said.
“It would have been foolish to attack you,” I said.
“Irrational, yes,” agreed the Priest-King, “but the lower orders are often irrational.
“Now,” it said, “I may still look forward someday to the Pleasures of the Golden Beetle.”
I said nothing.
“Sarm thought the anaesthesia would be necessary,” it said.
“Is Sarm a Priest-King?” I asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Then a Priest-King may be mistaken,” I said. This seemed to me significant, far more significant than the mere fact that a Priest-King might not understand a human laugh.
“Of course,” said the creature.
“Could I have slain you?” I asked.
“Possibly,” said the creature.
I looked over the rail at the marvellous complexity which confronted me.
“But it would not have mattered,” said the Priest-King.
“No?” I asked.
“No,” it said. “Only the Nest matters.”
My eyes still did not leave the dominion which lay below me. Its diameter might have been ten pasangs in width.
“This is the Nest?” I asked.
“It is the beginning of the Nest,” said the Priest-King.
“What is your name?” I asked.
“Misk,” it said.
Chapter Eleven
SARM THE PRIEST-KING
I turned from the railing to observe the great ramp which for pasangs in a great spiral approached the platform on which I stood.
Another Pr
iest-King, mounted on a low, oval disk which seemed to slide up the ramp, was approaching.
The new Priest-King looked a great deal like Misk, save that he was larger. I wondered if men of my species would have difficulty telling Priest-Kings apart. I would later learn to do so easily but at first I was often confused. The Priest-Kings themselves distinguish one another by scent but I, of course, would do so by eye.
The oval disk glided to within some forty feet of us, and the golden creature which had ridden it stepped delicately to the ramp.
It approached me, its antennae scrutinising me carefully. Then it backed away perhaps some twenty feet.
It seemed to me much like Misk except in size.
Like Misk it wore no clothing and carried no weapons, and its only accoutrement was a translator which dangled from its neck.
I would learn later that in scent it wore its rank, caste and station as clearly on its body as an officer in one of the armies of Earth might wear his distinguishing braid and metal bars.
“Why has it not been anaesthetised?” asked the new creature, training its antennae on Misk.
“I did not think it would be necessary,” said Misk.
“It was my recommendation that it be anaesthetised,” said the newcomer.
“I know,” said Misk.
“This will be recorded,” said the newcomer.
Misk seemed to shrug. His head turned, his laterally opening jaws opened and closed slowly, his shoulders rustled and the two antennae twitched once as though in irritation, and then idly they began to examine the roof of the dome.
“The Nest was not jeopardised,” came from Misk’s translator.
The newcomer’s antennae were now trembling, perhaps with anger.
It turned a knob on its own translator and in a moment the air was filled with the sharp odours of what I take might have been a reprimand. I heard nothing for the creature had snapped off his translator.
When Misk replied he too turned off his translator.
I observed their antennae and the general posturing and carriage of their long, graceful bodies.
They stalked about one another and some of their motions were almost whiplike. Upon occasion, undoubtedly as a sign of irritation, the tips of the forelegs were inverted, and I caught my first glimpse of the bladed, hornlike structures therein concealed.
I would learn to interpret the emotions and states of Priest – Kings by such signs. Many of these signs would be far less obvious than the ones now displayed in the throes of anger. Impatience, for example, is often indicated by a trembling in the tactile hair on the supporting appendages, as though the creature could not wait to be off; a wandering of attention can be shown by the unconscious movement of the cleaning hooks from behind the third joints of the forelegs, suggesting perhaps the creature is thinking of grooming, an occupation in which Priest-Kings, to my mind, spend an inordinate amount of time; I might note, however, in deference to them, that they consider humans a particularly unclean animal and in the tunnels normally confine them for sanitary purposes to carefully restricted areas; the subtlety of these signs might well be illuminated if the indications for a wandering of attention, mentioned above, are contrasted with the superficially similar signs which give evidence that a Priest-King is well or favourably disposed toward another Priest-King, or other creature of any type. In this case there is again the unconscious movement of the cleaning hooks but there is in addition an incipient, but restrained, extension of the forelegs in the direction of the object toward which the Priest-King is well disposed; this suggests to me that the Priest-King is willing to put its cleaning hooks at the disposal of the other, that he is willing to groom it. This may become more comprehensible when it is mentioned that Priest-Kings, with their cleaning hooks, their jaws and their tongues, often groom one another as well as themselves. Hunger, incidentally, is indicated by an acidic exudate which forms at the edges of the jaws giving them a certain moist appearance; thirst, interestingly enough, is indicated by a certain stiffness in the appendages, evident in their movements, and by a certain brownish tarnish that seems to infect the gold of the thorax and abdomen. The most sensitive indicators of mood and attention, of course, as you would probably gather, are the motions and tensility of the antennae.
The translator, incidentally, supposing it to be turned on, would provide only the translation of what was said, and the words, unless the volume control was manipulated during the message, would always occur at the same sound level. An analogue to listening to a translator would be to imagine words as pictures which, in the same type face and size, flash serially on a screen. There would be no clue in the individual pictures, per se, of the rhythm of the language or the mood of the speaker. The translator can tell you that the speaker is angry but it cannot show you that he is angry.
After a minute or two the Priest-Kings stopped circling one another and turned to face me. As one creature, they turned on their translators.
“You are Tarl Cabot of the City of Ko-ro-ba,” said the larger.
“Yes,” I said.
“I am Sarm,” it said, “beloved of the Mother and First Born.”
“Are you the leader of the Priest-Kings?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Sarm.
“No,” said Misk.
Sarm’s antennae darted in Misk’s direction.
“Greatest in the Nest is the Mother,” said Misk.
Sarm’s antennae relaxed. “True,” said Sarm.
“I have much to speak of with Priest-Kings,” I said. “If the one whom you call the Mother is chief among you, I wish to see her.”
Sarm rested back on his posterior appendages. His antennae touched one another in a slightly curling movement. “None may see the Mother save her caste attendants and the High Priest-Kings,” said Sarm, “the First, Second, Third, Fourth and Fifth Born.”
“Except on the three great holidays,” said Misk.
Sarm’s antennae twitched angrily.
“What are the three great holidays?” I asked.
“The Nest Feast Cycle,” said Misk, “Tola, Tolam and Tolama.”
“What are these feasts?” I asked.
“They are the Anniversary of the Nuptial Flight,” said Misk, “the Feast of the Deposition of the First Egg and the Celebration of the Hatching of the First Egg.”
“Are these holidays near?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Misk.
“But,” said Sarm, “even on such feasts none of the lower orders may view the Mother – only Priest-Kings.”
“True,” said Misk.
Anger suffused my countenance. Sarm seemed not to notice this change but Misk’s antennae perked up immediately. Perhaps it had had experience with human anger.
“Do not think badly of us, Tarl Cabot,” said Misk, “for on the holidays those of the lower orders who labour for us – be it even in the pastures or fungus trays – are given surcease from their labours.”
“The Priest-Kings are generous,” I said.
“Do the men below the mountains do as much for their animals?” asked Misk.
“No,” I said. “But men are not animals.”
“Are men Priest-Kings?” asked Sarm.
“No,” I said.
“Then they are animals,” said Sarm.
I drew my sword and faced Sarm. The motion was extremely rapid and must have startled him.
At any rate Sarm leaped backward on his jointed, stalklike legs with almost incredible speed.
He now stood almost forty feet from me.
“If I cannot speak to the one you call the Mother,” I said, “perhaps I can speak to you.”
I took a step towards Sarm.
Sarm pranced angrily backward, his antennae twitching with agitation.
We faced one another.
I noticed the tips of his forelegs were inverted, unsheathing the two curved, hornlike blades which reposed there.
We watched one another carefully.
From behind me I heard the mec
hanical voice of Misk’s translator: “But she is the Mother,” it said, “and we of the Nest are all her children.”
I smiled.
Sarm saw that I did not intend to advance further and his agitation decreased, although his general attitude of awareness was not relaxed.
It was at this time that I first saw how Priest-Kings breathed, probably because Sarm’s respiratory movements were now more pronounced than they had been hitherto. Muscular contractions in the abdomen take place with the result that air is sucked into the system through four small holes on each side of the abdomen, the same holes serving also as exhalation vents. Usually the breathing cycle, unless one is quite close and listens carefully, cannot be heard, but in the present case I could hear quite clearly from a distance of several feet the quick intake of air through the eight tiny, tubular mouths in Sarm’s abdomen, and its almost immediate expellation through the same apertures.
Now the muscular contractions in Sarm’s abdomen became almost unnoticeable and I could no longer hear the evidence of his respiratory cycle. The tips of his forelegs were no longer inverted, with the result that the bladed structures had disappeared and the small, four-jointed, hooklike prehensile appendages were again fully visible. Their tips delicately touched one another. Sarm’s antennae were calm.
He regarded me.
He did not move.
I would never find myself fully able to adjust to the incredible stillness with which a Priest-King can stand.
He reminded me vaguely of the blade of a golden knife.
Suddenly Sarm’s antennae pointed at Misk. “You should have anaesthetised it,” he said.
“Perhaps,” said Misk.
For some reason this hurt me. I felt that I had betrayed Misk’s trust in me, that I had behaved as a not fully rational creature, that I had behaved as Sarm had expected me to.
“I’m sorry,” I said to Sarm, resheathing my sword.
“You see,” said Misk.
“It’s dangerous,” said Sarm.
I laughed.
“What is that?” asked Sarm, lifting his antennae.
“It is shaking and curling its antennae,” said Misk.
On the receipt of this information Sarm did not shake nor did his antennae curl; rather the bladelike structures snapped out and back, and his antennae twitched in irritation. I gathered one did not shake and curl one’s antennae at Priest – Kings.