“That is the house of Flavius Minor,” said Kurik, pointing to a large, dark warehouse. It must have been seventy yards wide, and it extended back into the darkness, perhaps as far. The front of the building was some ten yards in height, suggesting that the building contained levels. Its huge gate had two leaves, and, were it opened, it would easily accommodate the passage of a double-harness tharlarion wagon. Within this larger gate, in the right leaf of the gate, as one would face the building, there was a smaller opening, a door, by means of which individuals might come and go. Near this door, to the side, on the right, as one would face the building, on the wall of the building, was a small, lidded tharlarion-oil lamp. This illuminated a flat sign under the lamp on which there was some lettering that, I supposed, identified the structure. When we approached the building more closely, I noted that there was a small, sliding panel in this door, which, if opened, would allow someone within the building to peer outward without opening the door. During the day I supposed that the larger door, the two-leaved gate, would be open, allowing access to and from the interior of the large structure. But it would not be so at night. The lamp on the wall was so situated that the would-be visitor, or whosoever might seek admittance, by means of the door, would be illuminated in its light.
Kurik hesitated some yards before the small door, and looked about.
“All seems quiet,” he said.
“And lonely,” I said.
“We may not be alone,” he said.
“I see no one,” I said.
“Nor I,” he said.
“It must be nearly time,” I said, “for the ringing of the first Ahn.”
“No,” he said, “not yet.”
“What is the nature of the package, the delivery, its contents?” I asked.
“It is a gift,” he said.
“For whom?” I asked.
“You need not know that,” he said.
“Doubtless the package is of value,” I said.
“Perhaps,” he said. “Its origin is far away, a steel world.”
He then approached the door within the right leaf of the closed gate. He looked about, again. I think he was uneasy to stand within the compass of the lamp, as small as this compass was.
Kurik rapped lightly on the door, and then stepped to the side, into the shadows.
We waited.
“Perhaps Master should knock more loudly,” I said.
“Perhaps you should be bitted,” he said.
“Forgive me, Master,” I said. I had no desire to be fastened again in that horrid device. A girl, bitted, is in no doubt she is a slave.
“A light knock is more than adequate,” he said. “One or more will be within, listening. They will have been alerted to expect a claimant.”
The small, narrow, rectangular panel slid back.
“Stand in the light,” said a voice.
Kurik stepped into the light.
“What do you want?” said the voice.
“A package has been delivered,” said Kurik, “perhaps recently. I come to claim it.”
“Many packages are delivered,” said the man. “Return in the morning. Bring your claiming disk.”
“I have no claiming disk,” said Kurik.
“How then can you claim the package?” asked the voice, narrowly.
“As the package for which there is no claiming disk,” said Kurik.
“From whence is this package?” asked the voice.
“From far away,” said Kurik.
“From farther than Torvaldsland, from farther than Schendi?” said the voice.
“Yes,” said Kurik.
“Perhaps,” said the voice.
“You are expecting me,” said Kurik.
“We are expecting someone,” said the voice.
“Admit me,” said Kurik.
“Surely, Master,” said the voice.
The panel slid shut, and the door opened partly, and Kurik slipped through.
“Not the slave,” said the voice. “Chain her outside, there is a ring.”
“And risk having her cry out?” asked Kurik.
“True,” said the voice, “there must be no noise, nothing to attract attention, nothing to stir curiosity. Better to bring her within then, where, if she dares to murmur, her throat can be cut.”
I was not pleased, nor was I reassured, in any way, to hear such a remark.
Quickly I entered, and hid myself, as I could, behind my master.
A lantern was lifted, by a second man within.
He regarded my master, carefully, saying nothing. He then turned to me and I, illuminated and before a free person, knelt, my head down.
“A paga girl,” he said, he with the lantern.
I stiffened, angrily. How dare he think of me as a paga girl!
“Yes,” said my master.
I dared not cry out.
But, surely, I thought, if my master can assume some guise, why not I? But why, I asked myself, that of a paga girl? Did my master so think of me? Did he think of me as no more than a paga girl, if that? Who could look at me, and think I was a mere paga girl? But then I realized that any master, even my master, Kurik of Victoria, might sell me so, and then I would be no more than another paga girl.
“I like paga girls,” said the fellow with the lantern. “They are hot on the end of their chain.”
“So is any slave,” said my master.
“They had better be,” laughed he with the lantern.
It was not our fault what men had done to us! Too, I hoped my master would soon touch me. How alive, and needful, I was on Gor, helpless in my collar.
“It is not a badly curved slave,” said the first fellow, he who had peered through the sliding panel.
“She will do,” said Kurik.
“Where did you get her?” asked the second fellow.
“At the Slave Whip,” said my master.
“Cheap?” he was asked.
“Of course,” he said.
I did not think such an asseveration was necessary to support our imposture.
“Follow me,” said the man with the lantern, turning, and beginning to make his way deeper into the interior of the warehouse.
I rose, unbidden, and followed the men.
The space we traversed through the center of the warehouse was muchly open, but there were many boxes, crates, and such, stacked about the walls.
“The crate to be surrendered without a claiming ticket?” said he with the lantern, leading the way.
“That is my understanding,” said Kurik.
One could not see a great deal in the light of the lantern, for the shadows about us, and above us, to the sides, but even a small light, in a darkness, may seem surprisingly bright. It would have hurt my eyes to look directly at it. I could sense darknesses about us, and above us, and sensed, on the sides, and at the back, two tiered, interior balconies, presumably leading to rooms beyond. The first balcony level could be reached by a ramp, and ladders. A similar arrangement, I supposed, characterized the second, higher balcony, beginning from the level of the first. The roof over the central area of the house was lost in shadows. To the side, against a wall, on the ground level, I saw two carts, and detected another on the first balcony. There was also, on the first balcony, and, I supposed, also on the second, though it was difficult to tell, a projecting beam, from which descended an apparatus of ropes and counterweights.
The tread of the three men, the heels of their high-laced, bootlike sandals, marked our passage in the gloom.
I was barefoot.
I had not been given sandals.
We envied those who were permitted sandals.
“It is there,” said the fellow who had admitted us, pointing to a large crate, against the back wall. The fellow with the lantern stood to the sid
e, the lantern lifted.
“It is large,” said Kurik. “I did not know it was so large.”
“Claim it,” said he who had admitted us, moving a bit to the other side.
“I would not stand so close to us, Phyllis,” said my master.
I then knelt, somewhat puzzled, uneasily, to the side.
I did not understand my master’s instruction, but it is not necessary that I do so. It is enough for a domestic beast to obey. The domestic beast does not hesitate, or question. She obeys.
The switch and whip are not pleasant.
“It has no markings,” said Kurik, peering at the crate.
“Nor has it a claiming ticket,” said he who had admitted us.
“You are sure it is the one?” asked Kurik.
“It is the one,” said he who had admitted us.
“Good,” said Kurik.
“Claim it,” said he who had admitted us.
“No,” said Kurik.
“‘No’?” asked the man.
“No,” said Kurik.
“It has been delivered,” said he who had admitted us. “It is here. That is it. Claim it.”
“I decline,” said Kurik.
“I do not understand,” said the man.
“I decline,” repeated Kurik.
“Do not try our patience, nor waste our time,” said the fellow. “If you want it, claim it. The transaction may be done in an instant.”
“Doubtless,” said Kurik.
“The house is closed,” said the man. “Claim it, or not. Do you wish to be put out? If you do not wish to claim it now, return in the morning.”
“I would not be able to do so,” said Kurik.
“Why not?” asked the fellow.
“I would not be alive in the morning,” said Kurik.
“I do not understand,” said he who had admitted us.
“I suspect you understand quite well,” said Kurik. “If you do not, seek for enlightenment from the fellows on the first balcony, doubtless employees of the house, who have crossbows trained on me.”
“You are observant,” said he who had admitted us.
“Not really,” said Kurik. “Rather, I conjecture.”
“Oh?” said he who had admitted us.
“Why else,” asked Kurik, “would you and your friend have so subtly separated yourself from me, and from what better vantage point might one fire than from the first balcony?”
“And you conjecture more than one?” said he who had admitted us.
“One might miss,” said Kurik. “To be sure, if one knows his business, one would not be likely to miss at this distance.”
“And crossbows?” asked he who had admitted us.
“It is the ready weapon, the patient weapon,” said Kurik.
“Perhaps you know the signal upon which your conjectured bowmen will fire?”
“Ela,” said Kurik, “I do not.”
“Perhaps you are in danger,” said he who had admitted us.
“It is quite possible,” said Kurik.
I looked up to the first balcony, and now detected darknesses behind the rail.
“I doubt,” said he who had admitted us, “you are the intended recipient of the package.”
“I commend your skepticism,” said Kurik. “It does you credit.”
“The intended recipient,” he said, “would by now have claimed the package.”
“I see,” said Kurik.
“The matter is one of import, which brooks no delay,” he said. “Yet you dally. Clearly then you are not the intended recipient of the package, he for whom we have been instructed to wait. So, claim the package now, friend, or I will issue the signal and, in the instant, you will have two quarrels in your back.”
“Now?” said Kurik.
“Yes,” said he who had admitted us.
“It would not be wise,” said Kurik.
“Oh?” asked he who had admitted us.
“No,” said Kurik.
Then a single, long, reverberating note rang out in the night, wrought by a mighty hammer having struck against a large, hollow, suspended metal cylinder, mounted somewhere in the center of the city, which note would be audible from the outer walls to the southern piers.
“That is the bar for the first Ahn, is it not?” said Kurik.
“It is,” said he who had admitted us.
“I claim the package,” said Kurik
“It is yours,” said he who had admitted us.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“What is this thing?” he cried.
“It is alive,” said the man. “Beware!”
The two fellows who had been stationed on the first balcony, summoned, had disarmed their weapons and joined us on the floor of the house of Flavius Minor. They had then, with tools, addressed themselves to the opening of the large crate, to which no claiming disk was to be pertinent. Board after board was pried free, to the wrenching of wood and the squeak of dislodged nails, and then, finally, freed, the panel fronting the crate was pulled away.
“What is this thing?” one had cried.
“It is alive,” had said the other. “Beware!”
“What is it?” cried he who had admitted us.
“I do not know,” said the first man.
It was hard to see within the opened crate, but something was inside, a dark shape, crouched within, at the back, in the corner to the right.
“Restore the panel, close the crate,” whispered he who had admitted us.
“No,” said Kurik.
“Arm your bows,” said he who had admitted us to the two who had now, warily, drawn back from the crate.
Feet were thrust into the weapon’s stirrup, the cable seized, and the metal leaves were drawn back, and the device was cocked. I heard two quarrels slipped into the guide. The weapons were then raised and leveled.
“Steady,” said Kurik. “Do not fire.”
“Bring the lantern closer, lift it, illuminate the interior of the crate,” said he who had admitted us.
“Ai!” cried one of the two bowmen.
“Steady,” said Kurik.
I held back a cry of alarm, for it seemed, for a moment, in the light of the lantern, that two bright, sudden, feral disks of copper blazed forth from the darkness. Then there was a whimper, and a hairy limb was raised and I could no longer see the creature’s eyes. The thing was huddled in the corner of the crate, its head down.
“Draw back the lantern,” said Kurik. “Do not hurt it. Do not frighten it.”
“It is a beast, a large, live beast,” said the fellow with the lantern. The lantern light moved about, as his hand was unsteady.
“Not so large,” said Kurik.
“A beast!” said the fellow.
“Much like a beast,” said Kurik.
“Is it dangerous?” asked he who had admitted us.
“Possibly,” said Kurik.
“Let us kill it,” said one of the men with a crossbow.
“No,” said Kurik.
“It is a Kur,” said he who had admitted us. “I once saw one. I have never forgotten it. It is a Kur.”
“What is a Kur?” asked he with the lantern.
“It is small for a Kur,” said Kurik.
“It is large enough,” said the second man with a crossbow.
“Remove your finger from the trigger of your bow,” said Kurik. “Do not release the quarrel. Let it rest. There must be no chance misfire.”
The creature in the crate lifted its head from the shelter of its arm. Again glowed the eyes like burnished copper.
I shuddered.
“A quarrel to the heart,” said the first fellow with a bow.
“Do not fire,” said Kurik. “This thing has value.”
At that
point the creature, looking up, eyes flashing, opened its jaws, angrily.
“Aii,” muttered the man with the bow.
“No,” said Kurik. He gently pushed the loaded bow to the side.
There was no mistaking the fangs, bared, white, curved, long, in that bestial maw. “It is wild,” said the fellow with a lantern.
“If it were wild,” said Kurik, “it would not be here.”
“It is a Kur,” said he who had admitted us.
“Like a Kur,” said Kurik.
“It is small for a male Kur,” said he who had admitted us. “It is a female Kur.”
“I am familiar with females of the Kurii,” said Kurik. “It is not a Kur female.”
At that point, emanating from the beast in the crate, was a stream of what, initially, I took for simple bestial noises, rude, guttural, snarling sounds, growls, and rumblings. I was reminded of what noises might be emitted by beasts of my own world, large cats, lions, lords of the African veldt, tigers, sleek and silent-footed, moving like shadows, lords in the Asian jungles, and yet these noises, alarming me, had about them an unusual modulation, an articulation, a subtlety, a delicacy, an exactness, and precision, that eerily suggested a form of speech. If a panther could speak, would it not speak thusly?
“That is Kur,” said he who had admitted us.
“Yes,” said Kurik. “It is Kur.”
“So it is a Kur,” said he who had admitted us.
“Or like a Kur,” said my master.
“I wish I had a translator,” said he who had admitted us.
“What is a translator?” asked the man with the lantern.
“This beast,” said Kurik, “has been transmitted from afar, for a particular purpose. It seems highly unlikely that it would have been committed to those who could not communicate with it, and with whom it could not communicate.”
“So?” said he who had admitted us.
“Kurii,” said Kurik, “are a dangerous, rational, technologically advanced species. They are intelligent, and cunning.”
Plunder of Gor Page 35