Plunder of Gor

by Norman, John;

  “They are armed,” said Kurik. “We will be unable to reach our weapons. We will be cut down. We have no weapons.”

  “But we do have a weapon,” said Lord Grendel, “a most fearsome weapon, one that I, in their place, would not care to encounter, particularly on this narrow field of battle.”

  I saw no ax, no staff, no club, not even a knife, in the grasp of Lord Grendel. Again I feared our predicament might have disordered his mind.

  “You will please follow behind me,” said Lord Grendel to Kurik, “and, if possible, retrieve your bow. It may deter those behind. And you, dear, beautiful Eve, and you, Phyllis, pretty collared barbarian, follow us, and wish us well.”

  “And where, dear friend, is your weapon?” asked Kurik.

  “We will approach them at great speed, violent speed,” said Lord Grendel, “and beware the compass of my weapon, the spinning hurricane I will hold in my hands. Should it strike you you would be swept a hundred feet from the bridge.”

  “Ai!” said Kurik, softly.

  Lord Grendel reached down to the floor of the bridge and lifted up the heavy linkage of the chain that had lain, looped, seemingly discarded, at his feet. As it had held Lyris, it might, as well, have held a dozen male Kurii. I now realized that it had not been simply cast aside, as I had thought, but, in its looping, had been fashioned into a long, heavy cordage of iron, like a mountain’s necklace, a necklace set with stones of iron, shackles, manacles, and the collar. This length he doubled, so that two strands hung together.

  “You feared treachery,” said Kurik.

  “I know Lord Agamemnon,” said Lord Grendel.

  He then, with a wild cry, which I feared was a war cry of Kurii, the great chain spinning about, hissing in the air, almost invisible, a blur in the morning sky, rushed upon his startled foes.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  The great cry that had rent the morning air, as Lord Grendel had rushed upon his foes, terrified me, in its sudden, unexpected, thunderous loudness, in its nearness, in its might and bestiality. For a moment afterwards it seemed I could hear nothing, as though lightning had struck near me, shattering a roof or tree, so frightening and deafening had been the sound. Too, I could not move, surely for an Ihn or two, for the moment in which I heard that cry, so close, and wild, I was shocked, paralyzed, immobile, frozen in place, despite the obvious need to hurry in his wake. Would not such a cry, as the roar of the larl, startle and momentarily immobilize a quarry, or foe, allowing for the rapid, unchallenged advance, the strike or pounce, of the predator, the assailant? I suspected it was an ancient cry, such as might well have antedated the working of metals, a cry that might have first been heard on a far world, one perhaps now destroyed or sterile, a cry that might have rung out in primitive, brutal combat, in small, isolated wars, fought between small groups with sharpened poles and stakes, with clubs and cast rocks.

  I was almost pulled off my feet as Eve swept by and seized me, half dragging me behind Lord Grendel and Kurik. I heard bestial cries, too, from behind us, and a scratching of claws on the bridge’s surface. Surely those behind us had now expedited their pace! The Kur is not only larger and more agile than a human but it can, for a short distance, outrun a human. It tends, however, unless trained, to have less stamina than a human. When not encumbered it falls to all fours and races on its feet and the knuckles of its forelimbs. It is, for short distances, capable of remarkable bursts of speed. Those about now, however, were armed, with axes, and thus could not use all their limbs in their running. The weight of the axes, too, and the great hafts, must militate against speed. Too, those behind had been climbing the arch of the bridge, a climb that would, I supposed, take its toll of wind and muscle. It is likely that humans, or their predecessors, after the loss of the forests, were pack hunters, who might pursue and harry a prey for pasangs, until it collapsed, exhausted, and the pack would close in for the kill. Much was doubtless learned from the wolf, with which species, and its scions, humans would form their bond of thousands of years.

  The great chain, in its air-lacerating hiss, like a hurtling flail, an almost invisible scythe, each link an ax, struck two Kurii from the bridge, plunging, twisting, through the air, howling, to the street far below, and the four others fell back upon themselves, jumbled, half-fallen, impeding one another, and the chain lashed down on them, again and again, like fierce, black lightning and limbs were broken, and a head crushed. I was barely aware of Kurik, on hands and knees, crawling toward the weapons he and Lord Grendel had left on the bridge before advancing to the rendezvous. It was over these that the Kurii had taken their stand. Lord Grendel spun about. “Down!” cried Eve, and pulled me to the surface of the bridge. Lord Grendel, the chain dangling in his grasp, was regarding the Kurii who had been approaching from behind. They were now within five or six yards of us. Lord Grendel snarled. The chain hung easily in his grasp. He was breathing heavily. Clearly the pursuers had taken caution from what they could make of what had just occurred on the bridge. Their hitherto rapid pace had been arrested, abruptly. Lord Grendel turned back, seemingly to see the three remaining of the six who had held the bridge before us. Eve cried out in dismay but I think, truly, that Lord Grendel’s apparent lapse of attention to those who had been behind us was not what it had seemed, given his swift turn, which preceded Eve’s outcry, to face the Kur scrambling forward, from those behind, ax raised. The charging Kur was struck fully on the side of the neck by that storm of chain, and I screamed for the headless body, blood pumped by that mighty heart showering into the air, staggered toward us, two, and then three, steps, paws outstretched, and then fell before Lord Grendel, who swept the trunk through the blood with one huge, clawed foot, to the edge of the bridge, and then tumbled it over the edge. He then turned about, again, quickly, but of the three only one seemed a likely foe. One was clearly crippled, and must support his body with one foot, and his paws, his right leg useless, and another’s arm flopped uselessly at his side. Neither had his ax. “I will watch!” called Kurik, who had now retrieved his bow, had drawn the cable, and fitted a quarrel to the guide. The bolt of such a weapon, whether metal or wood, well-lodged, can fell a Kur as easily as a man. The leader of the six who had followed us, now five, lowered his ax, and called out, in Kur. A brief exchange took place in Kur. “What is going on?” I asked Eve. “Leave is asked to pause, to negotiate,” said Eve. “Wait,” she said. “Grendel requests that the minion of Lord Agamemnon activate his translator, that his ally, the human, Kurik, may be apprised of what occurs.” I shortly thereafter saw the hand, or paw, of the Kur move to the translator. “It is only a human,” came from the translator. “But,” responded Lord Grendel, “it is a human armed, and a human armed is a human who must be reckoned with.” “As you wish,” came from the Kur’s translator. “Speak,” said Lord Grendel. “I am authorized,” said the Kur, “to accept your oath, on behalf of Lord Agamemnon. Put down your weapon, advance unarmed, and swear.” “And then perish beneath five axes,” said Lord Grendel. “No,” said the other. “Surely not.” “Lord Agamemnon is generous,” said Lord Grendel. “As always,” said the Kur. “Were such an offer authentic,” said Lord Grendel, “it would have been tendered at the time of the exchange, by the officer, Surtak.” “We are six,” said the Kur, “five here, one behind you. You are one.” “Before,” said Lord Grendel, “you were twelve.” “If you care for those with you,” said the Kur, “the two humans, and the monster, surrender.” “I do care for them,” said Lord Grendel, “and thus I decline to surrender.” “Then,” said the Kur, “you leave me no choice.” “You are mistaken,” said Lord Grendel, “it is you who leave me no choice.” “I do not understand,” said the Kur. With a wild cry Lord Grendel, the chain aflight, was upon the Kurii. Eve clutched me, and looked away, and I buried my head in her fur. I heard cries of pain, and war, both ahead of us and behind us. There had been five Kurii behind us, those who had been approaching, but when I dared to look, the bridge was clear o
f bodies, save for one inert body, which I saw Lord Grendel, snarling, thrust from the bridge. “I am afraid of him,” said Eve. “He is Kur, Kur.” I rose to my feet. Kurik was standing, his bow discharged. “Master?” I asked. He faced three bodies, two were severed asunder, and the third lay on its back, just the metal fins of a quarrel visible in his chest. “The crippled two, I think,” said Kurik, “were ordered to attack, but either refused to do so, or were unable to do so. The third then put them to the ax.” “It is the Kur way,” said Eve, shuddering. “Kurii have no place in their dens for the old, the weak, the ill, the useless.” “Well done,” said Lord Grendel, coming up behind us. “One is unlikely to miss at this range,” said Kurik. Lord Grendel then approached Eve, who shrank back. He touched her with great tenderness. “Are you all right?” he asked. “You are Kur,” she said. “I saw.” “I am Grendel,” he said. “You are Eve. We are what we are.”

  “I am afraid of you,” said Eve.

  “I would die for you,” he said.

  “I am still afraid of you,” she said.

  “Would you prefer for me to pretend to be what I am not?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, “but I am still afraid.”

  Lord Grendel then, the chain in its two loops, in one hand, or paw, went to the three bodies left on the bridge.

  One after another he thrust them from the bridge.

  “Would Master similarly die for Phyllis?” I asked.

  “Do not be ridiculous,” he said. “Phyllis is a slave. One would be better advised to die for an urt.”

  “Perhaps Master cares for Phyllis, a little,” I said.

  “I shall try to make it as little as possible,” he said.

  “Then a little?” I said.

  “No,” he said. “I have rethought the matter. Not even a little.”

  “I see,” I said. I recalled he had put me behind him, before advancing, shielding me, averring that I would only be subjected to a change of collar, at least if men were to be amongst the pursuers.

  “Phyllis is worthless,” he said. “That was clear even on the Slave World.”

  “Yet,” I said, “it seems Phyllis was not without interest to Master, even on the Slave World.”

  “Perhaps Phyllis would like to be lashed again,” he said.

  “No, Master,” I said.

  “But Phyllis, as others of her sort, has her uses,” he said.

  “Perhaps Phyllis then,” I said, “as others of her sort, may hope to be soon put to one or more of her uses.”

  “We shall see,” he said.

  “The way is clear,” said Lord Grendel, calling to us. “Let us be on our way.”

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  “The matter has come to hiatus,” said Drusus Andronicus.

  “Our good will was evidenced by the return of the prisoner, the Lady Alexina, to Decius Albus,” said Kurik.

  “And ours,” said Drusus Andronicus, “by the sparing of the house of Epicrates, and the cessation, however temporary, of hostilities.”

  “You come in the name of truce,” said Kurik.

  “That is my understanding,” said Master Drusus.

  “Perhaps you can clarify matters,” said Kurik.

  “As I can,” said Master Drusus. “I am not privy to the secret councils of Decius Albus and the—others.”

  I suspected Master Drusus might have said ‘beasts’ but refrained, as Lord Grendel and Eve were present. We were in the apartment over the shop of Epicrates. Master Drusus sat cross-legged, in converse with Kurik and Lord Grendel. The Lady Bina, well robed, but unveiled, for she did not much care for veils, apparently suspecting they obscured her beauty, although, of course, some veils, in their way, suggest, and even enhance, beauty, knelt modestly near Lord Grendel, her knees closely together, as those of a free woman, and Eve, in lovely harnessing, in four colors, crouched close by his side, one of her hands, or paws, touching his fur. I had poured the wine, serving my master first, which is to be done unless one is instructed otherwise, and then the guest, Drusus Andronicus, and then the Lady Bina. Lord Grendel and Eve, the Lady Eve, I supposed, though she did not care for that form of address, declined to drink. Lord Grendel seldom drank, and only then in small portions. This may well have been wise. I think he feared to drink, being aware apparently of the powerful and possibly dangerous effect alcohol might have in his form of life, or that of a Kur, and Eve followed his lead. I made it a point, as was proper, not to meet the eyes of the guest, and I made certain I poured his wine no differently than I had the wine of the others. This manner of serving is common. The girl does not know, of course, whether or not she will be made available to the guest. That is at the discretion of the master. If a guest is to stay overnight in a large house, he is almost certain to be offered a slave for the night, of which convenience he is expected to avail himself. At an inn, of course, there is a charge for the slave, as for the food, as for the bed, or mat. In a small house an overnight guest may, as a gesture of courtesy or hospitality, be offered the use of a slave, but he will commonly, while expressing his appreciation of his host’s generosity, politely decline to accept the offer. This is less because he might have his own slave, or slaves, in attendance, and more because he is well aware that the master’s offer is likely to be little more than an exercise in etiquette, a mere concession to social proprieties. Many Gorean masters, of a single slave, or a small number of slaves, prefer to reserve the pleasures of their properties to themselves. It is my impression that many Gorean masters, despite professions to the contrary, tend to be covetous, possessive, and jealous where their slaves are concerned. They want them all to themselves, even to the sword and knife. Perhaps this is selfish, perhaps it is something else altogether. Few free women comprehend how much a slave may be desired, how much she may be wanted. Strange how a fine, strong man can be so fond of a mere collared animal. How they want to keep their collars on them! How they want to own them! What joy is theirs, having their slave at their feet! But even were Drusus Andronicus staying the night, I suspected my master might not offer me to him, even were this to constitute an obvious infringement of the canons of hospitality. To be sure, if I were offered to a guest, and the guest accepted the offer, or if I were ordered to serve a guest, I would have to obey. I must do so. I was marked and collared. I was a slave. When not serving, I knelt back, unobtrusively. I even knelt farther away than custom would prescribe. Drusus Andronicus, doubtless in view of the innocuous nature, the prosaic sociality, of this meeting, had brought a slave with him, who knelt unobtrusively, to be sure, but a bit closer to him than I would have supposed customary, Paula. She smiled at me, from time to time. I loved her. How pleased I was that she knew nothing of my attempt to seduce Drusus Andronicus. Yet I was troubled, as well, for I knew of it, and I felt guilty, and terribly ashamed. But at least she had no idea of what I had done. The collar on her neck, of course, was that of Decius Albus. I suspected she would have preferred the collar of another.

  “What brings about this hiatus?” inquired Kurik.

  “Practicality, I gather,” said Drusus Andronicus. “Surtak does not wish to risk more minions. Twelve died in the business of the Sleen’s Back Bridge. Decius Albus does not wish to commit several men to an attack that might occasion attention in Ar, and lead the Ubar to inquire into the nature of the matter. What has Decius Albus to do with beasts, if I may use the expression, or beasts with the state of Ar? Might not the disclosure of certain secrets invite banishment, a denial of bread, salt, and fire, if not impalement? And we expect you will find the proposal of a hiatus congenial, for your associates are vulnerable, the Lady Bina, and perhaps others.”

  “Can you understand my Gorean?” inquired Lord Grendel, who had not spoken until now.

  “I shall try,” said Drusus Andronicus. “And I am sure others will be of assistance, if needed.”

  “I will now speculate,” said Lord Grende
l, “on the motivation of what you speak of as the ‘hiatus’.”

  “Please do so,” said Drusus Andronicus. “Your speculations may be more sound than mine, more honest than the explanations delivered to me.”

  “I acknowledge the vulnerability of my associates,” said Lord Grendel. “That is granted. On the other hand, Gor is large, a world, much of it unknown, and what is concealed, while perhaps vulnerable, is in little danger if it cannot be located.”

  “To live in hiding, fearing each footstep, each shadow,” said Drusus Andronicus, “is scarcely pleasant.”

  “I have acknowledged the vulnerability of my associates,” said Lord Grendel, “but I beg to submit that vulnerabilities are scarcely restricted to my associates. For example, with a single bite I could now tear the head from your body.”

  “No!” cried Paula.

  “Be silent!” snapped Drusus Andronicus.

  “Yes, Master,” she whispered.

  Eve shrank back, away from Lord Grendel.

  “But I have no intention of doing so,” he said, “at the moment.”

  “I am pleased to be in receipt of that intelligence,” said Drusus Andronicus.

  “Besides,” said Kurik, “we have sipped wine together, here, at this table, this afternoon.”

  It was true that the free humans had done so. Lord Grendel and Eve, as noted earlier, had refrained. As suggested, their abstinence, under the circumstances, was not intended to be, nor was it regarded as, a slight.

  “That is true,” said Drusus Andronicus. “It would be an egregious breach of hospitality.”

  “Also,” said Lord Grendel, “I can move in the night, with stealth, in dark pathways, across roofs. I can tear a door off its hinges.”

  “I shall inform Decius Albus,” said Drusus Andronicus.

  “One might die now, and another then, and another later, and so on,” said Lord Grendel.