When we had rushed forth, crowded together, fearing the irons, it had taken us but a moment to register, and react to, the carnage into which we had been introduced. The grass here and there had been soaked with blood, and parts of verr, organs and limbs, skin and heads, were scattered about the field. Half-eaten bodies lay about. One Kur regarded us, a trembling, bleeding verr hanging from its jaws. I fear I was not the only kajira who screamed in fear and misery.
At the height of the tiers, on a separate platform, raised above the last tier, there was a helmeted fellow in the garb of the House of a Hundred Corridors, who stood near a stand on which there was fixed a large trumpet.
It was that trumpet, I supposed, that had emitted the blast that had initiated the games, if one might so refer to them.
I saw, on the field, rather toward the house, not far from where we had entered the field, chained to a stake, by hands, body, and legs, my master, Kurik of Victoria.
Distraught, miserable, sobbing, I ran to him. I shook the chains, and pulled at them, but I could not undo the locks.
“Why are you not kneeling?” he inquired. “Surely you know you are in the presence of a free person.”
I ran about, before him.
“Surely you know that can be cause for discipline,” he said.
“Master!” I wailed, in misery, putting my head to his chest.
“For discipline,” he said.
“Master, Master!” I wept.
“Do you think you are a free woman?” he said.
“No, Master!” I said. I flung myself to my knees before him. “Forgive me, Master!” I said.
“You look well there,” he said. “You always looked well there.”
“It is where I belong,” I wept.
“And others,” he said.
“No!” I said. “I, only I!”
“Many have knelt there,” he said.
“I love you!” I cried.
“A slave’s love is worthless,” he said.
“No!” I said. “The love of a slave is the fullest, the deepest, the most helpless of all loves! No love can compare with the love of a slave!”
“Do you wish to be cuffed?” he asked.
“Forgive me, Master,” I said, “but I think I am in little danger of that at the moment.”
“I often thought you might prove to be a perceptive slave,” he said. “One is always pleased to encounter intelligence in a beast, particularly in one whose flanks are of interest.”
“What can I do?” I begged, suddenly, looking up at him.
“I do not know,” he said. “If something should occur to you, let me know.”
“Please, Master,” I said. “Do not be frivolous with your slave.”
“How can one better approach the Cities of Dust,” he said, “than with a light step and a laugh on one’s lips?”
“I shall plead on your behalf,” I said. “I shall plead with Master Albus.”
“Do not be absurd,” he said. “That would avail nothing.”
“Nonetheless!” I said.
“That would make the victory theirs,” he said.
“Surely it is already theirs,” I said.
“No,” he said. “How I die is mine.”
“I shall plead,” I said, and made to rise.
“You have not been given permission to rise,” he said.
Frightened, I sank back to my knees.
“Master!” I wept.
“Do not demean me,” he said, and in such a voice that I trembled.
“Forgive me,” I said.
“Poor Phyllis,” he said. “You know so little of this world and its ways.”
“There is Lord Grendel,” I said.
“There is nothing he can do,” he said. “Let us hope he can make it away, safely.”
“I do not understand all this,” I said. “What is going on? Where is Surtak? Why was the hiatus terminated? What has Master Albus to gain by this madness?”
“Much,” he said. “He wishes to redeem himself in the eyes of the Kurii. In the absence of Lord Agamemnon, he wishes to achieve the coup left undone, the recruitment or demise of Lord Grendel, a feat by which he would hope to regain the approbation of Lord Agamemnon. Accordingly, he took it upon himself to end the hiatus. To do this he must supplant Surtak, by which victory he would hope to clear the way for his scheme, and win prestige and power amongst such disaffected Kurii as hope to profit from the reduction or fall of Surtak.”
I reached wildly, foolishly, to the chains at his legs, and tried to pull them loose.
“Poor Phyllis,” he said. “Do not concern yourself with me. Be done with fearing for me. If you would fear, fear for yourself. Look about you. Your collar, such a lovely shield from men, who would own you, will not protect you here. Decius Albus is desperate to please his dark allies. Do you think they care for kajirae? Consider the verr, and their remains. That is only a prelude, to whet the appetites of the beasts. Who knows how long it has been since they have fed in the ways they most wish to feed, and feed to their fill, on abundant, living, bloody meat, either on a steel world or here, on verdant Gor? You and the others, I fear, have been brought forth for Kur feeding, and Kur sport, as much as the eviscerated, shredded verr.”
I shuddered. The other kajirae were huddled together, near the door through which they had been herded into the fearful open. How forlorn they looked, small, frightened, and lost. Some knelt, others held to one another.
“I should have left you on your former world,” he said.
“No, Master,” I said. “On this world I have been collared, I have served, I have lived.”
“I wish you well,” he said.
“No, no!” I cried. “Tal, tal, greetings, always greetings!”
“I fear the trumpet is to be blown,” he said.
“Master!” I wept.
“Wait!” he said. “The noble Decius Albus must have his moment! He rises, if unsteadily.”
Turning about, toward the stands, I saw Master Albus get to his feet. He was assisted by Drusus Andronicus.
“Paga!” he called to a soldier, who hurried to fetch him a goblet of the fiery, amber brew.
Shortly thereafter, the vessel in his hand, he called out, “To glorious Ar,” and then drank. “To Glorious Ar,” said the men in the stands, and soldiers about. He then called out, “May she soon have a Ubar worthy of her throne, worthy of her glory!”
“Yes, yes!” called some in the stands, but most paused, and exchanged glances.
“He speaks dangerously,” said Kurik. “I did not know his ambition soared so high. It would startle tarns.”
“I fear he is drunk,” I said.
“Paga loosens the tongue, and opens doors best guarded,” said Kurik.
Decius Albus quaffed once more.
“And now,” called Decius Albus, swaying in the box, then steadied by Drusus Andronicus, “let us salute our revered and mighty allies, our friends from afar, whom we honor with these games.”
Master Albus then quaffed once more.
“I fear he knows little of the games of Kurii,” said Kurik, “the dark games of the rings.”
I recalled that Surtak had had, on his left wrist, two rings. I had gathered that such rings must be earned, but I knew little about the matter.
“I have noted,” called out Decius Albus, waving the goblet about, “that some of you, my dear friends of Ar, administrators and magistrates, companions and colleagues, have witnessed the pleasures of our friends with but subdued enthusiasm. Understand then that these games are in their honor, and not ours. They are on their behalf, and not ours. Different cities, different worlds, different customs. Do not begrudge our friends their pleasures, no more than we would wish them to begrudge us ours. Be patient, and try to see things as others see them. What would entitle
you to impress your prejudices on others?”
“The sword!” cried out Kurik, angrily.
“Master!” I said, fearfully. “Be silent!”
“Did the prisoner speak?” called Master Albus, trying to focus his eyes.
He was assured of that, apparently by Drusus Andronicus.
I moaned, for the five occupants of the box, Master Albus, Drusus Andronicus, Tyrtaios, and two Kurii were making their way down the tiers, to approach us. With them were some soldiers, and two or three other Kurii, apparently curious.
“Do not run, stay on your knees,” said Kurik.
“Yes, Master,” I said.
Decius Albus then stood before us. He retained the goblet, but it was, I think, empty. “You spoke of the sword,” said Decius Albus. “It is easy to speak of the sword when one is in chains.”
“Make it more difficult,” said Kurik. “Free me, and put one in my hands.”
“The bow is your weapon,” said Master Albus.
“A knife will do,” said Kurik, “or a pointed stick.”
“I thought,” said Master Albus, “to have you witness the slaughter of the beasts, four-legged and two-legged, and then have you eaten to death, prolonging it as long as possible, eaten bit by bit, bite by bite, by our noble allies, the High Ones, but, as you have seen, some members of our audience seem reluctant to participate in the festivities, even vicariously.”
“Perhaps they will object,” said Kurik.
“They are not soldiers, they are not armed,” said Master Albus.
“Spare the kajirae,” said Kurik.
“That would disappoint our noble friends,” said Decius Albus. “They are looking forward to the hunt.”
“It is not a hunt,” said Kurik. “It is the slaughter of penned verr.”
“In deference to the sympathies of the crowd,” said Decius Albus, “I am prepared to be merciful.”
“‘Merciful’?” said Kurik.
“To you,” said Decius Albus.
“I do not understand,” said Kurik.
Master Albus turned to Tyrtaios. “Kill him,” he said.
“No!” I cried. “No, Master!”
“I kill for pay,” said Tyrtaios.
“Will a tarsk-bit be sufficient?” asked Decius Albus.
“I am not a novice,” said Tyrtaios.
“Two, then,” said Decius Albus.
“Let us return to the box, noble Albus,” said Drusus Andronicus, supporting Decius Albus, who might otherwise have fallen.
Tyrtaios had turned away.
“A golden tarn then,” called Decius Albus, the words slurring.
Tyrtaios turned back.
Surely a Ubar might have been attacked for such a fee.
“You have had much paga, noble Albus,” said Drusus Andronicus. “Let us return to the box, and you may rest, think, collect yourself, and be at ease.”
“A golden tarn!” roared Decius Albus.
“Ho, noble Tyrtaios,” said Kurik. “The fee is good, and the risk is slight. Do not hesitate. What have you to fear? Your target is stationary, and cannot resist!”
“A golden tarn,” repeated Decius Albus, slowly, separating the words.
“I am a high Assassin,” said Tyrtaios, turning angrily toward Decius Albus. “I have trained for years. I have ascended the Nine Steps of Blood. I do not slaughter a tethered tarsk. I am not a butcher. Kill him yourself. Do not be afraid. A child, or slave, could manage the matter!”
“Noble friend!” protested Decius Albus, turning white. Two of the soldiers present grasped their spears more firmly.
“Do not be offended, noble colleague of the Dark Caste,” said Drusus Andronicus. “Hold. Do not draw your sword. Be at peace. He is not himself. It is the paga that speaks, not the noble Albus.”
Tyrtaios gestured toward Kurik. “Unchain him,” he said. “Put a sword in his hand.”
“Surely not,” said Master Albus.
“I am an indifferent swordsman,” said Kurik. “You have nothing to fear. I am no match for an Assassin, or warrior.”
“It would be something for the crowd,” said Drusus Andronicus to Decius Albus. “It is not much pleased with what has ensued thus far. What is amusing in the slaughtering of verr? Surely it is entitled to a kill it can understand, an arena kill, as in the Stadium of Blades.”
“—Yes, very well,” said Decius Albus, leaning on Drusus Andronicus. “Let him be unchained, and armed.”
“And,” said Drusus Andronicus, “as the Kurii have had their sport with the verr, let us return the kajirae to their kennels and chains.”
“No, no,” said Decius Albus. “Our dark friends must not be disappointed. This day is theirs. I need this day for them. It is important.”
“You are afraid of them?” said Drusus Andronicus.
“Of course,” said Decius Albus. “Are you not afraid, also?”
“Of course,” said Drusus Andronicus.
“It could mean our lives,” said Decius Albus.
“I understand,” said Drusus Andronicus.
Of the Kurii about, only the two who had descended from the box had translators, and neither device was activated.
I deemed this fortunate.
Decius Albus was then conducted across the small, bloody field, and assisted in climbing to his box, and, shortly thereafter, he sank into the curule chair at its center. I was not sure he was still conscious. Drusus Andronicus was seated at his side, and the two Kurii who had accompanied Surtak in Brundisium, and apparently now held posts of high station, had returned to their places in the box, as well.
A soldier approached, with keys to the padlocks that secured the chains of Kurik of Victoria.
“I am not a good swordsman,” said Kurik to Tyrtaios.
“I take it, that is your first thrust,” said Tyrtaios.
“Not at all,” said Kurik, as the chains were being removed.
“It would not matter much if you were an excellent swordsman, or not,” said Tyrtaios. “It might take a moment longer, another parry, another thrust. My skills reach beyond excellent. I fear only two swords on Gor, that of the High Master of the Caste of Assassins, and that of an obscure warrior who, long ago, on the roof of the Central Cylinder of Ar, bested him.”
“Then only one,” said Kurik, “for the High Master, bested, defeated, must have been slain.”
“No,” said Tyrtaios. “He escaped.”
“I see,” said Kurik, as the last of the chains fell away.
“I will be quick,” said Tyrtaios.
“Doubtless I am expected to be grateful,” said Kurik.
“As you wish,” said Tyrtaios.
A sword was placed in the hand of Kurik.
“Up, Phyllis,” said Kurik. “Aside. We must have room.”
I sprang to my feet, and moved to the side. “Do not fight, Master,” I said. I did not wish him to be mocked, to appear inept, and foolish. He might, at least, die with a sword in his hand, proudly, arrogantly, not lifted. Too, perhaps Tyrtaios would not strike a man who refused to defend himself. But then I recalled he was of the dark caste. “Master,” I moaned. I knew then Kurik of Victoria would fight, no matter the odds. He was Gorean. “Master!” I wept.
“How better to go to the Cities of Dust?” he asked.
“Wait!” said Tyrtaios, suddenly, and backed away some yards, and pointed to our right.
At that point, opposite the stands, where there was a line of soldiers closing off the field, something, apparently unexpected, at least by most, was taking place. The line had parted, allowing the passage of what appeared to be two large Kurii. The first was swathed in chains, and the second, apparently the guard, or custodian, of the first, carried a large Kur ax.
Clearly the men in the stands, and the soldiers about, were not aware of w
hat was occurring. Similarly, it seemed that few of the Kurii, at least at first, understood what was taking place.
“What is going on?” called Kurik to Tyrtaios.
“I do not know,” said Tyrtaios. “I have not been informed.”
I glanced at the stands. All there, both men and Kurii, were on their feet. Even Decius Albus, half supported by Drusus Andronicus, was on his feet, staring blearily across the field.
The two Kurii who were in the box of Decius Albus, those of high station, who had accompanied Surtak in Brundisium, howled with pleasure and leaped about within the box itself, in what might be some bestial dance of victory, of triumph, of joy. They then desisted, and then, apparently half beside themselves with pleasure, struggling to control their glee, they called out in Kur. There was then a roar in Kur that coursed through the stands amongst the Kurii therein, that was taken up by the Kurii about, on the ground, those apparently waiting for the sounding of the trumpet, to signal the new hunt. Men, in fear, drew apart from the Kurii, as they could. Guards and soldiers, in their lines, looked to one another. Lines wavered as some men moved back, and others leaned forward, bracing their spear shafts in the turf. Officers were silent.
“Behold,” called Tyrtaios, from his stance, some yards back. “It is a surprise, arranged by Aelius and Lucilius, to delight the afternoon, the execution of an enemy, the consolidation of their seizure of power.”
If larls could speak, how could one transcribe their names in human phonemes? I did not even know, nor, if I knew, could I pronounce the Kur name of Lord Grendel, or that of Lord Agamemnon, or Surtak, or Eve, or Lyris, or others. I had little doubt that the names ‘Aelius’ and ‘Lucilius’ had been chosen with political intent, largely to soothe apprehensions in the House of a Hundred Corridors, to suggest a relationship of sympathy and accord that might not exist, to insist on the existence of a bridge where, in reality, one might not exist.
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