Marauders of Gor coc-9

by John Norman

  "I did not know in Kassau," said he, "that you had such fine legs." He laughed. "Why did you not, in Kassau," he asked, "show us what fine legs you have?"

  She was furious.

  She, holding her kirtle with her left hand, angrily scattered the dung about the sul plants. It would be left to a thrall to hoe it in about the plants.

  "Oh, do not lower your kirtle, Thyri," said he. "Your brand is quite lovely. Will you not show it, again, to Wulfstan of Kassau?"

  Angrily she drew her kirtle up, revealing her thigh. Then, furiously, she thrust it down.

  "How do you like it, Thyri," asked he, "to find that you are now a girl whose belly lies beneath the sword?"

  "It lies not beneath your sword," she snapped. "I belong to free men!"

  Then, with the brazenness of a bond-maid, she, Thyri, who had been the fine young lady of Kassau, threw her kirtle up over her hips and, leaning forward, spit furiously at the thrall. He leaped toward her but Ottar was even quicker. He struck Wulfstan, the thrall, Tarsk, behind the back of his neck with the handle of his ax. Wulfstan fell stunned. In an instant Ottar had bound the young man's hands before his body. He then jerked him to his knees by the iron collar.

  "You have seen what your ax can do to posts," said he to me, "now let us see what it can do to the body of a man." He then threw the young thrall to his feet, holding him by the collar, his back to me. The spine, of course, would be immediately severed; moreover, part of the ax will, if the blow be powerful, emerge from the abdomen. It takes, however, more than one blow to cut a body, that of a man, in two. To strike more than twice, however, is regarded as clumsiness. The young man stood, numbly, caught. Thyri, her kirtle down, shrank back, her hand before her mouth.

  "You have seen," said Ottar, to the Forkbeard, "that he has been bold with a bond-maid, the property of free men."

  "Thralls and bond-maids, sometimes," said I, "banter."

  "He would have put his hands upon her," said Ottar. That seemed true, and was surely more serious. Bond-maids were, after all, the property of free men. It was not permitted for a thrall to touch them.

  "Would you have touched her?" asked the Forkbeard.

  "Yes, my Jarl," whispered the young man.

  "You see!" cried Ottar. "Let Red Hair strike!"

  I smiled. "Let him be whipped instead," I said.

  "No!" cried Ottar.

  "Let it be as Red Hair suggests," said the Forkbeard. He then looked at the thrall. "Run to the whipping post," he said. "Beg the first free man who passes to beat you."

  "Yes, my Jarl," he said.

  He would be stripped and bound, wrists over his head, to the post at the bosk shed.

  "Fifty strokes," said the Forkbeard.

  "Yes, my Jarl," said the young man.

  "The lash," said the Forkbeard, "will be the snake."

  His punishment would be heavy indeed. The snake is a single-bladed whip, weighted, of braided leather, eight feet long and about a half an inch to an inch thick. It is capable of lifting the flesh from a man's back. Sometimes it is set with tiny particles of metal. It was not impossible that he would die under its blows. The snake is to be distinguished from the much more common Gorean slave whip, with its five broad striking surfaces. The latter whip, commonly used on females, punishes terribly; it has, however, the advantage of not marking the victim. No one is much concerned, of course, with whether or not a thrall is marked. A girl with an unmarked back, commonly, will bring a much higher price than a comparable wench, if her back be muchly scarred. Men commonly relish a smooth female, except for the brand scar. In Turia and Ar, it might be mentioned it is not uncommon for a female slave to be depiliated.

  The young thrall looked at me. It was to me that he owed his life.

  "Thank you, my Jarl," he said. Then he turned and, wrists still bound before his body, as Ottar had fastened them, ran toward the bosk shed.

  "Go, Ottar, to the forge shed," said the Forkbeard, grinning. Tell Gautrek to pass by the bosk shed."

  Ottar grinned. "Good," he said. Gautrek was the smith; I did not envy the young man.

  "And Ottar," said the Forkbeard, "see that the thrall returns to his work in the morning."

  "I shall," said Ottar, and turned toward the forge shed.

  "I hear, Red Hair," said Ivar Forkbeard, "that your lessons with the ax proceed well."

  "I am pleased if Ottar should think so," I said.

  "I, too, am pleased that he should think so," said Ivar Forkbeard, "for that is indication that it is true." Then he turned away. "I shall see you tonight at the feast," he said.

  "Is there to be another feast?" I asked. "What is the occasion?"

  There had been feasts the past four nights.

  "That we are pleased to feast," said Ivar Forkbeard. "That is occasion enough."

  He then turned away.

  I turned to the girl, Thyri. I stood over her. "Part of what occurred here," I told her, "is your fault, bond-maid."

  She put her head down. "I hate him," she said, "but I would not have wanted him to be killed." She looked up. "Am I to be punished, my Jarl?" she asked.

  "Yes," I told her.

  Fear entered her eyes. How beautiful she was.

  "But with the whip of the furs," I laughed.

  "I look forward eagerly, my Jarl," laughed she, "to my punishment."

  "Run," said I.

  She turned and ran toward the hall, but, after a few steps turned, and faced me. "I await your discipline, my Jarl," she cried, and then turned again, and fled, that fine young lady of Kassau, barefoot and collared, now only a bond-maid, to the hall, to the furs, to await her discipline.

  "Is it only a bond-maid, my Jarl," asked Thyri, "who can know these pleasures?"

  "It is said," I said, "that only a bond-maid can know them."

  She lay on her back, her head turned toward me. I lay at her side, on one elbow. Her left knee was drawn up; about her left ankle, locked, was the black-iron fetter, with its chain. On her throat was the collar of iron.

  "Then, my Jarl," said she "I am happy that I am a bond-maid."

  I took her again in my arms.

  "Red Hair!" called Ivar Forkbeard. "Come with me!"

  Rudely I thrust Thyri from me, leaving her on the furs.

  In moments, ax in its sheath on my back, I joined the Forkbeard.

  Outside were gathered several men, both of Ivar's ship and of the farm. Among them, eyes terrified, crooked backed, was a cringing, lame thrall.

  "Lead us to what you have found," demanded the Forkbeard.

  We followed the man more than four pasangs, up the slopes, leading to the summer pastures.

  Then, on a height, from which we could see, far below the farm and ship of Ivar Forkbeard, we stopped. Behind a large rock, the cringing thrall, frightened, indicated what he had found. Then he did not wish to look upon it.

  I was startled.

  "Are there larls in these mountains?" I asked.

  The men looked at me as though I might have been insane.

  "No sleen did this," said I.

  We looked down at the remains of a bosk, torn apart eaten through. Even large bones had been broken, snapped apparently in mighty jaws, the marrow sucked from them. The brains, too, had been scooped, with a piece of wood, from the skull.

  "Did you not know," asked Ivar Forkbeard, "of what animal this is the work?"

  "No," I said.

  "This has been killed by one of the Kurii," he said.

  For four days we hunted the animal, but we did not find it. Though the kill was recent, we found no trace of the predator.

  "We must find it," had said the Forkbeard. "It must learn it cannot with impunity hunt on the lands of Forkbeard."

  But we did not find it. We did not have a feast, as we had intended, on the night on which the bosk had been found eaten, nor on the next nights. In vain we hunted. The men grew angry, sullen, apprehensive. Even the bond-maids no longer laughed and sported. There might, for all we knew, be somewhere
in the lands of Ivar Forkbeard one of the Kurii.

  "It must have left the district," said Ottar, on the fourth night.

  "There have been no further kills," pointed out Gautrek, the smith, who had hunted with us.

  "Do you think it is the one who killed the verr last month" I asked Ottar, "and similarly disappeared?"

  "I do not know," said Ottar. "It could be, for those of the Kurii are quite rare this far to the south."

  "It may have been driven from its own kind," said the Forkbeard, "one too vicious even to be tolerated in its own caves."

  "It might, too," said Ottar, "be insane or ignorant."

  "Perhaps," suggested Gorm, "it is diseased or injured, and can no longer hunt the swift deer of the north?"

  In these cases, too, I supposed one of the Kurii might be driven, by teeth and claws, from its own caves. Kurii, I suspected, those of Gor as well as those of the ships, did not tolerate weakness.

  "At any rate," I said, "it seems now to be gone."

  "We are safe now," said Gautrek.

  "Shall we have a feast?" asked Gorm.

  "No," said the Forkbeard. "This night my heart is not in feasting."

  "At least the beast is gone," said Gautrek.

  "We are safe now," said Gorm.

  I awakened in the darkness. Thyri's body was snuggled against mine; she was asleep; I had not used her this night. She was fettered, of course. I lay very still.

  For some reason I was uneasy.

  I heard the heavy breathing of the men in the hall. At my side, I heard Thyri's breathing, too, deep and soft, that of the smaller lungs of a girl.

  I did not move. I felt, or thought I felt, a breath of fresh air. I lay in the darkness. I did not move.

  Then I smelled it.

  With a cry of rage I leaped to my feet on the couch hurling away the furs.

  In the same instant I felt myself seized in great, clawed paws and lifted high into the air of the hall. I could not see my assailant. Then I was hurled over the couch against the curved wall of turf and stone.

  "What is going on!" I heard cry.

  Thyri, awakened, screamed.

  I lay, stunned, at the foot of the wall, on the couch.

  "Torches!" cried the Forkbeard. "Torches!"

  Men cried out; bond-maids screamed.

  I heard the sound of feeding.

  Then in the light of a torch, lifted by the Forkbeard, lit from being thrust beneath the ashes of the fire pit, we saw it.

  It was not more than ten feet from me. It lifted its face from the half-eaten body of a man. Its eyes, large, round, blazed in the light of the torch. I heard the screaming of bond-maids, the movements of their chains. Their ankles were held by their fetters. "Weapons!" cried the Forkbeard. "Kur! Kur!" I heard men cry.

  The beast stood there, blinking, bent over the body. It was unwilling to surrender it. Its fir was sable, mottled with white. Its ears, large, pointed and wide, were laid back flat against its head. It was perhaps seven feet tall and weighed four or five hundred pounds. Its snout was wide, leathery. There were two nostrils, slit-like. Its tongue was dark. It had two rows of fangs, four of which were particularly prominent, those in the first row of fangs, above and below, in the position of canines; of these, the upper two were particularly long, and curved. Its arms were longer and larger than its legs; it held the body it was devouring in clawed, paw-like hands, yet six-digited, extra jointed, almost like tentacles. It hissed, and howled and, eyes blazing, fangs bared, threatened us.

  No one could seem to move. It stood there in the torchlight, threatening us, unwilling to surrender its body. Then, behind it I saw an uplifted ax, and the ax struck down, cutting its backbone a foot beneath its neck. It slumped forward, over the couch half falling across the body of a hysterical bond-maid. Behind it I saw Rollo. He did not seem in a frenzy; nor did he seem human; he had struck, when others, Gautrek, Gorm, I, even the Forkbeard, had been unable to do other than look upon it with horror. Rollo again lifted the ax.

  "No!" cried Ivar Forkbeard. "The battle is done!"

  The giant lowered his ax and, slowly, returned to his couch, to sleep.

  One of his men touched its snout with the butt of his spear, and then thrust it into the beast's mouth; the butt of the spear was torn away; the bond-maids screamed. "It is still alive!" cried Gorm.

  "Get it out of here," said Ivar Forkbeard. "Beware of the jaws."

  With chains and poles the body of the Kur was dragged and thrust from the hall. We took it outside the palisade, on the rocks. It was getting light. I knelt beside it.

  It opened its eyes.

  "Do you know me?" I asked.

  "No," it said.

  "This is a small Kur," said the Forkbeard. "They are generally larger. Note the mottling of white. Those are disease marks."

  "I hope," I said, "that it was not because of me that it came to the hall."

  "No," said the Forkbeard. "In the dark they have excellent vision. If it had been you it sought, it would have been you it killed."

  "Why did it enter the hall?" I asked.

  "Kurii," said Ivar Forkbeard, "are fond of human flesh."

  Humans, like other animals, I knew, are regarded by those of the Kurii as a form of food.

  "Why did it not run or fight?" I asked.

  The Forkbeard shrugged. "It was feeding," he said. Then he bent to the beast. "Have you hunted here before?" he asked. "Have you killed a verr here, and a bosk?"

  "And, in the hall," it said, its lips drawing back from its jaws, "last night a man."

  "Kill it," said Ivar Forkbeard.

  Four spears were raised, but they did not strike.

  "No," said Ivar Forkbeard. "It is dead."

  Chapter 8 - HILDA OF SCAGNAR

  "So is this the perfume that the high-born women of Ar wear to the song-dramas in En'Kara?" asked the blond girl, amused.

  "Yes, Lady," I assured her, bowing before her, lisping in the accents of Ar.

  "It is gross," said she. "Meaningless."

  "It is a happy scent," I whined.

  "For the low-born," said she.

  "Lalamus!" said I.

  My assistant, a large fellow, but obviously stupid, smooth shaven as are the perfumers, in white and yellow silk, and golden sandals, bent over, hurried forward. He carried a tray of vials.

  "I had not realized, Lady," said I, "that perception such as yours existed in the north."

  My accent might not have fooled one of Ar, but it was not bad, and to those not often accustomed to the swift, subtle liquidity of the speech of Ar, melodious yet expressive, it was more than adequate. My assistant, unfortunately, did not speak.

  The eyes of Hilda the Haughty, daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar, flashed. "You of the south think we of the north are barbarians!" she snapped.

  "Such fools we were," I admitted, putting my head to the floor.

  "I might have you fried in the grease of tarsk," she said, "boiled in the oil of tharlarion!"

  "Will you not take pity, great Lady," I whined, "on those who did not suspect the civilization, the refinements, of the north?"

  "Perhaps," said she. "Have you other perfumes?"

  My assistant, hopefully, lifted a vial.

  "No," I hissed to him. "In an instant such a woman will see through such a scent."

  "Let me smell it," said she.

  "It is nothing, lady," I whined, "though among the highest born and most beautiful of the women of the Physicians it is much favored."

  "Let me smell it," she said.

  I removed the cork, and turned away my head, as though shamed.

  She held it to her nose. "It stinks," she said.

  Hastily I corked the vial and, angrily, thrust it back into the hand of my embarrassed assistant, who returned it to its place.

  Hilda sat in a great curule chair, carved with the sign of Scagnar, a serpent-ship, seen frontally. On each post of the chair, carved, was the head of a snarling sleen. She smiled, coldly.

  I r
eached for another vial.

  She wore rich green velvet, closed high about her neck, trimmed with gold.

  She took the next vial, which I had opened for her. "No," she said, handing it back to me.

  Her hair, long, was braided. It was tied with golden string.

  "I had no understanding," said she, "that the wares of Ar were so inferior."

  Ar, populous and wealthy, the greatest city of known Gor, was regarded as a symbol of quality in merchandise. The stamp of Ar, a single letter, that which appears on its Home Stone, the Gorean spelling of the city's name, was often forged by unscrupulous tradesmen and placed on their own goods. It is not a difficult sign to forge. It has, however, in spite of that, never been changed or embellished; the stamp of Ar is a part of its tradition.

  In my opinion the goods of Ko-ro-ba were as good, or better, than those of Ar but, it is true, she did not have the reputation of the great city to the southeast, across the Vosk.

  Ar is often looked to, by those interested in such matters, as the setter of the pace in dress and manners. Fashions in Ar are eagerly inquired into; a garment "cut in the fashion of Ar" may sell for more than one of better cloth but less "stylish"; "as it is done in Ar" is a phrase often heard.

  Sometimes I had little objection to the spreadings of such fashions. After the restoration of Marlenus of Ar, in 10,119 Contasta Ar, from the founding of Ar, he had at his victory feast decreed a two-hort, about two and one half inches, shortening of the already briefly skirted garment of the female state slave. This was adopted immediately in Ar, and, city by city, became rather general. Proving that I myself am not above fashion I had had this scandalous alteration implemented in my own house; surely I would not have wanted my girls to be embarrassed by the excessive length of their livery; and, in fact, I did the Ubar of Ar one better, by ordering their hemlines lifted by an additional quarter inch; most Gorean slave girls have lovely legs; the more I see of them the better; I wondered how many girls, even as far away as Turia, knew that more of their legs were exposed to free men because, long ago, drunkenly, Marlenus of Ar, at his victory feast, had altered the length of the livery of the female state slaves of Ar.

  Another custom, long practised in the far south, below the Gorean equator, in Turia, for example, is the piercing of the ears of the female slave; this custom, though of long standing in the far south, did not begin to spread with rapidity in the north until, again, it was introduced in Ar. At a feast Marlenus, as a special treat for his high officers, presented before them a dancer, a female slave, whose ears had been pierced. She had worn, in her degradation, golden loops in her ears; she had not been able, even, to finish her dance; at a sign from Marlenus she had been seized, thrown to the tiles on which she had danced, and raped by more than a hundred men. Ear piercing, from this time, had begun to spread rapidly through the north, masters, and slavers, often inflicting it on their girls.