Kur of Gor coc-28

by John Norman

  The vanquished Kur female crawled some feet away, bloodying the sand.

  The victor then approached the male.

  He cuffed her, half spinning her about. She was already bloodied from the fray from which she had emerged victorious.

  "It seems,” said Cabot, “he is not pleased with the outcome of the battle."

  "No,” said Peisistratus. “It would be the same with either. He is merely asserting his dominance."

  "She has accepted his blow,” said Cabot.

  "Of course,” said Peisistratus. “Were he not dominant she would despise him. She wishes his dominance. She would be insulted to submit to any other sort of male. What Kur female would? What do you think this is all about?"

  "What if she had not accepted his blow?"

  "I do not understand."

  "What if she had retaliated, attacked him? She is surely a fearsome creature, as we have seen."

  "Then he would beaten her, if not maimed or killed her,” said Peisistratus. “Did you not see the rings on his wrist. He has killed male Kurii to obtain those rings."

  "Look,” said Peisistratus.

  "I see,” said Cabot.

  The female now stood before the male, her head down, and her arms at her sides. The male then encircled her body several times with the length of rope he carried, fastening her arms to her sides, and then, with the length of rope left, he fashioned a leash for her, and led her toward an exit gate. She half danced in his wake, and howled to the stands.

  "It is a noise of pleasure, of triumph,” said Peisistratus. “She has conquered her rival, and she has been acquired, at least for some days, by the male of her desires."

  "I think I prefer our human ways,” said Cabot.

  "Perhaps they are not so different,” said Peisistratus.

  "Look!” said Cabot, pointing to the sand.

  The vanquished Kur female had struggled to her feet, and begun to hobble from the sand. Several Kurii would have assisted her, but she bared her fangs, and warned them away, viciously.

  They regarded one another, frightened, and then looked piteously upon the torn, bleeding female.

  Again they tried to approach, solicitously, but, again, with a baring of fangs and a snarl, she warned them back.

  They fled back, and then, as she regarded them, one after another, they moved back further, and bent down, to make themselves smaller in her presence.

  "They are cringing,” said Cabot. “Are they her hand maidens?"

  "They are males,” said Peisistratus. “They are her attendants, assigned to serve her."

  The female then hobbled toward an exit gate, before the others, alone, blood in her footprints.

  The others then followed her.

  "They are males?” asked Cabot.

  "In a sense,” said Peisistratus. “They are nondominants."

  "I see,” said Cabot.

  The drums then beat again.

  "What is that?” asked Cabot, in disgust. “What are those things?"

  From several of the lower gates a number of unusual creatures, crowded together, clumsy, heavy, confused, bleating and whining, were driven by cries and whips into the arena.

  "Surely you know,” said Peisistratus.

  "They are large, sluggish, surely well-fed,” said Cabot, peering downward.

  "They have been fattened,” said Peisistratus.

  "What are they?"

  "Cattle humans,” said Peisistratus.

  "They cannot be human,” said Cabot.

  "Perhaps not,” said Peisistratus. “But it is a matter of breeding. Great changes may be so wrought. Consider Earth. How many of your dogs recall in appearance and demeanor their remote, swift, hungry, far-ranging ancestor, the gray wolf?"

  "We would not breed even dogs so,” said Cabot, in fury.

  "Because you do not raise them for meat,” said Peisistratus.

  "Those are small Kurii!” said Cabot, observing the entry unto the sand of a swarm of eager, shaggy forms.

  "Actually Kur children,” said Peisistratus. “Many have not lost their womb teeth."

  The cattle creatures were whipped to the center of the arena, where they stood crowded together, bleating.

  "They are frightened, and disoriented,” said Peisistratus. “This is very different from the security of the pens."

  The small shaggy forms, many no more than five feet in height, and perhaps no more than a hundred to a hundred and fifty pounds in weight, encircled the huddled, confused cattle creatures.

  "This is how Kurii want their young to view humans, to understand humans, to think of humans,” said Peisistratus.

  "They would think otherwise of humans did they meet them in the field of battle,” said Cabot.

  "Doubtless,” said Peisistratus.

  "What are they going to do?” asked Cabot.

  "It is a form of play,” said Peisistratus. “Children are fond of games. They are pleased to frolic."

  "What are they going to do?” asked Cabot.

  "See the ribbons?” asked Peisistratus.

  "Yes,” said Cabot. “But what are they going to do?"

  "Kill,” said Peisistratus. “The ribbons will mark their kills. He with the most ribboned meat wins a little crown and a haunch of roast tarsk."

  "No!” cried Cabot, foolishly.

  Suddenly the children raced upon the huddled cattle, seizing them, lacerating them, tearing them. The cattle did not defend themselves, though several now fled wildly, clumsily, terrified, about the arena, pursued swiftly by the youthful predators with their colorful ribbons.

  Occasionally an adult Kur, with a stroke of his whip, turned one of the confused cattle back toward the center of the arena.

  "Do not feel sorry for them,” said Peisistratus. “They are not truly human. They do not even understand what is going on. They only want to be returned to their pens, and the feeding trough."

  There was a squeal from one of the cattle below, as three of the youngsters clung to it, gripping it with their yet-immature fangs.

  "This accustoms them, of course,” said Peisistratus, “to killing, and the taste of blood, in a convenient, economical fashion."

  Cabot shook the bars of the cage.

  "Caution,” warned Peisistratus. “Kurii are watching."

  Cabot shook again the bars of the cage, futilely.

  "There is nothing you can do,” said Peisistratus. “Do not concern yourself. It is only a game."

  "Why do they not fight back?” cried Cabot. “They are larger than their foes."

  "They are cattle,” said Peisistratus.

  There were howls of pleasure, of amusement, from the stands, as one or more of the cattle, inept even in flight, startled, bleating, was brought down.

  "Do not concern yourself,” said Peisistratus, to Cabot. “This is what they are for."

  "Look!” cried Cabot. “One has turned on its attacker!"

  "That is not to take place!” said Peisistratus. “That is not permitted!"

  "Apparently the creature does not understand that,” said Cabot.

  Below, one of the cattle, half blinded with its own blood, had closed its fat fingers about a small shaggy throat.

  "Is the child not to be rescued?” asked Cabot. “It will kill the child."

  "Do not concern yourself,” said Peisistratus. “The others do not."

  The whitish, obese creature let the limp body of the youngster fall to the sand. Its throat was then, as it stupidly looked about, comprehending nothing, casually cut open by one of the adult Kurii.

  "That one,” said Peisistratus, “cannot be ribboned. He does not count."

  "What of the child?” asked Cabot.

  "He allowed himself to be caught. He failed. He will be forgotten."

  "Is it not a tragedy?” asked Cabot.

  "Not if it does not spoil the game,” said Peisistratus.

  Only one or two of the cattle were still alive.

  "It is over,” said Peisistratus, presently. “See, that on
e child is victor. The large one. He has ribboned five beasts. That is quite good, but some have ribboned more."

  Cabot observed a small, golden crown, apparently of a paperlike material, being placed on the victor's head. There was applause in the stands, the rhythmic pounding of hands on thighs. Later, he would receive, Cabot surmised, a haunch of roasted tarsk, a meat generally much preferred by Kurii to human.

  "When,” asked Cabot, “will Lord Pyrrhus and Lord Agamemnon meet, Kur to Kur?"

  "Presently,” said Peisistratus. “But first there are some beast fights. May I purchase you a treat?"

  "No,” said Cabot.

  The beast fights were largely amongst fighting humans, variously armed. Some of these were game humans who had been netted in the sport cylinder, but most were killer humans, bred for savagery, raised for the arena.

  "Are they speeched?” inquired Cabot.

  "Most,” said Peisistratus.

  "And in what speech?” asked Cabot.

  "In the language to which most translators are set,” said Peisistratus. “Speeching is helpful in monitoring and managing their training. Some, of course, are not speeched. Sometimes the speeched and the nonspeeched are set against one another. If the battle is team war the speeched side has an advantage."

  "Undoubtedly,” said Cabot. “And to what speech are most translators set?"

  "Gorean,” said Peisistratus.

  "Good,” said Cabot.

  It was late in the afternoon, as the mirrors arranged the day, when, to Cabot's amazement, two figures with which he was familiar entered onto the sand. The first, broad and powerful, half bent over, alert, looking from side to side, was Grendel. The second figure, stripped and high-collared, as befits a Kur pet, and on a chain leash, was the blonde. She was led to a point near the center of the arena. Many sounds of disapproval from the tiers, encompassing hissings and snarls, had greeted this pair upon their appearance. At the center of the arena a circular cement platform, some five feet in diameter, emerged from the sand. In the center of this platform, fastened to a plate anchored in the cement, there was a heavy iron ring. The blonde's chain was fastened to this ring.

  At a gesture from Grendel, the blonde went to all fours, the chain then looped on the cement, save where it looped up to her collar.

  "Why is she on all fours?” asked Cabot.

  "Is it not appropriate for an animal, a pet?” asked Peisistratus.

  "Yes,” said Cabot.

  "Or a slave?” inquired Peisistratus.

  "Certainly,” said Cabot.

  Slaves are occasionally kept on all fours, forbidden to rise, feed from pans on the floor, are led about, leashed, on all fours, and so on. This regimen or strictness is imposed upon them sometimes as a punishment or discipline, sometimes as a part of their training, or, sometimes, simply to remind them that they are a slave, their master's domestic animal. Sometimes the girl must bring the master's whip to him on all fours, the implement held between her teeth. She will later learn if she is to be caressed or struck.

  "What is this about?” asked Cabot.

  "Many Kurii,” said Peisistratus, “want her blood. She is held accountable for the debacle in the forest, that of the hunting party of Lord Arcesilaus. In it, you may recall, Kurii were slain."

  "I recall,” said Cabot.

  "Grendel has refused to sell her to those who wish her harm,” said Peisistratus.

  "Harm?” said Cabot.

  "—to those who would kill her with needles, a corpuscle at a time, who would inject her with slow, agonizing poisons, who would feed her to urts or sleen, who would cast her to leech plants, who would roast her alive and eat her, and so on."

  "I see,” said Cabot.

  "He has been offered more strings of coins than you and I would part with for a good slave."

  "And she only a pet."

  "Precisely."

  "It seems he is fond of his pet,” said Cabot.

  "He is a fool,” said Peisistratus. “He will now die."

  "I gather he must now, if he wishes to keep her, or save her, defend her?"

  "Assuredly,” said Peisistratus. “And the crowd is against him."

  "How is this to be done?” asked Cabot.

  "He is to face seven challengers,” said Peisistratus, “any one of whom might easily slay him, for they are Kur."

  "Is he not Kur?"

  "Part Kur."

  "Perhaps,” said Cabot, “he is more than Kur."

  "When the combat is done,” said Peisistratus, “the girl will be taken by the challengers, to be done with as they intend."

  "If they win,” said Cabot.

  "Can there be doubt?” asked Peisistratus.

  "The fortunes of war, like the rains in Anango, are difficult to forecast,” said Cabot.

  "I will wager a string of coins,” said Peisistratus, “on the challengers."

  "Against what?” inquired Cabot. “My life?"

  "Certainly not,” said Peisistratus. “Besides, your life, at this point, is still of interest to Agamemnon."

  "A slender security,” remarked Cabot.

  "You would know more of that than I,” said Peisistratus.

  "So what should I put up, against your coins?"

  "One of your strings of rubies,” suggested Peisistratus.

  "A string of coins against a string of rubies seems a strange wager,” smiled Cabot.

  "True,” said Peisistratus. “I shall make it a dozen strings of coins, and throw in a pet."

  "A pet?"

  "The brunette."

  "Keep her,” said Cabot.

  "Is it a wager?” asked Peisistratus.

  "I think you are more aware of the value of rubies,” said Cabot, “than I am of the value of your coins."

  "Perhaps,” smiled Peisistratus. “But is it a wager?"

  "Very well,” said Cabot. “It is a wager."

  "It is a pity to take your rubies so easily,” said Peisistratus.

  "The challengers!” said Cabot, pointing downward.

  From a gate at the level of the sand below and to their right, seven large Kurii, harnessed for war, entered the arena. Each carried a long, thick, metal bar, some ten feet in length, some three inches in diameter. Such an implement would have been difficult for many humans to lift, let alone wield. Kurii, however, might play with such a device as with a wand, or as a brawny peasant might with his stout, well-grasped defensive staff, a punishing implement which, well used, might overcome a blade.

  The crowd stamped, roared, leaped about in place, and smote its thighs, expressing its pleasure with the number and harnessing of the challengers. Indeed, some of the challengers were well known to the crowd, from ascendancies in the rings, and more than one was accounted a champion.

  The challengers turned about in the sand and lifted their simple weapons in salute to the crowd, which incited still more approbation in the tiers.

  "Is Grendel to be unarmed?” asked Cabot.

  "You now fear for your rubies?” asked Peisistratus.

  "Is he to be unarmed?"

  "No,” said Peisistratus, “that would not be Kur, that would not be honorable."

  "Look!” said Cabot.

  An additional bar was handed to one of the challengers, by an arena praetor, or officer. That challenger then thrust his own bar down, into the sand, some four feet, with a mighty motion, and then, contemptuously, hurled the bar he had been given by the officer toward Grendel. It descended like a lance, and was arrested, tilted, in the sand, before Grendel. The cast had been more than a hundred and fifty feet.

  Grendel bent to retrieve the weapon.

  Amusement coursed through the crowd.

  "See,” said Peisistratus. “He is only part Kur. It is too heavy for him. He can barely lift it. Fear for your rubies, friend Cabot."

  Cabot smiled.

  One of the Kur challengers roared and raced across the sand toward Grendel, his weapon held with two hands over his head.

  Many humans find it remarkab
le that so large a creature can move with such rapidity.

  Cabot was familiar with such characteristics, of course, and so, too, one might note, was Grendel.

  The blonde screamed.

  The noise of the crowd was suddenly silenced.

  For the challenger, its chest bloodied, staggered back, and then sat, dazed, stupidly, in the sand.

  One end of Grendel's bar was soaked with blood, for better than eighteen inches from its thrusting end.

  "The swiftness of the thrust, the suddenness, the ease of it!” exclaimed Peisistratus, wonderingly.

  "He is as strong as a Kur,” said Cabot, “perhaps stronger."

  "It was a trick,” said Peisistratus, reproachfully.

  "Surely deception,” said Cabot, “is an element not unknown in war."

  "The others will now be more wary,” said Peisistratus.

  "Yes,” said Cabot.

  "And the rubies,” said Peisistratus, “will soon be mine."

  "It is hard to predict the rains in Anango,” said Cabot.

  "That it will rain in the summer is not hard to predict, in one week or another,” said Peisistratus.

  "In seven weeks?"

  "Yes,” said Peisistratus.

  "May not the challengers attack en masse?” inquired Cabot.

  "That would not be Kur,” said Peisistratus. “That would not be honorable."

  "Good,” said Cabot.

  The next Kur approached cautiously, his weapon at the ready. Grendel came forward, to place himself between the pet and his antagonist.

  The crowd now leaned forward, intent upon the sand.

  The matches were now of greater interest than had been anticipated.

  The second challenger struck downward with his weapon, and Grendel fended the blow but in such a way as not to take the brunt of its weight, but rather to slide it aside. There was, however, nonetheless, a shower of sparks. The blonde cried out, and pulled back on her chain, it hooked to her collar.

  "The beating on the bar,” said Cabot, “would in time weaken the arms of he who blocks the blows, surely by the third or fourth attacker."

  There were several more exchanges, each with its shower of sparks. The challenger then stepped back in the sand.

  Grendel did not pursue him.

  He wished, doubtless, to remain in the vicinity of the pet, lest the attacker might the more easily slip past him. The goal of the attackers was primarily the blood of the pet, to revenge themselves upon her, however irrationally, to which object the destruction of her despised defender was largely incidental.