by John Norman
"Not at first, surely,” said Grendel.
"They are at the flat ends of the cylinder?” asked Cabot.
"In vaults, locked within,” said Grendel, “with many additional weapons, smaller, manageable by a single Kur, or human."
"How can one reach them?"
"By flight,” said Grendel. “By the canvas and leather wings, beating against the atmosphere."
"Flight in the absence of gravity,” said Cabot.
"Much as in the shuttles,” said Grendel.
"Agamemnon must be prevented from reaching the vaults,” said Cabot.
"I doubt he is even thinking of that now,” said Grendel. “Recourse to such things would be a last resort. Better, now, merely to keep them secure."
Again and again, in a metallic, droning, reverberating Kur, the message of Agamemnon resounded, again and again in the cylinder.
Then, suddenly, it was silent.
Cabot switched off the translator.
"Why am I not to be braceleted and tethered, Master?” inquired the slave.
Cabot shook his head.
"But such was to protect me, was it not, that I not be understood as in violation of the injunction against slaves touching weapons, and that I might be clearly understood as only goods, merely as something to be disposed of according to the fortunes of war."
"Surely,” said Cabot. “But even were it not for such considerations you would have been treated identically."
"Led shamefully on a tether,” she asked, “sorely burdened, helplessly braceleted?"
"Yes,” said Cabot, “once I decided to take you with me."
"But, why, Master?"
"For your instruction,” he said, “and my pleasure."
"You wanted me so,” she said.
"Yes,” he said, “it would help you understand the better your bondage, and, for my part, I find it gives me great pleasure to have a beautiful woman in my bonds, helpless, and at my mercy."
Swiftly, startled, gasping, she flung herself to her knees before her master, and, head down, kissed him, again and again, about the knees and thighs.
"Was it instructive?” he asked.
"Well was I taught my servitude,” she said.
"Good,” he said.
"But, too, Master,” she whispered, “I felt so slave!"
"Good,” he said.
"And I knew myself so yours,” she said. “My belly was stirred. My thighs were hot. I was enflamed!"
"I know,” he said.
"But now I am to follow you freely?” she asked.
"Yes,” he said. “At least for now."
Grendel was dividing the arrows.
"But, why, Master?” she asked.
"Because, Lita,” he said, “though you are collared, you are obviously human."
"Of course, Master,” she said, puzzled.
"It has to do with the message,” said Lord Grendel.
"Your bonds, and such, even your collar,” said Cabot, “no longer afford you protection."
"The message,” said Lord Grendel, “was clear."
"What was it?” asked Lita.
"'Kill all humans',” said Lord Grendel.
"We may not live out the day,” said Cabot.
"Humans are safe with the revolutionaries,” said Lord Grendel, “as they are regarded either as allies or neutral, but those with the purple scarves will destroy all humans on sight."
"Why?” asked the slave.
"They are suspect,” said Lord Grendel, “and if one kills them all, one will surely kill those who might favor the revolution."
"And perhaps, in particular, one or two,” said Cabot, bitterly.
"Precisely,” said Grendel, thrusting several arrows into his quiver, and bundling others, to be carried by hand.
"What of the cattle?” said Cabot.
"They are human,” said Lord Grendel.
"I must try to save them,” said Cabot.
"They are cattle,” said Lord Grendel.
"They are human,” said Cabot.
"Where are you off to?” asked Cabot.
"The Lady Bina,” said Lord Grendel, “is human."
"Forget her,” said Cabot.
"I cannot, I will not,” said Lord Grendel.
"I may never see you again,” said Cabot.
"I wish you well,” said Lord Grendel.
"I wish you well,” said Cabot.
The slave put down her head and gently kissed her master's foot, and then lifted her head to regard him.
"We may not live out the day?” she said.
"I do not know,” said Cabot.
"You gave me great joy last night,” she said.
Cabot shrugged.
"And I no more than a slave,” she said.
"Such things are commonly done to slaves,” he said.
"A slave is grateful,” she said.
"I found you pleasing,” said Cabot.
"A slave is grateful,” she said.
"Do you know what the sort of joy you experienced is called?” asked Cabot.
"Yes, Master,” she said.
"What?” he asked.
"Collar joy,” she said.
Chapter, the Forty-First:
THE SLEEN
"Do you hear it?” she asked.
"Yes,” he said. “Sleen."
"They are animals,” she said.
"You have never seen one,” he said.
"No,” she said. “Are they dangerous?"
"Some are wild, some are domesticated, all are dangerous,” he said.
"It sounds in pain,” she said.
"Yes,” said Cabot. “It may be wounded, torn, dying."
"It is over there,” she said.
"Be careful,” said Cabot. He bent his bow, and set an arrow to the string.
This was not an unwise act on the part of the human, Tarl Cabot. Many sleen are clever animals, and it is not unknown for some, particularly older animals, to pretend to be disabled or incapacitated, in order to encourage curious animals to approach them, often to their subsequent instruction and sorrow.
The slave threw her hand before her mouth, and half screamed. Her eyes wide.
The large beast lifted his head and snarled.
"Steady,” said Cabot to the slave.
"I have never seen such a thing!” she said.
"It is a big one,” said Cabot, lowering the bow.
"Its head,” she said, “it is like a snake, a viper!"
"Not at all,” said Cabot, “but the width, the triangularity, is typical."
"Its legs!” she said.
"It is hard to tell as it lies,” said Cabot, “but there are six."
The sleen exposed its fangs and hissed at Cabot.
The slave leapt back.
"It can't reach you,” said Cabot. “The rear leg on the left, the bloody leg. You can see the teeth of the trap buried in it."
"It is wild,” she said.
"No,” said Cabot. “See, the collar."
"How is it loose?” she asked.
"I do not know,” said Cabot, “but I suspect it, and others, were released into the habitats."
"For what reason?” she asked.
"To kill humans,” said Cabot.
The slave shuddered.
"The trap may have been set by our colleagues,” said Cabot, “to protect, as they could, their human allies."
The sleen lunged toward them, briefly, and then screamed with pain. There was the sound of the heavily linked chain which held it in place.
"It cannot reach you,” said Cabot.
"Let us leave,” said the slave, looking about.
"It will die in misery here,” said Cabot. “It will bleed to death, or it will starve. The leg will never be of use to it again."
"Then kill it,” said the slave.
"It is a magnificent animal,” said Cabot.
"It is a monster,” said the girl. “Kill it, in kindness, or come away!"
Cabot put down his bow, and approached
the sleen more closely, but did not come within its reach.
He then turned about, to the slave. “I thought I recognized this animal,” he said. “From the arena. It is the one called Ramar. It is a valuable beast, a fighting sleen. It might kill ten sleen, or a hundred humans. That it should be released is interesting."
"How is that?” asked the slave, keeping back.
"It would indicate, I suppose,” said Cabot, “that Lord Agamemnon is concerned with the revolution, that he takes it seriously, truly, and that he recognizes that its humans may pose some threat to his forces, that their opposition is not negligible."
"Lord Agamemnon is afraid?” asked the slave.
"I doubt that,” said Cabot. “But I find it encouraging that he might be concerned."
The sleen snarled.
The slave backed away, further. “Let us get away from here,” she said.
"You see,” said Cabot. “He may not know the extent of the revolution, of the unrest, and he may not be certain as to who is loyal to him, and who is not."
"Come away, Master,” she said, “please."
"I cannot leave this powerful, beautiful thing to die here,” said Cabot.
"Then kill it, Master,” she said, “and come away. I am frightened. It is a terrible thing. And there may be Kurii about."
"True,” said Cabot. “Keep watch."
"What are you going to do?” asked the slave. “No!” she said. “Come away, Master! Please, Master, come away!"
Cabot held his hands open, and spoke soothingly to the beast.
"It is used to Kur!” said the slave.
"Gorean will do,” said Cabot. “Even English. It does not know Kur, any more than it knows Gorean or English. Some simple commands perhaps, perhaps its name, that would be all."
He continued to speak soothingly to the sleen.
It regarded him, and snarled.
"Come away, Master!” said the slave. “Come away, please, Master!"
"I will not hurt you,” said Cabot, soothingly to the beast. “Be calm, be patient, big fellow."
"He cannot understand you,” said the slave.
"Not as you understand me,” said Cabot, “but in other ways, by the slow movements of the body, not threatening, the softness of the voice, the gentleness of its tones."
The sleen again snarled.
"It could reach you!” whispered the slave. “Come away, Master!"
"Yes,” said Cabot, softly, elatedly. “It could reach me now."
"Please, Master!"
"But it has not,” said Cabot.
The beast turned its head, to watch Cabot, warily, as he moved slowly to the clamped, sharpened, viselike teeth of the trap.
Cabot, for a human being, was quite strong. Doubtless many are stronger, but, for a human being, he was quite strong.
Cabot set his hands between the teeth of the trap and, sweating, straining, eased them a little open, and his hands were covered with blood and torn hair, and the sleen watched him, and Cabot, grunted, fighting for breath, and opened the teeth a bit more, and a little more, and then the sleen, with a scream of pain, drew its useless leg from the trap's jaws, leaving skin and flesh clinging to the teeth, and scrambled away, and Cabot, gratefully, reduced his grip on the jaws of the trap, and then he jerked his fingers away, and it snapped shut, the teeth fitting together, on nothing. Cabot then sat on the bloodied ground, trying to catch his breath.
"Are you all right, Master?” asked the slave.
"Yes,” said Cabot. “Where is the sleen?"
"It is gone,” said the slave.
Chapter, the Forty-Second:
THE RAMP;
THE LADDER
"The smell is frightful,” whispered the slave.
"It is the stockyards,” said Cabot.
"Are they truly human?” she asked.
"I am not sure,” said Cabot. “I think so."
"They are meat,” she said.
"They are bred that way,” said Cabot.
"Can they speak?"
"No, they are not speeched,” said Cabot.
"Many of the pens are empty,” said the slave.
"The killing has begun,” said Cabot.
"Where are the guards?” she asked.
"Guards are not needed,” said Cabot, “only attendants, herders, such things."
Cabot then went to one of the pens, in which there were several of the creatures.
"Anyone could unlatch this gate,” said Cabot.
"They have not done so,” said the slave, wonderingly.
Cabot opened the gate, widely.
He gestured to the creatures, encouraging them to leave, but they did not much note him, save to distend their nostrils, as though smelling for food, but, as Cabot did not bear the swill buckets with him, they turned away.
"They do not wish to leave the food troughs,” said Cabot.
"I had a terrible thought,” she said.
"What is that?” asked Cabot.
"What if they could vote?” she said.
"They cannot,” said Cabot.
"But what if they could?"
"Then fellows would rise up and make use of them, as a path to power,” said Cabot.
"The smell sickens me,” she said.
Cabot opened several more of the pens. “When they get hungry enough,” he said, “I am sure they will wander out."
"Perhaps they will wait by the food troughs, and starve,” she said.
"Surely some will leave the pens,” said Cabot.
"What will become of them?"
"I do not know,” said Cabot. “Perhaps some of the humans can care for them, or herd them to safety."
"They cannot care for themselves,” said the slave.
"I do not think so,” said Cabot.
"They are like animals, to be cared for,” she said.
"And then eaten,” said Cabot.
"Most of the pens are empty,” said the slave.
"It took us two days to reach the pens,” said Cabot.
"I am not sure they are human,” she said.
"No,” said Cabot. “They are human."
"Not now,” whispered the slave.
"Then later, perhaps generations later,” said Cabot.
"Look!” whispered the slave.
"Ai,” said Cabot. “I see!"
"The line of them, being led up that ramp,” she said.
"Yes,” said Cabot.
"They follow, blindly,” said the slave.
"See the lead human, with the bell on her neck,” said Cabot.
"Yes,” said the slave.
"She is leading them. They are following her, trustingly. They do not know where they are being taken."
"Where are they being taken?"
"I fear,” said Cabot, “to the slaughter bench."
"She has not only a bell on her neck,” said the slave, “but something on her head, as well."
"It is hard to see,” said Cabot. “No, it sparkles."
"A crown?” said the slave.
"A coronet,” said Cabot. “A tiara!"
"She is different from the others,” said the slave. “She is not massive as they, not mere meat, encircling heavy bones."
"Surely you recognize her,” said Cabot.
"No,” said the slave.
"It is the Lady Bina,” he said.
"Here?"
"She is leading them to slaughter,” said Cabot.
The bell could be heard, even where Cabot and the slave stood.
"Doubtless she has no choice,” said the slave.
"Let us hope not,” said Cabot.
"I do not understand,” said the slave.
"The cattle will follow the bell, and the human who wears it,” said Cabot. “Such things are common in slaughter houses. There is a shoot. The lead animal, at the last moment, slips through a gate to the side, and the line behind it continues to move forward, and downward, to the great hammers, or to the ropes and slings, to be suspended, dangling, for the knives, such
things."
"Can we interfere?"
"We must,” said Cabot.
"What is the crown she wears?” asked the slave.
"A tiara,” said Cabot.
"A tiara?"
"That of a Ubara,” said Cabot.
"I do not understand,” said the slave.
"It is a joke,” said Cabot.
"I do not understand,” said the slave.
"Lord Agamemnon, it seems,” said Cabot, “has a sense of humor. Hurry. Hurry!"
Cabot clambered to the ramp, and hoisted the girl up beside him. The cattle, those near him, regarded him dully, and then continued to plod upward.
Cabot and the slave raced upward.
The passageway became narrower and narrower.
They were nearly to the top of the shoot, when the Lady Bina, now cattle, unclothed, a bell on her neck, a tiara fastened in her blonde hair, saw them.
She looked at them, once, wildly, startled, astonished to see them here, and then, regarding them, laughed merrily, and then, suddenly aware of her location and the press behind her in the now-narrowed passageway, admitting now only a single file, she turned about, and seized the small gate to her right, to slip through it.
She jerked at the gate, and then jerked at it, again.
It was locked.
She pulled at the gate, again and again, frantically.
Then she uttered a long, wild scream of terror, of protest, and was swept forward in the shoot by the press of the moving cattle.
Her screaming could be heard further down the shoot.
Her bell still rang.
"We cannot get through these bodies!” said Cabot. “We must go back, go around!"
"There will not be time!” cried the slave.
Cabot raced back down the ramp, the slave hurrying after him.
"No, no, no!” they heard, weird and shrill, then fainter and fainter, the screams behind them, as they raced down the ramp.
The throat of the Lady Bina, of course, was not constructed to utter Kur, nor would she know much of that language, saving perhaps to recognize some words addressed to her, and what Kurii might be in the facility would be unlikely to have translators, or, even, if so, would not be likely to have them switched on, as there would be no need for such devices here, for there was nothing human in the vicinity, or, perhaps more carefully put, nothing in the vicinity which was both human and speeched.
"There must be a way to the place of slaughter,” cried Cabot, looking wildly about.
"There, there, Master!” cried the slave, pointing dozens of yards away, forward and to their left, to a side wall. A high ladder was there, fixed against the wall, which must have been a hundred or more feet high, and led, it seemed, to a closed ceiling. Descending this ladder were two Kurii.