by John Norman
Where might he find others?
Too, whereas many Kurii, large Kurii, might manage, at least with good fortune, to survive the attack of a typical sleen, say, a smaller, wild sleen, the quarry, though large for a human, was not large for a Kur, and Ramar was an unusually large, dangerous animal.
Cabot followed the drive, but unseen, and at a distance. It gradually became clear to him, to his gratification, that the quarry was being encouraged to move in smaller and smaller circles, centering on a particular area.
"Excellent, excellent, Ramar,” Cabot breathed, to himself. “How intelligent you are. What a joy you are, what a champion amongst beasts you are."
In a few Ehn Cabot had come to the trap.
In it the Kur writhed.
Blood flowed about the clamped leg. It struggled to its feet and tried to drag the trap on its chain to where it had lost the rifle, flung from his hands, when the teeth had unexpectedly, viciously, snapped shut. It could move the trap, his leg bleeding in the grass and leaves which had concealed the trap, only to the end of the chain, which encircled a nearby tree, and was locked about it. The Kur threw himself prostrate and reached toward the weapon, scratching toward it. But it was a foot beyond its grasp.
Cabot sat down, cross-legged, near the rifle, and Ramar crouched down, placidly, beside him.
The beast had been given the ‘drive’ command, not the ‘kill’ command.
Cabot switched on his translator. “Tal,” he said.
"You!” said Flavion, scarcely able to speak, for the pain. “Open the trap! Help me! I am caught!"
"We lost track of you, after the escape of the Lady Bina, and the business of the cattle humans, the killing squad, and such."
"Free me!” screamed Flavion, his visage contorted with agony.
"Why?” asked Cabot.
"I will lose my leg!” screamed Flavion. It was interesting how the urgency and horror of his utterance was rendered by the translator, calmly, precisely, unemotionally.
"That is possible,” agreed Cabot. Surely the metal teeth had bitten deeply.
"I will reward you, richly!” cried Flavion.
"Oh?” said Cabot.
"Yes, yes,” screamed Flavion, then daring not move, lest he further injure his gripped limb.
"Perhaps you think I am not aware of what has occurred in the world,” said Cabot. “I am aware of it, however, as you doubtless are, as well. Agamemnon and the riches of the world are no longer at your disposal. Too, I suspect Lord Arcesilaus, Lord Grendel, and several others, would be pleased to see you."
"Is the sleen yours?” said Flavion.
"No,” said Cabot. “It is a friend."
"It is Ramar, is it not?"
"Yes."
"Restrain it!"
"I do not think he needs restraining,” said Cabot. “He seems contented. He is not hungry."
"I did not know it was he,” said Flavion, in pain. “I thought there were more than one."
"Just one,” said Cabot.
"Free me!” demanded Flavion.
"Are you going to faint?” asked Cabot. Clearly the Kur had lost, and was losing, blood.
"Let us bargain!” said Flavion.
"What have you to bargain with?” asked Cabot.
"Something soft, in a collar!” said Flavion. “Help me! Free me!"
"I thought you were clever enough to hold that in reserve,” said Cabot. “You would not risk having it with you."
"It is worth my life, is it not?"
"She is worthless,” said Cabot. “That I discovered when she fled. One can buy women like her, and better, in any market on Gor."
"You want her back!” said Flavion.
"Why?” asked Cabot. “That she be taught her collar, that she be beaten, and sold?"
"I know you men of Gor,” said Flavion. “You hunt and capture women, you buy them, and trade them, and sell them. You desire them and are content with nothing less than owning them, and with utmost totality! You risk your lives to bring them to your feet in chains, to be mastered. Wars have been fought for them. Ships ply the slave routes to Earth, to bring the most delicious and needful to the collars of Gor."
"What do you want for her?” asked Cabot.
"My life!” said Flavion.
"That seems little,” said Cabot. “Before, I thought she was to have a sack of gold tied about her neck."
"I have gold!” said Flavion. “Open the trap! Release me!"
"Cannot you open the trap yourself?” asked Cabot.
"No,” said Flavion. “I will die here! Help me!"
"It seems you will,” said Cabot.
"No!” protested Flavion.
"I think you will soon lose consciousness,” said Cabot. “I wonder if you will awaken. Perhaps you will, in a few Ahn, at night, to agony and weakness, to hunger, and thirst, and such. Perhaps you might live for a few days in the trap. One does not know. Some sleen do. In any event I do not envy you."
Cabot then made as though to rise to his feet.
"Do not go!” cried Flavion.
"Why not?” asked Cabot.
"The slave!” cried Flavion. “The slave!"
"A worthless slave for a worthless life?” asked Cabot.
"Yes, yes!” said Flavion.
"It is a possible exchange,” said Cabot.
"Yes, yes!” cried Flavion. Blood was about his jaws where he had bitten himself in his pain.
"Perhaps,” said Cabot.
"You want her back,” said Flavion.
"Do I?"
"You desire her,” said Flavion.
"Better can be purchased in the markets,” said Cabot.
"But I think it is she whom you want,” he said.
"Perhaps, to teach her that she is a slave, a mere slave, and nothing else, and then beat and sell her."
"I will include gold,” said Flavion, “staters of Brundisium, tarn disks of Ar!"
"It seems you are well prepared, should the opportunity present itself, to buy your way to Gor."
"One must prepare for contingencies,” said Flavion. “It seems it is you who chose the winning side."
"As I am of the scarlet caste,” said Cabot, “I do not care to haggle."
"One hundred staters then, and ten tarn disks,” said Flavion.
"The girl herself, stripped, on a block,” said Cabot, “would not be likely to go for more than two silver tarsks. She is not even pen-trained."
There are professional slave trainers, of course. For a fee, they will train a girl. It is said that some can take a pot girl, a kettle-and-mat girl, a mill girl, a laundress, or such, and return a needful dream of a pleasure slave. This is often a good investment, obviously, as one might then sell them for a higher price, that would more than cover the trainer's fee. To be sure, no woman can thrive except at a man's feet.
"The exchange is obviously much to your advantage,” said Flavion.
"Considerably so,” said Cabot.
"We are then in agreement?” said Flavion.
"It seems so,” said Cabot. “You will lead me to the slave?"
"Certainly,” said Flavion. “Release me."
"Might it not be better for you to tell me where she is,” said Cabot. “Then, if you are telling the truth, and I recover her, in block condition, salable and such, I could return for you."
"No, no!” he cried. “I will die here!"
"Some sleen,” said Cabot, “survive for days."
"My presence would be necessary,” said Flavion.
"Then there must be others, to recognize you,” said Cabot.
"—Yes,” said Flavion.
Cabot then, with much effort, lifted the teeth of the trap a few inches, and Flavion, with his hands, lifted his torn, bleeding leg free.
"We have an agreement, do we not?” asked Flavion, in pain.
"As I understand it,” said Cabot, “a slave—for a life, and gold."
"Give me my rifle,” said Flavion.
"I have your word, do I not,” asked C
abot, “that it will not be used against me?"
"Surely,” said Flavion.
"May I trust you?"
"My word has been given, and I am Kur,” said Flavion.
"Very well,” said Cabot, and pushed the weapon across the leaves, so that it would lie within the reach of Flavion. “You had best staunch the bleeding,” said Cabot.
Flavion reached to the weapon, in pain, grimacing, and then swung it to his shoulder, pressing the detonating mechanism twice, once point-blank at the large sleen, once at Cabot.
"I removed the charges in your camp, last night,” said Cabot. “If you are to be of much use, you had better stop the bleeding."
In desperate fury Flavion cried out with rage and flung the rifle at Cabot, who moved to the side, permitting it to pass, which it did, spinning into the brush.
"I will cut a branch, to be used as a staff,” said Cabot. “That leg will not be of much use to you, not for some time, perhaps never."
Chapter, the Seventy-First:
A DESTINATION IS APPROACHED
"We are close?” asked Cabot.
"Yes,” said Flavion. “I keep my part of the bargain. You will not turn me over to Lord Arcesilaus, and others?"
"No,” said Cabot.
Ramar was at Cabot's side.
"They may, however,” said Cabot, “seek you out."
Flavion was no longer in need of the makeshift crutch which had been supplied by Cabot in the vicinity of the sleen trap.
He was however, lame, and could do little more than hobble, lurching from side to side.
Two days ago Cabot had conducted his prisoner to a smithy, in a remote village. There he had had a chain belt and manacles prepared for his prisoner, which would hold his hands close to his body. Too, he had a heavy iron collar, with a ring, hammered shut about his neck. He also purchased some heavy chain, which he slung about Flavion's body, and by means of which he could tether him at night. Cabot also scratched, in Gorean, on the collar: “I am Flavion, adherent of Agamemnon, traitor to the cause of Lord Arcesilaus."
The smith had been quite cooperative, particularly as he had received for his work a ruby, one from the trial of Lord Pyrrhus, long ago.
It was equivalent to more than he would be likely to earn in more than two revolutions of the steel worlds about Tor-tu-Gor, or Sol, the common star of Earth, Gor, the steel worlds, and a wheel of worlds, satellites, fragments, and debris.
Cabot had two power weapons, one from the forest camp, and one which had been Flavion's. Between both, he had only five charges, three designed for one weapon, two fitted to the other.
"Free me of these encumbrances,” said Flavion, shaking the manacles.
"You were doubtless making your way to some enclave or post when caught,” said Cabot. “Too, I have little doubt that is where you, and others, are holding one or more prisoners, and slaves. You will have compatriots there. They will doubtless have tools."
"I will explain our agreement to them,” said Flavion, “and they will hand over the slave."
"And the gold?"
"Of course."
"And they will not be concerned that their enclave has been detected?"
"There is another,” said Flavion.
Cabot stopped.
"What is wrong?” asked Flavion.
"A slave is only a slave,” said Cabot, “and gold is only gold. I am thinking it might be more pleasant to turn you over to Lord Grendel, or others."
"We have an agreement,” said Flavion.
"True,” said Cabot. “You are certain that it will be safe to approach the enclave?"
"I will guarantee you safe passage,” said Flavion.
"That sets my mind at ease,” said Cabot.
Chapter, the Seventy-Second:
THE TREACHERY OF FLAVION
Cabot flung himself to the leaves and fired twice, and one blast struck a tree, cracking it open, setting it afire, as if it might have been smitten with lightning, and the other charge took off the head of a Kur.
"Kill him! Kill him!” Flavion was shrieking, with a rattle of chain, the translator conveying this imperative in Gorean with its customary passionless professionalism.
Another Kur raised his head, cautiously, warily, only feet away. It would have been better for him had he been more patient, and waited even Ahn, or until night, but he had not. And so he died, and Cabot changed his position again.
It was quiet then in the glade.
Cabot discarded one rifle, and had at his disposal then only two charges, those configured to the second weapon.
Cabot was then within the enclave, and saw the vessels, the stores, the half-buried amphora for water, the mats for sleeping. There were six such mats. Cabot detected no sign of chains or cages.
"Draw his fire, find his position!” he heard Flavion screaming.
But Cabot had made the determinations he wished. What he had sought, something soft, in a collar, was clearly not here, nor any sign that it had been. Nor was there any sign of coffers, or sacks, which might have bulged with coin.
Fire from various quarters burned into the grass. Some of it blackened and burst into flame just over his head.
Cabot might have obtained a kill with one of the charges, as he placed its source from the pencillike fire stream, but, had he done so, his own position might have been similarly revealed, and the power weapons could sweep out swaths of terrain, and there had been six sleeping mats. Thus, not counting Flavion, he supposed there might be four, or more, Kurii left in the vicinity.
Cabot withdrew.
With him, more silent in the grass than he, came Ramar.
"Better, dear Flavion,” Cabot thought, “I had left you in the trap. Perhaps, however, we will meet again."
Chapter, the Seventy-Third:
THERE WILL BE AN INSTITUTION OF FESTIVALS
"What is in the box?” asked Cabot.
"Agamemnon,” said Lucullus.
He slid back the protective metal lid of the box and, through the glassine ceiling, Cabot could see, within, below, bathed in fluid, complexly wired, a mass of gray tissue.
"Through these ports,” said Crassus, indicating a variety of apertures on the outside of the box, to which wires led, “Agamemnon could utilize his bodies, see and hear through them, speak through them, control them, and so on."
"You should have seen him, you should have known him,” said Lucullus, “when he had his own body."
"He was the most magnificent of the folk,” said Crassus. “How splendid he was, how massive and swift, how splendid of visage, so clear of eye, so quick of hand."
"He was first in the rings,” said Lucullus. “We loved him."
"He was champion, he was first,” said Crassus.
"Never before, and never after,” said Lucullus, “will there be his equal."
"We extended the amnesty,” said Lord Arcesilaus, from his throne in the palace, “and they came in, surrendered."
"You may now kill us,” said Lucullus, indicating himself, and Crassus.
"That is not my amnesty,” said Lord Arcesilaus. “My amnesty is an amnesty. You served Lord Agamemnon well, and it is my hope that you will so serve me."
"We shall, Lord,” they said.
"I think all have come in,” said Lord Grendel. “The amnesty has been general."
On the finger of Lord Arcesilaus was a large ring, heavy and ornate, a symbol of authority. Once Cabot had worn it about his neck on a string, and he had given it to Mitonicus who, later, had returned it to Lord Arcesilaus, who had been the early champion of the revolution, and the chief conspirator who had brought it to its beginning, before he had been betrayed to Agamemnon by a shapely Kur pet.
"At a crucial moment,” said Cabot, “as it was reported to me, in a far camp, one cried ‘Hail Lord Arcesilaus, Twelfth Face of the Nameless One, Theocrat of the World.’ Was it ever discovered who it was who first so cried?"
"Yes,” said Lord Grendel, looking to the side.
"It was I,” said a K
ur.
"And I then, as well,” said another.
"Surely you recognize them?” said Lord Grendel.
"From the far arsenal!” said Cabot, suddenly.
"Yes,” said Lord Grendel, “the two we spared, and to whom we returned their weapons, that they might return without jeopardy to the habitats."
"We had other adherents, as well,” said Statius, “adherents, and dissenters, many, from those spared, at the Vale of Destruction."
"It seems, Lord Grendel,” said Cabot, “that in a human weakness is sometimes found a wisdom, and sometimes a strength."
"But often not,” said Lord Arcesilaus.
"True,” said Cabot.
"I think there is now little need of me here,” said Zarendargar, war general of Kurii, “and I shall withdraw my people and my ships."
"Pray, remain for a time, noble ally,” said Lord Arcesilaus, “for I shall decree a mighty festival, with days of rejoicing and feasting, which I would that you and yours, your splendid, numberless adherents and crews, shared with us."
Zarendargar, war general of the Kurii, no longer military governor of the world, as Lord Arcesilaus had now been ensconced in the palace, inclined his head, in ready, gracious assent.
"Our two worlds,” said Lord Arcesilaus, “will be as one."
"No,” said Zarendargar. “Each will be its own."
"Good,” said Mitonicus, admiral of mariners.
"It is the Kur way,” said Statius, who stood high in the councils of Lord Arcesilaus, Twelfth Face of the Nameless One, Theocrat of the World.
"The ports have been unsealed,” said Peisistratus. “Our ships are now free, to wharf here, or to return to our lairs on Gor, or our secret places, our islands and dens, on Earth."
"My people,” said Archon, “may return to the forest world, or remain here, or voyage to Gor."
"I will provide ships,” said Zarendargar.
"You remembered me,” said Cabot.
"I returned for you,” said Zarendargar.
"Human will no longer be eaten here,” said Lord Arcesilaus, “nor hunted."
"What of the cattle humans?” asked Cabot.
"Some will be shipped to Gor, others will remain here,” said Lord Arcesilaus. “It makes little difference. As they are reproduced only by artificial insemination, they will be allowed to live well, in their bovine simplicity, and then perish. We will see to it that they are cared for, and have their feed troughs filled. That is all they want, to be fed, and have their needs supplied by others."