The King

by John Norman

  "The empire is not invincible," said Abrogastes. "We have met her on a hundred worlds, at a thousand ports and cities, and defeated her."

  "Those are border forces, not the mobile forces, auxiliaries, not regulars, conscripts, not professionals," said a man.

  "Even the Vandalii, our hated and hereditary foes, at one time resisted the empire!" said Abrogastes.

  "And they are now vanished, or scattered, and meaningless, exiled, banished to distant worlds, some even in rural service to the empire.''

  "Are we, of the Alemanni," asked Abrogastes, "less than the Vandals?"

  "No!" cried men, angrily.

  Huta lay in the dirt, small, forgotten, her knees drawn up, her arms about herself. She, overwhelmed with what had occurred, with her dance, with her feelings, her sensations, scarcely dared to move. Never had she been so alive, so frightened, so ready to feel, so real. It was as though she had somehow discovered herself, finding herself to be, in perfection, what she had always suspected herself to be, a woman, more in the state of nature than she would have dreamed possible. She felt an overwhelming desire to please, and serve. She wanted to live to do so, and be held, and mastered.

  Yet she lay there on the dirt floor of the hall, huddled up, naked.

  Whether the slave is clothed or not is up to the master, but they are often clad, if only in a ribbon, or rag, that it be clear that they are slave, to themselves and others, that their beauty might be the subject of provocative, betraying hints, and that there be something to remove from them, whenever the master wishes it.

  But on Huta's body there was not even a collar.

  She wanted the collar, or the anklet, or bracelet, or ring, or chains, anything, something to give her at least a little security, something to confirm upon her her status, something to make it clear that she might be wanted, that she might hope to be kept.

  Her hunger now began to return to her. She had not been fed. It had not been seen fit to waste food on her. It had not been clear that she was to survive the evening.

  She longed for the reassurance of chains.

  Would not such suggest that she might be kept, if only for the night?

  But there was not so much as a rag on her body.

  To be sure, on her left leg, high, just under the hip, she had been branded, a common brand, the tiny slave rose, one of several standard marks recognized in merchant law, but it had been done shortly after landfall from Tenguthaxichai, she one in a line of several others, no different, being put in the rack, which held the limb immobile, in her turn, as the others. She had cried out, struggling in the cuffs, pinioning her wrists behind her, which would not be removed for several hours, and had seen her thigh marked, saw it hissing, smoking, for a moment, and had understood that she was now something that could be recognized and identified for what it was throughout galaxies. She had hoped to be marked by Abrogastes himself but he did her no such honor. It was a common fellow, a smith, in his dark, stained leather apron, who did the work, he taking one iron after another from the brazier, these being cleaned and reheated by attendants. She had been on a common neck chain, with others. The work was done in a routine, unhurried, methodical, efficient manner. Did the smith, and the others, she had wondered, not understand what they were doing, what an absolute, incredible transformation they wreaked with each placing, and pressing in, of the iron? One might have thought, she had conjectured, that they might have been marking cattle. Then it had occurred to her that, in a sense, that was precisely what they were doing. They were marking livestock. She had, when free, despised slaves, and thought nothing of them. But then she had found herself one.

  Abrogastes had had her branded promptly, but had not done the work himself. He had given it over to the smith and his fellows. He himself had scarcely seen her afterward. She had, with others, served twice, her ankles in leather shackles, in his hut.

  The mark was on her, of course, and it identified her as a slave. But surely it provided her with little assurance that she might be spared.

  She might be thrown, tonight, to the dogs that guarded the camp.

  "They think," called Abrogastes to the tables, he striding about, fixing his fierce eyes upon one of the feasters after another, "that we are weak, that we are afraid of them! Are you weak, Granicus? Are you weak, Anton?"

  "No," responded these creatures.

  "You, Ingeld?" inquired Abrogastes.

  "No, milord."

  "Hrothgar?"

  "No, father!" cried Hrothgar.

  "Hensa? Orkon?"

  "No, milord," said these men.

  "Who here fears the empire?" called Abrogastes.

  "The empire is strong," said a man.

  "Do you fear her?" inquired Abrogastes.

  "No, milord!" said the man.

  "The empire believes that we cannot fight, that we are afraid to fight, that we are cowards!" said Abrogastes, his eyes blazing.

  "Surely she is wrong, milord," called the clerk.

  "Is she wrong, brothers?" inquired Abrogastes.

  "Yes, milord!" cried a man.

  "The empire is strong, milord," said a man.

  "The empire," whispered Abrogastes, "is weak."

  "Milord?" asked the man.

  "Weak," said Abrogastes.

  He then turned about and, not more than a pace from the prostrate Huta, returned to the dais, where he stood before the bench, between the high-seat pillars.

  "You have spies, milord?" inquired a man.

  "Yes," said Abrogastes.

  "Let rings be brought!" called the clerk.

  Men gasped, looking about, many apprehensive.

  Huta, ignored, fearing, not knowing her fate, lay before the dais, frightened that no notice was taken of her, not even the blow of a boot, and yet fearing, as well, that she might, at any moment, by some happenstance, even by some caprice, as though by the shifting of a wind, be returned to the attention of the hall.

  Chain me, she whispered to herself, chain me.

  Abrogastes seated himself on the bench, between the high-seat pillars.

  I want chains, she whispered to herself. Chain me, so that I cannot run, chain me to a ring, by the wrists and ankles, by the neck, if you wish, so that I cannot escape, so that I will be secure, so that I know I will be kept, at least for the night! Chain me, my master. I beg chains.

  "I have thought long on these matters, and hard," said Abrogastes.

  "Is it wise to have rings brought, father?" inquired Ingeld.

  "There is a time to bring the rings," said Abrogastes.

  "Is this the time, father?" asked Ingeld.

  "It is the time," said Abrogastes.

  "It is the time!" said Hrothgar, smiting with two fists upon the table.

  "But the empire is eternal," said a man.

  "Let it be eternal," said Abrogastes.

  "I do not understand," said the man.

  Two men entered, from the side, bearing with them a coffer, bound in iron.

  "The rings, milord," said the shieldsman, at the left shoulder of Abrogastes, the sword of his lord over his left shoulder.

  Huta looked pathetically to one of the musicians, still by the dais.

  She could not read his expression.

  She shuddered. She had, as she had been urged, danced her secret dreams, her secret thoughts, her needs, herself, her slavery, what she was, who she was. She had danced as a slave, shamelessly, holding nothing back, surrendering everything, releasing all, throwing herself piteously upon the mercy of harsh masters. And she had danced, too, before Abrogastes, and as his helpless, and, to her consternation, so vulnerably, as his needful, slave. What more could she do? What more could she give? Surely she had lost everything. But he had then thrust her with his boot from the dais, and seemed now to have dismissed her from his mind.

  Mighty matters were afoot, and she knew herself only a worthless, meaningless slave.

  She moved herself a little, and, lifting herself on the palms of her hands, regarded the scale,
the pointer of which inclined ever so slightly toward the left side of the semicircular dial, toward the skull at its termination, indicating that the greatest weight, at this moment, lay within the pan of death.

  What if they should forget her, and leave matters as they stood? Would not then the men come and, taking her by the arms, conduct her outside, to be thrown to the dogs?

  She lay back down, trembling.

  "Who here does not want wealth beyond his wildest dreams?" asked Abrogastes.

  Men looked at one another, and grinned.

  "It is there for the taking," said Abrogastes. "We need only have the courage to seize it! The empire is like a shell. It is hard on the outside, but once we break through, as I assure you that we, in strength, we brothers together, can, there is nothing to stop us, not until we reach the treasure rooms, the boudoirs, with our chains, the hearths of Telnaria herself!"

  "They have ships, thousands, and weapons," said a man.

  "We too have ships, and will have more, as we are joined by disaffected worlds. We are not the only enemies of the empire. Many are sophisticated, technological worlds which will support us with ships, with supplies, with equipment and armament."

  "You have sounded these things out?" asked a man.

  "Else you would not have been called to the feast," said Abrogastes.

  "There are many peoples here, milord," said a man.

  "We are strong," mused another.

  "The empire is a burden on many worlds, and places, milord," said a man. "They would be pleased to be rid of her."

  "The time to strike is now," said Abrogastes.

  "And what will these worlds want of us, who wish us to take their risks, and do their work for them?" asked a man.

  "What we give them," said Abrogastes, "is what they will receive."

  "It will be by our doing?" asked Ingeld.

  "Yes," said Abrogastes.

  "There will be worlds to distribute?" asked a man.

  "A billion worlds," said Abrogastes, "to be distributed, to the brave, the faithful, the loyal, to owe their duties to their lords."

  "The empire is eternal," said a man, his voice shaking.

  "Let it be eternal, or not," said Abrogastes. "What does it matter? It is a house into which we may, if we wish, enter. Do you think the empire, if she is to endure, cares who governs her, who is her master? Do you not think that power has not changed hands within her a thousand times, by poisonings, by assassinations, by untimely deaths, by intrigues, by palace seizures, by riots, by civil wars, in her long history? That there is a throne is all that is required, that and someone to sit upon it!"

  "But we are not of the empire," said a man.

  "So much the better," said Abrogastes. "Our blood is fresh, and hot. We are young, and the heat of our youth is upon us. We are a newer, more ambitious, more adventurous, more determined, stronger people. I will not be content until I ride my horse into the throne room of Telnaria, and wash my blade in the blood of the emperor!"

  "Beware, milord!" cried a man.

  "I have not gone mad," said Abrogastes. "What is required is courage."

  "We are only warriors," said a man.

  "Such," said Abrogastes, "stand at the beginning of all dynasties."

  Abrogastes rose to his feet.

  "Milord," said the clerk.

  Men gasped, for the clerk had drawn forth, from a chest at the back of the dais, a long, purple robe, of the imperial purple, trimmed with white fur, from the pelt of the ice bear.

  He draped this about the shoulders of Abrogastes.

  Abrogastes himself fastened the large, golden penannular clasp.

  The robe was so cut, in two leaves, that its length fell before and behind, leaving the arms free.

  In such a way a sword may be wielded.

  "Such robes may you all wear," said Abrogastes.

  Men regarded one another, wonderingly.

  "Let rings be distributed," said Abrogastes.

  The men who had brought the rings, in the iron-bound coffer began to distribute them.

  They were large, and of gold, such as might be worn on the upper arm, or wrist.

  Men drew back, fearing to accept them.

  "Do not be afraid, my brothers," said Abrogastes. "See. I do not ask that you kneel before me, and accept rings from my hand. These are tokens of the feast, and of my good will. Surely those who have accepted rings from me know who they are, and many of you, I know, have accepted rings from another. I ask no forswearing of allegiances. We are all brothers. These are gifts. No obligation attends them."

  "Our thanks, milord!" called a man.

  The rings then were distributed, though some were accepted with reluctance.

  It is a serious thing, the taking of rings.

  There was, you see, as Abrogastes well knew, something in the nature of an implicit understanding involved in such an acceptance, even though it might be formally denied.

  Abrogastes then resumed his seat upon the bench, between the pillars.

  "Bring gifts!" he called.

  Men rushed out and returned with rich gifts, drawn from chests, some of which required four men to bear. There was rich cloth, much of it cunningly woven, and satins and brocades for free women, and subtle silks, many diaphanous, with which to bedeck slaves, and there were jewels, of a dozen kinds, and golden wire, and brooches, buckles, strap ends, coins, plates, vessels, candelabra, lamps, swords, daggers, bracelets and necklaces, many such things. Much of this was heaped upon the tables. Men, and others, grasped these things, taking them to their places, putting them about themselves, thrusting them into their belts and garments.

  Abrogastes watched, with satisfaction.

  He witnessed men, and others, accepting his gifts, even eagerly.

  Too, he was the lord of the Drisriaks, the foremost tribe, the largest and fiercest, of the Alemanni nation. To accept gifts from him was not the same as from some minor lord.

  Abrogastes called to himself, while the gifts were being distributed, the chief of the lads in the bright livery, with the switches, and spoke with him.

  He then, the lad, went to the prone women, crowded together, radiated in their semicircle about and before the spear, and, with deft, significatory touches of the supple wand in his hand, brought three to their hands and knees and herded them, with a touch here and there, unobtrusively, on an arm, or flank, to a position before the dais, to the left, before the bench of Abrogastes. These were the three blondes who had, often, even on the Alaria, served as display slaves, the sort with which a barbaric court might be bedecked, as an indication of the wealth and power of a rude sovereign, one of a powerful, ruthless people among whom the complete mastery of slaves was a commonplace. At a nod from Abrogastes, a keeper chained them, the three of them, hand and foot, to a ring, it set in the side of the dais.

  This business was not muchly noticed by the men at the tables, boisterous, vying, arguing, reaching out, gathering in their gifts.

  "There is more than enough for all!" cried out one of the distributors of this largesse.

  The leader of the display slaves, shackled with the others, looked at Abrogastes fearfully, hopefully. She pressed her lips to her manacles, looking above them, timidly, to Abrogastes.

  A wave of hatred and jealousy swept through the small, exquisitely curved body of Huta, but then she put down her head in fear, in misery, and moaned.

  On her own throat there was not so much as a collar.

  The eyes of the hound, green, and alight with fire, that crouched to the right of Abrogastes, were upon her.

  At the merest word from Abrogastes, she knew the hound would be upon her, and tear her to pieces, its muzzle and fangs awash with blood, it feeding eagerly before the dais.

  Huta looked to the scales, and to the pointer, indicative of the weightier burden borne within the pan of death.

  She shuddered, and pressed the right side of her cheek into the dirt, against one of the broken reeds, or rushes.

  Muchly
did she envy the display slaves their shackles.

  It seemed, at least, they had been found worth chaining, that they would be kept.

  "Behold!" called Abrogastes, rising from the bench, and gesturing expansively to the side, where, from an entrance, men filed in, bearing oblong boxes.

  "What is this, milord?" called a man, a Buron, from his home world of Safa Minor.

  "See!" laughed Abrogastes.

  The boxes were torn open, the boards splintered by swift, prying bars.

  "Aii!" cried feasters, for within there were Telnarian rifles.

  Such weapons were superior to those of most border troops, many of which, given the losses of resources over more than a billion years, were reduced to primitive weaponry, suitable for little more than the ordering, and pacification, of peoples scarcely less advanced than themselves. A quarrel, an arrow, may be reused, and, indeed, many charges, and the forcings of ground, had as their main intent the recovery of just such missiles from the field, some gathering them up, others maintaining the hurdles or shield walls behind which this harvesting might take place. A cartridge, on the other hand, once expended, is gone. A gallon of fuel burned is lost. A bomb, once exploded, has done its work, its reality then vanished in the debris of its birth and death. In these times, you see, a rifle might be worth a kingdom, and an unexploited world, newly discovered, rich in minerals and arable soil, worth a star. Resources, once carelessly conceived as if they might be infinite in nature and quantity, used upon occasion even to shatter and destroy worlds, had proved, over billions of years, finite, potentially exhaustible, and many were scattered, remote, and to most intents and purposes inaccessible. Small wonder then that simple metal, which might be fashioned into blades, and wood, that gloriously renewable resource, which might be fashioned into arrows and bows, began again to appear in the mixed arsenals of a million worlds.