Conspirators of Gor

by John Norman

  My fears in this matter had been twofold; first, that the Lady Bina, having succumbed to the blandishments of Kurii, might prevail upon Grendel to join their party, and, second, she being in their power, he might, to procure her comfort and safety, perform whatever tasks they might ask of him. I recalled his fear that she might be harmed if he refused to cooperate. To avoid that, I had speculated that he might do much. “Perhaps everything,” he had said.

  What I had failed to anticipate were his revelations to me prior to our entry into the so-called Audience Chamber of Agamemnon, spoken of as the “Theocrat of the World,” and the “Eleventh Face of the Nameless One.” There I had understood, for the first time, that he had no more respect for, or feeling for, the Lady Bina than the other Kurii. She had been for them no more than a piece in their games, of value only for her possible effect on Grendel, but now, given his lack of concern for her, even his contempt for her, she was no longer even that. His motivations, made clear to me, were wealth and power. How clever he was! His initial reluctance to further their cause, as one might see now, had been no more than a ruse to raise the stakes, presumably to the governorship of a world. I had been wrong about Grendel. I saw him now as he was, ruthless, cruel, treacherous, ambitious, and greedy. Part Kur, he was perhaps more than Kur, adding to the horror of one species the worst of another.

  “One comes!” called the first guard, looking about, pointing toward the trail outside the portal.

  Each seized his spear.

  “Beware,” said the second guard. “Do not challenge. See! It is a golden chain!”

  Only four in the Cave wore the golden chain, Lucius, putatively first in the Cave, Timarchos, Lysymachos, and, of late, some days ago, Grendel.

  The guards uneasily drew back their spears, and stepped aside.

  I knew the entering beast. For me to effect this recognition it was not necessary for me to note a golden chain, nor hear him speak. I could recognize him easily, from Ar, from the domicile of Epicrates, from the place of cells, from the audience chamber. After weeks in the Cave, where Kurii were frequently encountered, I could also easily note the subtle difference about the eyes, and, of course, if one looked, that of the appendages, for the hands and feet of the entering beast were five-digited, not six-digited. These differences would have been instantaneously obvious to a Kur, but I am sure that many humans would have seen little or no difference between Grendel and a purely bred, or full-blooded, Kur. There would also, of course, if the beast were to speak, be a difference in the sounds uttered. They were neither purely human nor purely Kur. A human first encountering Grendel’s Gorean might find it difficult to understand but, after a short while, with certain adjustments, it was easily intelligible. I gathered that his Kur was closer to Kur, than his Gorean to Gorean. In any event, however it might seem to a Kur, I saw little difference between the Kur of Grendel and that of his Kur fellows with whom he readily and frequently conversed.

  Grendel growled as he passed the guards, and they drew back a bit more. They would have been more at ease had they kept their spears at the ready, drawn back, in the two-handed thrusting position.

  He had entered from the outside. I recalled that he had told me, before the meeting in the audience chamber, that he had been given his freedom, and might even leave the Cave if he wished. His natural pelting would protect him from the weather. I envied him his capacity to come and go as he might please. Aside from the question of garmenture, a kajira who left the Cave might be accounted a fugitive, and hunted down, as such. Mina, as I recalled, was to have been fed alive to lesser Kurii until Trachinos, pleased with her lineaments, had purchased her.

  When Grendel turned to me, I dropped to my knees, and lowered my head, fearing to look into the eyes of such a monster. I remembered a glimpse of the golden chain swinging against that large, dark chest, the translator dangling from it, and then he had passed.

  A bit later, the first guard said, “Kajira.”

  I then gathered up the tray, utensils, goblets, and the emptied bottle of ka-la-na, and made my way back to the kitchen.

  As I passed the wagons of Pausanias, drawn up within the portal, I noted some of his men inspecting an axle, the wagon raised a few horts from the level.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “What is Chloe doing?” I asked, puzzled.

  Chloe was the only girl in the slave quarters who could read. Mina, the slave of Trachinos, a former free woman, could also read, but she was not kept in the slave quarters. She now had her own collar, and was slept at the slave ring of Trachinos, who, as Lykos, Desmond, and Akesinos, now had a small, private room assigned to him. The kajirae who had been with the wagons, Jane, Eve, and myself, were forbidden to tend these rooms. We seldom saw the masters. Interestingly, these rooms could all be locked from the outside. Thus, they might serve as cells. I did not know the location of Astrinax, but supposed that he might be, as earlier, in attendance on the Lady Bina.

  “I do not know,” said Nora.

  “Is it not obvious?” asked Chloe, not pleased.

  “I see what you are doing,” I said. “But I do not know what you are doing.”

  “Barbarian,” said Chloe.

  “So what are you doing?” I asked.

  “Look,” she said.

  “I see that you are kneeling at a small desk,” I said, “and are making marks on large sheets of papers, papers covered with squares. Beside you is a helmet, containing many small scraps of paper. You draw forth one small scrap of paper, look at it, and then write something in a square on one of the larger sheets, and then you put the small scrap of paper aside, and keep doing this.”

  “Very good,” said Chloe.

  “Do not be angry,” I said.

  “Why should I not be angry?” she said. “I am literate. Why should I be put to this nonsense. You could do it, as well.”

  “Let me try,” I said.

  “Are you serious?” she asked, alertly, brightly.

  “Certainly,” I said. “Why should an exalted literate slave, such as yourself, be put to such puerile endeavors?”

  “I suppose you are right,” she said.

  “I am literate in my own language,” I said to her, annoyed.

  “A barbarian language,” she said.

  “True,” I said.

  “I am tired,” she said. “Look what I have done.” She pointed to several sheets, each square of which had been filled in. There were several more, beside her. I supposed it was a boring business, or might become so, after a time. On the other hand, I thought I might enjoy it, certainly for a while. I had no objection to its clerical aspect, and it was certainly very different from the tasks I commonly performed.

  “Explain it to me,” I said. “Let me help you.”

  “These large sheets,” she said, “are each marked off into a hundred squares, ten on a side.”

  “That is like a Kaissa board, is it not?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “And on most of the small scraps of paper is a letter, an Al-ka, a Ba-ta, and so on, though on some, for some reason, there is nothing but a meaningless mark. What one is to do is to take a paper from the helmet which bears a letter or the meaningless mark, and transcribe it onto one of the squares on the large sheet. There are also one hundred such scraps. After transcribing the letter or meaningless mark one puts it aside until later. When a large sheet is filled, the last letter or meaningless mark placed in the last square, one replaces the scraps of paper in the helmet, shuffles them about, jumbles them, and then, with a new large sheet, one begins again.”

  “How many large sheets are there?” I asked. Chloe had, clearly, filled in several already.

  “One hundred,” she said.

  “It is clearly a great deal of work,” I said.

  “You offered to help,” she said.

  “I am happy to do so,” I said, “at least for a time.”

  “You do not have to recognize the letters,” she said. “Just transcribe them.”

 
“I understand,” I said. “What is the point of all this?”

  “I do not know,” she said. “As there are a hundred squares and letters, and such, I suppose it is some sort of game.”

  “Might it be a form of decoration, or an eccentric oddity for display?” I asked.

  “Perhaps,” she said, rising from her low desk and stretching.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “I will wander about in the halls,” she said.

  “Beware that your thigh is not marked,” I said.

  “Why do you think I am going to wander about in the halls?” she asked.

  “Oh,” I said.

  Chloe went to Nora, knelt before her, lowered her head, and requested permission to leave the slave quarters, which permission received, she exited. I knew that Chloe was not happy that our first girl should be a barbarian. Indeed, I had gathered, from remarks by our Gorean chain sisters in the quarters, that such an appointment was rare. It was their surmise that Nora’s position was intended to affront and demean them, that they should be under the authority of a barbarian. Would this not make their collars more meaningful to them? It is hard to know about such things. I supposed it was also possible that Kurii, subversives, traitors, conspirators, and such, those who might wish to conceal the nature of their activities and plans, might have less to fear from an ignorant barbarian, at a loss in an unfamiliar culture, than a native Gorean. On the other hand, it is my surmise that to the masters, inspecting the available slaves, it had been a simple matter; Nora had been the obvious choice for first girl, the best choice for a girl to intimidate, control, and manage lesser girls.

  For better than an Ahn I continued the work which Chloe had relinquished to me. I did not even know the names of the letters I was transcribing. In a sense they were simple designs, or mere marks, to me, though I knew them to be letters, or most of them. Chloe had said that some of these marks, or designs, were meaningless. I did not know for certain which were letters and which were not. If I were familiar with the alphabet I could probably have done the work more quickly, knowing that, say, that was an Al-ka, that a Ba-ta, and so on, and then quickly transcribing them. On the other hand, to me they were mostly marks or designs, and so I was careful to try to reproduce each as carefully as I could. I placed each mark or design in the center of a square, neatly.

  “Master!” I heard, a girl’s warning cry.

  Instantly we all went to first obeisance position.

  “I hoped more would have been done,” said a masculine voice, almost at my side.

  “Master!” I said, lifting my head. It was Master Desmond. Then I said, “Chloe is gone. I am doing the work.”

  “I will take these,” he said, picking up the sheets which had been finished, Chloe’s and mine.

  “I am not authorized to surrender them!” I said.

  “What are they?” he asked.

  “I do not know,” I said.

  Nora called from her knees. “May I inquire the name of Master?” she asked.

  “Desmond,” said he, “Desmond of Harfax.”

  “You may not carry such things from here, Master,” she said.

  “Who has said so?” he asked.

  “Pausanias, master of the Wagons,” she said.

  “I herewith countermand his order,” said he.

  “I fear to report Master,” she said.

  “You are first girl?” he asked. Surely he knew that, from the talmit, from the switch on her right wrist.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  He put down the sheets, and strode to her. She cowered back.

  “Talmit!” he said.

  She reached behind her head and undid the talmit, and handed it to him. He cast it to the floor.

  “Camisk off!” he said.

  “Master?” she said.

  “Now,” he said. Then he said, “Switch.”

  He then looked down upon her, as she now was, the switch in his hand.

  “Please, no, Master!” she said.

  I then saw the proud Nora under the switch. In a moment she was only a cringing, beaten slave, no different from others. He then yanked her to her feet by the hair, and held her head to his right hip, following which he dragged her, stumbling, to the nearest empty cage. There he threw her to all fours and, with his boot, hastened her into the cage, the gate of which, as she turned about, on her knees, he flung shut. She grasped the bars, trembling, tears coursing down her cheeks, looking out.

  “Are you a slave girl?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master!” she said.

  “Anything more?” he asked.

  “No, Master!” she said.

  “Do you want your tongue slit, or removed?” he asked.

  “No, Master!” she said.

  “Do you intend to interfere further in the matters of masters?” he asked.

  “No, Master!” she said.

  Nora, I was sure, would remain silent.

  Desmond of Harfax then returned to my side. He picked up the sheets which had been finished. “Continue your work,” he said. “Make haste.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “Do not fear that Pausanias will soon call for the sheets,” he said. “I encountered Chloe in the hall. She will see to it, in the manner of the slave, that Pausanias marks her thigh.”

  “Is that not dangerous?” I said.

  “She will do much for a sweet,” he said.

  “I, too, would like a sweet,” I said.

  “You have not earned one,” he said. Then he said, “Keep working. I shall return these sheets before locking time. Hopefully this business will be finished by tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “Hopefully, Pausanias will not be satisfied with but one taste of Chloe,” he said.

  “Perhaps not,” I said.

  “It seems you sluts know how to manage such things almost off the block,” he said.

  “We are women,” I said.

  “And slaves,” he said.

  “The most female of women,” I said.

  “Certainly,” he said.

  “Perhaps Chloe will earn another sweet,” I said.

  “Perhaps,” he said. “Are you jealous?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Are you a liar?” he said.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “You are pretty in your camisk,” he said.

  “Thank you, Master,” I said.

  “Continue your work,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I paused, frightened, before the door to the Punishment Room, to which a white-faced Nora had instructed me to report.

  Nora’s discipline, of late, while remaining strict, was no longer vindictive or arbitrary. This had much to do, I supposed, with having been shackled at the slave ring of Kleomenes. I still feared her, and mightily, but I knew now I would be punished only when I might be displeasing.

  But I had been instructed to report to the Punishment Room.

  Who then had arranged this? Who might I have displeased?

  I had no idea what might lie within the Punishment Room, and I was not eager to find out.

  The door of the room was slightly ajar. I could see that the wood was thick, presumably that the cries from those within might not resound in the hall outside.

  I was then conscious of a figure behind me. I could not kneel for a hand on my upper right arm held me on my feet.

  “Shall we enter?” inquired Desmond of Harfax.

  I was conducted within the room, and looked about myself. The room was lit with energy bulbs, as were the numerous chambers and labyrinthine halls of the Cave. The room was relatively bare. I saw no chains, whips, pincers, tongs, irons, boots, crowns, knives, and such, no miscellany of paraphernalia or furniture designed to produce pain of one sort or another, to one degree or another. I detected not even a brazier, within whose coals implements of one sort or another might be heated, nor a tank within whose i
ced waters implements of another sort might be chilled.

  Desmond of Harfax closed the door behind us, and bolted it shut, from the inside.

  There was a long table in the room, with benches. Master Desmond took a seat on one of the benches, and indicated that I might kneel beside him. In the presence of a master a kneeling or lying position is common with female slaves. For example, one might lie on the floor on one’s side, looking up at him, at the foot of his couch.

  “I cannot withstand torture, Master,” I said, kneeling at his knee. “I do not know what I have done, or what I might be supposed to have done. I know nothing.”