Priest-Kings of Gor

by John Norman

  The globelike object which had been fastened over her head now stopped humming and flashing, and the attendant on the disk opened it, releasing the girl's head. He shoved the globe up and a foot or so to the side and then with a quick movement reclosed it in such a way that once again its floorside aperture described an opening of approximately six inches in diameter. The attendant at the wall panel then pressed a button and the entire apparatus raised on its extension arms to the ceiling.

  As well as she could, sobbing and trembling, the girl looked downward through the transparent top of the plastic cylinder and regarded herself. She now saw herself in a strange garment. She touched her left hand to her thigh and cried out in pain.

  She shook her head, her eyes bursting with tears. "You don't understand," she whimpered, "I am an offering to the Priest-Kings from the Initiates of Ar."

  The attendant on the disk then bent down and picked up the slender, graceful metal collar.

  These collars are normally measured individually to the girl, as is most slave steel. The collar is regarded not simply as a designation of slavery and a means for identifying the girl's owner and his city but as an ornament as well. Accordingly the Gorean master is often extremely concerned that the fit of the graceful band will be neither too tight nor too loose. The collar is normally worn snugly, indeed so much so that if the snap of a slave leash is used the girl will normally suffer some discomfort.

  The girl continued to shake her head. "No," she said, "no, you do not understand." She tried to twist away as the attendant's hands lifted the collar towards her. "But I came to the Sardar," she cried, "in order that I might never be a slave girl—never a slave girl!"

  The collar made a small, heavy click as it closed about her throat.

  "You are a slave girl," said the attendant.

  She screamed.

  "Take her away," said the attendant by the wall panel.

  Obediently the attendant on the disk lightly jumped down and began to push the disk and its cylinder from the room.

  As it passed from the chamber, followed by the attendant who had operated the wall panel, I could see the dazed, confused girl, sobbing and in pain, trying to reach the collar through the plastic of the cylinder's top. "No, no," she said, "you do not understand." She threw me one last look, not comprehending, hopeless, wild, reproachful.

  My hand tightened on the hilt of my sword.

  "There is nothing you can do," said Mul-Al-Ka.

  I supposed that he might well be right. Should I kill the innocent attendants, merely Muls who were performing the tasks allotted to them by Priest-Kings? Would I then have to slay Mul-Al-Ka and Mul-Ba-Ta as well? And what would I do with the girl in the Nest of Priest-Kings? And what of Misk? Would I not then lose my opportunity, if any, of saving him?

  I was angered toward Mul-Al-Ka and Mul-Ba-Ta.

  "Why did you bring me here?" I demanded.

  "Why," said Mul-Al-Ka, "did you not notice her collar?"

  "It was a slave collar," I said.

  "But the engraving was large and very plain," he said.

  "Did you not read it?" asked Mul-Ba-Ta.

  "No," I said irritably, "I did not."

  "It was the numeral 708," said Mul-Al-Ka.

  I started and did not speak. 708 had been the number of Vika's collar. There was now a new slave for her chamber. What did this mean?

  "That was the collar number of Vika of Treve," I said.

  "Precisely," said Mul-Al-Ka, "she whom Sarm promised to you as part of the riches accruing from your part in his plan to slay Misk."

  "The number, as you see," said Mul-Ba-Ta, "has been reassigned."

  "What does that mean?" I asked.

  "It means," said Mul-Al-Ka, "that Vika of Treve no longer exists."

  I suddenly felt as though a hammer had struck me, for though I hated Vika of Treve I would not have wished her dead. Somehow, unaccountably in spite of my great hatred for her, I was shaking, sweating and trembling. "Perhaps she has been given a new collar?" I asked.

  "No," said Mul-Al-Ka.

  "Then she is dead?" I asked.

  "As good as dead," said Mul-Ba-Ta.

  "What do you mean!" I cried, seizing him by the shoulders and shaking him.

  "He means," said Mul-Al-Ka, "that she has been sent to the tunnels of the Golden Beetle."

  "But why?" I demanded.

  "She was useless any longer as a servant to Priest-Kings," said Mul-Ba-Ta.

  "But why!" I insisted.

  "I think we have said enough," said Mul-Al-Ka.

  "That is true," said Mul-Ba-Ta. "Perhaps we should not have spoken even this much to you, Tarl Cabot."

  I placed my hands gently on the shoulders of the two Muls.

  "Thank you, my friends," I said. "I understand what you have done here. You have proved to me that Sarm does not intend to keep his promises, that he will betray me."

  "Remember," said Mul-Al-Ka, "we have not told you that."

  "That is true," I said, "but you have showed me."

  "We only promised Sarm," said Mul-Ba-Ta, "that we would not tell you."

  I smiled at the two Muls, my friends.

  "After I have finished with Misk are you then to kill me?" I asked.

  "No," said Mul-Al-Ka, "we are simply to tell you that Vika of Treve awaits you in the tunnels of the Golden Beetle."

  "That is the weak part of Sarm's plan," said Mul-Ba-Ta, "for you would never go to the tunnels of the Golden Beetle to seek a female Mul."

  "True," said Mul-Al-Ka, "it is the first mistake I have known Sarm to make."

  "You will not go to the tunnels of the Golden Beetle," said Mul-Ba-Ta, "because it is death to do so."

  "But I will go," I said.

  The two Muls looked at one another sadly and shook their heads.

  "Sarm is wiser than we," said Mul-Al-Ka.

  Mul-Ba-Ta nodded his head. "See how he uses the instincts of humans against themselves," he said to his companion.

  "A true Priest-King," said Mul-Al-Ka.

  I smiled to myself, for I thought how incredible that I should find myself naturally and without a second thought considering going to the rescue of the worthless, vicious wench, Vika of Treve.

  And yet it was not a strange thing, particularly not on Gor, where bravery is highly esteemed and to save a female's life is in effect to win title to it, for it is the option of a Gorean male to enslave any woman whose life he has saved, a right which is seldom denied even by the citizens of the girl's city or her family. Indeed, there have been cases in which a girl's brothers have had her clad as a slave, bound in slave bracelets, and handed over to her rescuer, in order that the honor of the family and her city not be besmirched. There is, of course, a natural tendency in the rescued female to feel and demonstrate great gratitude to the man who has saved her life, and the Gorean custom is perhaps no more than an institutionalization of this customary response. There are cases where a free woman in the vicinity of a man she desired has deliberately placed herself in jeopardy. The man then, after having been forced to risk his life, is seldom in a mood to use the girl other than as his slave. I have wondered upon occasion about this practice, so different on Gor than on Earth. On my old world when a woman is saved by a man she may, I understand, with propriety bestow upon him a grateful kiss and perhaps, if we may believe the tales in these matters, consider him more seriously because of his action as a possible, eventual companion in wedlock. One of these girls, if rescued on Gor, would probably be dumbfounded at what would happen to her. After her kiss of gratitude, which might last a good deal longer than she had anticipated, she would find herself forced to kneel and be collared and then, stripped, her wrists confined behind her back in slave bracelets, she would find herself led stumbling away on a slave leash from the field of her champion's valor. Yes, undoubtedly our Earth girls would find this most surprising. On the other hand the Gorean attitude is that she would be dead were it not for his brave action and thus it is his right, now that he has won
her life, to make her live it for him precisely as he pleases, which is usually, it must unfortunately be noted, as his slave girl, for the privileges of a Free Companionship are never bestowed lightly. Also of course a Free Companionship might be refused, in all Gorean right, by the girl, and thus a warrior can hardly be blamed, after risking his life, for not wanting to risk losing the precious prize which he has just, at great peril to himself, succeeded in winning. The Gorean man, as a man, cheerfully and dutifully attends to the rescuing of his female in distress, but as a Gorean, as a true Gorean, he feels, perhaps justifiably and being somewhat less or more romantic than ourselves, that he should have something more for his pains than her kiss of gratitude and so, in typical Gorean fashion, puts his chain on the wench, claiming both her and her body as his payment.

  "I thought you hated her," said Mul-Al-Ka.

  "I do," I said.

  "Is it human to act as you do?" inquired Mul-Ba-Ta.

  "Yes," I said, "it is the part of a man to protect a female of the human kind, regardless of who she may be."

  "Is it enough that she be merely a female of our kind?" asked Mul-Ba-Ta.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Even a female Mul?" asked Mul-Al-Ka.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Interesting," said Mul-Ba-Ta. "Then we should accompany you, for we too wish to learn to be men."

  "No," I said, "you should not accompany me."

  "Ah," said Mul-Al-Ka bitterly, "you do not truly regard us yet as men."

  "I do," I said. "You have proved that by informing me of Sarm's intentions."

  "Then we may accompany you?" asked Mul-Ba-Ta.

  "No," I said, "for I think you will be able to help me in other matters."

  "That would be pleasant," said Mul-Al-Ka.

  "But we will not have much time," said Mul-Ba-Ta.

  "That is true," said Mul-Al-Ka, "for we must soon report to the dissection chambers."

  The two Muls looked understandably dejected.

  I thought about things for a moment or so and then I shrugged and fixed on them both a look of what I hoped would be a somewhat poignant disappointment.

  "You may if you wish," I said, "but it is not really very human on your part."

  "No?" asked Mul-Al-Ka, perking up.

  "No?" asked Mul-Ba-Ta, showing sudden interest.

  "No," I said, "definitely not."

  "Are you sure?" inquired Mul-Al-Ka.

  "Truly sure?" pressed Mul-Ba-Ta.

  "I am positive," I said. "It is simply not human at all to just go off and report to the dissection chambers."

  The two Muls looked at me for a long time, and at themselves, and at me again, and seemed to reach some sort of accord.

  "Well then," said Mul-Al-Ka, "we shall not do so."

  "No," said Mul-Ba-Ta rather firmly.

  "Good," I said.

  "What will you do now, Tarl Cabot?" asked Mul-Al-Ka.

  "Take me to Misk," I said.

  21

  I Find Misk

  I followed Mul-Al-Ka and Mul-Ba-Ta into a damp, high, vaulted chamber, unlit by energy bulbs. The sides of the chamber were formed of some rough cementlike substance in which numerous rocks of various sizes and shapes inhered as in a conglomerate mass.

  At the entrance to the chamber, from a rack, Mul-Al-Ka had taken a Mul-Torch and broken off its end. Holding this over his head, he illuminated those portions of the chamber to which the light of the torch would reach.

  "This must be a very old portion of the Nest," said Mul-Al-Ka.

  "Where is Misk?" I asked.

  "He is here somewhere," said Mul-Ba-Ta, "for so we were told by Sarm."

  As far as I could tell the chamber seemed empty. In impatience I fingered the chain of the translator I had had the two Muls pick up on the way to Misk's prison. I was not sure that Misk would have been allowed to retain his translator and I wished to be able to communicate with him.

  My eyes drifted upward and I froze for an instant and then, scarcely moving, touched Mul-Ba-Ta's arm.

  "Up there," I whispered.

  Mul-Al-Ka lifted the torch as high as he could.

  Clinging to the ceiling of the chamber were numerous dark, distended shapes, apparently Priest-Kings but with abdomens swollen grotesquely. They did not move.

  I turned on the translator. "Misk," I said into it. Almost instantly I recognized the familiar odor.

  There was a rustling among the dark, distended shapes that clung to the ceiling.

  No response came from my translator.

  "He is not here," proposed Mul-Al-Ka.

  "Probably not," said Mul-Ba-Ta, "for had he replied, I think your translator would have picked up his response."

  "Let us look elsewhere," said Mul-Al-Ka.

  "Give me the torch," I said.

  I took the torch and went around to the edges of the room. By the door I saw a series of short bars which emerged from the wall, which might be used as a ladder. Taking the torch in my teeth I prepared to climb the set of bars.

  Suddenly I stopped, my hands on one of the bars.

  "What is the matter?" asked Mul-Al-Ka.

  "Listen," I said.

  We listened carefully and in the distance it seemed we heard, incredibly enough, the mournful singing of human voices, as though of many men, and the sound was as we determined by listening for a minute or two gradually nearing.

  "Perhaps they are coming here," said Mul-Al-Ka.

  "We had better hide," said Mul-Ba-Ta.

  I left the bars and led the two Muls to the far side of the room. There I directed them to take cover as well as they could behind some of the conglomerate material which had crumbled from the wall and lay at its base. Grinding out the Mul-Torch on the stones, I crouched down with them behind some of this debris and together we watched the door.

  The singing grew louder.

  It was a sad song, mournful and slow, almost a dirgelike chant.

  The words were in archaic Gorean which I find very difficult to understand. On the surface it is spoken by none but members of the Caste of Initiates, who use it primarily in their numerous and complex rituals. As nearly as I could make it out the song, though sad, was a paean of some sort to Priest-Kings, and mentioned the Feast of Tola and Gur. The refrain, almost constantly repeated, was something to the effect that We Have Come for Gur, On the Feast of Tola We Have Come for Gur, We Rejoice For on the Feast of Tola We Have Come for Gur.

  Then, as we crouched in the darkness of the far side of the chamber, the doors opposite us swung open and we observed two long lines of strange men, marching abreast, each of whom carried a Mul-Torch in one hand and in the other by a handle what resembled a deflated wineskin of golden leather.

  I heard Mul-Al-Ka draw in his breath quickly beside me.

  "Look, Tarl Cabot," whispered Mul-Ba-Ta.

  "Yes," I said, cautioning him to silence, "I see."

  The men who came through the door in the long mournful procession may have been of the human kind or they may not have been. They were shaven and clad in plastic as are all Muls of the Nest, but their torsos seemed smaller and rounder than those of a human being and their legs and arms seemed extraordinarily long for their body size and the hands and feet seemed unusually wide. The feet had no toes but were rather disklike, fleshy cushions on which they padded silently along, and similarly on the palms of their wide hands there seemed to be a fleshy disk, which glistened in the blue light of the Mul-Torches. Most strange perhaps was the shape and width of the eyes, for they were very large, perhaps three inches in width, and were round and dark and shining, much like the eyes of a nocturnal animal.

  I wondered at what manner of creatures they were.

  As more of them filed abreast into the room the increased torchlight well illuminated the chamber and I quietly warned my companions to make no movement.

  I could now see the Priest-Kings clearly where they clung upside down to the ceiling, their great swollen abdomens almost dwarfing their thoraxes and heads.


  Then to my amazement, one by one, the strange creatures, disdaining the bars near the door began simply to pad up the almost vertical walls to the Priest-Kings and then, astonishingly, began to walk upside down on the ceiling. Where they stepped I could see a glistening disk of exudate which they had undoubtedly secreted from the fleshy pads which served them as feet. While the creatures remaining on the floor continued their mournful paean, their fellow creatures on the walls and ceiling, still carrying their torches, and scattering wild shadows of their own bodies and those of swollen Priest-Kings against the ceiling, began to fill their golden vessels from the mouths of the Priest-Kings. Many times was a golden vessel held for a Priest-King as it slowly yielded whatever had been stored in its abdomen to the Muls.

  There seemed to be almost an indefinite number of the Muls and of clinging Priest-Kings there were perhaps a hundred. The strange procession to and fro up the walls and across the ceiling to Priest-Kings and back down to the floor continued for more than an hour, during which time the Muls who stood below, some of them having returned with a full vessel, never ceased to chant their mournful paean.

  The Muls made no use of the bars and from this I gathered that they might have been placed where they were in ancient times before there were such creatures to serve Priest-Kings.

  I assumed that the exudate or whatever it might be that had been taken from the Priest-Kings was Gur, and that I now understood what it was to retain Gur.

  Finally the last of the unusual Muls stood below on the stone flooring.

  In all this time not one of them had so much as glanced in our direction, so single-minded were they in their work. When not actively engaged in gathering Gur their round dark eyes were lifted like dark curves to the Priest-Kings who clung to the ceiling far over their heads.

  At last I saw one Priest-King move from the ceiling and climb backwards down the wall. His abdomen, drained of Gur, was now normal and he stalked regally to the door, moving on those light, feathery feet with the delicate steps of one of nature's masters. When there several Muls flanked him on either side, still singing, and holding their torches and carrying their vessels which now brimmed with a pale, milky substance, something like white, diluted honey. The Priest-King, escorted by Muls, then began to move slowly, step by majestic step, down the passage outside of the chamber. He was followed by another Priest-King, and then another, until all but one Priest-King had departed the chamber. In the light of the last torches which left the chamber I could see that there remained one Priest-King who, though emptied of Gur, still clung to the ceiling. A heavy chain, fastened to a ring in the ceiling, led to a thick metal band which was locked about his narrow trunk between the thorax and the abdomen.