by John Norman
I immediately recalled the faded, half-torn poster, the remains of which were affixed to the wall opposite one of the rear entrances to Six Bridges.
“It was a large, dangerous, stupid, simple thing,” she said, “and, as it proved, at least at the time, untrainable, it was kept for exhibition.”
“It was irrational?” I said.
“Clearly,” she said.
I was not sure of that.
“It then seemed docile, and bided its time,” she said. “Then, one day, when it was to be fed, it reached through the bars and seized a keeper’s arm, and broke him against the bars, and tore at his belt, where dangled his keys, but others intervened with spear butts, striking at the beast, and it, roaring, tore away the keeper’s arm, and fed on it, and the keeper died moments later, of shock and loss of blood.”
“It was reaching for the keys,” I said.
“No,” she said, “it only seemed so, as it was naught but a mindless, violent beast.”
“It later escaped?” I said.
“Its danger was recognized, and the owner of the carnival, who was also its chief trainer, to neutralize and pacify it, had it blinded, with hot irons.”
“What then?” I said.
“Weeks went by,” she said. “Then it was noticed one evening that the blinded beast was turning about, and moving, in time to the carnival music, when the kaiila were performing, and later, the striped urts. This was brought to the attention of the owner, the chief trainer, who brought a flautist to the vicinity of the cage, and, behold, the beast danced to the music of the flute. Thereafter this was one of the attractions in the carnival. Further, this suggested to the chief trainer that the beast might now prove susceptible to training. Apparently this proved to be the case, and, eventually, the beast, led on a leash, was brought regularly, in its turn, to the area of performance, surrounded by the crowd. There it performed simple tricks, to the snapping of a whip, jumping up and down, rolling over, turning about, climbing on boxes, and such. Then one evening, it turned on the chief trainer and tore out his eyes, and then, blindly, awkwardly, rushed through the crowd. Guardsmen, and others, were about, and the beast was wounded, cut, and slashed time and time again. Then it disappeared, bleeding, and limping, into the darkness.”
“Then it escaped,” I said, uneasily.
“In its flight,” she said, “it killed four, and injured several others.”
“It escaped,” I said.
“It is thought not,” she said. “It was struck many times. It is thought nothing could long live so grievously wounded, so copiously bleeding.”
“The body was not recovered,” I said.
“Blood led to the sewers,” she said. “It doubtless died in the sewers.”
“But that is not known,” I said.
“No,” she said, “that is not known.”
“One is then left with the mystery of the killings,” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“What sort of beast was it?” I asked.
“Of an unusual sort,” she said.
“What was it doing in the Voltai?” I asked.
“I do not know,” she said.
“It is growing cold,” said Antiope.
“It is getting late,” I said.
I shivered, again.
We saw two guardsmen some yards away.
“Ho, kajirae,” called one of the guardsmen.
“Master?” said Antiope.
“Is your work done?” he inquired.
“Yes, Master,” said Antiope.
“Dawdle not then,” he said, “lest your collars be read.”
“Yes, Master,” we said, and hurried to gather up the laundry.
In leaving, it seemed we must pass them. Sometimes it is difficult to pass a free male, under certain conditions, without a kiss or a slap.
“Give me back the candy,” I whispered to Antiope.
“We must not dawdle,” she said.
“I am not dawdling,” I said, standing up.
“There is not much left,” she said.
“Give it to me,” I said.
“The masters may be displeased,” she said, uneasily.
“Approach,” called one of the guardsmen.
“They are displeased,” said Antiope, apprehensively.
We were then standing before the guardsmen. One of them had lifted his right hand, slightly, the palm up, so we did not kneel. I, and perhaps Antiope, as well, was uneasy at this, as one commonly kneels before a free person, often with the head down.
It was obvious to us that we were being looked upon, as the slaves we were.
Antiope was quite attractive, and I, surely, had often enough seen the eyes of men upon me.
“What is in your mouth?” asked one of the guardsmen of Antiope.
“A candy, Master,” she said.
“It is mine, Master,” I said.
“Please do not take it away from us,” said Antiope.
“Who would wish a candy which has been soiled by the mouth of a slave,” said a guardsman.
“You are dawdling slaves,” said the other. “You should be switched.”
“No, Master,” we assured them.
“The streets are dangerous,” said the first guardsman. “The curfew bar will sound in a bit.”
“Hasten to your cages,” said the other. “You will be safe there.”
“My master does not cage me,” said Antiope.
“Surely a manacle awaits,” said the first guardsman, “hoping to be warmed by your slender, lovely ankle.”
“Thank, you, Master,” said Antiope. “A slave is pleased, if she finds favor with a master.”
“Go,” said the first guardsman.
“Oh!” said Antiope.
“Oh!” I said.
Then we hurried on.
“He does not own me!” said Antiope, smarting.
“Nor the other, me,” I said.
Still, we knew such things were done only when a slave was found attractive. One supposed one should find some gratification, or reassurance, in that.
We were then about a corner, and out of the sight of the guardsmen.
“Give me the candy,” I said.
“I fear,” said Antiope, “it is gone.”
“I see,” I said. To be sure, we had been delayed by the guardsmen.
“But I will tell you a last thing,” said Antiope.
“What is that?” I said.
“Of all the killings, in the streets, men and women,” she said, “all were free.”
“No slave was set upon?” I said.
“No,” she said.
“Why is that?” I asked.
“I do not know,” she said.
“It is a coincidence,” I said.
“The attacks are commonly at night,” she said. “I think, then, slaves would be on their chains, in their kennels, in their cages, such housings.”
“That is doubtless it,” I said.
“But sometimes,” she said, “attacks are in the day, particularly in less frequented districts, and sometimes slaves are abroad at night.”
I supposed that were so.
Usually, of course, they would be in the company of their masters, or, say, keepers, if they might be returning late from feasts, serving slaves, flute slaves, kalika slaves, brothel girls, dancers, or such.
Too, it was not unknown for a neglected slave, if unconstrained, to prowl the streets, hoping for a secret tryst, to relieve her needs.
Sometimes, too, they might be dispatched under the cover of darkness to carry messages for their mistresses, pertaining to projected rendezvous.
To be sure, it was unusual for an unaccompanied slave to be abroad at night. But then, indeed, few, slave or free, if solitary, essayed the streets after dark, particularly in certain districts. One, if sufficiently affluent, and lacking his own men, might hire guards, and a lantern bearer. There were establishments to provide such a service. Too, such conveniences were sometimes available, g
ratis, to the clientele of certain residences. One such residence was Six Bridges.
“No slaves have been attacked?” I said.
“Not to my knowledge,” said Antiope.
I found that of interest.
“It will soon be curfew,” said Antiope.
We then wished one another well, and, bearing our laundries, took leave of one another.
Chapter Twelve
I dipped the first of the two buckets into the fountain of Aiakos, where I usually drew water. It is at the intersection of Clive and Emerald, and is the nearest fountain to the shop of Epicrates.
It, as many fountains, has two basins, water flowing first into the high basin, and then running over to the lower basin. As an animal I was permitted to drink only from the lower basin, but there was no difficulty in filling the buckets in the upper basin, and we invariably did so, as it was deeper and fresher. The water entered the fountain through eight spouts, oriented to the eight major points of the Gorean compass. Below each spout, on the adjacent stone rim, there are two shallow depressions, or worn areas, the one on the right deeper than that on the left. This difference takes place over generations, as right-handed persons tend to brace the right hand on the rim while leaning over to drink, and left-handed persons tend to place their weight on the left hand as they lean forward to drink. Similar worn places do not appear on the lower rim as slaves, sleen, kaiila, and such, are expected to drink while on all fours. The water is brought in from the Voltai Mountains, or Red Mountains, which at that time I had not seen, far north and east of Ar, by means of long, towering aqueducts, most of which are more than seven hundred pasangs long. The Builders, the “Yellow Caste,” one of the five castes commonly regarded as high castes, engineered these remarkable constructions, and are charged with their supervision, upkeep, and repair.
“Step aside, girl,” said a woman’s voice, and I backed away, my head lowered. The free woman then dipped her pail into the water, and left.
Some free women are cruel to slaves.
I was pleased she had not switched me across the back of the thighs.
I dipped the second bucket into the water.
Men prefer us, I thought.
“Where is Lord Grendel?” the Lady Bina had inquired, unfastening the shackles which held me in place, across the threshold of the apartment.
“Is he not on the roof, Mistress?” I inquired, rubbing my right wrist. To be sure, it was light, and, by now, one would expect him here, below, in the loft, or apartment.
“No,” she said.
“I do not know, Mistress,” I said.
“It is not like him to be absent,” said the Lady Bina.
“No, Mistress,” I said.
I feared he had departed from the roof, after dark, after the curfew had sounded.
I feared there might have been another killing in the streets.
“I would be spoken to,” I said to the Lady Bina.
“To what end?” asked the Lady Bina.
“Things have been muchly different, of late,” I said.
She did not respond.
“There has been much reticence in the household,” I said.
“It has to do, I think,” said the Lady Bina, “with the curfew, the killings. Lord Grendel has been uneasy.”
“There is much unease in the city,” I said.
“That is clear in the streets, the markets,” she said.
“Something is out there, at night,” I said.
“Not always at night,” she said.
“May I speak?” I said.
“Surely,” she said.
“I do not understand Lord Grendel,” I said.
“How so?” she said.
“In the past,” I said, “he cleaned his own body, oiling the fur, washing it, brushing and combing it, with particular care, and, of late, he has had me much attend to him, sometimes an Ahn at a time, often concerning myself with such things.”
“You are grooming him,” she said, “cleaning the fur, and such. Have you encountered small forms of life in the fur?”
“No,” I said.
“Good,” she said. “He is a cleanly brute, and, for his kind, fastidious.”
“I do not understand,” I said.
“Pets,” she said, “are often used by his kind to groom their masters. Much is done with the fingers, and the lips, and teeth. The small forms of life, caught in the fingers, or between the teeth, are eaten.”
I felt ill.
“I am not a pet,” I whispered.
“Of course not,” she said, “or, at least, no more than any other slave is a pet.”
“Who is he, Mistress?” I begged. “Who are you?”
I expected to be told that curiosity was not becoming in a kajira, but the small, exquisite Lady Bina, despite her selfishness and vanity, her almost charmingly innocent lack of concern with the feelings and lives of others, was often pleasant, and communicative. Too, she was not natively Gorean. That, I thought, quite possibly, was relevant.
“There are metal worlds, large metal worlds,” she said, “like small planets, inhabited by Kurii, rather like Lord Grendel, though he is not truly Kur.”
“No?” I said.
“Lord Grendel,” she said, “is the result of an experiment, one which apparently did not turn out well.”
As far as I could tell, Grendel, or Lord Grendel, was Kur. I recalled he had identified himself as such, on the very evening he had brought me to the domicile, the first floor of which held the living quarters and shop of Epicrates.
“I myself,” said the Lady Bina, “was originally a Kur pet.”
“A pet?” I said.
“There is nothing wrong with being a pet,” she said. “Indeed, on the world once of Agamemnon, Eleventh face of the Nameless One, it was a great honor to be the pet of a Kur, particularly if one were only a human being, and not a female Kur, defanged and declawed, kept in chains and chastisable by the rod. I myself had the privilege of being the pet of Lord Arcesilaus, who now, as I understand it, is the Twelfth Face of the Nameless One, Theocrat of the World, that world. Pets are not taught to speak, but I learned to do so; the mechanical translators, and Lord Grendel, and some others, were helpful; and, after the dislocations of an insurrection, and the downfall of Agamemnon, Eleventh Face of the Nameless One, former Theocrat of the World, that world, learning of this world, a beautiful, natural world, not a small world and one of metal, and ships which might voyage here, I decided to embark, reach this world, and make my fortune here, in particular, becoming a Ubara, a ruler or consort of a ruler, of some great city — I had heard of Ar — or, possibly, of the planet itself.”
How naive she is, I thought.
Again I tried to envisage what might have been her socialization, her acculturation.
Then it occurred to me that, from what she had said, for most practical purposes, she had had little in the way of such customary amenities.
“You spoke of an experiment,” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“It did not turn out well?” I asked.
“Apparently not,” she said.
“I do not understand,” I said.
“You should speak to Lord Grendel of that,” she said.
“Might he not kill me?” I asked.
“You could ask him, and see,” she said.
“I do not think I will do so,” I said.
“I do not think he would hurt you,” she said. “At most you would be well lashed, perhaps several times, over several days, and warned not to speak of it again.”
“You speak of Lord Grendel,” I said. “I gather, then, he was important on his world.”
“He came to be so,” she said. “Muchly so, in power and prestige, and, if he had been interested in such matters, and wished it, might have become so in wealth, as well.”
“Why then would he leave?” I asked. “Why would he give up so much?”
“To accompany me,” she said.
“To a new worl
d, a strange world, an unfamiliar, perhaps hostile world?” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“Forgive me, Mistress,” I said, “but why would he, so strange and different a form of life, do so?”
“I have never inquired,” said the Lady Bina. “He insisted on doing so.”
“Here,” I said, “he is feared, even loathed.”
“That is because he is not a true Kur,” she said. “The true Kur is beautiful, large, agile, proud, long-armed, glossy, wide-nostriled, with six-digited appendages, with a voice a larl might envy. Grendel has deformed paws, with only five digits, and the throat, and tongue, the oral orifice are different, and the eyes, too. He can even approximate human sounds.”
“I think,” I said, “he is devoted to Mistress.”
“I have never objected to his presence, despite his appearance,” she said. “He is useful to have about, and I am fond of him. He cannot help his ugliness. Too, I suspect his presence, like that of a pet sleen, would encourage predators, thieves, or such, to circumspection.”
I had no doubt about that.
“I do not understand,” I said, “why, of late, Lord Grendel has had me attend to his grooming.”
“Nor do I,” she said.
“Mistress is well aware of the killings,” I said.
“Surely,” she said.
“Some fear a Kur may be involved,” I said.
“There are no Kurii on Gor,” she said.
“Lord Grendel,” I said.
“Not a true Kur,” she said.
I was not so sure of that. I had sensed that the beast regarded itself as Kur, and prided itself on the possession of that dark, dangerous blood. As noted, he had certainly, and, indeed, unhesitantly, identified himself as Kur.
“There was one, I think,” I said, “who performed in a carnival.”
“It died, did it not,” she asked, “in the sewers?”
“It is thought so,” I said.
“Then a larl, a sleen, or such, perhaps a sewer tharlarion, must be about.”
“Kurii are dangerous,” I said.
“They must eat,” she said, “and sometimes, it seems, they want blood.”
At that moment we heard a movement, above us, as of a large body turning about, moving, on the roof.