Beasts of Gor

by John Norman

  "It was not after the snow sleen, or the food you were carrying," I said. "It was after you, specifically."

  "I find that hard to believe," said Ram. "You speak as though it were intelligent."

  "I believe it to be so," I said. "Did you not notice the rings in its ears."

  "Of course," said Ram.

  "Surely they are ornaments," I said.

  "It escaped from a master," speculated Ram. "Doubtless he placed such ornaments in its ears."

  "It was by its own will, I believe," I said, "that those rings were put in its ears."

  "That seems to me unlikely," said Ram. "Did you not see how like a beast it was?"

  "Do you think," I said, "because something does not look like a man that it cannot be intelligent?"

  Ram turned white. "But intelligence," he said, "if coupled with such ferocity—"

  "It is called a Kur," I said.

  * * * *

  Ablaze with light was the feasting house.

  Arlene, naked, the strap of bondage on her throat, head down, knelt before Ram, lifting a plate of boiled meat to him.

  He thrust a thumb under her chin and roughly pushed up her chin.

  "Who is this pretty little slave?" he asked. "She looks familiar."

  She looked at him, in terror.

  "Oh, yes," he said. "She is the one who commanded us at the wall."

  "Yes," I said.

  "You made her your slave," he said.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Is she any good?" he asked.

  "You will soon find out," I told him.

  He laughed.

  "Remain kneeling here before us, Girl," I told Arlene.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  Ram and I took meat from her plate, and she remained where she was, kneeling back on her heels.

  "I am sure the beast was hunting you," I said.

  "Perhaps," said Ram.

  "How do you like our poor feast?" asked Kadluk, coming by.

  "It is the greatest feast I have ever eaten," said Ram. "It is glorious."

  "Maybe it is not bad," said Kadluk, putting his head down, grinning, and sliding over to his place.

  "But did it follow you for a long time?" I asked.

  "I do not know," said Ram.

  "I speculate, though I do not know," I said, "that it intercepted you, that it had been waiting for you."

  "How would it know where to wait?" he asked.

  "I fear," I said, "my presence in this village is known. When I did not return south, it would be speculated I would go north. Only one red hunter was at the wall, Imnak. Surely it would be thought that I might then go to his village. Too, I may have been spied on here. I do not know."

  Ram regarded me. "I understand little of this," he said.

  "I think it was known," I said, "that I would be, or was, in the village of Kadluk. In Lydius, we had been seen together, too. Thus, when you came north it might be thought that you were seeking me."

  "I made no secret of this," said Ram.

  "Thus, if the enemy, if we may speak of them so, knew my location and your intent, to contact me, it would be simple to lay an ambush for you outside of the village."

  "Yes," he said.

  "What did not occur to them, I suspect," I said, "is that the sound of your sleen would carry as far as it did, and that the hunters would come forth to greet you."

  "There is another possibility, a fearful one," said Ram.

  "What is that?" I asked.

  "In following me," he said, "I may have led foes to your location."

  "That is possible," I said. "But if it is true, it is acceptable."

  "How is that?" asked Ram.

  "I think it is the desire of at least one other that I participate in an interview. I have come north, in a sense, responding to an invitation. If it is known where I am, the enemy may attempt to contact me here."

  "Or kill you," he said.

  "Yes," I said.

  "Why would the Kur attempt to kill me?" asked Ram.

  "Perhaps you are carrying information it did not wish me to receive," I said.

  "In Lydius," he said, "Sarpedon, the tavern keeper, and several others, like myself, newly arrived from the wall, suddenly and without warning, fell upon Sarpelius and his henchmen." Sarpelius, I recalled, had been the heavy, paunchy fellow who had taken over the tavern from Sarpedon. He had worked with several others, who had functioned to impress workers for the wall.

  "Sarpedon now has his tavern back?" I inquired.

  "Of course," said Ram. "Sarpelius and his men, before we sold them from the wharves as naked slaves, were persuaded to speak."

  "Doubtless that was wise of them," I speculated.

  "Their information was not so precious to them that they preferred to retain it in the face of death by torture," said Ram. "Sarpelius, for example, did not wish to be thrust feet first, bit by bit, into a cage of hungry sleen."

  "It would not be pleasant," I admitted.

  "But it seems, unfortunately, as minions, they knew little."

  "What did you gather?" I asked.

  "The one called Drusus, whom we knew at the wall," he said, "paid their fees and issued their instructions. Tarnsmen transported the workers, drugged, to the wall."

  "What of the girls?" I asked. I remembered Tina and Constance. "They were not at the wall."

  "We learned from Sarpelius, from what he had learned from Drusus, that there was a headquarters farther north, one which could be reached only in the late spring, summer, or early fall."

  "Perhaps it is at sea," I said. The sea, being frozen, would be impassable to shipping in the winter.

  "Perhaps," he said.

  "But, too," I said, "tarns, like most birds, will fly in the arctic only during those seasons."

  "That is true," he said.

  "I think the headquarters, however," I said, "must be at sea."

  "Why is that?" asked Ram.

  "If it were on the land," I said, "I think the red hunters, of one village or another, in their hunting, would have come across it. It would be, I assume, a large installation."

  "I do not know," said Ram.

  "Did you learn more?" I asked.

  "We learned that it was to this mysterious headquarters that Drusus reported. Too, it is to that headquarters that, from time to time, choice slave beauties were taken."

  "Such as Tina and Constance," I said.

  "Yes," he said. "You see, I thought you might have known this and thus had come north to find Constance."

  "You have come north then primarily," I said, "seeking Tina."

  "Yes," he said.

  "But she is only a slave," I smiled.

  He reddened. "But she is my slave," he said, angrily. "She was taken from me, and I do not like that." He struck himself on the chest. "No one takes a slave from Ram of Teletus!" he said. "I will fetch her back, and then, if I wish, I will give her away, or beat and sell her."

  "Of course," I said.

  "Do not misunderstand me," he said, irritably. "It is not the girl who is important, for she is only a slave. It is the principle of the thing."

  "Of course," I granted him. "Yet there seems much time and risk involved in recovering someone who is probably only a silver-tarsk girl."

  "It is the principle of the thing," he said.

  "Of course," I said.

  "You seem very agreeable," he said.

  "I am," I said.

  "I think Tina is my perfect slave," he said, grinning. "I must have her at my feet, kneeling, in the shadow of my whip." He then looked, seriously, at me. "I hoped to join you in the north," said he. "Together we might seek out Tina and Constance."

  "Who is Constance, Master?" asked Arlene.

  "One who, like yourself, was once free," I said. "She is now a lovely slave. She might teach you much about being a woman."

  "Yes, Master," said Arlene, putting her head down.

  I was bringing her along slowly in her slavery.

  "You, Slave,
" I said to Arlene, sharply. She lifted her head, quickly.

  "Yes, Master," she said, frightened.

  "Meat," I said.

  She lifted the plate of boiled meat to us. Ram and I helped ourselves.

  "What do you know about a headquarters in the north, Girl?" I asked her.

  "Nothing," she whispered, "Master."

  I took another piece of meat. I regarded her. I put the meat in my mouth, and chewed it.

  "I did not say to take back the plate, Girl," I said.

  "Forgive me, Master," she said, holding it as she had. I continued to regard her. "I really know nothing, Master," she said. "Drusus brought moneys. He was my contact. I know nothing!"

  I took another piece of meat.

  "I supervised work at the wall. I thought myself then the superior of Drusus. I do not know where he came from or where he obtained what moneys he brought. I supposed, in truth, there were other operations or facilities on this world, but I did not know their location." Tears sprang into her eyes. "Believe me, I beg you," she said. "If there is a headquarters somewhere I know nothing of it. I beg you to believe me, Master!"

  "Perhaps I believe you," I said.

  She half fainted. I thought it true what she had said, not only from her asseverations and the fact that I had come to be able to read with facility her face and body in the months I had owned her, but from the general circumstances of the situation. When she had been free she had not, I was sure, recognized the carving of the head of a Kur for what it had been. I recalled her puzzlement, which I think was genuine, in the hall to the south, that which had formed her own headquarters near the now-broken wall. Too, I did not think that the Kurii would permit minor minions, such as she had been, though not understanding herself so, to know more than was absolutely necessary to perform their parts in their complex plans. Too, interestingly, it is difficult for a woman who is naked before a man to lie to him. Clothing makes it easier to lie. Naked, a woman is exposed not only physically to a man but, in a sense, psychologically, as well. She fears, psychologically, exposed as she is, that she can hide nothing, that he will see all, and detect all, that she is utterly open and vulnerable to him in all ways. This, for subtle and subjective reasons, having to do with psychology, makes it hard for her, when she is fully exposed to his scrutiny, to lie convincingly. She fears, somehow, he will know. And, actually, of course, there is something to her fear, indeed, a great deal. When she tries to lie there is a fear involved and this fear, in subtle ways, in subtle drawings back, in tensenesses, is manifested in her beautiful body, proclaiming it that of a liar. Many times a girl does not know how the master knows she is lying. At the slave ring, struck, she cries out in her misery. How could he have known? The answer is simple. Her body betrayed her. It told him. Too, slave girls seldom lie, for the punishments connected with lying can be extremely severe. A girl may be thrown alive to sleen for having lied. The severity of the possible punishments attendant upon falsehood in a slave tend, too, of course, to increase the fear of falsehood, and this fear then, felt deeply in the body, is all the more difficult to conceal. I would suppose that slave girls are amongst the most truthful of intelligent organisms, at least when stripped and confronted seriously by the master. They must be. Lying, serious lying, is not permitted to them. This is not to deny, however, that petty lying, pilfering and such, where the master is not directly concerned or affected, is often tolerated, if not encouraged. That sort of thing is expected of slave girls. They are, after all, slaves. For example, when a former free woman, now enslaved, steals her first pastry from another girl, this is often smiled upon, and punished, if at all, quite lightly. The master is not displeased. It is taken as evidence that the girl is now learning to be a slave. Slaves do that sort of thing. The petty jealousies and resentments that build up among girls make them easier to control. The master, to whom they belong, though he will normally refrain from interfering in their squabbles, is, of course, if need be, the ultimate arbiter for all their disputes. He owns them.

  I looked at Arlene, and she shuddered. I thought it likely that she had told the truth.

  "Audrey!" I called, summoning the former rich young woman by the name by which I often commanded her.

  "Yes, Master," she said, and came to us, and knelt.

  "Take the boiled meat from Arlene," I said, "and serve it about."

  "Yes, Master," she said. She took the meat and rose to her feet, lifting herself and turning her body in such a way as to expose her beauty insolently to Ram. Then she sauntered away, glancing once over her shoulder at him, with a tiny smile.

  "She has nice flanks," said Ram.

  "Yes," I said.

  "An excellent catch," he said.

  "She is Imnak's," I said. "He bought her at the fair."

  "A splendid purchase," said Ram, congratulating Imnak.

  "I bought the other one there, too," said Imnak, indicating Barbara, who was serving across the room.

  "Another splendid purchase," said Ram. "She is quite attractive."

  Barbara looked over her shoulder. Ram had not spoken softly. She knew herself the object of our conversation. She straightened herself. She was proud that she was beautiful, and of interest to strong men.

  "I had them both for the pelt of a snow lart and the pelts of four leems," said Imnak, rather pleased with himself.

  Barbara looked angry.

  "To secure such a brace of beauties for such a price is indeed marvelous," said Ram.

  "The market was slow," admitted Imnak.

  "But you are, too, a skillful bargainer," pointed out Ram.

  Imnak shrugged modestly. "They did cost me five pelts," he said.

  "Five pelts is nothing for such beauties," insisted Ram.

  "Perhaps you are right," said Imnak. "At any rate they are now both in my bondage strings."

  Barbara came to us and knelt before us. She looked at Ram. She carried a bowl of dried berries. Their eyes met over the bowl as she lifted it to him. He, without taking his eyes from her, thrust his hand into the bowl and scooped out a large handful of berries. She then rose lightly, sinuously, before him, and, turning her back, left. Ram watched her. She walked slowly, gracefully, away. She was intensely conscious of his eyes upon her. When she dared, she turned once and looked at him, then put her head down, smiling.

  "They are good at pulling sleds," said Imnak.

  "They have other utilities, too," I said.

  "You may use either, of course," said Imnak, putting Thimble and Thistle, both, at Ram's disposal.

  "Thank you," said Ram. "But neither of them commanded me at the wall."

  He looked at Arlene, who knelt before us, a bit to the left. She shrank back.

  "Meat," he said to her.

  "I will fetch some," she said, starting to rise.

  "Do not be a little fool," I said. "He means you."

  "Oh," she said, frightened.

  "Are you any good?" asked Ram.

  "I do not know," she whispered. "Master will tell me."

  Ram rose to his feet and walked over to the wall of the feasting house. There he threw off the lart-skin shirt he wore.

  "With your permission, Imnak," said Ram, "I will try the others later."

  "Use them whenever you wish," said Imnak. "Their use is yours."

  Ram stood, waiting by the wall.

  Arlene looked at me, frightened.

  "Please him," I told her.

  "Yes, Master," she said. She made as though to rise.

  "No," I said. "Crawl to him on your hands and knees."

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  "And please him well," I said.

  "Yes, Master," she said.

  I turned my attention to the clearing in the feasting house. There there was miming going on. The hunters and the women clapped their hands and cried out with pleasure at the skill of the various mimers. Naartok was being a whale. This was the occasion of additional jests from the audience.

  "Tarl, who hunts with me," said Imnak,
seriously, "I am afraid."

  "What are you afraid of?" I asked.

  "The animal we saw," said Imnak, "was surely an ice beast."

  "So?" I said.

  "I fear Karjuk is dead," he said.

  "Why do you say this?" I asked.

  "Karjuk is the guard," he said. "He stands between the People and the ice beasts."

  "I see," I said.

  White-pelted Kurii are called ice beasts by the red hunters. These animals usually hunt from ice floes in the summer, generally far out at sea. Unlike most Kurii, they have an affinity for water, and are fond of it. In the winter, when the sea freezes, they occasionally rove inland. There are different races of Kur. Not much was known of the mysterious Karjuk, even amongst the red hunters, save that he was one of them. He was a strange man, who lived alone. He had no woman. He had no friends. He lived alone on the ice. He roved in the darkness, silent, with his lance. He stood between the People and the ice beasts. The Kur that I had seen outside the village, which had escaped with the slain snow sleen, had been white-pelted. I was confident, however, that it had been a ship Kur, and not a common ice beast. On the other hand, I was confident, too, that it must have come from the northern sea or the northern ice. Thus, presumably, it would have penetrated and passed through the territory in which Karjuk maintained his lonely outpost. That it had appeared this near the village suggested that it had either slipped by Karjuk or that it had found him, of all those Kurii which may have hunted him, and killed him.

  "Perhaps the beast slipped past Karjuk," I suggested.

  "I do not think an ice beast could slip past Karjuk," said Imnak. "I think Karjuk is dead."

  A man was now being a sea sleen, swimming, before the group. He was quite skillful.

  "I am sorry," I said.

  Imnak and I sat together for a long time, not speaking.

  Akko and Kadluk were then before the group. Akko was an iceberg, floating, drifting about, and Kadluk, pressing near and withdrawing, was the west wind. Akko, the iceberg, responded to the wind, heavily, sluggishly, turning slowly in the water.

  Both were skillful.

  There was much laughter and pleasure, and delight, taken in their performance.

  Suddenly, as they finished their performance, there was a breath of chill air that coursed through the feasting house. All heads turned toward the door. But no one spoke. A man stood there, a red hunter, dark-visaged and lean, thin and silent. At his back there was a horn bow and a quiver of arrows; in his hand there was a lance and, held by cords, a heavy sack. He turned about and swung shut the door, and pulled down the hide across it. There was snow on his parka, for, apparently, snow had begun to fall outside during the feast. When he had closed the feasting house, he turned again to look upon the feasters.