Kur of Gor (35 page)

"I see,” said Cabot.

A Kur, with a long pole, with a hook on its end, sunk it into the meat, and drew the meat, the sleen, Ramar, feeding and following, through one of the gates at the level of the sand.

A large Kur then entered the arena, carrying a length of rope, and crouched down, waiting.

Shortly thereafter two other Kurii, from opposite sides of the arena, entered upon the sand, and approached the large Kur, and stood some ten feet before him, and apart from one another, by some ten feet, as well.

"They are not armed,” said Cabot.

"They do not need to be,” said Peisistratus. “Note the larger beast. See the rings on the left wrist."

"Yes."

"He stands high in the rings,” said Peisistratus. “His seed is avidly sought."

"I do not understand,” said Cabot.

"Surely you see the two before him are female,” said Peisistratus.

"No,” said Cabot. “It is hard to tell."

"They are smaller, the pelting is smoother, glossier, less shaggy."

"I see they are differently harnessed,” said Cabot.

"That, too,” said Peisistratus, amused.

One might note that in the human species the sexes are radically dimorphic, anatomically, emotionally, psychologically, and so on. They are very different, and are interestingly complementary. Even a Kur can instantly see the difference between a human male and a human female. It is sometimes annoying to a Kur that some humans cannot immediately, similarly, distinguish between a Kur male and a Kur female. It is less annoying that they sometimes fail to distinguish between a typical Kur male and a Kur nondominant. To be sure, the differences there are mostly behavioral. Most humans, incidentally, have never seen a Kur womb, either of the shelf or wall type, as they tend to be hidden, and guarded. The female's egg, once fertilized, is deposited in the womb, and develops within it, the infant later to chew and claw its way free, that in something between a half year and a year. Some wombs perish after one child; some hardy wombs have produced as many as forty or fifty infants. The womb itself makes no contribution to the genetic endowments of the offspring. The womb, in historical times, at least, replicates itself, parthenogenetically, by budding, so to speak. As indicated earlier in the text, certain obscurities obtain with respect to the origin of the earlier wombs.

With a sudden screech of rage the two females flung themselves upon one another.

Kurii in the stands leaped about and called out encouragement to their favorite in what seemed doubtless to Cabot a surprising and unusual contest. The crouching male, with the length of rope grasped in one paw, scarcely moved.

The two females tore at one another, until at last one lay in the sand, bloodied, trembling, and lifted one paw, pathetically, for mercy.

"The male Kur does not beg for mercy,” commented Peisistratus. “That is another difference."

"Surely that is cultural,” said Cabot.

"Doubtless,” said Peisistratus.

"She is going to kill her!” said Cabot.

The victor had crouched down and savagely pulled back the head of the vanquished, and set her fangs at the throat of the vanquished.

A roar of approbation coursed through the crowd. Perhaps the vanquished had not fought well enough.

Again a paw was lifted pathetically, begging for mercy.

The victor, encouraged, licensed, so to speak, widened her jaws, and thrust forward.

But a roar of prohibition emanated from the throat of the male, and the victor stopped, and then thrust the vanquished from her, contemptuously, and leaped in the sand, shrieking in triumph.

The vanquished Kur female crawled some feet away, bloodying the sand.

The victor then approached the male.

He cuffed her, half spinning her about. She was already bloodied from the fray from which she had emerged victorious.

"It seems,” said Cabot, “he is not pleased with the outcome of the battle."

"No,” said Peisistratus. “It would be the same with either. He is merely asserting his dominance."

"She has accepted his blow,” said Cabot.

"Of course,” said Peisistratus. “Were he not dominant she would despise him. She wishes his dominance. She would be insulted to submit to any other sort of male. What Kur female would? What do you think this is all about?"

"What if she had not accepted his blow?"

"I do not understand."

"What if she had retaliated, attacked him? She is surely a fearsome creature, as we have seen."

"Then he would beaten her, if not maimed or killed her,” said Peisistratus. “Did you not see the rings on his wrist. He has killed male Kurii to obtain those rings."

"Look,” said Peisistratus.

"I see,” said Cabot.

The female now stood before the male, her head down, and her arms at her sides. The male then encircled her body several times with the length of rope he carried, fastening her arms to her sides, and then, with the length of rope left, he fashioned a leash for her, and led her toward an exit gate. She half danced in his wake, and howled to the stands.

"It is a noise of pleasure, of triumph,” said Peisistratus. “She has conquered her rival, and she has been acquired, at least for some days, by the male of her desires."

"I think I prefer our human ways,” said Cabot.

"Perhaps they are not so different,” said Peisistratus.

"Look!” said Cabot, pointing to the sand.

The vanquished Kur female had struggled to her feet, and begun to hobble from the sand. Several Kurii would have assisted her, but she bared her fangs, and warned them away, viciously.

They regarded one another, frightened, and then looked piteously upon the torn, bleeding female.

Again they tried to approach, solicitously, but, again, with a baring of fangs and a snarl, she warned them back.

They fled back, and then, as she regarded them, one after another, they moved back further, and bent down, to make themselves smaller in her presence.

"They are cringing,” said Cabot. “Are they her hand maidens?"

"They are males,” said Peisistratus. “They are her attendants, assigned to serve her."

The female then hobbled toward an exit gate, before the others, alone, blood in her footprints.

The others then followed her.

"They are males?” asked Cabot.

"In a sense,” said Peisistratus. “They are nondominants."

"I see,” said Cabot.

The drums then beat again.

"What is that?” asked Cabot, in disgust. “What are those things?"

From several of the lower gates a number of unusual creatures, crowded together, clumsy, heavy, confused, bleating and whining, were driven by cries and whips into the arena.

"Surely you know,” said Peisistratus.

"They are large, sluggish, surely well-fed,” said Cabot, peering downward.

"They have been fattened,” said Peisistratus.

"What are they?"

"Cattle humans,” said Peisistratus.

"They cannot be human,” said Cabot.

"Perhaps not,” said Peisistratus. “But it is a matter of breeding. Great changes may be so wrought. Consider Earth. How many of your dogs recall in appearance and demeanor their remote, swift, hungry, far-ranging ancestor, the gray wolf?"

"We would not breed even dogs so,” said Cabot, in fury.

"Because you do not raise them for meat,” said Peisistratus.

"Those are small Kurii!” said Cabot, observing the entry unto the sand of a swarm of eager, shaggy forms.

"Actually Kur children,” said Peisistratus. “Many have not lost their womb teeth."

The cattle creatures were whipped to the center of the arena, where they stood crowded together, bleating.

"They are frightened, and disoriented,” said Peisistratus. “This is very different from the security of the pens."

The small shaggy forms, many no more than five feet in height, and perhaps no more than a hundred to a hundred and fifty pounds in weight, encircled the huddled, confused cattle creatures.

"This is how Kurii want their young to view humans, to understand humans, to think of humans,” said Peisistratus.

"They would think otherwise of humans did they meet them in the field of battle,” said Cabot.

"Doubtless,” said Peisistratus.

"What are they going to do?” asked Cabot.

"It is a form of play,” said Peisistratus. “Children are fond of games. They are pleased to frolic."

"What are they going to do?” asked Cabot.

"See the ribbons?” asked Peisistratus.

"Yes,” said Cabot. “But what are they going to do?"

"Kill,” said Peisistratus. “The ribbons will mark their kills. He with the most ribboned meat wins a little crown and a haunch of roast tarsk."

"No!” cried Cabot, foolishly.

Suddenly the children raced upon the huddled cattle, seizing them, lacerating them, tearing them. The cattle did not defend themselves, though several now fled wildly, clumsily, terrified, about the arena, pursued swiftly by the youthful predators with their colorful ribbons.

Occasionally an adult Kur, with a stroke of his whip, turned one of the confused cattle back toward the center of the arena.

"Do not feel sorry for them,” said Peisistratus. “They are not truly human. They do not even understand what is going on. They only want to be returned to their pens, and the feeding trough."

There was a squeal from one of the cattle below, as three of the youngsters clung to it, gripping it with their yet-immature fangs.

"This accustoms them, of course,” said Peisistratus, “to killing, and the taste of blood, in a convenient, economical fashion."

Cabot shook the bars of the cage.

"Caution,” warned Peisistratus. “Kurii are watching."

Cabot shook again the bars of the cage, futilely.

"There is nothing you can do,” said Peisistratus. “Do not concern yourself. It is only a game."

"Why do they not fight back?” cried Cabot. “They are larger than their foes."

"They are cattle,” said Peisistratus.

There were howls of pleasure, of amusement, from the stands, as one or more of the cattle, inept even in flight, startled, bleating, was brought down.

"Do not concern yourself,” said Peisistratus, to Cabot. “This is what they are for."

"Look!” cried Cabot. “One has turned on its attacker!"

"That is not to take place!” said Peisistratus. “That is not permitted!"

"Apparently the creature does not understand that,” said Cabot.

Below, one of the cattle, half blinded with its own blood, had closed its fat fingers about a small shaggy throat.

"Is the child not to be rescued?” asked Cabot. “It will kill the child."

"Do not concern yourself,” said Peisistratus. “The others do not."

The whitish, obese creature let the limp body of the youngster fall to the sand. Its throat was then, as it stupidly looked about, comprehending nothing, casually cut open by one of the adult Kurii.

"That one,” said Peisistratus, “cannot be ribboned. He does not count."

"What of the child?” asked Cabot.

"He allowed himself to be caught. He failed. He will be forgotten."

"Is it not a tragedy?” asked Cabot.

"Not if it does not spoil the game,” said Peisistratus.

Only one or two of the cattle were still alive.

"It is over,” said Peisistratus, presently. “See, that one child is victor. The large one. He has ribboned five beasts. That is quite good, but some have ribboned more."

Cabot observed a small, golden crown, apparently of a paperlike material, being placed on the victor's head. There was applause in the stands, the rhythmic pounding of hands on thighs. Later, he would receive, Cabot surmised, a haunch of roasted tarsk, a meat generally much preferred by Kurii to human.

"When,” asked Cabot, “will Lord Pyrrhus and Lord Agamemnon meet, Kur to Kur?"

"Presently,” said Peisistratus. “But first there are some beast fights. May I purchase you a treat?"

"No,” said Cabot.

The beast fights were largely amongst fighting humans, variously armed. Some of these were game humans who had been netted in the sport cylinder, but most were killer humans, bred for savagery, raised for the arena.

"Are they speeched?” inquired Cabot.

"Most,” said Peisistratus.

"And in what speech?” asked Cabot.

"In the language to which most translators are set,” said Peisistratus. “Speeching is helpful in monitoring and managing their training. Some, of course, are not speeched. Sometimes the speeched and the nonspeeched are set against one another. If the battle is team war the speeched side has an advantage."

"Undoubtedly,” said Cabot. “And to what speech are most translators set?"

"Gorean,” said Peisistratus.

"Good,” said Cabot.

It was late in the afternoon, as the mirrors arranged the day, when, to Cabot's amazement, two figures with which he was familiar entered onto the sand. The first, broad and powerful, half bent over, alert, looking from side to side, was Grendel. The second figure, stripped and high-collared, as befits a Kur pet, and on a chain leash, was the blonde. She was led to a point near the center of the arena. Many sounds of disapproval from the tiers, encompassing hissings and snarls, had greeted this pair upon their appearance. At the center of the arena a circular cement platform, some five feet in diameter, emerged from the sand. In the center of this platform, fastened to a plate anchored in the cement, there was a heavy iron ring. The blonde's chain was fastened to this ring.

At a gesture from Grendel, the blonde went to all fours, the chain then looped on the cement, save where it looped up to her collar.

"Why is she on all fours?” asked Cabot.

"Is it not appropriate for an animal, a pet?” asked Peisistratus.

"Yes,” said Cabot.

"Or a slave?” inquired Peisistratus.

"Certainly,” said Cabot.

Slaves are occasionally kept on all fours, forbidden to rise, feed from pans on the floor, are led about, leashed, on all fours, and so on. This regimen or strictness is imposed upon them sometimes as a punishment or discipline, sometimes as a part of their training, or, sometimes, simply to remind them that they are a slave, their master's domestic animal. Sometimes the girl must bring the master's whip to him on all fours, the implement held between her teeth. She will later learn if she is to be caressed or struck.