Kur of Gor (83 page)

There was general assent to his remarks, but little evidence that his peers were to be dissuaded from their woeful intention.

"Let us suppose,” said Cabot, “that the way of Kur is not to be changed."

"It will not be changed,” said a Kur.

"Why should it not be changed?” asked Lord Grendel.

"It will not be changed!” said more than one Kur.

"Very well,” said Cabot. “Let us suppose the way of Kur is not changed, that this lethal pact, so peculiar and incomprehensible to mere humans, is to be brought to effectuation."

"As it must be,” said a Kur.

"But when?” asked Cabot. “Is there anything in the way of Kur which insists upon a particular hour, or day, or moment?"

"No,” said a Kur.

"The mariners, after their defeat,” said Cabot, “did not all immediately hang themselves or rush to the knife. Days, weeks, passed, before they went to the place of gathering."

"They have still not submitted to the noose or knife,” said a Kur.

"Nor will they,” said Cabot.

"They have changed the way of Kur,” said Lord Grendel.

"This is different,” said a Kur. “Another life is at stake, that of the leader, Lord Arcesilaus."

"Yes,” said Lord Grendel, “it is different. But, I take it, the point of our friend Cabot is that we need not act on this precipitately."

"Why should we wait?” asked a Kur.

"Let us be done with it,” said another.

"Let us wait,” pleaded Cabot. “Must we instantly gratify Lord Agamemnon? I, for one, would not care to do so. And what will Lord Agamemnon do, if we wait? His forces are doubtless as anxious as ours to bring our conflict to a favorable resolution. May they not eventually swarm forth as irrationally as many of you seem to propose to do, and might not they then, rather than us, be cut down in the intervening fields?"

"Waiting would disconcert Agamemnon, at least,” said Lord Grendel. “And certainly it will put pressure on his commanders, as their forces grow ever more restless."

"He may kill Lord Arcesilaus,” said a Kur.

"If he does so,” said Lord Grendel, “then he is no longer in a position to bargain with his life."

"Let us wait,” said a Kur.

"Agamemnon will be angry,” said a Kur.

"Excellent,” had said Lord Grendel.

When the Kurii had filed away, Lord Grendel turned to Cabot. “Thank you, friend,” he said.

"We have bought a bit of time,” said Cabot.

"Do you think it will be enough?” had asked Lord Grendel.

"No,” had said Cabot. “I do not think so."

* * * *

It was four days after the return of the delegation that the weather changed.

It began with the wind, and then the temperature.

"You should withdraw, friend,” said Lord Grendel to Cabot.

"I will stay,” said Cabot.

"And others?” asked Lord Grendel.

"Some,” said Cabot.

Wind tore at the cloak of Peisistratus, whipping it about his shoulders. He shut his eyes against the fierce sting of flighted ice.

Archon struggled to breathe, turning away from the wind.

"You are useless here,” said Lord Grendel. “In these temperatures only Kurii might live."

"No,” said Cabot. “We will clothe ourselves against the cold, build fires."

"It may be warmer elsewhere, perhaps in the vicinity of Lake Fear,” said Lord Grendel. “I have ordered several of our humans to withdraw, searching for warmth."

"And what of the slaves?” asked Cabot.

"They will herd the slaves before them."

"Good,” said Cabot.

It is a common practice of humans to care for their domestic animals, taking, say, bosk, kaiila, verr, and such to better pastures, more temperate climes, and such.

"What of the Lady Bina?” asked Cabot.

"We have bundled her well,” said Lord Grendel. “And I have had a litter prepared, which will be dragged by the women of Cestiphon. They, too, are now well bundled, and their feet wrapped."

"The women of Cestiphon?"

"It would amuse you to see them,” said Peisistratus. “They are miserable with cold, and the very rope on their neck is stiff and frozen."

"But they hate the Lady Bina,” said Cabot.

"They are now terrified of her,” said Lord Grendel, “for they have now been taught the difference between free women and slaves, and that they are slaves."

"Interesting,” said Cabot. “Then they now have more than one word for female."

"Yes,” said Lord Grendel. “Whereas they, like Goreans, tend to think of all females as slaves, particularly as they consider their bodies in comparison with those of men, they do recognize that some females, however unaccountably, or irrationally, have a far superior status than themselves, that of the free woman."

"You dare entrust the Lady Bina to them?"

"Yes,” said Lord Grendel. “I assure you they will be zealously solicitous of her welfare. If aught befalls her they will all be killed, and most unpleasantly."

"Do they understand that?” asked Cabot.

"Clearly,” said Lord Grendel. “Very clearly."

"If the Lady Bina had retained her beauty,” said Peisistratus, “perhaps she could train them as serving slaves."

"Do not forget they belong to Cestiphon,” said Lord Grendel.

"True,” said Peisistratus. “But perhaps he might sell them. At least two might bring a tarsk and a half."

"They are beautiful,” said Cabot, “but little more than Kur pets, inarticulate, scarcely speeched."

"Some men like them that way,” said Peisistratus.

"I have seen them in the hands of Cestiphon,” said Lord Grendel, “writhing, squirming, bucking, crying out, begging for mercy one moment, and for more the next."

"Perhaps two tarsks,” mused Peisistratus.

"I see no cattle humans below,” said Cabot, half shutting his eyes against the snow, the swirling wind, the pelting of bits of ice.

"They have the memory of their pens, and the feed troughs,” said Lord Grendel. “I would suppose they would return there and huddle together, for warmth."

"In weather such as this,” said Cabot, “the forces of Agamemnon might well advance, seeking cover in the storm."

"No,” said Lord Grendel. “Perhaps they would do so if the ramparts were held by humans, half blinded, scarcely able to move, but we have many of our folk here, well armed, strung along the ramparts. The blasts of our weapons would in moments destroy regiments, flood the plain with boiling water."

Lord Grendel suddenly lifted his hand.

The wind at the same moment ceased to blow, and the snow to fall. Cabot watched its last flakes gently descend to the white plain. The plain itself now seemed icy and still. The air was sharp and clear.

"Listen,” said Lord Grendel.

The announcement, as before, was in both Kur and Gorean. It would be broadcast throughout the cylinder, throughout the world, even to the shores of Lake Fear.

"Agamemnon's patience is at an end,” said Peisistratus.

"Lord Arcesilaus is to be executed tomorrow, at noon, on the palace steps,” said Cabot.

"The time you purchased us,” said Lord Grendel, “has run out."

Chapter, the Sixty-Seventh:

CABOT'S JOURNEY;

AN ACQUAINTANCE IS RENEWED

Cabot did not care to accompany Lord Grendel to the palace, to watch him die, as Kur, before Lord Arcesilaus.

It was a demand of Lord Agamemnon that all power weapons of insurrectionists be defused, gathered together, and destroyed. Not one power weapon was to be left in the camp. This, too, was a portion of the price for Lord Arcesilaus’ life.

It was with a bitter heart that he watched his Kur brethren defuse and stack their weapons, prior to their destruction.

It was with a bitter heart that he watched his Kur brethren, one by one, unarmed, depart from the ramparts to file to the palace.

This time there would be no concealed weapons.

"Agamemnon has won,” had said Lord Grendel, resignedly. “I knew that he would."

"How is that?” had asked Cabot.

"He is the Eleventh face of the Nameless One, Theocrat of the World,” said Lord Grendel.

"But you fought against him,” said Cabot, “and many others, too."

"It was to have been done,” said Lord Grendel.

Cabot, though a warrior, had wept, parting from his friend.

Humans, whose ways were surely not the ways of Kur, left the camp, to seek what shelters, what concealments, they might.

Mostly they scattered, to live as they could, until the hunters, abetted by sleen, might find them.

To be sure, as many had now mastered the bow, they would prove dangerous game.

This risk, of course, would be welcomed by many Kur hunters. Such things increase the sport. They add considerable zest to the chase.

The hunters, of course, wary of the birds of death, it should be noted, would not go into the forests subjecting themselves to the self-imposed limitations to which they had been accustomed in the sport world. One would not expect that. They would therefore carry power weapons. With these they might burn out a swath of forest, yards wide, with a single charge. Too, they would wear body armor, capable of turning an arrow at point-blank range.

In such ways, one trusts, might their risks be reduced.

In this respect, one effects nothing critical.

Who would care to hunt otherwise masters of the great bow?

The heads of males might be tied to their harnesses as trophies, to be later properly mounted. Human females had their uses, even to Kurii, and could be brought back, stripped and bound, and dragged on a handful of leashes, almost as though they might be slaves. The prettier ones might be put again in high collars, to serve as pets, groomers, filers of claws, cleaners of caves, and such. Plainer ones might be used for the scouring of sewers, the cartage of wastes, the scavenging of garbage, such things, or, if fortunate, be put to work in the pens, cleansing them, filling the feed troughs, and such, hoping that they would not themselves be sent to the ramps, for they would understand the ramps, as their gross, lumbering charges would not.

The weather, for humans, was still bitterly cold. There was much snow on the ground. Overhead Cabot could even see it on the trees which, from his vantage point, though so far away, seemed to be growing downward.

Cabot had no particular destination in mind but he found his steps tending toward Lord Grendel's abandoned forest camp.

It was now some five days after his departure from the ramparts that he heard an astonishing, unaccountable message, one somehow, as several others had been, on the great speaker system, a message which seemed to emanate, as they had, from a thousand points in the world. The message was astonishing to Cabot. He did not understand it. It made no sense to him. If there were to be such messages he would have expected them to be, say, warnings to Kur loyalists, even nondominants, to beware of humans, or renegades, or calls to humans, or others, if there were others, to come in and surrender, perhaps to be spared for lowly services, groomings, and such, or, most likely, some gloating, or matter-of-fact announcement, pertaining to Agamemnon's glorious victory, perhaps the announcement of some holiday, or festival, or such. But such was not the message.

The message, incomprehensible to Cabot, was very simple. It was repeated three times, and only three times, but each time more insistently, more urgently.

Bring me a body.

Bring me a body.

Bring me a body.

Shortly thereafter Cabot became less concerned with his trail, which had been obvious in the snow.

As a warrior, or as anyone actually, who might be concerned with such things, Cabot had some sense of the value of remaining both alert and undetected, while in certain milieus. One moves with some stealth, naturally, often taking advantage of cover, and one tends to be very alive to one's surroundings, as the smallest suggestion of something perhaps seen, the tiniest sound perhaps heard, the faintest odor perhaps discerned, may be burdened with significance. Similarly, to the extent possible, one avoids the breaking of branches, the tearing of leaves from a bush, the crushing of a twig, the dislodging of pebbles or debris, such things. A stone turned, for example, may reveal a dampness for better than an Ahn, which bespeaks its recent movement. The edging of a footprint, its sharpness or lack of sharpness, may have its tale to tell. The tiny tracks of a night insect across the footprint may be a chronometer of passage.

Commonly it helps to utilize snow-free, windswept rocks, but there were few to be encountered in his journey, save in the vicinity of the womb tunnel. Too, it is common to utilize stream beds, for even the sleen cannot scent through flowing water, but must peruse the banks for an emergence. But the small streams which in a more equable time might have provided some trail's concealment were of little value now. If the ice was thick, it was laden with snow; if the stream moved, however slowly, beneath a ceiling of ice, that ice, if thin, too often broke beneath a man's weight. Too, to plunge into the icy water, in the cold, without a prompt application of warmth, the availability of fire, a toweling and change of gear, might within an Ahn result in incapacitation.

But as recorded, shortly after the strange message heard within the world, Cabot became less concerned with the obviousness of his trail, hitherto so obviously broken through the snow.

He had for Ahn, you see, waded through snow, much of it to his thighs.

But shortly after the strange message the snow ceased to be deep and dry, and began to subside into dampness, and, where it had been flat, and hard, and icy, he could see water beneath it, in bubbles, and tiny rivulets at the side.

He stopped, and put back his hood.

There was a cracking sound, and he crouched down, alert, but it had been ice fallen from a branch.

He moved to a higher place, for the wrappings with which he had swathed his legs were now dark, wet from softening snow.

At his feet he saw a trickle of water, moving through damp leaves.

Some yards away he heard the small sound of moving water, sluggish, undeniable.