Plunder of Gor (67 page)

“Finish it all, Phyllis,” said Kurik.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

I was hungry.

I fed well.

Generally I did not feed much differently from my master, and would partake of the same foods, which I, of course, had prepared. Strictly, rather as I must have permission to speak, so, too, I must have permission to clothe myself, to feed, and so on. On the other hand, in many domiciles, nothing onerous is involved in such matters, as, with respect to a variety of such activities, a standing permission is in place. I almost always fed myself, save when it pleased him, or amused him, to put me to all fours, at an animal dish, the use of my hands denied to me, or would choose, I kneeling, or sometimes lying, to feed me by hand. I was even permitted, commonly, the use of a spoon. One matter in which an explicit permission is usually required is when a slave would leave the domicile. In requesting this permission, the slave will be expected to make clear the point of her trip and her anticipated time of return. With respect to food, the master, of course, as a matter of propriety, begins the meal. An exception to this might be when the master suspects the slave may have poisoned the food. She will then be forced to eat first. Slaves are denied access to poisons, as to more common weapons. But an enemy may plant a girl in an enemy household, supply the poison, and so on. The most exotic form of this sort of thing is the poison girl who, over months or years, is rendered immune to a poison, but whose bite is lethal. There are, of course, a variety of ways in which a toxin may be administered, for example, by means of a fang tooth, a poison ring, and so on. A simple method is to introduce an ost into the intended victim's sleeping furs.

The fellow who had poured the cup of black wine was now gone.

We then heard an abysmal howl some yards to the right, outside the bower. I froze in place. Surely it was a noise emanating from some dreadful, horrifying beast. But there could be no larl here, no forest panther, so close to Ar! And there were armed guards about, and it did not seem they were engaged. Surely I heard no cries of alarm, no orders to deploy and attack. The source of that howl, then, must have been deemed acceptable, perhaps unobjectionable, even innocuous. I kept my head down.

“Look,” said Kurik. “The Kur!”

“I see it,” said Lord Grendel.

“It stumbles, and reels,” said Kurik.

“Yes,” said Lord Grendel.

“What is wrong with it?” asked Kurik.

“This bodes not well,” said Lord Grendel.

“Has it gone mad?” asked Kurik.

“In a sense, yes,” said Lord Grendel. “It is drunk.”

“‘Drunk'?” said Kurik, incredulously.

“Yes,” said Lord Grendel. “Decius Albus is a fool. He knows nothing of Kurii. Such a splendid host, so eager to please his guests! How he would pander to the High Ones! He would pour oil, explosive dust, on fire!”

“I do not understand,” said Kurik.

“This is no sipping of ka-la-na,” said Lord Grendel. “The fool! He has put paga before Kurii!”

“That is some sort of mistake?” said Kurik.

“The blood of the Kur is dark and deep,” said Lord Grendel. “There are ancient gates behind which lurk ancient things, things best shut away, things best left unstirred. Paga opens such gates.”

“There is danger?” said Kurik.

“Great danger,” said Lord Grendel.

“How could Surtak permit this?” asked Kurik.

“Surtak would not,” said Lord Grendel. “In this I see the hand, and ignorance, of Decius Albus.”

“It is coming this way,” said Kurik. “Men withdraw!”

“Get up, Phyllis,” snapped Kurik, and I rose to my feet, wiping gruel from my face with the back of my right hand.

I saw the reeling Kur, no longer howling, enter the festive structure, look about, and then leap up, seizing the latticework of the bower, and then falling back to the ground amidst a confetti of flat, narrow boards that could not have begun to hold his weight. The guests, most of them, had now drawn back in such a way as to have the tables between themselves and the Kur. Then the Kur, angrily, suddenly, overturned one of the tables, spilling wine, cakes, and fruit, but it made no effort to more closely approach the guests, who had shrunk back even further. Indeed, some had fled the bower. We were still on the same side of the tables as the Kur, and it turned about, and regarded us.

“Prepare to run,” said Kurik.

“I cannot!” I said.

“As you can, little fool,” he said.

He then placed himself between me and the beast.

“Do not be afraid,” said Lord Grendel. “If necessary, I will kill it.”

The Kur approached a bit toward us, and growled.

Lord Grendel snarled back, and then uttered something in Kur, fiercely, that I could not understand, as his translator was deactivated. The Kur blinked, and then, growling, stumbled away.

“It declines to have its throat torn out,” said Lord Grendel.

“How many Kurii are there about?” asked Kurik.

“I do not think there are many,” said Lord Grendel, “perhaps ten, perhaps fifteen. Lord Agamemnon, following the revolution, is severely limited as to cohorts, and it is difficult to bring Kurii into populated areas, to conceal them there, and so on.”

“Happily, only one was drunk,” said Kurik.

“Our delightful host,” said Lord Grendel, “would scarcely serve paga to but one guest.”

“Then there are others,” said Kurik.

“Doubtless,” said Lord Grendel.

“Where?” asked Kurik.

“I suspect, in the place of entertainment,” said Lord Grendel.

“What are we to do?” asked Kurik.

“You, and your lovely collar girl, Phyllis,” said Lord Grendel, “will continue to enjoy the sumptuous provender so generously provided in this festive structure, and make my excuses to any who might inquire.”

“And you, what are you to do?” asked Kurik.

“I intend to find Surtak, or his body,” said Lord Grendel.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

“Have you dined well?” inquired Decius Albus.

“Very well,” said Kurik, finishing a small pastry.

Behind Decius Albus were an officer and eight guards.

“And I trust your girl enjoyed her gruel,” said Master Albus.

“As you can see, noble Albus,” said Kurik, “the bowl has been licked clean.”

No one, it will be noted, had asked me about the matter. There are, of course, many variations where slave gruel is concerned, ranging from bland mush to exotic mixtures that might tempt a free woman, were it not for the name. Needless to say, such mixtures were occasionally sold, and for a good price, to free women under different names. I had not, incidentally, thought the gruel of any particular note, but it was good enough, not that I had anything to say about such matters. Certainly I had been hungry, and that is often a great help, that serving to elevate one's assessments. That the bowl was licked clean was to be expected. Slaves are not to waste food.

Upon the arrival of Decius Albus and his small retinue, I had immediately knelt.

“Where is the esteemed Lord Grendel?” asked Master Albus, looking about.

“He was here a moment ago,” said Kurik. “Doubtless he will be back shortly.”

Neither Decius Albus nor my master paid me any attention. I did sense I was being assessed by one of the guards. I had learned that the curves of a woman's body, at least if they were of sufficient interest to masters, were often referred to as slave curves. I wondered if free women sometimes, before the mirror, in the privacy of their boudoir, regarded themselves, and wondered if their curves were slave curves, and, if they were, what this might mean. Surely humans are not exempt from the selections of nature. Does nature not, in its thoughtless processes, in its blind, dark game, favor the organ sensitive to light, the organ sensitive to sound, the capacity to discriminate tastes and odors, the capacity to grasp, to feel, to think? Does it not, without thought or heart, fashion the wings of the tarn, the fleetness of the leaping tabuk, the stealth of the sleen, the claws and fangs of the larl? It casts its dice, on the board it cannot see, and there are consequences, unexpected and unforeseen, but real, very real. Nature favors victory, and the storms of sex. It favors men and women, and a kind of man, and a kind of woman. Would it not favor the man who would prize, seize, own, and master a woman, and the woman who would thrive joyfully at his feet, prized, seized, owned, and mastered? What man does not long for his slave, what woman does not long for her master? So I think there is a sense to the expression ‘slave curves'. Are they not slave curves, in a more literal sense than is often understood? Have we not been bred to find our joy in bondage, in loving and belonging; have we not been bred to be slaves?

“I am disappointed,” said Decius Albus. “I had hoped, personally, to conduct the noble Lord Grendel and his colleague, Tenrik of Siba, to the entertainment.”

“After which, formal pledges of peace are to be exchanged,” said Kurik.

“Of course,” said Decius Albus.

“I hope that your disappointment will not last long,” said Kurik.

“I do not think it will,” said Master Albus. He then turned to the officer beside him. “Take four men,” he said, “locate Lord Grendel, and escort him to the entertainment.”

The officer and four of his men then departed, making their way toward the house.

“Ah, see,” said Decius Albus, sympathetically. “Tenrik's poor slave is hobbled.”

“It was done when we left the wagon,” said Kurik.

“I apologize,” said Decius Albus. “It is a matter of routine precaution when dealing with visiting slaves. It discourages wandering about.” He then turned to one of the remaining guards. “Let us relieve this poor love beast of the cruel impediments fastened so closely about her ankles.”

With a sound of metal, the guard lifted me to my feet. It is difficult to rise to one's feet when hobbled, and, without a display pole, extremely difficult to do so gracefully.

I expected then to be directly relieved of the device but Decius Albus was looking at my ankles.

“Her ankles are rather slim, are they not?” he asked.

“She is a barbarian,” said Kurik. “On the Slave World, one does not object to such ankles. Indeed, they are approved.”

“Interesting,” said Decius Albus.

“They shackle nicely,” said Kurik.

“Even as other ankles,” said Decius Albus.

“Of course,” said Kurik.

I then expected to be relieved of the hobbles, but, to my surprise, my wrists were drawn behind me, and braceleted. I was then leashed.

“I do not think she is going to run away,” said Kurik.

“I do not think so, either,” said Decius Albus.

“I did not know she was to be hobbled, or braceleted and leashed,” said Kurik.

“Oh?” said Decius Albus.

“Phyllis,” said my master, “if it should prove feasible, later, you might locate our wagon. I may have forgotten something.”

“Yes, Master,” I said. I had no idea what he was talking about, as the wagon had been empty when we had left it. Indeed, guards had checked the wagon, and determined that it was empty, quite empty.

“Take off the hobbles,” said Decius Albus.

The guard then, with a key, addressed himself to the hobbles.

I pulled at the bracelets a little. Though one knows one is held perfectly, helplessly, how can one resist doing that? My leash was in the hand of another guard, its end knotted about his fist.

Braceleted and leashed, is one not well aware that one is a property, an animal, a slave?

Then the hobbles were off, and cast on one of the tables, amidst the residue of the feast.

“Now, Phyllis,” said Decius Albus, “were you free of the leash and bracelets, you might leap about much as you might please, darting here and there.”

I did not understand him.

My master seemed troubled.

“Now,” said Decius Albus, “let us proceed to the entertainment.”

“By all means,” said Kurik.

Chapter Fifty-Nine

It was hard to see, for the lack of light. I heard whimpering about me, small sounds of questioning, of fear. “Why are we here?” asked a woman's voice, doubtless that of a slave, for the free and the slave would scarcely be kept together. We were somewhere within the house of Decius Albus. I had been hastened into the house, braceleted and leashed, through a side entrance, shortly before the festive bower in which the banquet had been served had been attacked by some four or five rampaging, apparently drunken Kurii. Behind me I had heard the tearing of wood, the clatter of vessels flung from overturned tables, the howling of the beasts. The guards, too, I think, were frightened. I hooked my fingers in the stout mesh. Some forty of us were penned in the enclosure. To my left there was another enclosure, in which were penned several bleating verr. Ahead I could see two cracks of light, indicating, I supposed, doors. It seemed a natural light under the doors. Beyond the doors then, I supposed, one would be outside. Perhaps there would be a garden outside, or the fields, the Viktel Aria beyond. Each pen had a shoot, each shoot leading toward one of the doors.

I was unclothed, save for my collar, and I had little doubt but what the others in the enclosure, in the darkness, were similarly served, their raiment limited to a metal slave band locked on their neck. Nudity is not that uncommon with slaves. They are, after all, animals. And whereas an animal may be clothed, it need not be. As it has no rights, it has no right to anything, including clothing. It does not even own its own collar. The master owns it. The slave wears it.

“Bind him,” had said Decius Albus, and three of the four guards remaining with Decius Albus had set upon my master, who struggled wildly, until his arms were pinned back by two of the guards, one to each arm, and the other, standing close to him, struck him a sudden, heavy blow to the body, following which he was cast to the ground, struggling to breathe. His wrists were tied behind him and his arms were roped to his sides. He was then yanked to his feet, still struggling to get air into his lungs. He was held upright by two of the guards. Otherwise I did not know if he could stand. When the guards had lunged toward Kurik, grappling with him, I, dismayed, had cried out “Master!” and, not thinking, had tried to run, but I was, of course, caught up short by the leash, and then the guard in whose charge I was, with a motion of his foot, swept my feet from beneath me and I was put to my belly, and the free end of the leash was pulled back, under my body, and my ankles were seized, crossed, and thrust up, and forward, and then pressed down, behind me, and bound together with the free end of the leash. I then lay there on the ground, prone, beside the table, my wrists braceleted behind me, my ankles pulled up behind me, high, crossed, tightly bound.

“Ah, my dear Tenrik, of Siba, or whatever might be your name, as though it mattered,” said Decius Albus, “it seems we are now ready to be off to the entertainment. I trust you will enjoy yourself, perhaps so much so that you will consent to participate.” The eyes of Kurik of Victoria seemed glazed. I did not think he could speak. Decius Albus then turned about, in good humor. He was looking off, beyond the uprights of the open bower, toward the house. “Bring our friend along,” he said. “Noble Albus,” said the guard who stood near me, he who had held my leash, and then discomfited me, “what of the slave?” “Put her with the others,” had said Master Albus. “To be done with as the others?” had asked the guard. “Yes,” had said Decius Albus. “Of course.”

I blinked suddenly, and drew back, my eyes half shut. The door to the left had been thrown open and bright sunlight enflamed the doorway, and I heard the sound of men outside, and there was a sound of cheering, and an eager howling of Kurii, and two gates were flung up, one at the near end of the verr pen, to my left, separating it from its chute, and that at the far end of the chute, leading toward the opened doorway, and now, from behind, entering the chamber, I heard the shouts of men, and I saw one, far to the left, outside the verr pen, carrying a pointed stick, and then other men, with sticks, had entered the pen, from behind, and were herding the verr out the chute, through the doorway, into the light outside.

I understood nothing of what was occurring.

Surely this had nothing to do with the entertainment to which Decius Albus had alluded. The verr, the domestic verr, is a placid, contented, gregarious, grazing beast, raised for meat. Flocks of verr might figure in bucolic pageants or dramas dealing with the romances of shepherds and shepherdesses. What other contribution to an entertainment might be expected of verr? What else could be their role? Too, these were familiar verr, not the related beast, the larger, belligerent, territorial mountain verr I had heard of, horned and agile, which are dangerous to approach, particularly on precipitous slopes. To observe a flock of verr might be soothing, but I saw little in it that would be likely to be denominated amusing or enjoyable, a spectacle, or such.

But I did not know, at that time, much about the feeding habits of Kurii. The Kur, in its variations, of course, is essentially a carnivore. I have little doubt that it stood at the top of the food chain on its former world, a world about which we know little, other than that it was destroyed or rendered unviable. Some Kurii, even today, are strictly carnivorous. Most, on the other hand, can ingest and retain a larger spectrum of substances. There are, interestingly, very few strict or pure carnivores. Most animals known as carnivores do not, or need not, restrict their diet to meat. Natural selection in what one might think of as “food deserts” would see to that. There are, of course, preferences, and the ancient hunt can lurk in the genes. The Kur doubtless favors meat, and fresh meat, and many prefer it hot and saturated with blood, torn from the living animal. Too, for many it seems there is a pleasure, a zest, in making one's own kill. That, for many, seems to add a sauce to the repast.

I crowded to the front of the pen, until I was pressed against the gate at the front of the pen, that which closed off the pen from its chute, the chute that led to the second door, now closed. I was desperate to look, as I could, through the opened portal, that of the first door, leading outside, that through which the verr had been driven. I saw nothing but some ground, and grass, and then the door was flung shut, and we were, rather as before, muchly in darkness.

I had detected, however, in that moment, a slight smell of smoke.

I would later learn that the drunken Kurii, leaping about, reveling in their carnival of destruction, had set fire to the lovely, shaded bower that had sheltered the riches of the afternoon banquet.

“What is going on?” begged a woman, beside me.

“I do not know, I do not know!” I said.

Who knew what lay beyond the two closed doors?

Who knew, then, even the meaning of that bit of smoke?

I did know that some four or five Kurii, like wild beasts, seemingly out of their senses, had entered the bower about the same time that I had been hurried from it, toward the house. There had been one earlier, too, which Lord Grendel had warned away. That one, if Lord Grendel had been correct, had been drunk. Those appearing later, I supposed, might have been drunk, as well. Perhaps the first one had returned, bringing others with him. I did not know. Kurii looked much alike to me, as I supposed they would to any human.

The Kur, at its best, is a form of life that tends to be impatient, dangerous, unpredictable, and violent. Its restraints of rationality and prudence are tenuous in the best of times. It was fearful to contemplate what its behavior might be in the absence of such restraints, as modest and precarious as they might be.

Although I was unsure at the moment, I deemed it likely, following the surmise of my master, that Decius Albus, wisely or not, by design or in ignorance, eager to appease and impress the Kurii, would have been generous in the distribution of paga. How could he have given it to some, and not others? And what Kur, unacquainted with the beverage, curious, jubilant, in holiday mood, would refuse to accept a gift made so freely available, by so trustworthy and generous a host and ally? And so, in many cases, the amber swirl of liquid fire, for the first time, would course through new countries, new bodies, large, dark, dangerous bodies, hitherto untouched by such flames, racing where it had never burned before. Who, knowingly, would give paga to a larl? Who, knowingly, would break through the thin crust concealing a seething volcano? Lord Grendel had spoken of ancient gates, behind which lurk ancient things, things best shut away, things best left unstirred. Who knows, I wondered, what waits, restless, behind those gates? Do not such gates make possible civilization, intelligence, and thought? Perhaps, in the case of the Kur, those gates had not been opened for a thousand years. Paga, I feared, as had Lord Grendel, opens such gates.

I heard, frightened, crowded with the others, in the darkness, from outside, from the other side of the doors, the penetrating blast of a festive trumpet and a cry of eagerness, of anticipation, from a crowd, and, mixed therein, the wild roars and howls of excited Kurii.

“What is going on?” cried a woman.

“I do not know!” I said.

“I know the trumpet!” cried a woman.

“Yes!” cried another.

“Yes,” said another, “it is the trumpet!”

“What trumpet?” I asked.

“Such trumpets announce the games,” said one of us, in the darkness.

“What games?” I asked.

“Arena games!” said another.

Almost at the same time we heard a frenzied bleating outside, and the shrill noises of terrified verr. This continued for a short time, and then there would be a silence, and then, in a bit, the silence would be shattered, again, by a brief, tortured, bleating, terrified, noise.

“What are they doing?” asked a woman.

“They are running verr, pursuing them, seizing them, and feeding,” said a woman. “I saw it in the house, once, when the beasts were alone. Now it is in the open, public!”

“Surely no arena trumpet would be sounded for such a thing,” said a woman.

“Something different must be going on,” said another.

“I saw it at the house, too,” said another, “a different time. It can be a blood sport. They take pleasure in it. There is the thrill of the chase, the apprehension of the quarry, the kill, the relishing of the hot, living, bloody meat of victory. There are wagers made. Which beast will first seize which animal? How quickly can a given animal be seized? Who of two beasts will retain most of the animal?”

We heard another horrifying bleating from outside.

“Another kill,” said the first woman who had referred to the matter, from the house.

“I hear the howling of the beasts,” said a woman. “I do not now hear much cheering from the men.”

“They did not know what to expect,” said a woman. “Now they do.”

Surely there did now seem less enthusiasm from the men outside.

“No matter,” said the second woman who had seen Kur feeding, in the house. “The party is not for the men. It is for the beasts. It is their party, their joy, their festival.”

How tense, I thought, and how precarious, must be the relationship between Kurii and humans.

“What are we here for?” asked a woman, “penned in the darkness?”

“You heard the trumpet,” said another. “It is an arena trumpet. There are games. We are prizes. It is common in arena sports, in the killing games, the beast fights, in the tarn races, the races of kaiila and tharlarion, as in the contests of dramas, of choral song, of music, and poetry, to include kajirae amongst the winnings, amongst the spoils of victory. What do men care more for than power, gold, silver, and women?”

“True,” said another woman.

“So, there is nothing to fear,” said another woman. “We will merely have new collars, new chains.”

“If our new masters do not want us, they will sell us,” said another.

“Yes,” said another.

“If we are prizes,” said one of the women in the darkness, “why have we not been displayed?”

I knew little of such matters, but I gathered that it was customary to publicly display at least some of the goods that might accrue to a victor, perhaps a vessel of silver, a buckle, pin, or armlet of gold, a fine kaiila, a lovely kajira.

“The master has arranged this festival for the beasts,” said a woman. “It is their festival. Of what interest could we be to the beasts?”

At that point there was a noise in the chamber behind us, and, when we looked back, we saw, moving toward us in the darkness, a number of glowing objects, some red, some white. The pen was opened in the back, and some of the glowing objects apparently entered the pen, and, at the same time, before us, the gate leading from the pen to the chute was flung upward.

“Into the chute!” we heard.

We crowded into the chute, frightened, pressed closely together. There were men behind us, and the glowing objects. We could not retreat. I heard a scream of pain. Then, suddenly, the door at the end of the chute, leading outside, was thrown open. I shut my eyes, briefly, against the light. I heard another scream of pain from somewhere behind me.

We could hardly move, so much we were crowded, so closely we were pressed together.

“Out! Move! Move, sluts! Move, two-legged animals! Move, branded, shapely beasts! Move, marked collar trash! Move! Move!”

I heard another scream of pain behind me. I could not hold my place, I was thrust forward.

“Please, Master,” I heard, “do not touch me again with the hot iron!”

Some of the irons, held in the heavily gloved hands of the men, had glowed redly, dully, and others had been white with heat.

I heard another cry of pain.

We were being driven from the chute by hot irons.

I was pressed forward. I almost lost my footing. Then I cried out with fear, for one of the men was outside the chute, to the side, close, carrying one of the glowing irons. I could feel the heat a yard away. I pressed forward, thrusting those ahead of me forward, and being forced forward by those behind me.