Plunder of Gor (69 page)

Tyrtaios turned back.

Surely a Ubar might have been attacked for such a fee.

“You have had much paga, noble Albus,” said Drusus Andronicus. “Let us return to the box, and you may rest, think, collect yourself, and be at ease.”

“A golden tarn!” roared Decius Albus.

“Ho, noble Tyrtaios,” said Kurik. “The fee is good, and the risk is slight. Do not hesitate. What have you to fear? Your target is stationary, and cannot resist!”

“A golden tarn,” repeated Decius Albus, slowly, separating the words.

“I am a high Assassin,” said Tyrtaios, turning angrily toward Decius Albus. “I have trained for years. I have ascended the Nine Steps of Blood. I do not slaughter a tethered tarsk. I am not a butcher. Kill him yourself. Do not be afraid. A child, or slave, could manage the matter!”

“Noble friend!” protested Decius Albus, turning white. Two of the soldiers present grasped their spears more firmly.

“Do not be offended, noble colleague of the Dark Caste,” said Drusus Andronicus. “Hold. Do not draw your sword. Be at peace. He is not himself. It is the paga that speaks, not the noble Albus.”

Tyrtaios gestured toward Kurik. “Unchain him,” he said. “Put a sword in his hand.”

“Surely not,” said Master Albus.

“I am an indifferent swordsman,” said Kurik. “You have nothing to fear. I am no match for an Assassin, or warrior.”

“It would be something for the crowd,” said Drusus Andronicus to Decius Albus. “It is not much pleased with what has ensued thus far. What is amusing in the slaughtering of verr? Surely it is entitled to a kill it can understand, an arena kill, as in the Stadium of Blades.”

“—Yes, very well,” said Decius Albus, leaning on Drusus Andronicus. “Let him be unchained, and armed.”

“And,” said Drusus Andronicus, “as the Kurii have had their sport with the verr, let us return the kajirae to their kennels and chains.”

“No, no,” said Decius Albus. “Our dark friends must not be disappointed. This day is theirs. I need this day for them. It is important.”

“You are afraid of them?” said Drusus Andronicus.

“Of course,” said Decius Albus. “Are you not afraid, also?”

“Of course,” said Drusus Andronicus.

“It could mean our lives,” said Decius Albus.

“I understand,” said Drusus Andronicus.

Of the Kurii about, only the two who had descended from the box had translators, and neither device was activated.

I deemed this fortunate.

Decius Albus was then conducted across the small, bloody field, and assisted in climbing to his box, and, shortly thereafter, he sank into the curule chair at its center. I was not sure he was still conscious. Drusus Andronicus was seated at his side, and the two Kurii who had accompanied Surtak in Brundisium, and apparently now held posts of high station, had returned to their places in the box, as well.

A soldier approached, with keys to the padlocks that secured the chains of Kurik of Victoria.

“I am not a good swordsman,” said Kurik to Tyrtaios.

“I take it, that is your first thrust,” said Tyrtaios.

“Not at all,” said Kurik, as the chains were being removed.

“It would not matter much if you were an excellent swordsman, or not,” said Tyrtaios. “It might take a moment longer, another parry, another thrust. My skills reach beyond excellent. I fear only two swords on Gor, that of the High Master of the Caste of Assassins, and that of an obscure warrior who, long ago, on the roof of the Central Cylinder of Ar, bested him.”

“Then only one,” said Kurik, “for the High Master, bested, defeated, must have been slain.”

“No,” said Tyrtaios. “He escaped.”

“I see,” said Kurik, as the last of the chains fell away.

“I will be quick,” said Tyrtaios.

“Doubtless I am expected to be grateful,” said Kurik.

“As you wish,” said Tyrtaios.

A sword was placed in the hand of Kurik.

“Up, Phyllis,” said Kurik. “Aside. We must have room.”

I sprang to my feet, and moved to the side. “Do not fight, Master,” I said. I did not wish him to be mocked, to appear inept, and foolish. He might, at least, die with a sword in his hand, proudly, arrogantly, not lifted. Too, perhaps Tyrtaios would not strike a man who refused to defend himself. But then I recalled he was of the dark caste. “Master,” I moaned. I knew then Kurik of Victoria would fight, no matter the odds. He was Gorean. “Master!” I wept.

“How better to go to the Cities of Dust?” he asked.

“Wait!” said Tyrtaios, suddenly, and backed away some yards, and pointed to our right.

At that point, opposite the stands, where there was a line of soldiers closing off the field, something, apparently unexpected, at least by most, was taking place. The line had parted, allowing the passage of what appeared to be two large Kurii. The first was swathed in chains, and the second, apparently the guard, or custodian, of the first, carried a large Kur ax.

Clearly the men in the stands, and the soldiers about, were not aware of what was occurring. Similarly, it seemed that few of the Kurii, at least at first, understood what was taking place.

“What is going on?” called Kurik to Tyrtaios.

“I do not know,” said Tyrtaios. “I have not been informed.”

I glanced at the stands. All there, both men and Kurii, were on their feet. Even Decius Albus, half supported by Drusus Andronicus, was on his feet, staring blearily across the field.

The two Kurii who were in the box of Decius Albus, those of high station, who had accompanied Surtak in Brundisium, howled with pleasure and leaped about within the box itself, in what might be some bestial dance of victory, of triumph, of joy. They then desisted, and then, apparently half beside themselves with pleasure, struggling to control their glee, they called out in Kur. There was then a roar in Kur that coursed through the stands amongst the Kurii therein, that was taken up by the Kurii about, on the ground, those apparently waiting for the sounding of the trumpet, to signal the new hunt. Men, in fear, drew apart from the Kurii, as they could. Guards and soldiers, in their lines, looked to one another. Lines wavered as some men moved back, and others leaned forward, bracing their spear shafts in the turf. Officers were silent.

“Behold,” called Tyrtaios, from his stance, some yards back. “It is a surprise, arranged by Aelius and Lucilius, to delight the afternoon, the execution of an enemy, the consolidation of their seizure of power.”

If larls could speak, how could one transcribe their names in human phonemes? I did not even know, nor, if I knew, could I pronounce the Kur name of Lord Grendel, or that of Lord Agamemnon, or Surtak, or Eve, or Lyris, or others. I had little doubt that the names ‘Aelius' and ‘Lucilius' had been chosen with political intent, largely to soothe apprehensions in the House of a Hundred Corridors, to suggest a relationship of sympathy and accord that might not exist, to insist on the existence of a bridge where, in reality, one might not exist.

The two seeming beasts, one bound with chains, the other with its ax, approached the center of the small field, opposite the stands, near the stake to which Kurik of Victoria had been fastened.

I suppressed a tiny cry of surprise.

Chapter Sixty-One

The one seeming beast, it with the ax, as one would expect, had been rather behind his charge, but, as it came closer, and was less blocked from view, I was startled. So, too, I gathered, was Kurik of Victoria. Its harnessing was not familiar, as the original harnessing had been replaced. The harnessing, now, was much as that of most of the other Kurii about, even festive in nature. But I noted dark stains, brownish red, dried, on the harnessing.

Dangling about the broad, thick neck of the guard was a translator, and, momentarily, I realized it had been activated, for I could hear, relayed, and translated, speech from the box in the stands.

“Bring the wretch forward, closer,” commanded one of the Kurii in the box. “Behold, cohorts, the cowardly rogue who would hold truce with the enemy, suspending hostilities, denying us the blood our due, the glory that should be ours. The noble Decius Albus, our esteemed ally, atoning for the loss of a hostage, seizing an initiative, devised a brilliant plan whereby might be brought to fruition the plan of Lord Agamemnon, now regrettably absent, the enlisting or destruction of a foe of significance, Grendel, high in the ranks of the usurper, Arcesilaus. But his plan would be frustrated by the cowardly villain before you, who would continue the hiatus!”

At this point there were righteous roars of indignation, from at least several of the Kurii about, who, I took it, were of the faction of Aelius and Lucilius.

“This cowardice, this dereliction of duty, this refusal to promote an action clearly in accord with the will of, and in the best interests of, Lord Agamemnon necessitated, indeed, demanded, mutiny. Power unexercised is power betrayed. The leader who does not lead is no leader, but a traitor. With grievous reluctance and the keenest of sorrows, choiceless in the circumstances, I and Lucilius did what was called for, indeed, what was necessary!”

Several of the Kurii bellowed agreement.

“It is now only necessary,” said the speaker, “to mete out justice.” He then called down to the field. “Cut off his head!”

Then Surtak's body swelled in the chains, and the links rustled all about his body. “Come and do it yourself!” he called.

The utterance in Kur was loud, ferocious, and horrifying, but the translator ticked off the translation in Gorean with its customary equanimity.

I shuddered.

For a moment, in the box, Aelius, he I took to be Aelius, as he had referred to the other as Lucilius, remained still, perhaps surprised, perhaps taken aback. Then he called out, “Yes!”

“Wait!” said Decius Albus to him, who, after his recumbency in the box, seemed more in control of his body, less muddled in his mind.

“Do not,” said Drusus Andronicus. “Consider your station!”

But Aelius had left the box, and was making his way, lightly, for his bulk, down the tiers of the stand. On the ground level he held out his hand, or paw, and one of the Kurii about placed an ax in that massive, six-digited grasping appendage. He held it as lightly as I might have carried a stick. I would have had difficulty in lifting that lethal tool, let alone wielding it.

“Prepare!” he called to Surtak.

“Do so!” responded Surtak, and, simultaneously, at a flick of the paw of Lord Grendel, the chains, like liberated snakes, leapt from his body, and Lord Grendel handed him his own ax, which he had borne to the field.

“Behold,” cried Surtak, his eyes blazing, “you stand within the Rings!”

A hush came over the stands.

Neither men nor Kurii moved, or spoke.

Aelius, ax in hands, stepped back, closer to the stands. But none of his Kur cohorts stepped between him and Surtak. The ground between them had now become different, holy, or ceremonially reserved, I gathered, as a Ring Challenge had been issued. It was not to be intruded upon, I gathered, until the business of the challenge had been resolved.

“I decline to accept the challenge,” said Aelius.

“You are within the Rings,” said Surtak.

“You must accept the challenge,” said a nearby Kur.

There were two rings of reddish iron on the left wrist of Surtak. Leadership amongst Kurii, I gathered, is not easily earned.

“Peace, peace, fellowship!” called Decius Albus, standing in the box. No longer did he seem random or lost. In the way it can be done, by disaster, crisis, or a sudden, freezing recognition of danger, it seemed the reeling heat of his drunkenness had been thrust aside. It may have been there, chemically, as real as the paga in the blood, but it was no longer operative. It was not so much neglected, as shut away. It may have stood at the door of consciousness, but that door was now barred against it. In the presence of a larl or an upraised knife one sobers instantly. “Dear friends and colleagues,” continued Decius Albus, “all differences can be negotiated. All viewpoints must be considered. Compromise is always possible. Let us enter into frank, honest, fruitful dialogue.”

I sensed that Decius Albus was not certain, given the Ring Challenge, of his Kur allies. Perhaps there were factions amongst them. Might he not endanger himself, his house, and his plans, if he trod blindly in the social and political darkness? Surely he was aware something was suddenly very different. He was confident he could rely on his armed men, the guards, the soldiers. But what of the Kurii? What stance should he take, given what had occurred? The men in the stands, lacking arms, were negligible, at least as of now. They might be formidable in Ar, with their connections, their positions, their influence, and such, but here they amounted to little or nothing. A knife slips as easily into the heart of a Ubar as that of a peasant.

“You are within the Rings!” roared Surtak.

“Hold, hold, my friends!” called Decius Albus. “Do not interfere with the festivities! All disagreements can be resolved amicably. Postpone your differences, at least until the fierce larls of the blood recline. Now, let the games continue! See how I add to them! I have planned a surprise! Look to the gates!”

Decius Albus lifted and lowered his hand, signaling.

The gate on the ground level, through which the verr had been driven out, was flung open, and a collared, Kurlike thing, bereft of harness, was prodded out, into the sunlight.

I recognized it.

“Lyris!” exclaimed Surtak, this name picked up on Lord Grendel's translator, and broadcast about.

Lucilius was standing, in the box. “Behold, a fallen, disgraced one,” he shouted out, “a failed one, reduced and degraded, a belonging of the traitor Surtak. We planned, with our esteemed ally, the noble Decius Albus, to have her slain before Surtak, before we did him justice, that he might see her blood before we took his own.”

“Lift up your ax!” cried Surtak to Aelius, who had drawn back to the tiers of the stand.

“Throw down yours!” called Aelius. “We will spare her the death of teeth or spears. Your life or hers!”

“Do not, Master!” cried Lyris, rushing to Surtak. She crouched down before him, in Kur deference. “Do not trust them!” she cried. “They will kill us both.”

“You have my word,” called Aelius. “It is pledged.”

Angrily Surtak cast down the ax.

“Excellent, excellent!” called Decius Albus. “Wisdom prevails!”

Lord Grendel made no move to retrieve the discarded ax.

“We will now add to the games,” called out Decius Albus, “as being of special interest, two kajirae, one who failed to well serve the House of a Hundred Corridors, a house that is reluctant to accept embarrassment or failure, and one that attests the good faith, the good will, the generosity, the bounty of my house. My house does not stint on the provender of its festive boards, nor on the richness of its gifts to its retainers. So, too, we do not stint on the quality of our sponsored games. In the arena we put upon the sand only the finest of fighters, in the tarn races only the swiftest of tarns, and so, too, here, we do not stint on the quality of our prey animals. You will behold, momentarily, an unusually lovely kajira, a former display slave, a nicely curved item that cost the house a full golden tarsk.”

Much attention was then focused on the second gate, that through which we had been hurried, from the girl chute, crowding to the outside, desperate to escape from the heated irons.

Decius Albus again raised and lowered his hand, again signaling.

A blond kajira was thrust stumbling onto the field, her forearm over her eyes to protect them from the glare of sunlight. Then she lowered her arm, looked about herself, and screamed in horror.

Like the rest of us she wore naught but her collar. We are beasts who need not be clothed. We were kajirae, lovely, purchasable brutes who existed for the service of our masters. I did not think the neck of the former, proud free woman, the Lady Alexina, had long been in a collar. I suspected that Decius Albus had welcomed her return to his house, taken pains to allay her apprehensions, and treated her as before, honorably and bountifully, or even better, while contemplating all the while how he might best express his dissatisfaction with her service. Perhaps only today she had been seized, stripped, branded, and collared.

Decius Albus then lifted and lowered his hand again, signaling for the third time to the gate area, and another kajira was thrust into the open.

“Paula!” I cried out, in misery.

“I have this sword,” said Kurik. “Do you wish me to kill you, now, quickly, mercifully?”

“It is Paula!” I said, pointing.

“I do not think I can reach her,” said Kurik, gauging the distance.

He quickly looked about. Tyrtaios had not approached more closely, but had remained some yards away, muchly at the point to which he had withdrawn, shortly after noticing the arrival on the field of what seemed to be two Kurii, one chained, one with an ax.

Kurik then regarded me.

“Approach,” he said. “You will feel little. It will be over quickly. I will do it swiftly.”

“Have I displeased my master?” I asked.

“Your friend, Paula, hurries to your side,” he said.

A wave of emotion, like a surf of grief, swept through me. How I had betrayed Paula! Happily she knew nothing of my vanity, my treachery, my perfidy. But I knew, and was stricken.

“Dear Phyllis,” she cried, tears in her eyes.

“You see the remains of verr, the hides, the blood,” I said.

“I know,” she said.

“It is the fate intended for us,” I said.

“Poor, dear Phyllis,” she said.

“There is no escape from the fangs of the beasts,” I said.

She put her cheek against mine, and I felt her tears.

“There is an escape,” said Kurik. “The trumpet has not yet sounded, the beasts have not yet charged, eager for the feeding. Kneel, both of you, put your heads down, your hair thrown forward, to expose the back of your necks. Two strokes and you have cheated the High Ones, depriving them of the kill.”

“You think that a kindness?” I asked.

“Surely,” he said.

“A greater kindness,” I said, “would be to allow me to die at your feet, lying in your blood.”

“And what of you?” asked Kurik, regarding Paula.

“Forgive me, Master,” she said. “But you have no right to kill me. I belong to another.”

“Decius Albus,” said Kurik.

“I had in mind,” she said, “another.”

“The trumpet will sound any moment,” said Kurik, looking about.

“It will not,” said Drusus Andronicus, standing with us, his sword drawn, the blade wet with fresh blood. He stood between us and the stands. “Get behind me, worthless slave,” he said to Paula.

“Yes, Master!” she cried.

We looked up to the platform of the trumpeter. The great trumpet, in its mount, was not tended. The platform was bare.

Men in the stands looked wildly to one another. Several Kurii in the stands began to descend to the field.

Surtak roared terribly, a noise that might, millennia ago, have shaken forests on a far world, and seized up the mighty ax he had cast down but Ehn ago. Lord Grendel's translator articulated, quietly, as the volume was set, “Yes, the Rings, the Rings.” Surtak then, with one massive, clawed foot, violently thrust Lyris to the ground. “Aelius, Aelius!” he cried.

But Aelius, ax in hand, was withdrawing amongst the Kurii, but they were moving to the sides, refusing to shield him, exposing the ground between him and Surtak, producing an open corridor of bloody grass, lined by large bodies.

“I have declined the Rings!” called Aelius, who then cast down his ax, and turned away.

“Command is surrendered!” roared Surtak. “I command!”

“No,” came from Lord Grendel's translator, and I saw that this must have picked up, and translated, Kur from the box, for Lucilius was on his feet, an ax brandished, eyes blazing, jaws slavering. “I command!” he cried.

Aelius had climbed toward the box but, before he could enter it, Lucilius, two hands on the great haft, wielded the ax, and the sundered head of Aelius spun far away, a small, dark cloud raining blood, and blood from the decapitated corse, sped by the fierce pressure generated by the frantic pounding of that mighty heart, spurted a dozen feet into the air, reached the height of its arc, paused, and then fell like thick rain, scintillating like a scarlet shower in the bright sun.

“Let the festivities continue!” cried Decius Albus, desperately. “Noble friends, High Ones, mighty allies, do you not hunger? Is a banquet not spread before you? See the soft flesh, the tender, two-legged verr! We set them before you! The feast is prepared. The table is laden. We need no trumpet! Rush forth! Hunt! Eat!”

“No!” roared Surtak. “I will kill the first who should so attack, the first who should so feed!”

“They are humans,” protested a Kur.

“My ax is lifted,” said Surtak.

“What is your authority?” demanded a Kur.

“The right of command,” said Surtak.

“And what gives you the right of command?” asked another.