Conspirators of Gor (88 page)

The quarrels had been expended.

“Bar the door,” said Lucius.

This was done by the Kurii who had guarded it. They then came to stand with Lucius, before the dais, with two others of his cohorts. Only these five, now, had axes. Of the party of Lucius, then, including Lucius, there were only these five. Of the party of Agamemnon only six were left. These were away from the dais. All save one, a silver-chain Kur, seemed weak, scarcely able to move. Each, save the silver-chain Kur, was bleeding. Two slumped against the wall. The silver-chain Kur, back amongst them, crouched down, warily, looking toward the dais. Back with these Kurii, to the side, was Desmond of Harfax, his knife now in hand, and, on the other side, the Lady Bina and myself.

Lucius turned about, to face the dais. “Ho, Agamemnon,” he called out. “You have lost!”

The two containers, one on the left, the other on the right, as one would face the dais, had been damaged. I did not know the extent of the damage.

“I announce the new order,” said Lucius. “The new day is upon us! Tyranny is done. Freedom is victorious! Justice triumphs! Let all rejoice! I, Lucius, am now Theocrat of the World, the new Face of the Nameless One!”

“What is going on?” came from one of the containers.

“Can you hear me?” asked Lucius.

“Yes,” came from one of the containers.

“You are our prisoner,” said Lucius.

“What will you do with me?” came from the container on the left.

To this question Lucius did not choose to respond.

“I know secrets of great power, and the location of great wealth,” came from the container on the left.

“I am sure you will share such things with us,” said Lucius.

“Where are my armies, where are my fleets?” asked the container on the left.

“You are not on your world,” said Lucius. “You left your world.”

“I am on Gor?” asked the container on the left.

“Yes,” said Lucius.

I suspected that Agamemnon, whom I took to be deep, was not as confused or disoriented as his responses might suggest. On the other hand, I did not know. It seemed clear that both containers had been damaged, and it was surely possible that this damage might have had its effect on whatever it might be which was contained in them.

“Where are my followers?” asked the container on the left.

Lucius, I noted, now, in his responses, addressed the container on the left. The other, on the right, had not spoken.

“They have abandoned you,” said Lucius.

“Did none defend me? Did none fight for me?” asked the container.

“None,” said Lucius.

“What of Timarchos and Lysymachos?” asked the container.

“They were the first to desert you,” said Lucius. “Only I was loyal to you.”

“Noble Lucius,” came from the container.

“But you failed me,” said Lucius.

“Forgive me,” said the container.

“Amends may be made,” said Lucius. “You may reveal to me secrets of power, the location of great wealth.”

“You will then let me live?” asked the container.

“Of course,” said Lucius.

“Be careful in lifting my container,” came from the container. “It is delicate, and heavy.”

“Unbar the door,” said Lucius to two of his cohorts. “We will carry the container into the hall. Agamemnon is helpless, and our prisoner. This will impress all, Kurii and humans. It will manifest the success of our cause, the absoluteness of our victory. It will be uncontestable. All will then acknowledge us, all will grant that the day is ours, that the new order is upon us.”

The large double door to the chamber, leading out to the hall, was unbarred, and swung open.

“I have waited long for this day,” said Lucius, “years of secret thoughts, of hypocrisy, and deception, months of planning, days of strife, weeks of withdrawal, of hiding in tunnels, and waiting, and then, by means of an unexpected, bold, and glorious stroke, victory!” He then signaled to his two cohorts who were at the dais. “Put aside your axes,” he said. “It will show we are now at peace. Do not fear. None in the halls are armed. Good. Now, seize up Agamemnon, and carry him, bodiless and helpless, into the hall, in triumph.”

“All hail Lucius,” called a Kur, from amongst those back by the wall. It was the silver-chain Kur. He hobbled, as though he might have been injured, toward the center of the room. His fur was drenched with blood, but it was not his own. He had fought little, if any. Rather he had abided the outcome of the battle. “Hail Lucius!” he said. “Hail Lucius.”

I then recognized him, as I had not before. It was the Kur who, when an iron-chain Kur, had stood before Agamemnon with another Kur in the audience chamber, a silver-chain Kur. There had been mutual protestations of some sort, in which perhaps the iron-chain Kur might have been denouncing the one with the silver chain, and the one with the silver chain might have been defending himself. It was hard to say, as this took place in Kur, and there were no activated translators in the room. The silver-chain Kur had then been slain, most unpleasantly, by Agamemnon, then housed in the large, crab-like metal body, and the silver chain, with garlands, had been awarded to former iron-chain Kur.

Lucius turned away, disdaining to acknowledge the celebratory acclaim of the silver-chain Kur. He turned back to the container on the left, which had been the only one from which a voice had emanated of late.

“Be careful,” he said to his fellows at the dais. “Do not drop it. It is heavy.”

The two Kur cohorts of Lucius reached to the container, that on the left. They lifted it, and seemed surprised. “It is not heavy,” said one of them.

There was a sudden fierce, almost deafening, crackling sound, and a great blast of light, and the Kurii who held the container reeled away from it, and the Lady Bina and I screamed. When we could see again, we could see skulls, and blackened bones, and flesh, like soiled, burned rags strewn about the dais and the adjacent flooring. Smoke came from the remains. The stink was wrenching.

“You did not warn us!” screamed Lucius to Timarchos and Lysymachos.

“Kill us,” said Timarchos.

The container had been blasted open, and it lay on the floor of the dais. Within it was a miscellany of debris, much of it melted. The interior of the container itself was bent, and charred, as though it had been exposed to great heat.

Lucius turned angrily to the last container, that on the right, as one would face the dais. “So, noble Agamemnon,” he cried. “We have found you at last!”

“Do not hurt him,” begged Timarchos.

“Hail Lucius!” cried the silver-chain Kur who had been ignored. He cried this more desperately, his right paw raised in salutation.

Lucius turned about, annoyed.

“I was in the chamber,” said Lucius, “when you falsely informed on your superior, and won thereby a silver chain. Agamemnon knew the fraudulence of your charges but saw fit to reward you, that more honest informers might not fear to come forth, with more reliable intelligence.”

“No!” cried the silver-chain Kur. “It was true, all true!”

“Now,” said Lucius, “you would betray Agamemnon, from whom you received the silver chain.”

“His day is ended, he is done!” said the Kur.

“Where are your wounds, where is the blood you shed on his behalf?” asked Lucius.

“Hail Lucius!” said the Kur.

“One who would betray him would as soon betray another,” said Lucius.

“No!” cried the Kur.

“Kill him,” said Lucius.

“No!” cried the Kur, and perished beneath two axes, those of the Kurii who had hitherto guarded the door to the audience chamber, who had then joined Lucius at the dais.

Lucius then turned back to the dais and pointed to the last container, that on the table to the right, as one would look to the dais.

“Put aside your axes,” said Lucius, “and pick it up.”

But neither Kur had put aside his ax.

“Now!” said Lucius.

Each retained his weapon. They looked at the blasted remains of their fellows.

“Yes,” said Lysymachos. “Pick it up!”

“Do not be afraid,” said Lucius. “It could not be as before, or it would destroy the contents of the box.”

“Do not be afraid,” said Timarchos, obviously in pain, but yet seemingly alert, leaning forward, his eyes glistening. “It is harmless,” he said. “It cannot hurt you now.”

Clearly these protestations by Timarchos and Lysymachos, so readily offered, even eagerly offered, encouraging contact with the container, did little to assuage any apprehension on the part of the two Kurii.

“Pick it up!” said Lucius. Clearly, in Kur, this was said with impatience and force. The translator, of course, clicked out the words with no hint of the passion with which they had been uttered.

“Show us,” said one of the two.

“You are leader,” said the other. “Lead.”

“Yes,” said Lysymachos. “Fetch the container yourself, noble Lucius.”

“It is harmless,” Timarchos assured him.

“Touch it, noble Lucius,” said one of the two Kurii.

“Grasp it boldly,” said the other.

“We will follow,” said the first Kur.

“Do not fail us, noble Lucius,” said the other.

“It is harmless,” said Lucius. “But it is not needed. I will destroy it.” Lucius grasped his ax with both hands, near the bottom of the haft. He raised the ax.

“Do not strike,” said a voice in clear, even, calm Kur. This sound came from the back of the room, from the very portal through which Lucius and his minions had entered.

There, tall, and mighty, in full harness, stood Grendel. Behind him was the eyeless Tiresias.

“You perished in the Voltai!” cried Timarchos.

“How is the wretched, blind exile alive?” asked a Kur. “He was put out for larls and sleen months ago.”

“How dare you present yourself here,” cried Lucius, “amongst true Kurii, you, a monster, an enemy to all, badly spoken and deformed. See his eyes, see his hands!”

A murmur of revulsion passed amongst the Kurii in the room.

Some looked away.

“I remember him,” said a Kur. “I remember him from the world, from the arena.”

I understood little of this.

“He survived the arena,” said another Kur.

“Before thousands,” cried the Lady Bina, “he bespoke himself my champion.”

“Many died,” said another.

“He fought well,” said another.

“He survived,” said another.

“Rings were his,” said another.

“You are not now in the arena,” snarled Lucius, and readied his ax.

“Give him an ax,” cried a Kur. “He is not armed.”

It was true that he carried no ax. He did have the side knife in its sheath, part of the harnessing, but he made no attempt to draw that blade.

“You live, glorious Grendel!” cried Desmond of Harfax.

“Arm yourself, or flee, dear guard, sweet monster,” implored the Lady Bina. “His eyes mean death.”

Grendel stepped forward, to the center of the room, and Lucius, with a cry of rage, unintelligible in the translator, rushed forward and his ax, bright and double edged, described its swift, terrible arc, and in a moment might have cut away a head and part of a shoulder, but it was suddenly arrested in its flight, shaken, trembling in the impact, its haft beneath the blade grasped in a mighty hand, one which had scarcely moved.

In the chamber there were cries of astonishment.

Then Grendel wrenched the ax from the hands of Lucius. And Lucius backed away, and Grendel observed him, the ax in his right hand.

Lucius turned to his two cohorts. He pointed to Grendel. “Kill him!” he said.

“No,” said one of Lucius’ Kurii.

“Obey!” cried Lucius.

“You have lost,” said the Kur.

“Stand and be slain,” said the other.

“No,” said Lucius. “No!”

He moved rapidly, unopposed, to the large double door of the audience chamber.

“Do not flee the Cave!” called Grendel.

“A guard has been set, a guard has been set!” called Tiresias.

But Lucius had departed.

Grendel dropped his ax, and the two Kurii who had served Lucius dropped theirs as well.

“What men will,” cried Desmond of Harfax, “may now escape the Cave. There is work to be done. We must forestall treason! We must warn a world. We must make our way to the cities. We must transmit tidings of subversion. What has been set afoot here is now abroad. We must move before the snows!”

“The snows have begun,” said Timarchos.

“Last night,” said Lysymachos.

“There is no time to lose,” said Desmond of Harfax. “We will fight our way through them!”

“The passes will be closed,” said a wounded Kur.

“We shall leave as soon as possible,” said Desmond of Harfax. “Only one last thing remains to be done.”