Kur of Gor (43 page)

"Of course,” said Cabot.

"Sometimes we lose them to raiders, or bandits."

"It would make little difference to the slaves,” said Cabot, “no more than to purloined kaiila, as they would then merely be sold for different prices, or in different markets."

"Yes,” said Peisistratus. “Interestingly some of the girls rejoice, thinking they are being rescued."

"Until they find themselves being lashed even more cruelly in a different direction?"

"Yes,” said Peisistratus.

The girl kneeling beside them, her head to the floor, her wrists bound behind her, trembled, understanding then that she was not unique, and that there was a familiar and established role for such as she on the Gorean world.

"The killer humans are trained with weapons,” said Cabot.

"A limited number, used and reused,” said Peisistratus, “tridents, nets, blades, small bucklers, such things."

"It seems then,” said Cabot, “that there is little hope."

"The power weapons in the palace alone,” said Peisistratus, “might eradicate a small army. The fire in a single holster might incinerate a hundred men, without damage to the cylinder."

"It is hopeless then,” said Cabot.

"Yes,” said Peisistratus.

"I wonder,” said Cabot, regarding Peisistratus narrowly, “if you are one of Agamemnon's humans."

"Perhaps,” said Peisistratus. “You have no way of knowing, do you?"

"I think I will kill you,” said Cabot.

"And my men then you,” said Peisistratus.

Cabot's hands opened and clenched. They were large hands, for a human.

"Beware that you do not deprive yourself of an ally,” said Peisistratus.

"Are you an ally, or an enemy?” asked Cabot.

"An ally,” said Peisistratus, “but I have no intention of dying on a flame rack to convince you of my position in these matters."

"The blonde, when acquired, will implicate you,” said Cabot.

"What if I am a spy,” said Peisistratus, “who has infiltrated the higher echelons of the rebellion, that I may betray you all?"

"You did not seem such, moments ago,” mused Cabot.

"Perhaps I was acting,” said Peisistratus.

"I will trust you,” said Cabot.

"I am a skilled liar,” said Peisistratus.

"I will trust you,” said Cabot.

"And thus are men easily betrayed,” said Peisistratus.

"Or ennobled,” said Cabot.

"I think you are a fool,” said Peisistratus.

"The matter is hopeless?” asked Cabot.

"Certainly,” said Peisistratus.

"Leonidas, at Thermopylae,” said Cabot.

"I do not understand,” said Peisistratus.

"Hesius at the Pass of Boduin,” said Cabot.

"Ah,” said Peisistratus. “I see!"

These allusions may be unintelligible to the reader. They are not found in the lexicon.

"You can take your ships and escape,” said Cabot.

"No,” said Peisistratus. “When the fleet departed the locks were sealed."

"Will you join me then at Thermopylae?” asked Cabot.

"At Boduin,” smiled Peisistratus.

"What of your men?” inquired Cabot.

"We are with you, Captain!” cried a man.

"And I, and I!” cried a hundred others, clustered about.

"You are all fools!” called Peisistratus.

"Dispatch them, on a hundred errands!” said Cabot.

"It will be done,” said Peisistratus. “Decius! Torquatus! Henrius! Eteocles! Septimus! Tytaios! Elrik! Sarpedon!"

Men crowded forward.

"And what of you?” said Peisistratus.

"I must seek out Grendel, for he may need me,” said Cabot. “And I must warn Lord Arcesilaus, if there is still time!"

"Lord Arcesilaus will be warned by another,” said Peisistratus, “for you might be easily recognized."

"As you will,” said Cabot.

"Grendel may have been taken by now,” said Peisistratus.

"Possibly,” said Cabot.

"Perhaps he had the presence of mind to strangle the little blonde beast before she could speak,” said Peisistratus.

"He would not touch her,” said Cabot. “He would die for her."

"Better to die for a urt,” said Peisistratus.

"She is beautiful,” said Cabot.

"Let her be dipped in acid,” said Peisistratus. “She will be less beautiful then."

"I think he is still at large,” said Cabot.

"After two days?"

"If he were not, would not guards have come to the cylinder by now?"

"Probably,” said Peisistratus.

"I think so,” said Cabot. “Certainly his small, well-formed companion, the small, sleek beast of which he is so unconscionably fond, has the coin of advantage and survival well in hand, information of importance to Agamemnon, and would spend it instantly to procure not only her life but his favor."

"By now,” said Peisistratus, “she may be heaped with jewels and be his advisor."

"Yes,” said Cabot, “with her leash attached to the arm of the throne."

"But the guards have not yet come."

"No."

"Where will you seek Grendel?” asked Peisistratus.

"Where I think he, as human, will go,” said Cabot, “a place unfamiliar to Kurii, and one dreaded by them."

"In their own world?"

"Yes,” said Cabot. “There is such a place."

"We know little now,” said Peisistratus. “It may even be dangerous to leave the cylinder.” He then turned to a subordinate. “Reconnoiter, with care,” he said. “If all seems clear, go to the world, inquire, learn of matters, return, report."

"Yes, Captain,” said the man and left for the shuttle lock.

"Agamemnon may be biding his time,” said Peisistratus to Cabot. “It may amuse him to wait, even for a holiday or festival, to collect and display the conspirators."

"Yes,” said Cabot.

"Do not go yet!” said Peisistratus.

"I must,” said Cabot.

"It is unwise,” said Peisistratus. “Wait, for intelligence."

"There may be no time,” said Cabot.

"Torus,” said Peisistratus.

This was the lieutenant of Peisistratus, a burly fellow. It was he who had been dispatched earlier, shortly after Cabot's arrival in the cylinder, for the strings of coins, Cabot's winnings from the arena, which had once been strung loosely about the throat of an unclaimed cylinder slave, who, however unworthy, had been permitted to pose and dance for Cabot, and even to kneel humbly before him and offer him paga, in a manner appropriate to her bondage. This fellow, Torus, had been standing nearby for some time. He had the strings of coins looped over his left forearm.

Peisistratus took the coins and handed them, on their strings, to Cabot.

"Of what good are these?” asked Cabot.

"I did not steal them,” said Peisistratus. “I kept them for you. They are yours."

"Better one sword,” said Cabot.

"We will provide one if you wish,” said Peisistratus. “But I think it will be safer for you to be unarmed."

"How so?"

"An unidentified armed human might be slain on sight."

"I wonder,” said Cabot, “if you are the human of Agamemnon."

"You do not know,” said Peisistratus.

"Very well,” said Cabot. “I will carry no blade."

"It was your mistake, friend Cabot,” said Peisistratus, “to have concerned yourself with the affairs of Kurii."

"It seems,” said Cabot, “they first concerned themselves with mine."

"Take the coins,” said Peisistratus. “They are yours, and the silver is rare here and valued by Kurii, for ornaments, and such."

"They may be of use?"

"More so than a sword, I suspect,” said Peisistratus.

"Perhaps,” said Cabot, thrusting the coins and strings into his pouch.

"The gates of many cities have been unlocked with a key of silver,” smiled Peisistratus.

This is, one gathers, a saying. Its origin is obscure. It may be from the “Field Diaries,” an anonymous Gorean publication, often attributed to Carl Commenius, he of Argentum. It has also been attributed to Dietrich of Tarnburg, Lurius of Jad, and even, interestingly, to Marlenus of Ar. One suspects that its actual origin is lost. It, or its variations, might emerge, naturally enough, one supposes, from reflection upon a variety of historical instances.

"I wish you well,” said Cabot.

"You extend your hand?"

"But you do not take it,” observed Cabot.

The simultaneous grasping of hands, right to right, is a feature of certain Earth cultures, as it is of some Kur cultures. As most humans, and Kurii, favor the right hand, this grasping of hands is a token of respect or friendship, each surrendering, so to speak, the weapon hand to the other.

"Stay with us, until we have word of the outside,” advised Peisistratus.

"No,” said Cabot.

"Then,” said Peisistratus, “I extend my hand, and wish you well."

Each then took the hand of the other, firmly.

Cabot turned to go.

"Wait,” said Peisistratus.

Cabot hesitated.

"What of the slave?” asked Peisistratus.

The slave at their feet, her head to the floor, her wrists bound together, behind her back, began to tremble, and sob, but dared not change position.

"She?” said Cabot.

"Surely,” said Peisistratus. With his bootlike sandal he thrust her from her knees to her side on the flooring.

"I leave her,” said Cabot.

"Please, no, Master!” she cried.

"She spoke,” observed Peisistratus.

"I have given her permission to speak,” said Cabot, “but a permission rescindable by my will, and one not to be abused."

"You are permissive with a mere slave,” said Peisistratus.

"Perhaps,” said Cabot.

"I throw her in, with the coins,” said Peisistratus.

"I do not want her,” said Cabot.

"Please want me, Master!” she wept.

"We have kept her a virgin for you,” said Peisistratus, “and have even had a collar prepared."

"Her hair is too short,” said Cabot.

"Want me, Master!” she wept. “I beg to be wanted!"

"We have an eel pool in a nearby garden,” said Peisistratus. “By now the eels are doubtless hungry."

The slave went to her belly and, terrified, hands tied behind her, squirmed to Cabot's feet. “I do not want to die, Master!” she wept. “Am I not attractive? Am not of interest, some interest? Want me, please! I beg to be wanted!” She pressed her lips to his feet, piteously, and covered them with kisses, and tears.

"Do you think you could be a good slave?” asked Peisistratus.

"Yes, Master! Yes, Master!” she wept. “I will love and serve, wholly, unstintingly, selflessly!"

"In all ways?” asked Peisistratus.

"Yes,” she wept, “yes, Master!"

"You understand what it means,” he asked, “'
in all ways
'?"

"Yes, Master!” she cried. “I do, I do, and I want to so serve. I will beg piteously to so serve!"

"Prepare,” said Peisistratus, to his men, “to take her to the eel pool."

Before two fellows could seize her up, she scrambled wildly to her knees before Cabot, and, agonized, tears streaming down her cheeks, lifted her eyes to him, piteously, her lips trembling.

"Claim me, Master!” she wept. “I am an unclaimed slave! Claim me, I beg it!"

Cabot looked down upon her.

"Want me!” she begged. “I beg to be wanted!"

"You beg to be wanted?” asked Cabot.

"Yes, Master,” she said, “I beg to be wanted!"

"It was not so on Earth, I gather,” said Cabot.

"No, Master,” she said. “But now I beg! Please want me, Master! Want me! I beg to be wanted!"

Cabot smiled. “Your hair is too short,” he said.

"It will grow, Master,” she said, smiling. “It will grow."

"Pronounce yourself slave, and unclaimed,” said Cabot.

"I am a slave,” she cried, “and I am an unclaimed slave!"

"You belong then,” said Cabot, “to whoever claims you."

"Yes, Master!” she cried.

"You look well on your knees,” he observed.

"Thank you, Master,” she wept.

"I claim you,” he said.

She began to tremble, uncontrollably, shedding tears of irrepressible emotion, wild tears of relief, of gratitude, of wanton, unrestrained elation, of instantaneous, irresistible joy, and it seemed, so sobbing, that she would fall. And a fellow behind her, taking her by the hair, steadied her, and forced her head up, to regard Cabot.

"You are a slave, are you not?” asked Cabot.

"Yes, Master!"

"Whose are you?"

"Yours, Master!"

"Speak it, then,” said he.

"I am your slave, Master!” she said.

The men about cried out with pleasure, and smote their left shoulders in approval.

"Bring the collar,” said Peisistratus.

"She has fainted,” said a man.

"There is a haunch of tarsk in the kitchen,” said Peisistratus. “Let the eels be fed."

"Yes, Captain,” said a fellow.

Chapter, the Twenty-Seventh:

CABOT HAS DELAYED HIS DEPARTURE,

UPON THE ADVICE OF PEISISTRATUS

"I am chained!” she said. “Chained!"

"It is common with slaves,” said Cabot.

She lay back in the furs. “I am utterly helpless,” she said.

"That, too, is common with slaves,” he said.

It is true that she was well spread.

It was not unfitting for her, as she was a slave.

The alcove was illuminated by a single, tiny lamp, in a niche in the wall, to the left, as one would face the back of the alcove. The alcove itself, as many, was small, low-ceilinged, with curved, sloping walls, floored with heavy furs. The light of the small lamp cast its warm, soft, flickering glow about the walls. In the alcove, as is often the case, were various devices, gags, blindfolds, shackles, coarse rope, silken cords, adjustable chains, a switch, a whip, such things, convenient to masters, not unfamiliar to slaves.

The space was closed with a heavy leather curtain. This was buckled shut, on the inside.

"And I am collared!” she said.

"Yes,” he said.

"You put me on all fours, my head down,” she said, “and then collared me, as though I might have been a dog."

"You are less than a dog,” he said. “You are a slave."