Plunder of Gor (57 page)

“She is then a mercenary, of sorts,” I said.

“Doubtless,” said Kurik. “A lovely free woman, with all the powers of a free woman, and those of a lovely free woman, can be of great use in a thousand enterprises.”

“Her antecedents, then,” I said, “are immaterial.”

“Yes,” said Kurik, “but it is quite possible she is actually of the Merchants. I would not be surprised. Some members of that lofty caste are not particular with respect to which mine it is from which they extract their gold.”

We continued on.

“What is wrong, Master?” I asked.

“I fear the game is theirs,” said Kurik. “Lord Grendel must deliver his oath, or sacrifice the Lady Bina.”

“The game is lost, then,” I said.

“I fear so,” he said.

“And that, dear Grendel, my friend,” said Kurik of Victoria, “is what transpired in the House of a Hundred Corridors.”

“They have designed the game, and chosen the pieces,” said Lord Grendel. “I do not think we can win their game.”

“What, then, are we to do?” asked Kurik.

“Begin another game,” said Lord Grendel.

Chapter Fifty

Snarling, enraged, Lyris flung her body against the bars, as though she would press her body between them. Then she seized the bars, and shook them, savagely. But they held. The structure was stout. She howled in frustration. She then suddenly thrust her right forelimb between the bars, claws out, like hooks, and I leaped back, with a cry of fear, away from the bars. To be sure, I had judged the distance earlier, and would not, by any means, have placed myself within her reach. Still, it was terrifying, to see the wildness in her eyes, the glistening saliva at her fangs, the outstretched limb with its clawed tentaclelike digits scratching in the air, reaching for me, hearing that horrid bestial noise, half shriek and snarl, of rage and hatred.

Lord Grendel, crouching in the Kur fashion, was nearby. He kept his eyes on Lyris. His translator, on its chain, was slung about his neck.

A flood of angry sound hissed through the lips of Lyris, she glaring out at us from behind the bars. I took it that that sound was half in articulate Kur, which I was able to at least recognize as Kur, and half, perhaps, in nothing that could even be understood as intelligible discourse, but might better be interpreted as no more than shrieks and cries, a frightful ventilation of frustration and fury.

“What is she saying?” I asked.

“She is displeased,” said Lord Grendel.

“I had suspected that,” I said.

His translator had not been activated. Perhaps it was just as well.

“Does she understand Gorean?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

This was not unusual, of course, as few Kurii do. They rely on translators of various sorts.

Lord Grendel then said something to the prisoner.

In response to this her cries, angry and protestive, sputtering and menacing, shrill and violent, were muchly augmented.

“What did you say to her?” I asked.

“I asked her to make less noise,” he said.

“Perhaps she thinks she can be heard above, outside,” I said.

“Do not insult her,” he said. “She is Kur. She will realize she would not be placed in a situation where her cries might be heard.”

I did not think, given the depth of the lowest basement, and the floors above, a battle trumpet could have been heard outside, far above, on the street. Kurik, my master, had arranged the terms of the rental, and the discretion of the landlord. The cage, large and thickly barred, would have held a larl.

“I gather,” I said to Lord Grendel, “she has threatened us, elaborated in detail upon a variety of lengthy and elaborate tortures, assured us of a prompt, fearsome reprisal, and such.”

“Something along those lines,” said Lord Grendel. “I thought it best not to have the translator activated.”

I was not reassured by the receipt of this intelligence.

Then Lord Grendel addressed himself again, but briefly, as before, to Lyris.

She drew back in the cage, snarling.

“What did you say to her?” I asked.

“I suggested, if she wishes to free herself, that she should chew through the bars,” he said.

“She cannot do that,” I said.

“I thought it would not hurt to remind her of that,” he said.

“I see,” I said.

I was well reminded of my collar.

There are many ways to bring a woman to heel. There are ropes and chains, cords and laces, switches and whips. Clothing may be supervised, and determined. How can a woman dressed as a slave not come to understand that she is a slave? What is done on the outside will have its inevitable effect on the inside. Truth can be denied only so long. Too, of course, clothing may be denied, even in the streets and plazas. Food may be controlled. A scrap of meat, cast to the floor, may become a banquet, a candy a treasure. There are many ways in which a slave will learn she is a slave, and only a slave. The best, of course, is to kindle her slave fires, mercilessly, if it should please one, to the point that she will crawl to one on her belly, in tears, and need, begging to be touched. She then well knows she is in her collar, and would not have it otherwise.

“Behold, Master,” I said. “Her behavior has suddenly changed. She has become tractable, and docile.”

“Perhaps,” said Lord Grendel, “she has taken my meaning.”

Certainly something of a transformation had taken place in the attitudes and demeanor of the prisoner.

Lyris had now crawled to the front of the cage, and a soft, ululating sound escaped her lips, and she then lay on her left side, her legs drawn up a bit, near the bars. She began to whimper. And then she began to make soft sounds, in Kur. Her eyes were fixed on Lord Grendel.

“Yes,” said Lord Grendel, “she is indeed beautiful.”

“Is that what she is saying?” I asked. The translator was not on.

“Scarcely,” said Lord Grendel.

I was not sure I understood the meaning of Lyris' behavior. But it was muchly different from her earlier hostility and manifest belligerence.

“Turn on the translator, Master,” I suggested.

But he made no move to do so.

“Surely you understand her,” I said.

“Who would not?” he asked.

He approached the bars.

“Beware, Master,” I said.

“She will not attack now,” he said. “If she did, I would bite off her hand.”

“I am uneasy,” I said. Certainly her attitude, for a Kur, seemed unusual. I had never seen a Kur behave so, even on the dais, at the supper, when she had lifted the cup to the lips of Lord Grendel.

She twisted her body, softly. Her nostrils widened, her ears were half lifted, inclined vulnerably toward Lord Grendel, very different from when, in her rage, they had been flat, and back, against the sides of her head. Her breathing was deep, and regular. A strange, small noise escaped her. She expressed herself in Kur, and then there was again, twice, that small noise.

“Yes,” said Lord Grendel. “She is one of the most beautiful female Kurii I have ever seen.”

“I do not understand her behavior,” I said. “I do not understand what she is doing.”

“Surely you suspect,” said Grendel.

“It seems almost sensuous,” I said.

“I suspect,” said Lord Grendel, “that a thousand Kurii on a dozen steel worlds would kill to have lovely Lyris so before them.”

“I see,” I said.

“I had not realized I was so handsome a fellow,” he said, “that so beautiful a female could be so taken with me, and at the first glimpse. How poor Lyris has suffered, trying to conceal her mighty, forbidden passion for me from Surtak and the others. Only now she dares to express it.”

“I see,” I said.

“Brave Lyris,” he said.

“What is she doing?” I asked.

“She is petitioning seeding,” he said.

“Oh,” I said.

“She wishes to be released, that she may serve my pleasure.”

“Beware, Master,” I said.

“Why?” said he. “She is Kur. She professes herself mine, and, indeed, from long ago, that she has long been smitten with helpless love for me, even, secretly, from the steel world of Agamemnon.”

“Please, Master,” I said. “Do not approach the bars more closely.”

But Lord Grendel, despite my warning, did so. He even reached between the bars, and touched her flank. She made again that soft, now-unmistakable sound, and, her eyes upon him, tenderly, she rolled to her back, and lifted her body to him.

Lord Grendel then held to the bars, and, with one mighty foot, with this leverage, disdainfully, violently, thrust Lyris feet away, rolling across the floor of the cage.

He then, glaring at the startled, disconcerted Lyris, snapped on his translator, surely for my benefit.

“You worthless, deceitful she-urt,” he said, “I am mindful to relieve you of your harnessing. You would look better without it. So you would serve my pleasure, would you? Splendid! How generous! But know this, worthless she-urt, and know it well. If I choose, I will put you to my pleasure, again and again, if and when I wish. You should have been seized after the war, as were many others, adherents of Agamemnon, deprived of their harnessing and put in collars, to belong to, and serve, the victors.”

I expected Lyris to leap to her feet snarling, and rush to the bars, but she withdrew, going to the back of the cage. She crouched there, watching Lord Grendel. She whimpered, once.

“Be silent,” said Lord Grendel.

Lyris was then silent.

She seemed shaken, awed.

Lord Grendel had well surmised that the Kurii associated with Decius Albus would be quartered away from the city, probably in the house off the Viktel Aria, where the supper had been held. This surmise had proved correct. Moreover, as Lord Grendel had further anticipated, the security at the facility would be negligible, or nonexistent. The house was not known to be tenanted, and it was, in any event, remote and strong. The resident Kurii had no reason to expect discovery or intrusion. Indeed, given the complacency of Kurii, and their contempt for humans, they had not even seen fit to post guards, a laxity that was doubtless remedied by now. In short, Lord Grendel, with the strength and agility of a Kur, undetected, had had little difficulty in gaining access to the premises. Once within, he had soon located the room allocated to Lyris. There he had seized her and, as she awakened, wildly, and might have cried out, he had thrust a wad of ground meat into her mouth, stifling any possibility of a scream. He had then clapped his hand over her mouth, so that she was unable to expel the meat, and, with his other hand, covered her nostrils, preventing the ingress of air. This was reminiscent of a common way in which slave wine is administered to a slave, to preclude conception, as the breeding of a slave is, naturally, at the discretion of her masters. In short, Lyris was given the choice of engorging the meat, which was feasible for a Kur, if not a human, or suffocating. Predictably, after a certain amount of time, she swallowed the meat. It was then only necessary to hold her mouth closed for a bit, until the tassa powder, with which the meat was liberally laced, should take effect. I had assisted Lord Grendel in his preparations and the amount of tassa powder used might have sedated four or five free women. A drink with a stranger is often the last thing a free woman remembers until she awakens, naked and chained, in a slave wagon. In the case of Lyris, she awakened in her harnessing, but in a harnessing now devoid of accoutrements and weapons, in the stout cage.

“Surtak,” said Lord Grendel, “is much taken with the sleek and delicious beauty of Lyris. He hopes to be her seed provider. Yet she has been reluctant to accept, and has even been scornful of, his overtures. He will be more than willing to effect an exchange, Eve for Lyris. If it were not for seeming to be demeaning to Eve, the true beauty, I could doubtless suggest that a sizable quantity of gold be added to the scales.”

“Your proposal will be conveyed to the House of a Hundred Corridors by my master,” I said, “and Surtak, and his cohorts, will be soon apprised of the situation, but I do not see how this will effect a favorable resolution in the matter of the Lady Bina, a matter both Decius Albus and Lord Agamemnon are likely to regard as far more important.”

“True,” said Lord Grendel. “That is a different matter.”

“We do not even know the location of the Lady Bina,” I said.

“But we know of one who does,” said Lord Grendel.

“Decius Albus,” I said, “Tyrtaios, perhaps even Drusus Andronicus.”

“I am thinking of another,” he said.

“The Lady Alexina?” I said.

“By whose presence we expect to be shortly graced,” he said.

“I do not understand,” I said.

“She should be here shortly,” said Lord Grendel.

“Surely not,” I said.

“It is my understanding,” he said, “that the Lady Alexina was less than subtle in the House of a Hundred Corridors, in indicating her interest in your master.”

“My master spoke to you of this?” I asked. Men, I supposed, the vain, pompous braggarts, might enjoy regaling disinterested bystanders with such details.

“Only insofar as might be useful in pursuing our interests,” he said.

“She was as subtle as an obese, blundering tarsk sow,” I said.

“Please,” said Lord Grendel, “by report, the Lady Alexina is neither obese nor clumsy, nor likely to be confused with a tarsk sow. Indeed, I gather from your master that she is quite lovely.”

“Perhaps, for a free woman,” I said.

“In any event,” said Lord Grendel, “it was arranged that a message be delivered this morning to the Lady Alexina. The purport of this message, to make matters short, was that your master was muchly taken with her charms, but, at the time, in that company, thought it unwise to express himself, but now, unable to rid himself of a vision of such loveliness, wished her to have a rendezvous with him in the Park of Demetrius, near the Fountain of Veminiums.”

“I see,” I said.

“Unfortunately,” said Lord Grendel, “the Park of Demetrius is some distance from the House of a Hundred Corridors.”

“I know little of Ar,” I said.

“Thus,” he said, “when the Lady Alexina slips discreetly away from the House of a Hundred Corridors, she will presumably wish to engage transportation to the park.”

“Very well,” I said, cautiously.

“She will have the good fortune,” he said, “of finding a pay wagon at hand, driven by a bearded, cloaked driver, a closed wagon.”

“I see,” I said.

“And thus,” he said, “I expect her here shortly.”

At that point there was a scuffling on the stairs, and, turning, I saw a small, roped, bundled, face-swathed figure, her arm in the grip of a bearded figure, descending the stairs. Instantly I knelt. It was my master. He, Kurik of Victoria, released the arm of his captive, thrust back his hood, and drew away the false beard with which he had concealed his countenance. That he cast aside. He then removed from his belt that bright yellow parasol that had been so common a feature of the Lady Alexina's ensemble, and discarded it, as well. The Lady Alexina, his captive, her sleeved arms roped, her wrists pulled back, under the ropes, and bound behind her, stood where she had been placed. There was a small noise from within the swathing of hood and veils that completely covered her head. From the sound, it seemed clear that, beneath those concealing amplitudes of cloth, she had been gagged.