Conspirators of Gor

Chapter Forty-Eight

It was a distraught Desmond of Harfax who was led before the dais, for on the dais, on three tables, were three containers.

Timarchos and Lysymachos stood beside the central container.

“Tal, noble Desmond,” came a voice from the central container.

“Tal, noble Desmond,” came a voice from the container to the left.

“Tal, noble Desmond,” came a voice from the container on the right.

In my account of what followed, it should be understood that the words attributed to Agamemnon might come, and did come, variously, from one or another of the three containers. Sometimes the left-hand container seemed to speak, sometimes that in the center, and sometimes that on the right.

It seemed reasonably clear that there could be but one Agamemnon, and so but one housing for that dangerous and mighty mind, but it was not clear in which housing, if any, that mind reposed.

One would suppose it would be in the central container, not so much for its location, as for the fact that Timarchos and Lysymachos were in attendance on that container. To be sure, their positioning might be intended to divert attention from another container, that truly housing Agamemnon, but, if so, which one might it be? Too, might one not think that a more subtle ruse might be projected? If A seemed most likely, and then one might be led to suppose B or C crucial, but which, but then, if either B or C might seem crucial, might that not be a way of diverting attention from A, which, after all, might be the crucial container, and so on. Might there not be indefinite subtleties, one lurking behind the other, in this kaissa of choice?

“Tal, Noble Agamemnon, Theocrat of the World, Eleventh Face of the Nameless One,” said Desmond of Harfax.

“It is our understanding,” said Agamemnon, “that you have discovered, and have come forward to reveal, a most heinous plot, disrespectful of our majesty, threatening to our person, and inimical to the welfare of worlds.”

“Yes,” said Desmond of Harfax.

“Our penchant for mercy is well known on more than one world,” said Agamemnon. “Did we not allow all conspirators twenty Ahn in which to surrender themselves?”

“The generosity of your offer was beyond question, Lord Agamemnon,” said Desmond of Harfax.

“But, unfortunately,” said Agamemnon, “none availed themselves of our gracious offer.”

“It seems so,” said Desmond of Harfax.

“And thus is demonstrated their guilt, the villainy of their ways, and the depth of their depravity.”

“True,” said Desmond of Harfax.

“And thus, by their own fault, they have placed themselves beyond the pale of my mercy.”

“It is tragic,” said Desmond of Harfax.

“One sorrows,” said Agamemnon.

“How can it be helped?” asked Desmond of Harfax.

“True,” said Agamemnon. “But now, reveal, clearly, and without exception, the names of all traitors, whether human or Kur.”

Several of the Kurii in the room stirred, uneasily. It had not occurred to them that Kurii might be enumerated. In such denunciations, of course, it is recognized that some temptation might exist to enlarge a list somewhat, particularly by happening to include in it personal enemies, individuals of whom one disapproves, individuals whom it is recognized that certain important individuals might like to have denounced, and so on.

“But first, great lord,” said Desmond of Harfax, “may I approach you more closely?”

“No,” said Agamemnon.

“I would like to speak more intimately,” said Desmond of Harfax.

“Remain where you are,” said Agamemnon.

The bodies of both Timarchos and Lysymachos tensed.

“Certainly,” said Desmond of Harfax. “It is only that I thought we might speak of something more privately.”

“Of what?” asked Agamemnon.

“It is clearly understood, of course,” said Desmond of Harfax, “that I bring the matter of egregious treachery to your attention simply, and only, to frustrate treason, and protect the person and plans of your lordship.”

“Of course,” said Agamemnon.

“Such is my duty, and privilege,” said Desmond of Harfax.

“Agreed,” said Agamemnon.

“But, too,” said Desmond of Harfax, “might one not expect some token of gratitude from your lordship, however negligible, no matter how undeserved it might be?”

“The generosity of the Theocrat of the World, the Eleventh Face of the Nameless One,” said Agamemnon, “may be depended upon, and is well known.”

“Would a thousand pieces of gold, tarn disks of double weight, be appropriate?” asked Desmond of Harfax.

“Would your life be appropriate?” asked Agamemnon.

“What of yours?” cried Desmond of Harfax leaping to the dais, thrusting the central container to the floor, and falling upon it with his knife. He struck it twice before Timarchos seized him, lifted him, and threw him, knife in hand, a dozen feet from the dais. Immediately Desmond of Harfax was disarmed and seized by Kurii. The container he had attacked lay open, on its side, on the dais, its lid on the floor beside it. The container was empty except for some wires, what appeared to be small boxes, and a small disk-like object with screening upon it.

Desmond of Harfax had chosen incorrectly.

He had gambled and lost.

“Do not kill him!” came from one of the two remaining containers, that on the left.

I was afraid Desmond of Harfax might have had his arms torn from his body. Such might be done by an enraged Kur.

“Let him rather contemplate what might be done to him,” came from the container on the right. “He will be supplied with several possibilities, and assured that his fate will exceed them all.”

“Perhaps it will take him a year to die,” said the container on the left.

“Excellent,” came from the container on the right.

How brave, and foolish, Desmond of Harfax had been! Did he think that so mighty a foe, so jealously guarded, might be so easily disposed of? I recalled that he whom he had spoken of as his principal, who had been, as it had turned out, Grendel, had said nothing of the assassination of Agamemnon. He had been silent with respect to that matter. This silence, I suspected, had puzzled, or displeased, Desmond of Harfax. Striking a blow at the heart of the conspiracy, by doing away with Agamemnon, had seemed to him a consideration of paramount importance. Be that as it may, it clearly was not an easy blow to strike.

Desmond of Harfax struggled futilely in the grip of two Kurii.

I wondered if Agamemnon was even ensconced in one of the three containers on the dais. Then I realized that in all likelihood he would be. Presumably, given the unrest in the Cave, the abortive revolt of Lucius, who had presumably been as trusted, or more trusted, than any, and the possible existence of dissidents amongst the Kurii, perhaps even some lingering followers of Lucius, I did not think he would dare to be far from Timarchos and Lysymachos.

There had been nothing secret about this meeting in the audience chamber of Agamemnon. Indeed, it had, in effect, been publicized. One of its purposes was to inspire terror in the hearts of the disaffected. It may also be remembered that the leader of the revolt, Lucius, and certain followers, had remained at large in the labyrinthine recesses of the Cave. This was due, in particular, not simply to the extent of the Cave and its passages, many of which were remote and unfamiliar, even natural, but because of a number of constructed private or secret passages. These were known to few but high Kurii, such as Lucius. With primitive weapons, of course, such as existed in the Cave, it would be extremely dangerous to pursue the dissidents into such places. Too, some had been clearly barricaded. The thought of Agamemnon and his adherents appears to have been that the putatively small number of remaining dissidents who might conceal themselves in such passages would perish for lack of water, or be starved out. Should they emerge into the larger halls they could presumably be easily met and dealt with. What was not understood was that Lucius and his cohorts had supplied several of these passages with reservoirs of water and stores of food, in case a retreat to them became necessary. The maps of the secret passageways had been taken by Lucius, and the adherents of Agamemnon knew little of their nature or whereabouts.

What is most relevant to this account is the fact that by means of one of these secret passageways, as to many other important locations in the Cave, one might obtain access to the audience chamber of Agamemnon.

“Take him away, to the place of cells,” came from one of the containers, that on the left.

“No!” cried a Kur. “Kill him now! Be swift! Be done with it!”

“He is a man,” said another Kur. “Men may side with him.”

“Men are dangerous!” said another.

“Men are not to be trusted!” said another.

“Very well,” came from the container on the right, “kill him now.”

“No!” I screamed.

A Kur paw struck me from my knees, feet away, to the floor of the chamber.

“Let all the men be killed,” called another Kur.

“We can hire others,” said another Kur.

“Hundreds will rush to serve,” said another.

“Such need only the smell of gold,” said another.

“Speak your last, Desmond of Harfax,” came from the container on the left.

“Gladly,” cried Desmond of Harfax. “Down with the tyrant! Down with Agamemnon!”

One of the Kurii near Master Desmond raised a massive paw. One blow from such a paw could break a neck or back.

“I will speak!” cried out a voice, a woman’s voice.

On more than one translator, as Kurii turned about, I heard, “She is free.”

“Noble beasts!” cried out the Lady Bina. “Repudiate Agamemnon! How can he be Kur? He has no body! I know his world! It rejected him! He is no Kur! He is only the brain that once inhabited a Kur body! Now he is an artificial thing, a brain armed with a hundred artificialities, an artifact of your wondrous science. Do not listen to such an object! Do not serve so monstrous a contrivance!”

“Kill her!” came from the container on the right.

It was not clear for a moment what then occurred, but a concealed portal, at the rear of the audience chamber had opened, and some fourteen armed Kurii, led by Lucius, thrust their way into the room. Several had axes, and two carried the massive crossbow with tiered quarrels, of the sort I had first seen in the place of cells.

“Die, Agamemnon!” cried Lucius, and from diverse translators in the chamber, those activated, perhaps more than a dozen, there broke forth a startled medley of Kur and Gorean, producing a confused storm of sound.

As weapons were not permitted in the audience chamber, only the newcomers, Lucius, and his cohorts, were armed. Two Kurii rushed to the doors to exit, but were felled by quarrels, and one died clawing at the wood. I supposed the noise in the audience chamber might carry to the hall outside. On the other hand, the Kurii in the nearby halls would not be armed, either. The armed Kurii were mostly posted in the far halls, where it was thought that Lucius and his followers might emerge, presumably in an attempt to escape the Cave. The nearest armed Kurii would be at the great portal, and they would doubtless be summoned. Others would hurry to secure weapons. Presumably, under the circumstances, these would be supplied. This would mean that whatever Lucius and his cohorts would do must be expeditiously accomplished. It seemed likely they hoped, in this projected coup, to dispose of Agamemnon quickly and then present themselves to a confused, leaderless community as bold, patriotic liberators. In any event, several Kurii hurried to interpose themselves between the newcomers and the dais. Snarling, unarmed, they confronted the newcomers. Their own bodies would be the shield of Agamemnon. The common Kur is fanatically loyal to his lord, unless his lord is thought to have failed him, in which case the bond of allegiance is regarded as dissolved. This behavior, the loyalty to a chieftain, so to speak, had doubtless been selected for in millennia of Kur warfare, even prior to the development of sophisticated weaponry, which, as I understand it, exists on the steel worlds. In seeing these Kurii, unarmed, interposing their own bodies between weapon assailants and a leader, I learned more of what a Kur might be, and often was. I heard the snapping vibration of the cables of the crossbows, again and again. Kurii fell. Some of the newcomers rushed upon the defenders with axes, and limbs and heads were smote away, but Kurii loyal to Agamemnon threw themselves on the assailants, seized axes, and there were terrible struggles for the weapons. A throat was bitten through, and I did not even know if the victim was of the newcomers or not. Back in the room, closer to the portal through which the newcomers had emerged, Kur struggled with Kur. I was then on all fours, looking wildly about. I did not see the Lady Bina. I did see that Desmond of Harfax was free, one of his captors, headless, beside him. Desmond of Harfax was on all fours, looking about. He crawled amongst the struggling bodies. I think he was searching for his knife. The Kurii took no note of him. The crossbow cables were sprung again and again. Then one of the crossbows was wrenched from a newcomer, but the quarrels were lost from the guide. One was hurled like a small javelin and a Kur fell. Again I did not know one combatant from another. The doors to the audience chamber were pulled open from the outside and four armed Kurii, the guard from the great portal, entered the room. They were momentarily confused at the melee. One of the crossbowmen, back by the wall, must have been waiting for them. Three were felled by the tiered quarrels, and the fourth was cut open from behind, down the back of his spine, by an ax. I supposed then the great portal must be unguarded. No other Kurii entered. I did not know if arms had been issued, or not. I did know there was much dissatisfaction in the Cave. No men entered. I supposed mercenaries, even if armed, if they knew at all of this small war, would not regard it as their affair. It would be a matter, rather, betwixt possible paymasters. The exit was partially blocked by bodies but before it, too, now stood two of the Kurii of Lucius, with axes. Much carnage had ensued within the chamber. Bodies, some alive, and parts of bodies, were strewn about. In the end, weapons had had their way. The dais was now undefended. At one side, the left, as one faced the dais, lay Timarchos and Lysymachos. Timarchos, as it turned out, could not rise, so beaten he had been by the haft of an ax, and Lysymachos was lying against the wall, bleeding. Lucius had commanded that they not be slain. The reason for this shortly became clear. He knew more of the dangers posed by Agamemnon than his followers.

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.”

He then ran to the dais and leaped upon it, his knife raised.

“Stop!” cried Timarchos.

“Do not!” cried Lysymachos.

Before the knife of Desmond of Harfax could fall Lord Grendel darted forward with the speed of a charging sleen, and caught Desmond of Harfax about the waist, lifted him, and spun about, hurling him several feet away, back, to the center of the room.

I ran to Desmond of Harfax, and knelt beside him. “Master!” I wept. He was confused, and stunned. I feared an arm might be broken.

On the dais Lord Grendel had approached the table on which reposed the last container, that which had been on the right side of the dais, as one would face the dais.

“Is it Grendel?” came from the container.

“It is Grendel,” said Lord Grendel.

“Kill it!” cried Desmond of Harfax, from the center of the room, now on his feet, unsteadily, grasping his arm.

“Forgive me, dear Desmond,” said Grendel.

“Kill it, kill it!” cried Desmond of Harfax.

“No,” said Lord Grendel.

Timarchos, with great pain, struggled to his feet, and Lysymachos, weak and bloody, stood, as well.

“My son,” came from the container.

“Father,” said Grendel.

He then placed the damaged container tenderly into the arms of Timarchos.