Kur of Gor

Chapter, the Twenty-First: WHAT OCCURRED IN THE ARENA

Cabot and Peisistratus were ushered into a cage, mounted on a middle tier of the encircling seats.

"We can see well from here,” said Peisistratus.

The cage door was locked behind them.

Cabot was in a simple tunic and sandals. He had left the robes, the strings of rubies, behind, in the villa assigned to him.

"Why are we caged?” inquired Cabot.

"Perhaps because we are animals,” said Peisistratus, “and our hosts feel it is fitting. Perhaps to prevent you, should you be so inclined, from interfering in the festivities. Perhaps to protect you, lest some here be displeased with your testimony at the trial."

"But you, too, are caged,” said Cabot.

"I, too, am an animal,” said Peisistratus, “from the Kur view. And would it not be demeaning to you, beloved of Agamemnon, to be caged alone, and I left free?"

"I learned from Agamemnon, in the forest, he the metal larl, or within it, somehow, or controlling it, somehow, that you are his human."

"Shall we speak in English?” inquired Peisistratus.

"Certainly,” said Cabot, in English.

"I am my own human,” said Peisistratus.

"Does Agamemnon know that?"

"No,” said Peisistratus. Then he pointed to an entryway, high in the tiers, across the arena, with its sand. “That is Lord Arcesilaus,” he said.

There were flags and banners about, and the tiers were muchly filled.

"There are venders about,” said Cabot, “seemingly selling treats."

"Do not ask their nature,” advised Peisistratus.

"Very well,” said Cabot.

"Can you hear the music?” asked Peisistratus.

Several of the Kurii in the tiers were moving oddly, some swaying.

"I think so,” said Cabot, straining. “But it sounds not like music, but rather like throbbings, like the wind in the forest, like rushing streams, subtle, distant, sometimes cries, as of seized, frightened animals, such things."

"And much is indecipherable, resembling nothing comprehensible to you?"

"Yes,” said Cabot.

"The throbbings, the beatings,” said Peisistratus, “suggest the beating of the Kur heart, and then the movements of wind and water suggest the suddenness of vision, and the circulation of hastened blood, and the squeals, the lamentations, the shrieks, the moans, may recall war, and the hunt. But much of it, I fear, is simply unintelligible to a human, and much literally offensive to our hearing. The rhythms are only partially shared with us. Perhaps it is configured to a nervous system, or diverse hereditary coils. How much is cultural, and how much is indexed to a different physiology, to a different hearing, a different speech, even a different sense of touch, is difficult to tell."

"It has stopped, hasn't it?” asked Cabot.

Peisistratus lifted his head. “Yes,” he said. “They are ready to begin."

There was suddenly a pounding of drums, mighty drums.

"Ai!” cried Cabot, startled.

"That is not difficult to hear, is it?” smiled Peisistratus.

There were twelve such drums, each with two drummers, in the first tier of the arena.

"No,” said Cabot.

"There are twelve drums,” said Peisistratus. “And there are twelve digits on the two forepaws of the Kur."

"Each has two drummers,” said Cabot.

"The Kur has two eyes,” said Peisistratus. “Hands and eyes."

"I thought Kur music was silent, or almost so."

"Certainly not silent to the hearing of the Kur,” said Peisistratus. “But the drums may not even be understood as music. Those are arena drums, but there are also drums of war, of signaling, of formation, and so on."

Cabot's blood began to race.

Peisistratus, too, was effected by the beating.

"It seems humans and Kurii share drums,” said Cabot.

"Drums,” said Peisistratus, “speak to the blood, to the heart. They speak of the beat and insistence of life."

"They are used on Gor to marshal and control tarn cavalries, and set the cadence of the wing beat, of the flight,” said Cabot.

"Certainly,” said Peisistratus.

"Is the sound not too loud for Kurii?” asked Cabot.

"Apparently not,” said Peisistratus. “Nor is the crash of thunder, the rolling of waves, the breaking of ice in a frozen river, the tumbling of the avalanche, the eruption of the volcano."

"One gathers its loudness is stimulating."

"Yes, and the rhythms,” said Peisistratus.

"They speak of blood, and life, and excitement,” said Cabot.

"They have their drums,” said Peisistratus, “and we have ours, as well."

"Yes,” said Cabot, “of war, and the march, sometimes to measure the stroke of oars, occasionally to signal the opening and closing of markets, of gates, and such."

"There are subtle drums, too, demanding, insistent, maddening, exciting, sensuous drums, of course,” said Peisistratus.

"True,” said Cabot.

This was presumably an allusion to the use of drums, together with other instruments, we may suppose, in slave dance, a form of dance in which a type of human female, the female slave, helpless and vulnerable, as all female slaves, ornamented, and beautifully if scarcely clothed, dances her beauty, hoping to be found pleasing by masters. If she is not, she knows she may be whipped, perhaps slain.

The drums were suddenly silent.

One could now hear Kurii, moving in the tiers, eager, expectant.

"It begins?” asked Cabot.

"Yes,” said Peisistratus.

"It is here that Lord Pyrrhus will attest his innocence against Agamemnon, Kur to Kur."

"Yes."

"Lord Pyrrhus is large and powerful,” said Cabot. “Agamemnon must be courageous indeed to face such a foe."

"Doubtless,” said Peisistratus. “Would you like me to purchase you a treat?"

"No,” said Cabot.

"Look,” said Peisistratus, pointing to the sand, several feet below.

There a Kur was bent under a large piece of meat, which he deposited in the center of the arena. He then exited, and the meat lay there, a mound, in the sun.

Cabot grasped the bars, angrily.

"It is tarsk,” said Peisistratus.

Cabot released the bars.

At that moment, on opposite sides of the arena, from gates at the level of the sand, there emerged two large sleen.

"They are starving,” said Peisistratus.

Both animals seemed to rush toward the meat. One reached it first, and thrust his muzzle into it, tearing it, ripping out gluts of meat, and gorging them, but then the other sleen was upon it, and the two animals rolled in the sand, in a frenzy of snapping, and clawing, and in moments the jaws of each were bloody, and gouts of fur had been torn from the pelt of each, and then, suddenly, one had the throat of the other, and tore it open, and then, as the torn animal crouched down bleeding, and subsided, and rolled to its side, the victor busied himself with the meat.

Cabot saw necklaces of strung coins being exchanged in the tiers.

"Ramar has taken the meat six times,” said Peisistratus. “He permits the other sleen to reach the meat first, and find distraction in it, and then he attacks."

"I see,” said Cabot.

A Kur, with a long pole, with a hook on its end, sunk it into the meat, and drew the meat, the sleen, Ramar, feeding and following, through one of the gates at the level of the sand.

A large Kur then entered the arena, carrying a length of rope, and crouched down, waiting.

Shortly thereafter two other Kurii, from opposite sides of the arena, entered upon the sand, and approached the large Kur, and stood some ten feet before him, and apart from one another, by some ten feet, as well.

"They are not armed,” said Cabot.

"They do not need to be,” said Peisistratus. “Note the larger beast. See the rings on the left wrist."

"Yes."

"He stands high in the rings,” said Peisistratus. “His seed is avidly sought."

"I do not understand,” said Cabot.

"Surely you see the two before him are female,” said Peisistratus.

"No,” said Cabot. “It is hard to tell."

"They are smaller, the pelting is smoother, glossier, less shaggy."

"I see they are differently harnessed,” said Cabot.

"That, too,” said Peisistratus, amused.

One might note that in the human species the sexes are radically dimorphic, anatomically, emotionally, psychologically, and so on. They are very different, and are interestingly complementary. Even a Kur can instantly see the difference between a human male and a human female. It is sometimes annoying to a Kur that some humans cannot immediately, similarly, distinguish between a Kur male and a Kur female. It is less annoying that they sometimes fail to distinguish between a typical Kur male and a Kur nondominant. To be sure, the differences there are mostly behavioral. Most humans, incidentally, have never seen a Kur womb, either of the shelf or wall type, as they tend to be hidden, and guarded. The female's egg, once fertilized, is deposited in the womb, and develops within it, the infant later to chew and claw its way free, that in something between a half year and a year. Some wombs perish after one child; some hardy wombs have produced as many as forty or fifty infants. The womb itself makes no contribution to the genetic endowments of the offspring. The womb, in historical times, at least, replicates itself, parthenogenetically, by budding, so to speak. As indicated earlier in the text, certain obscurities obtain with respect to the origin of the earlier wombs.

With a sudden screech of rage the two females flung themselves upon one another.

Kurii in the stands leaped about and called out encouragement to their favorite in what seemed doubtless to Cabot a surprising and unusual contest. The crouching male, with the length of rope grasped in one paw, scarcely moved.

The two females tore at one another, until at last one lay in the sand, bloodied, trembling, and lifted one paw, pathetically, for mercy.

"The male Kur does not beg for mercy,” commented Peisistratus. “That is another difference."

"Surely that is cultural,” said Cabot.

"Doubtless,” said Peisistratus.

"She is going to kill her!” said Cabot.

The victor had crouched down and savagely pulled back the head of the vanquished, and set her fangs at the throat of the vanquished.

A roar of approbation coursed through the crowd. Perhaps the vanquished had not fought well enough.

Again a paw was lifted pathetically, begging for mercy.

The victor, encouraged, licensed, so to speak, widened her jaws, and thrust forward.

But a roar of prohibition emanated from the throat of the male, and the victor stopped, and then thrust the vanquished from her, contemptuously, and leaped in the sand, shrieking in triumph.

The vanquished Kur female crawled some feet away, bloodying the sand.

The victor then approached the male.

He cuffed her, half spinning her about. She was already bloodied from the fray from which she had emerged victorious.

"It seems,” said Cabot, “he is not pleased with the outcome of the battle."

"No,” said Peisistratus. “It would be the same with either. He is merely asserting his dominance."

"She has accepted his blow,” said Cabot.

"Of course,” said Peisistratus. “Were he not dominant she would despise him. She wishes his dominance. She would be insulted to submit to any other sort of male. What Kur female would? What do you think this is all about?"

"What if she had not accepted his blow?"

"I do not understand."

"What if she had retaliated, attacked him? She is surely a fearsome creature, as we have seen."

"Then he would beaten her, if not maimed or killed her,” said Peisistratus. “Did you not see the rings on his wrist. He has killed male Kurii to obtain those rings."

"Look,” said Peisistratus.

"I see,” said Cabot.

The female now stood before the male, her head down, and her arms at her sides. The male then encircled her body several times with the length of rope he carried, fastening her arms to her sides, and then, with the length of rope left, he fashioned a leash for her, and led her toward an exit gate. She half danced in his wake, and howled to the stands.

"It is a noise of pleasure, of triumph,” said Peisistratus. “She has conquered her rival, and she has been acquired, at least for some days, by the male of her desires."

"I think I prefer our human ways,” said Cabot.

"Perhaps they are not so different,” said Peisistratus.

"Look!” said Cabot, pointing to the sand.

The vanquished Kur female had struggled to her feet, and begun to hobble from the sand. Several Kurii would have assisted her, but she bared her fangs, and warned them away, viciously.

They regarded one another, frightened, and then looked piteously upon the torn, bleeding female.

Again they tried to approach, solicitously, but, again, with a baring of fangs and a snarl, she warned them back.

They fled back, and then, as she regarded them, one after another, they moved back further, and bent down, to make themselves smaller in her presence.

"They are cringing,” said Cabot. “Are they her hand maidens?"

"They are males,” said Peisistratus. “They are her attendants, assigned to serve her."

The female then hobbled toward an exit gate, before the others, alone, blood in her footprints.

The others then followed her.

"They are males?” asked Cabot.

"In a sense,” said Peisistratus. “They are nondominants."

"I see,” said Cabot.

The drums then beat again.

"What is that?” asked Cabot, in disgust. “What are those things?"

From several of the lower gates a number of unusual creatures, crowded together, clumsy, heavy, confused, bleating and whining, were driven by cries and whips into the arena.

"Surely you know,” said Peisistratus.

"They are large, sluggish, surely well-fed,” said Cabot, peering downward.

"They have been fattened,” said Peisistratus.

"What are they?"

"Cattle humans,” said Peisistratus.

"They cannot be human,” said Cabot.

"Perhaps not,” said Peisistratus. “But it is a matter of breeding. Great changes may be so wrought. Consider Earth. How many of your dogs recall in appearance and demeanor their remote, swift, hungry, far-ranging ancestor, the gray wolf?"

"We would not breed even dogs so,” said Cabot, in fury.

"Because you do not raise them for meat,” said Peisistratus.

"Those are small Kurii!” said Cabot, observing the entry unto the sand of a swarm of eager, shaggy forms.

"Actually Kur children,” said Peisistratus. “Many have not lost their womb teeth."

The cattle creatures were whipped to the center of the arena, where they stood crowded together, bleating.

"They are frightened, and disoriented,” said Peisistratus. “This is very different from the security of the pens."

The small shaggy forms, many no more than five feet in height, and perhaps no more than a hundred to a hundred and fifty pounds in weight, encircled the huddled, confused cattle creatures.

"This is how Kurii want their young to view humans, to understand humans, to think of humans,” said Peisistratus.

"They would think otherwise of humans did they meet them in the field of battle,” said Cabot.

"Doubtless,” said Peisistratus.

"What are they going to do?” asked Cabot.

"It is a form of play,” said Peisistratus. “Children are fond of games. They are pleased to frolic."

"What are they going to do?” asked Cabot.

"See the ribbons?” asked Peisistratus.

"Yes,” said Cabot. “But what are they going to do?"

"Kill,” said Peisistratus. “The ribbons will mark their kills. He with the most ribboned meat wins a little crown and a haunch of roast tarsk."

"No!” cried Cabot, foolishly.

Suddenly the children raced upon the huddled cattle, seizing them, lacerating them, tearing them. The cattle did not defend themselves, though several now fled wildly, clumsily, terrified, about the arena, pursued swiftly by the youthful predators with their colorful ribbons.

Occasionally an adult Kur, with a stroke of his whip, turned one of the confused cattle back toward the center of the arena.

"Do not feel sorry for them,” said Peisistratus. “They are not truly human. They do not even understand what is going on. They only want to be returned to their pens, and the feeding trough."

There was a squeal from one of the cattle below, as three of the youngsters clung to it, gripping it with their yet-immature fangs.

"This accustoms them, of course,” said Peisistratus, “to killing, and the taste of blood, in a convenient, economical fashion."

Cabot shook the bars of the cage.

"Caution,” warned Peisistratus. “Kurii are watching."

Cabot shook again the bars of the cage, futilely.

"There is nothing you can do,” said Peisistratus. “Do not concern yourself. It is only a game."

"Why do they not fight back?” cried Cabot. “They are larger than their foes."

"They are cattle,” said Peisistratus.

There were howls of pleasure, of amusement, from the stands, as one or more of the cattle, inept even in flight, startled, bleating, was brought down.

"Do not concern yourself,” said Peisistratus, to Cabot. “This is what they are for."

"Look!” cried Cabot. “One has turned on its attacker!"

"That is not to take place!” said Peisistratus. “That is not permitted!"

"Apparently the creature does not understand that,” said Cabot.

Below, one of the cattle, half blinded with its own blood, had closed its fat fingers about a small shaggy throat.

"Is the child not to be rescued?” asked Cabot. “It will kill the child."

"Do not concern yourself,” said Peisistratus. “The others do not."

The whitish, obese creature let the limp body of the youngster fall to the sand. Its throat was then, as it stupidly looked about, comprehending nothing, casually cut open by one of the adult Kurii.

"That one,” said Peisistratus, “cannot be ribboned. He does not count."

"What of the child?” asked Cabot.

"He allowed himself to be caught. He failed. He will be forgotten."

"Is it not a tragedy?” asked Cabot.

"Not if it does not spoil the game,” said Peisistratus.

Only one or two of the cattle were still alive.

"It is over,” said Peisistratus, presently. “See, that one child is victor. The large one. He has ribboned five beasts. That is quite good, but some have ribboned more."

Cabot observed a small, golden crown, apparently of a paperlike material, being placed on the victor's head. There was applause in the stands, the rhythmic pounding of hands on thighs. Later, he would receive, Cabot surmised, a haunch of roasted tarsk, a meat generally much preferred by Kurii to human.

"When,” asked Cabot, “will Lord Pyrrhus and Lord Agamemnon meet, Kur to Kur?"

"Presently,” said Peisistratus. “But first there are some beast fights. May I purchase you a treat?"

"No,” said Cabot.

The beast fights were largely amongst fighting humans, variously armed. Some of these were game humans who had been netted in the sport cylinder, but most were killer humans, bred for savagery, raised for the arena.

"Are they speeched?” inquired Cabot.

"Most,” said Peisistratus.

"And in what speech?” asked Cabot.

"In the language to which most translators are set,” said Peisistratus. “Speeching is helpful in monitoring and managing their training. Some, of course, are not speeched. Sometimes the speeched and the nonspeeched are set against one another. If the battle is team war the speeched side has an advantage."

"Undoubtedly,” said Cabot. “And to what speech are most translators set?"

"Gorean,” said Peisistratus.

"Good,” said Cabot.

It was late in the afternoon, as the mirrors arranged the day, when, to Cabot's amazement, two figures with which he was familiar entered onto the sand. The first, broad and powerful, half bent over, alert, looking from side to side, was Grendel. The second figure, stripped and high-collared, as befits a Kur pet, and on a chain leash, was the blonde. She was led to a point near the center of the arena. Many sounds of disapproval from the tiers, encompassing hissings and snarls, had greeted this pair upon their appearance. At the center of the arena a circular cement platform, some five feet in diameter, emerged from the sand. In the center of this platform, fastened to a plate anchored in the cement, there was a heavy iron ring. The blonde's chain was fastened to this ring.

At a gesture from Grendel, the blonde went to all fours, the chain then looped on the cement, save where it looped up to her collar.

"Why is she on all fours?” asked Cabot.

"Is it not appropriate for an animal, a pet?” asked Peisistratus.

"Yes,” said Cabot.

"Or a slave?” inquired Peisistratus.

"Certainly,” said Cabot.

Slaves are occasionally kept on all fours, forbidden to rise, feed from pans on the floor, are led about, leashed, on all fours, and so on. This regimen or strictness is imposed upon them sometimes as a punishment or discipline, sometimes as a part of their training, or, sometimes, simply to remind them that they are a slave, their master's domestic animal. Sometimes the girl must bring the master's whip to him on all fours, the implement held between her teeth. She will later learn if she is to be caressed or struck.

"What is this about?” asked Cabot.

"Many Kurii,” said Peisistratus, “want her blood. She is held accountable for the debacle in the forest, that of the hunting party of Lord Arcesilaus. In it, you may recall, Kurii were slain."

"I recall,” said Cabot.

"Grendel has refused to sell her to those who wish her harm,” said Peisistratus.

"Harm?” said Cabot.

"—to those who would kill her with needles, a corpuscle at a time, who would inject her with slow, agonizing poisons, who would feed her to urts or sleen, who would cast her to leech plants, who would roast her alive and eat her, and so on."

"I see,” said Cabot.

"He has been offered more strings of coins than you and I would part with for a good slave."

"And she only a pet."

"Precisely."

"It seems he is fond of his pet,” said Cabot.

"He is a fool,” said Peisistratus. “He will now die."

"I gather he must now, if he wishes to keep her, or save her, defend her?"

"Assuredly,” said Peisistratus. “And the crowd is against him."

"How is this to be done?” asked Cabot.

"He is to face seven challengers,” said Peisistratus, “any one of whom might easily slay him, for they are Kur."

"Is he not Kur?"

"Part Kur."

"Perhaps,” said Cabot, “he is more than Kur."

"When the combat is done,” said Peisistratus, “the girl will be taken by the challengers, to be done with as they intend."

"If they win,” said Cabot.

"Can there be doubt?” asked Peisistratus.

"The fortunes of war, like the rains in Anango, are difficult to forecast,” said Cabot.

"I will wager a string of coins,” said Peisistratus, “on the challengers."

"Against what?” inquired Cabot. “My life?"

"Certainly not,” said Peisistratus. “Besides, your life, at this point, is still of interest to Agamemnon."

"A slender security,” remarked Cabot.

"You would know more of that than I,” said Peisistratus.

"So what should I put up, against your coins?"

"One of your strings of rubies,” suggested Peisistratus.

"A string of coins against a string of rubies seems a strange wager,” smiled Cabot.

"True,” said Peisistratus. “I shall make it a dozen strings of coins, and throw in a pet."

"A pet?"

"The brunette."

"Keep her,” said Cabot.

"Is it a wager?” asked Peisistratus.

"I think you are more aware of the value of rubies,” said Cabot, “than I am of the value of your coins."

"Perhaps,” smiled Peisistratus. “But is it a wager?"

"Very well,” said Cabot. “It is a wager."

"It is a pity to take your rubies so easily,” said Peisistratus.

"The challengers!” said Cabot, pointing downward.

From a gate at the level of the sand below and to their right, seven large Kurii, harnessed for war, entered the arena. Each carried a long, thick, metal bar, some ten feet in length, some three inches in diameter. Such an implement would have been difficult for many humans to lift, let alone wield. Kurii, however, might play with such a device as with a wand, or as a brawny peasant might with his stout, well-grasped defensive staff, a punishing implement which, well used, might overcome a blade.

The crowd stamped, roared, leaped about in place, and smote its thighs, expressing its pleasure with the number and harnessing of the challengers. Indeed, some of the challengers were well known to the crowd, from ascendancies in the rings, and more than one was accounted a champion.

The challengers turned about in the sand and lifted their simple weapons in salute to the crowd, which incited still more approbation in the tiers.

"Is Grendel to be unarmed?” asked Cabot.

"You now fear for your rubies?” asked Peisistratus.

"Is he to be unarmed?"

"No,” said Peisistratus, “that would not be Kur, that would not be honorable."

"Look!” said Cabot.

An additional bar was handed to one of the challengers, by an arena praetor, or officer. That challenger then thrust his own bar down, into the sand, some four feet, with a mighty motion, and then, contemptuously, hurled the bar he had been given by the officer toward Grendel. It descended like a lance, and was arrested, tilted, in the sand, before Grendel. The cast had been more than a hundred and fifty feet.

Grendel bent to retrieve the weapon.

Amusement coursed through the crowd.

"See,” said Peisistratus. “He is only part Kur. It is too heavy for him. He can barely lift it. Fear for your rubies, friend Cabot."

Cabot smiled.

One of the Kur challengers roared and raced across the sand toward Grendel, his weapon held with two hands over his head.

Many humans find it remarkable that so large a creature can move with such rapidity.

Cabot was familiar with such characteristics, of course, and so, too, one might note, was Grendel.

The blonde screamed.

The noise of the crowd was suddenly silenced.

For the challenger, its chest bloodied, staggered back, and then sat, dazed, stupidly, in the sand.

One end of Grendel's bar was soaked with blood, for better than eighteen inches from its thrusting end.

"The swiftness of the thrust, the suddenness, the ease of it!” exclaimed Peisistratus, wonderingly.

"He is as strong as a Kur,” said Cabot, “perhaps stronger."

"It was a trick,” said Peisistratus, reproachfully.

"Surely deception,” said Cabot, “is an element not unknown in war."

"The others will now be more wary,” said Peisistratus.

"Yes,” said Cabot.

"And the rubies,” said Peisistratus, “will soon be mine."

"It is hard to predict the rains in Anango,” said Cabot.

"That it will rain in the summer is not hard to predict, in one week or another,” said Peisistratus.

"In seven weeks?"

"Yes,” said Peisistratus.

"May not the challengers attack en masse?” inquired Cabot.

"That would not be Kur,” said Peisistratus. “That would not be honorable."

"Good,” said Cabot.

The next Kur approached cautiously, his weapon at the ready. Grendel came forward, to place himself between the pet and his antagonist.

The crowd now leaned forward, intent upon the sand.

The matches were now of greater interest than had been anticipated.

The second challenger struck downward with his weapon, and Grendel fended the blow but in such a way as not to take the brunt of its weight, but rather to slide it aside. There was, however, nonetheless, a shower of sparks. The blonde cried out, and pulled back on her chain, it hooked to her collar.

"The beating on the bar,” said Cabot, “would in time weaken the arms of he who blocks the blows, surely by the third or fourth attacker."

There were several more exchanges, each with its shower of sparks. The challenger then stepped back in the sand.

Grendel did not pursue him.

He wished, doubtless, to remain in the vicinity of the pet, lest the attacker might the more easily slip past him. The goal of the attackers was primarily the blood of the pet, to revenge themselves upon her, however irrationally, to which object the destruction of her despised defender was largely incidental.

Grendel and the second attacker then, some yards apart, crouched down, watching one another.

Cabot could see the movements of the lungs of the two beasts.

The attacker then began to groom itself, not taking his eyes off Grendel.

They remained so, almost motionless, for several minutes.

The crowd was silent, and patient. Kurii, when hunting, are very patient.

The attacker then roared and rushed forward, and, as it advanced, but feet from Grendel, Grendel setting himself to accept the charge, the attacker suddenly twisted to the side and, with one clawed foot, swept a great storm of sand toward Grendel, a blasting flight of particles that might have stunned and blinded a tharlarion. But Grendel who had anticipated this device hurled himself to the sand below this flighted granular torrent, and swept his bar across the sand, striking the now-again-turned attacker frontally across the legs, some inches above the ankles, and the attacker, with a bellow of agony, fell forward into the sand, its legs shattered, as the sand fell about Grendel and his pet, descending even onto the cement platform, and striking about the pet's back and shoulders, and coating her hair and eyelashes. Grendel then rose to his feet, slowly, deliberately, and, as the crippled attacker watched, and lifted his arms to defend himself, Grendel struck down with his bar, shattering through the fending arms, and breaking the head open as one might have beaten a hammer into a crusted larma. He then went, deliberately, to the first attacker, who sat helplessly in the sand, and punched through his skull with the bar.

"He is Kur,” breathed Peisistratus.

"Or human,” said Cabot.

Grendel then turned to regard the five remaining challengers.

There was a roar of anger from the stands.

"The crowd is displeased,” said Cabot.

"Not with Grendel!” cried Peisistratus. “Observe!"

Four of the five remaining challengers were advancing together.

"It is, I gather, not Kur,” said Cabot.

"No,” said Peisistratus. “It is not Kur."

The crowd was howling with rage, but the four continued to advance, and began to spread themselves about, to encircle Grendel, and he could not, of course, defend the pet on more than one side.

She was screaming, and, with her small hands, jerking wildly at the chain. This was futile, of course, as it had been decided that she would remain in place. In Gorean arenas, beautiful female slaves are commonly awarded as prizes to the victors. They are usually chained in place, to await their disposition, pending the outcome of the contest. In the current instance, of course, it was the very blood of the female that was sought.

"The rubies are now mine,” said Peisistratus, angrily.

"Consider the rains in Anango,” said Cabot.

"Do not be foolish,” chided Peisistratus.

Grendel suddenly left the vicinity of the pet on its chain moving with great speed toward the nearest of the attackers, it unwisely now, too eager, some yards in advance of the others. There were movements of the weapons but they did not make contact. The foremost attacker's bar struck down into the sand, and Grendel was then behind it and he thrust his weapon into the abdomen of his foe, and literally lifted the Kur from the sand, impaled, and flung his body from the weapon.

"He is strong even for a Kur!” cried Peisistratus.

"He is more than Kur!” cried Cabot.

At the same moment another of the Kurii rushed toward the pet, who screamed, his bar lifted, to strike down, but Grendel spun about and flung his weapon almost as might a lesser creature have hurled a javelin, and it struck he who threatened the blonde in the back, emerging through his chest, and his bar fell ringing on the cement to the left of the terrified pet. At the same time, a side stroke from a bar struck Grendel on the left arm, and the arm jerked, useless, for the moment paralyzed. Grendel scrambled toward the cement platform, to retrieve a weapon, his or the fallen bar of he who would have smote the pet. But there lunged between him and his goal another of the attackers, his weapon raised.

Grendel crouched on the sand.

The blonde pulled back to the length of her chain.

"He does not see the attacker behind him!” said Peisistratus.

"He sees the shadow,” said Cabot. “He knows! He sees the shadow!"

"Why does he not move?” demanded Peisistratus.

"It is not yet time,” said Cabot.

"The shadow is gone!” said Peisistratus.

"The mirrors have been changed,” said Cabot. “Not every foe, it seems, is on the sand."

"Grendel dares not turn his back,” said Peisistratus.

Had he done so the foe between him and the pet might have struck.

"He need not do so,” said Cabot. “Again they underestimate him."

"How so?” said Peisistratus, grasping the bars, looking down to the sand.

"His hearing,” said Cabot. “It is that of the Kur."

Whatever the clue might have been, a pressing of a paw into the sand to gain leverage for a blow, an intake of breath prior to striking, a tiny sound of harness, perhaps even the slick, shifting of a grip, to take advantage of a less-moist, drier surface, Grendel threw himself to the side and the mighty bar plunged a foot into the sand beside him. He then leapt up, turned, and seized the startled Kur who had struck at him and swung him about before him, to interpose him between himself and the attacker in the vicinity of the platform, who had quickly sped forward, but now stopped, angrily, the bar lifted.

"Why does he not strike?” asked Peisistratus.

"He needs a clean blow,” said Cabot. “If the weapon is stopped, by sand, by the body of the other, it might be seized by Grendel."

"He could decapitate both with one blow,” said Peisistratus.

"Grendel might,” said Cabot. “But I do not think it could be done by a common Kur."

Grendel's left arm, slowly, surely, doubtless with considerable pain to himself, encircled the throat of the Kur he held, and he drew back a mighty fist, and this fist, with a blow that might have felled a tharlarion, he drove into the back of the Kur's neck, better than two inches, breaking the skull away from the vertebrae. He then cast aside the limp body of his former antagonist and turned to face the sixth challenger, the last of the four who had advanced together.

The seventh challenger had not interfered, but had remained crouched, with his weapon, near the far wall, near the gate through which he and the others had originally entered.

The sixth challenger now moved about Grendel, circling, who, weaponless, unwilling to reach for a weapon, and thus expose himself for a blow, turned, crouching, to keep his foe before him.

The challenger was then again between Grendel and the pet.

It was clearly unwilling to turn and attack the pet, for that would expose it to Grendel's attack.

They then crouched in the sand and faced one another, some four or five yards apart.

After a few moments the challenger began again, warily, to move, again circling, his clawed feet scarcely disturbing the sand, perhaps not wanting the cement shelf behind him, against which he might stumble, perhaps wanting to have both the pet and Grendel in view.

"I fear he has a clean blow,” said Peisistratus. “It is only a question of the moment in which he will strike."

"It seems,” said Cabot, “the rubies are yours."

"I do not think I want them,” said Peisistratus.

It is, of course, next to impossible, without an object to interpose, to escape the vicious, lateral sweep of such a weapon.

"Look,” said Peisistratus. “Grendel has backed near the platform. He chooses to die in the vicinity of the ungrateful, worthless thing for which he has fought, and for which he will now die."

The stands were now quiet.

And so Grendel stood, not moving, before the platform.

"He accepts his fate, and awaits it uncomplainingly,” said Peisistratus.

"I fear so,” said Cabot.

"He is Kur,” said Peisistratus.

"And human,” said Cabot.

The sixth challenger, with a grimace of pleasure, lifted his weapon and saluted Grendel.

There were in the stands noises of approval, and the smiting of thighs.

"He accepts him as a worthy foe,” said Peisistratus.

"Grendel, it seems,” said Cabot, “is at last redeemed."

The sixth challenger drew back his great bar and then suddenly it hurtled about in a smooth, sweeping arc within the compass of which stood Grendel.

"Ai!” cried Cabot.

The blow might have shattered walls, felled small trees.

The two beasts struggled for control of the weapon.

Grendel had grasped it in its flight. His two massive forepaws were clasped about the bar, as were those of its startled wielder.

A cry of astonishment roared through the stands.

Then Grendel drew the weapon closer and closer to himself, inch by inch.

"The Kur should loose his grip!” said Cabot. “He is being drawn too close to Grendel!"

But the Kur was unwise, and was reluctant to surrender the weapon. Did it truly think the struggle was for the weapon? Did it not understand that the struggle was for who should live and who should die?

Suddenly Grendel released the weapon and thrust out his massive clawed paw and the fingers of his right paw thrust through the left eye of the Kur and the rest of the grip, the thumb, was on its jaws, back, behind the fangs, and then Grendel turned his paw, thus lifting and exposing the Kur's throat, and then brought it forward, to his own jaws, and tore it away, and then stood crouched over the shuddering, dying body, blood smeared on his chest and about his jaws.

The blonde screamed in horror.

Grendel turned to regard her, his long dark tongue moving about, licking the blood about his fangs.

She lay down on the cement platform, covering her head with her hands, trembling.

Grendel then went to one of the fallen weapons, picked it up, returned to his kill, and there lifted the weapon, saluting his foe.

"He has accepted him as a worthy enemy,” said Peisistratus.

There was much silence in the stands, and then several of the Kurii smote their thighs, acknowledging this gesture of respect to one of their species, albeit from one hitherto deemed not Kur, but no more than a malformed thing, a misbred brute, an abomination, a monster.

There was then a roll of drums, and all eyes turned to the seventh challenger, who now rose from his crouching position, to a height of some ten feet.

"He is massive,” said Cabot.

"He is the champion, Magnus, Rufus Magnus,” said Peisistratus.

"He is concerned with the blood of the pet?” inquired Cabot.

"No,” said Peisistratus. “He has been hired."

"He has no personal interest in the matter?"

"None,” said Peisistratus, “unlike the other challengers. His only interest here is to kill Grendel and collect his fee, after which the pet may be dealt with as others please."

"He is a champion?"

"A high champion,” said Peisistratus. “See the two rings on his left wrist?"

"Yes."

"They are of gold,” said Peisistratus.

"Look,” said Cabot. “He puts aside the great bar."

"Yes,” said Peisistratus.

"He will face Grendel unarmed?"

"No,” said Peisistratus.

A praetor now approached the seventh challenger, and placed in his huge paws a gigantic ax, some ten feet in length, and double-bladed at each end, an ax which, in the grip of one such as he, one of such strength, might have decapitated a larl, and perhaps even, with three or four blows, Gor's mightiest constrictor, the giant hith.

"Is this honorable?” asked Cabot.

"Some higher authority has ruled on this, apparently,” said Peisistratus, grimly.

"Agamemnon?"

"Doubtless,” said Peisistratus.

The champion, Rufus Magnus, shifted the great ax about, easily, from paw to paw, testing its balance, and then, satisfied, he looked across the sand, to where Grendel stood, waiting.

The blonde now lay collapsed upon the platform, a tiny, pathetic, trembling figure, white against the gray of the cement. Cabot was not sure she could move, even had she wished to do so. He grasped the bars.

"You can do nothing,” said Peisistratus.

"It is getting dark,” said Cabot, suddenly.

"The mirrors!” said Peisistratus. “They are turning!"

The light which before had streamed into the arena was now lessening, as though night were falling, gradually, but at an unnatural pace.

"He must attack, he must run, there is little time!” exclaimed Peisistratus.

"I think there is no time,” said Cabot.

"The shutters are closing!” said Peisistratus.

"I cannot see!” said Cabot.

"Nor I!” said Peisistratus.

"The shutters have closed?” asked Cabot.

"I do not know,” said Peisistratus.

"If there is light I cannot detect it,” said Cabot.

"Nor I,” said Peisistratus.

There were anticipatory noises from the crowd.

"They can see!” cried Cabot.

"The champion is advancing upon him!” said Peisistratus. “I am sure of it!"

"Dishonor!” cried Cabot.

"True,” said Peisistratus, angrily. “There is no honor in this."

There was a roaring, as though of a frightened animal below in the arena.

"Turn up your translator!” cried Cabot.

Peisistratus fumbled in the darkness.

"More! Higher!” said Cabot. “Direct it toward the sand!"

"Light! Light!” came from the translator. “I cannot see! Light! I cannot see!"

"It is Grendel,” said Peisistratus. “He is terrified! He is lost! He cannot see!"

"Excellent!” cried Cabot.

"What?” cried Peisistratus.

"We see him as Kur,” cried Cabot, “but they see him as human, as human!"

"They think he is blinded, helpless, forlorn in darkness?"

"Precisely,” said Cabot, speaking in what for him was utter darkness.

"But he cries out in terror!” said Peisistratus.

"Does he?” said Cabot.

"Ah!” breathed Peisistratus, softly.

"And, too, it seemed,” said Cabot, “he was slowed, muchly injured."

"Ai!” cried Peisistratus.

"Our large, fierce friends, I fear, have miscalculated,” said Cabot.

Shutters must then have been reopened, and mirrors turned again, to gradually illuminate the sand.

"I owe you a dozen strings of coins,” said Peisistratus.

Below, howling, his left arm lifted, two golden rings now on his left wrist, stood Grendel.

One of his clawed feet was on the chest of his antagonist, and the great, blunt bar he had had as weapon was thrust some four feet into the sand, first having pierced the massive neck of the antagonist, then pinning him to the sand by the ruptured throat, the body of the antagonist jerking, splashing sand about, hands and feet, and then scratching futilely at the thick metal bar.

"He could see!” said Peisistratus.

"Yes,” said Cabot.

Grendel put back his head and howled in victory, a Kur's cry of triumph.

In the stands, after a silence, first one, and then another, and then thousands, smote their thighs in approbation.

"He has taken the two golden rings from the wrist of Rufus Magnus,” said Peisistratus.

"They are his now,” said Cabot.

"In the falling of darkness I see the hand of Agamemnon,” said Peisistratus.

"The authority would have been his, indeed,” said Cabot. “Surely it could not have taken place without his permission, or command, but what could be his interest in the matter, the pet, vengeance for a hunt gone wrong?"

"It is my speculation,” said Peisistratus, “it has more to do with Grendel."

"How could that be?” inquired Cabot.

"The experiment, the outcome of which was Grendel,” said Peisistratus, “turned out badly, Grendel failing to be such as to be accepted by humans as a leader. Such failures do not reflect well on the astuteness or stratagems of a Face of the Nameless One, and their lingering, failed residues are best discarded."

"I see,” said Cabot.

"And there is unrest within the world,” said Peisistratus.

"I have gathered that,” said Cabot.

"In the cylinders treason lurks,” said Peisistratus. “In the palace, accordingly, dark imperatives obtain."

"The winds of power sometimes blow waywardly,” said Cabot.

"One who has grasped power is not easily persuaded to relinquish it,” said Peisistratus.

"It is so, too, with humans,” said Cabot.

"And there is another experiment, the outcome of which is not yet determined,” said Peisistratus.

"What is that?” asked Cabot.

"That of enlisting a human leader, one men will trust, a warrior, a seeming champion, a seeming hero, one whom men, properly motivated, will unquestioningly, eagerly follow, one who will lead armies against the Sardar."

"I see,” said Cabot.

"Agamemnon grows impatient for your answer,” said Peisistratus.

"He will have it soon,” said Cabot.

Grendel had now removed the great bar from the sand, and from his antagonist, and cast it aside, into the sand.

He then turned about and went to the cement platform, and freed the chain of the blonde pet from its ring. He then led her slowly from the platform, to the sand, and then across the sand, and then through one of the far gates, she on all fours.

Two attendants, with poles with hooks, came and removed the now inert body of the champion, dragging it through the sand, furrowing it, to another gate.

"The blonde pet is now safe,” said Cabot.

"Here, no human is safe,” said Peisistratus.

There was then a sudden roll of drums.

"What is it?” asked Cabot.

"The climax of the festivities,” said Peisistratus.

From a far gate, a Kur, laden with chains, goaded by hot irons, was herded, stumbling, toward the center of the sand.

"It is Lord Pyrrhus,” said Peisistratus.

"He is ill,” speculated Cabot.

"More likely, faint from hunger,” said Peisistratus.

The Kur's chains were removed, and it stood alone, in the center of the arena. Despite its size it seemed small there.

"Or, too,” said Peisistratus, “it may be weakened from loss of blood."

"I do not understand,” said Cabot.

"Drawn from his veins,” said Peisistratus. “Thus there is no visible wound."

"Still,” said Cabot, “he is a formidable foe. Agamemnon is not without courage to face such an enemy, Kur to Kur."

"Perhaps,” said Peisistratus.

"What will be the weapons?"

"None,” said Peisistratus.

"None?"

"Hand to hand, tooth to tooth,” said Peisistratus.

"He is courageous, indeed,” said Cabot.

"Perhaps,” said Peisistratus.

"Surely it were better to send a champion against Lord Pyrrhus,” said Cabot, “rather than risk himself, a Face of the Nameless One, in the arena."

"Agamemnon himself will do battle, Kur to Kur,” said Peisistratus.

"A worthy World Lord,” said Cabot. “I salute him."

There was then another thunder of drums, and the tiers turned to face a great part of the wall. It was below and well to the left of where Cabot and Peisistratus were held in their cage.

Two mighty doors there swung open.

The portal might have admitted tharlarion.

For some moments nothing emerged from the gate.

"Ai!” said Cabot, dismayed.

In the portal, now, some eight to ten feet in breadth, some twenty feet in height, there appeared what seemed to be a gigantic, metallic Kur, the limbs, the body, the head, all in proportion, and cunningly devised. The light flashed on the plating and fangs of the immense artificial beast. Suddenly, perhaps on released springs, sharp claws, like curved knives, a foot in length, sprang into view.

"It is a body of Agamemnon,” said Peisistratus, dryly.

The huge metallic head, with eyes like fire, turned from side to side, and then halted, and inclined a foot forward and downward, peering at the figure on the sand, Lord Pyrrhus.

It then, slowly, foot by foot, heavy in the sand, approached Lord Pyrrhus, who made no move to flee, or to defend himself.

One of the metallic paws swept out, and the chest and the side of the face of Lord Pyrrhus, symmetrically lacerated, streamed with lines of blood.

Twice more was Lord Pyrrhus struck, and he struggled to retain his feet.

"He is trying to goad him to fight,” said Peisistratus.

"Lord Arcesilaus, across the way,” said Peisistratus, “is leaving the tiers."

Others, too, were filing out.

Again and again the metallic beast struck Lord Pyrrhus, as though growing more and more frustrated, sometimes flinging him yards, rolling, fur bloody, across the sand. Still Lord Pyrrhus, again and again, staggered to his feet, and made no effort to either flee or defend himself.

"Why does he not fight?” asked Cabot.

"He is fighting,” said Peisistratus.

"He is not,” said Cabot.

"There is much here you do not understand,” said Peisistratus.

"To be sure,” said Cabot, angrily, “what could he do?"

"Agamemnon wants him to struggle, to strike even against the metal, to howl, to scratch at the plates, however futilely."

"It is unlike a Kur not to fight,” said Cabot, “whatever the odds, however improbable the outcome."

"He is fighting,” said Peisistratus.

"Surely not,” said Cabot.

"Surely, so,” said Peisistratus. “He is defeating Agamemnon by finding such a combat beneath his dignity, by demonstrating his mockery of such an absurd contest, by making it clear to the world that Agamemnon, in assuming this body and arrogating to himself its advantages, has abandoned all pretence to, or claim to, honor."

"I see,” said Cabot.

"Lord Pyrrhus strikes a great blow thusly for his cause."

"Many have left the tiers,” observed Cabot.

"In disgust,” said Peisistratus.

"They were to meet, Kur to Kur,” said Cabot.

"But they have not done so,” said Peisistratus.

"No,” said Cabot.

At this point it seemed that Lord Pyrrhus was minded to attack the gigantic, armored machine which so tormented him. He raised himself from the sand and howled in rage, but then, as though recalling himself to himself, he lowered his arms and retracted his claws.

He stood there in the sand, not moving, his head lifted.

"He is showing his contempt for Agamemnon,” said Peisistratus.

The gigantic machine then, as though in fury, closed its jaws about the waist of Lord Pyrrhus and lifted him from the sand and shook him, violently. Even in the tiers one could hear the bones breaking, the muscles and flesh ripping and tearing. Blood streamed from the eyes and mouth. Fur and blood spattered even to the walls of the tiers. And then Agamemnon cast the body from him, and turned about, and left the arena.

Peisistratus and Cabot regarded the remains of Lord Pyrrhus.

"He was Kur,” said Cabot.

"And he won,” said Peisistratus.

"The tiers are muchly emptied,” said Cabot.

"The festivities have ended,” said Peisistratus.

"Yes,” said Cabot.

"Agamemnon will be dissatisfied with this,” said Peisistratus. “He will now be trebly dangerous."

"Why is he not deposed?” asked Cabot.

"He is the Eleventh Face of the Nameless One, Theocrat of the World,” said Peisistratus.

"I see,” said Cabot.

"Do you salute him now?” inquired Peisistratus.

"No,” said Cabot.

Peisistratus pounded on the bars of the cage. “Release us!” he demanded.

A Kur then came, and unlocked the cage, and Cabot and Peisistratus left the tiers.