Kur of Gor

Chapter, the Thirty-Seventh: THE ENCOUNTERING OF SMALL CAMPS

"I am weary, Master,” said the slave.

"We will rest here, in this sheltering,” said Cabot.

It was little more than a bower.

For two days Cabot and his companion had followed the shore of Lake Fear, and had then made their way toward the area of major habitats.

They were now six days from the cave where they had left Lord Arcesilaus.

Occasionally, concealing themselves as they could, they passed small, dispirited camps of scattered Kurii, some maimed, some nursing wounds. These were survivors of the fleet's apparent disaster, and although some of these Kurii doubtless suspected, and at times even noted, the passage of Cabot and the slave, they did not challenge or attack them.

"I am sure, Master,” whispered Lita, “that twice our passage was understood."

"I think so,” said Cabot. One may sense such things, from the attitudes of many organisms, the liftings of heads, the alertness, the distending of nostrils, the turning of the ears.

It was difficult to avoid these small camps, which were numerous, and the senses of Kurii, as is well known, tend to be acute.

"Why were we not pursued?” she asked.

"I do not know,” said Cabot.

"What if we had been pursued?” she asked.

"Then,” said Cabot, “some would die, and then later, I suppose, us."

Cabot did not understand this at the time but these Kurii, as they had been defeated, and had yet dared to return to the world, had been refused admittance to the major habitats, and were awaiting their fates. Kurii tend not to be tolerant of failure. Too, they are reluctant to continue, so to speak, the bloodlines of defeat. Accordingly, defeated Kurii may be surgically altered, that their seed, perceived as defective, not be propagated. They are then banished to the precincts of the loathed nondominants. Alternatively they are accorded the option, elected by most, to do away with themselves in a manner appropriate to their remorse, and perceived dishonor. Indeed, in some of these camps, dangling bodies could be discerned, where some Kurii, perhaps anticipating the wrath of Lord Agamemnon, had hung themselves in shame.

"Do they not know of war in this world?” asked Lita.

"I do not know,” said Cabot.

It was true, though unknown at the time to Cabot and his slave, that many of these small, scattered groups were indeed unaware of the revolution, or civil war, raging at that time in their world.

"Some Kurii,” said Lita, “favor the revolution, and have planned it. How will Master know these from the minions and cohorts of Lord Agamemnon?"

"There must be ensigns of some sort,” said Cabot, “arm bands, flags, scarves, something, if only for the benefit of enlisted humans, to discriminate amongst the striving factions."

"All humans would be foes of Lord Agamemnon,” she said.

"Many, the cattle,” said Cabot, “might be neutral, others might favor the Theocrat of the World, and seek the emoluments he might offer for their allegiance."

"Who then is friend, and who foe?” she asked.

"In war it is not always clear,” said Cabot. “And a moment's hesitation may mean one's death. Indeed, the seeming friend, proclaiming camaraderie, may be the deadliest foe."

"What then is to be done?” she asked.

"There is a simple rule,” said Cabot.

"What is that?” she asked.

"When in doubt, kill,” he said.

She shuddered.

"Only he who is comfortable and safely removed from the place of danger and the moment of decision can afford to grant himself the luxury of an offended conscience,” said Cabot.

"Are you rested?” he asked.

"Yes,” she said.

"We will then continue on our way,” he said.