Kur of Gor

Chapter, the Thirty-Eighth: THE PLACE OF WAR

"Master!” cried the slave.

Cabot had an arrow to the string.

The Kur was some twenty yards away, its ax grasped in both hands.

"Hold!” cried Cabot to the Kur, and this message, even at the low volume on which the translator was set, carried to it, as its ears lifted. “Do not approach!” said Cabot.

This was the first Kur they had met who stood in their way.

"Hail, Lord Arcesilaus!” called Cabot.

With a roar of rage the Kur lifted its ax and sped toward Cabot. Cabot let him approach until he had drawn back his ax for its stroke, and then killed him.

The Kur did not fully understand what had occurred, as it stopped, and, as though puzzled, looked down at its chest, and the odd, feathered thing that seemed nested there.

Then it looked at Cabot, and then fell forward, inert.

Cabot closed its eyes.

"It did not understand the bow,” he said.

"Surely they will soon understand it,” whispered the slave.

"The scarf, wound in the harness,” said Cabot.

"It is purple,” said the slave.

"That, I gather,” said Cabot, “is the identifying ensign of the forces of Agamemnon."

"Master!” said the slave, aghast.

Cabot came to where she stood. There, scattered about, were several humans. Some seemed of the game world, others, from their tunicking, were doubtless from the cages of the killer humans.

All had been cut apart.

No match had such been for Kurii.

"Master?” asked the slave.

"Our journey is ended,” said Cabot. “We have come to the place of war."