Kur of Gor

Chapter, the Thirty-Ninth: WHAT OCCURRED IN THE AFTERNOON

One picks one's targets carefully.

There were perhaps a hundred Kurii about the building, with its walled enclosure. Some held a large log, to be used to break through the gate or wall. Others had thick poles which might be leant against a wall, up which the claw-footed Kurii might scramble with ease.

Cabot gathered that more than one assault had been beaten back. Certainly there were Kur bodies at the foot of the wall. He could see spear points above the wall, where he supposed that a parapet of sorts had been constructed. He gathered, as was the case, the revolution was failing, the revolutionists being heavily outnumbered, and then, in their scattered, defeated, retreating groups, being punished back into a number of isolated, improvised strongholds, which might then be dealt with, one by one, almost at their leisure, by the forces of Lord Agamemnon.

One looks for isolated targets, at the rear, so that if one falls, others might not take immediate notice.

The ideal is to attack a loose, preferably straggling, single file from the rear, target by target.

This may also be done, and usually more effectively, with the knife, throat by throat.

"I see no enemy behind us,” whispered Lita.

"We slew him,” said Cabot. “It was he who was to protect their rear."

"The bodies?” said Lita.

"He did his job well,” said Cabot. “Doubtless they were hoping to tender assistance to the beleaguered."

"He slew many,” she said.

"He was Kur, they were human,” said Cabot.

"Follow me,” said Cabot, and withdrew some yards.

"What is master doing?” she asked.

"I am relieving you of one of the bundles of arrows,” he said. “I will have to change my position frequently. Ideally they will think their foes are several."

"Thank you for unbraceleting me!” she said. “Oh!"

He had thrust her back against a tree and then fastened her hands again together, behind her, but now about the tree. He then, with the leash, pulled her head back against the tree, and looping the leash about the tree, fastened it back, against the tree. “Master!” she said, and then any subsequent sound was muffled, as the packing was placed in her mouth, and secured in place. Her eyes were wide, over the gag. Cabot then touched her, and she squirmed wildly, helplessly, pleadingly, trying to thrust herself forward, against his hand. “I see you are a slave,” he said. She regarded him, pathetically, pushing her body forward, as she could. “Yes,” he said, “a slave.” She whimpered, piteously. “I have work to do,” he informed her. “You may simmer,” he said, “until I return.” He then turned his back on her, listened for a moment to her tiny noises, and then left.

* * * *

One picks one's targets carefully.

Eleven Kurii fell before the grunting and twisting of one alerted a fellow to a shaft's successful flight. He roared a warning to the others.

Immediately several of the Kurii began to scan the shrubbery and trees about. One Kur, ascendant on one of the poles against the wall, turned about, and, doubtless assisted by the height from which he made his observation, detected a movement in the foliage, one perhaps some seventy-five yards away. Cabot, however, at the moment of becoming aware that his assault from the rear was discerned, looked for those individuals most ideally positioned for surveying the terrain, those not on the ground, and so the perceptive Kur on the pole, scarcely raising his paw to point, fell from the pole some twenty or so feet to the ground, one of the birds of death, so to speak, nesting in its chest. A second and a third similarly perished, and then the Kurii best situated to make the determinations germane to the matter, those on the poles, leapt to the ground, preferring, if nothing else, to reduce their imminence as targets of choice. A large Kur on the ground, looking wildly about, seemingly issued orders to a fellow Kur, doubtless a subordinate, who then, instantly, as one expects a Kur to obey, climbed one of the poles, turned about to view the terrain, and died. Cabot, who had noticed the Kur who had seemingly issued the order, put him next to the dust, he spinning about, and falling against the wall. Although much depends on the city, and world, it is my understanding that many Gorean warriors, and certainly Kurii, do not, in field situations, exchange salutes or wear insignia. The person who salutes second is he who is recognized by the first, and thus is presumably he of higher rank. Thus, he is the preferred target. Also, prominent insignia of rank are best reserved for camps, headquarters, parades, and such. It is only to be expected that he who attacks will select, in so far as it is practical, those targets whose loss is likely to be the most debilitating or crippling to the enemy.

Several of the Kurii seemed disconcerted by the loss of the officer, or commander.

By then Cabot had changed his position.

Clearly the next Kur who fell had been struck from a different direction, and then another fell, too, struck from yet another quarter.

Most, if not all, of these Kurii, were world Kurii and unfamiliar with the bow, and certainly the great bow, and it was not even clear that many, at first, even understood the method of propulsion used in this attack. Similarly, at first, some supposed that these things were alive which struck their fellows. Certainly they flew through the air, swiftly, almost invisible, until they struck, and were feathered, as birds.

There was then a paucity of clear targets, as Kurii crouched down behind hurdles formed from their ladder poles, and some behind the large log, which had presumably been intended to batter at the walls or gate of the diminutive citadel, and some huddled behind ramparts raised of their fellows’ bodies.

Then from behind the wall, suddenly, large stones were being cast down upon the disconcerted, apprehensive besiegers.

Roars of rage and pain greeted this barrage of weighty stones, a directed rain of gigantic rocks, any one of which, flung with the strength and force of a Kur, might have felled a tharlarion.

Too, there was a cry from the wall, as of elation, as it had become clear that succor, however minimal, might be at hand.

This cry, if nothing else, seemed to break the spirit of the besiegers, and determine them to action, for they then began to spring up, and mill about, uncertainly. Cabot's aim wavered from one to another of these distracted, erratically moving targets. He loosed no shaft. It was much as when the nine-gilled shark, in its intended, smooth hunt, finds itself suddenly startled as its quarry disappears into the midst of darting, schooling parsit fish, and loses sight then not only of its intended quarry, but finds it difficult, further, to seek out another, even a substitute, in such a frenzied, shimmering storm of massing life. So the shark draws back, and waits, until this troubling, seething brew disbands into detectible, pursuable elements.

Cabot, who knew his weapon far better than his foes, rather as the shark, stepped forth from the foliage.

He had little doubt Kurii would attack him, as they did not know his weapon, and its power.

And some would be swifter than others.

It was his hope that enough might fall to discourage the approach of others. If all advanced, clearly some would reach him.

Kurii, he trusted, are rational animals and would seldom choose certain death.

The first thing he did was wave to his left and right, backward, as though encouraging cohorts, who might be numerous, to remain concealed.

He did not doubt that his foes did not take him to be alone, for he had taken pains to construct that deception. But, too, they might not think him muchly accompanied.

Kurii moved away from the wall.

Several looked about, uneasily, crouching down, turning their heads about, ears lifted.

Then one of them lifted his arm and pointed to Cabot, and began to hurry toward him, and others followed him.

As Cabot had supposed, some were swifter than others.

As they approached him frontally, and separately, it was not difficult to pick targets. He doubted he would ever have such an opportunity again. Some would survive, and all who did would then know the bow.

In the world of Agamemnon the great bow of the Gorean peasant would have been learned.

Four fell, before the others, suddenly, stopped, none willing to continue this ill-fated journey.

Fan out, thought Cabot, fan out, and approach, spread out. Some will reach me, and they can outrun me.

Doubtless the wisdom of this had occurred simultaneously to one or more of the Kurii.

One seemed to be exhorting his fellows to such an endeavor.

Cabot admired him.

And slew him.

He put another arrow to the string.

Then, suddenly, and Cabot had not seen it, another of the Kurii spun about and rolled in the dust, scratching at it, an arrow through its neck.

Cabot lowered his weapon.

Another Kur fell.

Nicely done, thought Cabot. And you hung Lita's garland nicely on the tree as well. You have been practicing, clearly.

At this point those Kurii who had remained in the field broke and ran, two more felled before they had cover, one by Cabot and another by his unseen cohort.

A Kur cheer rose from the small citadel.

"Ah, friend Cabot,” said Grendel, “you have taught your superiors that a human may be something to be reckoned with."

"They are not my superiors,” said Cabot, “and perhaps we have taught them that two humans may be something to be reckoned with."

Lord Grendel grimaced, and it may have been a smile. “Perhaps,” he said.