Kur of Gor

Chapter, the Forty-Second: THE RAMP; THE LADDER

"The smell is frightful,” whispered the slave.

"It is the stockyards,” said Cabot.

"Are they truly human?” she asked.

"I am not sure,” said Cabot. “I think so."

"They are meat,” she said.

"They are bred that way,” said Cabot.

"Can they speak?"

"No, they are not speeched,” said Cabot.

"Many of the pens are empty,” said the slave.

"The killing has begun,” said Cabot.

"Where are the guards?” she asked.

"Guards are not needed,” said Cabot, “only attendants, herders, such things."

Cabot then went to one of the pens, in which there were several of the creatures.

"Anyone could unlatch this gate,” said Cabot.

"They have not done so,” said the slave, wonderingly.

Cabot opened the gate, widely.

He gestured to the creatures, encouraging them to leave, but they did not much note him, save to distend their nostrils, as though smelling for food, but, as Cabot did not bear the swill buckets with him, they turned away.

"They do not wish to leave the food troughs,” said Cabot.

"I had a terrible thought,” she said.

"What is that?” asked Cabot.

"What if they could vote?” she said.

"They cannot,” said Cabot.

"But what if they could?"

"Then fellows would rise up and make use of them, as a path to power,” said Cabot.

"The smell sickens me,” she said.

Cabot opened several more of the pens. “When they get hungry enough,” he said, “I am sure they will wander out."

"Perhaps they will wait by the food troughs, and starve,” she said.

"Surely some will leave the pens,” said Cabot.

"What will become of them?"

"I do not know,” said Cabot. “Perhaps some of the humans can care for them, or herd them to safety."

"They cannot care for themselves,” said the slave.

"I do not think so,” said Cabot.

"They are like animals, to be cared for,” she said.

"And then eaten,” said Cabot.

"Most of the pens are empty,” said the slave.

"It took us two days to reach the pens,” said Cabot.

"I am not sure they are human,” she said.

"No,” said Cabot. “They are human."

"Not now,” whispered the slave.

"Then later, perhaps generations later,” said Cabot.

"Look!” whispered the slave.

"Ai,” said Cabot. “I see!"

"The line of them, being led up that ramp,” she said.

"Yes,” said Cabot.

"They follow, blindly,” said the slave.

"See the lead human, with the bell on her neck,” said Cabot.

"Yes,” said the slave.

"She is leading them. They are following her, trustingly. They do not know where they are being taken."

"Where are they being taken?"

"I fear,” said Cabot, “to the slaughter bench."

"She has not only a bell on her neck,” said the slave, “but something on her head, as well."

"It is hard to see,” said Cabot. “No, it sparkles."

"A crown?” said the slave.

"A coronet,” said Cabot. “A tiara!"

"She is different from the others,” said the slave. “She is not massive as they, not mere meat, encircling heavy bones."

"Surely you recognize her,” said Cabot.

"No,” said the slave.

"It is the Lady Bina,” he said.

"Here?"

"She is leading them to slaughter,” said Cabot.

The bell could be heard, even where Cabot and the slave stood.

"Doubtless she has no choice,” said the slave.

"Let us hope not,” said Cabot.

"I do not understand,” said the slave.

"The cattle will follow the bell, and the human who wears it,” said Cabot. “Such things are common in slaughter houses. There is a shoot. The lead animal, at the last moment, slips through a gate to the side, and the line behind it continues to move forward, and downward, to the great hammers, or to the ropes and slings, to be suspended, dangling, for the knives, such things."

"Can we interfere?"

"We must,” said Cabot.

"What is the crown she wears?” asked the slave.

"A tiara,” said Cabot.

"A tiara?"

"That of a Ubara,” said Cabot.

"I do not understand,” said the slave.

"It is a joke,” said Cabot.

"I do not understand,” said the slave.

"Lord Agamemnon, it seems,” said Cabot, “has a sense of humor. Hurry. Hurry!"

Cabot clambered to the ramp, and hoisted the girl up beside him. The cattle, those near him, regarded him dully, and then continued to plod upward.

Cabot and the slave raced upward.

The passageway became narrower and narrower.

They were nearly to the top of the shoot, when the Lady Bina, now cattle, unclothed, a bell on her neck, a tiara fastened in her blonde hair, saw them.

She looked at them, once, wildly, startled, astonished to see them here, and then, regarding them, laughed merrily, and then, suddenly aware of her location and the press behind her in the now-narrowed passageway, admitting now only a single file, she turned about, and seized the small gate to her right, to slip through it.

She jerked at the gate, and then jerked at it, again.

It was locked.

She pulled at the gate, again and again, frantically.

Then she uttered a long, wild scream of terror, of protest, and was swept forward in the shoot by the press of the moving cattle.

Her screaming could be heard further down the shoot.

Her bell still rang.

"We cannot get through these bodies!” said Cabot. “We must go back, go around!"

"There will not be time!” cried the slave.

Cabot raced back down the ramp, the slave hurrying after him.

"No, no, no!” they heard, weird and shrill, then fainter and fainter, the screams behind them, as they raced down the ramp.

The throat of the Lady Bina, of course, was not constructed to utter Kur, nor would she know much of that language, saving perhaps to recognize some words addressed to her, and what Kurii might be in the facility would be unlikely to have translators, or, even, if so, would not be likely to have them switched on, as there would be no need for such devices here, for there was nothing human in the vicinity, or, perhaps more carefully put, nothing in the vicinity which was both human and speeched.

"There must be a way to the place of slaughter,” cried Cabot, looking wildly about.

"There, there, Master!” cried the slave, pointing dozens of yards away, forward and to their left, to a side wall. A high ladder was there, fixed against the wall, which must have been a hundred or more feet high, and led, it seemed, to a closed ceiling. Descending this ladder were two Kurii.

"Good!” said Cabot.

The first Kur, he who had been farthest down the ladder, then leapt to the floor, and, crouching, viewed Cabot and the girl. Its ears were lifted and rotated toward them. Its eyes, like dark moons in the great building's dim light, regarded them. Then, as it rested on its knuckles, its hind legs scratched at the wooden floor.

"It is surprised, and not pleased,” said Cabot.

"It thinks we wandered from the pens,” said Lita.

"No,” said Cabot. “We are clothed."

"It will attack,” she whispered.

"Presumably,” said Cabot, stringing his bow. “Presumably, and with confidence."

The second Kur then dropped down to the floor, scuffled through sawdust, and joined his cohort.

"They are handlers, or herders,” said the slave. “They are not armed."

"Neither is a larl or sleen,” said Cabot.

The first Kur began to shuffle toward them, sidewise, keeping his head to them.

It stopped some fifty feet from them.

"It is grinning,” said Cabot. Cabot switched on his translator. “Keep away,” he said to the Kur.

The Kur remained immobile.

"Where is the place of slaughter?” asked Cabot.

"You are cattle,” said the Kur.

"Where is the place of slaughter?” asked Cabot, again.

"I will take you there,” said the Kur. “And hang you with the others."

Cabot then loosed the shaft from the great bow.

"He is strong,” mused Cabot, for the Kur was still on its feet. He then walked about the Kur, who stood very still.

"What is wrong?” came from Cabot's translator, as he picked up the second Kur's query addressed to the first.

"The stick, the little stick,” said the first Kur, and he turned slowly to his fellow.

The second Kur then began to back away.

Cabot turned to the first Kur. “We are not cattle,” he said.

The second Kur then turned about, suddenly, and fled, seized the ladder, and began to climb upward, rapidly.

He had managed, despite the desperation and rapidity with which he clambered upward, to ascend only thirty or forty feet on the wide rungs, when he pitched backward, to the floor.

Cabot put his bow, still strung, on his shoulder.

The first Kur regarded him.

"This, too, you see,” said Cabot, “is a place of slaughter."

"But you are human,” came from Cabot's translator.

"Yes, human,” said Cabot. Then he turned to the slave. “Hurry!” he said, and grasped the ladder.

He looked back, once, and saw the slave, climbing below him, and, down on the floor, in the sawdust, he saw the first Kur, fallen, inert.