Kur of Gor

Chapter, the Seventy-Seventh: WHAT OCCURRED LATER IN THE FOREST CAMP

"May I speak, Master?” she asked.

"And how are you to speak?” he asked.

"As I must,” she said, “as what I am, as a slave before her master."

"You may speak,” he said.

It was morning. She knelt before him. Her knees were in the position of a pleasure slave.

"How clever they are,” thought Cabot.

Cabot had his back to the gate, which he had opened.

"I will not whip her for that,” thought Cabot, “though I know what she is trying to do. Indeed, I think that within that extraordinarily tantalizing body which so stirs me, which I could almost hate for the effect it has on me, there lies concealed, unknown even to she herself, piteously needful, a pleasure slave."

"Master?” inquired the slave.

But Cabot was considering the delicacy, sensitivity, and beauty of her features, the clearness of her eyes, the sheen of her hair, still somewhat shorter than would be ideal for her marketing, and the sweet, tender, vulnerable femininity of her, to which she might not yet be fully reconciled, but which was she, and which would muchly improve her price; how wondrously, he thought, does the femininity of a woman emerge and manifest itself when she is collared, no longer needing to be hidden, or denied, no longer a source of embarrassment, shame, or regret, and how nicely on her lovely neck appeared that collar, his collar, close-fitting and locked. Yes, they should be slaves, he thought. And, he thought, too, while considering her various characteristics, which might appeal to buyers, though she is naive, confused, uncertain of herself, a stranger to herself, in some ways alien to herself, yet she has surely a fine, supple mind, quick, and, even, within its limits, those of Earth, educated. Such things add to a slave's value. To be sure, she was woefully ignorant of Gor, but so, too, are most Earth females brought to the Gorean markets. What need they to know, other than that they are slaves, and must please their masters? How beautiful she was! He decided he would keep her illiterate. Reading and writing was the province of free persons, not of such as she, a slave.

But she has a considerable intelligence, he thought, the sort of intelligence which a man can appreciate, the sort of intelligence he wants at his feet.

"Master?” she asked.

He sat cross-legged, regarding her. The ax lay beside him, at hand.

"You may speak,” he said.

In moments then, tears running down her cheeks, to her collar, and body, stammering, half-choked, words tumbling out one upon another, piteously, only half-coherently, she addressed her master, and as what she knew she was, a slave.

"Forgive me, Master!” she wept. “I was a miserable and foolish slave. I did not realize what I was doing. I felt abandoned! You did not take me with you! You left me in the camp! Better you had bound me, and whipped me, to hurry me before you! Better you had put me on a chain and dragged me behind you! I could not bear to be left behind! Could you not better have burdened me and struck me with switches if I lagged? I wanted so to go with you! You did not permit it! Had I not accompanied you before? Had you not taken me with you before? I wept, grieved, I was outraged, I would teach you you could not treat me in that fashion, you could not do that to me, not to me! I was not thinking clearly! I was foolish! I made a terrible mistake! I should have realized that it was your will, and that I am subject to your will, but I did not! I did a foolish and stupid thing! I ran away! Forgive me, Master! Please, forgive me!"

But Cabot listened to her, impassively.

"I did not understand I was in a collar,” she said. “I did not realize there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run. I did not understand then that there was no escape for me, nor for any girl in a collar! I was soon picked up by partisans, and found myself roped, and sequestered. After the resolution of the war I was taken to the habitats, where I was caged, as was fitting for me, caged, to await my master, and my fate. You are my master! Please, forgive me, Master!"

She put down her head, sobbing.

"Did you ever expect, on Earth, to be as you are now, before one such as I, speaking so?"

"No, Master,” she said.

"In the cage,” he said, “initially, you showed me too little respect. You did not assume first obeisance position. You did not speak to me appropriately, as a slave."

"Forgive me, Master,” she whispered.

Cabot had his back to the opened gate. The girl had her head down.

"Did you think you were still on Earth?” asked Cabot.

"Forgive me, Master."

"You were not on Earth,” he said.

"No, Master,” she whispered.

"In several respects,” said Cabot, “it seems you were insufficiently respectful."

"Yes, Master."

"Are you aware of the penalties for showing insufficient respect?"

"No, Master,” she said, “but I fear them."

"A slave,” said Cabot, “may speak the names of free persons in certain fashions, and in certain situations, obviously, such as ‘My master is Tarl Cabot', ‘I am the slave of Tarl Cabot', ‘Mistress Publia desires that you would call upon her', ‘Master Gordon desires your opinion on the breeding of a young female slave', ‘Master Clearchus has repaired the kaiila saddle', ‘It is expected that Master Turik's new coffle will arrive in the city tomorrow, by the tenth Ahn', and so on. But the slave does not address the master, or other free persons, by their own names, unless having permission to do so."

"Yes, Master."

"And that permission is rarely, if ever, granted."

"Yes, Master."

"Did your master give you that permission?"

"No, Master."

"And he will not do so."

"Yes, Master."

"The names of free persons are not to be soiled in such ways, by appearing on the lips of slaves."

"No, Master. Forgive me, Master."

"Your faults,” said Cabot, “are numerous and heinous."

"Yes, Master."

"Perhaps you think you are a free woman?"

"No, Master, I do not think I am a free woman!"

"What are you, then?"

"A slave, Master, a slave!"

"Anything else?"

"No, Master, only that! Nothing else. Only that!"

"And most seriously,” said Cabot, “and as you have acknowledged, you did something preposterously foolish, something incomprehensibly stupid, the seriousness of which I doubt you understood, something the gravity of which you, unfamiliar with your collar, no more than an ignorant, naive slut, fresh from Earth, newly under the whip, could perhaps not even have begun to comprehend, something foredoomed to failure, impossible of success, something fraught with inevitable and profound peril, something of which an informed, knowledgeable girl, aware of her collar, and its meaning, and the realities of her world, would not even dare to think."

"I was angry,” she said. “I was foolish. I made a terrible mistake. I did not know any better. I fled."

"What could you have accomplished, other than perhaps to fall into the power of another master?"

"Nothing, Master,” she said.

"Perhaps you thought you might escape,” said Cabot.

"I did not even think,” she whispered.

"There was no escape for you,” said Cabot.

"No, Master,” she said.

"I gather you now know that,” he said.

"Yes, Master,” she said. “I know that now. I am branded and collared, and am a slave. There is nowhere to run, nowhere to go. Even were I to escape one master I would fall to another. I am slave, and must remain so. This world will have it so."

"And so would Gor,” said Cabot.

"Gor?” she said.

"It is a world more beautiful than you can imagine,” said Cabot.

"And on that world would I, too, be a slave?"

"More securely and perfectly, and more helplessly, than you could conceive,” said Cabot. “On Gor they know what to do with Earth women."

"As on Earth they do not?"

"Yes,” said Cabot, “as on Earth they do not."

"Will you take me to Gor?"

"Perhaps,” said Cabot. “Certainly there are better markets for selling you on Gor."

"Selling me?"

"Yes,” said Cabot. “You are a slave."

"Please do not sell me, Master!” she cried, lifting her head.

But then, as she lifted her head, her eyes suddenly widened, and she flung a small hand before her mouth, and screamed, shrinking back.

Cabot turned, in an unhurried fashion, and picked up the ax, and rose to his feet, to face Flavion.

"My dear Flavion,” he said.

"Lord Flavion,” said Flavion.

Flavion carried a Kur ax. It was of solid metal, and of a piece. A human could not easily lift such a tool, let alone put it to practical use.

"I have been waiting for you,” said Cabot.

"You were a fool to not face the gate, and to leave it open,” said Flavion.

"How better to lure you within?” asked Cabot.

The slave, at a gesture from Cabot, scrambled, on all fours, to the side.

"You positioned the slave, that you might be warned,” said Flavion. The slave, it may be recalled, had faced the gate. But in her misery, distracted, sobbing, her head down, scarcely daring to raise her eyes from the dirt, she had not immediately detected the presence of the Kur.

"No,” said Cabot, “your left foot drags in the dirt. This scratching, this slow scuffling sound, which you so vainly tried to conceal, is as readily detected as the stroke of a broom, the dragging of a rake."

"The sleen let me pass,” said Flavion.

"Of course,” said Cabot. “You were once of this camp, and so you would be admitted, as before."

"You counted on that?"

"Certainly,” said Cabot.

"I could have killed it,” said Flavion, lifting the ax a bit.

"How easily he handles that tool,” thought Cabot.

"That is possible,” said Cabot, “if you knew it was about, were expecting an attack, and such."

"But I came through, without difficulty."

"As I wished,” said Cabot.

"I think you are mad,” said Flavion.

"Should you raise that weapon against me,” said Cabot, “you have repudiated the amnesty."

"You are a fool,” said Flavion, “to rely on the amnesty for your security. Do you truly think I would fear to violate it, here, far from the habitats, here, in the forest?"

"My intention,” said Cabot, “is not to rely on the amnesty for my security, but rather that matters be so arranged that I may see it explicitly repudiated."

"None will know,” said Flavion, “or none who matter,” he added, glancing to the slave, crouched fearfully to the side.

"Run!” cried Cabot to the slave, and pointed to the opened gate.

With a cry of misery she sprang to her feet and ran toward the gate.

Flavion intercepted her, seizing one arm by which she was swung about, and hurled yards away, tumbling over and over in the dirt.

Doubtless Cabot wished that the slave might have reached the safety of the forest, a desiderated outcome, where she might, a fleet, collared human female, have managed to elude a lame Kur, but he was not surprised when she failed to do so.

He had, of course, gathered some intelligence from her attempt. The Kur, despite his lameness, had moved with great agility. This was noted by Cabot, and gave him a better idea of what he might expect from such a foe.

"Ah, dear Flavion,” said Cabot, “you are quicker than I might have supposed."

"Lord Flavion,” said Flavion.

Cabot shrugged, and watched while Flavion went to the gate, swung it shut, and secured it shut. It would take some moments to undo that latching.

Flavion then stood before the gate, his back to it, and regarded Cabot.

"You are a fool to have come here alone,” said Flavion. The slave, of course, did not count.

"I did not think you would care to resume your games amongst the habitats,” said Cabot.

"If necessary, I would have,” said Flavion. “I owe you much."

"Was it you who threw a knife, in a feast?” asked Cabot.

"That would not have been enough for me,” said Flavion. “That cast was flung to a wall by a drunken rowdy, to test the balance of a throwing blade, offered to him by another rowdy, another drunken ruffian, for a coin, both killer humans. I feared only it might strike you."

"I appreciate your solicitude,” said Cabot.

Killer humans, successful in the arena, were awarded coins, with which they might purchase women, commonly penned naked within their view, prizes awaiting the victorious. This is not that unusual on Gor, either, I am told, that a successful arena fighter, say, may be awarded a lovely slave. On Gor, however, as I understand it, she is not purchased but bestowed, rather as might be a wreath, or a piece of gold. The killer humans, then, had this additional difference, or advantage, that they might, out of a pool of women, buy she who might most please them. The female, of course, had no choice as to who might purchase them, no more than other slaves. They could, of course, through the bars, attempt to interest one male more than another, hoping that he might then spend his coins accordingly. Gorean slaves, exhibited on slave shelves, often behave similarly, eager to be purchased by a particular master, perhaps a handsome fellow whose eye they hope to catch. And their owners, the merchants, might upon occasion indicate a particular fellow in the crowd, who looks well robed and affluent, to be accosted with posings, assurances of pleasure, the customary “Buy me, Master,” solicitation, and such. To be sure, the master's choice might not be the slave's choice, but she does not wish to feel his whip either. The women of the killer humans, it might be noted, were not expended in the arena, nor trained in any form of combat or weaponry. They existed merely to encourage greater diligence and zest in the males, that they might have an additional motivation for success in the arena. They were commonly taught to go to all fours before males, to be neck-roped, and such. They were subject, like cattle, to the will of the male. It maybe recalled that Cestiphon, the leader of his group of killer humans, had four such women. The killer humans, now, of course, the males, were no longer arena animals matched for the sport of Kurii. They were now, the males, free men, dangerous, formidable, and armed. No longer pitted against one another in blood sport they had become comrades in arms. Many would in time seek their fortunes on Gor. The women, of course, as suggested earlier, were to be much improved by the refinements of civilization, cleanliness, grooming, brands, collars and such. The filth, neck-ropes, and sticks of their savage condition had now been well superseded. For example, a collar and chain is a considerable improvement over a neck-rope, which might be chewed through. In time Cabot did not doubt but what many of the women of the killer humans, who were very lovely, would be indistinguishable on a slaver's necklace from their hitherto more-civilized sisters. After the loosing of the killer humans in the revolution coins would be of less import as the women might then, man against man, or group against group, be fought for openly. The number of women on a fellow's rope, or a group's rope, would then become a mark of prestige, rather as the number of kaiila in one's herd, or in one's tribe's herds, would become a mark of wealth and status amongst the warriors of the Red Savages. To be sure, they might also keep white women, in their beaded collars, identifying their masters, as slaves. Coins, of course, were not now unknown, either, amongst the killer humans. Many a slain Kur's pouch had been rifled for such goods.

"Do you think you can stand against a Kur, with an ax?” asked Flavion.

"I do not know,” said Cabot.

"First,” said Flavion, “I will cut off your left foot, that in vengeance for what you did to mine. Then I will cut off your right foot. Then your left hand, and then your right hand. I will try to staunch the bleeding, for a time. Then, when it pleases me, and I am tired of your screams and pleas, I will open your stomach and hang you from the gate by your own intestines."

"I am impressed,” said Cabot, “that you have given some thought to the matter."

"A great deal of careful and delicious thought,” said Flavion. “I owe you much."

"Spare the slave,” said Cabot.

"Who would kill an animal, which has some value?” asked Flavion.

"Indeed,” agreed Cabot.

"She is, I gather,” said Flavion, “the sort of thing which is not without interest to human males."

"To some human males,” said Cabot.

The animal was to the side. She had risen to all fours, and was regarding the males fearfully.

"I have ascertained, from human males,” said Flavion, “men of Peisistratus, that she might well bring in the neighborhood of two silver tarsks."

"Perhaps on a good day,” said Cabot.

"Too,” said Flavion, “I gather that such things have been done to her that she, no longer capable of controlling herself, will now leap obediently in the arms of any human male."

"Commanded, properly caressed,” said Cabot.

A sob escaped the slave.

"It is true,” said Cabot to her, sharply.

"Yes, Master,” she said.

"She is a slave,” said Cabot, matter-of-factly.

"I will take her to Gor with me, to sell her,” said Flavion.

"You must obtain her, first,” said Cabot.

"Of course,” said Flavion.

"I see you have your pouch,” said Flavion. “And there is a pack, too, if I am not mistaken. Perhaps you have some rubies left, from the trial of Lord Pyrrhus."

"Yes,” said Cabot, “several."

"Why not offer them to me, to buy your life?” suggested Flavion.

"Would they suffice?” inquired Cabot.

"Who knows?” said Flavion.

"To what purpose might they be put?” asked Cabot.

"On Gor,” said Flavion, “we will form a new enclave of Kurii, unreconciled adherents of Lord Agamemnon."

"You will join them?"

"I will lead them."

"As rubies are rare,” said Cabot, “and valuable, I doubt that you would choose to dispose of them here, in the world. There might be questions raised, as to their provenance, whence they were obtained, such things."

"True,” said Flavion. “But on Gor, you see, they will be unquestioned, and, on a street of coins, will have great value."

"You, and some others, then, will buy passage to Gor?"

"I, and several,” said Flavion. “Do not fear, we have the coins. We find ourselves unwelcome in the habitats. Political reservations obtain against us. Gor will be better for us, more open, providing some advantages denied us here, affording us greater opportunities for political activity, more scope for intrigue and ambition. In our plans the rubies will obviously have their role."

"But you must obtain them, first,” said Cabot.

"Of course,” said Flavion, “but I anticipate no difficulty in that regard."

"I would suppose that there must be already on Gor some such enclaves as you mention, doubtless established there in the past by Agamemnon, long before the war, to assist in his several projects."

"For a human, you are perceptive,” said Flavion.

"You will make contact with them?"

"Certainly."

"But will form, as well, a new enclave."

"Of course,” said Flavion, “for I must be first, I must be leader."

"Lord Flavion?” said Cabot.

"Yes,” said Flavion. “Lord Flavion."

"Shall we adjudicate our differences now?” inquired Cabot.

"Would you not like, first, to kneel before me, offer me rubies, plead for your life, and such?"

"No,” said Cabot.

"If you plead nicely, I might be persuaded to finish you quickly,” said Flavion.

"Let us fight,” said Cabot.

"I will have you on your knees quickly enough,” said Flavion, “when your feet have been cut off."

"Let us proceed,” said Cabot.

"Be patient with me, dear Cabot,” said Flavion. “I have waited a long time for this moment."

"You seem confident of the outcome,” said Cabot.

"No human can stand against a Kur, with the ax,” said Flavion. “How unfortunate for you that power weapons have been outlawed in the world."

"Let us fight,” said Cabot.

"Very well,” said Flavion. He then looked to the slave, to the side.

"Chain her,” he said.

Cabot went to the slave, and pulled her to her feet, his hand on her left arm. He dragged her to the post of discipline. “Please, no, Master!” she begged. That she, a slave, had dared to speak, angered him. He struck the ax lightly into the post, that its handle was within an easy grasp, and it was lightly held in the wood. He then turned the back of the slave to Flavion, so that he could see him. He was some yards away, behind the ashes of the fire, and the gate was some yards behind him. Cabot then took the hair of the slave in his left hand and held her head up, before him. Her eyes were wide with disbelief. Did she not know she had spoken without permission? He then, sharply, cuffed her thrice, first her left cheek, and then, with the back of his hand, her right cheek, and then with the palm of his hand, her left cheek, again, the triple cuffing, a common cuffing for a slave. He then turned her about and thrust her, belly to the wood, against the post. In a moment, passing the slave bracelets through the high ring, he had fastened her to the post, her hands above her head. He then freed the ax easily, and returned to his side of the fire pit. She jerked at the bracelets, again and again, futilely, in misery, and frustration. How well she was held in place, the steel snugly encircling her small wrists! Cabot and Flavion, who was well pleased, measured one another. The slave, helplessly fastened, looked over her left shoulder, to see what events might ensue, events of great consequence to her, but events on which she, as is commonly the case with slaves, was absolutely incapable of exerting the least influence. She would await the outcome, as the tethered animal she was.

Cabot had come to the forest camp, that Flavion would follow. He had little doubt that Flavion would act, sooner or later, and thought it best to bring the matter to a conclusion sooner rather than later. After Flavion dealt with him, Cabot had little doubt but what Lord Grendel would be next, either in the habitats, or not. Thus, in a way, Cabot hoped to protect his friend. Certainly Lord Grendel would not violate the amnesty by killing Flavion without provocation, nor, indeed, would Cabot. For example, it would presumably have been easy enough for Cabot, bow in hand, and a quiver filled with the birds of death, to have slain Flavion days ago, in the forest. But that, obviously, would have violated the amnesty. This business has to do then, rather clearly, with a sense of honor, well acted upon, or not. Accordingly, it was important to Cabot that Flavion be the first to violate the amnesty, and thus voluntarily deprive himself of its sheltering. Whereas Cabot was familiar with the ax, from Torvaldsland, he was uncertain of his ability to withstand the onslaught of the mighty ax of the Kurii, which a human could scarcely lift, in the grip of a Kur. His uncertainty, as it proved, was more than justified.

A Kur smile, grimacelike, contorted the broad muzzle of Flavion, and moist fangs protruded from the sides of his jaw.

"I have waited long for this,” said Flavion.

Cabot moved to Flavion's left, and Flavion lurched after him.

Flavion's ax was some seven feet in length, and outreached that of Cabot by some two feet. Too, it was of solid metal, and the blades were forged from the haft itself.

A swift flight of this mighty tool swept toward Cabot and he sprang back. Such a blow would have cut off two legs. It could have split apart the palings of the stockade, could have shattered the gate of the compound into a dozen pieces.

"You cannot escape,” said Flavion, grinning, lurching after Cabot. “How long can you run, little thing? Do you call that little stick you carry an ax? You cannot even reach me with it! You are human! I am Kur! Close with me! Close with me! Hold still! Stand! Fight!"

Cabot circled, as he could, to the left, looking for an opening, but now Flavion held the ax more closely, was more guarded in his movements, in his strokes, even poked at Cabot, trying to force him backward, to fall, or to pin him against the palings.

The slave, braceleted at the post, jerked and jerked at the snug steel on her wrists. The links of the chain joining the bracelets scraped again and again at the iron ring, and pulled futilely against it, but her frenzied efforts were not in the least availing. The steel, the links, the ring, the post, such things, were not designed to concede the least possibility of escape to their selected prisoners. They are designed to hold them, and do hold them, with perfection.

She sobbed, and screamed, and jerked at the bracelets, and was helpless, a slave, fastened in place, as masters would have her.

Cabot lifted his ax above his head, such a comparatively tiny, frail thing, to hold back the haft of Flavion's pressing ax, and Cabot was forced down, to one knee, miserably, and then he rolled to the side, and Flavion's struck at him sidewise and a great shower of dirt leapt from the ground, scattering even to the post where the slave was fastened. She turned her head aside, against the dust, and then, tears streaming down her face, turned again, to look with terror and horror upon the battle.

Again Flavion, lurching about, was stalking Cabot.

"I am Kur. You are human. I am Kur!” chanted Flavion.

Flavion's great blade again swung in a mighty arc and Cabot caught it on the double head of his own ax, and a blast of sparks burst into the air, and the head of Cabot's ax hung in its bindings, loose, against the haft of his ax. Cabot lifted the ax, again, the head dangling, and a second blow broke the haft of his ax, and tore it from his hands, and Cabot, defenseless, the head of the ax, and the parts of the ax, in the dirt, yards away, stood at bay.

Flavion then stood in the compound, grinning, and lifted his ax. “I am Kur!” he said. “You are human! I am Kur!"

At that moment there was a terrible sound, a crashing and splintering of wood, and then another such crashing and splintering, and then another, and Cabot backed away, and looked wildly behind him. The sound came from the back of the compound, opposite the gate. Then, to his amazement, he saw parts of palings thrust to the side, and there was a mighty roar, and a terrible figure stepped into the compound through the great, jagged, wrought aperture in the wall.

"I am Kur!” it cried, in a terrible voice.

"Lord Grendel!” cried Cabot.