Kur of Gor

Chapter, the Seventh: CABOT LEARNS SOMETHING OF AGAMEMNON, THE ELEVENTH FACE OF THE NAMELESS ONE

"If you would accompany me, Warrior,” said Peisistratus, “I will conduct you to the audience chamber of Agamemnon, who is the Eleventh Face of the Nameless One."

"You know that I am of the Warriors,” said Cabot.

"Yes,” he said.

"How would you know that?"

"You carry yourself as one of the scarlet caste,” he said.

Grendel had left the vestibule.

"Where is the brunette slave?” asked Cabot.

"The pathetic, ignorant slut of the stable?"

"Yes."

"I do not know."

"How is it that you, a human, are here?"

"I am well paid,” he said.

"The Kurii pay well?"

"Very well,” he said.

"In what tender?"

"Power,” said he, “and precious metals, and jewels, and slaves. To those who serve them well the Kurii are generous."

"And to those who do not serve them well?"

"To them,” said Peisistratus, “they are less generous."

"What is your role here, in this moment, now?” inquired Cabot.

"It is supposed that I may be of assistance in your meeting with the noble and exalted Agamemnon, the Eleventh Face of the Nameless One. Amongst Kurii and humans communication is often difficult, even with translators."

"Agamemnon is Kur?"

"I am not sure,” said Peisistratus.

"How is that?"

"I have seen only his bodies,” said Peisistratus.

"I do not understand."

"He does not care to be kept waiting,” said Peisistratus.

"Let him wait,” said Cabot.

"That is not wise,” said Peisistratus, uneasily.

"Who is the Nameless One?” asked Cabot.

"A principle, a force, something inexplicable, something beyond human comprehension,” said Peisistratus. “It is eternal, neither coming into being nor passing out of being. It scatters worlds like the petals of flowers, it shapes dimensions and brews stars."

Cabot listened, uncertain of what he heard.

"You do not understand?"

"No,” said Cabot.

"Nor do I,” said Peisistratus, “but the words flicker in the darkness, affording to some an illusion of understanding, a measure of comfort."

"Do they not, rather, in their futility, make the darkness yet more obscure?"

"And behind the Nameless One,” smiled Peisistratus, “lies the Mystery."

"I prefer a sword,” said Cabot, “and something before it, friend or foe."

"And perhaps hot paga,” said Peisistratus, “and ships, and tarns, and a wallet of gold, and at your feet, in your collar, beautiful women?"

"Yes,” said Cabot.

"Let us be on our way,” urged Peisistratus.

"How is this Agamemnon the Eleventh Face of the Nameless One?” asked Cabot. “What does that mean?"

"The Nameless One,” said Peisistratus, “is beyond human comprehension, but it speaks through many masks, conceals itself behind many veils, and manifests itself through a thousand faces. It moves in the wind, in the churning sea, in the sheetings of rain, in the cry of lightning, in the tremors of the earth; it whispers in lava scalding the affrighted air; it prowls with the panther; it soars with the tarn; it bounds with the startled tabuk."

"And Agamemnon?"

"Is one of the faces of the Nameless One,” said Peisistratus.

"Surely you do not believe all this,” said Cabot.

"It does not matter what I believe, or what you believe,” said Peisistratus. “Many Kurii believe such things, and, I fear, so, too, does Agamemnon."

"Then he is insane,” said Cabot.

"The singleness and indivisible will of the insane, coupled with great intellect and ambition,” said Peisistratus, “have not unoften been the route to unusual power."

"He thinks, as I understand it,” said Cabot, “he is a face of the Nameless One."

"Yes."

"Then he is insane,” said Cabot.

"Unless, of course,” said Peisistratus, “he is correct."

"Yes,” said Cabot, “unless he is correct."

"To the audience chamber?” said Peisistratus.

"Yes,” said Cabot.