Savages of Gor

16 The Kur; I Meet Waniyanpi; I Hear of the Lady Mira

"It occurred here," said Grunt, "obviously."

We looked down from the rise, onto the valley below.

"I had thought it would be worse," I said. I remembered the grisly aftermath ofthe attack on the Hobarts' men.

Below us there lay little more, seemingly, than overturned and scattered wagons,some burned. Harness was cut. The carcass of a draft tharlarion, here and there,loomed in the grass. Most of the animals, however, had apparently been cut freeand driven away.

"It could be worse than you think," said Grunt. "Much death might lie about inthe grass."

"Perhaps," I said.

Yet there seem few scavengers," he said.

I looked behind us. The red-haired girl, first in the coffle, stood near us. Theother girls, then, and the Hobarts, in their place, came up with her.

We had forgotten them, in coming over the rise, in seeing the wagons. Now thereseemed little purpose in warning them back. Too, it did not seem as sickening aswe had feared, what lay before us.

"The attack presumably did not take place at dawn," said Grunt, "and,presumably, it would not have occurred late in the day."

"Your surmise is based on the scattering of the wagons," I said, "that they arenot defensively circled, but are aligned, as for the march."

"Yes," said Grunt.

"And the attack would not take place late in the day," I said, "because of thepossibility of survivors escaping under the cover of darkness."

"That is it," said Grunt. "It is my speculation that the wagons were beingopened and aligned for the march."

"If that is true," I said, "we should find the remains of evening fires, largecooking fires, with circled stones, near the wagons, not the absence of fires,nor the smaller remains of midday fires."

"Yes," said Grunt.

We then began to move our kaiila down the rise, toward the wagons. There wereseveral of them. Some were turned awry; some were overturned, and some stoodmute and stark in their tracks, unattended, as though waiting to be utilized,the grass about their axles, the heavy beams of their tongues sloping to theearth. Most of the wagons were charred to one extent or another. In none was thecanvas covering intact. It had either been torn away or burned. The curvedsupports for the canvas, which were metal, in most cases remained. Against thesky they had a macabre, skeletal appearance, not unlike exposed ribs. Theirregular line of the wagons extended for something like a pasang. As we camecloser we could see, here and there, and sometimes within the wagons, discardedand shattered objects. Chests had been overturned and broken open. I saw a dollin the grass and a man's boot. Flour from rent sacks had been scattered on thegrass.

"There are the remains here of evening fires," I said, moving the kaiila pastsome circles of stones.

"Yes," said Grunt. These fires presumably would have been within the wagoncircle. The attack, then, it seemed clear, would have occurred in the morning,probably during, or shortly after, the hitching up of the draft tharlarion. Thenumber of cut harnesses suggested the second alternative. Here and there I sawan arrow in the grass. The comparative fixity of these objects, almost upright,leaning, slim and firm, contrasted with the movement of the grass which, in thewind, bent and rustled about them.

The kaiila suddenly, with a snort, shifted to the right. I kept the saddle. Irestrained the beast, forcibly. I jerked the reins to the left and kicked back,into the silken flanks of the animal.

"What is it?" asked Grunt.

I was looking down, into the grass.

"What is it that you see in the grass?" asked Grunt.

"Death," I said. "But no common death."

I threw the reins to Grunt, and dismounted. "Stay back," I warned the girls.

I examined what was left of the body.

"No Fleer or Yellow Knife did that," said Grunt.

"No," I said.

The head was lacerated, but the wounds were superficial. The throat, however,had been bitten through. The left leg was gone.

"It must have been a survivor," said Grunt "The body is clothed. He must havebeen returning to the wagons, perhaps to search for food."

"I think so," I said.

"Then a wild sleen must have caught him," said Grunt.

"The sleen is primarily nocturnal," I said. I had seen such things before. I didnot think the body bore the marks of a sleen.

"So?" said Grunt.

"Look," I said. Between my thumb and forefinger there was a dark, viscous stain.

I wiped my fingers on the grass.

"I see," said Grunt. "Too," said he, "note the torn earth. It is still black.

Grass uprooted near the body, there, has not dried yet. It is still green."

"Put a quarrel in your guide," I advised him. It seemed reasonably clear thisattack had occurred within the Ahn.

Grunt looped the reins of my kaiila over the pommel of his saddle.

I stood up, and looked about me.

I heard Grunt arm his bow, drawing back the stout cable, his foot in the bowstirrup, then slotting the quarrel into the guide.

I shuddered, and quickly mounted the kaiila, taking back the reins from Grunt. Iwas pleased to be again in the saddle. Mobility is important in the Barrens.

Too, the height considerably increases one's scanning range.

"It is still here, somewhere," I said. I glanced to Grunt's bow. He would have,presumably, but one shot with it.

"What is it?" asked Grunt. "A beast, one of the sort which you seek?"

"I think so," I said. "Too, I think that it, like the other fellow, is asurvivor. That it has lingered in the vicinity of the wagons suggests to me thatit, too, was wounded."

"It will be, then, extremely dangerous," said Grunt.

"Yes," I said. Certainly pain, hunger and desperation would not render any suchbeast the less dangerous.

A few feet to the left of the kaiila there was a keg of sugar, which had beensplit open. A trail of sugar, some four inches wide, some three or four yardslong, drained through the split lid, had been run out behind it. It had probablybeen carried under someone's arm. This trove was the object of the patientindustry of ants, thousands of them, from perhaps a hundred hills about. Itwould be the prize, doubtless, in small and unrecorded wars.

Grunt and I moved our kaiila forward. Behind us I heard the red-haired girlvomit in the grass. She had passed too closely to the body.

"Look!" cried Grunt. "There, ahead!"

"I see it," I cried.

"Do they not care to defend themselves?" he inquired.

"Hurry." I said, urging the kaiila forward.

We raced ahead. We were some half pasang beyond the line of strewn, charredwagons behind us. We now approached other wagons, but scattered about. Thesewere the wagons for which I had earlier sought in vain, the smaller, squarishwagons, which bad been with the mercenary column. They, too, seemed broken. Twowere overturned. Some had been burned to the wagon bed, others missed a roof ora roof and wall. To none of them were harnessed tharlarion. Given their distancefrom the other wagons and their distribution in the grass I took it that theyhad broken their column and sped away, as best they might They had not had thetime, or the presence of mind, perhaps, to form a defensive barrier.

Near some three of these wagons there was a small group of figures, perhaps somefifteen or twenty men. One stood out a bit from the others. It was he who wasmost obviously threatened by the brown, looming shape, which had apparentlyemerged from the grass near them. I did not know if they bad disturbed thebeast, or if it lad been moving towards them, until then, at its choice, unseen.

The man held a shovel, but he had not raised it to defend himself. His posturedid not seem brave, but rather phlegmatic. Could it be he did not understand hisdanger?

"Hurry!" I cried to the kaiila.

The paws of Grunt's beast thundered beside my own. "He is insane!" cried Grunt.

The beast itself seemed puzzled, uncertain, regarding the man.

Never before, perhaps, had it found itself viewed with such incomprehension.

The men wore gray garments, open at the bottom, which fell between the knee andankle.

The beast turned its head suddenly to face us. In less than a handful of Ehn Ipulled up the kaiila, rearing and squealing, between the beast and the man.

The beast snarled and took a step backward. I saw that it was neither Kog norSardak.

"Get back!" I warned the men.

Obediently they all, including the fellow who had been most forward, drew back.

I did not take my eyes from the beast. It raised one darkly stained paw. Thehair between the digits was matted and stuck together. I supposed this was fromthe kill a pasang or so back.

I backed the kaiila a step or two from the beast. "Back away," I told the men.

They obeyed.

The fur of the beast was rent and thick, here and there, with clotted blood. Ithink, more than once, it might have been struck with lances. It had perhapslost consciousness in the grass, from the loss of blood, and had been left fordead. It was not the sort of thing the red savages would mutilate. They wereunfamiliar with it. They would presumably classify it with sleen or urts, notmen.

The beast, snarling, took a step forward.

"It is going to attack," said Grunt. "I can kill it," he said. He raised thecrossbow.

"Do not fire," I said.

Grunt did not discharge the weapon.

"Look at it," I said.

The beast regarded Grunt, and then myself. Its lips curled back over the doublering of white fangs.

"It is showing contempt for us," I said.

"Contempt?" said Grunt, puzzled.

"Yes," I said. "You see, he is not similarly armed."

"It is a beast," said Grunt. But he lowered the weapon.

"It is a Kur," I said.

The beast then backed away from us, snarling. After a few feet it turned anddropped to all fours, moving through the grass. It did not look back.

I moved the kaiila a few feet forward, to where it had originally stood in thegrass. I wished to study the pattern of grasses there. Then I returned to whereGrunt, and the others, were waiting.

"You should have let me kill it," said Grunt.

"Perhaps," I said.

"Why did you not have me fire?" asked Grunt.

"It has to do with codes," I said.

"Who are you, truly?" asked Grunt.

"One to whom codes were once familiar," I said, "one by whom they have neverbeen completely forgotten."

I brought my kaiila about, and before the fellow who had been most obviouslythreatened by the beast.

"I feared there might be violence," he said.

"I have examined the grass, whence the beast arose," I said. "It had beenapproaching you, unseen. It was stalking you."

"I am Pumpkin," he said. "Peace and light, and tranquility, and contentment andgoodness be unto you."

"It was stalking you," I said, the kaiila moving uneasily beneath me.

"Sweetness be unto you," said the fellow.

"Did you not realize the danger in which you stood? I asked. "You could havebeen killed."

"It is fortunate, then, that you intervened," be said.

"Are you so brave," I asked, "that you faced the beast so calmly?"

"What is life? What is death?" he asked. "Both are unimportant."

I looked at the fellow, puzzled. Then I looked, too, to the others, standingabout. I saw now they wore gray dresses, probably their only garments. The hemsof these dresses fell between their knees and their ankles. Men, they appearedungainly and foolish in these garments. Their shoulders were slumped. Their eyeswere spiritless and empty. Rags were bound about their feet. I saw, however, tomy interest, that two of them now held feathered lances.

I looked again to the fellow who had been most threatened by the beast.

"Sweetness be unto you," he said, smiling.

I saw then that he had not been brave. It had been only that he had little tolive for. Indeed, I wondered if he had been courting destruction. He had noteven raised his shovel to defend himself.

"Who are you?" I asked these fellows.

"We are joyful dung," said one of the fellows, "enriching and beautifying theearth."

"We are sparkles on the water, making the streams pretty," said another.

"We are flowers growing in the fields," said another.

"We are nice," said another.

"We are good," said another.

I then again regarded he who seemed to be foremost among them, he who had calledhimself Pumpkin.

"You are leader here?" I asked.

"No, no!" he said. "We are all the same. We are sames! We are not not-the-sames!" In this moment he had showed emotion, fear. He moved back,putting himself with the others.

I regarded them.

"We are all equal," he said. "We are all the same."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"We must be equal," he said. "It is the teaching."

"Is the teaching true?" I asked.

"Yes," said the man.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"It is the test of truth," he said.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"It is in the teaching," he said.

"Your teaching, then," I said, "is a circle, unsupported, floating in the air."

"The teaching does not need support," said the fellow. "It is in and of itself: It is a golden circle, self-sustained and eternal."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"It is in the teaching itself," said a fellow.

"What of your reason?" I asked. "Do you have any use for it?"

"Reason is very precious," said a fellow.

"Properly understood and employed it is fully compatible with the teaching, and,in its highest office, exists to serve the teaching."

"What, then, of the evidence of your senses?" I asked. "The senses arenotoriously untrustworthy," said one of the fellows.

"What in the senses might seem to confirm the teaching may be kept," said one ofthem. "What might, mistakenly, seem incompatible with the teaching is to bedisregarded."

"What arguments, or what sorts of evidence, if it could be produced," I asked,"might you take as indicating the falsity of the teaching?"

"Nothing is to be permitted to indicate the falsity of the teaching," said thefellow who had been foremost among them.

"That is in the teaching," explained another one of them.

"A teaching which cannot be disconfirmed cannot be confirmed, either," I said.

"A teaching which cannot, even in theory, be disconfirmed is not true, butempty. If the world cannot speak to it, it does not speak of the world. Itspeaks of nothing. It is babble, twaddle as vacant as it is vain and inane."

"These are deep matters," said the fellow I had taken to be their leader. "Asthey are not in the teaching, we need not concern ourselves with them."

"Are you happy?" I asked. Verbal formulas, even vacuous ones, like music ormedicine, I knew, might have empirical effects. So, too, of course, tight havetruncheons and green fruit.

"Oh, yes," said the first fellow quickly. "We are wondrously happy."

"Yes," said several of the others.

"Sweetness be unto you," said another.

"You do not seem happy," I said. I had seldom seen a more tedious, bedraggled,limp set of organisms.

"We are happy," insisted one of them.

"True happiness," said another, "is keeping the Teaching."

I drew forth my blade, suddenly, and drew it back, as though to slash at theforemost fellow. He lifted his head and turned his neck toward me. "Peace, andlight, and tranquility, and contentment and goodness, be unto you," he said.

"Interesting," I said, thrusting the blade back in my scabbard.

"Death holds few terrors for those who have never known life," said Grunt. — "What is life? What is death?" asked the fellow. "Both are unimportant."

"If you do not know what they are," I said, "perhaps you should not prejudge theissue of theft importance."

I looked over to the two fellows who held the feathered lances. "Where did youfind those lances?" I asked.

"In the grass," said one of them. "They were lost in the battle."

"Was it your intention to use them, to defend yourselves from the beast?" Iasked.

"No," said the fellow. "Of course not."

"You would prefer to be eaten?" I asked.

"Resistance is not permitted," said the fellow.

"Fighting is against the teaching," said the other fellow, he with the secondlance.

"We abhor violence," added another.

"You lifted the lances," I said. "What were you going to do with them?"

"We thought you might wish to fight the beast," said one. "Thusly, in thatinstance, we would have tendered you a lance."

"And for whom," I asked, "Was the second lance?"

"For the beast," said the fellow with the first lance.

"We would not have wanted to anger it," said the fellow with the second lance.

"You would let others do your fighting for you," I asked, "and you would haveabided the outcome?"

"Yes," said the fellow with the first lance. "Not all of us are as noble andbrave as Pumpkin."

"Who are these people?" I asked Grunt.

"They are Waniyanpi," said Grunt. "They have the values of cowards, and ofidiots and vegetables."

The coffle, by now, had approached. I noted that none of the Waniyanpi liftedtheir eyes to assess the scantily clad loveliness of Grunt's chained properties.

I again regarded Pumpkin who seemed, despite his denial, first among them.

"To whom do you belong?" I asked.

"We belong to Kaiila," said Pumpkin.

"You are far from home," I said.

"Yes," said Pumpkin.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"We have been brought here to cleanse the field," he said. "We are to bury thedead and dismantle and burn the wagons, disposing likewise of similar debris."

"You must have been marched here long before the battle," I said.

"Yes," said Pumpkin.

"Did you see the battle?" I asked.

"No," said Pumpkin. "We were forced to lie on our stomachs, with our eyesclosed, our limbs held as though bound, watched over by a boy."

"To guard you?" I asked.

"No, to protect us from animals," said Pumpkin.

"To the west," I said, "among the other wagons, there is a part of a body."

"We will find it," said Pumpkin.

"The field is mostly cleared," said Grunt. "There must have been other groups ofWaniyanpi here, as well."

"That is true," said Pumpkin.

"Are they still about?" asked Grunt, nervously.

"I do not know," said Pumpkin. The object of Grunt's concern, potent as it was,did not occur to me at the time.

"How many of the large wagons, such as those to the west, were there?" I asked.

"Something over one hundred of them," said Pumpkin.

"How many of these smaller, squarish wagons, such as this one, were there?" Iasked, indicating the remains of the nearest wagon, one of those, which had beenwith the mercenary column.

"Seventeen," said Pumpkin.

This information pleased me. There had been seventeen such wagons with theoriginal column. They were, thus, all accounted for. The beasts, which hadinhabited them, presumably one to a wagon, given the territoriality andirritability of the Kur, presumably would then have been afoot. Most then,presumably, might have been slain.

"How many graves have you, and the other Waniyanpi, dug?" I asked.

"Over one thousand," he said.

I whistled. The losses had been high, indeed.

"And you must understand," said Grunt, "the savages clear the field of their owndead."

For a moment I was stunned.

"It was a rout, and a massacre," said Grunt. "That much we learned from CornStalks."

"How many of the graves," I asked Pumpkin, "were those of settlers, those fromthe large wagons?"

"Something over four hundred," said Pumpkin. He looked back to the others forcorroboration.

"Yes," said more than one.

"The settlers must have been wiped out, almost to a man," said Grunt.

I nodded. The first attack had presumably taken place there, on that part of thecolumn. Too, they would have been less able, presumably, to defend themselvesthan the soldiers.

"Something in the neighborhood of six hundred soldiers then fell," said Grunt.

"Yes," said Pumpkin.

"Yes," said another of the fellows behind him.

"That is extremely interesting," I said to Grunt. "It would seem to follow thatsome four hundred of the soldiers escaped."

"That they did not fall on the field does not mean that they did not fall," saidGrunt. "They may have been pursued and slain for pasangs across the prairie."

"The wagons seem to have been muchly looted," I said. "Our friends may havepaused for plunder. Too, I do not know if their style of warfare is well fittedto attack a defensive column, orderly and rallied, on its guard."

Grunt shrugged. "I do not know," he said.

"Beasts," I said to Pumpkin, "such as that which threatened you, how many ofthem, if any, did you bury or find dead?"

"Nine," said Pumpkin. "We did not bury them, as they are not human."

I struck my thigh in frustration.

"Where are these bodies?" I asked. I wished to determine if Kog and Sardak wereamong the fallen.

"We do not know," said Pumpkin. "The Fleer put ropes on them and dragged themaway, into the fields."

"I do not think they knew what else to do with them," said one of the fellows.

I was angry. I knew of one Kur who had survived, and now it seemed clear that asmany as eight might have escaped from the savages. Indeed, many savages, formedicine reasons, might have been reluctant to attack them, as they did notappear to be beings of a sort with which they were familiar. What if they werefrom the medicine world? In such a case, surely, they were not to be attackedbut, rather, venerated or propitiated. If Sardak had survived, I had littledoubt he would continue, relentlessly, to prosecute his mission.

"Do you wish to know of survivors?" asked Pumpkin. "You seem interested."

"Yes," I said.

"Other than soldiers, and beasts, and such, who might have escaped?"

"Yes," I said.

"Some children were spared, young children," said Pumpkin. "They were tiedtogether by the neck in small groups. There were four such groups. The Fleertook one group, consisting of six children. The other three groups, consistingof five children apiece, were taken by the Sleen, the Yellow Knives andKailiauk."

"What of the Kaiila?" I asked.

"They did not take any of the children," said Pumpkin.

"The children were very fortunate," said one of the fellows before me.

"Yes," said another. "They will be taken to Waniyanpi camps, and raised asWaniyanpi."

"What a blessing for them!" said another.

"It is always best when the teaching can be given to the young," said another.

"Yes," said another. "It is the surest way to guarantee that they will always beWaniyanpi."

I wondered if the horrors and crimes perpetrated on one another by adults couldever match the cruelties inflicted on children. It seemed unlikely.

"There were some other survivors?" I asked.

"Some nubile young women," said Pumpkin, "but we did not look much at them. Theywere naked. Rawhide ropes were put on theft necks. Theft hands were tied behindthem. They must accompany the masters, on their tethers, walking beside theflanks of their kaiila."

"And what, do you conjecture," I asked, "Will be their fate?"

"We do not dare speculate," said Pumpkin, looking down, confused and dismayed,hotly reddening.

"They will be made slaves," I said, "crawling and kneeling to men, and servingthem abjectly, and totally, in all ways."

Pumpkin shuddered.

"It is true, is it not?" I asked.

"Perhaps," mumbled Pumpkin. He did not raise his eyes. I saw that he fearedmanhood, and sex.

"Would you not like one so serving you?" I asked.

"No, no!" he cried, not raising his eyes. "No, no, no!"

The vehemence of his answer interested me. I looked about, at the otherWaniyanpi They did not meet my eyes, but looked down.

"Were there other survivors?" I asked Pumpkin.

He looked up at me, gratefully. "Two," he said, "but, it seems, one of them onlyfor a time."

"I do not understand," I said.

"A boy, a Dust Leg, I think," said Pumpkin. "He was a slave of the soldiers. Hewas left staked out, over there, on that hill. We are to keep him alive until weleave the field, and then leave him here, to die."

"That would be the lad, the young man, who was with the column, the slave, onecalled Urt," I said to Grunt.

Grunt shrugged. He did not know this. I had, to be sure, spoken more to myselfthan to him.

"Who is the other?" I asked.

"An adult woman," said Pumpkin, "one whom, I think, was also with the soldiers."

"Excellent!" I said. "Is she blond, and fair of body?"

"She is blond," said Pumpkin, "but we are not permitted to observe whether ornot she be fair of body."

"It would be the Lady Mira, of Venna," I said to Grunt. "Excellent! Excellent!"

"Do you know her?" asked Grunt "We met once, on the road," I said. "But our meeting, now, will be of adifferent sort." I laughed.

"What is wrong?" asked Grunt.

"Nothing," I said. I was pleased, first, that the Lady Mira lived. It ispleasant that such women live, particularly when they are put in collars andchains. Secondly it amused me that the fair agent's utility to Kurii had been,in this unexpected and charming fashion, so abruptly and conclusivelyterminated. Thirdly she could doubtless be persuaded, in one way or another, togive me a first-hand account of the battle, at least in so far as it had sweptin its courses about her.

"Where is she?" I asked Pumpkin.

"Over there, behind that wagon," said Pumpkin. "We put her there so that wewould not have to look at her."

I regarded the Waniyanpi. I wondered why they were as they were.

"Lift your skirts," I told them, "to your waists, quickly."

They obeyed, shamed.

"No," said Grunt. "They are not castrated. It is done through the mind, throughthe training, through the Teaching."

"Insidious," I said.

"Yes," said Grunt.

"You may lower your dresses," I told the Waniyanpi. Quickly they did so,smoothing them, blushing. I urged my kaiila toward the wagon, which Pumpkin hadindicated.