Kur of Gor (33 page)

"Kaissa,” said Cabot.

Peisistratus seemed content with this answer.

The prosecutor turned about, and, high in the tiers, above the jurors, a small light glowed briefly, twice. It would be noted, presumably, only by those facing it, and perhaps looking for it. Cabot, given his vantage on the platform, did see it.

"The witness may step down,” said the prosecutor.

Cabot descended from the platform, and Peisistratus, who had been near to him, waiting on a step, accompanied him.

"The jury will note,” sounded the voice of the judge, which seemed to come from everywhere in the room, the platform translator producing this in Gorean almost immediately, “that the guilt of Lord Pyrrhus is overwhelmingly clear, albeit largely circumstantial. The aberration of a witness, or the obscurity of its testimony, must not be permitted to distract your attention from either the charges or the indisputable and incontrovertible evidence on which they are based. The jury may now deliberate."

"Do they not withdraw?” asked Cabot.

"Certainly not,” said Peisistratus. “The judge would then not know how each voted."

"The verdict need not be unanimous?” asked Cabot.

"Certainly not,” said Peisistratus. “If that were the case a single madman or fool, a simpleton, a partisan or malcontent, might nullify or vitiate an entire trial."

"Is a simple majority required?” asked Cabot.

"No,” said Peisistratus, “innocence or guilt must be clear, so a clear, significant majority is required, and in a trial such as this, involving charges of high treason, guilt must be exceedingly clear, this requiring that nine out of every ten jurors draw the knife."

"If more than one out of ten do not unsheathe their blades?"

"Then the defendant is acquitted,” said Peisistratus.

Already in the tiers many six-digited paws were clasped about the handles of their knives, but, Cabot noted, many jurors were crouched down, knuckles on the tiers, their knives untouched.

"Hold!” called the voice of the unseen judge.

The jurors looked about themselves, but the location of the judge, as the voice emanated from a diversity of locations, was not clear.

"Pyrrhus,” called the voice.

"Lord Pyrrhus,” bellowed a voice from the pit, with a fierce shaking of chains.

"Did you or did you not seek the death of the human, Tarl Cabot?"

"I did,” said Pyrrhus.

"So his honor destroys him,” said Cabot to Peisistratus, at the foot of the witness platform.

"Perhaps not,” said Peisistratus.

"You have spoken in all honesty, as Kur,” said the judge.

"Certainly,” said Pyrrhus.

"Let it be so recorded,” said the judge.

"And let this, too, be so recorded, and I speak as Kur,” called Pyrrhus, his voice rising from the cement pit, in which, to rings, he was chained, “I am guilty of no treason against the species or the world!"

This caused a considerable stir on the tiers, for it was clear Lord Pyrrhus had spoken as Kur.

"If I am guilty of treason,” he continued, “it is not treason against the species and the world, but against one who would betray the honor of the species and the world, a dissembler and deceiver, an opportunist and thief, a liar and seeker of power, a true traitor to worth, nobility, and valor."

"So name such a foe,” said the judge.

"He cannot,” said Peisistratus to Cabot, “for it is forbidden, sacrilegious, blasphemous, to speak ill of the Nameless One, or of any mask through which he speaks."

"Let the jury draw their daggers or not,” challenged Pyrrhus.

"Agamemnon may not have his majority,” said Peisistratus, looking about the tiers.

"He confessed to seeking my death,” Cabot reminded Peisistratus.

"You are an animal,” said Peisistratus. “We can be killed here with more impunity than might a wild sleen in a Gorean forest. We are not even pets. We are not even owned. No restitution, even, would be expected for slaying us."

"Then it matters little?"

"It matters nothing, save for your interest to Agamemnon,” said Peisistratus. “Your testimony clouded matters for Agamemnon. He expected to convict on its basis. You betrayed him. The jury was confused."

"That was my intention,” said Cabot.

"You are interested in abetting revolution, in spreading division in the Steel World?"

"I suppose my life now,” said Cabot, “will be worth little, if Lord Pyrrhus goes free."

"He will not go free,” said Peisistratus. “But his party will doubtless remember your testimony."

"Is Pyrrhus not to be now acquitted?” asked Cabot.

"Acquitted, perhaps, but not spared,” said Peisistratus.

"See the knives,” said Cabot.

Many were unsheathed, and by far the most, and each of those daggers pointed downward, threateningly, toward the pit in which Lord Pyrrhus awaited the verdict.

"I do not think,” said Peisistratus, scanning the tiers, “that Lord Agamemnon will have his needful numbers."

"Hold!” came the booming voice of the judge.

"No,” whispered Peisistratus, “he would not have his needful numbers."

"Desist!” came from the speakers about the courtroom. “This matter will be decided otherwise."

"It will be the arena,” whispered Peisistratus.

Daggers were sheathed, and the Kurii stirred restlessly, eagerly, on the tiers.

"Kur to Kur!” cried Lord Pyrrhus, shackled, but mighty, looking upward, fangs bared.

"Yes,” said the judge, the voice seeming to ring about the gigantic chamber. “Kur to Kur!"

The Kurii on the tiers leaped up and down, howling with pleasure. Muchly were they satisfied with this outcome.

The passion for truth, and the seeking of justice, in the Kur heart, is linked more closely with victory than deliberation, with triumph than balloting, with blood than mind. The hereditary coils have cast their countless lots, and nature has made her innumerable decisions amongst them, according to her mysterious wills and ways, denominating her fortunes of extinction and prosperity, of defeat and victory, of death and life. To the Kur it is the highest court, and her judgments are nonrepudiable.

Guards even now were loosening the holding chains of Pyrrhus and preparing to lead him from the cement pit in which he had been held below the jurors, below the witnesses, below the judge.

"Will he be fed?” asked Cabot.

"Probably not,” said Peisistratus.

The jurors were filing from the great chamber.

The chief prosecutor looked up toward the ceiling, but the light there did not glow. He then left the chamber.

In a few moments Cabot and Peisistratus were alone.

"It is done, is it not?” asked Cabot.

"Part of it,” said Peisistratus.

"Are we to see the denouement of this matter in the arena?” asked Cabot.

"It will be required of us,” said Peisistratus.

"What is the fate,” asked Cabot of Peisistratus, “of the pet of Arcesilaus?"

"Are you not more interested in the fate of another?” asked Peisistratus.

"The blonde human,” said Cabot, “the pet of Arcesilaus. From hunters who pursued me I learned they were contemplating feasting on her, and had left her secured, that her meat be fresh, fastened to a tree near the shuttle port, her arms braceleted behind her, the key to the bracelets on a string about her neck."

"You know Grendel?"

"Of course."

"He sought her in the forest world, and soon found her, near the port, and freed her."

"Freed her?"

"To return her to Arcesilaus, of course."

"He may have risked much,” said Cabot, “for those who pursued me had secured her, as meat, I fear, to be feasted upon following the completion of their task."

Amongst Kurii meat, as amongst sleen and larls, may be fiercely contested. One does not lightly take another's food.

"True,” said Peisistratus, “he did risk much, and cannot have known that the hunters might not have soon returned, or, even if later returned, would have demanded their meal."

"Interesting that he would so jeopardize himself for a mere human, put his life at risk against Kur custom,” said Cabot, “and for one not even an ally, but for one the mere pet of another."

"Doubtless,” smiled Peisistratus.

"One can but speculate on the motivation,” said Cabot.

"But the pet is well-curved, is she not?” asked Peisistratus.

"Surely,” said Cabot. “But he is Kur."

"Part Kur,” said Peisistratus.

"I see,” said Cabot.

"Once freed, she tried to flee from him, even into the forest, but he easily overtook her."

"Nature has seen to it that such cannot outrun either men or Kurii."

"He was forced to bracelet her in the very bonds from which he had freed her, her wrists now before her, clasp her in his arms, and carry her, by force, to the Steel World."

"Surely she understood she was to be returned to Arcesilaus."

"But not, she would wish, by he,” said Peisistratus. “By anyone but he."

"Why not?” asked Cabot.

"She abhors him,” said Peisistratus.

"He may have risked his life for her."

"She abhors him,” said Peisistratus.

"Would she not be in danger from Arcesilaus,” asked Cabot, “for she was used to bait a trap, one in which Kurii were slain?"

"Arcesilaus does not bear her ill will,” said Peisistratus, “but, too, it is not now practical for him to keep her. She was used against Kurii. That is not to be forgotten. Might it not happen again? She is human. Where do her true loyalties lie? Too, she is now partly speeched, and that weighs muchly against her. Indeed, perhaps she connived against Kurii. In any event, if not he, his fellows, and others, call for her blood."

"I gather she was an excellent pet."

"Yes,” said Peisistratus. “And Arcesilaus was doubtless fond of her."

"That was my understanding."

"He can obtain another,” said Peisistratus.

"So she is to be slain, or sent to the cattle pens?"

"When she was brought before Arcesilaus, she flung herself on her belly before him, and, her small wrists braceleted before her, she clasped his foot, and kissed and licked, weeping, piteously, at his claws, but he remained adamant."

"And so she is to be slain, or sent to the cattle pens?"

"Arcesilaus, I think, remains fond of her, and was pleased to learn she still lived, and that she had been brought safe to the Steel World."

"By Grendel."

"Surely."

"But Arcesilaus will not keep her."

"Certainly not."

"What, then, is to be done with her?” asked Cabot.

"Grendel himself provided the solution,” said Peisistratus.

"And what was the nature of this solution?” inquired Cabot.

"He purchased her, for a pittance,” said Peisistratus. “She is now on his leash."

"And what was her view of this?” asked Cabot.

"She was beside herself with disbelief, with horror, and humiliation, and fury, and misery,” said Peisistratus.

"But she is still on his leash."

"Of course."

"Excellent,” said Cabot.

"He is not wholly Kur,” said Peisistratus. “She has always hated him, loathed him, as do most of the Kurii, as a misbred monster and freak, and now she belongs to him, and the collar on her neck is his."

"He risked his life for her."

"She despises him,” said Peisistratus.

"Doubtless he will keep her under an excellent discipline,” said Cabot.

"No,” said Peisistratus. “She puts on airs and has no fear of him."

"Though she is a mere pet?"

"Yes."

"I see,” said Cabot.

"She wishes to demean and rule him,” said Peisistratus. “She is haughty and petty. She treats him in ways that no Kur would tolerate. Even in public she insults him, and shows him disrespect. She does not serve him, she does not groom him."

"Perhaps she should be disciplined,” said Cabot. “Women understand such things."

"He will not lay a hand on her,” said Peisistratus.

"She will then grow ever more insolent, more tiresome, and troublesome,” said Cabot. “She will understand his gentleness, his kindness, his forbearance, or whatever it may be, as weakness."

"Doubtless,” said Peisistratus, “but, in any event, she is still on his leash."

"I see,” said Cabot.

"And what of her Gorean?” asked Cabot.

"She demands that her lessons continue,” said Peisistratus.

"I suppose that is to the good,” said Cabot.

"She is small, petty, and thankless,” said Peisistratus.

"I am sorry to hear that,” said Cabot.

"But she is still on his leash,” said Peisistratus.

"I wonder if she understands what that means,” said Cabot.

"Probably not,” said Peisistratus. “Do you want her?"

"No,” said Cabot.

"You need only say the word and Agamemnon would give her to you, or any other who might please you."

"Lord Agamemnon is generous,” said Cabot.

"Have you pondered the offer of Agamemnon, proposed to you in the palace?” inquired Peisistratus. “He grows impatient."

"I expect to give him my answer soon,” said Cabot.

"I trust it will be the right answer,” said Peisistratus.

"It will be,” said Cabot.

"Good,” said Peisistratus.

Cabot smiled.

"I would not dally overlong,” said Peisistratus.

"No,” said Cabot.

"I shall accompany you to your lodgings,” said Peisistratus.

"That is perhaps wise, considering my testimony,” said Cabot.

They then left the courtroom.

"It is interesting to me,” said Peisistratus, “that you have expressed no interest in the fate of another."

"What other?” asked Cabot.

"The brunette, she with whom you shared a stall,” said Peisistratus.

"I remember her,” said Cabot. “She was the pet of Lord Pyrrhus, as I recall. But, as I understand it, he was deprived of his rank, his goods, his chattels, and such, even before the trial."

"The outcome of the trial was not in doubt,” said Peisistratus, “until the unexpected vacillations and vagaries of a particular witness."

"But the trial was inconclusive?"

"The trial, perhaps, but not justice,” said Peisistratus. “Justice will have its way, by one road or another."