Kur of Gor (40 page)

"Certainly not,” she said. “He is not Kur, he is not human. He is a malformed beast."

"And did he not, with the whip, see to it that you groomed him, carefully and assiduously?"

"Certainly not,” she said.

"He never touched you, never disciplined you?"

"Certainly not,” she said.

"But in the arena, the leash, your posture."

"Show,” she said, “for the crowds, otherwise they might have swarmed onto the sand and torn us both to pieces."

"He loves you,” said Cabot.

"That is his foolishness,” she said.

"Yes,” said Cabot, “that is his foolishness."

"I despise him,” she said. “I defied his will. I belittled him, in public. I made him suffer, each day and night."

"And yet,” said Cabot, “he loves you."

"He is a fool,” she said.

"I think so,” said Cabot, “a champion in the arena, mighty and dangerous, but a fool elsewhere, in the small, soft hands of a woman."

"I made him suffer,” she said.

"Why?” asked Cabot.

"It pleased me,” she said. “He is a beast. Now touch me, again, as you did!"

"You demand it?” he asked.

"Yes!” she said.

"No,” said Cabot.

She tried, again, to approach, to thrust her body against him, but he, again, thrust her back, to the ends of the chains.

He must resist the beauty of her, the softness of her, the perfume of her, so heady, so like strong drink, the warmth of her eager, excited body.

"You must complete your touching of me,” she said. “You have begun strange things in me. I do not understand them. Continue! Continue!"

"You are a hot little beast,” he said.

It occurred to him that it was doubtless not an accident that she had been enclosed in the container with him, as well as the brunette.

Doubtless the Priest-Kings had addressed themselves to these matters with almost mathematical precision.

"Continue!” she demanded.

"Perhaps, now, you may suffer, a little."

"We must breed!” she cried.

"Why?” he asked.

"It is the will of our superiors!"

"They are not my superiors,” he said.

"We must breed!” she cried. “If we do not breed,” she said, “they will send me to the cattle pens!"

"At least you will go as a free woman,” he said.

"Fool!” she cried.

"Why do they wish us to breed?” inquired Cabot.

"They want a killer human for the arena,” she said, “another killer human."

"I see,” said Cabot

"Have me!” she cried.

"I breed as I wish,” said Cabot, “not as others wish."

"You have displeased Agamemnon,” she cried. “You will be done with in horror, put to death in unspeakable ways."

"Not permitted to die in the arena?"

"Certainly not, not with honor, but in some lengthy, degraded fashion, one fit to satisfy the affronted pride of Agamemnon."

"I could not in honor do his will,” said Cabot.

"Fool, fool, fool!” she wept.

"Yes,” said Cabot, “but a fool for honor is a fool with honor, and better such a fool than Agamemnon in all his shrewdness and cunning, in all his wisdom and astuteness."

"I do not understand you!” she screamed. “You are mad!” she wept. “Mad! Mad! Were I a collared slave, beaten and cast to your feet, you would use me!"

"Doubtless,” said Cabot, “if she had imbibed her slave wine. It is what they are for."

"I do not want to go to the cattle pens!” she cried.

"I do not think that would happen,” said Cabot. “They would be fools to send you to the pens. Rather they would chain you in the barracks, where you might be paired, under Kur supervision, with a succession of killer humans. They do not need me."

"You have done something to me,” she wept. “You have begun something in me! I do not understand it! I have never had feelings like this! I am in misery!"

"You are aroused,” said Cabot. “You do not know what is going on in your body, but there is a simple explanation. You are in heat, and apparently considerably so. It is all very natural. And it is a tribute to your health, to your vitality."

"I cannot stand it!” she said.

"Such heat, and even greater heat, is quite common amongst slaves,” he said.

"I am not a slave!” she said.

"But then, of course, slave fires have been set in their bellies."

"I am not a slave!"

"Certainly not,” he said.

"I cannot stand it!” she said.

"Doubtless it is unpleasant,” said Cabot. “Sometimes slaves whine, and shriek, and scream in need, in their cages, before their sales."

It is common to deprive red-silk slaves of the touch of men before their sales, sometimes for days. How eager are they then to ascend the block in their chains. How they extend their small, chained wrists piteously to the crowd, begging to be purchased, to be granted a male caress. In this way, their frustrated appetition exhibited as clearly and obviously as their bared beauty, for who would buy a woman clothed, is their price often improved.

"I am not a slave!” she cried.

"Of course not,” he said. “Men, too, of course, untamed men, virile men, can know such deprivation and need, as well. To be sure, they have a considerable advantage, as they may simply make use of slaves, in the taverns, and such."

"I am not a slave!"

"Of course not,” said Cabot.

"I am chained to you, closely, inseparably, helplessly, in breeding shackles, in breeding shackles!” she wept. “Take me! Use me!"

Cabot regarded her.

"Take me!” she screamed. “Use me!"

"Do not,” said a voice.

Cabot turned, and found himself facing Grendel.

"Why have you come?” asked Cabot.

"To kill you,” said Grendel.

Chapter, the Twenty-Fourth:

WHAT OCCURRED LATER IN THE GLADE

"Then do so,” said Cabot, angrily.

"Have you touched her?” asked Grendel.

"Certainly,” said Cabot, “and well."

Grendel's large body trembled with rage.

"Here is my throat,” said Cabot, bearing his throat. “Be quick!"

"You are chained,” said Grendel.

"Thus you have less to fear,” said Cabot.

"I will not kill a man in chains,” said Grendel. “A human could do that."

"You are human!” said Cabot.

"No,” he said, “I am Kur."

"You are not!” screamed the blonde. “You are human, only human!"

"Did he hurt you?” asked Grendel, his voice gentle, anomalous in such a form.

"Yes, yes!” screamed the blonde. “He hurt me, cruelly, viciously, terribly!"

"Examine her body,” said Cabot, “that you may see the bruises, the discolorings, the lacerations."

"Do not look at me!” screamed the blonde.

"I see no such marks,” said Grendel, puzzled.

"It is easy to lie, once one is speeched,” said Cabot.

"Kill him!” screamed the blonde, shaking her chains, pointing at Cabot. “Kill him!"

"Obey your pet,” said Cabot.

"You do not love him?” asked Grendel.

"Kill him!” she screamed.

"Obey your pet,” said Cabot.

"She is not my pet,” said Grendel. “She was taken from me, by the command of the Eleventh face of the Nameless One, Agamemnon, Theocrat of the World."

"Then she is his pet,” said Cabot.

"No!” cried the blonde. “I am a free woman! It was so said, and said by him, he himself, the Eleventh Face of the Nameless One, Agamemnon, Theocrat of the World!"

"Then how are you here?” asked Cabot.

"By his will!” she screamed. “We are all owned, even the free!"

"I am not owned,” said Grendel.

"Nor I,” said Cabot.

"Kill him!” she cried, pointing at Cabot.

"Do you not love her?” asked Grendel.

"No,” said Cabot.

"Kill him!” pleaded the blonde.

Grendel drew forth a key from his harness. “I killed for this,” he said. “I am now outlaw in the world."

He thrust the key into the shackles of the blonde and Cabot, freeing her first, then Cabot.

"I am not your enemy,” said Cabot.

"The common enemy,” said Grendel, “is Agamemnon. Several of us know this."

The blonde had retreated several feet, standing back in the grass. “Bring me clothing!” she demanded, “robes, regalia!"

Grendel regarded her.

"I am a free woman!” she screamed.

But she was, of course, as naked as a pet, or slave.

Grendel returned his attention to Cabot.

Cabot rubbed his wrists, and looked up at Grendel, like a boulder before him. “Now, I am free of chains,” he said, “and you may kill me."

"Yes, kill him!” called the blonde.

"It would be better if I did so,” said Grendel to Cabot, “for Agamemnon has conceived a thousand variations of a thousand deaths for you."

"Do then as you wish,” said Cabot, angrily.

"We are all doomed,” said Grendel.

"Not I, not I!” screamed the blonde.

"Perhaps not you,” said Grendel. “There may be a way to save you."

"You should not have interfered!” cried the blonde.

"I thought he would take you from me, that you were lovers,” said Grendel.

"No,” said Cabot.

"—I love her,” said Grendel.

"That is known to me,” said Cabot.

"Kill him,” called the blonde. “Prove you love me! If you love me, kill him! Kill him, for me!"

"Because he does not love you?” said Grendel.

She was silent, furious.

"Thousands do not love you,” said Grendel. “Shall I kill them all?"

"I hate you!” she screamed.

"I would that I could hate you,” said Grendel, “but I cannot. It would be easy to tear your nasty, hateful, lying head from your shoulders, but I cannot, nor do I wish to do so."

"You are bringing us all to death!” she said.

"I could not let him have you,” he said.

"You will never have me!” she screamed.

"If you could stop me from loving you,” said Grendel, “you would have succeeded, long ago."

"Do not love her,” said Cabot.

"I do,” said Grendel. “I must."

"She is not worth your love,” said Cabot.

"Not worth the love of a beast!” she scoffed.

"No,” said Cabot. “Not worth the love even of a beast."

"That is what I am,” said Grendel

"You are less a beast than she,” said Cabot.

"I am beautiful!” she cried. “I am beautiful!"

"Yes,” said Cabot, “you are beautiful."

"I am Bina,” she cried, proudly. “I am Bina!"

Grendel lifted his head, and regarded her, puzzled.

"Bina!” she insisted.

"As you will,” said Grendel.

"And Grendel,” she cried, “is the name of a monster!"

"So I am given to understand,” said he.

"It was a joke,” said Cabot. “Choose another name."

"I am Grendel,” he said.

"As you will,” said Cabot.

"You came to kill him,” said the blonde. “Do it!"

"She speaks boldly for a pet, does she not?” said Cabot.

"She is not a pet,” said Grendel.

"I am a free woman!” said the blonde.

"She is a hot little slut,” said Cabot. “Why do you not collar her, put her to your feet, lash her, and keep her as a slave?"

Grendel regarded him, aghast.

"She might then be good for something,” said Cabot. “As a free woman she is a bother. As a slave she might be pleasant in her chains. I am confident she would squirm well."

"Beast! Beast!” she cried.

"Unthinkable,” said Grendel.

"Not really,” said Cabot. He looked about. “Look,” he said, “there is food here, and some wine. I am hungry. Let us share this small repast."

"I killed for the key,” said Grendel. “Guards will discover the body. Shortly thereafter they will come to this place."

"The bread is good,” said Cabot, and he seized up a handful of grapes, as well, from the dish on the grass.

"Strange things are going on in the world,” said Grendel.

"The wine, too,” said Cabot, wiping his mouth. “What strange things?"

"The fleet has departed,” said Grendel.

"The invasion of Gor?” said Cabot, suddenly.

"No,” said Grendel. “It is other than that."

"War?"

"I fear so,” said Grendel.

"Amongst the worlds?"

"Between two, I think,” said Grendel.

"This, and some other?"

"This world would take Gor for itself,” said Grendel. “Another would oppose this unilateral seizure of a prize to be reserved for all. Agamemnon, I suspect, will strike first, to rid himself of possible rivals."

"War of Kur upon Kur?"

"There is a history of such things, a long and bloody history,” said Grendel.

"Strange,” said Cabot.

"And do not humans war upon humans?"

"Yes,” said Cabot.

"Is it then so strange?"

"No,” said Cabot, thoughtfully. “It is not so strange."

"Serve me,” said the blonde to Grendel, and he bent to fetch some wine, some grapes, some bread for her.

He waited upon her, humbly.

She sat on the grass, and fed. “You need not kill him,” she informed Grendel. “You are a champion. He is not worth your stroke."

"She demeans me,” smiled Cabot.

"And me,” said Grendel. “She demeans all whom she does not fear."

"Look upon her,” said Cabot, “and think collar."

"Is that how you look upon women?” inquired Grendel.

"Often, if I find them of interest,” said Cabot. The thought crossed his mind of the brunette, whom he clearly found of interest.

"She is a free woman,” said Grendel.

"So, too, once,” said Cabot, “were most slaves."

"Bring me wine,” said the blonde, to Grendel, and he purveyed to her again the flask.

"I thought pets were not permitted wine,” said Cabot.

"I am not a pet,” she snapped.

Slaves are sometimes permitted wine, if they beg prettily enough for it. The slave is dependent on the master for all things, including her food. The master takes the first bite of shared food; if he should be seated, say, on a bench or chair, the slave commonly eats at his feet, kneeling beside him; sometimes she is fed by hand, particularly the first bites of food; sometimes she must eat from dishes on the floor, her head down, on all fours.