Kur of Gor (60 page)

"Good!” said Cabot.

The first Kur, he who had been farthest down the ladder, then leapt to the floor, and, crouching, viewed Cabot and the girl. Its ears were lifted and rotated toward them. Its eyes, like dark moons in the great building's dim light, regarded them. Then, as it rested on its knuckles, its hind legs scratched at the wooden floor.

"It is surprised, and not pleased,” said Cabot.

"It thinks we wandered from the pens,” said Lita.

"No,” said Cabot. “We are clothed."

"It will attack,” she whispered.

"Presumably,” said Cabot, stringing his bow. “Presumably, and with confidence."

The second Kur then dropped down to the floor, scuffled through sawdust, and joined his cohort.

"They are handlers, or herders,” said the slave. “They are not armed."

"Neither is a larl or sleen,” said Cabot.

The first Kur began to shuffle toward them, sidewise, keeping his head to them.

It stopped some fifty feet from them.

"It is grinning,” said Cabot. Cabot switched on his translator. “Keep away,” he said to the Kur.

The Kur remained immobile.

"Where is the place of slaughter?” asked Cabot.

"You are cattle,” said the Kur.

"Where is the place of slaughter?” asked Cabot, again.

"I will take you there,” said the Kur. “And hang you with the others."

Cabot then loosed the shaft from the great bow.

"He is strong,” mused Cabot, for the Kur was still on its feet. He then walked about the Kur, who stood very still.

"What is wrong?” came from Cabot's translator, as he picked up the second Kur's query addressed to the first.

"The stick, the little stick,” said the first Kur, and he turned slowly to his fellow.

The second Kur then began to back away.

Cabot turned to the first Kur. “We are not cattle,” he said.

The second Kur then turned about, suddenly, and fled, seized the ladder, and began to climb upward, rapidly.

He had managed, despite the desperation and rapidity with which he clambered upward, to ascend only thirty or forty feet on the wide rungs, when he pitched backward, to the floor.

Cabot put his bow, still strung, on his shoulder.

The first Kur regarded him.

"This, too, you see,” said Cabot, “is a place of slaughter."

"But you are human,” came from Cabot's translator.

"Yes, human,” said Cabot. Then he turned to the slave. “Hurry!” he said, and grasped the ladder.

He looked back, once, and saw the slave, climbing below him, and, down on the floor, in the sawdust, he saw the first Kur, fallen, inert.

Chapter, the Forty-Third:

IN THE VICINITY OF THE SLAUGHTER BENCH

As Cabot climbed the ladder the shrieks of the Lady Bina came to him. “No!” she cried. “You do not understand! I am not to die! The others, not I! I am favored of Lord Agamemnon! I am high in the world! I am Ubara, Ubara!"

These noises, of course, would be unintelligible to any Kur who lacked an activated translator. He, or what, to whom they were addressed, was probably familiar with the squeals of food animals.

Cabot thrust up the trap door which led to the higher level at the height of the ladder. It was heavy, and perhaps few humans could have raised it, but Cabot, who was strong for a human, with a great effort, threw it back.

It stuck back on the flooring of the higher level.

The Kur there turned to face him.

Cabot, as he had secured the bow on his shoulder, to enable his ascent, and as he was placed on the ladder, could not bring it into play. Only his head and shoulders, as he stood, were emerged through the flat entrance to the upper level.

He saw the Lady Bina, dangling upside down, her ankles roped together, the rope slung over a hook on a pulley. Her bell hung downward, and rang. The tiara was still fastened in her hair. Her hands were free and tried to fend away the mighty, hairy arms of the butcher. He put a hand in her hair, and pulled her toward him. Her small hands futilely, weakly, unavailingly, grasped the wrist of the hand fastened in her hair. Her lovely body squirmed. The bell hung on her neck clanged. The tiara fell to the wood at the butcher's feet.

She saw Cabot. “Save me!” she screamed. “Save me!"

The butcher's right paw held a long tool, pointed and rounded, and some eighteen inches in length, which would be driven cleanly, expertly, into the heart of the suspended food animal, which would then be drawn away on the contrivance of ropes and hooks.

Cabot climbed carefully to the surface of the upper level, and crouched down. He was but feet from the butcher, who, tool in hand, the Lady Bina in his grasp, regarded him, curiously.

Cabot would not have time to activate the bow, to loose it from his shoulder, arrow it, and draw it.

His hand stole to his belt knife.

To Cabot's left he could see a number of suspended bodies, alive, dangling and squirming, some squealing, awaiting their turn, those who had followed the Lady Bina and her bell.

To Cabot's right, as he could see, there were several dangling bodies, moving and turning, with the stresses of the rope. These were the residues from earlier butcherings. And, to the side, to the right, below, he could see a number of bodies, freed from the hooks and ropes, piled like fish.

Too, oddly, he saw two Kur bodies, fallen amongst the slaughtered cattle.

"Save me! Save me!” screamed the Lady Bina.

This was picked up on Cabot's translator.

"Do not kill her!” said Cabot.

"I am the bell girl! I am the bell beast!” screamed the Lady Bina. “I am not to die!"

"We do not need you any longer,” said the butcher. “You have led the last of the cattle to the slaughter bench. Now it is your turn. That is why we locked the gate."

"I am favored of Lord Agamemnon!” she cried.

"You are cattle,” said the butcher.

"No, no!” she screamed.

"Do not reach for your knife,” said the butcher to Cabot. “I can reach you before you can free it of the sheath. Take your hand away from it. Live a moment longer. I will have time for you when I finish here."

Cabot looked about, wildly.

"Place your hands, clasped, behind the back of your head,” said the butcher, “or I strike now, this moment."

Cabot obeyed, in misery.

"You may watch,” said the butcher.

"She is favored of Lord Agamemnon,” cried Cabot, desperately, “Eleventh face of the Nameless One, Theocrat of the World."

"No,” said the butcher. “It was he who ordered the gate locked."

Lady Bina, in pain, dangling, cried out in misery, a long wailing sound.

The butcher's arms were reddened to the elbows, the hair soaked with blood. He wore a leather apron. And a leather scarf was bound over his head and ears. That is perhaps why he had heard no sound earlier.

The butcher's mighty paw clasped the pointed tool more firmly, and he drew back his right arm, and with his left hand he drew the shrieking Lady Bina more closely to him.

"Wait!” cried Cabot, pointing down, and to his right. “Why are Kurii dead below?"

The butcher regarded him, puzzled.

"None are dead,” he said.

"Two are dead,” said Cabot.

"No,” said the butcher.

"Look,” said Cabot.

"Step back,” said the butcher.

Cabot stepped back, behind the trap. He could see Lita's dark hair below, she clinging to the ladder, her shoulders. She looked up at him, but he gave no sign he saw her.

The butcher went to the ledge, where he might look down.

He did not hear the scratching, which was subtle, and came from his left.

The butcher called down to the inert bodies below.

He did not see the one paw, with its claws, which appeared over the edge of the platform, somewhat behind him, and to his left.

"They are dead,” Cabot assured him, drawing his attention to his right.

"I do not understand,” said the butcher.

"Perhaps you are next,” said Cabot.

"I do not understand,” said the butcher.

"That is perhaps why you are next,” said Cabot.

"I will kill her, and then you,” said the translator. In Kur this was clearly a snarl, but it was rendered, as would be expected, with calmness and precision by the translator.

The butcher turned to the dangling Lady Bina but there now stood a formidable impediment between him and his objective.

With a roar of rage, a bleeding Lord Grendel flung himself on the butcher, and with a single bite tore away the butcher's right paw, it still grasped on the tool, and Lord Grendel lifted the butcher over his head, and flung him to the lower level, where he fell among the slaughtered cattle, howling in pain, blood spurting from his right wrist.

The butcher then rose up, slipping on the bodies, fell, and rose up, again, moving away.

Cabot, by now, had freed his bow and handed it, with an arrow, to Lord Grendel.

"It will be a difficult shot,” said Cabot.

The shaft took the stumbling, hastening fugitive in the back of the head.

"You have been practicing,” said Cabot.

"Free me, free me, you fools!” screamed the Lady Bina.

"You are bleeding,” said Cabot to his friend.

"Two, below, fought well,” said Lord Grendel.

"Free me!” demanded the Lady Bina.

Lita rose up, half way, through the trap.

The Lady Bina, squirming, dangling upside down, discerned Lita. “That is a slave!” she cried. The Lady Bina's bell, as she struggled, rang. It was chained about her neck. “Go away!” cried the Lady Bina. “Do not let me be seen as I am, by a filthy, stinking slave!"

"Are you concerned?” asked Cabot.

"Free me!” she cried.

"Perhaps you feel your dignity is compromised,” said Cabot, “as you are, naked, upside down, a bell on your neck. Certainly few free women are likely to be found so, except doubtless in the houses of slavers, awaiting their branding and collaring."

"Free me!” she screamed.

Lita clambered to the level.

"Send that stinking, ugly slave away!” cried the Lady Bina.

"She is not ugly,” said Cabot. “Stripped, she would stand high on the price list of many slavers."

"As might you,” he added.

"Insolence!” she cried.

"I must free her,” said Lord Grendel.

"If I were you,” said Cabot, “I would keep her naked, on a rope, and keep the bell on her neck."

"No, no,” mumbled Grendel. “That is unthinkable. She is a free woman."

"You risked your life to save her,” said Cabot. “Do you think she is grateful?"

He lifted her down, and bent to free her ankles.

"Do not look at me, beast,” she said.

"Forgive me, Lady,” he said.

"Fetch me my tiara!” she said.

Lord Grendel picked up the small object, and handed it to her. She thrust it down, in place.

"I am a Ubara,” she informed him.

"I did not know that,” said Lord Grendel.

"So proclaimed by Lord Agamemnon himself,” she said.

"I did not know that,” said Lord Grendel.

"You are bleeding,” said Cabot.

"It is nothing,” he said.

"Let Lita tend your wounds."

"The blood of a Kur clots quickly,” said Grendel.

"And of at least one human,” said Cabot.

"Perhaps,” said Grendel.

"Get this terrible bell, and chain, off my neck!” demanded the Lady Bina, sitting on the platform, rubbing her rope-burned ankles.

"I cannot, without a tool,” said Lord Grendel.

"Then fetch a tool,” said the Lady Bina.

"First,” said Cabot, “we must free the living cattle, those on the hooks, and drive those in the shoot, and in the pens, into the open, where they might have a chance to live."

"They are only cattle,” said the Lady Bina.

"I will command the nondominants,” said Lord Grendel. “Only they are left here. They will obey me."

"Why will they do that?” asked Cabot.

"Because,” said he, “I am a dominant."

"I understand,” said Cabot.

"Come back!” said the Lady Bina. But Grendel was gone. She glared at Cabot. “What are you looking at?” she demanded.

"I was wondering what you would bring,” said Cabot, “—on a slave block."

"Insolent beast!” she screamed.

"It is an idle thought,” he said, “but one common amongst males, when they look upon a comely female. It is quite common for them to think of them stripped, in a slave collar, roped tightly, helplessly, on the floor, at the foot of their bed, and such."

"I want Lord Grendel to return,” she said.

She jerked at the bell on her neck, and it made a small sound.

"Slaves are sometimes belled,” said Cabot, “sometimes for custodial purposes, for they may be locked on a slave, sometimes to enhance their attractiveness, sometimes to remind them, with the bells’ frequent jangling, consequent upon their slightest movement, that they are a slave. They can humiliate and shame the slave, particularly a new slave, or stir her belly, exciting her with her vulnerability and the profound meaning of her condition. Too, of course, they can have their effect on the male. In a case such as yours, they might function differently, rather as a penalty brand, to warn others that, say, their wearer is petty and untrustworthy. Indeed, there are many reasons why a slave might be belled."

One might add, as a note, that paga girls, dancers, and such, are often belled. Indeed, one of the pleasures of some paga taverns are the bells of the slaves, jangling, as they hasten about, serving their master's custom. The most common belling site on a slave is her left ankle.

"I am a Ubara,” she said.

"That is absurd,” said Cabot. “Where is your city?"

"I do not need a city,” she said.

"Where is your army?"

"I do not need an army,” she said.

"Few Ubaras are found in the cattle pens,” he said, “though I suppose a few might be."

"I was betrayed by Lord Agamemnon,” she said. “Were he human, and not Kur, he would have obeyed me."

"You saw him?” asked Cabot, sharply.

"One of his bodies,” she said. “A land tharlarion, he attended by Lords Lucullus and Crassus."