Nomads of Gor (54 page)

        
beneath the surface now seemed to roil beneath the surface

        
and the colors of the spheres seemed to pulsate. The rhythm

        
of the steam seemed to increase in tempo and I could now

        
detect, or thought I could, more than simple moisture in that

        
steam, perhaps some other subtle gas or fume, perhaps

        
hitherto unnoticed but now increasing in its volume.

        
"Let him be untied," said Saphrar.

        
While two men-at-arms continued to hold me, another

    
    
undid the bonds on my wrists. Three men-at-arms, with

        
crossbows, stood ready, the weapons trained on my back. ~

        
"If I succeed in slaying or escaping the monster in the

        
pool," I said, casually, "I take it that I am then, of course,

        
free.',

        
"That is only fair," said Saphrar.

        
"Good," I said.

 
The Paravaci, in the hood, threw back his head and

 
laughed. The crossbowmen also smiled.

 
"None has, of course," said Saphrar, "ever succeeded in

 
doing either."

 
"I see," I said.

 
I now looked across the surface of the pool. Its appear-

 
ance was now truly remarkable. It was almost as if it were

 
lower in the center and the edges higher near the marble

 
basin, inching as high as they could toward our sandals. I

 
took it that this was an optical illusion of some sort. The

 
pool was now, it seemed, literally coruscating, glistening with

 
a brilliance of hues that was phenomenal, almost like hands

 
lifting and spilling gems in sunlit water. The filamentous

 
strands seemed to go mad with movement and the spheres of

 
various colors were almost phosphorescent, pulsating beneath

 
the surface. The steam rhythm was now swift, and the gases

 
or fumes mixed with that moisture, noxious. It was almost as

 
though the pool itself respired.

 
"Enter the pool," commanded Saphrar.

 
Feet first, quiva in hand, I plunged into the yellow fluid.

 
To my surprise the pool, at least near the edge, was not

 
deep. I stood in the fluid only to my knees. I took a few

 
more steps out into the pool. It became deeper toward the

 
center. About a third of the way toward the center I was

 
entered into the pool to my waist.

 
I looked about, searching for whatever it was that would

 
attack me. It was difficult to look into the fluid because of

 
the yellow, the glistening brilliance of the surface troubled by

 
my passage.

 
I noted that the steam, and gas or fumes, no longer rose

 
from the pool. It was quiet.

 
The filamentous threads did not approach me, but now

 
seemed quiet, almost as if content. The spheres, too, seemed

 
quiescent. Some of them, mostly whitish, luminescent ones,

 
had seemed to float nearer, and hovered slightly beneath the

 
surface, in a ring about me, some ten feet away. I took a

 
step towards the ring and the spheres, doubtless moved by

 
the fluids displaced in my step, seemed to slowly disperse and

 
move away. The yellow of the pool's fluid, though rich, no

 
longer seemed to leap and startle me with its vibrance.

 
I waited for the attack of the monster.

 
I stood so, in the fluid to my waist, for perhaps two or

 
three minutes.

 
Then, angrily, thinking perhaps the pool was empty, or

 
had been made fool of, I cried out to Saphrar. "When is it that I meet the monster?"

Over the surface I heard Saphrar, standing behind the wooden shield, laugh. "You have met it," he said.

"You lie!" I cried.

"No," he responded, amused, "you have met it."

"What is the monster?" I cried.

"The pool!" he shouted.

"The pool?" I asked.

"Yes," said Saphrar, gleefully. "It is alive!"

At the very instant that Saphrar had called out there was a

great blast of steam and fumes that seemed to explode from

the fluid about me as though the monster in which I found

myself had now, its prey satisfactorily entrapped, dared to

respire and, at the same time, I felt the yellow fluid about my

body begin to thicken and yell. I cried out suddenly in alarm

horrified at my predicament and struggled to turn back and

wade to the edge of the marbled-basin that was the cage of

the thing in which I was, but the fluid, tightening about me,

DOW seemed to have the consistency of a rich yellow, hot

mud and then, by the time I had reached a level where it

rose to a point midway between my knees and waist the fluid

had become as resistant as wet, yellow cement and I could

move no further. My legs began to tingle and sting, and I

could feel the skin beginning to be etched and picked by the

corrosive elements now attacking them.

I heard Saphrar remark, "It sometimes takes hours to be

fully digested."

 
Wildly, with the useless quiva, I began to slash and pick at

the damp, thick stud about me. The blade would sink in

fully, as though in a tub of wet cement, leaving a mark, but

when it was withdrawn the mark would be erased by the

material flowing in to fill the aperture "Some men," said Saphrar, "those who do not struggle have lived for as much as three hours long enough in some

cases to see, I saw one of the vines hanging near me. My heart leaped

       
wildly at this chance. If I could but reach it! With all my

       
strength I moved towards it an inch and then another

       
inch my fingers stretched, my arms and back aching, until

       
in another inch I might have grasped it and then, to my

       
horror, as I reached in agony for the vine, it rustled and

       
lifted itself just beyond my reach. I moved toward it again,

       
and again it did this. I howled with rage. I was going to try

       
again when I saw the slave I had noticed earlier watching

       
me, his hands on certain of the levers in the panel on the

       
curving wall. I stood in the coagulating, tightening fluid, held

       
fast a prisoner, and threw back my head in despair. He had,

       
of course, controlled the movement of the vine from the

       
panel, undoubtedly by wires.

       
"Yes, Tarl Cabot," wheezed Saphrar, giggling, "and yet

       
you will, in an hour or so, when you are mad with pain and

       
fear, try yet again and again to touch and grasp a vine,

       
knowing that you will not succeed but yet again and again

       
trying, believing that once somehow you will be successful.

       
But you will not!" Saphrar now giggled uncontrollably. "I

       
have even seen them reach for vines a spear's length above

       
their head and think they could reach them!" Saphrar's two

       
golden teeth, like yellow fangs, showed as he put back his

       
head and howled with pleasure, his fat little hands pounding

       
on the wood of the shield.

       
The quiva had turned itself in my hand and my arm flew

       
back, that I might take with me in my death the tormentor,

       
Saphrar of Turia.

       
"Beware!" cried the Paravaci and Saphrar suddenly

       
stopped laughing and observed me warily.

       
If my arm should fly forward he would have time to leap

 
      
below the wooden frame.

       
Now he was putting his chin on the wooden shield and

       
watching me again, once more giggling.

       
"Many have used the quiva before now," he said, "but

       
usually to plunge it into their own heart."

    
   
I looked at the blade.

       
"Tarl Cabot," I said, "does not slay himself."

       
"I did not think so," said Saphrar. "And that is why you

       
were permitted to keep the quiva." Then he threw back his

       
head and laughed again.

       
"You fat, filthy urt!" cried Harold, struggling in his bonds

       
with the two men-at-arms who held him.

       
"Be patient," giggled Saphrar. "Be patient, my impetuous

       
young friend. Your turn will come!"

 
I stood as still as I could. My feet and legs felt cold and

 
yet as if they were burning presumably the acids of the

 
pool were at work. As nearly as I could determine the pool

 
was thick, rubbery, gelatinous, only in the area near to my

 
body. I could see it rippling, and splashing a bit against the

 
edge of the marbled basin. Indeed, it was even lower toward

 
the edge now, and had humped itself in my vicinity, as

 
though in time it might climb my body and, in some hours

 
perhaps, engulf me. But doubtless by then I would have been

 
half digested, much of me little more than a cream of fluids

 
and proteins then mixing with and nourishing the substance

 
of my devourer the Yellow Pool of Turia.

 
I pushed now, with all my might, not toward the edge of

 
the marbled basin, but rather toward the deepest part of the

 
pool. To my satisfaction I found that I could move, though

 
barely, in this direction. The pool was content that I should

 
enter it more deeply, perhaps it even desired that I do so,

 
that its meal might be even more readily obtained.

 
"What is he doing?" cried the Paravaci.

 
"He is mad," said Saphrar.

 
Half inch I moved toward the center of the pool my

 
journey became easier. Then suddenly, the yellow, encircling

 
cementlike substance had oozed from my limbs and I could

 
take two or three free steps. The fluid was now, however, to