Plunder of Gor (37 page)

“One might miss,” said Kurik. “To be sure, if one knows his business, one would not be likely to miss at this distance.”

“And crossbows?” asked he who had admitted us.

“It is the ready weapon, the patient weapon,” said Kurik.

“Perhaps you know the signal upon which your conjectured bowmen will fire?”

“
Ela
,” said Kurik, “I do not.”

“Perhaps you are in danger,” said he who had admitted us.

“It is quite possible,” said Kurik.

I looked up to the first balcony, and now detected darknesses behind the rail.

“I doubt,” said he who had admitted us, “you are the intended recipient of the package.”

“I commend your skepticism,” said Kurik. “It does you credit.”

“The intended recipient,” he said, “would by now have claimed the package.”

“I see,” said Kurik.

“The matter is one of import, which brooks no delay,” he said. “Yet you dally. Clearly then you are not the intended recipient of the package, he for whom we have been instructed to wait. So, claim the package now, friend, or I will issue the signal and, in the instant, you will have two quarrels in your back.”

“Now?” said Kurik.

“Yes,” said he who had admitted us.

“It would not be wise,” said Kurik.

“Oh?” asked he who had admitted us.

“No,” said Kurik.

Then a single, long, reverberating note rang out in the night, wrought by a mighty hammer having struck against a large, hollow, suspended metal cylinder, mounted somewhere in the center of the city, which note would be audible from the outer walls to the southern piers.

“That is the bar for the first Ahn, is it not?” said Kurik.

“It is,” said he who had admitted us.

“I claim the package,” said Kurik

“It is yours,” said he who had admitted us.

Chapter Thirty-Three

“What is this thing?” he cried.

“It is alive,” said the man. “Beware!”

The two fellows who had been stationed on the first balcony, summoned, had disarmed their weapons and joined us on the floor of the house of Flavius Minor. They had then, with tools, addressed themselves to the opening of the large crate, to which no claiming disk was to be pertinent. Board after board was pried free, to the wrenching of wood and the squeak of dislodged nails, and then, finally, freed, the panel fronting the crate was pulled away.

“What is this thing?” one had cried.

“It is alive,” had said the other. “Beware!”

“What is it?” cried he who had admitted us.

“I do not know,” said the first man.

It was hard to see within the opened crate, but something was inside, a dark shape, crouched within, at the back, in the corner to the right.

“Restore the panel, close the crate,” whispered he who had admitted us.

“No,” said Kurik.

“Arm your bows,” said he who had admitted us to the two who had now, warily, drawn back from the crate.

Feet were thrust into the weapon's stirrup, the cable seized, and the metal leaves were drawn back, and the device was cocked. I heard two quarrels slipped into the guide. The weapons were then raised and leveled.

“Steady,” said Kurik. “Do not fire.”

“Bring the lantern closer, lift it, illuminate the interior of the crate,” said he who had admitted us.

“Ai!” cried one of the two bowmen.

“Steady,” said Kurik.

I held back a cry of alarm, for it seemed, for a moment, in the light of the lantern, that two bright, sudden, feral disks of copper blazed forth from the darkness. Then there was a whimper, and a hairy limb was raised and I could no longer see the creature's eyes. The thing was huddled in the corner of the crate, its head down.

“Draw back the lantern,” said Kurik. “Do not hurt it. Do not frighten it.”

“It is a beast, a large, live beast,” said the fellow with the lantern. The lantern light moved about, as his hand was unsteady.

“Not so large,” said Kurik.

“A beast!” said the fellow.

“Much like a beast,” said Kurik.

“Is it dangerous?” asked he who had admitted us.

“Possibly,” said Kurik.

“Let us kill it,” said one of the men with a crossbow.

“No,” said Kurik.

“It is a Kur,” said he who had admitted us. “I once saw one. I have never forgotten it. It is a Kur.”

“What is a Kur?” asked he with the lantern.

“It is small for a Kur,” said Kurik.

“It is large enough,” said the second man with a crossbow.

“Remove your finger from the trigger of your bow,” said Kurik. “Do not release the quarrel. Let it rest. There must be no chance misfire.”

The creature in the crate lifted its head from the shelter of its arm. Again glowed the eyes like burnished copper.

I shuddered.

“A quarrel to the heart,” said the first fellow with a bow.

“Do not fire,” said Kurik. “This thing has value.”

At that point the creature, looking up, eyes flashing, opened its jaws, angrily.

“Aii,” muttered the man with the bow.

“No,” said Kurik. He gently pushed the loaded bow to the side.

There was no mistaking the fangs, bared, white, curved, long, in that bestial maw. “It is wild,” said the fellow with a lantern.

“If it were wild,” said Kurik, “it would not be here.”

“It is a Kur,” said he who had admitted us.

“Like a Kur,” said Kurik.

“It is small for a male Kur,” said he who had admitted us. “It is a female Kur.”

“I am familiar with females of the Kurii,” said Kurik. “It is not a Kur female.”

At that point, emanating from the beast in the crate, was a stream of what, initially, I took for simple bestial noises, rude, guttural, snarling sounds, growls, and rumblings. I was reminded of what noises might be emitted by beasts of my own world, large cats, lions, lords of the African veldt, tigers, sleek and silent-footed, moving like shadows, lords in the Asian jungles, and yet these noises, alarming me, had about them an unusual modulation, an articulation, a subtlety, a delicacy, an exactness, and precision, that eerily suggested a form of speech. If a panther could speak, would it not speak thusly?

“That is Kur,” said he who had admitted us.

“Yes,” said Kurik. “It is Kur.”

“So it is a Kur,” said he who had admitted us.

“Or like a Kur,” said my master.

“I wish I had a translator,” said he who had admitted us.

“What is a translator?” asked the man with the lantern.

“This beast,” said Kurik, “has been transmitted from afar, for a particular purpose. It seems highly unlikely that it would have been committed to those who could not communicate with it, and with whom it could not communicate.”

“So?” said he who had admitted us.

“Kurii,” said Kurik, “are a dangerous, rational, technologically advanced species. They are intelligent, and cunning.”

“And glorious and powerful,” said he who had admitted us, looking about.

I glanced about the darkness.

“If you wish,” said Kurik.

“Continue,” said he who had admitted us.

“And this beast,” said Kurik, “if it is not Kur, is assuredly Kurlike.”

“Granted,” said he who had admitted us.

“Thus,” said Kurik, “I do not think our hirsute friends, considering the presumed importance of this business, would be so negligent or stupid as to omit instructions, or forget to provide a translator.”

“I see!” said he who had admitted us. Then he turned to the beast, it crouching back in the crate. He glared at it. “Speak Gorean,” he said.

Once again a stream of sound, whose phonemes, if it were a form of speech, seemed unfamiliar, and unintelligible, emanated from the throat of the creature.

Once before, in Ar, I had heard something similar, but heavier, more explosive, more frightening.

“It cannot speak Gorean,” said he who had admitted us.

“Let us kill it, before it attacks us,” said one of the men with an armed crossbow.

The creature shrank back in the crate.

“It is frightened,” I thought. “It understands.”

“Perhaps,” said Kurik, “it is speaking Gorean.”

“Absurd,” said he who had admitted us. “A larl, a sleen, could do as well.”

“It is a different throat, a different vocal apparatus,” said Kurik. “Could you speak Kur, any dialect of Kur?”

“I could not make such noises,” said he who had admitted us. “Where is the device, the translator?”

“One, I suspect,” said Kurik, “was not deemed necessary.”

“A tragic omission,” said he who had admitted us.

“May I speak, Masters?” I asked.

“No,” said he who had admitted us. And then he turned to Kurik. “Your slave is presumptuous,” he said. “Is she so poorly trained? I fear so. Beat her, cuff her, or, if you wish, I shall have the five-stranded disciplinary device brought, and put to a richly deserved use.”

“No,” said Kurik, looking down at me. “Speak,” he said.

“I heard something, long ago, in Ar,” I said. “It was something like this.”

“Continue,” said Kurik.

“It seemed unintelligible to me,” I said. “It was so different. I would not understand it. I refused to do so. I would not try. I resisted it. I dismissed it. Yet, moments later, I trembled, frightened, for I realized I had understood it. It is much like struggling to understand a Cosian accent, and then, somehow, suddenly, it is understood. It is a matter of subtle adjustments, of transposing sounds, of substituting one sound for another.”

“Absurd,” said he who had admitted us.

“I am sure the beast understands Gorean,” I said. “Did you not note its reaction when it thought itself threatened?”

“It understood the weapon,” said he who had admitted us. “Perhaps it had seen such a thing, discharged, a kill made with such a thing. It might easily have understood the menace in the tone. Any beast could do as much.”

“May I, Master,” I asked, “attempt to communicate with the thing?”

“Do not permit her to waste our time,” said the fellow with the lantern.

“Would you prefer, instead, to engage the beast in discourse?” asked Kurik.

“No,” said he with the lantern. “It cannot be done.”

“The beast, I am sure,” said Kurik, “is female. It seems Kurlike, but it is very different from a Kur female. By now a Kur female might have torn open our throats.”

The other fellows drew back, a bit.

“It, I am sure, is a female,” said Kurik, “and the slave is a female, the most female of females, one in a collar. Perhaps there is some affinity there. Too, the slave, if she may be credited, has had some experience that might prove relevant.”

“If she is not lying,” said he who had admitted us.

“Slaves seldom lie,” said Kurik. “They are not free women. The free woman may lie with impunity, but not the slave. For the slave, the penalties are too severe.”

“Perhaps,” said he who had admitted us, “the slave is merely mistaken, possibly deluded.”

“Perhaps,” said Kurik.

“Let her try,” said he with the lantern. “She may be beaten if unsuccessful.”

“This slave,” said Kurik, “is a barbarian, brought to our markets from the slave world. And yet, you will note, her Gorean is quite passable.”

“It had better be,” laughed one of the fellows with a bow.

“The switch and whip have seen to it,” said the second fellow with a bow.

Well was I familiar with the switch. But I had never been whipped, had never had the Gorean slave lash applied to my body, for my improvement or instruction.

“Things are not so easily explained,” said Kurik. “It is well known that women, interestingly, have a surprising facility for the acquisition of languages.”

“So?” said he who had admitted us.

“Why would this be?” asked Kurik. “Surely this is not some vast, inexplicable, overwhelming coincidence.”

“What might explain it?” asked he with the lantern.

“Consider women,” said Kurik, “small, slight, lovely, desirable, an exciting and ideal form of wealth. Are not such creatures esteemed trading goods, suitable plunder, desiderated loot, sought for, and fought for? While men are slain, are they not stripped and led away on their neck ropes? Will they survive, or perish? Surely those who, first, and best, learn the languages of their masters will, on the whole, be most pleasing and survive most frequently. Thus, over millennia, in thousands of venues, the female with suitable linguistic aptitudes entwined within her hereditary coils will tend to be favored by the stern choices of a harsh world. And these linguistic aptitudes, favoring survival, like beauty and appetition, like the graceful fleetness of the tabuk, the hearing of the larl, the tracking capacity of the sleen, are transmissible. And thus women are born for masters.”

“The beast can speak Kur,” said he who had admitted us.

“Undoubtedly,” said Kurik.

“We heard it speak Kur,” said he who had admitted us.

“I am not sure,” said Kurik.

“But surely not Gorean,” said he who had admitted us.

“That remains to be seen,” said Kurik.

“If I can understand her, if it is a her,” I said, “surely you may, as well, Masters.”

“We might learn to do so,” said Kurik. “Proceed.”

With trepidation, the men watching, I rose to my feet, went to the opening of the crate, and knelt down.

I looked into the recesses of the crate, at the crouching life form near its back. It was breathing quickly. I could hear its breath. I could see it in the lifted light of the lantern.

I had learned it was too small to be a male Kur, and, for all I knew, it might be smaller, even, than the female Kur. It was, on the other hand, considerably larger than I. I conjectured it to approximate, or exceed, the height of the men, large men, behind me. To be sure, it was crouching down, apprehensively.

“I will speak to you,” I said. “If you understand me, touch your right paw to the floor of the container.”

“Ai!” cried two of the men.

“She understands Gorean!” said Kurik.

“It could be a coincidence,” said he who had admitted us.

“Possibly,” said Kurik.

“Please touch the floor of the container twice with your right paw,” I said, slowly.

“She knows Gorean,” said Kurik.

“But we do not know Kur,” said he with the lantern.

“Can you speak Gorean?” I asked.

There was a tiny sound, from back in the crate.

“That noise was meaningless,” said he who had admitted us.

“If you can speak Gorean,” I said, “please touch the floor of the container twice with your right paw.”

“The beast lies,” said he who had admitted us.

“Perhaps not,” said Kurik.

“It is hard for us to understand your Gorean,” I said, slowly. “Perhaps it is hard for you to understand our Gorean. I will speak slowly and carefully and I hope you will do the same. I think then, after a time, we may understand one another well enough, and may then speak more easily. Please speak to me, and I will try to understand.”

I felt sorry for the beast which, I was sure, was frightened, and disconcerted. How strange it must be for it to find itself as it was, on a foreign world, alone, queried by strangers, threatened by weapons. Then, for a time, some Ehn, it uttered its noises, slowly, and patiently. I strained to interpret these emanations, conjecturing, hazarding possibilities, making little or nothing of them.

“I have failed, Masters,” I said.

“No, you have not,” it said.

“Ai!” I cried.