Beasts of Gor coc-12

by John Norman

  “The red hunter, like Karjuk?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Karjuk spoke to him and he, a rational fellow, in the light of economic and prudential considerations, joined us promptly.”

  “I never doubted that Imnak was a man of decision,” I said.

  “Do not be bitter,” he said.

  “What would you think if a Kur betrayed his own kind?” I asked.

  He looked at me, startled. “It could not happen,” he said.

  “Surely Kurii, in their own wars, have occasionally demonstrated treachery.”

  “Never to men, never to another species,” said the beast. “That is unthinkable.”

  “Kurii, then,” I said, “are in this regard nobler than men.”

  “It is my supposition,” it said, “that in all respects Kurii are nobler than men.” It looked at me. “But I except you,” he said. “I think there is something of the Kur in you.”

  “In the room of the dueling,” I said. “There was a large mirror.”

  “An observation port,” it said.

  “I thought so,” I said.

  “You fought splendidly,” he said. “You are very skilled with that tiny weapon.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “I, too, am skilled in weaponry,” it said, “in various weapons traditional with my people, and in modern weapons, as well.”

  “You maintain, even with your technology, a dueling tradition?” I asked.

  “Of course,” it said. “And the tradition of the fang and claw is continued as well.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “I am not fond of modern weapons,” it said. “An egg-carrier or even a nondominant could use them. They put one at too great a distance from the kill. They can be effective, and that is their justification, but they are, in my opinion, boring. They tend to rob one, because of their nature, of the closeness, the ininiediacy, the joy of the hot kill. That is the greatest condemnation of them. They take the pleasure out of killing.” It looked at me. “What can compare,” it asked, “with the joy of real victory? Of true victory? When one has risked one’s life openly and then, after a hard-fought contest, has one’s enemy at one’s feet, lacerated, and bleeding and dying, and can then tear him in victory and feast in his body, what can compare with the joy of that?”

  The eyes of the beast blazed, but then the fierce light subsided. It poured us again a glass of paga.

  “Very little, I suppose,” I said.

  “Do I horrify you?” it asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “I knew I would not,” it said.

  “How did you know that?” I asked.

  “I saw you fight,” it said.

  I shrugged.

  “You should have seen your face,” it said. “You cannot tell me you did not like it.”

  “I have not told you that,” I said.

  “In time the war will be finished,” it said. It looked at me, “If we should survive it, there will be afterwards no use for such as we.”

  “We will, at least,” I said, “have known one another.”

  “That is true,” it said. “Would you like to see my trophies?” it asked.

  “Yes,” I said,

  33. I Leave The Complex

  It was chilly in the low, steel room, one serving as a port to the outside ice.

  Near the circular, heavy door, now closed, stood the white-pelted Kur, that which had rings in its ears, that which had accompanied Karjuk, the traitor to his people. It held a leather harness looped in its paw.

  I donned the furs.

  I was to be taken outside and there, some distance from the complex, out on the ice, slain. It would seem as though the sled sleen had turned upon me. If I was found, it would be conjectured that the death, violent though it might have been, was not one unnatural for the Gorean north. I would have been lost in the north, apparently lost in a fruitless, misguided venture, one ill-fated from the beginning, one in which nothing but a meaningless, bloody conclusion would have been encountered. If there were a search for me, or curiosity concerning me, it would terminate when the carcass, torn and frozen, was found.

  No sleen would draw the sled, of course.

  The beast looped the harness about me, and I stood, waiting, in the harness, before the sled.

  Its teeth would be sufficient to mock the predations of a reverted, starving sleen upon my body. He must be sure, however, to leave enough to be found, some bones and furs, the broken sled, some chewed traces.

  I was pleased to have met Zarendargar, or Half-Ear. We had talked long.

  Strange that I could converse with him, for he was only a beast.

  I think he regretted sending me out upon the ice, to be rent by the white Kur. Zarendargar, or Half-Ear, I think, was a lonely soldier, a true soldier, with few with whom he could speak, with few with whom he could share his thoughts. I suspect there were few, if any, in that steel complex, even of his own breed, with whom he could converse warmly, excitedly, swiftly, in detail, as he did with me, where a word might suggest a paragraph, a glance, a lifted paw signify what might with a less attuned interlocutor require hours of converse to convey. He seemed to think we were, in some sense, kindred, that despite alien evolutions, remote origins and diverse histories. How preposterous was that concept! One does not find one’s brother upon the shores of foreign worlds. “The same dark laws which have formed the teeth and claws of the Kur have formed the hand and brain of man,” had said Half-Ear. This seemed to me, however, quite unlikely. Surely the same noble, high laws which had formed the lofty brain and useful hand of man could not have been responsible for the, fangs and claws of the predatory Kur. We were men and they were beasts. Was that not clear to all?

  I felt the leather of the sleen harness being drawn more tightly about me. It was cinched upon my body.

  I thought of the melting of copper, the flame of sulphur, the structure of salt, of jagged Eros in its orbit, of the crags of Titan, of the interactions of compounds, the stirring of molecules, the movement of atoms, the trajectories of electrons. How formidable seem the implacable correlations. Perhaps what is alien to us is only ourselves in a different visage. Perhaps the other is not different but, ultimately, the same, When we seek the unknown is it ourselves for which we truly search?

  Then I dismissed such foolish thoughts.

  Surely it could not be that the dark rhythms and the brotherhoods of diverse chemistries could have combined to produce on an alien sphere those who were our brothers. He had spoken of convergent evolution. I had scoffed at this. One need only use one’s eyes to see the difference between a Kur and a man. We were men, they were beasts, no more. Yet I had not been unfond of Half-Ear. I had felt, in meeting him, that I had known him for a long time, and I felt that he had had similar feelings. It was strange. We were so different, and yet, somehow, not so unlike as one might think. Then I reminded myself again that I was a man, and he a beast, no more. How shamed I was that he should compare himself to me. How offensive I found his allegations!

  One need only use one’s eyes to see how different we were!

  How incredible it would he if one landed upon a foreign shore, a planet remote from our own, and found, emerging from its dark forests, shambling toward one, its eyes blazing, one’s brother.

  The white Kur stepped back. I was harnessed to the sled.

  Last night I had been locked in my cell. It had not been unpleasant, however. Half-Ear had seen to that. Delicate viands, and furs and wines had been placed In the cell for me. Too, two slave girls, in pleasure silk, perfumed and collared, had been thrust into the ccll for my use. I read the collar of each. The collar of each said, “I belong to Tarl Cabot.” They had knelt at my feet, weeping. But that night I had well taught them their slavery. In the morning, when the white Kur had come to fetch me, and I had left the cell, both Arlene and Constance had had to be beaten back from the gate with whips. Then they were locked behind me in the cell, They had thrust their
arms through the bars, crying out, weeping. With whips they were driven back further in the cell. I saw them, beautiful, inside the bars. They were not permitted to touch them. “Master,” they wept. “Master!” They fell to their knees. “Master!” they cried. “Master! Master!” I turned and left the larger room, that in which the cell was located. I did not look back.

  The white Kur reached to the lever which, rotated, would swing back the thick, circular steel hatch.

  “Greetings, Tarl, who hunts with me,” said Imnak, grinning, entering the room.

  “Greetings, Traitor,” I said.

  “Do not be bitter, Tarl, who hunts with me,” said Imnak. “One must look out for one’s own best interest.”

  I said nothing.

  “I want you to know that I, and all the People,” he said, “will be forever grateful to you for having freed the tabuk.”

  “That is a comforting thought,” I said.

  “One in your position can probably use a comforting thought,” speculated Imnak.

  “That is true,” I said. It was difficult to be angry with Imnak.

  “I hold no hard feelings toward you,” said Imnak.

  “That is a relief,” I said.

  “I have brought you something to eat,” he said. He lifted up a sack.

  “No thank you,” I said.

  “But you may grow hungry before you reach your destination,” said Imnak.

  “I do not think so,” I said.

  “Perhaps then your companion,” said Imnak, indicating the Kur with his head, “might enjoy something to eat. You must not be selfish. You should think of him, too, you know.”

  “I will not be likely to forget him,” I said.

  “Take the food,” said Imnak.

  “I do not want it,” I said.

  Imnak looked stricken.

  Suddenly I was startled. My heart leaped.

  “Sleen like it,” said Imnak, hopefully.

  “Let me see it,” I said. I looked into the sack. “Yes, I will take it,” I said.

  The Kur came away from the lever which controlled the hatch to the outside. It smelled the sack and looked within. It handled the chunks of meat, large and thick, in the sack. It satisfied itself the sack contained no knives or weapon.

  “It is for me,” I said to the Kur.

  The lips of the Kur drew back. It took the sack and put it on the sled. It then went back to the lever and rotated it. The hatch opened slowly. I could see the darkness, the moonlit ice beyond. The temperature in the steel room, almost immediately, fell thirty or forty points in temperature. Wind whipped into the room, blowing the Kur’s fur, and Imnak’s black hair about his head.

  “Tal,” said Imnak to me, not as though bidding me farewell, but as though greeting me.

  “Tal,” said I to him.

  The Kur took his place behind the sled. I leaned forward and, putting my weight against the traces, drew the sled over the steel plates and out onto the ice.

  34. What Occurred On The Ice

  As I had anticipated it was the intention of Half-Ear that my mutilated body be found at a considerable distance from the complex.

  We trekked northward. The wind was twisting and swift. The cold was intense.

  The complex was more than an Ahn behind us.

  “I am hungry,” I said to-the Kur, half shouting, pointing to my mouth.

  Its lips drew back. It lifted the whip. Again I put my weight against the traces.

  When I, drawing the sled, had left the complex I had turned and looked upon it. I had stood there for a moment in awe. It was indeed an ice island, and one of considerable size. It towered more than a thousand feet above the surface ice in which It was now locked. It would extend, below the surface, much farther, probably some seven thousand or so feet. In width it was some four pasangs, I would conjecture, and in length some ten pasangs. It was not the only such island in the vicinity.

  The Kur had lifted the whip behind me, and I had then turned to continue the journey, the cliffs of the ice island rearing high above and behind me.

  It had been kept stabilized in its position gyroscopically during the summer. It would be located by the invasion fleet by virtue of its position.

  I looked up at the stars. Already, I supposed, the troopships, with their hibernated marches, engines flaming, quiet in the near vacuum of space, burned their silent, purposeful way teward the shores of Gor.

  “I am hungry,” I said to the Kur.

  Its lips drew back, this time in a snarl. It bared its fangs. I saw that it was considering killing me. But it would be obedient to its orders, if the situation would permit it. It was not what it seemed, a simple ice beast. It was a ship Kur, once bound by the discipline of the steel worlds, the pledges of crews and the necessary rigors of strict report lines. Unless I forced it to do so, it would not kill me until the time and place mandated in its instructions.

  Yet it was displeased with me.

  I saw it lift the whip. It could, of course, lash the furs from my back. But if it did so, I would soon freeze; too, the cut fur, sliced by the whip, would belie the deception of a sleen attack. It might kill me now, but then it would have to draw the sled itself, my rent body upon it, to the place or distance at which it was to be abandoned.

  The Kur took the sack of meat in its paw. I reached out for it. It drew the sack back, and its lips went back about its fangs. It then crouched itself upon the sled, the sack of meat before it, snarled, and lifted the whip.

  I looked at it, as though in dismay. “How can I draw the sled with such weight upon it?” I asked. “Please,” I said.

  It reached into the sack and drew forth one of the large, heavy chunks of meat. It extended it towards me, but, when I went to take it, it drew it back and bared its fangs. I stepped back. It slipped the large chunk of meat into its mouth. I saw it swallow. Its lips drew back. Then it snarled and lifted the whip.

  “Please,” I said.

  I saw its eyes blaze. Then it threw another piece of meat down its throat.

  I turned away, and, now struggling, put my weight against the traces. The beast was indeed heavy, and it was not easy to draw the sled, its weight upon it, over the roughness and jagged contours of the ice.

  Half of an Ahn later, weary, my legs heavy, my back sore, I turned once more to see the beast. It snarled and again lifted the whip. The sack which had held the meat lay empty on the sled. The beast seemed, however, generally content. Its eyes were half closed. It seemed sleepy.

  I turned about and again drew the sled. It was now a matter of time.

  My major fear had been that the beast would have swallowed the meat into its storage stomach, in which it would not be digested until, at the beast’s will, it was disgorged into the true stomach, or chemical stomach. I did not think, however, he had swallowed the meat into the storage stomach. First, there was sufficient food at the complex, and Kurii usually do not carry excess food and water in their body except when anticipating periods of scarcity. The additional food, of course, is a weight burden and impairs performance. Secondly, the beast seemed sleepy and content, which suggested to me that it had fed, and pleasantly, to its satisfaction. The metabolism of the Kur, however, does tend to be more under its control than it is with many organisms. Even in the true, or chemical, stomach, it can, by regulating the flow of digestive juices, hasten or protract the process of digestion. For example, it commonly digests at its leisure, but, if it anticipates proximate exertions, it can hurry the process. A Kur, thus, requires a smaller time interval than many species between eating heavily and engaging in demanding physical behaviors. This trait, doubtless, has been selected for in Kur evolution. I was not particularly worried, however, for, even at a low rate of digestion, I was confident there would be time for the meat to accomplish its dark work. The sack which had been filled with meat was empty. It must have contained fifteen or twenty pieces of meat.

  Suddenly the sled was lighter, for the Kur had stepped from it. I was suddenly alarmed.
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  It stood behind the sled, looking about. We were in a wide place, almost a shallow bowl, some hundred yards or so in diameter. It was a relatively clear place among the crags and projections of ice. From the air it might be easily identified, I supposed, even from a considerable altitude.

  The Kur seemed satisfied. I began to sweat. I pulled down the collar of the parka, habitually. One does not wish to sweat in the north. One does not want it to freeze on one’s body, but, even more dangerously, one does not wish one’s furs to become wet and then freeze, thus robbing them of their thermal efficiency and, indeed, increasing the likelihood of a break or tear in the hides. A rent in a garment, not soon repaired, can be extremely dangerous. A needle and thread can be as important in the north as a means to make fire.

  The Kur’s lips drew back, in a Kur grin, seeing my action. It was foolish, in the circumstances, I supposed. Yet it is a kind of thing one does, even without thinking, when one is wise to the north.

  I looked about at the shallow, moonlit bowl, in whose center we stood, the sled between us.

  It seemed to me, too, objectively, a sensible place for the Kur to address himself to his hideous task. It was relatively open, easily identifiable, or as easily identifiable as any area might be in the ice, and was at a suitable distance from the complex.

  It was difficult to fault the judgment of the Kur. It was an intelligent animal.

  The Kur indicated that I should free myself of the harness, I did so, with my mittened hands.

  We stood apart from one another. The wind had subsided now. It was very cold and desolate in that place. Its lips drew back. I saw expectoration form at the corner of its month, an anticipatory salivation. It froze almost immediately into beads and he broke them awsy from the fur about his jaw with a movement of his paw. Its breath was foglike about its head and fangs. A soft vapor, like steam, clung about its form, then wafted away, where the cold air had made contact with the warmth of that large, terrible body, It gestuted that I should approach it.

  I did not do so.

  With one paw it struck the sled to the side, from between us.