by John Norman
“Mount the disk, Tarl Cabot of Ko-ro-ba,” said Misk, gesturing with his foreleg to the flat oval disk which had brought Sarm to our level.
I hesitated.
“He is afraid,” said Sarm.
“He has much to fear,” said Misk.
“I am not afraid,” I said.
“Then mount the disk,” said Misk.
I did so, and the two Priest-Kings stepped delicately onto the disk to join me, in such a way that one stood on each side and slightly behind me. Scarcely had they placed their weight on the disk when it began to smoothly and silently accelerate down the long ramp which led toward the bottom of the canyon.
The disk moved with great swiftness and it was with some difficulty that I managed to stand on my feet, leaning into the blast of air which rushed past me. To my annoyance both of the Priest-Kings seemed immobile, leaning alertly forward into the wind, their forelegs lifted high, their antennae lying flat, streaming backwards.
Chapter Twelve
THE TWO MULS
On a marble circle of some half pasang in width, in the bottom of that vast, brilliantly lit, many-coloured artificial canyon the oval disk diminished its speed and drew to a stop.
I found myself in some sort of plaza, surrounded by the fantastic architecture of the Nest of Priest-Kings. The plaza was crowded, not only with Priest-Kings but even more with various creatures of other forms and natures. Among them I saw men and women, barefoot with shaven heads, clad in short purple tunics that reflected the various lights of the plaza as though they might have been formed of some reflective plastic.
I stepped aside as a flat, sluglike creature, clinging with several legs to a small transportation disk, swept by.
“We must hurry,” said Sarm.
“I see human beings here,” I said to Misk. “Are they slaves?”
“Yes,” said Misk.
“They wear no collars,” I pointed out.
“It is not necessary to mark a distinction between slave and free within the Nest,” said Misk, “for in the Nest all humans are slaves.”
“Why are they shaven and clad as they are?” I asked.
“It is more sanitary,” said Misk.
“Let us leave the plaza,” said Sarm.
I would learn later that his agitation was principally due to his fear of contracting filth in this public place. Humans walked here.
“Why do the slaves wear purple?” I asked Misk. “That is the colour of the robes of a Ubar.”
“Because it is a great honour to be the slave of Priest – Kings,” said Misk.
“Is it your intention,” I asked, “that I should be so shaved and clad?”
My hand was on my sword hilt.
“Perhaps not,” said Sarm. “It may be that you are to be destroyed immediately. I must check the scent-tapes.”
“He is not to be destroyed immediately,” said Misk, “nor is he to be shaved and clad as a slave.”
“Why not?” asked Sarm.
“It is the wish of the Mother,” said Misk.
“What has she to do with it?” asked Sarm.
“Much,” said Misk.
Sarm seemed puzzled. He stopped. His antennae twitched nervously. “Was he brought to the tunnels for some purpose?”
“I came of my own accord,” I avowed.
“Don’t be foolish,” said Misk to me.
“For what purpose was he brought to the tunnels?” asked Sarm.
“The purpose is known to the Mother,” said Misk.
“I am the First Born,” said Sarm.
“She is the Mother,” said Misk.
“Very well,” said Sarm, and turned away. I sensed he was not much pleased.
At that moment a human girl walked near and wide-eyed circled us, looking at me. Although her head was shaved she was pretty and the brief plastic sheath she wore did not conceal her charms.
A shudder of repulsion seemed to course through Sarm.
“Hurry,” he said, and we followed him as he scurried from the plaza.
***
“Your sword,” said Misk, extending one foreleg down to me.
“Never,” I said, backing away.
“Please,” said Misk.
For some reason I unbuckled the sword belt and reluctantly handed the weapon to Misk.
Sarm, who stood in the long room on an oval dais, seemed satisfied with this transaction. He turned to the walls behind him which were covered with thousands of tiny illuminated knobs. He pulled certain of these out from the wall and they seemed to be attached to slender cords which he passed between his antennae. He spent perhaps an Ahn in this activity and then, exasperated, turned to face me.
I had been pacing back and forth in the long room, nervous without the feel of the sword steel at my thigh.
Misk during all this time had not moved but had remained standing in that incredible fixity perhaps unique to Priest – Kings.
“The scent-tapes are silent,” said Sarm.
“Of course,” said Misk.
“What is to be the disposition of this creature?” asked Sarm.
“For the time,” said Misk, “it is the wish of the Mother that it be permitted to live as a Matok.”
“What is that?” I asked.
“You speak much for one of the lower orders,” said Sarm.
“What is a Matok?” I asked.
“A creature that is in the Nest but is not of the Nest,” said Misk.
“Like the arthropod?” I asked.
“Precisely,” said Misk.
“If I had my wish,” said Sarm, “he would be sent to the vivarium or the dissection chambers.”
“But that is not the wish of the Mother,” said Misk.
“I see,” said Sarm.
“Thus,” said Misk, “it is not the wish of the Nest.”
“Of course,” said Sarm, “for the wish of the Mother is the wish of the Nest.”
“The Mother is the Nest and the Nest is the Mother,” said Misk.
“Yes,” said Sarm, and the two Priest-Kings approached one another, bowed and gently locked their antennae.
When they disengaged themselves, Sarm turned to face me. “Nonetheless,” he said, “I shall speak to the Mother about this matter.”
“Of course,” said Misk.
“I should have been consulted,” said Sarm, “for I am First Born.”
“Perhaps,” said Misk.
Sarm looked down at me. I think he had not forgiven me the start I had given him on the platform high above the canyon, near the elevator.
“It is dangerous,” he said. “It should be destroyed.”
“Perhaps,” said Misk.
“And it curled its antennae at me,” said Sarm.
Misk was silent.
“Yes,” said Sarm. “It should be destroyed.”
Sarm then turned from me and with his left, forward supporting appendage depressed a recessed button in the dais on which he stood.
Hardly had his delicate foot touched the button than a panel slid aside and two handsome men, of the most symmetrical form and features with shaven heads and clad in the purple, plastic tunics of slaves, entered the room and prostrated themselves before the dais.
At a signal from Sarm they leaped to their feet and stood alertly beside the dais, their feet spread, their heads high, their arms folded.
“Behold these two,” said Sarm.
Neither of the two men who had entered the room had seemed to notice me.
I now approached them.
“I am Tarl Cabot of Ko-ro-ba,” I said to them, extending my hand.
If they saw my hand they made no effort to accept it.
I assumed they must be identical twins. They had wide, fine heads, strong, broad bodies, and a carriage that suggested calmness and strength.
Both were a bit shorter than I but were somewhat more squarely built.
“You may speak,” said Sarm.
“I am Mul-Al-Ka,” said one, “honoured slave of the glorious Pr
iest-Kings.”
“I am Mul-Ba-Ta,” said the other, “honoured slave of the glorious Priest-Kings.”
“In the Nest,” said Misk, “the expression “Mul” is used to designate a human slave.”
I nodded. The rest of it I did not need to be told. The expressions “Al-Ka” and “Ba-Ta” are the two first letters of the Gorean alphabet. In effect these men had no names, but were simply known as Slave A and Slave B.
I turned to Sarm.
“I assume,” I said, “you have more than twenty-eight human slaves.” There were twenty-eight characters in the Gorean alphabet. I had intended my remark to be rather vicious but Sarm took no offense.
“Others are numbered,” he said. “When one dies or is destroyed, his number is assigned to another.”
“Some of the low numbers,” volunteered Misk, “have been assigned as many as a thousand times.”
“Why do these slaves not have numbers?” I asked.
“They are special,” said Misk.
I regarded them closely. They seemed splendid specimens of mankind. Perhaps Misk had meant merely that they were unusually excellent representatives of the human type.
“Can you guess,” asked Sarm, “which one has been synthesised?”
I must have given quite a start.
Sarm’s antennae giggled.
“Yes,” said Sarm, “one was synthesised, beginning with the synthesis of the protein molecules, and was formed molecule by molecule. It is artificially constructed human being. It is not of much scientific interest but it has considerable curiosity value. It was built over a period of two centuries by Kusk, the Priest-King, as a way of escaping in his leisure hours from the burdens of his serious biological investigations.
I shuddered.
“What of the other?” I asked.
“It too,” said Sarm, “is not without interest and is also bestowed upon us by the avocational whims of Kusk, one of the greatest of our Nest.”
“Is the other also synthesised?” I asked.
“No,” said Sarm, “it is the product of genetic manipulation, artificial control and alteration of the hereditary coils in gametes.”
I was sweating.
“Not the least interesting aspect of this matter,” said Sarm, “is the match.”
To be sure I could not tell the two men, if they were men, apart.
“That is the evidence of real skill,” said Sarm.
“Kusk,” said Misk, “is one of the greatest of the Nest.”
“Which of these slaves,” I asked, “is the one who was synthesised?”
“Can’t you tell?” asked Sarm.
“No,” I said.
Sarm’s antennae shivered and wrapped themselves about one another. He was shaking with the signs I knew now to be associated with amusement.
“I will not tell you,” he said.
“It is growing late,” said Misk, “and the Matok, if he is to remain in the Nest, must be processed.”
“Yes,” said Sarm, but he seemed in no hurry to conclude his gloating. He pointed one long, jointed foreleg at the Muls. “Gaze upon them with awe, Matok,” said he, “for they are the product of Priest-Kings and the most perfect specimens of your race ever to exist.”
I wondered about what Misk meant by “processing” but Sarm’s words irritated me, as did the two grave, handsome fellows who had so spontaneously groveled before his dais. “How is that?” I asked.
“Is it not obvious?” asked Sarm.
“No,” I said.
“They are symmetrically formed,” said Sarm. “Moreover they are intelligent, strong and in good health.” Sarm seemed to wait for my reply but there was none. “And,” said Sarm, “they live on fungus and water, and wash themselves twelve times a day.”
I laughed. “By the Priest-Kings!” I roared, the rather blasphemous Gorean oath slipping out, somehow incongruously considering my present location and predicament. Neither Priest-King however seemed in the least disturbed by this oath which might have brought tears to the eyes of a member of the Caste of Initiates.
“Why do you curl your antennae?” asked Sarm.
“You call these perfect human beings?” I asked, waving my arms toward the two slaves.
“Of course,” said Sarm.
“Of course,” said Misk.
“Perfect slaves!” I said.
“The most perfect human being is of course the most perfect slave,” said Sarm.
“The most perfect human being,” I said, “is free.”
A look of puzzlement seemed to appear in the eyes of the two slaves.
“They have no wish to be set free,” said Misk. He then addressed the slaves. “What is your greatest joy, Muls?” he asked.
“To be slaves of Priest-Kings,” they said.
“You see?” asked Misk.
“Yes,” I said. “I see now that they are not men.”
Sarm’s antennae twitched angrily.
“Why do you not,” I challenged, “have your Kusk, or whoever he is, synthesise a Priest-King?”
Sarm seemed to shiver with rage. The bladed hornlike projections snapped into view on his forelegs.
Misk had not moved. “It would be immoral,” he said.
Sarm turned to Misk. “Would the Mother object if the Matok’s arms and legs were broken?”
“Yes,” said Misk.
“Would the Mother object if its organs were damaged?” asked Sarm.
“Undoubtedly,” said Misk.
“But surely,” said Sarm, “it can be punished.”
“Yes,” said Misk, “undoubtedly it will have to be disciplined sometime.”
“Very well,” said Sarm and directed his antennae at the two shaven-headed, plastic-clad slaves. “Punish the Matok,” said Sarm, “but do not break its bones nor injure its organs.”
No sooner had these words been emitted from Sarm’s translator than the two slaves leaped toward me to seize me.
In that same instant I leaped toward them, taking them by surprise and compounding the momentum of my blow. I thrust one aside with my left arm and crushed my fist into the face of the second. His head snapped to the side and his knees buckled. He crumpled to the floor. Before the other could regain his balance, I had leaped to him and seized him in my hands and lifted him high over my head and hurled him on his back to the stone flooring of the long chamber. Had it been combat to the death in that brief instant I would have finished him leaping over him and gouging my heels into his stomach rupturing the diaphragm. But I had no wish to kill him, nor a matter of fact to injure him severely. He managed to roll over on his stomach. I could have snapped his neck then with my heel. The thought occurred to me that these slaves had not been well trained to administer discipline. They seemed to know almost nothing. Now the man was on his knees, gasping, supporting himself on the palm of his right hand. If he was right-handed, that seemed foolish. Also he made no effort to cover his throat.
I looked up at Sarm and Misk, who, observing, stood in that slightly inclined, infuriatingly still posture.
“Do not injure them further,” said Misk.
“I will not,” I said.
“Perhaps the Matok is right,” said Misk to Sarm. “Perhaps they are not perfect human beings.”
“Perhaps,” admitted Sarm.
Now the slave who was conscious lifted his hand piteously to the Priest-Kings. His eyes were filled with tears.
“Please,” he begged, “let us go to the dissection chambers.”
I was dumbfounded.
Now the other had regained consciousness and, on his knees, joined his fellow. “Please,” he cried, “let us go to the dissection chambers.”
My astonishment could not be concealed.
“They feel that they have failed the Priest-Kings and wish to die,” said Misk.
Sarm regarded the two slaves. “I am kind,” he said, “and it is near the Feast of Tola.” He lifted his foreleg with a gentle, permissive gesture, almost a benediction. “You may go to
the dissection chambers.”
To my amazement, gratitude transfigured the features of the two slaves and, helping one another, they prepared to leave the room.
“Stop!” I cried.
The two slaves stopped and looked at me.
My eyes were fixed however on Sarm and Misk. “You can’t send them to their deaths,” I said.
Sarm seemed puzzled.
Misk’s antennae shrugged.
Frantically I groped for a plausible objection. “Kusk would surely be displeased if his creatures were to be destroyed,” I said. I hoped it would do.
Sarm and Misk touched antennae.
“The Matok is right,” said Misk.
“True,” said Sarm.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
Sarm then turned to the two slaves. “You may not go to the dissection chambers,” he said.
Once more the two slaves, this time apparently without emotion, folded their arms and stood, legs apart, beside the dais. Nothing might have happened in the last few moments save that one was breathing heavily and the other’s face was splattered with his own blood.
Neither of them showed any gratitude at being reprieved nor did either evince any resentment at my having interfered with their executions.
I was, as you might suppose, puzzled. The responses and behaviour of the two slaves seemed to be incomprehensible.
“You must understand, Tarl Cabot of Ko-ro-ba,” said Misk, apparently sensing my puzzlement, “that it is the greatest joy of Muls to love and serve Priest-Kings. If it is the wish of a Priest-King that they die they do so with great joy; if it is the wish of a Priest-King that they live, they are similarly delighted.”
I noted that neither of the two slaves looked particularly delighted.
“You see,” continued Misk, “these Muls have been formed to love and serve Priest-Kings.”
“They have been made that way,” I said.
“Precisely,” said Misk.
“And yet you say they are human,” I said.
“Of course,” said Sarm.
And then to my surprise one of the slaves, though which one I could not have told, looked at me and spoke. “We are human,” it said very simply.
