by John Norman
“Yet,” said Sarm, “there are those who would destroy all this.”
I wondered if hurling my weight against Sarm I might have tumbled him from that platform to his death far below.
“I know why you were brought to the Nest,” said Sarm.
“Then you know more than I do,” I said.
“You were brought here to kill me,” said Sarm, looking down.
I started.
“There are those,” he said, “who do not love the Nest, who would wish to see it pass.”
I said nothing.
“The Nest is eternal,” said Sarm. “It cannot die. I will not let it die.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“You understand, Tarl Cabot,” said Sarm. “Do not lie to me.”
He turned to me and the antennae lowered themselves toward me, the slender, golden hairs on the antennae slightly oscillating. “You would not wish to see this beauty and this power pass from our common world, would you?” asked Sarm.
I looked about myself at the incredible complex which lay below me. “I don’t know,” I said. “I suppose if I were a Priest-King I would not wish to see it pass.”
“Precisely,” said Sarm, “and yet there is one among us – himself incredibly enough a Priest-King – who could betray his own kind, who would be willing to see this glory vanish.”
“Do you know his name?” I asked.
“Of course,” said Sarm. “We – both of us – know his name. It is Misk.”
“I know nothing of these matters,” I said.
“I see,” said Sarm. He paused. “Misk believes that he brought you to the Nest for his own purposes, and I have allowed him to suppose so. I allowed him also to suppose that I suspected – but not that I knew – of his plot, for I had you placed in the chamber of Vika of Treve, and it was there he proved his guilt beyond doubt by rushing to protect you.”
“And had he not entered the room?” I asked.
“The girl Vika of Treve has never failed me,” said Sarm.
My fists clenched on the railing and bitterness choked in my throat, and the old hatred I had felt for the girl of Treve lit once again its dark fires in my breast.
“What good would I be to you chained to her slave ring?” I asked.
“After a time, perhaps a year,” said Sarm, “when you were ready, I would free you on the condition that you would do my bidding.”
“And what would that be?” I asked.
“Slay Misk,” said Sarm.
“Why do you not slay him yourself?” I asked.
“That would be murder,” said Sarm. “He for all his guilt and treason is yet a Priest-King.”
“There is Nest Trust between myself and Misk,” I said.
“There can be no Nest Trust between a Priest-King and a human,” said Sarm.
“I see,” I said. I looked up at Sarm. “And supposing I had agreed to do your bidding, what would have been my reward for all this?”
“Vika of Treve,” said Sarm. “I would have placed her at your feet naked and in slave chains.”
“Not so pleasant for Vika of Treve,” I said.
“She is only a female Mul,” said Sarm.
I thought of Vika and of the hatred I bore her.
“Do you still wish me to slay Misk?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Sarm. “It was for that purpose I brought you to the Nest.”
“Then give me my sword,” I said, “and take me to him.”
“Good,” said Sarm, and we began to trace our way downward around that vast bluish globe that sheltered the power source of Priest-Kings.
Chapter Nineteen
DIE, TARL CABOT
Now once again I would have my sword in my hands and at last I would be able to find Misk, for whose safety I feared.
Beyond this I had no definite plan.
Sarm did not act as quickly as I had anticipated and, from the room of the power source had simply returned me to Misk’s compartment, where my case was kept.
I spent an uneasy night on the moss.
Why had we not gotten on directly with the business at hand?
In the morning, after the hour of the first feeding, Sarm entered Misk’s compartment, where I was waiting for him. To my surprise his head was crowned with an aromatic wreath of green leaves, the first thing green I had seen in the Nest, and about his neck there hung, besides the invariable translator, a necklace, perhaps of accoutrements, perhaps of pure ornaments, small pieces of metal, some shallow and rounded like tiny scoops, others rounded and pointed, others slender and bladed. His entire person I also noted was anointed with unusual and penetrating scents.
“It is the Feast of Tola – the Feast of the Nuptial Flight,” said Sarm. “It is fitting that your work should be done today.”
I regarded him.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Good,” said Sarm, and went to one of the high cabinets in Misk’s chamber and touching a button in a certain sequence of long and short presses opened it. Sarm was apparently familiar with Misk’s compartment. I wondered if the compartments of all Priest-Kings were so similar, of if he had investigated it at various times in the past. I wondered if he knew about the chamber which lay beneath my case. From the high cabinet Sarm withdrew my sword belt, my scabbard, and the short, sharp blade of Gorean steel which I had earlier yielded at the request of Misk.
The weapon felt good again in my hand.
I calculated the distance between myself and Sarm and wondered if I could reach him and kill him before he could bring his jaws into play, or those formidable blades on his forelegs. Where would one strike a Priest-King?
To my surprise Sarm then jerked at the door of te compartment from which he had withdrawn my sword. He bent it outward and downward and then, with one of the pieces of metal hanging from the necklace at his throat he scraped at the front edge of the door and bent it a bit outward; following this he attacked the interior edge of the cabinet similarly.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I am making sure,” said Sarm, “that no one will lock your sword up again in this compartment.” He added, as an afterthought, “I am your friend.”
“I am indeed fortunate to have such a friend,” I said. It was obvious that the compartment was being fixed in such a way as to suggest that it had been broken open.
“Why,” I asked, “are you adorned as you are today?”
“It is the Feast of Tola,” said Sarm, “the Feast of the Nuptial Flight.”
“Where did you get green leaves?” I asked.
“We grow them in special chambers under lamps,” said Sarm. “They are worn on Tola by all Priest-Kings in memory of the Nuptial Flight, for the Nuptial Flight takes place above the ground in the sun and there on the surface there are many things which are green.”
“I see,” I said.
Sarm’s foreleg touched the metals dangling from his necklace.
“These, too,” he said, “have their significance.”
“They are an ornament,” I suggested, “in honour of the Feast of Tola.”
“More than that,” said Sarm, “look at them closely.”
I approached Sarm and regarded the pieces of metal. Some of them reminded me of shallow scoops, others of awls, others of knives.
“They are tools,” I said.
“Long ago,” said Sarm, “in Nests long before this one, in times of which you cannot conceive, it was by means of these small things that my people began the journey that led in time to Priest-Kings.”
“But what of the modifications of the ganglionic net?” I asked.
“These things,” said Sarm, “may be even older than the modifications of the net. It is possible that had it not been for them and the changes they wrought in an ancient form of life there might have been no such modifications, for such modifications might then have been of little practical utility and thus, if they had occurred, might not have been perpetua
ted.”
“Then it might seem,” I proposed, somewhat maliciously, “that from one point of view, contrary to your suggestion of yesterday, that these tiny pieces of metal – and not the modifications of the ganglionic net – are the true and ultimate source of the Priest-Kings’ power.”
Sarm’s antennae twitched irritably.
“We had to pick them up and use them, and later make them,” said Sarm.
“But they may have come before the modifications of the net, you said,” I reminded him.
“The matter is obscure,” said Sarm.
“Yes, I suppose so,” I said.
Sarm’s bladelike projections snapped into view and disappeared again.
“Very well,” said Sarm, “the true source of the Priest-Kings’ power lies in the microparticles of the universe.”
“Very well,” I agreed.
I was pleased to note that it was only with genuine effort that Sarm managed to control himself. His entire body seemed to tremble with rage. He pressed the tips of his forelegs forcibly together to prevent the spontaneous triggering of the bladed projections.
“By the way,” I asked, “how does one kill a Priest-King?” As I asked this I found myself unconsciously measuring my distance from Sarm.
Sarm relaxed.
“It will not be easy with your tiny weapon,” he said, “but Misk will be unable to resist you and so you may take as much time as you wish.”
“You mean I could simply butcher him?”
“Strike at the brain-nodes in the thorax and head,” said Sarm. “It will probably not take more than half a hundred strokes to cut through.”
My heart fell.
For all practical purposes it now semed that Priest-Kings would be invulnerable to my blade, though I supposed I might have injured them severely if I sliced at the sensory hairs on the legs, at the trunk adjoining thorax and abdomen, at the eyes and antennae if I could reach them.
Then it occurred to me that there must be some vital centre not mentioned by Sarm, probably a crucial organ or organs for pumping the body fluids of the Priest-Kings, most simply something corresponding to the heart. But of course he would not tell me of this, nor of its location. Rather than reveal this information he would undoubtedly prefer that I hack away at doomed Misk as though he were a block of insensate fungus.
Not only would I not do this because of my affection for Misk but even if I intended to kill him I surely would not have done so in this manner, for it is not the way a trained warrior kills. I would expect to find the heart, or its correspondent organ or organs, in the thorax, but then I would have supposed that the respiratory cavities were also in the thorax and I knew that they were actually in the abdomen. I wished I had time to investigate certain of Misk’s scent-charts, but even if I had had the time, I might not have found helpful charts and, anyway, my translator scanning them could only read labels. It would be simpler, when I approached Misk with my sword in hand, to see if he would volunteer this information. For some reason I smiled as I considered this.
“Will you accompany me,” I asked, “to the slaying of Misk?”
“No,” said Sarm, “for it is Tola and I must give Gur to the Mother.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It is not a matter of concern for humans,” said Sarm.
“Very well,” I said.
“Outside,” said Sarm, “you will find a transportation disk and the two Muls, Mul-Al-Ka and Mul-Ba-Ta. They will take you to Misk and later will direct you as to the disposal of the body.”
“I can depend on them?” I asked.
“Of course,” said Sarm. “They are loyal to me.”
“And the girl?” I asked.
“Vika of Treve?”
“Of course.”
Sarm’s antennae curled. “Mul-Al-Ka and Mul-Ba-Ta will tell you where to find her.”
“Is it necessary for them to accompany me?” I asked.
“Yes,” said Sarm, “to ensure that you do your work well.”
“But it will be too many who will know of the thing,” I suggested.
“No,” said Sarm, “for I have instructed them to report to the dissection chambers following the completion of your work.”
I said nothing for a moment, but simply looked at the Priest – King who loomed above me.
“Kusk,” said Sarm, anticipating me, “may be displeased for a time, but it cannot be helped, and he may always produce others if he pleases.”
“I see,” I said.
“Besides,” said Sarm, “he gave them to me and I may do with them as I please.”
“I understand,” I said.
“Do not worry about Kusk,” said Sarm.
“Very well,” I said, “I shall try not to worry about Kusk.”
Sarm pranced backwards on those long, delicate, jointed legs, clearing the passage to the door. He lifted his long, bladelike body almost to the vertical.
“I wish you good fortune in this venture,” he said. “In the accomplishing of this matter you do a great service to the Nest and to Priest-Kings, and thereby will you gain great glory for yourself and a life of honour and riches, the first of which will be the slave girl Vika of Treve.”
“Sarm is most generous,” I said.
“Sarm is your friend,” came from the Priest-King’s translator.
As I turned to leave the chamber I noted that the grasping appendages on Sarm’s right foreleg turned off his translator.
He then raised the limb in what appeared to be a magnanimous, benevolent salute, a wishing of me well in my venture.
I lifted my right arm somewhat ironically to return the gesture.
To my nostrils, now alert to the signals of Priest-Kings and trained by my practice with the translator Misk had allowed me to use, there came a single brief odour, the components of which I had little difficulty in discriminating. It was a very simple message and was of course not carried by Sarm’s translator. It was: “Die, Tarl Cabot.”
I smiled to myself and left the chamber.
Chapter Twenty
COLLAR 708
Outside I encountered Mul-Al-Ka and Mul-Ba-Ta.
Although they stood on a transportation disk and this would customarily have been enough to delight both of them, today, and for good reason as I recognised, neither of them looked particularly pleased.
“We are instructed,” said Mul-Al-Ka, “to take you to the Priest-King Misk, whom you are to slay.”
“We are further instructed,” said Mul-Ba-Ta, “to help you dispose of the body in a place of which we have been informed.”
“We are also instructed,” said Mul-Al-Ka, “to express our encouragement for you in this fearsome undertaking and to remind you of the honours and riches that await you upon its successful termination.”
“Not the least of which, we are requested to point out,” said Mul-Ba-Ta, “is the enjoyment of the female Mul Vika of Treve.”
I smiled and boarded the transportation disk.
Mul-Al-Ka and Mul-Ba-Ta took up positions in front of me, but standing with their backs to me. It would have been easy to fling both of them from the disk. Mul-Al-Ka stepped on the accelerator strips and guided the disk from the vicinity of Misk’s portal and out into the broad, smooth thoroughfare of the tunnel. The disk flowed silently down the tunnel on its wide gaseous tread. The air of the tunnel moved against us and the portals we passed slid behind in a soft blur.
“It seems to me,” I said, “you have well discharged your instructions.” I clapped them on the shoulders. “Now tell me what you really wish.”
“I wish that we could, Tarl Cabot,” said Mul-Al-Ka.
“But undoubtedly it would be improper,” said Mul-Ba-Ta.
“Oh,” I said.
We rode on for a while more.
“You will note,” said Mul-Al-Ka, “that we are standing in such a way that you might, without our being able to stop you, hurl us both from the transportation disk.”
“Yes,” I sai
d, “I noted that.”
“Increase the speed of the transportation disk,” said Mul-Ba – Ta, “in order that his action may be the more effective.”
“I don’t wish to throw you from the disk,” I said.
“Oh,” said Mul-Al-Ka.
“It seemed a good idea to us,” said Mul-Ba-Ta.
“Perhaps,” I said, “but why should you wish to be thrown from the disk?”
Mul-Ba-Ta looked at me. “Well, Tarl Cabot,” he said, “that way you would have some time to run and hide. You would be found, of course, but you might survive for a while longer.”
“But I am supposed to have honour and riches,” I reminded them.
Neither of the Muls spoke further but they seemed plunged into a sadness that I found in its way touching, but yet I could scarcely refrain from smiling for they looked so precisely similar.
“Look, Tarl Cabot,” said Mul-Al-Ka suddenly, “we want to show you something.”
“Yes,” said Mul-Ba-Ta.
Mul-Al-Ka swung the transportation disk suddenly down a side tunnel and, accelerating fiercely, flowed like sound down the tunnel for several portals and then stepped of the accelerator strips and, as the disk slowed and stopped, brought it neatly to rest at a tall steel portal. I admired his skill. He was really rather good with the disk. I would have liked to have raced him.
“What is it you wish to show me?” I asked.
Mul-Al-Ka and Mul-Ba-Ta said nothing but stepped from the transportation disk and, pressing the portal switch, opened the steel portal. I followed them inside.
“We have been instructed not to speak to you,” said Mul-Al-Ka.
“Were you instructed to bring me here?” I asked.
“No,” said Mul-Ba-Ta.
“Then why have you brought me here?”
“It seemed good for us to do so,” said Mul-Al-Ka.
“Yes,” said Mul-Ba-Ta. “This has to do with honours and riches and Priest-Kings.”
The room in which we found ourselves was substantially empty, and not too much different in size and shape from the room in which my processing had been initiated. There was, however, no observation screen and no wall disks.
