by John Norman
At the entrance to the chamber, from a rack, Mul-Al-Ka had taken a Mul-Torch and broken off its end. Holding this over his head he illuminated those portions of the chamber to which the light of the torch would reach.
“This must be a very old portion of the Nest,” said Mul-Al-Ka.
“Where is Misk?” I asked.
“He is here somewhere,” said Mul-Ba-Ta, “for so we were told by Sarm.”
As far as I could tell the chamber seemed empty. In impatience I fingered the chain of the translator I had had the two Muls pick up on the way to Misk’s prison. I was not sure that Misk would have been allowed to retain his translator and I wished to be able to communicate with him.
My eyes drifted upward and I froze for an instant and then, scarcely moving, touched Mul-Ba-Ta’s arm.
“Up there,” I whispered.
Mul-Al-Ka lifted the torch as high as he could.
Clinging to the ceiling of the chamber were numerous dark, distended shapes, apparently Priest-Kings but with abdomens swollen grotesquely. They did not move.
I turned on the translator. “Misk,” I said into it. Almost instantly I recognised the familiar odour.
There was a rustling among the dark, distended shapes that clung to the ceiling.
No response came from my translator.
“He is not here,” proposed Mul-Al-Ka.
“Probably not,” said Mul-Ba-Ta, “for had he replied I think your translator would have picked up his response.”
“Let us look elsewhere,” said Mul-Al-Ka.
“Give me the torch,” I said.
I took the torch and went around to the edges of the room. By the door I saw a series of short bars which emerged from the wall, which might be used as a ladder. Taking my torch in my teeth I prepared to climb the set of bars.
Suddenly I stopped, my hands on one of the bars.
“What is the matter?” asked Mul-Al-Ka.
“Listen,” I said.
We listened carefully and in the distance it seemed we heard, incredibly enough, the mournful singing of human voices, as though of many men, and the sound was as we determined by listening for a minute or two gradually nearing.
“Perhaps they are coming here,” said Mul-Al-Ka.
“We had better hide,” said Mul-Ba-Ta.
I left the bars and led the two Muls to the far side of the room. There I directed them to take cover as well as they could behind some of the conglomerate material which had crumbled from the wall and lay at its base. Grinding out the Mul-torch on the stones I crouched down with them behind some of this debris and together we watched the door.
The singing grew louder.
It was a sad song, mournful and slow, almost a dirgelike chant.
The words were in archaic Gorean which I find very difficult to understand. On the surface it is spoken by none but the members of the Caste of Initiates who use it primarily in their numerous and complex rituals. As nearly as I could make it out the song, though sad, was a paean of some sort to Priest-Kings, and mentioned the Feast of Tola and Gur. The refrain, almost constantly repeated, was something to the effect that We Have Come for Gur, On the Feast of Tola We Have Come for Gur, We Rejoice For on the Feast of Tola We Have Come for Gur.
Then, as we crouched in the darkness of the far side of the chamber, the doors opposite us swung open and we observed two long lines of strange men, marching abreast, each of whom carried a Mul-Torch in one hand and in the other by a handle what resembled a deflated wineskin of golden leather.
I heard Mul-Al-Ka draw in his breath quickly beside me.
“Look, Tarl Cabot,” whispered Mul-Ba-Ta.
“Yes,” I said, cautioning him to silence, “I see.”
The men who came through the door in the long mournful procession may have been of the human kind or they may not have been. They were shaven and clad in plastic as are all Muls of the Nest, but their torsos seemed smaller and rounder than those of a human being and their legs and arms seemed extraordinarily long for their body size and the hands and feet seemed unusually wide. The feet had no toes but were rather disklike, fleshy cushions on which they padded silently along, and similarly on the palms of their wide hands there seemed to be a fleshy disk, which glistened in the blue light of the Mul-Torches. Most strange perhaps was the shape and width of the eyes, for they were very large, perhaps three inches in width, and were round and dark and shining, much like the eyes of a nocturnal animal.
I wondered at what manner of creature they were.
As more of them filed abreast into the room the increased torchlight well illuminated the chamber and I quietly warned my companions to make no movement.
I could now see the Priest-Kings clearly where they clung upside down to the ceiling, the great swollen abdomens almost dwarfing their thoraxes and heads.
Then to my amazement, one by one, the strange creatures, disdaining the bars near the door began simply to pad up the almost vertical walls to the Priest-Kings and then, astonishingly, began to walk upside down on the ceiling. Where they stepped I could see a glistening disk of exudate which they had undoubtedly secreted from the fleshy pads which served them as feet. While the creatures remaining on the floor continued their mournful paean, their fellow creatures on the walls and ceiling, still carrying their torches, and scattering wild shadows of their own bodies and those of swollen Priest-Kings against the ceiling, began to fill their golden vessels from the mouths of the Priest – Kings. Many times was a golden vessel held for a Priest-King as it slowly yielded whatever had been stored in its abdomen to the Muls.
There seemed to be almost an indefinite number of the Muls and of clinging Priest-Kings there were perhaps a hundred. The strange procession to and fro up the walls and across the ceiling to Priest-Kings and back down to the floor, continued for more than an hour, during which time the Muls who stood below, some of them having returned with a full vessel, never ceased to chant their mournful paean.
The Muls made no use of the bars and from this I gathered that they might have been placed where they were in ancient times before there were such creatures to serve Priest-Kings.
I assumed that the exudate or whatever it might be that had been taken from the Priest-Kings was Gur, and that I now understood what it was to retain Gur.
Finally the last of the unusual Muls stood below on the stone flooring.
In all this time not one of them had so much as glanced in our direction, so single-minded were they in their work. When not actively engaged in gathering Gur their round dark eyes were lifted like dark curves to the Priest-Kings who clung to the ceiling far over their heads.
At last I saw one Priest-King move from the ceiling and climb backwards down the wall. His abdomen drained of Gur was now normal and he stalked regally to the door, moving on those light, feathery feet with the delicate steps of one of nature’s masters. When there several Muls flanked him on either side, still singing, and holding their torches and carrying their vessels which now brimmed with a pale, milky substance, something like white, diluted honey. The Priest – King, escorted by Muls, then began to move slowly, step by majestic step, down the passage outside of the chamber. He was followed by another Priest-King, and then another, until all but one Priest-King had departed the chamber. In the light of the last torches which left the chamber I could see that there remained one Priest-King who, though emptied of Gur, still clung to the ceiling. A heavy chain, fastened to a ring in the ceiling, led to a thick metal band which was locked about his narrow trunk between the thorax and the abdomen.
It was Misk.
I broke off the other end of the Mul-Torch, igniting it, and walked to the centre of the chamber.
I lifted it as far over my head as I could.
“Welcome, Tarl Cabot,” came from my translator. “I am ready to die.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
TO THE TUNNELS OF THE GOLDEN BEETLE
I slung the translator on its chain over my shoulder and went to the bars near the door.
Putting the torch in my teeth, I began to climb the bars rapidly. One or two of them, rusted through, broke away in my hands, and I was nearly plunged to the rocky floor beneath. The bars were apparently very old and had never been kept in a state of repair or replaced when defective.
When I reached the ceiling I saw, to my relief, that further bars projected downwards from the ceiling and that the bottom of each was bent outwards in a flat, horizontal projection that would afford me a place to put my feet. Still holding the Mul-Torch in my teeth because I wanted both hands free I began to make my way toward Misk, hand and foot, across these metal extensions.
I could see the figures of Mul-Al-Ka and Mul-Ba-Ta beneath me, perhaps a hundred and fifty feet below.
Suddenly one of the extensions, the fourth I believe, slipped with a grating sound from the ceiling and I leaped wildly for the next bar, just managing to catch it in my fall. I heard the other bar drop with a great clang to the floor. For a moment I hung there swaeting. My mouth seemed to be filled with carbon and I realised I must have almost bitten through the Mul-Torch.
Then the bar to which I clung moved an inch from the ceiling.
I moved a bit and it slipped another inch.
If I drew myself up on it I was afraid it would fall altogether.
I hung there and it slipped a bit more, perhaps a fraction of an inch.
I swung forward and back on the bar and felt it loosen almost entirely in the ceiling but on the next forward swing I released it and seized the next bar. I heard the bar I had just left slide out and fall like its predecessor to the stone floor below.
I looked down and saw Mul-Al-Ka and Mul-Ba-Ta standing below, looking up. Concern for me was written on their faces. The two fallen bars lay almost at their feet.
The bar to which I now clung seemed relatively stable and with relief I drew myself up onto it, and then stepped carefully to the next.
In a moment I stood by Misk’s side.
I took the Mul-Torch out of my mouth and spit out some particles of carbon. I lifted the torch and looked at Misk.
He, hanging there upside down, reflected in the blue torchlight, regarded me calmly.
“Greetings, Tarl Cabot,” said Misk.
“Greetings, Misk,” I said.
“You were very noisy,” said Misk.
“Yes,” I said.
“Sarm should have had those bars checked,” said Misk.
“I suppose so,” I said.
“But it is difficult to think of everything,” said Misk.
“Yes, it is,” I agreed.
“Well,” said Misk, “I think perhaps you should get busy and kill me now.”
“I do not even know how to go about it,” I said.
“Yes,” said Misk, “it will be difficult, but with perseverance I think it may be accomplished.”
“Is there some central organ that I might attack?” I queried.
“A heart for example?”
“Nothing that will be of great use,” said Misk. “In the lower abdomen there is a dorsal organ which serves to circulate the body fluids but since our tissues are, on the whole, directly bathed in body fluid, injuring it would not produce death for some time, at least not for a few Ehn.
“On the other hand,” said Misk, “I suppose you have the time.”
“Yes,” I said.
“My own recommendation,” said Misk, “would be the brain – nodes.”
“Then there is no swift way to kill a Priest-King?” I asked.
“Not really with your weapon,” said Misk. “You might however, after some time, sever the trunk or head.”
“I had hoped,” I said, “that there would be a quicker way to kill Priest-Kings.”
“I am sorry,” said Misk.
“I guess it can’t be helped,” I said.
“No,” agreed Misk. And he added, “And under the circumstances I wish it could.”
My eye fell on a metal device, a square rod with some tiny projections at one end. The device hung from a hook about a foot out of Misk’s reach.
“What is that?” I asked.
“A key to my chain,” said Misk.
“Good,” I said and walked over a few bars to get the device, and returned to Misk’s side. After a moment’s difficulty I managed to insert the key into the lock on Misk’s trunk band.
“Frankly,” said Misk, “it would be my recommendation to slay me first and then unlock the band and dispose of my body, for otherwise I might be tempted to defend myself.”
I turned the key in the lock, springing it open.
“But I have not come to kill you,” I said.
“But did Sarm not send you?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Then why do you not kill me?”
“I do not wish to do so,” I said. “Besides, there is Nest Trust between us.”
“That is true,” agreed Misk and with his forelegs removed the metal band from his trunk and let it dangle from the chain. “On the other hand you will now be killed by Sarm.”
“I think that would have happened anyway,” I said.
Misk seemed to think a moment. “Yes,” he said. “Undoubtedly.” Then Misk looked down at Mul-Al-Ka and Mul – Ba-Ta. “Sarm will have to dispose of them also,” he observed.
“He has ordered them to report to the dissection chambers,” I said, adding, “but they have decided not to do so.”
“Remarkable,” said Misk.
“They are just being human,” I said.
“I suppose it is their privilege,” said Misk.
“Yes, I think so,” I said.
Then, almost tenderly, Misk reached out with one foreleg and gathered me from the bar on which I stood. I found myself pressed up tightly against his thorax. “This will be a great deal safer,” he said, and added, unnecessarily to my mind, “and probably a good deal less noisy.” Then, clutching me securely, he scampered away across the ceiling and backed down the wall.
Misk, the Muls and I now stood on the stone floor of the chamber near the door.
I thrust the Mul-Torch which I still carried into a narrow iron receptacle, consisting mainly of two connected rings and a base plate, which was bolted to the wall. There were several of these, I noted, around the walls and they seemed obviously intended to hold Mul-torches or some similar illuminating device.
I turned to the Priest-King.
“You must hide yourself somewhere,” I said.
“Yes,” said Mul-Al-Ka, “find yourself some secret place and stay, and perhaps someday Sarm will succumb to the Pleasures of the Golden Beetle and you can emerge in safety.”
“We will bring you food and water,” volunteered Mul-Ba-Ta.
“That is very kind of you,” responded Misk, peering down at us, “but it is of course impossible to do so.”
The two Muls stood back aghast.
“Why?” I asked, bewildered.
Misk drew himself up to his proud, almost eighteen feet of height, save that he inclined slightly forward from the vertical, and fixed on us with his antennae what I had come to recognise in the last few weeks as a look of rather patient, gentle reproach.
“It is the Feast of Tola,” he said.
“So?” I asked.
“Well,” said Misk, “it being the Feast of Tola I must give Gur to the Mother.”
“You will be discovered and slain,” I said. “Sarm if he finds you are alive will simply bring about your destruction as soon as possible.
“Naturally,” said Misk.
“Then you will hide?” I asked.
“Don’t be foolish,” said Misk, “it is the Feast of Tola and I must give Gur to the Mother.”
I sensed there was no arguing with Misk, but his decision saddened me.
“I am sorry,” I said.
“What was sad,” said Misk, “was that I might not have been able to give Gur to the Mother, and that thought troubled me grievously for the days in which I retained Gur, but now thanks to you I will be able to give Gur to the Mo
ther and I will stand forever in your debt until I am slain by Sarm or succumb to the Pleasures of the Golden Beetle.”
He placed his antennae lightly on my shoulders and then lifted them and I held up my arms and he touched the palms of my hands with the tips of his antennae, and once again we had, in so far as we could, locked our antennae.
He extended his antennae toward the two Muls but they withdrew in shame. “No,” said Mul-Al-Ka, “we are only Muls.”
“There can be no Nest Trust between a Priest-King and Muls,” said Mul-Ba-Ta.
“Then,” said Misk, “between a Priest-King and two of the human kind.”
Slowly, fearfully, Mul-Al-Ka and Mul-Ba-Ta lifted their hands and Misk touched them with his antennae.
“I will die for you,” said Mul-Al-Ka.
“And I,” said Mul-Ba-Ta.
“No,” said Misk, “you must hide and try to live.”
The Muls looked at me, stricken, and I nodded. “Yes,” I said, “hide and teach others who are of the human kind.”
“What will we teach them?” asked Mul-Al-Ka.
“To be human,” I said.
“But what is it to be human,” begged Mul-Ba-Ta, “for you have never told us.”
“You must decide that for yourself,” I said. “You must yourself decide what it is to be human.”
“It is much the same thing with a Priest-King,” said Misk.
“We will come with you, Tarl Cabot,” said Mul-Al-Ka, “to fight the Golden Beetle.”
“What is this?” asked Misk.
“The girl Vika of Treve lies in the tunnels of the Golden Beetle,” I said. “I go to her succor.”
“You will be too late,” said Misk, “for the hatching time is at hand.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Are you going?” asked Misk.
“Yes,” I said.
“Then,” said he, “what I said will be evident.”
We looked at one another.
“Do not go, Tarl Cabot,” he said. “You will die.”
“I must go,” I said.
“I see,” said Misk, “it is like giving Gur to the Mother.”
“Perhaps,” I said, “I don’t know.”
