dune, sand almost to its knees, sand sweeping about it. The wind had picked up.
I saw its fur blown.
The wind had shifted again to the east.
Within moments the storm fell. The Kur pressed on, through the pelting sand. The
sky was dark. I held to the fur at its arm, fighting to keep my balance.
Suddenly the Kur stopped, and stood, leaning against the wind. I opened my eyes,
and saw, briefly, before me, not more than a hundred yards away, in a fleeting
gap in the storm, swiftly closed again by the hastened, stinging sand, crooked,
leaning to one side, half buried in the sand, a cylinder of steel; it was
perhaps twelve feet in diameter, perhaps forty feet of it exposed; at its apex I
saw clustered thrust chambers; it was a ship; it had been crashed into the sand.
I felt the hand of the Kur close on my arm.
It is difficult to speak of what I then saw. The Kur, near me, removed his hand
from my arm. With his right hand he took the ring on his left hand, that on his
second finger, and turned the bezel inward, so that the silvered plate set in
the gold faced inward. On the exposed side of the ring there was a circular
switch, which he then depressed. For a moment in the sand, he seemed to shimmer
and then I saw only the sand, the whipping, pelting sand. I was alone.
I knew then it hunted, in the vicinity of the tower. On my hands and knees I
crawled a few yards in the direction of the ship. I saw it again, once, briefly,
in a break in the storm. It seemed to me of primitive design. The thrust
chambers suggested a liquid-propellant rocket. It was not disklike. I supposed
it might have been an obsolete ship, perhaps a derelict, even an ancient ship,
little more now than the fuselage for housing a bomb.
I shuddered when I thought of the power concealed in that casing of steel.
I wanted to run, into the storm, away from it. But I knew that nowhere on Gor
would there be escape from that inert ship. “Beware the steel tower, “ had been
written on the rock. It was a weapon, pressed to the temple of a world, set to
be discharged with the falling of darkness.
I thought I heard, wild. Though it was hard to tell in the wind, the screams of
men. Then I heard the howling of a Kur, and four sudden, swift explosions.
Then I heard only the wind.
I waited, for more than a quarter of an Ahn. Then I sensed it near me. The air
shimmered. It stood unsteadily. The Kur was before me. Its, paws were red. In
its left thigh was one, and across its chest, were three holes, three quarters
of an inch in diameter. Its eyes could not focus. It turned it’s back to me. In
its back, where the force had burst loose of its body, were holes corresponding
to those in his leg and chest. I smelled burned flesh. A white smoke, tiny, in
wisps, like the smoke of dry ice, rose from the holes, then was whipped away by
the wind. The Kur sank to the sand. I knelt over it. It opened its eyes. They
focused on me.
“Is it accomplished?” I asked. “Is the work done?”
With its bloodied paw the ring from its finger. It thrust it toward me. It was
covered with blood, that I assumed of men it had slain. The circle of the ring
was not made for a human finger. It was an inch and a quarter in diameter. It
pressed the ring into my hands. With a bit of leather string, from the wrappings
on my feet, I tied it about my neck.
The beast lay in the sand. It bled slowly. I suppose it had little blood to
bleed. Too, the force that had penetrated its body had, apparently, searing,
half-sealed the wounds it inflicted. It was as though a hot poker, chemically
active, had been thrust through the body. The sand beneath the beast grew red. I
took wrappings from my feet, to thrust into the wounds. The beast pushed me
away. He lifted his arm to where the sun must be, could it be seen.
I stood unsteadily beside it. Then, I started for the ship, through the storm.
Beside the ship I found the remains of a shelter of stones and tarpaulins.
Scattered about were men. I did not think they were alive. I froze, as I saw,
through the wind and sand, another Kur. It was armed. In its right paw it held a
small device. It was hunched over, it peered through the storm.
I was startled that there would be a Kur at the ship. I think, too, the Kur with
whom I had trekked had not anticipated this development. Kurii, no more than
men, willfully commit themselves to destruction. Yet there was a Kur here,
guarding the ship. I knew it would be a determined, desperate beast. It was
willing to die, apparently, that the success of the plan of its superiors be
fulfilled. I supposed many Kurii had competed for this honor. This Kur, of all,
in the cruel selections of the steel ships, had survived. Kurii do not believe
in immortality. They do believe, however, in glory. This Kur, of all, in the
cruel selections of the steel ships, had survived. He would be the most
dangerous of all. He turned toward me.
I saw the paw lift and I threw myself to the side. A large, square rock, near
me, one of those which had held the tarpaulin, leaped upward, split in two,
burnt black, and the slightest instant, almost simultaneous, afterward I heard
the atmospheric concussion of the weapon.
I think the Kur was startled to see me. It did not expect to find a human at the
ship. Perhaps it was this which, in his startled reflex, spoiled his aim. Then
the sand closed between us. I crawled from the area of the shelter. I saw him,
twice, through gaps in the sand. But he did not see me. The next time I saw him,
he turned toward me, hunched down. I backed away. He approached, through the
sand. He did not fire. He held the weapon outward from him, toward me. He tried
to hold his balance. I conjectured that his weapon held a limited number of
charges. It did not fire like a ray, but rather on the analogy of a cartridge
weapon. Suddenly I felt the steel of the ship at my back. The beast emerged from
the sand. I saw its lips draw back; it steadied the weapon in the whipping wind
with both paws; I thrust at the circular switch on the ring about my neck.
Suddenly I saw the Kur as though in red light, and the sand, too, darkly red to
black. To my amazement, it seemed startled; it hesitated; I leapt to the side. A
blast from the hand-held weapon struck the steel of the ship. In its side there
was a blackened hole, as though drilled; metal ran in droplets down the side of
the ship.
I suddenly realized, with elation, that the Kur could not see me.
The ring concealed a light-diversion device, encircling the orbit of its wearer
with a field. We see in virtue of light waves reflected from variously textured
surfaces, which waves impinge on the visual sensors. We see in virtue of the
patterns of these waves. The field about me, I conjectured, diverted and
reconstituted these waves in their original patterns; thus, a given wave of
light in the normal visual spectrum which might strike me and be reflected to
the visual sensor of another organism did not now strike me but was diverted;
similarly patterns of light from objects behind me were diverted about my field
and reconstituted beyond it, to impinge, as though I were not there, on the
visual sensor of an observing organism. The light in virtue of which I saw was
shifted in its spectrum; it was, I suspect, originally in the nonvisible portion
of the spectrum, perhaps in the infrared portion of the spectrum, which could
penetrate the field, but was shifted in such a way by the diversion field that
I, within the orbit of the field, experienced it in a range visible to myself.
It was thus, I conjecture, that I could not be seen by those outside the field
and yet that I, within the field, could experience the world visually which lay
beyond it. Such a device would have been useless among Priest-kings, for they do
not much depend on their visual sensors. Among Kurii I was not certain how
effective it would be. Kurii, like men, are visually oriented organisms, but
their hearing and their sense of smell is incomparably more acute.
I did not know how many charges the weapon of the Kur held. Further, I was
unarmed. I slipped back into the whipping sand. I crouched down.
The howling of the wind screened the sounds of my movements; its swift,
lacerating blasts must have torn the atmosphere of my scent to pieces,
scattering it wildly about, affording the Kur only sudden, misleading, fleeting,
confused sensations. He could not at the moment locate me. I saw him, red in the
twisting, howling sand, moving about, weapon ready, hunting me.
I was puzzled that the Kur with whom I had trekked, who had worn the ring, had
been hit four times, accurately, with the weapon of the Kur who stalked me.
Furthermore, he had been struck, as nearly as I could determine, head-on. It was
not as though the Kur with the weapon had located him at the throat of a man,
and then fired.
It seemed likely then that the Kur must have been struck as it had framed
itself, perhaps in an opening, the other Kur, smelling it, hearing it, firing
when it bad tried to enter. The Kur with the weapon had then come out, hunting
for it, to finish it.
He had not counted on there being an ally, and one who was human.
Similar thoughts must have coursed through the brain of the Kur and I, but I did
not know the position or nature of the portal.
I saw him turn toward the ship, abandoning my bunt, recollecting his principal
objective.
He thus led me to the portal. He reached it before I did. He scrambled, claws
slipping on the leaning steel, and then crouched in it. The opening must once
have been the outer opening of a lock; it was rectangular; the exterior hatch
was missing; there was twisted metal at the side of the opening, as though it
had been wrenched away from rusted hinges; the beast crouched in the lock,
peering into the storm. Then it disappeared within.
My heart sank; time was on its side; it would soon be night; it needed only
wait. I made my way to the stones and tarpaulin; there, feeling, about, I
located one of the bodies, which was mostly whole. Some were missing arms and
heads.
I carried the body toward the side of the ship. Though the Kur had not used
them, there were cuts in the side of the ship, probably used by the humans in
entering and leaving it. A steel ladder, twisted, fitted the rounded side of the
ship. Given the attitude of the ship, however, the ladder was roughly at a
twenty-degree angle to the ground, and some twenty feet from the sand: it was
useless to me. I would use the cuts. I made no effort to conceal sound. I
scraped the side of the steel. I made certain that the Kur within, if he could
hear aught, would be able to tell that someone ascended the side of the ship,
dragging an inert weight, presumably a body.
I knew the Kur must be cunning, if not brilliant. It could be no accident that
this Kur and not another had received this dreadful assignment, to protect the
device of a planet’s destruction until its detonation.
But also it would be under stress. And in the storm it could not see clearly
beyond the portal. It would assume that I would not relinquish the shield of the
ring’s invisibility. A diversion would be ineffective, for what could draw the
Kur from his position? If the blood of the slaughtered humans about had not been
sufficient to override his obedience to the dark imperative of the steel worlds,
I did not think anything I might contrive could lure him forth. He had resisted
blood; the will of this Kur, restraining its instincts of feasting and carnival,
must be mighty indeed. He would assume, perhaps, I might attempt to draw fire
with a decoy, thus slipping into the ship. The only likely object to use in such
a plan would be the body of one of the humans about, victims of the Kur with
whom I had shared the march in the desert. I made no attempt to conceal my
wounds. I let it be clear that I was outside the portal, that I had ascended the
side of the ship, that with me, dragged, was an inert weight, presumably a body.
A likely plan, it seemed to me, would be to thrust the inert body into the
portal, and draw the fire of the Kur within. Perhaps then, in the sudden moment
of confusion, one might slip within, behind it, invisible.
It would be an elementary decoy strategy.
This was a likely plan. I did not adopt it. The Kur waited within. I did not
think I played Kaissa with a fool.
But I would use a decoy strategy. Only I, myself, would be the decoy. Behind the
decoy there would be nothing. One thing the Kur would not expect would be that I
would surrender the shield of invisibility; one thing he would not expect would
be that it would be I, myself, who would present myself to his weapon. I clung
to the side of the portal. I propped the body beside me, holding it that it not
be swept from the side of the ship. I counted slowly, five thousand Ihn, that
the reflexes of the Kur within be drawn to a hair-trigger alertness, that the
whole nervous might of the beast might be balanced on a razor’s edge of
response, that every instinct and fiber in his body would scream to press the
trigger at what first might move. But I counted, too, on its intelligence, its
control, that it would not fire on what first might move, particularly if it
were visible.
The wind howled and the sand swirled about the ship. I pressed the circular
switch on the ring tied about my neck. I again saw in the normal range of the
spectrum. I now realized I saw in the light of the moons; I broke out in a
sweat; it was night. Limply, as though thrust from behind I pushed myself,
awkwardly, sagging, into the opening, and fell forward. Scarcely had I fallen
into the lock than I heard, loud, over me, the concussions of the weapon, firing
five times; almost simultaneously the Kur leaped from somewhere within, from a
nest of piping, and scrambled past me; its foot pressed on my shoulder; it
peered out into the storm; it spied the body below, which had slipped from the
side of the ship when I had entered the ship, no longer holding it; it seemed
momentarily puzzled; it fired into the body twice more; it scrambled from the
opening, turning, slipping on the steel, and slid down to the sand at the side
of the ship.
I came alive, crawling through the interior hatch, which was hanging back open,
fastened back,
so that the Kur could have his clean shot. I slipped inside, and
nearly fell, my feet scraping for a hold. I found it. I heard the Kur outside
howl with rage. I tried to swing the hatch shut, to lock it, but it hung crooked
on its hinges and would not close. Perhaps it had been damaged in the crash of
the ship. Perhaps the Kur with whom I had trekked had, with the frenzy of a
Kur’s strength, wrenched it aside, before meeting the four charges of the other
Kur’s weapon. I heard the Kur’s claws swift on the steel outside, scraping,
climbing. I reached for the ring at my neck. It was gone! The bit of leather,
brittle, worn from the sun, had separated. I heard the snap of the hand weapon.
I looked up. It was not more than eighteen inches from my face. It snapped
again. I dropped into the darkness of the ship. It was empty. The Kur howled
with rage. I fell, dropping, striking objects, sliding for perhaps forty or
fifty feet, until stopped by a compartment wall. I looked up. The interior of
the ship was suddenly illuminated. In the cylinder above me, in the portal, his
paw at the disk, stood the Kur. He looked down at me. His lips drew back. He had
discarded the weapon. I looked about myself, wildly. The interior of the ship,
given its attitude, seemed oddly askew. Beyond this it was not as compact as I
would have expected, as filled with devices, panels and storage cabinets. It had
been muchly stripped, apparently, presumably to lighten it. I saw the Kur
easily, gracefully for its bulk, with its long arms, pipe to pipe, swing down
toward me. When it reached my level I tried to climb upward, clinging to piping
at the ship’s side. Its hand closed about my ankle and I felt myself torn from
the piping. I was lifted in the air and hurled against the wall of the ship, and
I fell back from the wall, falling some ten feet to the remains of a twisted,
ruptured bulkhead, slipped from it and fell another five feet into a debris of
scrap and wire. I crawled on my bands and knees. I heard the Kur approach. Under
some pipes, below me, suddenly, I saw the ring. I fell to my stomach, my arm
clawing downward. I could not reach it. I scrambled to my feet. The Kur looked
down, he, too, seeing the ring. I backed away, stumbling a bit, back in the
debris and wire. I looked upward, in the inclining cylinder of the ship. High
Norman, John - Gor 10 - Tribesmen of Gor.txt Page 39
