above me, some sixty or seventy feet, I saw six dials. The Kur reached down with
its long arm. I bent to the pile of debris and wire. The Kur’s arm was long
enough to reach the ring, as mine was not, but the piping beneath which it had
fallen was too closely set to accommodate the large arm of the Kur. I began to
climb upward, on projections, on spaced piping, on the remains of sundered
bulkheads, toward the dials. The Kur took the pipes in his hands, to bend them
apart. He had separated them some five inches when he looked up. He saw me. He
howled with rage. No longer did, he concern himself with the ring. Instantly he
began to climb toward me. He climbed swiftly, purposefully.
I crouched on a steel beam athwart the cylinder, opposite the six dials. The
first four dials were motionless. The last two were still in motion. Each dial
had a single sweep. Each dial was divided into twelve divisions. The sweeps in
the first four dials were vertical. I could not read the numerals on the dials.
I surmised the vertical position was equivalent to twelve or zero. It was the
position, at any rate, it seemed clear, in which the devices stopped. The
movement of the sweeps was counterclockwise.
The Kur was climbing toward me.
The first dial, I surmised, registered something equivalent to months, the
second to weeks, the third to days, the fourth to hours. I did not know the rate
of revolution of the Kurii’s original planet, nor the rate of its rotation. I
had little doubt that these measurements, however, were calibrated on the
movements of a world, presumably vanished, destroyed in their wars. They had
destroyed one world; they now desired another.
With my teeth I tore the insulation from a part of the wire I had taken from the
pile of debris and wire, coiled and, in my teeth, carried with me in my climb.
I looped the noose where the wire was naked. As the Kur climbed near me, his
back to me I caught its great shaggy bead in the loop and drew it tight. It tore
at the fine wire with its thick digits but they could not slip beneath it. I
flung myself backward off the beam and the wire pulled the Kur from the side of
the ship until it hung, struggling, I hanging a few feet below it. It flung out
its paws but could grasp on nothing. It tried to hold the wire, and climb on it,
or relieve the pressure on its throat, but its great paws slipped on the slender
strand; then its weight began to pull me upward; I, hands knotted in the
insulated portion of the wire, kicked the Kur back as it reached for me; then I
was above it, being drawn by its weight to the height of the beam; the shoulders
of the Kur were mantled in red; blood ran heavily from its throat, in throbbing,
gigantic glots; I braced, myself, head down, feet pressed up against the beam,
to hold the Kur in place; then, without warning, the wire parted; when the wire
parted I was almost horizontal to the beam, trying to keep from being pulled
over it, trying to hold the Kur; the force of my legs, relieved suddenly of the
counter tension of the Kur’s weight, flung me back, almost to the other side of
the ship, and I slid down a few feet and caught some piping. The Kur, striking
four times, fell some sixty or seventy feet, to the lowest level of the ship,
past the door, well below the level of the sand outside.
I looked to the dials. The fifth sweep, on the fifth dial, was almost vertical.
Outside I knew it was night. The storm still raged.
There was heavy glass over the faces of the dials. I climbed to the beam from
whence I had snared the Kur. I could not reach the dials.
I cast about wildly. I could not stop them.
Below me, to my horror, I saw the Kur, a mass of blood, struggle to its feet. It
was still bleeding, heavily, from the throat. I had little doubt that the great
vessel of its throat had been opened, if not severed.
The beast seemed indomitable. Its strength was almost inconceivable.
It climbed slowly. I saw its uplifted face, its terrible eyes, the fangs, the
ears laid back against its head. Hand over hand, not swiftly now, not easily,
but foot by torturous foot, it climbed.
I seized a narrow pipe over my head, jerking at it. It contained wire. In a
frenzy I tried to free it of the side of the ship. I could not loosen it.
The beast was nearer now, and still climbing. I saw its eyes. It moved another
six inches toward me.
I tore loose the pipe. The sweep on the fifth dial, suddenly, stopped. The sweep
on the sixth dial began to move toward the vertical, swiftly, counterclockwise.
I did not think its journey would take more than a few seconds. I struck at the
sixth dial with the pipe, again and again, shattering the glass. I saw the Kur
not a foot below me. It tried to lift its hand, to seize me. Blood no longer ran
from its throat. It was dead. It tumbled back from the piping on the side of the
ship, and fell to the lower level.
I jammed the thin pipe, like a spear from the beam, into the face of the dial.
The sixth sweep, a moment later, struck against this obstacle, stopping short of
the vertical mark.
I lay on-the beam and wept, and feared that I would fall.
When I dared to move, I left the ship. Outside the storm had abated. I found the
Kur in the sand, with whom I had trekked.
“The task is accomplished,” I told him. “It is done.”
But he was already dead.
His lips were drawn back from his teeth, which, in the Kur, as I understand it,
is analogous to a smile. I think he died not unhappily.
I returned to the ship, in which I found much food and water. In the next days,
carefully, as I could, disconnecting them, I dismantled and destroyed components
within the ship. In time, Priest-Kings would find the ship and more adequately
disarm it. I buried the men who had died near the ship. Though I removed the one
Kur from the ship, I did not bury either of them. I exposed them for the
scavengers of the desert, for they were only beasts.
22 I Obtain Kaiila
I crouched between thrust chambers, some seventy feet from the ground, on the
height of the tall ship, half buried in the Tahari sand. The chambers, facing
the sky, were filled with sand. Between them I had rigged a shelter from the
sun. I reached the height of the ship’s stern by a rope. I sipped water,
watching the two riders approach. From the vantage of the ship’s height I could
see several pasangs on all sides. The desert was clear.
As I had surmised, there was contact between the ship and the nearest agents of
Kurii, the men of Abdul, Ibn Saran, the Salt Ubar. The food and water, the
provisions, must have been brought in by kaiila. Presumably there would be
routine provisionings, or communications, with Kurii agents, though not by radio
or any similar device which might attract the attention of listening stations in
the Sardar. The suppliers would have their schedules prepared weeks in advance.
The schedules would have been designed to carry through and beyond the date set
for the planet’s destruction, in order not to arouse curiosity or suspicion
among the Kurii’s human agents. The men approaching, leading four pack kaiila,
were ignorant. They a
pproached slowly, in the leisurely fashion of the Tahari.
There was nothing unusual, as far as they knew, concerning their delivery or the
date on which it was occurring. I smiled. The planet could have blown apart
beneath their feet. Yet they came in placid caravan.
I was satisfied to see them. I had considered walking out of the desert. There
was ample food and water at the ship. I could have rigged a flat travois, with
shoulder harness, to slip over the sand, loaded with water and food, and could
have traveled at night, but I had decided against this. I did not know the
distances nor directions to oases. I might have wandered in the desert for
weeks, until even such large stores were exhausted. I might have encountered
unfriendly riders. I would be afoot. I did not know how long the energy of the
ring would last. I assumed it could generate its field for only a finite period.
If I met several riders I might, with the ring, escape, but I might, too, lose
the stores. I needed a kaiila; I needed direction. In a day on a kaiila, if it
was well watered and strong, I might cover the ground which, afoot, might take
weeks. Too, the kaiila, given its head, is excellent in locating water.
It seemed not improbable to me that there might be a recognition signal, to be
given by the approaching riders in the vicinity of the ship, to be answered by a
countersignal, before they would bring the kaiila in. Not receiving it I had
little doubt that they would investigate most warily, or, possibly, simply
withdraw. I did not know what their standing orders might be. I was not prepared
to risk the second alternative. I threw the shelter, which I had rigged down to
the sand, behind the ship. I tossed the steel flask of water down, too. Then, on
the rope, too behind the ship, I climbed down, slowly, handhold by handhold. I
did not know how observant might be the riders. Even though I might stand,
unseen, in the shelter of the ring’s field, the sand, disturbed, might reveal my
movements, my presence. If I attacked one rider, invisible, the other, alarmed,
might simply flee, panic-stricken and terrified. At the level, where the sand
ringed the fuselage of the ship, I drank deeply, then I threw aside the flask. I
then went into the desert.
“Water!” I cried. “Water!”
The riders stopped, a hundred yards from me. I did not approach them from the
direction of the ship.
“Water!” I cried. I stumbled toward them. I staggered, and fell, repeatedly.
They let me approach. I saw them exchange glances. I fell to one knee, again
struggled to my feet. I extended my right hand to them. There was sand in my
hair, on my body. I moved as though in pain, as though suffering from abdominal
and muscular cramps, as though I were dizzy. I stood unsteadily. “Water!” I
cried to them. “Please, water!” I stopped some fifty yards from them. I saw them
loosen their lances.
I fell in the sand, on my stomach. I kept my head down. In the sand, I smiled. I
knew these men. I had seen them ride. They were truly agents of Kurii, minions
of Ibn Saran, Abdul, the Salt Ubar. They had been among the herders of the
wretches on the chain to Klima.
“On your feet!” called one of them. He was some forty yards away.
I struggled to stand upright in the sand, the sand about my ankles. I swayed,
unsteadily. I stood looking at them, stupidly. The sun was at my back. I had
seen to this in my approach.
He who was called Baram, the most skillful, would make the first pass.
“Water!” I cried out to them. “Please, water!”
He was right-handed. He would pass on my right. I noted the lance. It was long,
slim, some eight foot Gorean in length; it was marked with red and yellow
swirling stripes; it terminated in an extremely narrow point, razored, steel,
some eleven inches in length, lanceolate, as the leaf of the flahdah tree. It
was no mistake that I stood where I did. The sand between us was smooth. I
wanted the gait of his kaiila to be even. I judged the angle of the lance. His
thrust would be to the head; I assumed it would be to the right ear. It would be
easy enough to judge that when the point sped toward me. One often feints with
the point, dropping it, or lifting it, or it to the one side or the other,
dropping or lifting, or tally, in war; but in sport accuracy and not deception
is paramount; I observed the rider; I saw him smile; I saw the kaiila rear up; I
saw the lance fall into position; he lanced in sport; I faced him in war.
He was unwary; his attention was fully focused on his target; did he think I was
a slave girl on the plains of the Wagon Peoples, standing, a tospit in my mouth
for his lance sport?
I moved to the side and, with both hands, a yard behind the point, turning,
caught the lance; the rider, crying out, was torn from the saddle and fell
rolling in the sand as the kaiila sped by; the lance strap broke; I lifted the
lance and, as he rolled onto his back, eyes looking up, horrified, thrust it
through his body, pinning him to the sand; I jerked the lance from his body,
holding it down with my left foot and swirled to meet the charge of the next
man. I was startled. He had not charged. He had missed his chance. He was not
skillful.
I motioned him to charge.
He remained in his position, not moving. There was fear in his face.
I motioned him again to charge. He lifted his lance; he lowered it; then he did
not charge; he backed his kaiila away.
I turned my back to him and, slowly, insolently, walked to fetch the kaiila with
the empty saddle. If he had approached, I would have heard him.
I caught the rein of the other animal. The pack kaii1a were near the other man,
untended.
I put my foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle. The other rider turned
his kaiila about, and fled. He neglected the pack animals.
I rode my kaiila to the other animals and brought them back to the slain
warrior.
It would not be difficult to follow the trail of the other man. I would do so at
my leisure. I took what I needed, weapons and boots and clothing from the fallen
rider. I did not take the shirt but threw it aside, for it was bloodied. Then,
on my kaiila, leading the other animals, I returned to the ship, to sort through
the packs, and, from them, and the stores of the ship, to choose my supplies.
It would not be necessary to follow the backtrail of the two riders who had
approached the ship. There would be a fresher trail to follow. I would let the
fleeing man lead me from the desert. He could not have had more than a one-talu
water bag at his saddle.
I slept during the late afternoon, and then, when it was night, and cool, the
kaiila fed from their pack supplies, and watered from the stores at the ship, I
set forth. In I the light of the moons, the trail was not difficult to follow.
23 I Make the Acquaintance of Haroun, High Pasha of the Kavars
I could hear the drums of war.
“For whom do you ride?” challenged the man.
“I ride with the Kavars,” I told him. I moved the kaiila, with the string of
pack animals, over the crest of the hill. The wretch, stripped, wrists crossed,
<
br /> and bound on a tether to my pommel, stumbled behind me and to the side. I had
taken even his boots. He was almost lame; his feet were bloody; his legs were
covered with dust and sweat, and marked with blood, where he had followed,
tethered, through brush. I had followed him for four days, using his trail, and
then, when I had found him in the sand, delirious and weak, trembling,
thirsting, unable even to move, I had stripped and bound him. I then revived him
with water and salt. I then climbed again to my saddle.
“Do not leave me!” he wept.
“I no longer need your trail,” I told him. “I can find Red Rock now,” I told
him.
“Do not leave me!” he cried out. He knelt naked in the hot sand, his ankles
bound, his wrists tied behind his back.
I moved the kaiila, and the pack animals, slowly from him. When I had gone a few
yards, I turned in the saddle.
“There is to be war,” I said. “The Kavars, and the Aretai, and their attendant
vassal tribes, gather.”
“Do not leave me!” cried the man. He could not rise to his feet.
“Do you know where will be the field of their war?” I asked him.
“Yes! Yes!” he cried.
I regarded him.
“Yes,” he said, “Master.”
“Can you lead me there?” I asked.
“Yes, Master!” he cried. “Yes, Master!”
His own kaiila was gone, wandered away. The pack kaiila were tied together, the
long, lead rein of the first animal looped about my pommel. I redistributed the
burdens of the animals. I untied the ankles of the man and put him, hands still
tied together behind his back, on the lead animal. His ankles I then tied
together beneath the belly of the animal.
“Lead me I told him.
“Yes,” he said.
I unsheathed the scimitar I carried.
He tensed himself. “Yes, Master!” he said.
I resheathed the scimitar.
Two days later we arrived in the vicinity of the field. Some five hours from the
field, I slashed the ropes that tied his ankles beneath the kaiila and,
thrusting up on his left foot, sprawled him in the gravel, turning him then to
his stomach.
“Do not kill me now!” he wept.
I tied together his ankles. I redistributed the burdens again on the pack
animals.
Norman, John - Gor 10 - Tribesmen of Gor.txt Page 40
