Conspirators of Gor

by John Norman

  He held the small sheet of paper which he had extracted from the tray before me.

  “I assume you cannot read this,” he said.

  “No,” I said.

  “Moreover,” he said, “the list is in cursive script.”

  I was not sure that the Lady Bina could read cursive script. She could read printing. She could read the public boards.

  “I can see it is not printed,” I said. “I would not have been sure that it was a list.”

  The lines were horizontal, not vertical.

  “It would be convenient,” he said, “if you could read.”

  “Perhaps Master could teach me to read,” I said.

  “As I do not own you,” he said, “that would be a waste of time.”

  “Perhaps if you owned me,” I said.

  “Then,” he said, “I would keep you illiterate.”

  “You like me that way,” I said, “even more slave.”

  “More barbarian slave,” he said.

  “I see,” I said.

  “Free women prefer for barbarians to be illiterate,” he said. “It helps the barbarian to keep in mind that she is a barbarian.”

  “We are unlikely to forget that on this world,” I said. “We learn it from the first chain put on us.”

  “Do you know the nature of this list?” he asked.

  “It would seem to have to do with the cards,” I said.

  “It has sixty entries,” he said, “each pertaining to a card. I shall read the list to you, and you will arrange the cards in the order of the list.”

  “It will take a little time,” I said.

  “Spread the cards in five columns, in order, from Tarn to Ost.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  He then began to read the list to me, card by card, and I drew forth the pertinent card, rearranging the deck, card by card, to comply with the list.

  This simple task actually took very little time. In a few Ehn it had been completed.

  “We now have the message,” he said.

  I looked at the face of the first card in the deck, and moved the cards about, a little, examining the face of several of the succeeding cards.

  “I see no message,” I said. “Doubtless the order is somehow relevant.”

  “Quite relevant,” he said.

  I handed him the cards.

  “Note,” he said.

  “Ah!” I cried, softly.

  “It was there,” he said. “In a moment you would have detected it. Your mistake was a natural one, namely to look for meaning where it would seem most likely to lie, on the face of the cards. It, however, lies on the edges of the cards, on sixty edges, each one meaningless in itself, a meaning which manifests itself only when the sixty edges are suitably aligned.”

  “It is so simple,” I said.

  “That is one of its beauties,” he said.

  “After the message is written,” I said, “the cards are rearranged, and the message disappears.”

  “To reappear when the proper order is restored,” he said.

  “I cannot read the message, of course,” I said.

  “I cannot either,” he smiled.

  “Master?” I said.

  “But it can be read shortly,” he said. “The substitutions are simple. It would present no great problem to one adept in these matters, provided he had enough material to examine.”

  “Do not explain to me how the substitutions are made,” I said.

  “There are an indefinite number of ways in which it can be done,” he said. “I suppose that is obvious.”

  “I do not want to know,” I said.

  “Have no fear,” he said. “I have no intention of informing you.”

  “Thank you, Master,” I said. What I did not know I could not reveal.

  “Besides the substitutions may be easily changed, and are, from time to time.”

  “I see,” I said.

  “There are several levels of security here,” he said. “First, and perhaps most effective, it is not clear that a message is involved, at all. Who would suspect a message concealed in a harmless deck of cards? It is not like a discovered, suspicious piece of paper with strange symbols or letters inscribed on it. Second, if one suspects a message is conveyed, it is not easily discovered what the message is. Thirdly, the message itself is not obvious, even if discovered. Fourthly, once the message is delivered, the deck is cleaned, and all that remains is a simple deck of cards, to be sure one now ready for a new message.”

  “A slave should now withdraw,” I said.

  “Remain on your knees,” he said.

  He then placed the deck of cards on the small table, and regarded it thoughtfully. He was, I supposed, unraveling the message in his mind, bit by bit. He drew forth no paper nor a marking stick from the chest. I thus supposed the substitutions were indeed simple, perhaps as simple as a reordering of the alphabet. In any event, there would be no lingering physical record of the message, no ashes suggesting its destruction, or such.

  While he worked my attention strayed to the slave ring, and its loop of chain, at the foot of his simple couch. It was such as might be fit for a simple girl, a low slave. Yet so simple a device might confine a captured, stripped Ubara as well. I looked to the slave whip, suspended from its peg on the wall. I feared that simple implement, so useful in establishing and maintaining diligence amongst kajirae. It is seldom used, if ever, but it will be used, we know, if we are not pleasing. We do our best to be pleasing. We are not free women.

  I wondered what it would be, to be whipped by Desmond of Harfax. I would then be well assured of his attention. Would that not put the seal of my slavery upon me and the badge of his ownership? Surely it would well remind me of my bondage, and make clear to me who it was who owned me.

  In a few Ehn, with a cloth, he rubbed clean the edge of the deck, and the speckling was gone.

  “Master?” I said.

  “My principal,” he said, “is preparing to conclude his business, and leave the Cave.”

  I assumed his principal must be Astrinax, or in communication with Astrinax, as the message I had brought had been from Astrinax.

  “We will then try to escape?” I said.

  “One should,” he said, “before the snows.”

  “Men are with us?” I asked.

  “Several,” he said.

  “I rejoice,” I said. “What is wrong?” I asked. “Master seems distressed.”

  “The project of my principal,” he said, “seems unduly limited.”

  “How so?” I asked. “Surely the kaissa sheets will be brought to the cities, surely men will be warned?”

  “All that,” he said.

  “What more?” I asked.

  “There is nothing here,” he said, “pertaining to the destruction of Agamemnon.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  As noted, Lucius, and some few cohorts, had, as yet, escaped apprehension. On the other hand, for most practical purposes, order had been restored in the Cave, and matters, with some exceptions, were much as they had been earlier, before the revolt. Three differences, or obvious differences, for I did not know what others might be being enacted privately, were that the container thought by some to be pertinent to the person of Agamemnon was now seldom publicly visible, the men in the Cave had been disarmed, even to knives, and policing in the Cave was assigned exclusively to Kurii, for example patrols in the halls, and the guards at the great portal.

  Prior to the revolt I had often brought provender and drink to the guards at the great portal, at that time men, usually two in number. This task remained mine, though the nature of the guard had changed. It was one morning in the Seventh Passage Hand, I think the second day, shortly before the Ninth Ahn, that I approached the great portal. The day was bright. Sometimes, when Tor-tu-Gor was almost overhead, the slopes of the Voltai, beneath its blaze, seemed almost white, which anomaly, I took it, had to do with some aspect of reflected light. The shadows of the valleys and crevices then co
uld seem like black wounds. I bore no tray now, but a yoke, from each terminus of which was slung a skin of water and a haunch of tarsk. It was heavy. My shoulders would ache. The feeding of Kurii often reminded me of the feeding of carnivores.

  Sometimes, in discharging this errand, I would see Grendel returning from the outside. I knew he had the freedom to come and go, as he might wish. I did not understand the nature of these excursions, but I supposed they might be explicable in terms as obvious as escaping the tedium of the Cave, a zest for movement or fresh air, and perhaps even some light hunting. Grendel tended to enjoy open vistas and the sun; most Kurii, it seemed, felt more at ease in closed spaces and conditions of reduced light.

  My yoke, with its burden of food and drink, was heavy, at least for me. I hoped I would not see Grendel returning from the outside.

  One of the guards waved me forward, impatiently. He did not bother to use his translator, nor was there any need to do so. I tried to hurry, but not so much that I might fall. I was sure that would displease the beasts. What might be a simple cuff from a man might break my neck if it were delivered by a Kur. The yoke cut across my shoulders.

  When I encountered Grendel, either in the vicinity of the portal, or in the large halls, I kept my head down, and pretended not to see him. I did not want our eyes to meet. Had they met I would have had to assume first obeisance position, and then hold that position until summoned, or he had passed. I do not know if he looked upon me, or not. I was helplessly and futilely angry with Grendel, whose faithlessness, and treachery, cruelty, and ambition, so shocking and dismaying me, had betrayed his friends, his principles, his honor, his allies, his brethren of a far world, Grendel who had used his cleverness to win greater prospects from the conspirators, Grendel who was willing to recruit allies on a far world to provision and support a war which might reduce, if not destroy, the humans of Gor, and perhaps, later, of another world, as well. Too, his pretense of loyalty to, if not affection for, the Lady Bina had been a sham. He cared no more for her than any other Kur, to whom humans might seem at best little more than temporarily useful vermin.

  The guard waved me forward, again.

  I did not want to fall. I could move only so quickly. The weights on the yoke swung. I feared to be pulled off balance.

  Then I had come to the portal and the guard, with one hand, lifted the yoke from my shoulders, and flung it, and the suspended meat and skins of drink, to the table-like shelf at the right side of the portal.

  I backed away a little.

  I expected to receive back the yoke, with its hooks.

  This morning something was different at the great portal. There were two guards, as usual, but, rather back and to the side, there were two other Kurii, each armed with one of the large, four-quarreled crossbows, which I had seen in the place of cells, weapons which a man could have hardly lifted, let alone load and accurately fire.

  I did not think those two beasts could have been easily seen, from the outside. Certainly I did not understand their presence.

  One of the guards lifted a haunch of tarsk and tore at it with his teeth. I saw a fang sunk deep into the meat, anchoring it, and then a huge piece was wrenched free, and the long, dark tongue wrapped itself about this, and thrust it back, into the toothed darkness, and, in a moment, I witnessed its passage, sliding downward, under the fur of the throat. Kurii were no more likely to chew food than a larl or sleen. It looked at me, while it was disposing of this gorge of meat. I supposed that a carnivore, in the wild, is likely to eat quickly, to eat while it can. Time might be lost in careful chewing. There appear to be compensations involved in this sort of thing. Such a piece of meat, even one much smaller, would choke a human; on the other hand, the structure of the human throat is such that it is capable of assisting in the utterance of a subtle and theoretically infinite variety of sounds. It seems thus that in nature an organ which may constitute a danger or increased hazard in one respect may in another respect confer a significant advantage.

  I looked away from the feeding Kur.

  Normally, particularly when humans had been at the portal, I had enjoyed lingering in its vicinity, to look outside, and draw in the fresh air. With the Kurii, on the other hand, I thought it best to withdraw as soon as it was practical. I was much aware that some Kurii looked upon humans as food.

  I backed away a few more steps.

  The haunches of tarsk freed from the yoke’s hooks, and the skins of drink put on the shelf, one of the guards picked up the yoke, and flung it over my head, behind me, several paces, to the side of the hall.

  I supposed this was an act of contempt, like brushing aside a plate or dashing a tray to the floor, but I did not object. I preferred to retrieve the object at a distance from the Kur. The last time it had been extended to me, but, when I had grasped it, the beast had not released it, but had held it. I had feared to let it go. There was then, by means of the device, a fearsome connection between us. His eyes were upon me. I looked down, and saw his two six-digited, tentacle-like paws move a hort on the yoke, toward me, and then another hort. He was, bit by bit, moving closer to me. I then cried out in alarm, released the yoke, and fled back some paces, and then turned, to see him. He had put the yoke down before him, at his feet. He pointed to it. I must fetch it. Crouching down, watching him, I moved warily toward the yoke; when I had it in one hand, he made a sudden move toward me, and roared, and I went to my stomach, shrieking, covering my head with my hands. I feared I might have died. When I lifted my head he was turned away, conversing with his fellow. I had seized the yoke and crept away, and had then run down the hall, toward the kitchen where I had received the provender and drink. It had been, I gathered, a Kur joke.

  I went to the side of the hall, back several paces from the portal, and retrieved the yoke.

  Before returning to the kitchen, that from which I had received the provender and drink, I heard harsh Kur sounds, and spun about. Grendel was in the portal, and the two Kurii who carried the large crossbows had them trained upon him. I then saw the two guards roping Grendel’s arms to his body. Then, bound, he was brought down the hall. I knelt as they passed, Grendel preceding the two Kurii with crossbows, with their tiered firing guides. Our eyes met, but I could read no expression in that dark, broad countenance.

  I did not understand what was occurring, other than the fact that Grendel had apparently fallen from favor.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  “All is lost,” said Desmond of Harfax.

  “How so, Master?” I inquired.

  “Grendel has been seized,” he said. “His execution has been arranged. He will be taken outside the Cave and killed, his body left for sleen and larls.”

  “He is a traitor to our cause,” I said. “He was to have garnered remote support for the conquest of Gor.”

  “You camisked, collared little fool,” he said. “It is from Grendel that we have learned of the conspiracy, its plans, and its projected ends. It is from Grendel that we learned of the kaissa sheets, and were supplied with the materials, the privacy, and time required to copy them. It was thanks to him that we came to a clearer understanding of the card codes, though he was not then clear as to how the messages were conveyed. Thanks to him, we later managed to adopt the very Kur device, the card codes, to our own purposes. We can order cards with subtle and clandestine intent as well as they. And the Kurii are, or were, unaware of our capacity to do so. Grendel supplied us regularly with information. It was he who was essentially behind our small counter-conspiracy. I was his factor. It was he who was my principal, communicating commonly through Astrinax.”

  “Why Astrinax?” I asked.

  “In order that he might the more closely monitor the condition and safety of the Lady Bina, for whom I suspect he would willingly die.”

  I recalled that she had been placed largely in the keeping of Astrinax.

  “He spoke to me,” I said. “He cited complacent treachery, greed, contempt for the Lady Bina.”

  “And you, f
ool, believed him.”

  “Yes!” I said.

  “You belong in a collar,” he said.

  “Not for such a reason,” I said.

  “And you will be kept in one,” he said.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because you belong in one,” he said. “Get on your belly!”

  “Yes, Master,” I said.

  “You are unworthy to kiss my feet,” he said. “Kiss the floor before me.”

  I obeyed. Also my thighs were heated. I felt helpless.

  “How else could he obtain his release from his cell?” asked Desmond of Harfax. “How else could he secure the liberty to move about, to organize an opposition, to attempt to frustrate and oppose the dark schemes of Agamemnon?”

  “I did not know,” I whispered.

  “And it was well you did not,” he said. “Were you conscious of the duplicity you might well have ruined it, behaved suspiciously, gave some revealing sign that might have been noted by the adherents of Agamemnon.”

  “Yes, Master,” I whispered.

  “Things began to go badly several days ago,” said Desmond of Harfax. “Much of this had to do with the revolt of Lucius. Grendel refrained from participating in this small war, on either side. This displeased Agamemnon and his cohorts, who had naturally expected him to ally himself with them, to kill without question, and such. More seriously, Grendel refused to execute the Kurii of Lucius who availed themselves of the supposed amnesty. This aroused suspicion amongst the adherents of Agamemnon. Had it not been for his projected value as an influencing emissary to a steel world, he would doubtless have been immediately killed.”

  “Why has he just now been taken?” I asked.