'Of course,' said Misk.
'I should have been consulted,' said Sarm, 'for I am First Born.'
'Perhaps,' said Misk.
Sarm looked down at me. I think he had not forgiven me the start I had given him on the platform high above the canyon, near the elevator.
'It is dangerous,' he said. 'It should be destroyed.'
'Perhaps,' said Misk.
'And it curled its antennae at me,' said Sarm.
Misk was silent.
'Yes,' said Sarm. 'It should be destroyed.'
Sarm then turned from me and with his left, forward supporting appendage depressed a recessed button in the dais on which he stood.
Hardly had his delicate foot touched the button than a panel slid aside and two handsome men, of the most symmetrical form and features with shaven heads and clad in the purple, plastic tunics of slaves, entered the room and prostrated themselves before the dais.
At a signal from Sarm they leaped to their feet and stood alertly beside the dais, their feet spread, their heads high, their arms folded.
'Behold these two,' said Sarm.
Neither of the two men who had entered the room had seemed to notice me.
I now approached them.
'I am Tarl Cabot of Ko-ro-ba,' I said to them, extending my hand.
If they saw my hand they made no effort to accept it.
I assumed they must be identical twins. They had wide, fine heads, strong, broad bodies, and a carriage that suggested calmness and strength.
Both were a bit shorter than I but were somewhat more squarely built.
'You may speak,' said Sarm.
'I am Mul-Al-Ka,' said one, 'honoured slave of the glorious Priest-Kings.'
'I am Mul-Ba-Ta,' said the other, ''honoured slave of the glorious Priest-Kings.'
'In the Nest,' said Misk, 'the expression "Mul" is used to designate a human slave.'
I nodded. The rest of it I did not need to be told. The expressions 'Al-Ka' and 'Ba-Ta' are the two first letters of the Gorean alphabet. In effect these men had no names, but were simply known as Slave A and Slave B.
I turned to Sarm.
'I assume,' I said, 'you have more than twenty-eight human slaves.' There were twenty-eight characters in the Gorean alphabet. I had intended my remark to be rather vicious but Sarm took no offense.
'Others are numbered,' he said. 'When one dies or is destroyed, his number is assigned to another.'
'Some of the low numbers,' volunteered Misk, 'have been assigned as many as a thousand times.'
'Why do these slaves not have numbers?' I asked.
'They are special,' said Misk.
I regarded them closely. They seemed splendid specimens of mankind. Perhaps Misk had meant merely that they were unusually excellent representatives of the human type.
'Can you guess,' asked Sarm, 'which one has been synthesised?'
I must have given quite a start.
Sarm's antennae giggled.
'Yes,' said Sarm, 'one was synthesised, beginning with the synthesis of the protein molecules, and was formed molecule by molecule. It is artificially constructed human being. It is not of much scientific interest but it has considerable curiosity value. It was built over a period of two centuries by Kusk, the Priest-King, as a way of escaping in his leisure hours from the burdens of his serious biological investigations.
I shuddered.
'What of the other?' I asked.
'It too,' said Sarm, 'is not without interest and is also bestowed upon us by the avocational whims of Kusk, one of the greatest of our Nest.'
'Is the other also synthesised?' I asked.
'No,' said Sarm, 'it is the product of genetic manipulation, artificial control and alteration of the hereditary coils in gametes.'
I was sweating.
'Not the least interesting aspect of this matter,' said Sarm, 'is the match.'
To be sure I could not tell the two men, if they were men, apart.
'That is the evidence of real skill,' said Sarm.
'Kusk,' said Misk, 'is one of the greatest of the Nest.'
'Which of these slaves,' I asked, 'is the one who was synthesised?'
'Can't you tell?' asked Sarm.
'No,' I said.
Sarm's antennae shivered and wrapped themselves about one another. He was shaking with the signs I knew now to be associated with amusement.
'I will not tell you,' he said.
'It is growing late,' said Misk, 'and the Matok, if he is to remain in the Nest, must be processed.'
'Yes,' said Sarm, but he seemed in no hurry to conclude his gloating. He pointed one long, jointed foreleg at the Muls. 'Gaze upon them with awe, Matok,' said he, 'for they are the product of Priest-Kings and the most perfect specimens of your race ever to exist.'
I wondered about what Misk meant by 'processing' but Sarm's words irritated me, as did the two grave, handsome fellows who had so spontaneously groveled before his dais. 'How is that?' I asked.
'Is it not obvious?' asked Sarm.
'No,' I said.
'They are symmetrically formed,' said Sarm. 'Moreover they are intelligent, strong and in good health.' Sarm seemed to wait for my reply but there was none. 'And,' said Sarm, 'they live on fungus and water, and wash themselves twelve times a day.'
I laughed. 'By the Priest-Kings!' I roared, the rather blasphemous Gorean oath slipping out, somehow incongruously considering my present location and predicament. Neither Priest-King however seemed in the least disturbed by this oath which might have brought tears to the eyes of a member of the Caste of Initiates.
'Why do you curl your antennae?' asked Sarm.
'You call these perfect human beings?' I asked, waving my arms toward the two slaves.
'Of course,' said Sarm.
'Of course,' said Misk.
'Perfect slaves!' I said.
'The most perfect human being is of course the most perfect slave,' said Sarm.
'The most perfect human being,' I said, 'is free.'
A look of puzzlement seemed to appear in the eyes of the two slaves.
'They have no wish to be set free,' said Misk. He then addressed the slaves. 'What is your greatest joy, Muls?' he asked.
'To be slaves of Priest-Kings,' they said.
'You see?' asked Misk.
'Yes,' I said. 'I see now that they are not men.'
Sarm's antennae twitched angrily.
'Why do you not,' I challenged, 'have your Kusk, or whoever he is, synthesise a Priest-King?'
Sarm seemed to shiver with rage. The bladed hornlike projections snapped into view on his forelegs.
Misk had not moved. 'It would be immoral,' he said.
Sarm turned to Misk. 'Would the Mother object if the Matok's arms and legs were broken?'
'Yes,' said Misk.
'Would the Mother object if its organs were damaged?' asked Sarm.
'Undoubtedly,' said Misk.
'But surely,' said Sarm, 'it can be punished.'
'Yes,' said Misk, 'undoubtedly it will have to be disciplined sometime.'
'Very well,' said Sarm and directed his antennae at the two shaven-headed, plastic-clad slaves. 'Punish the Matok,' said Sarm, 'but do not break its bones nor injure its organs.'
No sooner had these words been emitted from Sarm's translator than the two slaves leaped toward me to seize me.
In that same instant I leaped toward them, taking them by surprise and compounding the momentum of my blow. I thrust one aside with my left arm and crushed my fist into the face of the second. His head snapped to the side and his knees buckled. He crumpled to the floor. Before the other could regain his balance, I had leaped to him and seized him in my hands and lifted him high over my head and hurled him on his back to the stone flooring of the long chamber. Had it been combat to the death in that brief instant I would have finished him leaping over him and gouging my heels into his stomach rupturing the diaphragm. But I had no wish to kill him, nor a matter of fact to injure him severely. He
managed to roll over on his stomach. I could have snapped his neck then with my heel. The thought occurred to me that these slaves had not been well trained to administer discipline. They seemed to know almost nothing. Now the man was on his knees, gasping, supporting himself on the palm of his right hand. If he was right-handed, that seemed foolish. Also he made no effort to cover his throat.
I looked up at Sarm and Misk, who, observing, stood in that slightly inclined, infuriatingly still posture.
'Do not injure them further,' said Misk.
'I will not,' I said.
'Perhaps the Matok is right,' said Misk to Sarm. 'Perhaps they are not perfect human beings.'
'Perhaps,' admitted Sarm.
Now the slave who was conscious lifted his hand piteously to the Priest-Kings. His eyes were filled with tears.
'Please,' he begged, 'let us go to the dissection chambers.'
I was dumbfounded.
Now the other had regained consciousness and, on his knees, joined his fellow. 'Please,' he cried, 'let us go to the dissection chambers.'
My astonishment could not be concealed.
'They feel that they have failed the Priest-Kings and wish to die,' said Misk.
Sarm regarded the two slaves. 'I am kind,' he said, 'and it is near the Feast of Tola.' He lifted his foreleg with a gentle, permissive gesture, almost a benediction. 'You may go to the dissection chambers.'
To my amazement, gratitude transfigured the features of the two slaves and, helping one another, they prepared to leave the room.
'Stop!' I cried.
The two slaves stopped and looked at me.
My eyes were fixed however on Sarm and Misk. 'You can't send them to their deaths,' I said.
Sarm seemed puzzled.
Misk's antennae shrugged.
Frantically I groped for a plausible objection. 'Kusk would surely be displeased if his creatures were to be destroyed,' I said. I hoped it would do.
Sarm and Misk touched antennae.
'The Matok is right,' said Misk.
'True,' said Sarm.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
Sarm then turned to the two slaves. 'You may not go to the dissection chambers,' he said.
Once more the two slaves, this time apparently without emotion, folded their arms and stood, legs apart, beside the dais. Nothing might have happened in the last few moments save that one was breathing heavily and the other's face was splattered with his own blood.
Neither of them showed any gratitude at being reprieved nor did either evince any resentment at my having interfered with their executions.
I was, as you might suppose, puzzled. The responses and behaviour of the two slaves seemed to be incomprehensible.
'You must understand, Tarl Cabot of Ko-ro-ba,' said Misk, apparently sensing my puzzlement, 'that it is the greatest joy of Muls to love and serve Priest-Kings. If it is the wish of a Priest-King that they die they do so with great joy; if it is the wish of a Priest-King that they live, they are similarly delighted.'
I noted that neither of the two slaves looked particularly delighted.
'You see,' continued Misk, 'these Muls have been formed to love and serve Priest-Kings.'
'They have been made that way,' I said.
'Precisely,' said Misk.
'And yet you say they are human,' I said.
'Of course,' said Sarm.
And then to my surprise one of the slaves, though which one I could not have told, looked at me and spoke. 'We are human,' it said very simply.
I approached him and held out my hand. 'I hope I did not hurt you,' I said.
It took my hand and awkwardly held it, not knowing how to shake hands apparently.
'I too am human,' said the other, looking at me rather directly.
He held his hand out with the back of his hand up. I took the hand and turned it and shook it.
'I have feelings,' said the first man.
'I, too, have feelings,' said the second man.
'We all do,' I said.
'Of course,' said the first man, 'for we are human.'
I looked at him very carefully. 'Which of you,' I asked, 'has been synthesised?'
'We do not know,' said the first man.
'No,' said the second man. 'We have never been told.'
The two Priest-Kings had watched this small concourse with some interest, but now the voice of Sarm's translator was heard: 'It is growing late,' it said, 'let the Matok be processed.'
'Follow me,' said the first man and turned, and I followed him, leaving the room, the second man falling into stride beside me.
Chapter Thirteen: THE SLIME WORM
I followed Mul-Al-Ka and Mul-Ba-Ta through several rooms and down a long corridor.
'This is the Hall of Processing,' said one of them.
We passed several high steel portals in the hallway and on each of these, about twenty feet high, at the antennae level of a Priest-King, were certain dots, which I was later to learn were scent dots.
If the scent-dots were themselves not scented one might be tempted to think of them as graphemes in the language of the Priest-Kings, but since they themselves are scented they are best construed as analogous to uttered phonemes or phoneme combinations, direct expressions of the oral syllabary of the Priest-Kings.
When surrounded by scent-dots one might suppose the Priest-King to be subjected to a cacophony of stimulation, much as we might be if environed by dozens of blaring radios and television sets, but this is apparently not the case; the better analogy would seem to be our experience of walking down a quiet city street surrounded by printed signs which we might notice but to which we do not pay much attention.
In our sense there is no distinction between a spoken and written language for the Priest-Kings, though there is an analogous distinction between linguistic patterns that are actually sensed and those which are potentially to be sensed, an example of the latter being the scents of a yet uncoiled scent-tape.
'You will not much care for the processing,' said one of my guides.
'But it will be good for you,' said the other.
'Why must I be processed?' I asked.
'To protect the Nest from contamination,' said the first.
Scents, of course, will fade in time, but the specially prepared synthetic products or the Priest-Kings can last for thousands of years and, in the long run, will surely outlast the fading print of human books, the disintegrating celluloid of our films, perhaps even the carved, weathering stones so imperishably attesting the incomparable glories of our numerous kings, conquerors and potentates.
Scent-dots, incidentally, are arranged in rows constituting a geometrical square, and are read beginning with the top row from left to right, then right to left, and then left to right and so on again.
Gorean, I might note, is somewhat similar, and though I speak Gorean fluently, I find it very difficult to write, largely because of the even-numbered lines which, from my point of view, must be written backwards. Torm, my friend of the Caste of Scribes, never forgave me this and to this day, if he lives, he undoubtedly considers me partly illiterate. As he said, I would never make a Scribe. 'It is simple,' he said. 'You just write it forward but in the other direction.'
The syllabary of the Priest-Kings, not to be confused with their set of seventy-three 'phonemes', consists of what seems to me to be a somewhat unwieldy four hundred and eleven characters, each of which stands of course for a phoneme or phoneme combination, normally a combination. Certain juxtapositions of these phonemes and phoneme combinations, naturally, form words. I would have supposed a simpler syllabary, or even an experimentation with a nonscented perhaps alphabetic graphic script, would have been desirable linguistic ventures for the Priest-Kings, but as far as I know they were never made.
With respect to the rather complex syllabary, I originally supposed that it had never been simplified because the Priest-King, with his intelligence, would absorb the four hundred and eleven characters of his syllabary more ra
pidly than would a human child his alphabet of less than thirty letters, and thus that the difference to him between more than four hundred signs and less than thirty would be negligible.
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