by John Norman
It was Misk.
I broke off the other end of the Mul-Torch, igniting it, and walked to the center 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."
22
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 sweating. My mouth seemed to be filled with carbon and I realized 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 the 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 recognize 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 t
o 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 Mother 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."
"Let there be Nest Trust between a Priest-King and two Muls," said Misk.
"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."
"We will go with you," said Mul-Al-Ka.
"No," I said, "you must go to the human kind."
"Even to those who carried Gur?" asked Mul-Ba-Ta, shivering at the thought of those small round bodies and the strange arms and legs, and eyes.
"They are mutations," said Misk, "bred long ago for service in the darkened tunnels, now preserved for ceremonial purposes and for the sake of tradition."
"Yes," I said to Mul-Ba-Ta, "even to those who carried Gur."
"I understand," said Mul-Ba-Ta, smiling.
"Everywhere in the Nest," I said, "you must go everywhere that there is something human to be found."
"Even in the Fungus Chambers and the Pastures?" asked Mul-Al-Ka.
"Yes," I said, "wherever there is something human—wherever it is to be found and however it is found."
"I understand," said Mul-Al-Ka.
"And I too," said Mul-Ba-Ta.
"Good," I said.
With a last handclasp the two men turned and ran toward the exit.
Misk and I stood alone.
"That will mean trouble," said Misk.
"Yes," I said, "I suppose it will."
"And you will be responsible," said Misk.
"In part," I said, "but mostly what it means will be decided by Priest-Kings and men."
I looked up at him.
"You are foolish," I said, "to go to the Mother."
"You are foolish," he said, "to go to the tunnels of the Golden Beetle."
I drew my sword, lifting it easily from the sheath. It cleared the leather as easily and swiftly as a larl might have bared its fangs. In the blue torchlight I examined the blade and the light coat of oil that protected it. I tried the balance, and dropped the steel back into its sheath. I was satisfied.
I liked the blade which seemed so simple and efficient compared to the manifold variations in sword steel that were possible. I supposed one of the reasons for the short blade was that it could clear the sheath a fraction of a second before a longer blade. Another advantage was that it could be moved with greater swiftness than a longer blade. The primary advantage I supposed was that it allowed the Gorean warrior to work close to his man. The brief reach of the blade tended to be more than compensated for by the rapidity with which it might be wielded and the ease with which it might work beneath the guard of a longer weapon. If the swordsman with a longer weapon could not finish the fight in the first thrust or two he was a dead man.
"Where are the tunnels of the Golden Beetle?" I asked.
"Inquire," said Misk. "They are well known to all within the Nest."
"Is it as difficult to slay a Golden Beetle as a Priest-King?" I asked.
"I do not know," said Misk. "We have never slain a Golden Beetle, nor have we studied them."
"Why not?" I asked.
"It is not done," said Misk. "And," he said, peering down at me, his luminous eyes intent, "it would be a great crime to kill one."
"I see," I said.
I turned to go but then turned once again to face the Priest-King. "Could you, Misk," I asked, "with those bladelike structures on your forelegs slay a Priest-King?"
Misk inverted his forelegs and examined the blades. "Yes," he said. "I could."
He seemed lost in thought.
"But it has not been done in more than a million years," he said.
I lifted my arm to Misk. "I wish you well," I said, using the traditional Gorean farewell.
Misk lifted one foreleg in salute, the bladelike projection disappearing. His antennae inclined toward me and the golden hairs with which the antennae glistened extended towards me as though to touch me. "And I, Tarl Cabot," he said, "wish you well."
And we turned, the Priest-King and I, and went our separate ways.
23
I Find Vika
I gathered that I had arrived too late to save Vika of Treve.
Deep in the unlit tunnels of the Golden Beetle, those unadorned, tortuous passages through the solid rock, I came upon her body.
I held the Mul-Torch over my head and beheld the foul cavern in which she lay on a bedding of soiled mosses and stems.
She wore only brief rags, the remains of her once long and beautiful garment, torn and stained by what must have been her terrified flight through these dark, rocky tunnels, running, stumbling, screaming, futilely trying to escape the pursuing jaws of the implacable Golden Beetle.
Her throat, I was pleased to see, no longer wore the collar of a slave.
I wondered if her collar had been the same as that placed on the girl I had seen. If the sizes had matched I supposed it would have been. The Priest-Kings often practice such small economies, jealously conserving the inanimate resources of the Nest.
I wondered if the removal of the collar meant that Vika had been freed before being closed within the tunnels of the Golden Beetle. I recalled vaguely that Misk had once said to me that in deference to the Golden Beetle it was given only free women.
The cavern in which she lay reeked of the spoor of the Golden Beetle, which I had not yet encountered. Its contrast with the fastidiously clean tunnels of the Nest of Priest-Kings made it seem all the more repulsive in its filth and litter.
In one corner there were scattered bones and among them the shards of a human skull. The bones had been split and the marrow sucked from them.
How long Vika had been dead I had no way of judging, though I cursed myself for it would not have appeared to be a matter of more than a few hours. Her body, though rigid in the appearance of recent death, did not have the coldness I would have expected. She was unmoving and her eyes seemed fixed on me with all the horror of the last moment in which the jaws of the Golden Beetle must have closed
upon her. I wondered if in the darkness she would have been able to see what had attacked her. I found myself almost hoping that she had not, for it would have been more than enough to have heard it following in the tunnels. Yet I myself I knew would have preferred to see the assailant and so I found myself wishing that this brief, terrible privilege had been Vika of Treve's, for I remembered her as a woman of courage and pride.
Her skin seemed slightly dry but not desiccated.
Because of the lack of coldness in the body I listened for a long time for a heartbeat. Holding her wrist I felt for the slightest sign of a pulse. I could detect neither heartbeat nor pulse.
Though I had hated Vika of Treve I would not have wanted this fate to be hers, nor could I believe that any man, even those whom she had injured, could have wished it to be so. As I looked upon her now I felt strangely sad, and there was nothing left in my bosom of the bitterness with which I had earlier regarded her. I saw her now as only a girl, surely too innocent for this, who had met the Golden Beetle and had in consequence died one of the most horrible of deaths. She was of the human kind and whatever might have been her faults, she could not have deserved this grotesque, macabre fate, the jaws and cavern of the Golden Beetle. And looking upon her I now realized too that somehow, not fully understanding, I had cared for her.
"I am sorry," I said, "I am sorry, Vika of Treve."
Strangely there did not seem to be severe wounds on her body.
I wondered if it were possible that she had died of fear.
