I was then forced to the conclusion that it must be the Kurii who were active in
Brundisium, that their subversions must be in effect in that city as once in
Corcyrus. Now, however, I found myself forced to abandon what had hitherto
seemed a coercive hypothesis.
There was a wild scream of a charging sleen below and its sudden, frightened
squeal, and I saw it flung, half bitten apart, to the side. The two other sleen
charged, too, fastening themselves like eels on the chained creature. The crowd
roared. I saw blood in torrents run down the legs and arms of the attacked
creature. It rolled in the scattered, bloody sand, twisting and fighting, the
sleen hanging to it. I heard the chain, the screams of the crowd, the howls of
the beasts.
“Pretty! Pretty! Bet! Bet!†cried the creature next to me, clinging to the bars.
Kurii, it now seemed clear to me, no more than Priest-Kings, held any special
privileges of influence or power in Brundisium.
The attacked creature seized the sleen clinging to its leg and, from behind,
with one paw, broke its neck. It then tore the other sleen from its arm and
thrust its jaws open and thrust its great clawed paw deep into the creature’s
throat, down through its throat, forcing its way into its body, clawing and
grasping and tore forth, up through the creature’s own mouth, part of its lungs.
It then flung the creature down at its fee, threw back its head, its fangs and
tongue bright with fresh blood, and howled its defiance to the hot noonday sun,
to the towers of Brundisium, and the crowd.
“Three times!†cried the creature clinging to the bars, beside me, “three times!
It lives again!â€
This was the third time, apparently, the creature had survived the pit.
“Bet! Bet! Pay me! Pay me!†cried the creature near me, clinging to the bars.
I saw soldiers now, warily, with leveled crossbows, and with spears, approaching
the creature. They threw ropes upon it. It now seemed scarcely to notice them.
Its head was down. It was feeding on the bodies of one of the sleen before it.
No, it did not seem likely to me that Kurii were in power in Brundisium.
The creature beside me released the bars, slipping down to the table, from the
surface of which it leaped to the floor. It then
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went back to its straw in the corner, poking about in it for scraps of food.
I stayed at the window for a time, until, half led, half dragged, prodded, the
creature below was conducted form the pit. It left, snarling, but apparently
docile. It still dragged part of one of sleen behind it.
No, it seemed clear now that Kurii were not in power in Brundisium.
The creature now leaving the pit, bloodied, furrowing the sand behind it,
dragging part of a sleen, was a Kur.
I found this, in its way, of course, quite disconcerting. An entire architecture
of explanatory hypotheses, of judicious speculations, had collapsed. It seemed
now that neither Priest-Kings nor Kurii had any special connection with
Brundisium. What then could be the explanation for the attempt on my life in
Port Kar, and for the obvious interest of certain parties in Brundisium in me?
What, if anything, could be my importance to them? What, too, was the meaning of
the messages I had intercepted? They had apparently been intended for certain
parties in Ar. I understood nothing. I did not know what to think. One thing, of
course, was quite clear. I was in a cell in Brundisium, at the disposition of my
captors.
I withdrew from the window, and leaped down to the floor. I looked back again at
the high window; then I put the table back in the center of the cell. I put it
between two benches. IN such a cell, a humane one as Gorean cells went, the
table and benches served a practical purpose. They helped to keep food out of
the reach of urts, and, at night, could be used for sleeping.
“Back against the wall, on your knees!†said a voice.
The representative of the urt people and I complied. It was time to be fed.
The first day in this captivity I had lurked near the bars, hoping to be able to
get my hands on the jailer. I had, in consequence of this, not been fed that
day. I obeyed promptly enough the next day. I wanted the food. The evening of my
second day in this captivity, which was the fourth following my capture, the
representative of the urt people had been thrust in with me. I did not much
welcome his company. He was, however, familiar with the routines of the prison.
The jailer looked into the cell. “The table has been moved,†he said. He could
tell this, I assumed, from the markings in the dust on the floor. It had not
occurred to me that there might be any objection to this. If I had thought there
would have been, I would pave posted the representative of the urt people near
the
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bars and, presumably warned by him in time of any approach on the part of a
jailer, replaced the table carefully in its original position. I hoped this new
offense, if offense it was, would not result in the withholding of food. I
wanted it, what there was of it.
The jailer put the two trays on the floor outside the bars, and, with his foot,
thrust them through the low, flat opening, like a flat rectangle, at the base of
the latticework of bars. he had not yet left. We could not yet approach the
food. “Bosk of Port Kar,†he laughed, “kneeling and waiting for food!â€
I did not respond to him. I wanted the food. I was pleased that he had not
objected to the movement of the table. Then it occurred to me that it was
interesting, too, that the table was in the cell. Gorean keepers are not always
that considerate of their charges. Why had we not been chained close to the
wall, and forced to fight with insects and rodents for our food? Gorean
prisoners are seldom pampered, either of the male or female variety. I wondered
if the table was in the room for a purpose, perhaps to have permitted me to see
what had occurred outside in the courtyard.
The jailer then left.
The representative of the urt people regarded me, narrowly, furtively,
fearfully.
I rose to my feet and fetched my food. I put it on the table, and sat down at
the table, on one of the benches.
The representative of the urt people then scurried to his food and, by one edge
of the tray, with a scraping noise of metal on stone, dragged it quickly over to
his straw. He ate hurriedly, watching g me carefully. He feared, I suppose, that
I might take his food from him. To be sure, it would not have been difficult to
do, had I wished to do so.
There was then a growling in the corridor outside of the bars, and a scratching
of claws on stone. I also heard several men and the sound of arms. IN a moment
or two the Kur from the courtyard below, no longer dragging the part of a sleen,
perhaps having finished it, or having had it dragged from him, was ushered past
our cell, and prodded, its ropes then removed, a chain still on its neck, into a
cell down the way. It had moved slowly past us, slowly and stiffly, as though in
great pain. It now
, now that it was no longer fighting for its life, seemed
exhausted and weak. Much of its fur was matted with dried blood. I did not think
it would be likely to survive another such bout in the courtyard. As it had
passed our cell it had looked in at me. In its eyes there had been baleful
hatred. I was human.
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I looked back at the representative of the urt people. He suddenly scurried back
to his straw, crouching on it, looking up at me. He had been approaching the
table quite closely. He had finished his meal. It seemed reasonable to suppose
then that he had intended, or hoped, his own food gone, to steal some of mine,
that to be accomplished while my attention was distracted by the passage of the
Kur in the hall. I smiled. The little creature was doubtless indeed familiar
with the routines, the possibilities and opportunities, of prison life.
It turned its eyes away from mine, not wanting to meet them. It pretended to be
examining is straw for lice.
It was one of the urt people. It had a narrow, elongated face and rather large,
ovoid eyes. It was narrow-shouldered and narrow-chested. It had long, thin arms
and short, spindly legs. It commonly walked, or hurried, bent over, its knuckles
often on the ground, its head often moving from side to side. This low gait
commonly kept it inconspicuous among the large, migratory urt packs with which
it commonly moved. Sometimes such packs pass civilized areas and observers are
not even aware of the urt people traveling with them. The urt packs provide them
with cover and protection. For some reason, not clear to me at that time, the
urts seldom attack them. Sometimes it 3would rear up, straightly, unexpectedly,
looking about itself, and then drop back to a smaller, more bent-over position.
It was capable of incredible stillness and then sudden, surprising bursts of
movement.
I made a small clicking noise, to attract its attention. Immediately, alertly,
it turned its head toward me.
I beckoned for it to approach.
It suddenly reared upright, quizzically.
“Come here,†I said, beckoning to it.
When it stood upright it was about three and a half feet tall.
“do not be afraid,†I said. I took a slice of hard larma from my tray. This is a
firm, single-seeded, applelike fruit. It is quite unlike the segmented, juicy
larma. It is sometimes called, and perhaps more aptly, the pit fruit, because of
its large single stone. I held it up so that he could see it. The urt people, I
understood were fond of pit fruit. Indeed, it was for having stolen such fruit
from a state orchard that he had been incarcerated. He had been netted, put in a
sack and brought here. That had been more than six months ago. I had learned
these things from the jailer when he had thrust the creature in with me. The
creature approached, warily. Then it lifted its long arm and pointed a long
index finger at the fruit. “Bet! Bet!†it said. “Pay! Pay!â€
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“No,†I said. “I made not bet with you.†It was referring, I gathered, to the
Kurii bating which had taken place this morning in the courtyard, visible from
our window. It had probably understood the concepts of betting and paying or
not.
“I do not owe this to you,†I said. “It is mine.â€
The creature shrank back a bit, frightened.
“But I might give it to you,†I said.
It looked at me.
I broke off a piece of the pit fruit and handed it to him. He ate it quickly,
watching me.
“Come here,†I said. “Up here.†I indicated the surface of the table.
He leapt up to the surface of the table, squatting there.
I broke off another bit of the hard fruit and handed it to him. “What is your
name?†I asked.
He uttered a kind of hissing squeal. I supposed that might be his name. The urt
people, as I understood it, commonly communicate among themselves in the pack by
means of such signals. How complicated or sophisticated those signals might be I
did not know. They did tend to resemble the natural noises of urts. In this I
supposed they tended to make their presence among the urts less obvious to
outside observers and perhaps, too, less obvious, or obtrusive, to the urts
themselves. Too, however, I knew the urt people could, and did upon occasion, as
in their rare contacts with civilized folk, communicate in a type of Gorean,
many of the words evidencing obvious linguistic corruptions for others,
interestingly, apparently closely resembling archaic Gorean, a language not
spoken popularly on Gor, except by members of the caste of Initiates, for
hundreds of years. I had little difficulty, however, in understanding him. He
seemed an intelligent creature, and his Gorean was doubtless quite different
from the common trade Gorean of the urt people. It had doubtless been much
refined and improved in the prison. The urt people learn quickly. They are
rational. Some people keep them as pets. I think they are, or at one time were,
a form of human being. Probably long ago, as some forms of urts became
commensals with human beings, so, too, some humans may have become commensals,
traveling companions, sharers at the same table, so to speak, with the migratory
urt packs.
“What do they call you here?†I asked.
“Nim, Nim,†it said.
“I cam called Bosk,†I said.
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“Bosk, Bosk,†it said. “nice Bosk. Pretty Bosk. More larma! More larma!â€
I gave the creature more of the hard larma.
“Good Bosk, nice Bosk,†it said.
I handed it another bit of larma.
“Bosk want escape?†it asked.
“Yes,†I said.
“Bad men want do terrible things to Bosk,†it said.
“What?†I asked.
“Nim Nim afraid talk,†it said.
I did not press the creature.
“Few cells have table,†it said, fearfully. “Bosk not chained.â€
I nodded. “I think I understand,†I said. Not being chained, and because of the
table, I had been able to witness the cruel spectacle in the courtyard. That I
supposed now, given the hints of the small creature, was perhaps intended to
give me something to think about. I shuddered. Much hatred must I be borne in
this place.
“More larma!†said the creature. “More larma!â€
I gave it some more larma. There was not much left. “They intend to use me in
the baiting pit,†I speculated.
“No,†said the creature. “Worse. Far worse. Nim Nim help.â€
“I don’t understand,†I said.
“Bosk want escape?†it asked.
“Yes,†I said.
“More larma,†it said. “More larma!â€
I gave it the last of the larma.
“Bosk want escape?†it asked.
“Yes,†I said.
“Nim Nim help,†it said.
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14 The Urts; How Nim Nim Was Made
Welcome in the Pack; The Warrior’s Pace
“There!†squealed the small creature. “There! There! The people! Nim Nim
escape! Nim Nim free!â€
We had emerged through a cut between two rocky outcroppings and ascended a small
hill. It was near the tenth Ahn, the Gorean noon. We had left the city, emerging
well beyond the walls early this morning. We were naked. The lower portion of my
body was covered with dirt and blood from our trek though the brush. it, too,
had been cut from the stones and sides of the narrow sewers through which we had
made our way. “Nim Nim good urt,†he had told me. “Urts find way!â€
“Strip, enter the cubicle of the bathing cisterns,†had said our jailer, five of
his fellows, armed, behind him, before dawn. “Wash your stinking bodies, then
emerge.â€
Our chains, in this area below the prison, had been removed.
“Why?†I asked.
“Obey,†he had said.
I was puzzled about this. The luxury of baths is seldom permitted to Gorean
prisoners, whether they are of the male or female sort. To be sure, a girl will
usually be scrubbed up and made presentable before she is brought up for sale.
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Perhaps they had something special in mind for us.
I saw the menacing movement of weapons.
We stripped.
“Leave your clothing here,†said the jailer. “Enter the cubicle of the bathing
cisterns.â€
We were prodded with the points of spears through a heavy wooden door.
“Wash well,†called a man, laughing.
“We would not wish your stink to offend the crowds,†laughed another man.
Immediately I thought of the baiting pit, and the screaming, betting,
enthusiastic crowds there. But Nim Nim had told me that it was something far
worse than this which they had planned for me.
“Have pity on poor sleen,†laughed a man.
“You would not want to make them sick, would you?†asked another. That was, I
suppose, very funny. The sleen is one of the least fastidious of Gorean animals.
I commonly makes the tarsk, usually thought of as a filthy animal, seem like an
epicure. I thought again, of course, from these comments, of the baiting pit in
the courtyard.
The heavy door of the cubicle of the bathing cistern closed behind us. I heard
Norman, John - Gor 20 - Players of Gor.txt Page 38
