Assassin of Gor

by Norman, John;

  “It is within the fifth ring,” pointed out Misk.

  I looked at him in surprise.

  His antennae curled in amusement. “Besides,” said Misk, “we are not unfond of humans.”

  I laughed.

  “Further,” said Misk, “the Others are themselves a not uninteresting species, and we have permitted certain of them, prisoners taken from disabled probe ships, to live on this world, much as we have humans.”

  I was startled.

  “They do not live in the same areas, on the whole, that humans do,” said Misk. “Moreover, we insist that they respect the weapon and technology laws of Priest-Kings, as a condition for their permitted survival.”

  “You limit their technology levels just as you do those of humans?” I asked.

  “Certainly,” said Misk.

  “But the Others of the ships,” I said, “they remain dangerous.”

  “Extremely so,” admitted Misk. Then his antennae curled. “Humans and the Others have much in common,” said Misk. “Both depend much on vision; they can breathe the same atmospheres; they have similar circulatory systems; both are vertebrates; both have not unlike prehensile appendages; further,” and here Misk’s antennae curled, “both are aggressive, competitive, selfish, cunning, greedy and cruel.”

  “Thank you,” said I, “Misk.”

  Misk’s abdomen shook and his antennae curled with delight. “You are welcome, Tarl Cabot,” said he.

  “And not all Priest-Kings,” said I, “happen to be Misks, you know.”

  “I do, however,” said Misk, “count the human, for all his faults, superior to those whom you call the Others.”

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  “He commonly has an inhibition against killing,” said Misk, “and moreover he has, infrequently it may be, the capacities for loyalty and community and love.”

  “Surely the Others have these things, too,” I said.

  “There is little evidence of that,” said Misk, “though they do have Ship Loyalty, for their artificial mode of existence requires responsibility and discipline. We have noted that among the Others who have been settled on Gor there has been, once out of the ship, a degeneration of interrelated roles, resulting in anarchy until the institution of authority resting on superior strength and fear.” Misk looked down at me. “Even in the ships,” he said, “killing is not discouraged except under conditions of battle or when the functioning of the vessel might be impaired.”

  “Perhaps,” I said, “over the years it has become a way of controlling the population in a limited environment.”

  “Doubtless,” said Misk, “but the interesting thing to Priest-Kings is that the Others, rational and advanced creatures presumably, have elected this primitive fashion of controlling their population.”

  “I wonder why,” I said.

  “They have chosen this way,” said Misk.

  I looked down, lost in thought. “Perhaps,” I said, “they feel it encourages martial skills, courage and such.”

  “It is rather,” said Misk, “that they enjoy killing.”

  Neither Misk nor I spoke for some time.

  “I gather,” I said, “that the Others are far more numerous than Priest-Kings.”

  “A thousand times more so, at least,” said Misk. “Yet, for twenty thousand years we have stood them off, because of superior power.”

  “But,” I said, “this power is severely curtailed following the Nest War.”

  “True,” said Misk, “but we are rebuilding it. I think there is little immediate and gross danger, provided the enemy does not learn our current state of weakness.” His antennae moved slowly, as though they were hands, reflecting thought. “There is some indication, however,” he said, “that they suspect our difficulties.”

  “What are these?” I asked.

  “The probes become increasingly frequent,” said Misk. “Moreover, in line with their schemes, certain humans have been brought to this world.”

  “They acted boldly in the matter of attempting to interfere with the acquisition of the last egg of Priest-Kings,” I pointed out.

  “But largely through agents,” said Misk.

  “That is true,” I admitted.

  “Some information on the Nest War is surely available to them,” said Misk, “carried by humans who were permitted to leave the Nest following the War.” His antennae curled slightly. “But doubtless those whom you call the Others, being suspicious, much as your kind, suspect that this information is false, designed to lead them into a trap. It is fortunate for us that the Others are as sophisticated as they are. Were they simple barbarians, Gor and Earth would now be theirs.”

  “Perhaps they have seized some of these humans,” I said, “and interrogated them, finding out if they tell the truth or not, by means of drugs or tortures.”

  “Even a drug or torture,” pointed out Misk, “will only reveal what the individual believes to be the truth, not necessarily what the truth is. And, we suppose, the Others would suspect that only humans whose brains had been disposed to believe certain things, in virtue of our science, would be permitted to fall into their hands, once again as a move intended to draw them into a trap.”

  I shook my head.

  “It is ironic,” said Misk. “We could not now resist a general attack, nor protect Earth, but the Others will not believe it.”

  “Such,” I said, “is the good fortune of Priest-Kings.”

  “And humans,” said Misk.

  “Agreed,” I said.

  “But the Others,” said Misk, “are not inactive.” He looked down at me. “Movements of probe ships appear to have been coordinated from the surface. It is possible the Others of the ships have made contact with those permitted to live on the planet, under our laws. Moreover, within the last five years, for the first time, the Others have made diplomatic contacts with humans.” Misk’s antennae suddenly focused intently on me. “It is apparently their intention,” said he, “to acquire influence in cities, to win humans to their side, to equip and lead them in war on Priest-Kings.”

  I was startled.

  “Why should they not use humans to fight their battles?” asked Misk. “The human, which exists in reasonably large numbers on Gor, is intelligent, can be taught much, and tends to be a warlike creature.”

  “But they would only use humans,” I said.

  “Certainly,” said Misk. “Eventually humans would be used only as slaves and feed.”

  “Feed?” I asked.

  “The Others,” said Misk, “unlike Priest-Kings, are carnivorous.”

  “But humans are rational creatures,” I said.

  “On the ships,” said Misk, “humans, and certain other organic creatures, are raised for meat.”

  I said nothing.

  “The Others,” said Misk, “see humans, and most other creatures, either as feed or tools.”

  “They must be stopped,” I said.

  “If they manage, in time, to turn a sufficient number of men against us and to arm them even primitively, our world is lost.”

  “How far advanced are they in their project?” I inquired.

  “As nearly as we can determine, through our agents, not far.”

  “Have you discovered the contact points,” I asked, “from which they hope to extend their influence in the cities?”

  “Only one seems clear,” said Misk. “And we do not wish to destroy it immediately. Such would indicate that we are aware of their plan. Further, innocent rational creatures might be destroyed. Further, if we destroy it, and it is a portion of a network, we will have lost valuable information on the degree of their dispersement and penetration.”

  “You need a spy, Misk.”

  “I knew,” said Misk, “I should not have spoken of this matter with you.”

  “What is the contact point you have discovered?” I inquired.

  “Return to Ko-ro-ba,” said Misk. “In that city live and be happy. Take the she with you. Let others concern thems
elves with the dark business of war.”

  “Will you not even let me decide the matter for myself?” I asked.

  “We ask nothing of you, Tarl Cabot,” said Misk. And then Misk set his antennae on my shoulders, gently. “There will be danger for you even in Ko-ro-ba,” said he, “for the Others doubtless know of your role in acquiring the egg of Priest-Kings. They may suspect that you still labor, or might again labor, in the service of Priest-Kings, and would wish to slay you. Return to your city, Tarl Cabot, be happy, as you can, but guard yourself.”

  “While the Others threaten,” I said, “how can any man rest easy?”

  “I have spoken too much to you,” said Misk. “I am sorry.”

  I turned about and, to my surprise, saw that Elizabeth had entered the compartment. How long she had been listening, I did not know.

  “Hello,” I said, smiling.

  Elizabeth did not smile. She seemed afraid. “What will we do?” she asked.

  “About what?” I asked, innocently.

  “She has been there long,” said Misk. “Was it wrong for me to speak before her?”

  I looked at Elizabeth. “No,” I said, “it was not wrong.”

  “Thank you, Tarl,” said the girl.

  “You said that one point of contact seemed clear?” I said to Misk.

  “Yes,” said Misk, “only one.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Misk looked from Elizabeth to myself. Then the words came forth from the translator, spaced evenly, without expression. “The House of Cernus in Ar,” said Misk.

  “It is one of the great slave houses,” I said, “generations old.”

  Misk’s antennae briefly acknowledged this. “We have an agent in that house,” said Misk, “a Scribe, the chief accountant, whose name is Caprus.”

  “Surely he can find out what you want to know,” I said.

  “No,” said Misk, “as Scribe and Accountant his movements are restricted.”

  “Then,” I said, “you will need another in the House.”

  “Return to Ko-ro-ba, Tarl Cabot,” said Misk.

  “I have a stake in these games,” I said.

  Misk looked down, the great compound eyes luminous. “You have done too much,” he said.

  “No man,” said I, “has done enough until the Others have been met and stopped.”

  Suddenly Misk’s antennae touched my shoulders and trembled there.

  “I will go, too,” said Elizabeth.

  I spun about. “You will not,” I said. “I am taking you to Ko-ro-ba, and there you will stay!”

  “I will not!” she cried.

  I stared at her, scarcely believing my ears.

  “I will not!” she cried again.

  “I am taking you to Ko-ro-ba,” I said, “and there you will stay! That is all there is to it!”

  “No,” she said, “that is not all there is to it!”

  “You are not going to Ar,” I told her angrily. “Do not speak more of it.”

  “I am of Earth,” she said. “Earth owes its freedom to Priest-Kings. I, for one, am grateful. Moreover, I am free and I can do precisely what I want, and I will!”

  “Be quiet!” I snapped.

  “I am not your slave girl,” she said.

  I stepped back. “I am sorry,” I said, “I am sorry, Elizabeth. I am sorry.” I shook my head. I wanted to hold her but she stepped back, angrily. “It is too dangerous,” I said, “too dangerous.”

  “No more so for me than for you,” she said, “and perhaps less for me.” She looked up at Misk and stepped to him. “Send me!” she said.

  Misk looked at her, his eyes luminous, his antennae dipping toward her. “Once,” said Misk, “I had such a human she as you, many years ago, when humans were slave in the Nest.” Misk touched her shoulders with the antennae. “She once saved my life. Sarm, who was my enemy, ordered her slain.” Then Misk straightened himself. “It is too dangerous,” he said.

  “Do you think,” demanded Elizabeth, of both myself and Misk, “that a woman cannot be brave? Will you not honor her as you would a man with danger, not permit her to do something worthy of her species, something important and fine, or is all that is significant and meaningful to be reserved for men?” Elizabeth, almost in tears, stepped away from us both and spun about, facing us. “I, too, am a Human!” she said.

  Misk looked at her for a long time, his antennae focused. “It will be arranged,” said he, “that you will be placed as a slave in the House of Cernus, as a member of the staff of Caprus. Papers will be prepared on you and you will be transmitted to the House of Clark in Thentis, whence you will be taken by tarn caravan to Ar, where you will be sold privately, your purchase to be effected by the agents of the House of Cernus, under the instructions of Caprus.”

  “There!” said Elizabeth brazenly, facing me, hands on her hips.

  “I shall follow her,” I said, “probably as a mercenary tarnsman, and attempt to take service with the House of Cernus.”

  “You are both Humans,” said Misk, “noble Humans.”

  Then he had placed his antennae on us, one on my left shoulder and the other on Elizabeth’s right shoulder.

  Before we began our dangerous journey, however, at Misk’s suggestion, both Elizabeth and I returned to Ko-ro-ba, that we might rest some days and, in a peaceful interlude, share our affections.

  My return to the city was affecting, for here it was that my sword had been pledged to a Gorean Home Stone; here it was that I had trained in arms and learned Gorean; it was here that I had met my father, after long years of separation; it was here that I had made dear friends, the Older Tarl, Master of Arms, and small, quick-tempered Torm, he of the Caste of Scribes; and it was from this place that I had, many years before, in tarnflight begun the work that would shatter the Empire of Ar and cost Marlenus of Ar, Ubar of Ubars, his throne; and, too, it was to this place, I could not forget, that I had once brought on tarnback, not as a vanquished slave but as a proud, and beautiful, and free, joyous woman, Talena, daughter of that same Marlenus, Ubar of Ubars, had brought her to this place in love that we might here together drink, one with the other, the wine of the Free Companionship.

  I wept.

  We crossed the partially rebuilt walls, Elizabeth and I, and found ourselves among cylinders, many of which were in the process of reconstruction. In an instant we were surrounded by Warriors on tarnback, the guard, and I raised my hand in the sign of the city, and drew on the four-strap, taking the tarn down.

  I had come home.

  In a short time, I found myself in the arms of my father, and my friends.

  Our eyes told one another, even in the joy of our meeting, that we, none of us, knew the whereabouts of Talena, once the companion, though she the daughter of a Ubar, of a simple Warrior of Ko-ro-ba.

  I remember the days in Ko-ro-ba fondly, though there were certain problems.

  Or perhaps one should say, simply, there was Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth, besides speaking boldly out on a large number of delicate civic, social and political issues, usually not regarded as the province of the fairer sex, categorically refused to wear the cumbersome Robes of Concealment traditionally expected of the free woman. She still wore the brief, exciting leather of a Tuchuk wagon girl and, when striding the high bridges, her hair in the wind, she attracted much attention, not only, obviously, from the men, but from women, both slave and free.

  Once a slave girl bumped into her on one of the bridges and struck at her, thinking she was only slave, but Elizabeth, with a swift blow of her small fist, downed the girl, and managed to seize one ankle and prevent her from tumbling from the bridge. “Slave!” cried the girl. At this point Elizabeth hit her again, almost knocking her once more from the bridge. Then, when they had their hands in one another’s hair, kicking, the slave girl suddenly stopped, terrified, not seeing the gleaming, narrow band of steel locked on Elizabeth’s throat. “Where is your collar?” she stammered.

  “What collar?” as
ked Elizabeth, her fists clenched in the girl’s hair.

  “The collar,” repeated the girl numbly.

  “I’m free,” said Elizabeth.

  Suddenly the girl howled and fell to her knees before Elizabeth, kneeling trembling to the whip. “Forgive me, Mistress,” she cried. “Forgive me!”

  When one who is slave strikes a free person the penalty is not infrequently death by impalement, preceded by lengthy torture.

  “Oh, get up!” said Elizabeth irritably, jerking the poor girl to her feet.

  They stood there looking at one another.

  “After all,” said Elizabeth, “why should it be only slave girls who are comfortable and can move freely?”

  “Aren’t you slave?” asked one of the men nearby, a Warrior, looking closely.

  Elizabeth slapped him rather hard and he staggered back. “No, I am not,” she informed him.

  He stood there rubbing his face, puzzled. A number of people had gathered about, among them several free women.

  “If you are free,” said one of them, “you should be ashamed of yourself, being seen on the bridges so clad.”

  “Well,” said Elizabeth, “if you like walking around wrapped up in blankets, you are free to do so.”

  “Shameless!” cried a free girl.

  “You probably have ugly legs,” said Elizabeth.

  “I do not!” retorted the girl.

  “Don’t choke on your veil,” advised Elizabeth.

  “I am really beautiful!” cried the free girl.

  “I doubt it,” said Elizabeth.

  “I am!” she cried.

  “Well then,” said Elizabeth, “what are you ashamed of?” Then Elizabeth strode to her and, to the girl’s horror, on one of the public high bridges, face-stripped her. The girl screamed but no one came to her aid, and Elizabeth spun her about, peeling off layers of Robes of Concealment until, in a heavy pile of silk, brocade, satin and starched muslin the girl stood in a sleeveless, rather brief orange tunic, attractive, of a sort sometimes worn by free women in the privacy of their own quarters.

  The girl stood there, wringing her hands and wailing. The slave girl had backed off, looking as though she might topple off the bridge in sheer terror.

  Elizabeth regarded the free woman. “Well,” she said, “you are rather beautiful, aren’t you?”