by John Norman
The white Kur reached to the lever which, rotated, would swing back the thick, circular steel hatch.
"Greetings, Tarl, who hunts with me," said Imnak, grinning, entering the room.
"Greetings, Traitor," I said.
"Do not be bitter, Tarl, who hunts with me," said Imnak. "One must look out for one's own best interest."
I said nothing.
"I want you to know that I, and all the People," he said, "will be forever grateful to you for having freed the tabuk."
"That is a comforting thought," I said.
"One in your position can probably use a comforting thought," speculated Imnak.
"That is true," I said. It was difficult to be angry with Imnak.
"I hold no hard feelings toward you," said Imnak.
"That is a relief," I said.
"I have brought you something to eat," he said. He lifted up a sack.
"No thank you," I said.
"But you may grow hungry before you reach your destination," said Imnak.
"I do not think so," I said.
"Perhaps then your companion," said Imnak, indicating the Kur with his head, "might enjoy something to eat. You must not be selfish. You should think of him, too, you know."
"I will not be likely to forget him," I said.
"Take the food," said Imnak.
"I do not want it," I said.
Imnak looked stricken.
Suddenly I was startled. My heart leaped.
"Sleen like it," said Imnak, hopefully.
"Let me see it," I said. I looked into the sack. "Yes, I will take it," I said.
The Kur came away from the lever which controlled the hatch to the outside. It smelled the sack and looked within. It handled the chunks of meat, large and thick, in the sack. It satisfied itself the sack contained no knives or weapon.
"It is for me," I said to the Kur.
The lips of the Kur drew back. It took the sack and put it on the sled. It then went back to the lever and rotated it. The hatch opened slowly. I could see the darkness, the moonlit ice beyond. The temperature in the steel room, almost immediately, fell thirty or forty points in temperature. Wind whipped into the room, blowing the Kur's fur, and Imnak's black hair about his head.
"Tal," said Imnak to me, not as though bidding me farewell, but as though greeting me.
"Tal," said I to him.
The Kur took his place behind the sled. I leaned forward and, putting my weight against the traces, drew the sled over the steel plates and out onto the ice.
34
What Occurred on the Ice
As I had anticipated it was the intention of Half-Ear that my mutilated body be found at a considerable distance from the complex.
We trekked northward. The wind was twisting and swift. The cold was intense.
The complex was more than an Ahn behind us.
"I am hungry," I said to the Kur, half shouting, pointing to my mouth.
Its lips drew back. It lifted the whip. Again I put my weight against the traces.
When I, drawing the sled, had left the complex I had turned and looked upon it. I had stood there for a moment in awe. It was indeed an ice island, and one of considerable size. It towered more than a thousand feet above the surface ice in which it was now locked. It would extend, below the surface, much farther, probably some seven thousand or so feet. In width it was some four pasangs, I would conjecture, and in length some ten pasangs. It was not the only such island in the vicinity.
The Kur had lifted the whip behind me, and I had then turned to continue the journey, the cliffs of the ice island rearing high above and behind me.
It had been kept stabilized in its position gyroscopically during the summer. It would be located by the invasion fleet by virtue of its position.
I looked up at the stars. Already, I supposed, the troopships, with their hibernated marches, engines flaming, quiet in the near vacuum of space, burned their silent, purposeful way toward the shores of Gor.
"I am hungry," I said to the Kur.
Its lips drew back, this time in a snarl. It bared its fangs. I saw that it was considering killing me. But it would be obedient to its orders, if the situation would permit it. It was not what it seemed, a simple ice beast. It was a ship Kur, one bound by the discipline of the steel worlds, the pledges of crews and the necessary rigors of strict report lines. Unless I forced it to do so, it would not kill me until the time and place mandated in its instructions.
Yet it was displeased with me.
I saw it lift the whip. It could, of course, lash the furs from my back. But if it did so, I would soon freeze; too, the cut fur, sliced by the whip, would belie the deception of a sleen attack. It might kill me now, but then it would have to draw the sled itself, my rent body upon it, to the place or distance at which it was to be abandoned.
The Kur took the sack of meat in its paw. I reached out for it. It drew the sack back, and its lips went back about its fangs. It then crouched itself upon the sled, the sack of meat before it, snarled, and lifted the whip.
I looked at it, as though in dismay. "How can I draw the sled with such weight upon it?" I asked. "Please," I said.
It reached into the sack and drew forth one of the large, heavy chunks of meat. It extended it towards me, but, when I went to take it, it drew it back and bared its fangs. I stepped back. It slipped the large chunk of meat into its mouth. I saw it swallow. Its lips drew back. Then it snarled and lifted the whip.
"Please," I said.
I saw its eyes blaze. Then it threw another piece of meat down its throat.
I turned away, and, now struggling, put my weight against the traces. The beast was indeed heavy, and it was not easy to draw the sled, its weight upon it, over the roughness and jagged contours of the ice.
Half of an Ahn later, weary, my legs heavy, my back sore, I turned once more to see the beast. It snarled and again lifted the whip. The sack which had held the meat lay empty on the sled. The beast seemed, however, generally content. Its eyes were half closed. It seemed sleepy.
I turned about and again drew the sled. It was now a matter of time.
My major fear had been that the beast would have swallowed the meat into its storage stomach, in which it would not be digested until, at the beast's will, it was disgorged into the true stomach, or chemical stomach. I did not think, however, he had swallowed the meat into the storage stomach. First, there was sufficient food at the complex, and Kurii usually do not carry excess food and water in their body except when anticipating periods of scarcity. The additional food, of course, is a weight burden and impairs performance. Secondly, the beast seemed sleepy and content, which suggested to me that it had fed, and pleasantly, to its satisfaction. The metabolism of the Kur, however, does tend to be more under its control than it is with many organisms. Even in the true, or chemical, stomach, it can, by regulating the flow of digestive juices, hasten or protract the process of digestion. For example, it commonly digests at its leisure, but, if it anticipates proximate exertions, it can hurry the process. A Kur, thus, requires a smaller time interval than many species between eating heavily and engaging in demanding physical behaviors. This trait, doubtless, has been selected for in Kur evolution. I was not particularly worried, however, for, even at a slow rate of digestion, I was confident there would be time for the meat to accomplish its dark work. The sack which had been filled with meat was empty. It must have contained fifteen or twenty pieces of meat.
Suddenly the sled was lighter, for the Kur had stepped from it. I was suddenly alarmed.
It stood behind the sled, looking about. We were in a wide place, almost a shallow bowl, some hundred yards or so in diameter. It was a relatively clear place among the crags and projections of ice. From the air it might be easily identified, I supposed, even from a considerable altitude.
The Kur seemed satisfied. I began to sweat. I pulled down the collar of the parka, habitually. One does not wish to sweat in the north. One does not want it to freeze on o
ne's body, but, even more dangerously, one does not wish one's furs to become wet and then freeze, thus robbing them of their thermal efficiency and, indeed, increasing the likelihood of a break or tear in the hides. A rent in a garment, not soon repaired, can be extremely dangerous. A needle and thread can be as important in the north as a means to make fire.
The Kur's lips drew back, in a Kur grin, seeing my action. It was foolish, in the circumstances, I supposed. Yet it is a kind of thing one does, even without thinking, when one is wise to the north.
I looked about at the shallow, moonlit bowl, in whose center we stood, the sled between us.
It seemed to me, too, objectively, a sensible place for the Kur to address himself to his hideous task. It was relatively open, easily identifiable, or as easily identifiable as any area might be in the ice, and was at a suitable distance from the complex.
It was difficult to fault the judgment of the Kur. It was an intelligent animal.
The Kur indicated that I should free myself of the harness. I did so, with my mittened hands.
We stood apart from one another. The wind had subsided now. It was very cold and desolate in that place. Its lips drew back. I saw expectoration form at the corner of its mouth, an anticipatory salivation. It froze almost immediately into beads and he broke them away from the fur about his jaw with a movement of his paw. Its breath was foglike about its head and fangs. A soft vapor, like steam, clung about its form, then wafted away, where the cold air had made contact with the warmth of that large, terrible body. It gestured that I should approach it.
I did not do so.
With one paw it struck the sled to the side, from between us.
It gestured again that I should approach it. Again I did not do so.
I backed away from it. I had no illusions that I could outrun a Kur.
It dropped down to all fours. I saw it begin to tremble in anticipation. Then it threw back its huge, shaggy head and, jaws widely distended, its long fangs white, exposed, gazed savagely upon the three calm moons of Gor. Then to the moons and to the frozen world about us, to the ice and the sky and stars, it uttered a wild, fearsome, howling cry, a long, horrifying cry. The origins of that cry, I conjecture, are lost in the vanished antiquities of the prehistory of the Kur, or of the beast that, in time, became the Kur. It was a cry that was both territorial and imperial. It was the challenge of a predator and carnivore to a world. It said, "I am here. This is my place." Too, it seemed to say, "This meat, this kill, is mine. Dispute it with me who will." It was a cry that might once have been heard in the mouths of caves, or in the darkness of forests. I had little doubt but what, eons ago, on the native world of the Kur, that cry had antedated speech and fire. Man, doubtless, has forgotten such cries. The Kur has not.
The beast turned about, twice, happily, almost leaping; then again it faced me. Its claws emerged. It scratched delightedly at the ice. It gazed upon me. It uttered a shriek anew, but one of pleasure. Its breathing was swift. It could scarcely control itself.
I backed away, further.
It watched me, alertly, with pleasure. It growled softly, almost a purrlike sound, but more intense, more excited.
Then its ears lay back against the side of its head.
I stumbled backward, and it sped toward me, swiftly.
I struggled, seized in its arms. I saw the blazing eyes. It lifted me from the ice, lifting me toward its mouth. It held me, looking at me for a moment. Then it turned its head to one side. I struggled and twisted futilely. Its breath was hot in my face, and I could scarcely see it for the vapors of our mingled breathings. Then its jaws reached for my throat. Suddenly and so suddenly for a moment I could not comprehend it there was a hideous shriek from the beast and I could hear nothing else for a moment and it was one of surprise and pain and I was momentarily deafened and then, too, at the same time, reflexively I was flung from it the stars and ice suddenly wild and turned and I struck the ice and rolled and slid across it. I scrambled to my knees. I was more than forty feet from the beast.
It stood, not moving, hunched over, looking at me.
I rose unsteadily to my feet.
It tried to take a step toward me, and then its face contorted with excruciating pain. It lifted its paw toward me.
Then, suddenly, as though struck from the inside, it screamed and fell, rolling, on the ice. Twice more it cried out, and then lay, motionless, but alive, on the ice, on its back, looking up at the moons.
The digestive juices, already released into the true stomach, continued with their implacable chemical work. Bit by bit, loosened molecule by loosened molecule, in accordance with the patient, relentless laws of chemistry, the sinew slowly dissolved, weakening the bond which held the compressed, contorted, sharpened baleen, until the slender bond broke. The beast screamed again.
Thoughtlessly the beast must have devoured fifteen or twenty of the hidden traps.
I thought now I had little to fear.
I went to the sled. There seemed little of use there.
Fortunately I glanced upward. Somehow it was again on its feet.
It stood hunched over. It looked at me. How indomitable it was. It coughed, wracked with the pain of it, and spat clots of blood on the ice.
Slowly, step by step, it began to move toward me, its paws outstretched.
It then screamed with pain, bent over, as another of the wicked traps sprang open.
It stood there, whimpering on the ice. For a moment I felt moved.
Then, scrambling, on all fours, it charged. I overturned the sled between us. It fell screaming against the head of the sled and, with one paw, swept the sled to one side. It rolled on the ice, leaving it dark with blood. It coughed and screamed, and raged. Then two more of the treacherous baleen traps sprang open. It looked at the moons, agonized. It bit its lips and jaws in pain. It tore at its thigh.
I moved warily away from the beast. I did not think, now, I would have great difficulty in eluding it.
It was bleeding now, profusely, at the mouth and anus. The side of its mouth was half bitten through. The ice was covered with blood, and defecation. Too, it had released its water on the ice.
I moved away from it, drawing it in a circle from the sled. I then doubled back and, taking up the traces of the sled, turned back toward the complex concealed in the ice island.
I pulled the sled, returning toward the complex. The beast, step by painful step, bloody in the snow, followed. I did not let it approach too near.
Judging by its cries, those uttered before, and those which it uttered as it followed me, it must have taken nineteen of the traps into its body. It amazed me that it was not content to lie still and die. Each step must have been torture for it. Yet it continued to follow me. I learned something from it of the tenacity of the Kur.
At last, on the return to the complex, some four Ahn later, it died.
It is not easy to kill a Kur.
I looked down at the huge carcass. I had no knife. I must use my hands and teeth.
35
I Return to the Complex;
What Occurred in the Complex
"It is not a Kur!" cried the man. "Fire!"
Then I had my hands on his throat, and threw him between me and his fellow. I heard the dart enter his body and I thrust him back and away from me and I saw him, rent and scattered, burst apart. The other fellow, also in what seemed to be a suit of light plastic, with a heating unit slung at his hip, fumbled with the weapon, to insert another charge in the breech. I dove toward him and the breech snapped shut and the weapon, struck to the side, discharged and I flung him to the ground, we both half tangled in the white fur of the Kur. With my left arm about his neck I struck his head to the side with the flat of my right hand. He lay still, the neck broken. It is a thing warriors are taught.
I looked up. It seemed quiet. Yet two weapons had been discharged. The tubular weapons discharge with a hiss. It is not particularly loud. The explosion of the darts, however, timed to detonate an instant after
fixing themselves in the target, is much louder. The first explosion had been muffled in the body of its victim. The second, however, might have been heard. It had burst, after a long, parabolic trajectory, over a thousand feet below, showering ice upward more than two hundred feet into the air.
I had returned to the complex, crossing the ice near it, with the sled. This would assure me, I hoped, that I would not be mistaken for a common ice beast. I did not know what signs and countersigns, or signals, the white Kur might have had at its disposal to protect itself in this regard. I, at any rate, had none. Ice beasts, or common ice beasts, of course, do not use sleds. I think the sled let me approach more closely than I might otherwise have been capable of doing. The fur of the Kur, too, in the uncertain light, of course, was helpful. I had kept, too, as I could, to the cover of the pack ice. I had left the sled at the foot of the ice island and, with the fur of the Kur as a camouflage, had climbed, crag by crag, projection by projection, foothold by foothold, to the height of the island. The hatch through which I had exited did not have an obvious opening from the outside. Again, I did not know any signs or countersigns, or signals. I had climbed the height of the ice island looking for some mode of ingress to the complex. I was interested not so much in official thresholds, of a sort which I supposed would be provided to facilitate the work of lookouts and guards, as apertures more practical to my purposes, apertures unguarded through which passage would not require any system of recognition devices. The air in the complex had been fresh. It was my hope that there would be ventilation shafts. If the Kurii relied on a closed system I must take my chances with more standard portals.
It seemed quiet. I reached again for the fur of the Kur.
It came so swiftly I was not sure I saw it. I may have heard or sensed it the object cutting the fur of the parka and lodging a foot behind me in the ice and I flung myself away from it and the ice shattering and exploding outward and the blast and ice pushing me like a hand and I struck a projection of ice and slipped downward, and then I saw them coming two of them both armed and I slipped and lay contorted at the foot of the ice projection.
