Chapter 7. The Hand of God
Those who dwell in the stone cities are Half-Souls.
They worship evil Gods and will not see my face.
Do not walk with them for their way is not yours.
And do not lay with them for they breed only death.
From the Book of Isarie.
The Pyramid City of the Talsonar rose up in the lowland plains, like a spike on the back of an angry Rimar. Its titanic height, thrust upwards into the sky, reaching ten thousand meters or more, anyone, seeing the structure, could only believe, it was put there by the hands of the Gods.
The beacon topping the pyramid, flashed its powerful signal day and night, guiding and rescuing travelers from the endless tracts of the Outlands. The pyramid could house hundreds of thousands, keeping them safe from the heat, wind and fire that burned once every cycle of the planet.
There were many levels, each used for a specific purpose. The base was for the workers and slaves, they lived a dull endless life of work and more work. They had no real future, if one died, another Off-Worlder or some other poor creature, replaced them.
Above them were the officials and the bureaucrats, they oversaw day to day work and kept track of the countless city records. Their lives were far better, than the lowly laborers and slaves. Most of them had worked their way up from below, hoping someday to ascend to the next higher level.
Above the officials were the rich, or the High-breeders as they were known. To those below, their live styles were unimaginable, all their needs were met, they wanted for nothing, food, drink, entertainment. They rarely if ever, went to the lower levels, seeing it as some sort of hell, they made sure it didn't interfere with their luxurious lives. Now and again, someone would sneak into the upper levels, hoping to find a better way of life. They were quickly found, then tortured for the amusement of the upper class, or thrown from the higher level to be smashed on the ground below. The High-breeders prayed to their own special Gods, after all they could not be expected to have the same Gods as everyone else. It would not be right, their prayers were special and needed special Gods to hear them. It seemed the Gods did hear them, for they spent their days in idleness and pleasures of the flesh.
At the uppermost levels were the Overlords, the very top of society. They had the power of life or death, they saw all creatures below them, as things to be used. The best slaves served them, their time was spent dreaming and endless nights of physical pleasure. They were regarded as the children of the Gods.
If they were the children of the Gods, then those who toiled in the Underworld, were the dammed. Deep under the city the power workers lived, they were the lowest of the low, condemned to a dim world of heat and endless toil. The cities power came from geothermal activity, deep inside the planets core. This heat drove the steam units that supplied all the city's power. It was populated mostly by creatures who had broken one of the many laws of the Overlords, or criminals who had been sent to Gorn, as trade goods.
Whatever the reason, it was their final destination, when they died, they were taken to food recycling. Their bodies used one last time, to supply nourishment for the people above. It was a living hell, one that never heard the whispering of the Gods.
The city, was surrounded by a multitude primitive dwellings, made from rock or mud. The Forgotten People lived in them, mostly mutants or those who had escaped the Drop-ships. Here they found a place to survive. They made goods, to trade for Grana or food with the many tribes that came to the city. It was a hard life and there was always the threat of war with another city, or death from heat or cold and many other dangers. There was nowhere else they could go, away from the sight of the beacon, they were at the mercy of the Outlands. They would not last long, unable to navigate, surrounded by beasts and other dangers, they would soon die. Many had tried their luck in the Outlands but none came back to tell their story.
The numerous levels the city, were now open to the air and the sky. If there was any danger, war or the fires during the Burning Time, the levels could be closed. The whole city would slowly lower, one level at a time, until it was one solid mass of stone. When it was closed nothing could penetrate its walls, it was a fortress and those inside were invulnerable.
It was not known who built the pyramids, or why, they were hundreds, maybe even millions of years old, no one knew. They ringed Gorn near the equator, most of them were still intact, each had a different society. They kept to themselves mostly, unless there was war. Travelers who headed into the wastelands or the forests, always kept the beacon or a marker in sight. As one beacon began to sink below the horizon, the beacon on the next pyramid would appear. It was the only way safe way to travel, it was still dangerous but nothing compared to the Nomads and the unknown Outlands.
It is said they were built by an all-powerful race that vanished ages ago. Others said they were built during the First Gathering, as an outpost for the interplanetary Lightships. Most, simply put it down to the will of the Gods, it was not the destiny of mortals to know the minds of the all-powerful.
Whatever the reason, the cities were the only civilized place to trade, it was known to all who came to Gorn. A pyramid gave life, good or bad, it was the only place to go. Not being able to see a beacon meant, you were beyond the sight of the Gods.
High atop the pyramid city, Governor Darken Droganus, sat quietly in his private quarters. He looked down on the people far below, they looked like ants from the high vantage point and to him, they were ants. Ants to be crushed if need be, they were after all, just people, most only fit, to be slaves or worse, all were outcasts.
He was naked, his scaly body had many scars, he was not old by the standard of his species. He was still in his prime but many hard cycles as a slave and a soldier, had taken their toll. He had a metal plate, covering a wound in his skull and inside his arms and legs, several replacement parts. He had greenish skin with the type reptilian scale that marked him as a Sillastine. Cunning and strong, he was a ruthless Governor, feared by most of the city inhabitants.
Although he too had come here from another world, he never thought of himself as an outcast. Like all the others he was an unwanted but in his mind, he was a God and all Gods should think as he did.
Thinking to himself, the Governor scratched the ornate metal plate in his head. I survived the Drop-ships and the life of a slave and solider. My skill in pitting one against the other brought me to power, don't all Gods do the same?
He smiled softly to himself; they play with worlds and those living on them, like toys. They could destroy, anything that displeased them, should I not, have the same right? Gods are only beings with great power and worshipers. I have that and more.
In his mind he was a God and he would act like one.
He sat back in his large cushioned chair, looking down, things were proceeding as planned, it was going to take time, months perhaps. Like all plans, it was the detail that made them work, his plan, would make him ruler of not only the Pyramids cities but all of Gorn. All he had to do was wait, time was on his side, it would serve him well.
He motioned to some slaves, standing silently in a corner of the room. They were well trained, knowing not to move or speak, unless told. When they saw their master point to a gold cup, they knew he wanted wine, which they quickly brought it to him. One held the cup while another one poured the beverage, they dared not spill a drop. When the cup was full, it was handed to the Governor. They returned to their station, ready to serve.
He took a sip of Elnoc wine, it was bitter with very, little bouquet, it was the best wine to be found on this world. He had wealth and power but he missed Off-World wines very much. As a wealthy young man, he used to drink the rare vintages of his home world. They were delicious, blended from the finest fruits in the galaxy. His father had been a General in the Trajion Wars, he prided himself on drinking the best vintages.
He remembered as a young man, how he would swill it down by the barrel, drinking deeply until he forgot everyth
ing that mattered to a young man.
He remembered how his father had died and his family had been sold into slavery. He was sent to Gorn, never to see his home world again. He had been a Prince, who gleefully devoured the finest food and beverages, now he was grateful for a brew, he would have spit out in disgust back then.
He smiled; even Gods do not always have everything.
He looked at the large bed in the center of the room, on it, several young men and women of various age and species. They were all naked and sleeping soundly, it had been a long exciting night, they had consumed a great deal of Ice. Ice a powerful, addictive pleasure drug, addicts became Sin-Cravers. They forget everything, living only for physical pleasure, it is an exciting but short life. Ice quickly burns a person out, most end up as mindless creatures, wondering aimlessly in the power station's dark underworld, seeking warmth. Prolonged use of Ice lowers a person's body heat, until they are nothing but cold empty hulks, seeking out heat, wherever they can find it. It did not matter to the Governor, they were young pleasure toys, for him to play with. When he grew tired of them, there were plenty more.
He looked over the endless wastelands that lay beyond his reach. He knew, there were vast green lands, forests, jungles, towering mountains and deep oceans, he knew of the people and treasures that lay just beyond the horizon; but how to get to it?
That had been the maddening problem for him and every other Governor of the Talsonar. He had tried many times, to develop a system, whereby his army could penetrate the vast open Outlands, without getting lost. He had tried more than once, sending out soldiers and tracers, they never came back. Maybe the earth just swallowed them up, maybe it was the creatures, living deep within the endless open range. It was more likely, that the Outlanders killed them, how he hated those warrior tribes, if there was anything he wanted more than a good glass of wine, it was to destroy them all.
Who then would bring them the indispensable Grana? Without the green salt even I would soon perish.
There was no substitute for the life giving mineral, they had tried many times to synthesize the Grana, using numerous minerals and other substances but it never worked. Everyone, who had tried the substitute soon died. They would keep trying but until they succeeded, they needed the salt. There was only one place where it could be mined, the far distant mountains of Koto-Car. The only ones able to travel there and come back alive, were the Nomads.
At least the Nomads needed weapons, it was this and only this, that kept them returning with the precious salt. It had started long ago, when Off-worlders first set foot on Gorn, they found the abandoned stone cities and made them their homes. No one knew who built them. The cities ringed the planet, built so the powerful beacon on the top of each one was visible until the next one could be seen. They were the only permanent structures on the planet's surface, the only place of safety during the Burning Time. Here weapons were developed that were not affected by the Electro Magnetic waves, which rendered all other technologies useless. By the standards of the galaxy, they were primitive but they were also deadly.
If only I knew the secret of traveling the Outlands, I could eliminate the Outlanders and take over all of Gorn.
The Governor lived for that day, it would come soon, he had all the power, this place offered but it was not enough. He would send his armies against all the pyramid cities, one by one they would fall. Soon all of Gorn would come under his rule, after all, the power of Gods do not have limits. They do what they want, nothing stands in their way, he was a God, so there was nothing he could not do.
He lay back in his chair and thought over his intricate plans, he had done this a thousand times, it always made him feel good. It was his Ice, his drug of choice, he smiled and took another sip of the bitter wine.
From the bed, Osenna sat up and looked around the room, she did not remember much of the night before. She did remember taking a large dose of Ice, the rush of pleasure and the heat that built up inside of her. Then a cool wind that seem to fill every fiber of her being and finally feeling a million hands on her body. She smiled, thinking back over the night, it was like dying and being reborn, again and again, each new life brought a newer greater sensation. She did not understand the ways of Gods, or what life was about. Her own pleasure was all that mattered and next time, she would taste the sweet promise of the beckoning Ice.
She was young and did not show any signs, of the devastation to come with her, addiction to Ice. Her eyes were still bright and her skin was flawless, she had the long dark hair of the Outlanders and carried herself with a regal bearing. She had been lucky, born to a slave but chosen at an early age, to be a consort to the Governor. She had the best of everything, she had a life, few on Gorn would ever believe. She was treated like a Queen, her every wish granted, the best of all possible worlds. While it lasted.
She looked over at her master, he was thinking again, that was fine with her. She liked to look at him, he was the most powerful person in the city, you could live or die at his whim. He was not the same species as she but the differences were minor, compared to other races on this world. He was strong and knew how to get things done, before anything could be done, it had to be approved him, his was the highest authority. Sometimes beat her or worse but it was a small price to pay.
He is Governor and I am his consort, without him where would I go? What would I do? A few beatings now and then, is better than being without him; she thought. Looking at him, she could not help a feeling of security, maybe even love? She smiled and felt warm inside but was it love, or just the remnants of last night’s orgy?
She got up and walked over to Darken, sitting at his feet, she began to slowly stroke his thick leg, she knew he liked it. She looked up, hoping to see a smile on his face but he did not seem notice her. His eyes were closed as if sleeping, “Are you awake my lord,” she asked. There was no reply, so she began to stroke higher up his legs, “Is there something I can do for you?” she asked in a low sultry voice.
The Governor slowly opened his eyes and looked down at her. Seeing her like this, always made him feel good, he liked his toys and loved to play with them. He reached down and gently touched her long dark hair.
“You were quiet indulgent last night, were you not? I don't think, I have ever seen you so greedy,” he said with a slight grin; greed, greed turns people into slaves and I must have slaves.
“I was in a greedy mood, I wanted to make you happy my love,” she began to bite his leg playfully; he likes it when I do this, he will be pleased with me.
He pulled her hair, forcing her to look up at him, “You gratify me, make sure it stays that way.” The threat in his voice, she knew well, she had heard it many times, over the years, she knew it was a warning. A warning he only gave once!
“As you wish,” there was a slight tremble in her voice; what would I do, where would I go?
Hearing her reply made Droganus feel good, he liked to know he was feared; greed and fear, a good combination in a slave!
He let her hair go and lay back in his chair.
“It is not easy being a God,” he said, “I have to attend to many things, laws need enforcing, smaller Gods need to be taught, right from wrong.” Many smaller Gods, Gods who must be crushed. He looked at his young toy again, “You do not know what I am talking about do you?”
Osenna shook her head, she did not understand, most of what he ever said, it was not her place and she did not care anyway.
The Governor smiled softly, “That is good, toys do not move themselves, or understand the hand that moves them.”
He was about to tell her to go to the bed, when there was a knock at the door. He motioned to one of the slaves to open it, in strode Tamar-Ran. He was dirty and in need of a drink, he bowed low to the Governor.
Darken kept him waiting longer than necessary; another toy. He spoke,“Ah my best warrior, what have you to report?”
He keeps me waiting, he does not think I know why but I do; the lion-man straightened up and
spoke, “All the cargo from the Drop-ships has been gathered and counted. We have five hundred and thirty one, still alive. Fifty-two wounded, the rest dead. Most of the shipment from Tolarus is intact but we lost two ships in the Outlands.” It is less than he expected but there was nothing I could do, I wish I had a tankard of cool Marsh-beer. He waited for a reply.
The Governor looked at his General; far less than I hoped but he already knows that, should I punish him? Maybe, a few days in the power stations? He is afraid, for now that is enough.
Darken looked at his General and waved his hand, “Very well, have the cargo conditioned and put to work. Make an exact count of the Tolarus' shipment, they were short last time. As for the wounded, kill them and have their bodies sent to food possessing.”
The General bowed and started to leave, Darken called out to him.
“Tell Generals Yung and Leeander that I want to see them and yourself, in the council chamber later today, I want to go over the battle plans again.” He lay back in his chair and began to stroke Osenna's hair.
“Yes sire,” Tamar-Ran bowed and left the room.
Darken looked out at the horizon once more, it was going to be a warm day. He wondered if the Gods ever felt warm or cold? If not, why had they made fire and ice? If he had created the universe, there would not be a winter or summer or seasons. There would be no rains or fires, no burning suns in the skies, no daytime at all, there would only be one endless night, filled with pleasure and countless toys to fill his hands
Nomads of the Gods Page 8
