Priest-Kings of Gor coc-3 Page 20

  I stopped for a moment and listened.

  Now, scrambling after me in the tunnel, I could hear the approach of the Golden Beetle.

  I turned and jogged on.

  After a few Ehn I stopped again and once more listened.

  Apparently my conjecture as to the mobility of the Golden Beetle had been correct and the speed of its pursuit had quickly slackened. Yet I knew that somewhere back there it would still be coming, that it would not yield its vengeance and its prey so easily. It was still coming, somewhere back there in the darkness, slowly, patiently, implacably, like the coming of winter or the weathering of a stone.

  I wondered at the nature of the Beetle’s pursuit of his prey.

  How horrible I thought it would be to be trapped in these tunnels, waiting for the Beetle, able to avoid it perhaps for hours, perhaps days, but not daring to sleep or to stop, not knowing if one were going down a blind passage, if the Beetle were suddenly to confront one at the next turn.

  No, I supposed the Beetle did not need speed in its tunnels.

  I set Vika down.

  I leaned the Mul-Torch against the side of the passage.

  And yet it seemed strange to me to think of the Beetle as pursuing its prey in these tunnels for hours, perhaps days. It seemed foolish, unlikely, a puzzle of nature. But I myself had seen its body and knew now that it was incapable of prolonged, rapid movement. How was it then, I asked myself, that such a slow, awkward, clumsy creature, no matter how formidable at close range, could capture and slay an organism as alert and swift as Priest-Kings?

  I moved Vika’s limbs and rubbed her hands to see if I could restore her circulation to a more normal level.

  Bending my ear to her heart I was pleased to detect its faint beat. Holding her wrist I sensed a tiny movement of blood in her veins.

  There did not seem to be much air in the tunnels of the Golden Beetle.

  I supposed they were not ventilated as well as the tunnels of the Priest-Kings. There was an odour in the tunnels of the Golden Beetle, perhaps of its spoor or various exudates. The odour seemed somewhat oppressive. I had noticed it much before. Now I became aware of how long I had been in its tunnels, how long without food and how tired I was. Surely there would be time to sleep. The Beetle was far behind. Surely there would be time, if not to sleep, to close my eyes for a moment.

  I awoke with a start.

  The odour was now insufferable and close.

  The Mul-Torch was little more now than a glowing stub.

  I saw the peering eyes.

  The golden strands on its back were lifted and quivering, and it was from them that the odour came.

  I cried out as I felt two long, hard, curved objects close on my body.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  THE VIVARIUM

  My hands seized the narrow, hollow, pincerlike jaws of the Golden Beetle and tried to force them from my body, but those relentless, hollow, chitinous hooks closed ever more tightly.

  They had now entered my skin and to my horror I felt a pull against my tissues and knew that the creature was now sucking through those foul tubes, but I was a man, a mammal, and not a Priest-King, and my body fluids were locked within the circulatory system of another form of being, and I thrust against the vicious hooked tubes that were the jaws of the Golden Beetle, and they budged out an inch and the creature began to hiss and the pressure of the jaws became even more cruel, but I managed to thrust them out of my skin and inch by inch I separated them until I held them at last almost at my arms’ length and then I thrust yet more, forcing them yet further apart, slowly, as implacably as the Beetle itself, and then at my arms’ length with a sickening, snapping sound they broke from its face and fell to the stone floor of the passage.

  The hissing stopped.

  The Beetle wavered, its entire shell of golden, fused wings trembling, and it seemed as if those fused wings shook as though to separate and fly but they could not, and it pulled its head back under the shelter of the wings. It began to back away from me on its six short legs. I leaped forward and thrust my hand under the wing shell and seized the short, tufted antennae and with one hand on them twisting and the other beneath the shell I slowly managed, lifting and twisting, to force the struggling creature onto its back and when it lay on its back, rocking, its short legs writhing impotently, I drew my sword and plunged it a dozen times into its vulnerable, exposed belly, and at last the thing stopped squirming and lay still.

  I shuddered.

  The odour of the golden hairs still lingered in the passages and, fearing I might once again succumb to whatever drug they released into the air, I determined to make my departure.

  The Mul-Torch began to sputter.

  I did not wish to resheath my sword for it was coated with the body fluids of the Golden Beetle.

  I wondered how many more such creatures might dwell in similar passages and caverns near the tunnels of the Priest – Kings.

  The plastic tunic I wore did not provide an absorbent surface with which to clean the blade.

  I thought for a moment I might clean it on the golden strands of the Beetle’s strange mane but I discovered these were wet with foul, glutinous exudate, the source of that unpleasant, narcotic odour which still permeated the passageway.

  My eyes fell on Vika of Treve.

  She had not yet made her contribution to the business of the day.

  So I tore a handful of cloth from her garment and on this I wiped my hands and the blade.

  I wondered how proud Vika would have responded to that.

  I smiled to myself for I could always tell her, and truthfully, that having saved her life she was now mine by Gorean law, so brief had been her freedom, and that it was up to me to determine the extent and nature of her clothing, and indeed, whether or not she would be allowed clothing at all.

  Well could I imagine her fury upon the receipt of this announcement, a fury not diminished in the least by the knowledge that the words I spoke were simply and prosaically true.

  But now it was important to get her from the tunnels, to find her a place of refuge and safety where I hoped she might recover from the venom of the Golden Beetle.

  I worried, for where could I find such a place?

  By now it might be well known to Sarm that I had refused to slay Misk and the Nest would no longer be safe for me, or for anyone associated with me.

  For whether I wished it or not my action had placed me in the party of Misk.

  As I prepared to resheath the sword I heard a slight noise in the passage and, in the light of the dying Mul-Torch, without moving, I waited.

  What approached was not another Golden Beetle, though I supposed there might have been several in those tunnels, but another inhabitant of those dismal passages, the whitish, long, slow, blind Slime Worm.

  Its tiny mouth on the underside of its body touched the stone flooring here and there like the poking finger of a blind man and the long, whitish, rubbery body gathered itself and pushed forward and gathered itself and pushed forward again until it lay but a yard from my sandal, almost under the shell of the slain Beetle.

  The Slime Worm lifted the forward portion of its long, tubular body and the tiny red mouth on its underside seemed to peer up at me.

  “No,” I said, “the Golden Beetle has not made a kill in this place.”

  The tiny red mouth seemed to continue to peer at me for perhaps a moment or two more and then it slowly turned away from me to the carcass of the Golden Beetle.

  I shook myself and resheathed my sword.

  I had been long enough in this place.

  I lifted the girl Vika of Treve in my arms. I could feel the tremble of life in her body and the touch of her breath on my cheek made me happy.

  The Mul-Torch suddenly sputtered out leaving us in darkness.

  Gently I kissed her cheek.

  I was happy. We were both alive.

  I turned and with the girl in my arms began to trace my way slowly down the passage.

 
; Behind me in the darkness I could hear the feeding of the Slime Worm.

  ***

  Although it was slow work I had little difficulty in finding my way back to where I had entered the tunnels of the Golden Beetle.

  When I had entered I had immediately marked my passage with small arrows scratched by the hilt of my sword at eye level on the left side of the passages. Now, by touch, I was able to retrace my journey. I had made the marks because, unlike others who had entered the tunnels, I fully intended to return.

  When I came to the portal where I had entered I found it closed as I had known it would be and there was, as I knew, no handle or obvious device for opening the door on this side, for no one returned, supposedly, from the tunnels of the Golden Beetle. The portals were opened occasionally to allow the Beetle its run of the Nest but I had no idea when this might occur again.

  Although the portal was thick I supposed that I might have been heard on the outside if I had pounded on it with the hilt of my sword.

  On the other hand I had been informed, graciously, by the Muls who manned the portal that it might not be opened by them to release me once I had decided to enter. As they put it, they were simply not permitted to do so. It was the law of Priest-Kings. I was not certain whether, as a matter of fact, they would open the door or not, but I thought it best that both of them could honestly report that they had seen me enter the tunnels and had not seen me return.

  It had been Sarm’s intention apparently that I should enter the tunnels of the Golden Beetle and die there and so I thought it expedient to allow him to believe I had done so.

  I knew the tunnels of the Golden Beetle, like those of the Nest itself, were ventilated and I hoped to be able to use one of the shafts to leave the tunnels undetected. If this were not possible I would explore the tunnels seeking some other exit, and if worse came to worst, I was sure that Vika and I, now that I knew the dangers and strengths and weaknesses of the Golden Beetle, might manage to survive indefinitely in the tunnels, however despicably, and escape eventually when the portal was opened to release yet another of the Priest-Kings’ golden assassins.

  In the vicinity of the portal itself I remembered, when I had had the Mul-Torch, seeing a ventilation shaft some twenty or thirty yards inside the passage and fixed in the ceiling of the passage some nine feet from the floor. A metal grille had been bolted over the shaft but it was fairly light and I did not expect much difficulty in wrenching it loose.

  The problem would be Vika.

  I could now feel a bit of fresh air and, in the darkness, Vika in my arms, I walked until I could feel it best, and it seemed to be blowing directly down upon me. I then set Vika to one side and prepared to leap up to seize the grille.

  A shattering flash of energy seemed to explode in my face and burn through my body as my fingers touched the metal grille.

  Shivering and numb and disoriented I crumpled to the floor beneath it.

  In the flash of light I had seen the mesh clearly and the shaft beyond and the rings set in the shaft used by Muls who upon occasion clean the shafts and spray them with bactericides.

  My limbs shaking, clouds of yellow and red fire moving in tangled afterimages across my field of vision in the darkness, I struggled to my feet.

  I walked a bit up and down in the shaft rubbing my arms and shaking my head until I felt ready to try again.

  This time, with luck, I could hook my fingers in the grille and hang on.

  I leaped again and this time managed to fasten my fingers in the grille and cried out in pain turning my face away from the heat and fire that seemed to transform its surface erupting over my head with torturing, savage incandescence. Then I could no longer release the grille had I wanted to and I hung there agonised, a prisoner of the charges flashing through my body and the bolts wrenched loose from the ceiling, and I fell again to the floor, the grille clattering beside me, my fingers still hooked in its mesh.

  I pulled my hands free and crawled in the darkness to one side of the passage and lay down against the wall. My body ached and trembled and I could not control the involuntary movements of its muscles. I shut my eyes but to no avail against the burning universes that seemed to float and explode before my eyes.

  I do not know if I lost consciousness or not but I suppose I may have for the next thing I remember was that the pain had gone from my body and that I lay against the wall weak and sick. I crawled to my knees and threw up in the passage. I stood up then unsteadily and walked beneath the shaft and stood there with my head back drawing in the welcome fresh air that blew down towards me.

  I shook myself and moved my limbs.

  Then, gathering my strength, I leaped up and easily seized one of the rings inside the chamber shaft, held it for a moment and then released it and dropped back to the floor.

  I went to Vika’s side.

  I could hear the clear beat of her heart, and the pulse was now strong. Perhaps the fresh air in the vicinity of the shaft was doing its part in reviving her.

  I shook her. “Wake up,” I said. “Wake up!” I shook her again, harder, but she could not regain consciousness. I carried her beneath the shaft and tried to hold her upright, but her legs crumpled.

  Strangely I sensed that somehow within her she was vaguely conscious of what was occurring.

  I lifted her to her feet again and slapped her face four times, savagely, sharply. “Wake up!” I cried, but though her head jerked from side to side and my hand felt afire she did not regain consciousness.

  I kissed her and lowered her gently to the floor.

  I had no wish to remain indefinitely in the passage, nor could I bring myself to abandon the girl.

  There seemed to be but one thing to do.

  I took off my sword belt and, rebuckling it, made a loop which I managed to hook over the closest ring in the shaft. I then removed the thongs from my sandals. With one thong I tied them together about my neck.

  With the other thong I bound Vika’s wrists securely together before her body and placed her arms about my neck and left shoulder. Thus carrying her I climbed the sword belt and soon had attained the first ring. Once in the shaft I rebuckled the belt about my waist and, still carrying Vika as before, began to climb.

  After perhaps two hundred feet of climbing the rings in the shaft I was pleased to reach two branching shafts which led horizontally from the vertical shaft which I had just ascended.

  I removed Vika’s arms from my neck and shoulder and carried her in my arms down the shaft which led, to the best of my reckoning, in the general direction of the major complexes of the Nest.

  A slight moan escaped the girl and her lips moved.

  She was regaining consciousness.

  For perhaps an Ahn I carried her through the network of ventilation shafts, sometimes walking on the level, sometimes climbing. Occasionally we would pass an opening in the shaft where, through a grille, I could see portions of the Nest. The light entering at these openings was very welcome to me.

  At last we came to an opening which gave onto something of the sort for which I was looking, a rather small complex of buildings, where I saw several Muls at work but no Priest – Kings.

  I also noted, against the far wall of the brilliantly lit area, tiers and tiers of plastic cases, much like the one I had occupied in Misk’s compartment. Some of these cases were occupied by Muls, male or female, sometimes both. Unlike the case in Misk’s compartment and others I had seen, these were apparently locked.

  Fungus, water and pellets, and whatever else was needed, were apparently administered to the occupants of these cases from the outside by the Muls who attended them.

  I was reminded a bit of a zoo with its cages. Indeed, as I spied through the grille I saw that not all of the cases were occupied by humans but some by a variety of other organisms, some of the types with which I was familiar in the Nest but others not, and some of the others were, as far as I could tell, even mammals.

  There was, I could see, a pair of sleen in one cas
e, and two larls in another pair of cases, with a sliding partition between them. I saw one humanoid creature, small with a receding forehead and excessively hairy face and body, bounding about in one case, racing along and leaping with his feet against the wall and then with the momentum established dashing along the next wall of the case and then dropping to the floor to repeat again this peculiar circuit.

  In a vast low case, on the floor of which apparently grew real grass, I saw a pair of shaggy, long-horned bosk grazing, and in the same case but in a different corner was a small herd, no more than five adult animals, a proud male and four does, of tabuk, the single-horned, golden Gorean antelope. When one of the does moved I saw that moving beside her with dainty steps were two young tabuk, the first I had ever seen, for the young of the tabuk seldom venture far from the shaded, leafy bowers of their birth in the tangled Ka-la-na thickets of Gor. Their single horns were little more than velvety stubs on their foreheads and I saw that their hide, unlike that of the adults, was a mottled yellow and brown. When one of the attendant Muls happened to pass near the case the two little tabuk immediately froze, becoming almost invisible, and the mother, her bright golden pelt gleaming, began to prance away from them, while the angry male lowered his head against the Mul and trotted in a threatening manner to the plastic barrier.

  There were several other creatures in the cases but I am not sure of their classification. I could, however, recognise a row of brown varts, clinging upside down like large matted fists of teeth and fur and leather on the heavy, bare, scarred branch in their case. I saw bones, perhaps human bones, in the bottom of their case.

  There was a huge, apparently flightless bird stalking about in another case. From its beak I judged it to be carnivorous.

  In another case, somnolent and swollen, I saw a rare golden hith, a Gorean python whose body, even when unfed, it would be difficult for a full-grown man to encircle with his arms.

  In none of these cases did I spy a tarn, one of the great, predatory saddle birds of Gor, perhaps because they do not thrive well in captivity. To live a tarn must fly, high, far and often. A Gorean saying has it that they are brothers of the wind, and how could one expect such a creature to survive confinement? Like its brother the wind when the tarn is not free it has no choice but to die.