The King th-3 Page 21

  “She does not appear in desperate need of medical assistance, she is not bleeding, she is not dying,” said the gatesmen.

  “No,” admitted Julian.

  “She may not enter,” said the gatesmen.

  He averted his eyes that he might not look upon, and perhaps be tempted by, what was now in the company of Julian and Tuvo Ausonius.

  “Surely she is sufficiently concealed,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  The object of their discussion, small, fur-booted, and heavily bundled in furs, was kneeling on the stones before the gate, which posture she had assumed, correctly, suitably, while waiting for the response to the great metal ring, lifted and dropped three times, as the guide had advised, against the plate.

  In her days with Julian and Tuvo Ausonius, thanks to their intensive training, she had made considerable progress in learning her slavery.

  Her arms were not in the sleeves of her jacket but within the jacket, the wrists cuffed together, behind her back.

  About her throat, over the furs there, there was a metal leash collar, from which, gracefully dangling, in loops, threaded through loops on the jacket, was a lovely, light, chain leash.

  Commonly, in the transport of slaves by primitive peoples over the snow, in sleds, the slaves are simply, in their chains, wrapped naked in heavy furs. In this fashion there is little danger that they will be tempted to flee the sleds, or, huddling, chained, by the fires, the camps.

  “It does not matter,” said the gatesman.

  “She is only an animal, a slave,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  The woman looked up. Her head was muchly covered by the bundling of the fur hood, but it could be seen that her face was exquisite. Wisps of red hair peeked out from within the hood, framing her lovely features.

  “Not even female animals are permitted within the festung,” said the gatesman. “Nothing female, no female bird, no hen, no ewe, no cow, no bitch, no mare, no sow, nothing female.”

  “Put down your head,” said Julian.

  The slave instantly lowered her head.

  “You may look on her now,” said Julian. “You can see nothing.”

  “No,” said the gatesman, “I can see furs, and it is not difficult to detect, from their configuration, that within them there is a female.”

  “I fear he is right, milord,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  The small figure, the center of such attention, trembled a little, on her knees, her head down.

  “Take her away!” cried the gatesman.

  “Take her back to the valley, to the hoverer,” said Julian.

  “Milord!” protested Tuvo Ausonius.

  “It is all right,” said Julian. “I should have anticipated this.”

  “I shall have to close the gate,” said the gatesman.

  “She is leaving,” said Julian.

  Julian gestured, with his head, to Tuvo Ausonius.

  “On your feet, girl,” said Tuvo Ausonius.

  She rose up and followed Tuvo Ausonius, head down, with small steps, deferentially, who drew away from the vicinity of the gate, to where the guide stood.

  “May I now enter?” inquired Julian.

  “Certainly,” said the gatesman.

  Standing near the guide, and Tuvo Ausonius, she looked back, toward the gate.

  The gatesman, with his weight, with two hands, was pressing the gate shut. He paused for a moment, Julian within, impatient, beyond him, to view the slave, even bundled as she was, angrily, and then shut the gate, firmly.

  She heard the two heavy bars being slid through their brackets behind the gate, first one, and then the other.

  She briefly met the eyes of the guide, a rude fellow, from below, and then looked away.

  She had seen desire in his eyes.

  He was a peasant, simple, brutal, rude, lustful.

  She had become aware of her desirability here again, as she had on the patrol ship, serving the crew’s mess, barefoot, in a collar and slave rag, and in the appreciative glances of Julian and Tuvo Ausonius, as they sought to improve her posture, her movements and skills, until they would be likely to meet the requirements of even an unusually exacting master. And now here, again, she had become aware of her desirability, twice, in quite different ways, once in the loathing, the anger and disgust of the gatesman, fighting a naturalness and might which he had mistakenly, ignorantly, forsworn, he the deluded, self-tortured victim of a grotesque conditioning program, one promulgating, even celebrating, thwarted drives and suppressed desires, and that of the peasant, who had looked upon her with hardy approbation, much as he might have upon a fine pig.

  She was aware now, from many indications, of her desirability, and its effect on men, and the power which she might, in virtue of it, under different circumstances, have held over men.

  It is no wonder, she thought, that they strip us, and chain us, and cage us, and put us up for sale.

  We are too beautiful, and too dangerous, to be free. It is wrong that we should be free! It is absurd that we should be free. We belong to them by nature, and they will see to it that they own us. It is no surprise then, she thought, that they do with us as they please.

  We belong to them, she thought. I do not object. I love them. Let them be strong with us! I despise weak men. Oh, be strong with me, Masters!

  “Come, girl!” called Tuvo Ausonius.

  He and the guide were already several yards down the trail.

  “Yes, Master!” she called, and hurried after them.

  Tuvo Ausonius was a master of women. But he had not so much as put a hand on her. He cared, it seemed, for some other slave, a Sesella, back on Inez IV. But surely he could have two slaves. Some men had several! Lord Julian, too, whose identity she had learned, kneeling before him naked, in obeisance, on the patrol ship, she sensed was a natural master of women, but he had not touched her either, other than once to tie her, and whip her, for clumsiness. He had some barbarian slave, it seemed, of which he was fond. But she was sure she could compete, at least after more training, with a mere barbarian. Let him choose between us, she thought, or have both of us, and others! But she had not been given to the crew, either. She was a virgin, which was not unusual, as she had been purchased at an early age, fourteen, to be a woman’s slave.

  That she was a virgin seemed to be of interest to some men. She was not certain why that was. To be sure, it was important to her. She would not have wanted to awaken in her cell, for example, and discover that her virginity was simply gone.

  She hurried down the trail, to catch up with the men.

  They were far ahead now, and were not looking back.

  She fell once, heavily, twisting in her fall to her left shoulder, unable to break her fall because of the back-cuffing, confining her wrists. Whimpering, she regained her feet, and, pulling a little at her small, encircled, chained wrists, the leash chain striking against the furs, continued on down the trail, hastening after the men.

  They were even farther ahead now.

  She called out, “Wait, Masters! Please, wait!”

  But they did not wait.

  She hurried on.

  She did not dare to call out again. She did not wish to risk being beaten.

  ***

  “Brother Benjamin!” called Brother Gregory, gently.

  Brother Gregory stood on damp stones, at the edge of a broad, dark, warm pool.

  He lifted up his tiny lamp.

  The chamber was itself lit, though dimly, with similar lamps, set here and there on a shallow, circular shelf, its structure following the perimeter of the chamber, which was round, and shallowly domed.

  These lamps were brought to the depths by the brothers, and taken with them, when they ascended to the higher levels.

  There was a gentle stirring in the dark waters, and several pairs of eyes surfaced, large, round eyes.

  The eyes seemed to stare at Julian.

  It was difficult to read any expression in such features, without clues from the body.

  “I tru
st,” said Julian, “I am not disturbing their meditations, or devotions.”

  “It is time for the seventh bell,” said Brother Gregory. “I would not have brought you here so soon, otherwise.”

  “Oh,” said Julian.

  “Not all brothers are of this species, of course,” said Brother Gregory.

  “I understand,” said Julian.

  Brother Gregory himself, obviously, was not.

  “But our redemptor, our Lord Floon, blessed be his holy name, was of such a species.”

  “A bipedalian salamandrine?” said Julian.

  “An ogg,” said Brother Gregory.

  “It seems strange that your Karch would emanate, as I understand it, as an ogg,” said Julian.

  “Why?” asked Brother Gregory.

  “You’re right,” said Julian, shrugging. “Why not?”

  “Perhaps you think he should have emanated as a man?”

  Julian shrugged.

  There had seemed a bit of testiness in Brother Gregory’s speculation.

  Brother Gregory was an azure-pelted Vorite.

  “He can emanate in whatever form he pleases,” said Julian.

  “True,” said Brother Gregory.

  “I would speak with one who is called Brother Benjamin,” said Julian, addressing himself to the occupants of the pool.

  There was, at that time, as though from far off, the sound of a bell, its sounds making their way oddly about the stairwells, and down, to the chamber, and doubtless to others, as well, here and there, in the depths and heights, and throughout the labyrinthine corridors and chambers of the festung. It could probably be heard far below, in the valley.

  “Turn about,” said Brother Gregory, “for the brothers must robe themselves.”

  Julian turned about.

  He heard sounds behind him, soft, of moving water, of bodies emerging from the pool, of dripping water, of the pat of feet on the stones.

  “I am Brother Benjamin,” said a voice behind him.

  “I am Julian, of the Aurelianii, of the patricians, of the senatorial class, kin to the emperor, Aesilesius,” said Julian, not turning about. “I have credentials to make that clear.”

  “You are then Telnarian,” said the voice.

  “Yes,” said Julian.

  “He has come to inquire about ‘Dog,’ “said Brother Gregory.

  “I have waited years for one to come,” said the voice behind Julian, “but I did not think it would be a Telnarian.”

  “What then?” asked Julian.

  “I thought it would be an Otung, a Vandal,” said the voice behind Julian.

  Brother Gregory shuddered.

  “Do you know the identity of the one you call ‘Dog’?” asked Julian.

  “Yes,” said the voice behind him.

  “Can you prove that identity?” asked Julian.

  “Yes,” said the voice.

  “May I turn about?” asked Julian.

  “I would not,” said Brother Gregory. “He is half-garbed, but the wounds are still fresh, of the penitential exercises.”

  “It is a mark of vanity,” added Brother Gregory, “to wear a stained habit.”

  “Penitential exercises?” asked Julian.

  “The stone saws, beneath the surface of the pool,” said Brother Gregory.

  “How can you prove his identity?” asked Julian.

  “I will show you,” said the voice. “Proceed me, up the stairs.”

  Brother Gregory, with his lamp, led the way, Julian following. Behind them came the brothers, each with his lamp, and, together, intoning a hymn to Floon.

  “Surely you will dine with us in the refectory, and stay the night,” said Brother Gregory.

  “I would be soon gone,” said Julian.

  “We get few visitors at the festung,” said Brother Gregory. “You are the first stranger in two years.”

  “I must decline,” said Julian.

  “Some of the brothers, the weaker ones, I fear, amongst whom I number myself,” said Brother Gregory, “will be eager to hear news of the outside world.”

  “I am sorry,” said Julian.

  “At night the trail is extremely dangerous, the activated defenses, set by automatic timers, at places, the dogs,” said Brother Gregory. “It is unlikely you would reach the village alive.”

  “Then,” said Julian, “I am pleased to accept your gracious invitation.”

  “Excellent,” said Brother Gregory.

  Julian noted, as he climbed the stairs, and as he had earlier, in his descent, but had thought little of it, that they were darkly stained.

  Julian noted, on the climb, in a niche, illuminated by a votive light, a representation of Floon in the electric chair, or, perhaps better, fastened on the burning rack, the pain represented in the twisted-body, the expression of misery on the countenance. It made Julian sick. How different it was from the bright sunlight and blue skies of the pantheon of Orak.

  But it was here, in the festung of Sim Giadini, that there lay the secret to the identity of the peasant, or gladiator, or warrior, or chieftain, or captain, whom he knew as Otto, or Ottonius.

  “What is the proof?” he asked.

  “You will see,” said the voice behind him.

  CHAPTER 18

  The location of the beast was not a matter of coincidence, not after the first moments.

  It was incredibly alert, every sense sharp and alive, like needles, tense with excitement.

  In its belly burned the cold rage of hunger.

  Such creatures did not hibernate, even in the month of Igon. It had survived eight winters on the plains of Barrionuevo.

  Little more than its eyes and nostrils could now be detected, had one known where to look and what to look for, it lying still, in the snow.

  The wind was blowing, softly, doing little more than stirring the snow at the summit of drifts.

  The odor of horses, and of Heruls, and men, was brought to the broad, dilating nostrils of the beast. These odors were as discernible, and unmistakable, to the beast as a sighting would have been to a more visually oriented form of life. The direction of the wind, contrariwise, predictably, would not carry its own scent to the horses.

  It moved in the direction from which the odors were wafted, its body low, little more than a wrinkle, or a shifting crest, stirred by the wind, of snow.

  It moved a little and stopped, and moved a little, again, and stopped, again.

  While it stopped there was almost no movement, save for the infrequent opening and closing of the eyes, large, and green, with their black, narrow, vertical pupils, better than two inches in height, and an occasional, small, agitated movement of the tail, white, whiplike, in the snow, betraying its excitement.

  Then, more than two hundred yards away, as it lay eager, and trembling, and silken and white, almost flat in the snow, almost invisible, white on white, little more than its eyes and nostrils showing, it saw dark shapes moving about, shapes which stood out, clearly, even to its vision, at this distance, from the background, from the snow, which shapes, clearly, were the sources of the maddeningly exhilarating, irresistible odors, odors such that, in the month of Igon, they might drive such a beast mad. The smallest of contented, purring sounds escaped its great throat. It waited until none of the shapes was turned its way, and then it moved forward again, a little closer.

  CHAPTER 19

  “They are trussed like the vardas they are,” said one of the Heruls, stepping back.

  “How,” asked Olar, “so tied, can we run at your stirrup, how, so tied, can we pull in the traces of the sledge?”

  “It would be difficult,” said the leader of the Heruls, still mounted, as were four other Heruls. Two had dismounted to tie Olar and Varix.

  “I do not understand,” said Varix.

  “Break up the sledge, for firewood,” said the leader of the Heruls.

  “I do not understand,” said Varix.

  “It is not your bait trap, nor is it ours,” said the leader of t
he Heruls. “It will do for firewood.”

  “You are cold?” asked Olar.

  “Do you think we are beasts, to eat raw meat?” asked the leader of the Heruls.

  “We have no kettles with us,” said one of the Heruls who was dismounted.

  ‘’Do you think we would run such as you for the dogs?’’ asked another, one who was mounted.

  “No!” cried Olar.

  “Why?” asked Varix.

  “You did not fight,” said the leader of the Heruls.

  “I can remember when Vandals fought,” said another.

  “You are mounted, we are on foot!” said Olar.

  “We are hungry,” said one of the dismounted Heruls.

  “You will roast well,” said the other.

  Olar and Varix, tied back to back, sitting in the snow, their ankles crossed and bound, struggled.

  “Break up the sledge,” said the leader of the Heruls. He held his lance in his right hand, or, perhaps better, appendage. It was a multiply jointed, haired tentacle, now sheathed in a beaded, fringed, mittenlike fur sleeve. He had two such hands, or appendages, or tentacles, as did the others, an arrangement which tended to be common, given the selective advantages of paired, symmetrical structures. At the tip of each tentacle, recessed beneath a contractible callosity, there was a tiny anatomical feature, a small, caplike sensory organ. Its function has been likened to that of taste, and even to sight and smell, but these sensory modalities are available to the Heruls, and the Hageen, as, indeed, given their advantages, to millions of diverse species throughout the galaxies. To be sure, that two species have a sense of taste, or such, does not guarantee that their experiences are identical. Even in something as obvious as vision, it is not clear, for example, that the visual experiences of diverse species are identical, for example, with respect to what can be seen, and how it can be experienced. Similarly, it seems unlikely that the visual experiences of, say, insects and men are identical. And, too, the visual experiences of an organism which has eyes on the sides of its head may be rather different, in consciousness, than one which, say, has the eyes in the front of the head, permitting a binocular focus, and such. The visual experiences of a creature with eye stalks or seven eyes, placed at diverse places on the body, laterally, ventrally, dorsally, and such, may be different, as well. We shall not attempt to speculate on the specific nature of the sensory experience correlated with the small, protected, tentacular sensory organ of the Heruls. We ourselves have never had such an experience. To those who have had the experience, a verbal description would doubtless be superfluous. To those who have not had the experience a verbal description would doubtless be unilluminating, if not unintelligible. Figures of speech may or may not be helpful. There seems dispute on such a matter. For example, suppose that one lacked particular sensory modalities. Then, would it be helpful to say, really, for example, that the taste of an orange is like seeing the sun at midday, that the smell of wet grass is like the taste of wine, that the blare of a trumpet is like the heat of fire? But the function of the Herul organ, or one of its utilities, at least, is clearly recognition. It seems clear that, in some sense, it reads, or reacts to, on a cellular, or subcellular, level, with consequences in consciousness, the chemistry, if not the very hereditary coils, of an organism, in a very specific fashion. The organ, which is not vestigial, seems to antedate the development of other senses, such as sight and hearing, in the evolution of the Herul organism. It, or its predecessor, seems to have functioned in making determinations as to self-identity, and to what might be ingested and what not. It seems to have prevented, in the beginning, certain chemical macrocompounds from being self-destructive, for example, from predating on their own bodies, and to make determinations as to what might be absorbed profitably into their own systems and what not. To be sure, putting it in this fashion suggests a teleology. The compounds which, for example, were uninhibited in self-predation tended to perish, and those who found poisonous substances acceptable, or even attractive, for ingestion would be expected, too, statistically, over time, to fail to replicate their genes. Presumably the organ, too, as parthenogenesis came to be supplanted by sexual reproduction, was useful in identifying members of its own species, or type. Later, it doubtless functioned in mate identification, and recognition, for Herul conception, proceeding in stages, requires a considerable period. And later, too, as life forms developed, and tribalities became of selective advantage, it doubtless proved its value for group integrity and consolidation, much as might have a nest odor among certain social insects or a pack odor among social rodents. It may, too, have some sort of bonding effect among individuals. In any event, it is an interesting, and rare, organ, particularly among rational species. The butt of the lance, grasped in the right hand of the Herul, was sheathed in the right stirrup holster.