two others of his cohorts. Only these five, now, had axes. Of the party of Lucius, then, including Lucius, there were only these five. Of the party of Agamemnon only six were left. These were away from the dais. All save one, a silver-chain Kur, seemed weak, scarcely able to move. Each, save the silver-chain Kur, was bleeding. Two slumped against the wall. The silver-chain Kur, back amongst them, crouched down, warily, looking toward the dais. Back with these Kurii, to the side, was Desmond of Harfax, his knife now in hand, and, on the other side, the Lady Bina and myself.
Lucius turned about, to face the dais. “Ho, Agamemnon,” he called out. “You have lost!”
The two containers, one on the left, the other on the right, as one would face the dais, had been damaged. I did not know the extent of the damage.
“I announce the new order,” said Lucius. “The new day is upon us! Tyranny is done. Freedom is victorious! Justice triumphs! Let all rejoice! I, Lucius, am now Theocrat of the World, the new Face of the Nameless One!”
“What is going on?” came from one of the containers.
“Can you hear me?” asked Lucius.
“Yes,” came from one of the containers.
“You are our prisoner,” said Lucius.
“What will you do with me?” came from the container on the left.
To this question Lucius did not choose to respond.
“I know secrets of great power, and the location of great wealth,” came from the container on the left.
“I am sure you will share such things with us,” said Lucius.
“Where are my armies, where are my fleets?” asked the container on the left.
“You are not on your world,” said Lucius. “You left your world.”
“I am on Gor?” asked the container on the left.
“Yes,” said Lucius.
I suspected that Agamemnon, whom I took to be deep, was not as confused or disoriented as his responses might suggest. On the other hand, I did not know. It seemed clear that both containers had been damaged, and it was surely possible that this damage might have had its effect on whatever it might be which was contained in them.
“Where are my followers?” asked the container on the left.
Lucius, I noted, now, in his responses, addressed the container on the left. The other, on the right, had not spoken.
“They have abandoned you,” said Lucius.
“Did none defend me? Did none fight for me?” asked the container.
“None,” said Lucius.
“What of Timarchos and Lysymachos?” asked the container.
“They were the first to desert you,” said Lucius. “Only I was loyal to you.”
“Noble Lucius,” came from the container.
“But you failed me,” said Lucius.
“Forgive me,” said the container.
“Amends may be made,” said Lucius. “You may reveal to me secrets of power, the location of great wealth.”
“You will then let me live?” asked the container.
“Of course,” said Lucius.
“Be careful in lifting my container,” came from the container. “It is delicate, and heavy.”
“Unbar the door,” said Lucius to two of his cohorts. “We will carry the container into the hall. Agamemnon is helpless, and our prisoner. This will impress all, Kurii and humans. It will manifest the success of our cause, the absoluteness of our victory. It will be uncontestable. All will then acknowledge us, all will grant that the day is ours, that the new order is upon us.”
The large double door to the chamber, leading out to the hall, was unbarred, and swung open.
“I have waited long for this day,” said Lucius, “years of secret thoughts, of hypocrisy, and deception, months of planning, days of strife, weeks of withdrawal, of hiding in tunnels, and waiting, and then, by means of an unexpected, bold, and glorious stroke, victory!” He then signaled to his two cohorts who were at the dais. “Put aside your axes,” he said. “It will show we are now at peace. Do not fear. None in the halls are armed. Good. Now, seize up Agamemnon, and carry him, bodiless and helpless, into the hall, in triumph.”
“All hail Lucius,” called a Kur, from amongst those back by the wall. It was the silver-chain Kur. He hobbled, as though he might have been injured, toward the center of the room. His fur was drenched with blood, but it was not his own. He had fought little, if any. Rather he had abided the outcome of the battle. “Hail Lucius!” he said. “Hail Lucius.”
I then recognized him, as I had not before. It was the Kur who, when an iron-chain Kur, had stood before Agamemnon with another Kur in the audience chamber, a silver-chain Kur. There had been mutual protestations of some sort, in which perhaps the iron-chain Kur might have been denouncing the one with the silver chain, and the one with the silver chain might have been defending himself. It was hard to say, as this took place in Kur, and there were no activated translators in the room. The silver-chain Kur had then been slain, most unpleasantly, by Agamemnon, then housed in the large, crab-like metal body, and the silver chain, with garlands, had been awarded to former iron-chain Kur.
Lucius turned away, disdaining to acknowledge the celebratory acclaim of the silver-chain Kur. He turned back to the container on the left, which had been the only one from which a voice had emanated of late.
“Be careful,” he said to his fellows at the dais. “Do not drop it. It is heavy.”
The two Kur cohorts of Lucius reached to the container, that on the left. They lifted it, and seemed surprised. “It is not heavy,” said one of them.
There was a sudden fierce, almost deafening, crackling sound, and a great blast of light, and the Kurii who held the container reeled away from it, and the Lady Bina and I screamed. When we could see again, we could see skulls, and blackened bones, and flesh, like soiled, burned rags strewn about the dais and the adjacent flooring. Smoke came from the remains. The stink was wrenching.
“You did not warn us!” screamed Lucius to Timarchos and Lysymachos.
“Kill us,” said Timarchos.
The container had been blasted open, and it lay on the floor of the dais. Within it was a miscellany of debris, much of it melted. The interior of the container itself was bent, and charred, as though it had been exposed to great heat.
Lucius turned angrily to the last container, that on the right, as one would face the dais. “So, noble Agamemnon,” he cried. “We have found you at last!”
“Do not hurt him,” begged Timarchos.
“Hail Lucius!” cried the silver-chain Kur who had been ignored. He cried this more desperately, his right paw raised in salutation.
Lucius turned about, annoyed.
“I was in the chamber,” said Lucius, “when you falsely informed on your superior, and won thereby a silver chain. Agamemnon knew the fraudulence of your charges but saw fit to reward you, that more honest informers might not fear to come forth, with more reliable intelligence.”
“No!” cried the silver-chain Kur. “It was true, all true!”
“Now,” said Lucius, “you would betray Agamemnon, from whom you received the silver chain.”
“His day is ended, he is done!” said the Kur.
“Where are your wounds, where is the blood you shed on his behalf?” asked Lucius.
“Hail Lucius!” said the Kur.
“One who would betray him would as soon betray another,” said Lucius.
“No!” cried the Kur.
“Kill him,” said Lucius.
“No!” cried the Kur, and perished beneath two axes, those of the Kurii who had hitherto guarded the door to the audience chamber, who had then joined Lucius at the dais.
Lucius then turned back to the dais and pointed to the last container, that on the table to the right, as one
