Conspirators of Gor

predators, thieves, or such, to circumspection.”

I had no doubt about that.

“I do not understand,” I said, “why, of late, Lord Grendel has had me attend to his grooming.”

“Nor do I,” she said.

“Mistress is well aware of the killings,” I said.

“Surely,” she said.

“Some fear a Kur may be involved,” I said.

“There are no Kurii on Gor,” she said.

“Lord Grendel,” I said.

“Not a true Kur,” she said.

I was not so sure of that. I had sensed that the beast regarded itself as Kur, and prided itself on the possession of that dark, dangerous blood. As noted, he had certainly, and, indeed, unhesitantly, identified himself as Kur.

“There was one, I think,” I said, “who performed in a carnival.”

“It died, did it not,” she asked, “in the sewers?”

“It is thought so,” I said.

“Then a larl, a sleen, or such, perhaps a sewer tharlarion, must be about.”

“Kurii are dangerous,” I said.

“They must eat,” she said, “and sometimes, it seems, they want blood.”

At that moment we heard a movement, above us, as of a large body turning about, moving, on the roof.

“Ah,” said the Lady Bina, pleasantly, “Lord Grendel has returned.”

I was readying myself to return to the shop of Epicrates, with the two buckets, freshly filled, when I became aware of a shouting about, and I saw several citizens hurrying to join a cluster of others, gathered near the double doorway of an insula on Clive, not more than a hundred paces from the fountain.

I saw a slave rushing past, hurrying away from the insula.

“What is going on?” I cried.

“A body!” she cried. “Another killing!”

“Wait!” I called, but she had sped past.

I remained at the fountain, the buckets put to the pavement, beside me, shading my eyes.

The crowd parted a bit, as four guardsmen, summoned, I gathered, pressed through the gathering.

I saw them pull part of a body by one foot toward the center of the street. More than one free woman wrapped a veil more closely about her face, and backed away.

Guardsmen were motioning to the crowd, to disperse. The body, what I saw of it, was placed in a mat, which was folded about it.

A Tarnster, come from the crowd, was passing. Near him, similarly withdrawing, was a fellow in the brown of the Peasants, a bundle of the leafy vangis over his shoulder.

“Masters,” I called.

“A larl is loose in the city,” said the Tarnster.

“It was no larl,” said the Peasant.

“A sleen then,” said the Tarnster.

They had then moved past.

I then rose to my feet.

“Persinna!” I called to a shapely slave, in a brief gray tunic, with a tiny, locked message box, chained to her collar.

Her eyes were suddenly wild with fear. “Be silent!” she said, looking about her. “Do not speak that name, I beg of you.”

“Do you not remember me?” I said. “I am Allison. We were sold together, in the Metellan district.”

“I am not Persinna,” she said.

“You are, or were,” I said.

“You see my tunic!” she said. “I am a state slave. I am owned by the state of Ar!”

“Now,” I said. “And that is ironic, is it not?”

“Be merciful,” she said, looking about.

“I thought you had a private master,” I said.

“I did,” she said, “but he sold me to Ar, as a joke, for a pittance.”

“Doubtless there are some in Ar,” I said, “who would like to see you adorn the spike of impalement.”

“Do not reveal me,” she begged.

“There is doubtless an anonymity for you,” I said, “being chained amongst state slaves.”

“Please,” she said.

“But, of course, if you are discovered,” I said, “you would be nicely at hand, on a chain.”

“Worthless barbarian!” she hissed.

“I think I shall call out your name,” I said, angrily.

“Please do not,” she whispered, “-Mistress.”

“I am not a Mistress,” I said. “We are both now no more than collar sluts.” I could conceive of a fellow in whose arms I thought I might now well be no more than an eager, grateful, squirming collar slut. How far I was now, a slave, from the cool, smug, haughty, so-self-satisfied Allison Ashton-Baker!

“You perhaps,” she said, “not I.”

“Wait,” I said, “until you are put out for public use, with a hundred others, on a feast day.”

“Let me go,” she begged.

“What is going on, down the street?” I asked.

“Curiosity-” she began.

“Speak,” I told her.

“A body was discovered,” she said, “thrust between buildings.”

“From last night?” I said.

“One supposes so,” she said.

“Then the larl must be about,” I said, frightened.

“If it is a larl,” she said.

“What else could it be?” I asked.

“I do not know,” she said. She touched the message box chained to her collar. “Please,” she said. “I must be back within the Ahn.”

“Who was killed?” I asked.

“Did you not see the garmenture?” she asked.

Somehow I had refused to see it, or, better, to see it for what it was. Too, of course, I had only glimpsed it, some shreds, and at a distance. I suddenly felt very much afraid. “Yes,” I said.

“A Metal Worker,” she said.

“What is wrong?” she asked.

I could form no words.

“I am Mina, Mina,” she said. “May Mina go?”

“Forgive me, Mina,” I said. “I wish you well.”

The former Lady Persinna then turned about and, gratefully, hurried away.

There would be, of course, hundreds of Metal Workers in Ar.

“Do you dally, Slave?” inquired a free woman, come to the fountain.

“No, Mistress!” I said. “No, Mistress!”

I then seized up the handles of the buckets and, step by step, slowly, carefully, for the weight, and that no water be spilled, frightened, miserable, made my way toward the shop of Epicrates.

Chapter Thirteen