Trust had been pledged between us. Then I dismissed the thought.
I saw, to one side, large Hrolf, from the East, who had fought with us, he leaning on his spear.
We knew little of him. But he had fought well; What else need one know of a man?
“What is to be done with these captive Kurii?” I asked Svein Blue Tooth, indicating the line of imprisoned beasts, some wounded, being driven past us, survivors of the slaughter on the Bridge of Jewels.
“We shall break the teeth from their jaws,” he said. “We shall tear the claws from their paws. They, suitably chained will be used as beasts of burden.”
The great plan of the Others, of the Kurii of the steel worlds, their most profound and brilliant probe of the defenses of Priest-Kings, had failed. Native Kurii, bred from ship’s survivors over centuries, would not, it seemed, if limited to the primitive weapons permitted men, be capable of conquering Gor, isolating the Priest-Kings in the Sardar, until they could be destroyed, or, alternatively, be used to lure the Priest-Kings into a position where they would be forced to betray their own weapons laws, arming men, which would be dangerous, or utilizing their own significant technology, thereby, perhaps, revealing the nature, location and extent oftheir power, information that might then be exploited at a later date by the strategists of the steel worlds. The plan had been brilliant, though careless of the value, if any, placed on Kurii life. I supposed native Kurii did not command the respect of the educated, trained Kurii of the ships. They were regarded, perhaps, as a different, lesser, or inferior breed, expendable in the strategems of their betters. The failure of the Kurii invasion, of course, moved the struggle to a new dimension. I wondered what plans now, alternate plans doubtless formed years or centuries ago, would now be implemented. Perhaps, already, such plans were afoot. I looked at the ragged line of defeated, shackled Kurii. They had failed. But already, I suspected, Kurii, fresh, brilliant, calculating, masters in the steel worlds, in their command rooms, their map rooms and strategy rooms, were, even before the ashes in this remote valley in thenorth had cooled, engaged in the issuance of orders. I looked about at the field of battle, under the cloudy sky. New coded instructions, doubtless, had already been exchanged among the distant steel worlds. The Kur is a tenacious beast. It seems well equipped by its remote, savage evolution to be a dominant life form. Ivar Forkbeard and Svein Blue Tooth might congratulate themselves on their victory. I, myself, more familiar with Kurii, with the secret wars of Priest-Kings, suspected that men had not yet heard the last of such beasts.
But these thoughts were for others, not for Bosk of Port Kar, not for Tarl Red Hair.
Let others fight for Priest-Kings. Let others do war. Let others concern themselves with such struggles. If I had had any duty in these matters, long ago I had discharged it.
Suddenly, for the first time since I had left Port Kar, my left arm, my left leg, the left side of my body, felt suddenly cold, and numb. For an instant I could not move them. I nearly fell. Then it passed. My forehead was covered with sweat. The poison of the blade of Tyros lurked yet in my system. I had come north to avenge the slaying of the wench Telima. This resolution, thehatred, had driven me. Yet it seemed I had failed. In my pouch now lay the armlet, which Ho-Hak had given me in Port Kar, that found where Telima had been attacked. I had failed.
“Are you all right?” asked Ivar.
“Yes,” I said.
“I have found your bow, and your arrows,” said Gorm. “They were among weapons in the loot.”
“I am grateful,” I said. I strung the bow and drew it, and unstrung it. I slipped the quiver, with its arrows, flight and sheaf, over my left shoulder.
“In four days, when supplies can be gathered,” said Svein Blue Tooth, “we shall have a great feast, for this has been a great victory.”
“Yes,” I said, “let us have a great feast, for this has been a great victory.”
Chapter 19 The note
The Kur came that night, the night of the battle, in the light of torches, ringed by men with spears. It held, in sign of truce, over its head, the two parts of a broken ax.
Many men stood about, armed, several with torches. Down a hall of men, standing in the field, came the Kur.
It stopped before Svein Blue Tooth and Ivar Forkbeard, who, on seats of rock, awaited it. Ivar, chewing on a vulo wing, motioned Hilda, and Gunnhild, Pudding and Honey Cake, who, naked and collared, his girls, knelt about him, to withdraw. They crept back, bond-maids, behind him. Their flesh was in the shadows. They knelt.
At the feet of the two leaders the Kur laid the pieces of the broken ax. Then it surveyed the grouping. To the astonishment of all the beast did not address itself to the two leaders.
It came and stood before me.
With one hand I thrust Leah to one side. I stood. The lips of the beast drew back from its teeth. It towered over me.
It did not speak. It reached into a pouch, slung over its shoulder, and handed me a paper, rolled, bound, incongruously, with a ribbon.
Then the beast went to Svein Blue Tooth and Ivar Forkbeard, and there, from the ground at their feet, lifted again the two parts of the ax.
There were angry cries from the men. Spears were lowered.
But Svein Blue Tooth, regal, stood. “The peace of the camp is on him, ‘ he said.
Again the lips of the Kur drew back from its teeth. Then, holding the pieces of the ax over his head, he departed, escorted by armed men from the fire, to the edge of the camp, past the guards.
The eyes of those of the camp, in the torchlight, were upon me. I stood, holding the piece of paper, rolled, bound with its ribbon.
I looked at Leah, standing back, the light of the torches felicitous and provocative on her flesh. Her eyes were terrified. She trembled. Her breasts, in her agitation, rose and fell, her hand at them. I smiled. Women fear Kurii, terribly I was pleased that I had not given her clothing. She looked at me. Her collar became her. “Kneel, Slave,” I said. Swiftly, Leah, the slave girl, obeyed the word of a free man.
I opened the note, and unrolled it.
“Where is the Skerry of Vars?” I asked.
“It isfive pasangs to the north,” said Ivar Forkbeard, “and two pasangs offshore.”
“Take me there,” I said.
“Very well,” he said.
I crumpled the note. I threw it away. But inside the note curled within it, was a length of hair, long and blond. It was the hair of Telirna. I put it in my pouch.
Chapter 20 What occurred on the Skerry of Vars
The girl approached me.
She wore a long gown, white. She threw back the hood. She shook loose the long, blond hair.
“I have been a fool,” I said. “I have come to the north, thinking you slain. I had come north, in fury, tricked, to avenge you.”
It was near dusk. She faced me. “It was necessary,” she said.
“Speak,” I told her.
The Skerry of Vars is roughly a hundred foot, Gorean, square. It is rough, but, on the whole, flat. It rises some fif teen to twenty feet from the water. It is grayish rock, bleak, upthrust, igneous, forbidding.
We stood alone, facing one another.
“Are you unarmed?” she asked.
“Yes,” I told her.
“I have arranged this meeting,” she said.
“Speak,” I told her.
“It is not I,” she smiled, “who wish to speak to you.”
“I had supposed as much,” I said. “Does Samos know of this?” I asked.
“He knows nothing,” she said.
“You are acting, then, independently?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said, drawing herself up, beautifully. I wondered if she were wise, to stand so beautifully before a Gorean warrior.
“You fled my house,” I said. “You returned to the marshes.”
She tossed her head. “You sought Talena,” she said.
“Talena, once,” I said, “was my companion.”
Telima shrugged. She looked at me, irritably. I had forgotten how beautiful she was.
“When I, in the hall of Samos, before leaving for the northern forests to seek Talena, learned of your flight, I wept.”
“Always,” she said, “you were weak.” Then she said, “We have more important things to discuss.”
I regarded her.
“In the marshes,” she said, “I was contacted by Kurii.” Shelooked at me. “They desire peace,” she said.
I smiled.
“It is true,” she said, angrily. “Doubtless,” she said, “you find it difficult to believe. But they are sincere. There has been war for centuries. They weary of strife. They need an envoy, one known to Priest-Kings, yet one independent of them, one whom they respect, a man of valiance and judgment, with whom to negotiate, one to carry their proposals to Priest-Kings.”
“I thought you knew little of these matters,” I said.
“What little I know,” said Telima, “is more than enougn. In the marshes was I contacted by a mighty Kur, but one courteous, one strong and gentle. It would be difficult to speak directly with you. It would be difficult to begin this work if Priest-Kings understood our enterprise.”
