I felt ill.
“I am not a pet,” I whispered.
“Of course not,” she said, “or, at least, no more than any other slave is a pet.”
“Who is he, Mistress?” I begged. “Who are you?”
I expected to be told that curiosity was not becoming in a kajira, but the small, exquisite Lady Bina, despite her selfishness and vanity, her almost charmingly innocent lack of concern with the feelings and lives of others, was often pleasant, and communicative. Too, she was not natively Gorean. That, I thought, quite possibly, was relevant.
“There are metal worlds, large metal worlds,” she said, “like small planets, inhabited by Kurii, rather like Lord Grendel, though he is not truly Kur.”
“No?” I said.
“Lord Grendel,” she said, “is the result of an experiment, one which apparently did not turn out well.”
As far as I could tell, Grendel, or Lord Grendel, was Kur. I recalled he had identified himself as such, on the very evening he had brought me to the domicile, the first floor of which held the living quarters and shop of Epicrates.
“I myself,” said the Lady Bina, “was originally a Kur pet.”
“A pet?” I said.
“There is nothing wrong with being a pet,” she said. “Indeed, on the world once of Agamemnon, Eleventh face of the Nameless One, it was a great honor to be the pet of a Kur, particularly if one were only a human being, and not a female Kur, defanged and declawed, kept in chains and chastisable by the rod. I myself had the privilege of being the pet of Lord Arcesilaus, who now, as I understand it, is the Twelfth Face of the Nameless One, Theocrat of the World, that world. Pets are not taught to speak, but I learned to do so; the mechanical translators, and Lord Grendel, and some others, were helpful; and, after the dislocations of an insurrection, and the downfall of Agamemnon, Eleventh Face of the Nameless One, former Theocrat of the World, that world, learning of this world, a beautiful, natural world, not a small world and one of metal, and ships which might voyage here, I decided to embark, reach this world, and make my fortune here, in particular, becoming a Ubara, a ruler or consort of a ruler, of some great city — I had heard of Ar — or, possibly, of the planet itself.”
How naive she is, I thought.
Again I tried to envisage what might have been her socialization, her acculturation.
Then it occurred to me that, from what she had said, for most practical purposes, she had had little in the way of such customary amenities.
“You spoke of an experiment,” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“It did not turn out well?” I asked.
“Apparently not,” she said.
“I do not understand,” I said.
“You should speak to Lord Grendel of that,” she said.
“Might he not kill me?” I asked.
“You could ask him, and see,” she said.
“I do not think I will do so,” I said.
“I do not think he would hurt you,” she said. “At most you would be well lashed, perhaps several times, over several days, and warned not to speak of it again.”
“You speak of Lord Grendel,” I said. “I gather, then, he was important on his world.”
“He came to be so,” she said. “Muchly so, in power and prestige, and, if he had been interested in such matters, and wished it, might have become so in wealth, as well.”
“Why then would he leave?” I asked. “Why would he give up so much?”
“To accompany me,” she said.
“To a new world, a strange world, an unfamiliar, perhaps hostile world?” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“Forgive me, Mistress,” I said, “but why would he, so strange and different a form of life, do so?”
“I have never inquired,” said the Lady Bina. “He insisted on doing so.”
“Here,” I said, “he is feared, even loathed.”
“That is because he is not a true Kur,” she said. “The true Kur is beautiful, large, agile, proud, long-armed, glossy, wide-nostriled, with six-digited appendages, with a voice a larl might envy. Grendel has deformed paws, with only five digits, and the throat, and tongue, the oral orifice are different, and the eyes, too. He can even approximate human sounds.”
“I think,” I said, “he is devoted to Mistress.”
“I have never objected to his presence, despite his appearance,” she said. “He is useful to have about, and I am fond of him. He cannot help his ugliness. Too, I suspect his presence, like that of a pet sleen, would encourage 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.”