And he moved another foot.
"Hold,” he whispered. “Hold!"
Moment by moment, minute by minute, he inched his way toward the center of the cap.
Then, oddly, he felt less thrust against him.
He felt faint. He closed his eyes. He did not look back. He was briefly afflicted with a sensation of giddiness. He had the dreamlike sense that if he were to weigh himself the scale would be little depressed. Now it seemed hard to move against the adherent material with which he had smeared his body, his hands and clothing. It was now as if it were somehow anchoring him, almost balloonlike to the steel. Now it seemed less a salvation than an encumbrance, a nuisance. Then, sensing the possibility, he stood on the steel, his head pointing toward the opposing cap, far distant, almost invisible, at the other end of the world. The sensation now was almost identical to that of the shuttles, in free flight amongst the cylinders. He took several more steps and suddenly his feet left the steel, and he turned about, helplessly, in the air, and he spun about, and tried to thrash toward the steel, and floated some feet from it. His body was suddenly covered with sweat. Then a movement of the atmosphere brushed him, and he twisted his body to it, and waited, and waited, and, in a few seconds, one hand, covered with the adhesive substance used in his climb, struck against the steel, and he pulled himself down to it. Then, keeping at least one limb, a foot or hand, on the steel, he made his way to the arsenal gate.
The plan was to attempt the ascent to the arsenal, to determine its feasibility. If it proved feasible it was then intended for others to follow, and join the leaders, others who would, amongst themselves, bring up tools, and rope, that the gate might be forced, and the stored weapons brought down, to waiting others, who would then act as scouts and guards, bearers and porters.
But, as Cabot now saw, there was no need for these arrangements.
The gate of the arsenal was open, and, as he soon determined, the arsenal itself was empty.
"Hail Agamemnon,” thought Cabot, bitterly, “Theocrat of the World, Eleventh Face of the Nameless One. It is little wonder, dear foe, that so many pledge you their heart, their steel, their blood. You are a leader amongst leaders. I wonder if you are mortal. Are you not more than man, more than Kur?"
Cabot lifted his head, suddenly, peering outward from the threshold of the barren arsenal behind him, now no more than an abandoned storeroom, its racks and shelves empty.
Approaching the arsenal, hundreds of yards away, were two figures, one seemingly several yards in advance of the other. From the distance they resembled slowly flying insects. As they approached they more resembled the winged vart, as it might appear if slowly, oddly, in an almost dreamlike progression, coursing the axis. As they neared, discernible became the slow, rhythmic beat of gigantic canvas wings, harnessed to massive bodies.
Cabot shaded his eyes.
The canvas wings sought their purchase in the world's atmosphere, thrusting against it, cleaving it, as they neared.
"Grendel!” called Cabot, as Lord Grendel folded his wings and gently came to rest on the ledge beside him.
"It is empty?” said Lord Grendel, regarding the bareness behind Cabot. His voice rang in the hollowness of the arsenal.
"Yes,” said Cabot.
"We are followed,” said Lord Grendel.
At that point Statius alighted on the ledge. He was covered with blood.
"They were waiting for us at the arsenal,” said Lord Grendel.
"The arsenal seemed open, even unguarded,” said Statius.
"We should have been warned,” said Lord Grendel.
"Then suddenly purple scarves, with power weapons, sprang into view, and fired."
"It was a well-devised ambush,” said Lord Grendel. “But we were fools. We thought Agamemnon's minions were overconfident, unsuspecting, otherwise deployed. We were fools."
"It seems they took us more seriously than we had supposed,” said Cabot.
"We lost many,” said Lord Grendel. “It was a slaughter."
"Some fell here,” said Cabot. “I sent the others back."
"Others are below?” said Lord Grendel.
"Most,” said Cabot. “Your quiver is empty."
"They fired from behind metal shields,” said Lord Grendel. “We could do little."
"You have a bow, arrows,” said Cabot, to Statius.
"Few of the birds of death are left,” said Statius.
"Behold!” said Cabot, pointing down the axis.
"Purple scarves,” said Lord Grendel, resignedly.
It should be understood that the control of the wings, as they are commonly constructed, requires the use of both arms, and, resultantly, it is difficult, and, in some cases, impractical, to use certain weapons while in flight.
"Flee,” said Cabot. “Save yourselves."
"For what?” asked Lord Grendel.
"For Pyrrhus, for Arcesilaus, for the war,” said Cabot.
"There are too many,” said Lord Grendel. “Here, and elsewhere."
"We shall flight against these,” said Statius, “and meet them Kur to Kur, tooth to tooth, claw to claw."
"There are too many,” said Cabot. “They do not know I am here. Lord Statius, give me your bow, your quiver. Then mask my presence."
"Lord Statius?” asked Statius.
"Now!” said Cabot.
"Ah,” said Lord Grendel, his features twisting into an expression of pleasure.
"It will not be only Agamemnon who can arrange surprises,” said Cabot, grimly.
He took the bow from Statius, and the quiver, and grasped four arrows and the bow in his left hand, and set an arrow to the string. Other arrows he put in his belt, and others he put against the gate, at hand.
"Some may have hand weapons,” said Lord Grendel, quietly.
"I understand,” said Cabot.
Such weapons may be most easily used while winged.
"Do not activate your translator,” said Lord Grendel to Statius.
And so Lords Grendel and Statius stood, seemingly convinced that further flight was futile, wings spread, in the great threshold of the barren arsenal.
As the translators were not activated Cabot could only conjecture the exact nature of the exchanges between the purple scarves, of which there were ten, and Lords Grendel and Statius. The general nature of the converse, however, was surely clear. Moreover, Cabot, in his time in the world, had become adept at reading not only the body language of Kurii, which is little harder, if at all, to decipher than that of the larl or sleen, but, to a large extent, also, the character or import of what was being said, for example, challenge, anger, cajolery, impatience, command, and so on. Certainly he was sure that the leader of the purple scarves, from his utterances, was insolent, contemptuous, excited, and flushed with triumph. He also heard a rattle of chain, and gathered that his friends were to be conducted back, securely tethered, to the mercies of Agamemnon.
Cabot, shielded by the wings of his friends, sensed that the purple scarves were very close, no more than feet from the ledge itself.
Cabot heard the clawed feet of a purple scarf touch the ledge, and then, rather as the two leaves of a mighty gate might swing open, outwardly, the left wing of Lord Grendel, and the right wing of Lord Statius, swung toward their bodies, and Cabot released the first shaft, point-blank, through the chest of the officer, the fletching literally disappearing into the body, and half the shaft emerging from the back, and a length of chain clattered to the metal flooring of the ledge, and a second shaft left the string, and no more than two Ehn later another, and then another. At the same time Lords Grendel and Statius pushed from the ledge and with a blow of the wide canvas wings were each entangled with a foe. One of the purple scarves freed an arm from the wing harness and groped for a hand weapon, as he spun about, loose, helplessly, in the atmosphere. By the time he could free it from its holster another arrow had found its mark and the weapon seemed to float away, as might an object in water. Cabot saw blood streaming loose in the atmosphere, like a shredding silken ribbon, and Lord Grendel, eyes half blinded with blood, spit away throat and bone. Statius and his foe grappled, spinning in the atmosphere. Cabot scanned the remaining foes who had seemed startled, almost paralyzed, at the sudden appearance of his threat. Such are commonly left to last. The foe who cries out, registering the threat, too, has hesitated. His priority is thus less than the silent foe who reacts instantly, seeking cover, drawing a weapon, such things. Needless to say, the officer had not had time to react, in any way. To be sure, other things being equal, an officer is usually given priority as a target. Accordingly, in situations of danger, as indicated earlier, at least among Kurii, insignia are often removed, salutes left unexchanged, and so on. Too, as earlier referenced, such practices are also commonly in effect amongst Gorean warriors. And, one supposes, such practices are not likely to be unfamiliar to any, whatever the world, who adopt the profession of arms, who tread the ways of war.