"Humans do not always run,” said Cabot.
"It seems you are too stupid to do so,” said one of the Kurii.
"Would you run?” asked Cabot.
"No,” said the Kur, “but I am Kur."
"Perhaps he is Kur,” said another of the group of hunters. Being Kur, you see, is not always a simple, descriptive term denoting a particular species. The question, “Are you Kur?” can be asked even of a Kur. There is a meaning here which transcends biological classification.
"No,” said Cabot. “I am human."
One of the Kurii below him snarled viciously. The translator, however, provided the translation without passion. “You are meat,” it said.
"Do you think the pointed stick in your grasp is a weapon?” inquired one of the Kurii.
"Lend me your spear, if you wish me better armed,” said Cabot.
"You could not cast it,” said a Kur.
"Then I must make do with my pointed stick,” said Cabot.
"He is brave,” came from one of the translators.
"You must understand,” said one of the Kurii, he who seemed most prominent amongst them, “this does not have to do with you."
"In this there is nothing personal,” said another.
"I understand,” said Cabot. “You hunt on behalf of Lord Pyrrhus, who is foe to Agamemnon."
"Release the sleen,” said he who seemed to be their leader.
The sleen doubtless recognized this command in Kur, and not in Gorean, for which the translators were set. In any event, they reacted instantly, even before Cabot heard the translator. They began to tremble and scratch at the ground, and they then lurched forward, and were held back, and then, again, they strained forward, eagerly, against the harness, which made it more difficult to release the catches. They both looked upward at Cabot, their eyes alight with anticipation. The two catches, and then the safety catches, were freed, with four snaps, and the two sleen sprang forward and began to scratch their way frenziedly up the short, steep slope.
One sleen fell backwards, twisted wildly in midair, snarling, and fell to the ground at the foot of the small escarpment, and turned to climb again. The other sleen was at Cabot's feet, snapping, when Cabot thrust the homely spear through its spread jaws, the point tearing through the left cheek of the beast. It slipped back, but seemed impervious to pain. The first beast leaped upward, gained a purchase on the slope, and joined Cabot on his narrow ledge, until it was thrust back, over the edge, bloodied, with the stick, to slide to the foot of the slope again. The second sleen was thrust back again, its chest blooded. When the first sleen again attacked, Cabot struck it back with the butt of the primitive weapon. Both sleen were then at the foot of the small escarpment, turning about, tails lashing, each again then looking upward.
The ledge is defensible, thought Cabot, wildly.
There was suddenly a flash of darkness to Cabot's left, and a sharp, sliding, grating sound, as one of the great spears struck against a projecting outcropping, and was then arrested, snapped in two, by the wall behind him. Cabot lunged to the side, to his right, as another spear struck into the stone behind him, marking it as though struck with a hammer. One of the Kurii was now ascending the slope. Cabot thrust at him with the pointed stick but the Kur grasped it and drew on it, and Cabot released it, lest he be dragged from the ledge. At the same time he was conscious of something like an enveloping cloud of rope which descended about him, and he tried to throw it off, to fight it, but it was cunningly whipped about him, with no more than three or four motions, and he was thrown from his feet, enmeshed in its toils. Cabot tried to roll free but one hairy foot held the net closed, and Cabot, his fingers in the strands, each better than an inch thick, was helpless. Cabot realized the net had been well cast and well handled. Begrudgingly he admired the skill with which it had been employed. This hunter, he supposed, had netted humans before. Surely it had been done skillfully and Cabot knew himself helpless. Cabot himself was not unskilled with nets, and certain arena fighters, called fishermen, used net and trident on the sand. Cabot himself had used nets upon occasion to capture slaves, and women to be made slaves. When a city falls, it is common for the slaves of the city to submit themselves to the conquerors, kneeling, head down, arms extended, wrists crossed, for binding. Some, of course, and sometimes free women who have disguised themselves as slaves, that they not be peremptorily slain, flee. Sometimes, too, house slaves, tower slaves, palace slaves, and such, unaccustomed to more demanding slaveries, will flee, hoping to avoid sharing the chains of more common slaves. In any event, Cabot was not a stranger to the netting of women. Some he would keep, who pleased him. Others he would distribute as he pleased, amongst his men, and of others he would profit from their sales.
And now Cabot himself was netted, though not in the light toils of a weighted slave net, which he might have torn open and shredded, a net unsuitable for a man but inescapable for a female, but in a mighty net, stoutly woven, thickly stranded, cast by a Kur, a net that might have held a larl.
Another Kur ascended to the ledge on which Cabot lay, enmeshed, trapped, in the toils of the net.
This second Kur carried a spear, which he handed to the net holder, who then, grasping it some four feet behind the blade, lifted it, his hands high over his head, and pointed it downward, toward the heart of Cabot, who lay in the toils of the net, on his back, looking upward.
Chapter, the Nineteenth:
THE INTERVENTION OF THE STEEL LARL
There was suddenly above Cabot a rushing sound and a torrent of fire and Cabot turned his head away, half blinded, and was barely aware of the gigantic, headless trunk above him, the parts of arms, striking about him, and the charred particles of parts of a blackened spear, the metal head of which, half melted, struck softly onto the ledge. The trunk did not bleed as the flame had seared shut the avenues of blood within that large body, and the head, or the parts of it which remained, slid slowly downward, descending from the rock wall behind him.
At the same time he heard the hiss of power weapons below the escarpment. But such weapons were not permitted in the sport world!
There were howls of surprise and fury, some abrogated instantly, as if a machine might have been switched off. He heard Kur sounds, most discordant, some articulate, others half uttered, or blurred. The translators, several of which must have been still on, transmitted sounds in Gorean but the emanations were so disordered as to be largely unintelligible.
Cabot, struggling in the net, rolled to his side, about the large, headless trunk encumbering the ledge, to peer through the strands, down into the clearing at the foot of the small escarpment.
There was another blast of fire below him, which was reflected upward, as though a small sun had exploded, casting an ignited chemical shower against the escarpment, and he saw the residue of one of the sleen smoking below him. In the clearing below there were, too, five steaming bodies, the flesh burned away to darkened bones, and three of the hunters had flung down their weapons, in token of surrender. They were then cut down with streams of fire where they stood. The eight who had hunted Cabot had all been destroyed. About the clearing, armed with weapons outlawed within the sport world, were at least fifty Kurii. Two Kurii, other than the hunters, had been penetrated by spears, with which the hunters had been armed. A heat knife lay on the ground, still blistering and flaming, which one of the Kurii snapped off. The other sleen had its back to the escarpment, snarling, and then it sprang at one of the Kurii, clinging with its jaws to its arm. The arm was torn off, and the sleen shook it angrily. Power weapons were aimed at the beast.
A Kur roar, abrupt, definitive, emanated from the forest, and the power weapons were lowered. On several of the translators of the hunters, almost simultaneously, Cabot heard, “No!"