"Certainly,” said Cabot.
"Yet it seems clear, and overwhelmingly so, that Lord Pyrrhus had designs upon your life."
"What reason could he possibly have for such designs?” asked Cabot.
"That question is to be ignored,” said the judge, who was not visible, but whose presence was made known by a sound system, and whose words were picked up by the platform translator, set in the railing before Cabot. The body of Agamemnon, in this instance, Cabot supposed, was in effect the courtroom itself. He had little doubt that Agamemnon, wherever he might be ensconced, could see as well as hear the proceedings.
"We need not inquire into such matters,” said the chief prosecutor, “as facts are at issue, and not motivations."
"Very well,” said Cabot.
"One fact is clear, at least,” said the prosecutor, “that a tunic, bestowed upon you in accordance with the largesse of Lord Agamemnon, Eleventh Face of the Nameless One, Theocrat of the World, was in the possession of the hunting party by which you were endangered, a tunic used to set sleen upon you."
"Certainly to find me,” said Cabot.
"I do not understand,” said the prosecutor.
"Perhaps the party was sent by Lord Pyrrhus, or someone, to locate me in the sport world, and thereby effect my rescue."
"We have ample testimony,” said the prosecutor, whose movements suggested anger, though the translator spoke without passion, “that in the time of your location your life was in great jeopardy."
"That is true,” said Cabot. “I fear the hunters mistook me for a game human."
"How could that be?” inquired the prosecutor.
"I fear I was clad in skins, suggesting a human game animal,” said Cabot.
Several of the encircling jurors exchanged glances.
"Lord Pyrrhus took you to the sport cylinder and abandoned you there, to be hunted down and killed by his cohorts,” said the prosecutor.
"Is that not speculation?” asked Cabot.
"It is fact,” said the prosecutor.
"One supposes the jury must decide on that,” said Cabot.
"Are you intent on trying to protect one who would have had you slain?"
"Is that not for the jury to ponder?” inquired Cabot.
"You could not have reached the sport cylinder alone,” said the prosecutor. “You could not know the shuttle codes."
"I was to go hunting with Lord Pyrrhus,” said Cabot. “I had codes from him, though I do not now recall them. I was to wait for him, but I went ahead. Perhaps he came later to the shuttle port, and deemed that I had declined the hunt, and thus returned to his quarters."
"What are you telling us?” asked the prosecutor.
"I was curious,” said Cabot. “I wandered off. It was unwise of me."
"You would hold Lord Pyrrhus innocent in all this?” said the prosecutor.
"Certainly,” said Cabot.
Pyrrhus, clothed in chains, in the pit, regarded Cabot, puzzled.
"What are you doing?” whispered Peisistratus to Cabot.
"Kaissa,” said Cabot.
Peisistratus seemed content with this answer.
The prosecutor turned about, and, high in the tiers, above the jurors, a small light glowed briefly, twice. It would be noted, presumably, only by those facing it, and perhaps looking for it. Cabot, given his vantage on the platform, did see it.
"The witness may step down,” said the prosecutor.
Cabot descended from the platform, and Peisistratus, who had been near to him, waiting on a step, accompanied him.
"The jury will note,” sounded the voice of the judge, which seemed to come from everywhere in the room, the platform translator producing this in Gorean almost immediately, “that the guilt of Lord Pyrrhus is overwhelmingly clear, albeit largely circumstantial. The aberration of a witness, or the obscurity of its testimony, must not be permitted to distract your attention from either the charges or the indisputable and incontrovertible evidence on which they are based. The jury may now deliberate."
"Do they not withdraw?” asked Cabot.
"Certainly not,” said Peisistratus. “The judge would then not know how each voted."
"The verdict need not be unanimous?” asked Cabot.
"Certainly not,” said Peisistratus. “If that were the case a single madman or fool, a simpleton, a partisan or malcontent, might nullify or vitiate an entire trial."
"Is a simple majority required?” asked Cabot.
"No,” said Peisistratus, “innocence or guilt must be clear, so a clear, significant majority is required, and in a trial such as this, involving charges of high treason, guilt must be exceedingly clear, this requiring that nine out of every ten jurors draw the knife."
"If more than one out of ten do not unsheathe their blades?"
"Then the defendant is acquitted,” said Peisistratus.
Already in the tiers many six-digited paws were clasped about the handles of their knives, but, Cabot noted, many jurors were crouched down, knuckles on the tiers, their knives untouched.
"Hold!” called the voice of the unseen judge.
The jurors looked about themselves, but the location of the judge, as the voice emanated from a diversity of locations, was not clear.
"Pyrrhus,” called the voice.
"Lord Pyrrhus,” bellowed a voice from the pit, with a fierce shaking of chains.
"Did you or did you not seek the death of the human, Tarl Cabot?"
"I did,” said Pyrrhus.
"So his honor destroys him,” said Cabot to Peisistratus, at the foot of the witness platform.
"Perhaps not,” said Peisistratus.
"You have spoken in all honesty, as Kur,” said the judge.
"Certainly,” said Pyrrhus.
"Let it be so recorded,” said the judge.
"And let this, too, be so recorded, and I speak as Kur,” called Pyrrhus, his voice rising from the cement pit, in which, to rings, he was chained, “I am guilty of no treason against the species or the world!"
This caused a considerable stir on the tiers, for it was clear Lord Pyrrhus had spoken as Kur.
"If I am guilty of treason,” he continued, “it is not treason against the species and the world, but against one who would betray the honor of the species and the world, a dissembler and deceiver, an opportunist and thief, a liar and seeker of power, a true traitor to worth, nobility, and valor."
"So name such a foe,” said the judge.
"He cannot,” said Peisistratus to Cabot, “for it is forbidden, sacrilegious, blasphemous, to speak ill of the Nameless One, or of any mask through which he speaks."
"Let the jury draw their daggers or not,” challenged Pyrrhus.
"Agamemnon may not have his majority,” said Peisistratus, looking about the tiers.
"He confessed to seeking my death,” Cabot reminded Peisistratus.
"You are an animal,” said Peisistratus. “We can be killed here with more impunity than might a wild sleen in a Gorean forest. We are not even pets. We are not even owned. No restitution, even, would be expected for slaying us."
"Then it matters little?"
"It matters nothing, save for your interest to Agamemnon,” said Peisistratus. “Your testimony clouded matters for Agamemnon. He expected to convict on its basis. You betrayed him. The jury was confused."
"That was my intention,” said Cabot.
"You are interested in abetting revolution, in spreading division in the Steel World?"
"I suppose my life now,” said Cabot, “will be worth little, if Lord Pyrrhus goes free."
"He will not go free,” said Peisistratus. “But his party will doubtless remember your testimony."
"Is Pyrrhus not to be now acquitted?” asked Cabot.
"Acquitted, perhaps, but not spared,” said Peisistratus.
"See the knives,” said Cabot.
Many were unsheathed, and by far the most, and each of those daggers pointed downward, threateningly, toward the pit in which Lord Pyrrhus awaited the verdict.