"I do not think,” said Peisistratus, scanning the tiers, “that Lord Agamemnon will have his needful numbers."
"Hold!” came the booming voice of the judge.
"No,” whispered Peisistratus, “he would not have his needful numbers."
"Desist!” came from the speakers about the courtroom. “This matter will be decided otherwise."
"It will be the arena,” whispered Peisistratus.
Daggers were sheathed, and the Kurii stirred restlessly, eagerly, on the tiers.
"Kur to Kur!” cried Lord Pyrrhus, shackled, but mighty, looking upward, fangs bared.
"Yes,” said the judge, the voice seeming to ring about the gigantic chamber. “Kur to Kur!"
The Kurii on the tiers leaped up and down, howling with pleasure. Muchly were they satisfied with this outcome.
The passion for truth, and the seeking of justice, in the Kur heart, is linked more closely with victory than deliberation, with triumph than balloting, with blood than mind. The hereditary coils have cast their countless lots, and nature has made her innumerable decisions amongst them, according to her mysterious wills and ways, denominating her fortunes of extinction and prosperity, of defeat and victory, of death and life. To the Kur it is the highest court, and her judgments are nonrepudiable.
Guards even now were loosening the holding chains of Pyrrhus and preparing to lead him from the cement pit in which he had been held below the jurors, below the witnesses, below the judge.
"Will he be fed?” asked Cabot.
"Probably not,” said Peisistratus.
The jurors were filing from the great chamber.
The chief prosecutor looked up toward the ceiling, but the light there did not glow. He then left the chamber.
In a few moments Cabot and Peisistratus were alone.
"It is done, is it not?” asked Cabot.
"Part of it,” said Peisistratus.
"Are we to see the denouement of this matter in the arena?” asked Cabot.
"It will be required of us,” said Peisistratus.
"What is the fate,” asked Cabot of Peisistratus, “of the pet of Arcesilaus?"
"Are you not more interested in the fate of another?” asked Peisistratus.
"The blonde human,” said Cabot, “the pet of Arcesilaus. From hunters who pursued me I learned they were contemplating feasting on her, and had left her secured, that her meat be fresh, fastened to a tree near the shuttle port, her arms braceleted behind her, the key to the bracelets on a string about her neck."
"You know Grendel?"
"Of course."
"He sought her in the forest world, and soon found her, near the port, and freed her."
"Freed her?"
"To return her to Arcesilaus, of course."
"He may have risked much,” said Cabot, “for those who pursued me had secured her, as meat, I fear, to be feasted upon following the completion of their task."
Amongst Kurii meat, as amongst sleen and larls, may be fiercely contested. One does not lightly take another's food.
"True,” said Peisistratus, “he did risk much, and cannot have known that the hunters might not have soon returned, or, even if later returned, would have demanded their meal."
"Interesting that he would so jeopardize himself for a mere human, put his life at risk against Kur custom,” said Cabot, “and for one not even an ally, but for one the mere pet of another."
"Doubtless,” smiled Peisistratus.
"One can but speculate on the motivation,” said Cabot.
"But the pet is well-curved, is she not?” asked Peisistratus.
"Surely,” said Cabot. “But he is Kur."
"Part Kur,” said Peisistratus.
"I see,” said Cabot.
"Once freed, she tried to flee from him, even into the forest, but he easily overtook her."
"Nature has seen to it that such cannot outrun either men or Kurii."
"He was forced to bracelet her in the very bonds from which he had freed her, her wrists now before her, clasp her in his arms, and carry her, by force, to the Steel World."
"Surely she understood she was to be returned to Arcesilaus."
"But not, she would wish, by he,” said Peisistratus. “By anyone but he."
"Why not?” asked Cabot.
"She abhors him,” said Peisistratus.
"He may have risked his life for her."
"She abhors him,” said Peisistratus.
"Would she not be in danger from Arcesilaus,” asked Cabot, “for she was used to bait a trap, one in which Kurii were slain?"
"Arcesilaus does not bear her ill will,” said Peisistratus, “but, too, it is not now practical for him to keep her. She was used against Kurii. That is not to be forgotten. Might it not happen again? She is human. Where do her true loyalties lie? Too, she is now partly speeched, and that weighs muchly against her. Indeed, perhaps she connived against Kurii. In any event, if not he, his fellows, and others, call for her blood."
"I gather she was an excellent pet."
"Yes,” said Peisistratus. “And Arcesilaus was doubtless fond of her."
"That was my understanding."
"He can obtain another,” said Peisistratus.
"So she is to be slain, or sent to the cattle pens?"
"When she was brought before Arcesilaus, she flung herself on her belly before him, and, her small wrists braceleted before her, she clasped his foot, and kissed and licked, weeping, piteously, at his claws, but he remained adamant."
"And so she is to be slain, or sent to the cattle pens?"
"Arcesilaus, I think, remains fond of her, and was pleased to learn she still lived, and that she had been brought safe to the Steel World."
"By Grendel."
"Surely."
"But Arcesilaus will not keep her."
"Certainly not."
"What, then, is to be done with her?” asked Cabot.
"Grendel himself provided the solution,” said Peisistratus.
"And what was the nature of this solution?” inquired Cabot.
"He purchased her, for a pittance,” said Peisistratus. “She is now on his leash."
"And what was her view of this?” asked Cabot.
"She was beside herself with disbelief, with horror, and humiliation, and fury, and misery,” said Peisistratus.
"But she is still on his leash."
"Of course."
"Excellent,” said Cabot.
"He is not wholly Kur,” said Peisistratus. “She has always hated him, loathed him, as do most of the Kurii, as a misbred monster and freak, and now she belongs to him, and the collar on her neck is his."
"He risked his life for her."
"She despises him,” said Peisistratus.
"Doubtless he will keep her under an excellent discipline,” said Cabot.
"No,” said Peisistratus. “She puts on airs and has no fear of him."
"Though she is a mere pet?"
"Yes."
"I see,” said Cabot.
"She wishes to demean and rule him,” said Peisistratus. “She is haughty and petty. She treats him in ways that no Kur would tolerate. Even in public she insults him, and shows him disrespect. She does not serve him, she does not groom him."
"Perhaps she should be disciplined,” said Cabot. “Women understand such things."
"He will not lay a hand on her,” said Peisistratus.
"She will then grow ever more insolent, more tiresome, and troublesome,” said Cabot. “She will understand his gentleness, his kindness, his forbearance, or whatever it may be, as weakness."
"Doubtless,” said Peisistratus, “but, in any event, she is still on his leash."
"I see,” said Cabot.
"And what of her Gorean?” asked Cabot.
"She demands that her lessons continue,” said Peisistratus.
"I suppose that is to the good,” said Cabot.
"She is small, petty, and thankless,” said Peisistratus.
"I am sorry to hear that,” said Cabot.
"But she is still on his leash,” said Peisistratus.