The cattle creatures were whipped to the center of the arena, where they stood crowded together, bleating.
"They are frightened, and disoriented,” said Peisistratus. “This is very different from the security of the pens."
The small shaggy forms, many no more than five feet in height, and perhaps no more than a hundred to a hundred and fifty pounds in weight, encircled the huddled, confused cattle creatures.
"This is how Kurii want their young to view humans, to understand humans, to think of humans,” said Peisistratus.
"They would think otherwise of humans did they meet them in the field of battle,” said Cabot.
"Doubtless,” said Peisistratus.
"What are they going to do?” asked Cabot.
"It is a form of play,” said Peisistratus. “Children are fond of games. They are pleased to frolic."
"What are they going to do?” asked Cabot.
"See the ribbons?” asked Peisistratus.
"Yes,” said Cabot. “But what are they going to do?"
"Kill,” said Peisistratus. “The ribbons will mark their kills. He with the most ribboned meat wins a little crown and a haunch of roast tarsk."
"No!” cried Cabot, foolishly.
Suddenly the children raced upon the huddled cattle, seizing them, lacerating them, tearing them. The cattle did not defend themselves, though several now fled wildly, clumsily, terrified, about the arena, pursued swiftly by the youthful predators with their colorful ribbons.
Occasionally an adult Kur, with a stroke of his whip, turned one of the confused cattle back toward the center of the arena.
"Do not feel sorry for them,” said Peisistratus. “They are not truly human. They do not even understand what is going on. They only want to be returned to their pens, and the feeding trough."
There was a squeal from one of the cattle below, as three of the youngsters clung to it, gripping it with their yet-immature fangs.
"This accustoms them, of course,” said Peisistratus, “to killing, and the taste of blood, in a convenient, economical fashion."
Cabot shook the bars of the cage.
"Caution,” warned Peisistratus. “Kurii are watching."
Cabot shook again the bars of the cage, futilely.
"There is nothing you can do,” said Peisistratus. “Do not concern yourself. It is only a game."
"Why do they not fight back?” cried Cabot. “They are larger than their foes."
"They are cattle,” said Peisistratus.
There were howls of pleasure, of amusement, from the stands, as one or more of the cattle, inept even in flight, startled, bleating, was brought down.
"Do not concern yourself,” said Peisistratus, to Cabot. “This is what they are for."
"Look!” cried Cabot. “One has turned on its attacker!"
"That is not to take place!” said Peisistratus. “That is not permitted!"
"Apparently the creature does not understand that,” said Cabot.
Below, one of the cattle, half blinded with its own blood, had closed its fat fingers about a small shaggy throat.
"Is the child not to be rescued?” asked Cabot. “It will kill the child."
"Do not concern yourself,” said Peisistratus. “The others do not."
The whitish, obese creature let the limp body of the youngster fall to the sand. Its throat was then, as it stupidly looked about, comprehending nothing, casually cut open by one of the adult Kurii.
"That one,” said Peisistratus, “cannot be ribboned. He does not count."
"What of the child?” asked Cabot.
"He allowed himself to be caught. He failed. He will be forgotten."
"Is it not a tragedy?” asked Cabot.
"Not if it does not spoil the game,” said Peisistratus.
Only one or two of the cattle were still alive.
"It is over,” said Peisistratus, presently. “See, that one child is victor. The large one. He has ribboned five beasts. That is quite good, but some have ribboned more."
Cabot observed a small, golden crown, apparently of a paperlike material, being placed on the victor's head. There was applause in the stands, the rhythmic pounding of hands on thighs. Later, he would receive, Cabot surmised, a haunch of roasted tarsk, a meat generally much preferred by Kurii to human.
"When,” asked Cabot, “will Lord Pyrrhus and Lord Agamemnon meet, Kur to Kur?"
"Presently,” said Peisistratus. “But first there are some beast fights. May I purchase you a treat?"
"No,” said Cabot.
The beast fights were largely amongst fighting humans, variously armed. Some of these were game humans who had been netted in the sport cylinder, but most were killer humans, bred for savagery, raised for the arena.
"Are they speeched?” inquired Cabot.
"Most,” said Peisistratus.
"And in what speech?” asked Cabot.
"In the language to which most translators are set,” said Peisistratus. “Speeching is helpful in monitoring and managing their training. Some, of course, are not speeched. Sometimes the speeched and the nonspeeched are set against one another. If the battle is team war the speeched side has an advantage."
"Undoubtedly,” said Cabot. “And to what speech are most translators set?"
"Gorean,” said Peisistratus.
"Good,” said Cabot.
It was late in the afternoon, as the mirrors arranged the day, when, to Cabot's amazement, two figures with which he was familiar entered onto the sand. The first, broad and powerful, half bent over, alert, looking from side to side, was Grendel. The second figure, stripped and high-collared, as befits a Kur pet, and on a chain leash, was the blonde. She was led to a point near the center of the arena. Many sounds of disapproval from the tiers, encompassing hissings and snarls, had greeted this pair upon their appearance. At the center of the arena a circular cement platform, some five feet in diameter, emerged from the sand. In the center of this platform, fastened to a plate anchored in the cement, there was a heavy iron ring. The blonde's chain was fastened to this ring.
At a gesture from Grendel, the blonde went to all fours, the chain then looped on the cement, save where it looped up to her collar.
"Why is she on all fours?” asked Cabot.
"Is it not appropriate for an animal, a pet?” asked Peisistratus.
"Yes,” said Cabot.
"Or a slave?” inquired Peisistratus.
"Certainly,” said Cabot.
Slaves are occasionally kept on all fours, forbidden to rise, feed from pans on the floor, are led about, leashed, on all fours, and so on. This regimen or strictness is imposed upon them sometimes as a punishment or discipline, sometimes as a part of their training, or, sometimes, simply to remind them that they are a slave, their master's domestic animal. Sometimes the girl must bring the master's whip to him on all fours, the implement held between her teeth. She will later learn if she is to be caressed or struck.
"What is this about?” asked Cabot.
"Many Kurii,” said Peisistratus, “want her blood. She is held accountable for the debacle in the forest, that of the hunting party of Lord Arcesilaus. In it, you may recall, Kurii were slain."
"I recall,” said Cabot.
"Grendel has refused to sell her to those who wish her harm,” said Peisistratus.
"Harm?” said Cabot.
"—to those who would kill her with needles, a corpuscle at a time, who would inject her with slow, agonizing poisons, who would feed her to urts or sleen, who would cast her to leech plants, who would roast her alive and eat her, and so on."
"I see,” said Cabot.
"He has been offered more strings of coins than you and I would part with for a good slave."
"And she only a pet."
"Precisely."
"It seems he is fond of his pet,” said Cabot.
"He is a fool,” said Peisistratus. “He will now die."