He then turned about and went to the cement platform, and freed the chain of the blonde pet from its ring. He then led her slowly from the platform, to the sand, and then across the sand, and then through one of the far gates, she on all fours.
Two attendants, with poles with hooks, came and removed the now inert body of the champion, dragging it through the sand, furrowing it, to another gate.
"The blonde pet is now safe,” said Cabot.
"Here, no human is safe,” said Peisistratus.
There was then a sudden roll of drums.
"What is it?” asked Cabot.
"The climax of the festivities,” said Peisistratus.
From a far gate, a Kur, laden with chains, goaded by hot irons, was herded, stumbling, toward the center of the sand.
"It is Lord Pyrrhus,” said Peisistratus.
"He is ill,” speculated Cabot.
"More likely, faint from hunger,” said Peisistratus.
The Kur's chains were removed, and it stood alone, in the center of the arena. Despite its size it seemed small there.
"Or, too,” said Peisistratus, “it may be weakened from loss of blood."
"I do not understand,” said Cabot.
"Drawn from his veins,” said Peisistratus. “Thus there is no visible wound."
"Still,” said Cabot, “he is a formidable foe. Agamemnon is not without courage to face such an enemy, Kur to Kur."
"Perhaps,” said Peisistratus.
"What will be the weapons?"
"None,” said Peisistratus.
"None?"
"Hand to hand, tooth to tooth,” said Peisistratus.
"He is courageous, indeed,” said Cabot.
"Perhaps,” said Peisistratus.
"Surely it were better to send a champion against Lord Pyrrhus,” said Cabot, “rather than risk himself, a Face of the Nameless One, in the arena."
"Agamemnon himself will do battle, Kur to Kur,” said Peisistratus.
"A worthy World Lord,” said Cabot. “I salute him."
There was then another thunder of drums, and the tiers turned to face a great part of the wall. It was below and well to the left of where Cabot and Peisistratus were held in their cage.
Two mighty doors there swung open.
The portal might have admitted tharlarion.
For some moments nothing emerged from the gate.
"Ai!” said Cabot, dismayed.
In the portal, now, some eight to ten feet in breadth, some twenty feet in height, there appeared what seemed to be a gigantic, metallic Kur, the limbs, the body, the head, all in proportion, and cunningly devised. The light flashed on the plating and fangs of the immense artificial beast. Suddenly, perhaps on released springs, sharp claws, like curved knives, a foot in length, sprang into view.
"It is a body of Agamemnon,” said Peisistratus, dryly.
The huge metallic head, with eyes like fire, turned from side to side, and then halted, and inclined a foot forward and downward, peering at the figure on the sand, Lord Pyrrhus.
It then, slowly, foot by foot, heavy in the sand, approached Lord Pyrrhus, who made no move to flee, or to defend himself.
One of the metallic paws swept out, and the chest and the side of the face of Lord Pyrrhus, symmetrically lacerated, streamed with lines of blood.
Twice more was Lord Pyrrhus struck, and he struggled to retain his feet.
"He is trying to goad him to fight,” said Peisistratus.
"Lord Arcesilaus, across the way,” said Peisistratus, “is leaving the tiers."
Others, too, were filing out.
Again and again the metallic beast struck Lord Pyrrhus, as though growing more and more frustrated, sometimes flinging him yards, rolling, fur bloody, across the sand. Still Lord Pyrrhus, again and again, staggered to his feet, and made no effort to either flee or defend himself.
"Why does he not fight?” asked Cabot.
"He is fighting,” said Peisistratus.
"He is not,” said Cabot.
"There is much here you do not understand,” said Peisistratus.
"To be sure,” said Cabot, angrily, “what could he do?"
"Agamemnon wants him to struggle, to strike even against the metal, to howl, to scratch at the plates, however futilely."
"It is unlike a Kur not to fight,” said Cabot, “whatever the odds, however improbable the outcome."
"He is fighting,” said Peisistratus.
"Surely not,” said Cabot.
"Surely, so,” said Peisistratus. “He is defeating Agamemnon by finding such a combat beneath his dignity, by demonstrating his mockery of such an absurd contest, by making it clear to the world that Agamemnon, in assuming this body and arrogating to himself its advantages, has abandoned all pretence to, or claim to, honor."
"I see,” said Cabot.
"Lord Pyrrhus strikes a great blow thusly for his cause."
"Many have left the tiers,” observed Cabot.
"In disgust,” said Peisistratus.
"They were to meet, Kur to Kur,” said Cabot.
"But they have not done so,” said Peisistratus.
"No,” said Cabot.
At this point it seemed that Lord Pyrrhus was minded to attack the gigantic, armored machine which so tormented him. He raised himself from the sand and howled in rage, but then, as though recalling himself to himself, he lowered his arms and retracted his claws.
He stood there in the sand, not moving, his head lifted.
"He is showing his contempt for Agamemnon,” said Peisistratus.
The gigantic machine then, as though in fury, closed its jaws about the waist of Lord Pyrrhus and lifted him from the sand and shook him, violently. Even in the tiers one could hear the bones breaking, the muscles and flesh ripping and tearing. Blood streamed from the eyes and mouth. Fur and blood spattered even to the walls of the tiers. And then Agamemnon cast the body from him, and turned about, and left the arena.
Peisistratus and Cabot regarded the remains of Lord Pyrrhus.
"He was Kur,” said Cabot.
"And he won,” said Peisistratus.
"The tiers are muchly emptied,” said Cabot.
"The festivities have ended,” said Peisistratus.
"Yes,” said Cabot.
"Agamemnon will be dissatisfied with this,” said Peisistratus. “He will now be trebly dangerous."
"Why is he not deposed?” asked Cabot.
"He is the Eleventh Face of the Nameless One, Theocrat of the World,” said Peisistratus.
"I see,” said Cabot.
"Do you salute him now?” inquired Peisistratus.
"No,” said Cabot.
Peisistratus pounded on the bars of the cage. “Release us!” he demanded.
A Kur then came, and unlocked the cage, and Cabot and Peisistratus left the tiers.
Chapter, the Twenty-Second:
PAGA
"Paga, Master?” asked the slave.
Cabot looked up, blearily.
"Do you not recognize her?” asked Peisistratus.
Cabot rubbed his eyes, and tried to focus.
"No,” said Cabot.
"We are keeping her a virgin for you,” said Peisistratus.
"A virgin slave?” smiled Cabot.
"White silk,” Peisistratus assured him. “Any time you wish her, you may drag her to an alcove, fling her down amidst the chains, fasten her in place, and teach her to writhe."
The slave shuddered.
"Did I not have her before?” asked Cabot.
"No,” said Peisistratus.
"I thought I did,” said Cabot.
The slave regarded him, angrily. Was she no more than one slave amongst others?
But, yes, that was all she now was.
"No,” said Peisistratus, “others, others."
"I do not remember,” said Cabot.
"You were drunk,” said Peisistratus.
"I had her?” asked Cabot.
"No,” said Peisistratus.
"How long have I been here?” asked Cabot.
"You have been with us for three days now, mostly drinking, and sleeping."