beast, “it would have no value whatsoever in itself, only in its proper delivery to the selected parties. To you it would be, in itself, incomprehensible, meaningless, literally worthless, but to those who understand it, and can make use of it, it is of great value. Keep clearly in mind, it is worth gold and silver, and such, to you, only if it reaches its intended destination. You will then be well paid, with perhaps more than tharlarion weights of gold and silver, perhaps even with countries, and ubarates.”
“I would be curious to see what is so worthless, and so valuable,” said Tyrtaios.
The second beast, who had been following this exchange, suddenly growled, menacingly. The first beast, however, cautioned it to silence.
“You have heard of the Flame Death of the Priest-Kings?” asked the first beast of Tyrtaios.
“I have heard of it,” said Tyrtaios, “but I have not seen it.”
“I have seen it once,” said the beast, “when a fellow of mine, brandishing a forbidden weapon, one forbidden by the laws of Priest-Kings, was suddenly torn away from me, literally from my side, in a burst of light, of flesh, of blood, and ash. The stones on which he had stood had melted.”
I realized then that the beasts, who were presumably advanced, perhaps as much as the men of Earth, or more, here, on Gor, had limited themselves to permitted weapons. They then, I thought, as men, realized the power of Priest-Kings, and feared them. How formidable, how terrible, I thought, must be Priest-Kings.
“I do not understand,” said Tyrtaios.
“Should the cargo be tampered with,” said the beast, “it will be destroyed, and he who would dare to tamper with it, perhaps merely desiring to apprise himself of its nature, with it. Only certain parties, properly instructed, entrusted with the codes, can open the containers with impunity.”
I regarded the small animal, hairless, on the spit, writhing, cooking. Its mouth opened and closed. Its eyes stared out, wildly. It made no sound. Presumably it felt nothing.
“You have seen that?” I said to Tyrtaios, indicating the small animal on the spit.
“Of course,” he said, in annoyance.
“It is alive,” I said.
“Obviously,” said Tyrtaios.
“It is insensible of pain,” I said.
“Not at all,” said Tyrtaios.
“It is silent,” I said.
“I have been here before,” said Tyrtaios. “It is ingenious. A small incision is made in the throat. That silences the animal.”
“Its cries might annoy your friends?” I said.
“I do not think so,” said Tyrtaios. “I suspect they do not concern themselves with such things. Nor should you. Perhaps they would enjoy it. I do not know. Rather, here, in the forest, one would not wish its whimperings, shrieks, or squeals to attract the attention of, say, a passing sleen or panther.”
“Why do they not kill it?” I said.
“I do not know,” said Tyrtaios.
“Kill it,” I said.
“Do not concern yourself.”
“Kill it,” I said.
“We are guests here,” said Tyrtaios. “Be civil.”
“Have them kill it,” I said.
“Why?” he asked.
Many Goreans, I suppose, might seem callous, heartless, or cruel to many of Earth, but they commonly, as those of Earth often do not, love their world, love growing things, trees, grass, flowers, and the world itself, the day and night, the seasons, the wind and sky, the stars, the sound of water in brooks, and live animals, birds, and such. They care for their world and the living things within it. Perhaps this is foolish, but it is a common Gorean way. Who is to say which way is best? Or does it matter? But Goreans will kill for their way.
“What is the concern of your companion?” asked the beast with the device.
“The food,” said Tyrtaios.
“What is wrong with it?” asked the beast. “We are preparing it for you. You commonly cook your food, do you not? We prefer a live kill, with the fresh blood.”
“I think,” said Tyrtaios, “he would prefer that it be killed.”
“It is said that cooking it alive improves the flavor,” said the beast. “I have heard so.”
“Have them kill it,” I said.
“It may not be their way,” said Tyrtaios.
“Kill it,” I said, “or I will.”
“No need,” said Tyrtaios. “It is dead now.”
The second beast, he not with the device, slipped the small animal from the spit.
“Your companion is correct,” said the beast with the device. “It is better undercooked, and best when raw, alive, with the racing of the blood, and the many secretions of terror flooding within its circulatory system.”
The second beast lifted the limp, hairless, burned body toward us.
I shook my head.
“Pulling the fur out,