Gor 03 - Priest-Kings of Gor by John Norman

Author:John Norman
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Erotica
ISBN: 9781563334887
Publisher: Masquerade Books
Published: 2007-05-31T23:00:00+00:00

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21

I Find Misk

I followed Mul-Al-Ka and Mul-Ba-Ta into a damp, high, vaulted chamber, unlit by energy bulbs. The sides of the chamber were formed of some rough cementlike substance in which numerous rocks of various sizes and shapes inhered as in a conglomerate mass.

At the entrance to the chamber, from a rack, Mul-Al-Ka had taken a Mul-Torch and broken off its end. Holding this over his head, he illuminated those portions of the chamber to which the light of the torch would reach.

“This must be a very old portion of the Nest,” said Mul-Al-Ka.

“Where is Misk?” I asked.

“He is here somewhere,” said Mul-Ba-Ta, “for so we were told by Sarm."

As far as I could tell the chamber seemed empty. In impatience I fingered the chain of the translator I had had the two Muls pick up on the way to Misk's prison. I was not sure that Misk would have been allowed to retain his translator and I wished to be able to communicate with him.

My eyes drifted upward and I froze for an instant and then, scarcely moving, touched Mul-Ba-Ta's arm.

“Up there,” I whispered.

Mul-Al-Ka lifted the torch as high as he could.

Clinging to the ceiling of the chamber were numerous dark, distended shapes, apparently Priest-Kings but with abdomens swollen grotesquely. They did not move.

I turned on the translator. “Misk,” I said into it. Almost instantly I recognized the familiar odor.

There was a rustling among the dark, distended shapes that clung to the ceiling.

No response came from my translator.

“He is not here,” proposed Mul-Al-Ka.

“Probably not,” said Mul-Ba-Ta, “for had he replied, I think your translator would have picked up his response."

“Let us look elsewhere,” said Mul-Al-Ka.

“Give me the torch,” I said.

I took the torch and went around to the edges of the room. By the door I saw a series of short bars which emerged from the wall, which might be used as a ladder. Taking the torch in my teeth I prepared to climb the set of bars.

Suddenly I stopped, my hands on one of the bars.

“What is the matter?” asked Mul-Al-Ka.

“Listen,” I said.

We listened carefully and in the distance it seemed we heard, incredibly enough, the mournful singing of human voices, as though of many men, and the sound was as we determined by listening for a minute or two gradually nearing.

“Perhaps they are coming here,” said Mul-Al-Ka.

“We had better hide,” said Mul-Ba-Ta.

I left the bars and led the two Muls to the far side of the room. There I directed them to take cover as well as they could behind some of the conglomerate material which had crumbled from the wall and lay at its base. Grinding out the Mul-Torch on the stones, I crouched down with them behind some of this debris and together we watched the door.

The singing grew louder.

It was a sad song, mournful and slow, almost a dirgelike chant.

The words were in archaic Gorean which I find very difficult to understand. On the surface it is spoken by none but members of the Caste of Initiates, who use it primarily in their numerous and complex rituals.

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