I am a monster, inside and out.

Much of my face is disfigured, a twisted mass of scar tissue. The melted residue of serious burns, a residue that extends down much of my left side.

My soul is similarly twisted, gnarled by the same flames that scarred my body.

And what is the fate of the monster? Its fate is to be destroyed.

I was not always so. I was once a Warrior, an esteemed rarius, a loyal member of the military of glorious Ar. A proud soldier, willing to defend Ar with my very life if need be.

I had a loving Free Companion, and two young children, a son and daughter. The start of a fine family.

I had no complaints in my life. I was very happy and pleased with all I possessed. I felt myself a wealthy man with my family and friends.

I spent a night each Hand at the local paga taverns, enjoying the companionship of my brethren Warriors. And the companionship of some delectable kajirae.

Some times we spent more Ahns there than others, drank more paga and enjoyed more sluts. I would stagger home, happily whistling and grinning.

I would have been pleased if my life had never changed a single bit. I had all that I needed. I wanted for nothing more.

Then came the Night of Transformation, the Time of the Flames, my personal Armageddon.

The night that destroyed all I held dear.

It began like many other nights, a trek through several paga taverns. I must have drank far more than normal as my friend Callicles had to help me home. We enjoyed a last cup of kalana at my home before he departed for his own home and I staggered to my couch.

I was asleep near instantly.

I did not waken until the pain was excruciating, until the stench of my own burning flesh assailed my nostrils. I struggled to my feet, still very groggy, utterly confused.

Instinct made me roll on the floor to quench the fiery flames on my body. Thick, black smoke made visibility poor and also caused me to choke. My mind tried to grasp the situation but it was very sluggish. Far too much alcohol.

Some unknown time passed before I realized there was another body on the couch, wreathed in fire. My Free Companion, my love.

I grabbed some furs and tried to smother the flames, but realized there was no life within her body. She did not move at all. It was already too late.

I then bellowed, the intense heat searing down into lungs. I staggered out of the room, seeking my children, oblivious to the pain across much of my body.

But they too had gone on to the Cities of Dust. I considered remaining in the building, letting myself die with them. But my mind would not allow me to violate my Codes. I forced myself to leave my burning home, racing past the torrents of flame.

By now a crowd had gathered around my burning building. The fire wagon had not arrived yet. There would be little left by the time it arrived.

As my smoldering and smoke-darkened body stumbled onto the street, a few concerned individuals offered cloaks to wrap me in. I saw in their eyes though horror, due to the burns over my body.

I collapsed outside, whether still from the effects of the alcohol or from smoke inhalation. I would not awaken till sometime later, in a hospital bed, covered in bandages.

I was still alive, but changed. I was no longer the same happy man I once was. I was now a monster.

It was eventually believed that, while staggering to bed, I had kicked over a tharlarion oil lamp, starting the fire. In my drunken stupor, I had not been able to awaken until the pain had become particularly acute. My Companion and children likely had first succumbed to the smoke, thus not waking when the fires reached them. It was all my fault.

Though it was considered a tragic accident, I blamed myself for multiple murder. My drinking was the cause. I swore off alcohol.

I also refused any treatment to make my scars less noticeable. I needed the reminder of them, partially as punishment for my crimes. I wanted the world to see my shame.

I resigned my position in the military as I did not feel responsible enough to accept any such position. In addition, my scarred left arm was basically useless. I moved into a cheap insula with almost no possessions. I cut myself off from my friends and family. I could only atone alone, if at all.

Friends like Myron, Callicles and Pelorus came to see me but I turned them away. I told them to warn everyone else not to try to see me.

I had become a monster in its dark lair, waiting for someone to kill me, to deliver me from my anguish.

I lost all track of time.

People left me alone for quite some time until my old friend Nestor arrived. He was very insistent, quite determined to see me, to talk with me.

Despite my nasty invective, Nestor refused to leave until I listened to him. He pressed the urgency of the matter, of its importance to me.

Eventually, I permitted him to enter, hoping he would be brief and then leave. But once Nestor began, I knew it would not be brief. And I also did not want him to leave.

He stated that within the last four months, three other Warriors had died. All three had been drinking on the nights they died. One was found dead in an alley, a couple of sword thrusts to the chest. Another was found drowned in a fountain. The third fell from a high bridge.

On their own, each was a terrible accident. Together, they posed an odd coincidence. Coupled with my tragedy, it made it even odder.

But what was the common denominator in all four deaths? Were they really just accidents? Or was someone orchestrating the matters?

Was it mad to think a murderer existed among us, a possible traitor?

Gaius had been out drinking with six other Warriors. On route home, he passed down an alley where his body would later be found. It appeared as if someone challenged him. Gaius had been stabbed twice and his own gladius was unbloodied.

Lothar had been out drinking with four other Warriors. On route home, it was thought he stopped to get a drink from a fountain. He was later found drowned within the fountain. It was thought he fell into the fountain and passed out.

Deimos had been out drinking with two Warriors. On route home, he slipped off a six hundred feet high bridge and plummeted to his death.

Nestor had done some investigation but found only a single factor common to all four incidents, alcohol. But that was more indicative of accident than intention.

As we began to brainstorm, we decided to view the matter from who benefited from these tragedies. Again, we could not find any single person who benefited from all four of these incidents.

Nestor informed me that he had even suspected me once. He had tried to consider all possible suspects. But, he had quickly dismissed the possibility.

It was a frustrating matter. Each possibility seemed a dead-end.

It got late and we decided to end for the night. We had discussed the matter at great length and still had not derived any good conclusions. We would try again the next day.

When Nestor left, I tried to get some sleep but my mind was reeling with Nestor's suspicions. Had I been duped? Had I not been responsible for the deaths of my family?

I sat in the dark, thinking, contemplating what Nestor had told me of the other incidents. At some point, I drifted off to sleep.

I slowly woke as the sun's rays peaked through the tiny window in my room. As I woke, I clung to the remnants of a dream I had been in, a dream that provided the key I needed.

I succeeded in my efforts and began to ponder my revelation, to assess the facts in this new light. I soon had a theory, a possible suspect in the tragedies.

If I was correct, I had been betrayed. The entire Caste had been betrayed. By a vile urt of a man, a pile of steaming bosk dung who deserved not the Red.

I waited for Nestor to arrive.

When Nestor finally arrived, I told him my theory, explaining how the facts seemed to fit. And once he thought about it, he agreed that it seemed logical.

And he too was quite angry at the suspect.

We did not have sufficient proof yet to convict the man, but we had enough reason to place him under surveillance, to keep an eye for any other potential victims.

We needed to catch him before he could kill again.

Our initial mistake was our original premise. We had assumed that all four tragedies were related. Based on that assumption, we had been unable to find any common denominators.

But what if they were not all related? What if we only considered three of the incidents? If we did so, then a pattern formed. And that pattern only worked with a combination of three particular incidents. One of the incidents was much different from the others.

I suspected that one of the incidents was actually an accident, a strange coincidence that benefited the killer. This accident helped the killer hide within the evidence as it was likely that people would make the mistake of trying to tie in all four incidents.

If we ignored the death of Deimos, there was a single common denominator of the other three incidents, a single Warrior that all three had been drinking with prior to the incidents.

Callicles.

The man who had walked me home, who shared a final cup of wine with me. A final goblet of kalana, that rich red wine.

Wine that he had poured for me.

And I realized that I had not been that drunk that evening. Something else had been involved.

Tassa powder.

A reddish powder that could render a person unconscious. Best mixed with red wine to conceal its presence. Like ka-la-na wine.

An unconsciousness that would have stopped me from waking while the fire raged around me.

It explained things much better than what I had believed before. Or was that simply wish fulfillment?

I had never before been so drunk that I needed someone to assist me walk home. Callicles had been a little pushy that evening, and I had permitted him to walk me home even though I had not felt that drunk.

Then we shared a final cup of k-al-na at my house. And soon after, I felt very sleepy, barely making it to my couch. That was not the typical effect alcohol had on me.

Yet I had accepted it. I had no reason to suspect anything was wrong. I had trusted Callicles, as had my other friends.

What did Callicles gain from these murders? I did know that he was an ambitious man, though his ambitions had seemed ordinary. We had all desired to be Caste Leader one day.

These murders, and my own resignation, had elevated the status of Callicles. Callicles was now one step away from membership on the High Council of the Caste. We had been his primary competition.

No one else had benefited from the deaths like Callicles. It was he who reaped the greatest rewards.

Obviously any further deaths would be even more suspicious. Callicles would have to be extremely careful now. But he might attempt one more murder. That murder might guarantee him a spot on the High Council.

Callicles had two main choices, to kill a current member of the High Council and hope to be promoted to that vacant seat or kill another Warrior, Axandarius, who was his only other rival for a spot on the High Council. If a spot on the Council became available, it would be filled by either Callicles or Axandarius.

How patient was Callicles?

Nestor left to seek further evidence against Callicles while I tried to consider what else we could do. Nestor would return that evening so we could determine our next course of action.

Yet he never arrived. As each Ahn passed, as the night got deeper, I dreaded what had happened.

Had Nestor fallen victim to Callicles? If so, what could I do?

I sat in the darkness, another sleepless night. I knew what was required but it was a difficult effort. How could I leave my lair? Would not the monster die outside of the safety of his haven?

But could I allow Callicles to succeed in his diabolical plan? No, I could not.

I had to act. And as the morning arrived, I searched deep within a box of my meager possessions. I removed my gladius and scabbard, strapping it to my body.

And I left to find Callicles.

I knew where Callicles lived so I headed directly there. And arrived just in time, just as he was leaving.

As I called out to Callicles, I drew my blade. I challenged him, telling him I intended to kill him for his dishonor, for the horrible crimes he had committed.

Callicles looked at me puzzled but drew his own blade. He was Warrior enough not to refuse a challenge. It must have taken him a few Ihn to realize who I was.

What a sight I must have been! I wore a ragged gray tunic and sandals. The scars down my left side were quite visible, like a melted candle. My left arm was completely useless though I had mobility in my left leg, despite some stiffness.

I had not fought anyone or practiced swordplay in at least six months. I was a bit rusty and needed to draw out this duel a bit until I acclimated myself again to combat.

Callicles was an excellent swordsman and I would be sorely pressed to defeat him. Yet I had a stronger motivation than he. I fought for honor, for justice. He fought for himself.

The battle went strangely. Callicles fought reluctantly, not using his full talent. If he had, I likely would have died soon after the fight began. He offered me quarter twice which I refused.

He seemed hesitant to kill me. And I did not understand why. Was this but another deception?

As the fight progressed, I began to regain my prior skills. I started to fight better, to get a bit more aggressive. This caused Callicles to react accordingly, to use more of his own skill. Yet still he was reluctant to slay me.

Why?

I then decided to offer him a draw, to speak the first words since the duel had begun. And Callicles quickly accepted.

I sheathed my blade, though keeping my hand near its hilt. Callicles did the same.

I then made my accusations, presenting my theory to him and seeking an explanation of his actions.

He looked at me puzzled again and started to respond but that ended abruptly, an iron quarrel suddenly appearing at his temple.

I whipped around, scanning for the Assassin and saw a cloaked figure fleeing across a rooftop. I would never be able to catch him so I rushed over to Callicles.

I could not prevent his death. Callicles croaked out a single word to me and then died.

Innocent.

Innocent.

Innocent.

The complexities of this matter were perplexing me. I needed more information, far more information. I was sure that I would be next to die.

I fled through the city, seeking refuge in some dark corner, a new lair for the monster.

I stopped in a narrow alleyway, sitting among the refuse with then urts. My mind raced with the recent events, trying to decipher everything.

What was the truth?

If Callicles was innocent, then who else was responsible for the murders? There had not been anyone else with ties to more than one of the incidents. Callicles had been the only logical choice.

Provided that Nestor had not lied to me. Damn, had Nestor been duping me from the start? Were Gaius, Lothar and Deimos even dead? Had Nestor just wanted Callicles killed?

I had not tried to confirm any of the "facts" that Nestor told me. I had accepted his word as the truth. Though I had no reason not to trust him. I had known him for ten years.

Yet if the goal was only the death of Callicles, then why the elaborate deception? The assassin's bolt had ended the life of Callicles rather easy. There had been no reason for my involvement.

The next day I promised myself to resolve this enigma. I would seek out the roots of the truth and remove the rot within the Caste. There was at least one betrayer in the Caste and maybe more.

I needed independent confirmation of what Nestor had told me. I needed to know who was and was not dead. I needed to know if Nestor had been lying to me.

It was possible that another attempt would be made on my own life, especially the closer I got to the truth. But monsters can be tough to kill. They can be quite resilient.

Set a monster to catch another monster.

I traded clothes with a beggar, trying to disguise myself a bit, a ratty cloak with a hood pulled over my face. The clothes concealed much of my scars and I covered the parts that showed with dirt and mud.

I meandered over to the Cylinder of Warriors, to catch a glimpse of my old friends, to see if any of those I thought dead were actually alive. I was hesitant to approach anyone yet as I did not know who could be trusted.

So I just watched.

Beggars are often ignored and rarely receive alms. Charity should derive from the Caste. I received several scornful looks and had to move around a bit when the local residents demanded I leave the area.

But my patience paid off. I did see Nestor, and he seemed quite elated as he walked with Dannis and Gibson, two other rarii. So why hadn't Nestor met me as planned? Was he the actual mastermind behind the entangled machinations I found myself within? Was there a logical reason for his absence?

I tried to follow Nestor, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.

The streets were busy enough that Nestor would not realize I was there. He seemed largely unconcerned about his surroundings. He did not seem to be a man who feared.

The trio stopped at the Silver Gyves, a popular paga tavern with the Warriors. The owner, Lantentius, stocked a fine paga brew and owned a dozen luscious kajirae, most who could dance. I had spent many an evening enjoying the delights of this tavern.

As I waited outside, I thought of Dannis and Gibson, trying to determine their relation to Nestor, and whether their deaths might benefit him.

The three men remained within the tavern for many Ahn. It was late at night now, and many other Warriors had come and gone into the tavern.

I observed Nestor and his two friends stagger out, clutching each other in camaraderie. If my thoughts were correct, Dannis would be Nestor's target.

I could not allow Dannis to be murdered. I would stop Nestor any way that I needed to. Tonight, it had to end, all of it. The monster had decided.

I had started my thinking at the beginning, as a tabula rasa, a blank slate. I began with the question of why Nestor would tell me a story concerning the three dead Warriors. Was it the truth? Was it the entire truth as Nestor knew it? Was it false? If it was false, then why was Nestor telling me it?

I could not assume anything. I could not make any presumptions. I could only rely on hard facts and then try to base my suppositions on the sturdiest ground possible.

Nestor was not what I thought to be ambitious. He had little desire to lead the Caste. He was pleased with being a simple Warrior. Nestor had simple tastes as well, not envious of the riches of the Merchants.

He had but one true desire, the acquisition of the perfect kajira.

Duels have often been fought over slaves. In fact, even a few wars have been fought over slaves. Even though they were mere property, mere beasts, they could still garner overwhelming desire. They were the most priceless and worthless objects that existed.

I now remembered an auction at the Curulean, the premiere auction block in Ar, held about nine months ago. Seven of us had attended, most of us with no real plans for make any purchases. Nestor and Callicles had been there. As well as Dannis, Deimos, Lothar and Gaius.

The usual beauties were sold, talented dancers and sultry Exotics. Then a special woman was brought onto the block, a Passion slave who was completely mesmerizing in her allure.

Nestor and Dannis both instantly desired her, both resolute to claim her as their own. The bidding quickly reached unbelievable heights, and the other interested bidders dropped out to observe Nestor and Dannis vie for her ownership.

Deimos and Lothar lent Dannis some money so he could keep bidding. Gaius simply laughed at the antics of the two bidders, refusing to help either of them. Callicles and I also refused to aid Nestor. The bidding had reached an outrageous level and she was but a kajira.

Ultimately, Dannis won the auction, 1,200 gold tarns later. Nestor was fuming and Dannis gloated. The rest of us teased Nestor that night and he eventually stormed off in a rage. We simply laughed off his anger.

Nestor tried for three months to convince Dannis to sell the slave to him but Dannis constantly refused. Dannis was entranced by his new Passion slave and had no inclination to sell her, to anyone for any price.

We occasionally teased Nestor about it, though that tapered off over time. Nestor's anger seemed to vanish and the matter was forgotten. Life went on.

Yet Nestor never forgot. Inside, he seethed in anger and frustration. He blamed all of us for his misfortune, some for lending money to Dannis, others for not lending money to him. It was an unhealthy obsession, a madness that consumed him.

Yet why should that be so? Such insanity was rare on Gor. But then again, Nestor originated on Earth, being brought to Gor only about fifteen years before.

A seed of that insanity must have always existed within him, a side effect of the crazed society of Earth, that world of repression, guilt and denial. It was no wonder that Earth possessed so many doctors to treat mental illnesses.

Nestor was diseased, sick, a tumor upon Gor. And I would excise that tumor.

I watched as Gibson left the company of Nestor and Dannis. I then observed Nestor remove a bota and pass it to Dannis. Dannis eagerly took the verr skin bag and pour a thick stream of red wine down his throat.

In the dim light I was not sure, but I thought I saw Nestor smile. The two men stumbled into an alley, Nestor apparently indicating that he needed to urinate. Dannis thought that to be a good idea as well.

I knew that it was now that Nestor would make his move. Killing Dannis would nearly complete his revenge.

I rushed across the street toward the alleyway, removing my gladius from within the folds of my tattered cloak. As I entered the darkened alley, I saw the outline of a man standing over the body of another.

Was I too late? I screamed out "Nestor" as I charged him, hoping he had not slain Dannis so quickly.

Nestor's sword was in his hand, the steel glimmering in the dim moonlight. Yet the glimmer seemed total, no dark spots caused by blood. Dannis may have passed out but I did not believe Nestor had hurt him yet.

Steel met steel as I thrust toward Nestor, his blade parrying mine. His own blade then arced upward and I backed up a step bringing my gladius up to block. Nestor was the better swordsman but my only concern was with killing him.

As we fought, Nestor spat out that he should have used more tassa powder on me the night of the fire. The venomous hate in his voice spoke volumes.

I had my confirmation. Nestor was a monster and he would be destroyed.

I redoubled my efforts, pressing the attack.

The more I attacked, the less I defended myself and thus Nestor was able to cut me several times though not seriously. But, my continued assault soon had him on the defensive.

I fought with a special fury, in memory of my murdered friends. I fought as if there were the last battle I would ever fight. I fought to avenge my loving family.

Nestor fought simply to survive. A monster caught out of his lair, vulnerable.

Nestor grinned maniacally when his gladius pierced my left side, a deep, bloody cut. But that grin soon turned to an agonizing grimace as my own steel then thrust into his chest, a fatal strike.

Nestor stood for a few Ihn, his mouth gaping open, unable to do more than gurgle some unintelligible words. Then he collapsed to the ground.

I quickly examined Dannis, ignoring my own wounds and found him unconscious, but unharmed. I then ministered to my own wounds, none that would be fatal.

That night I slew two monsters.

First, I killed Nestor, a deadly disease that needed to be extinguished. He was very clearly a monster who had committed heinous acts. He had no place on our world.

Second, I killed the monster within myself. Though I would forever look monstrous with my scars, I would no longer feel like a monster inside. I was not responsible for the deaths of my family. I had brought about justice.

With both Nestor and Callicles dead, I would never learn all of the details of the night of the fire. I just knew that Nestor had given me tassa powder. How he did so is still a mystery.

I am not completely sure that Callicles was innocent but I am willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Dannis was eternally grateful to me and even offered to reward me with his Passion slave. I politely declined his generous offer.

I did not return to the military as my useless left arm would have been a liability. But, the Caste wanted to retain my services as an instructor. So, I accepted their offer.

It was a start.

Some day I would Companion again, and have another family.

It was time to live again.