Part 1

 

I am legally dead. But I still live.

I was the victim of a cruel plot, a cunning scheme that succeeded as planned. And it caused me to lose everything, from my vast wealth to my multitude of friends. I no longer have a Home Stone. I am no longer a citizen of any place. I am dead to the world.

But all fear me.  

I once had three sons but two of them have predeceased me.

My eldest son lost his life in battle when Cosian invaders came to the city. I was proud of him for his military prowess. His skills had allowed him to raise Caste.

My middle son died in a terrible accident involving an angry high tharlarion. We shall never know all the details of exactly what happened. He was a skilled Merchant, with a keen eye for profit.

My youngest son still lives, and it is he who orchestrated my doom. 

Maybe it was partially my fault. As a Merchant, I traveled frequently. Sea voyages to Bazi, Schendi, and Anango. Caravans to Turia, Tor and Kurtzal. All across Gor.

Thus, I could not give proper attention to my youngest son. So others influenced him more, including a disreputable cousin. A greedy man who infected my son with an insatiable avarice.

Maybe that is what gave my son the inspiration for his plot.  

Greed ruled my son, pushing aside his conscience, his morality. And it took me a long time to understand the depths of his problems. All Merchants possess a bit of greed. But my son was consumed by it.

When I realized the extent, I began limiting my son’s access to my wealth, to protect him, to shelter him from potential harm. This only angered him, causing great resentment. Again, fueled by his cousin.

And I failed to see the depths of his anger, that began to simmer into hatred. That coursed through his veins and brought terrible impulses to him. Why didn’t I realize this was happening? 

My son informed me that he was going on a journey, a vacation, to lovely Venna. Venna was a luxurious city, a fine place to relax and enjoy life. I thought this would be good for my son.

I did not know that this would be his alibi. But he had already set his plan in motion and he did not need to be present for it to work.

In fact, if it did work, he certainly did not want to be around me. He would not want to take that risk. He would not want to become one of the living dead. 

A Merchant from Ko-ro-ba arrived, seeking a meeting with me to discuss a beneficial deal. I did not know the man but thought that maybe there would be some profit to be had. I met him at his inn and we shared some paga and roast bosk while we discussed idle chit chat.

We then retired to his room to discuss business. The paga continued to flow as we talked and I ended up fairly drunk. But I also thought that we might have made a deal as well.

The Merchant then offered the use of his kajira to me, and I felt it would be an insult to refuse him. So I went off to another room to spend some time with her. 

Due to the excessive amount of paga I had consumed, I remember little of my time with the slave. I due recall the closeness, the intimacy. The long, hot, wet kisses on my mouth, my neck. Her body pulled tightly against my own. Breathing in her very essence.

When I awoke the next morning, she was gone. The Merchant had to hurry off but promised to send a messenger to me soon.

So I stumbled home, my head pounding, my throat dry. Never realizing that I had been killed that evening. 

Several days later, I began to notice a few sores on my body, itchy spots that seemed highly unusual. I immediately consulted a Physician, worried about what it might be, hoping it was something minor.

The Physician quickly confirmed my worst fears. I had been infected. Infected by the worst disease possible. A highly contagious disease.

I was now one of the Afflicted Ones. 

Few speak of its name, often referring to it as the Sacred Infliction, a term supported by the Initiates. It was called Dar-Kosis, the Holy Disease.

Gorean medicine had cured nearly all diseases. Dar-Kosis was one of the exceptions. And the reason a cure had not yet been found was that the Initiates would not permit research in that area.

The Initiates claim that it is a weapon of the Priest-Kings to punish people so it would be heresy to seek a cure. It is also considered heresy to shed their blood, though stoning them is permitted.  

It is a virulent, wasting disease that will destroy my body. Afflicted Ones are shunned by all. They must wear yellow robes as a sign of their diseases and many clack a wooden device to warn people of their approach.

The Initiate Caste has prepared special pits for the Afflicted to live in, pits which are more like prison because once you enter them you can never leave. Food is dropped into the pits by men on tarns.

On their own, the Afflicted Ones can wander the countryside but no city would allow you entrance. They would stone you if you got too close to their gates. 

Someone had infected me. Had it been accidental, unknowing? Or had it been intentional?

The Physician immediately quarantined me so I could not investigate further. He did ask me many questions, trying to determine where I might have been infected.

I told him what I knew. I did not think it would help much. 

The Physician later gave me the option, to enter one of the pits or to be exiled into the countryside. I would not imprison myself so I chose the countryside.

I wanted the Physician to send a message to my son and my lawyer. I told him I need to make some business preparations, to obtain some monies prior to my exile.

The Physician then told me something that sparked in my mind. Everything fell into place. I knew then that it had all been planned. And I suspected my son as the primary culprit. 

I was now penniless. I owned absolutely nothing. My entire fortune was no longer available to me.

Why?

It was simple. The Afflicted were considered legally dead, and thus all of their possessions passed to their heirs. Meaning my youngest son had inherited everything. I now had nothing. 

The Physician did send word to my son, who had just returned from his trip. My son declined to send a reply.

I knew then he was responsible for my condition.

The Merchant from Ko-ro-ba had been a set up. The kajira I had spent the night with had to have been infected. And in my drunken stupor, I had failed to notice.

A perfect plan. 

So now my son has all of my vast wealth, and will undoubtedly try to increase that by any means necessary. I am sure he will give his cousin a share of his ill-gotten gains.

I must wander the countryside, avoiding people and dangerous animals. And see my body deteriorate. I doubt I will live too long. Everything is spreading so quickly.

I do not believe the disease is a punishment from the Priest-Kings. But it is punishment nonetheless.  

Part 2

 I passed through a Ka-la-na grove, the sweet smelling trees pleasing my senses. I picked a ripe Ka-la-na fruit from one of the trees and began to eat it, savoring its juicy contents.

As I walked through the grove, the sun beaming down upon me, I was not paying much attention to my surroundings. And I did not see the other man until I was almost on top of him.

I was garbed in my yellow robes, and the sores on my face were quite evident. He would have no doubt that I was an Afflicted One. And he would immediately flee, fearful of contagion. 

But he did not run. He was not petrified with fear. In fact, he smiled at me, seemingly oblivious to the danger he faced.

I thought at first that he might be a simpleton, garbed in his plain brown robe. Yet he did not strike me as such. I saw a spark of intelligence with his eyes.

I forced myself to speak, something I had not done in almost a month. I told him I was an Afflicted One. My voice was raspy, hoarse.  

He nodded, stating that he was aware of my condition and that he had no need to worry. He then asked me to follow him back to his hut. He offered me some food and wine.

I was greatly puzzled by his actions, suspecting that maybe he too was Afflicted but did not wear his yellow robe. It was obvious that he had no concern about possibily catching the terrible disease.

So I followed him. We traveled about a mile until we reached a small hut, set back in the woods, almost camouflaged. 

As I entered the hut, it appeared a simple place, what one would expect to see in any Peasant or Woodsman home. This strange man then moved a wooden crate from atop a tattered rug. Next, he moved the rug aside revealing a trap door.

He opened the trap door and then beckoned me to follow him down the ladder into a basement area.

I followed him, ending up in a large chamber, a place incongruous to the upstairs area. A place of seeming potential. A place that seemed to answer the enigma of this man without fear. 

He then turned to me and spoke, “My name is Menelaus and I am a Physician. I am also immune to Dar-Kosis.”

It was amazing. I stood within a sophisticated research laboratory. This Physician must be conducting forbidden experiments on seeking a cure for Dar-Kosis.

The Initiates forbade the Physicians to seek a cure for the Holy Disease. It was Heresy to attempt such a thing. But it was said that some Physicians did it anyways, working in secret. The search for knowledge often cannot be stopped.  

He then continued, “I have been researching a cure for Dar-Kosis and finally created a serum that provides an immunity to Dar-Kosis. But it is not a cure. I can prevent people from getting the disease, but if someone already has it, I can do nothing.

“Thus, I am immune but I cannot cure your infliction. For now. I continue to work hard on this matter, and it is only a matter of time before I do find a cure. One does exist, I am sure of that.

“And you could help me, if you were so inclined. I could very much use a test subject, someone who does possess Dar-Kosis.” 

I was pleased of the Physician’s progress but very apprehensive about being a test subject. I had never liked going to see the Physician, being poked and prodded by all sorts of instrumentation.

But then maybe I could assist him in finding a cure, saving countless others. I am sure the work would be dangerous, even possibly fatal. But I already had a death sentence in effect. The Dar-Kosis would see to that.

So I assented to help the Physician, to be his subject.  

We continued to discuss many things for the rest of the day and I even told him of how I ended up infected. I told him all about my son, my thoughts on his treachery and greed.

He told me of his life, of barely escaping from the Physician’s Cylinder of Ar when men hired by the Initiates stormed it, to put an end to some Dar-Kosis research. Some of his colleagues had not been so lucky, and had ended up dead.

He had fled to continue his work in secret, isolated from everyone else. He maintained his guise, claiming to be a simple hunter.  

We quickly became friends, and I did what I could to help him. He explained to me much about his prior research and what he intended to do with me.

I underwent a lengthy battery of tests, having samples drawn of many of my bodily fluids and tissues. And when he was not working, we ate, drank and talked.

I had not realized how lonely I had been this past month.  

Two months passed.

It did appear that the Physician was able to slow the progress of my disease though he had not found a cure yet. He claimed to have gathered much important information and data. But he did not give me false hopes that he could save me.

I had largely come to grips with my impending death. I knew its inevitability and I was glad that my remaining life might be able to help others, to prevent them from dying as I would. 

Most of us give little consideration to our deaths, maybe only fleeting moments of some long-term future potential. But with death so close to me, I had to come to terms with it.

And using my last days to help others who could be similarly inflicted as me was a worthy action. My death would have meaning. I would not die alone, in the deep forests. And someone would remember me.

A calm has descended over me.  

Two more months passed.

I near the end. I am constantly weak, and everything is failing me. My sight is going and I am sure these will be the last words I ever write.

There is not a cure yet but things continue to look promising. It is only a matter of time. The Physician has much to work with and is very optimistic. But it will be too late for me.  

I will miss him. He was a good friend despite the short time we knew each other.

As for my son, I only wish that he wake up one day and realize the errors of his life. I hope that he will understand his terrible mistakes and try to make amends.

It is not too late for him yet. He still has a chance to turn it all around. 

It grows cold.

And dark.

I wish you well.

 

Part 3

The disease finally conquered his body though it never conquered his mind. He was a man of great depths, of intense bravery, of high moral character.

And he became my friend. A treasured friend who I will miss very much.

His death will not be in vain. He has spurred my research to new heights, bringing me to the very precipice of a cure. It is only a matter of time. 

His story angered me, his ungrateful, selfish and greedy son. What a cruel method of killing someone. What twisted mind could conceive of doing such a thing to their own father?

I raised the thought of revenge, of hiring an Assassin even. I discussed a number of ways to obtain vengeance against his sadistic offspring.

But he would not even consider it. It was not his way. He only hoped that his son would repent on his own, find the moral path. And he even had faith that it would happen one day. 

But now that my friend was gone, my own mind turned to thoughts of his son. Should I obtain vengeance for him? Should I make his son pay for his crimes?

Or would that disrespect and dishonor the memory of my friend?

Was there a way to show his son the extent of his sins? Was there a way to lead his son to repentance?

It would be much easier to hire an Assassin.  

I journeyed to Brundisium, contemplating potential plans. Some form of justice was needed, something to balance the scales. And there was only me.

No one else knew his story, of the treachery. And he had been my friend. And that meant much. It was a bond, a union not of blood but binding nonetheless.

I had nearly reached the gates of that great port city when an idea struck me particularly solidly. I quickly pondered over the basics and moved on to the finer details. This could work. 

His son was dissolute, a reprobate. He enjoyed long evenings at the paga taverns, sleeping much of the day away as his employees increased his wealth. Thus, he was vulnerable to the same type of cruelty he inflicted on his father.

I knew how to mimic the symptoms of Dar-Kosis. A cursory look at such a person would not detect the difference though a Physician surely would.

And I would do so. I would use a kajira to deceive the son. I would make him think he had acquired Dar-Kosis. 

But there was more preparation required. I needed to visit the Cylinder of Physicians, to talk to them a bit, to discern some information.

During the next four Hands, I continued with my preparations. I had made a friend, a Physician named Borcin. And I revealed to Borcin, after a few cups of ka-la-na, my secret researches into Dar-Kosis.

I swore him to confidentiality. But I lied to him a bit, telling him that I possessed a cure for the diseases, provided it was caught early enough. And that the cure was very expensive as it required some rare ingredients.  

Four Hands later, I sent the son his “gift,” a kajira seemingly infected with Dar-Kosis. When he awoke from his drunken stupor the next day, he was horrified to see the sores on the kajira’s body. He immediately fled the scene, panicking.

I then ensured the kajira vanished, so that none could check her for the disease. The son had not seen her long enough to be able to adequately identify her so I had little worries.

And then I waited for contact. 

Borcin was at my insulae about six Ahn after the son had left the tavern. Borcin was the personal Physician of the son, a fact I had learned some time ago. A fact I relied upon.

I acted shocked when Borcin arrived, and I listened to him tell me of the son’s possible exposure. He pleaded with me to help the son, to save him from the same fate that had claimed his father.

Inwardly I smiled as I “reluctantly” agreed to help. 

I finally met the son and he fit my expectations. He was slovenly and unkempt. And there was a wild look in his eyes, great fear, absolute terror.

He told me of what had happened and begged me for help. Borcin had told him of my researches into Dar-Kosis, that I possessed a cure.

I assented that I did have such a cure but that I was reluctant to part with it. And the son promised me anything for the cure.  

Anything. Exactly what I had hoped to hear.

A bargain was struck.

Signatures were placed upon parchment.  

I pretended to make an antidote for him and he swallowed every drop of the vile-tasting concoction. That made me smile.

And of course he was not infected with Dar-Kosis. So the “cure” worked perfectly. And he was completely grateful.

And then the fear vanished and he realized what he had done. 

I now possessed 90% of his wealth, the price for my curative services. And the documents were all legal.

The son very reluctantly transferred his assets to me. He still possessed a decent amount of gold but he was no longer wealthy.

And I felt justice had been served. 

I later used some of the money to have a memorial constructed for my friend. The finest marble was used to make a fitting tribute to that fine man.

I would use a portion as well to continue my researches. Much of the rest would go to the Cylinder of Physicians. Research always needed continued income.

Hopefully the son would now wake up to reality, and take a proper stock of his life.