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Read Ebook: The Measurement of Intelligence An Explanation of and a Complete Guide for the Use of the Stanford Revision and Extension of the Binet-Simon Intelligence Scale by Terman Lewis M Lewis Madison Cubberley Ellwood Patterson Editor
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Ebook has 1771 lines and 127282 words, and 36 pages
Surrounded by its many suns, Lysor scorned Federation rule and plotted the destruction of our galaxy. So Craig Nesom came in a starship to this--
PLANET OF DREAD
Face slack, eyes glazed with terror, the Baemae wench came forward through the gate into the walled ring.
An appreciative murmur ran through the crowd. As one, the assembled Kukzubas barons and their ladies pressed closer about the pit-rail, tense and eager with anticipation.
High on his dais, Lord Zenaor chuckled. "A pretty thing, is she not, Vydys?" he queried of the woman who sat beside him, dark vision of sinister beauty.
Hot with strange passion, the woman's eyes clung to the cringing figure in the pit. The pink tip of her tongue flicked at her lips. "If you can see your way to calling any Baemae woman pretty. For my part, I prefer her in her proper role, as prey here in the games."
"So--?" Lord Zenaor raised a mocking coal-black eyebrow. "No wonder they call you 'Vydys the Cruel' behind your back, my dear! If you had your way, there'd soon be no Baemae left alive to serve us."
Visibly, Vydys stiffened. Her head came round--dark eyes flashing, jet hair ashimmer; and when she spoke her words were edged with fury. "Have a care, Zenaor! I've no taste for taunts, even from the chief of barons."
"The truth is no taunt." Zenaor gave not a fraction. "Because pain is your passion, you drive our serfs to rebellion."
"Rebellion--!" The woman's eyes glinted like crater diamonds. "How many of the Baemae have flown south with their cursed discs already, off to the djevoda ranges? There lies your rebellion--and only torture will stop it!" Her laugh rang gall-bitter. "Or perhaps, like that Narla, you believe we should free them?"
"Keep your tongue off my daughter!" It was a command that brooked no discussion. "As for the free range, the discs, cross them off. They'll soon be no menace."
"Oh?" Vydys' lips twisted, mocking. "No, doubt you have a plan, my lord Zenaor--"
"I have a plan indeed." Zenaor's tone was icy. "One word too many, and you'll die as its first step."
Vydys faltered.
"You see, my dear, our goals are different." Zenaor clipped, smiling thinly. "You lust after pain, I after power. As chief of barons, I mean to have it--and that means holding down the Baemae. But I'll waste no time on half-way measures. When I strike, it will be in my own way, and it will win. And"--now he leaned forward, close to Vydys--"and even one lovely as you shall die if in that moment she plots against me."
Vydys' nostrils flared. But before she could speak, the chief of barons turned away. He raised his voice till it echoed through the great vaulted hall. "Wench! Are you ready?"
Below him, in the ring, the Baemae girl's lips moved in a soundless agony of panic.
A ripple of laughter rose from the crowd. Packed bodies shifted and pressed tighter. Hungrily, mercilessly, a thousand eyes appraised the evening's victim.
Zenaor said, "Wench, tonight you meet the Lady Vydys' roller. If you survive, I'll make a place for you in my own harem. If not...." He shrugged: turned back to Vydys. "My dear--"
Vydys' high, proud breasts rose on a quick-drawn breath. Lithely, she twisted in her seat. "My helm, serf!"
The rawboned Baemae youth who wore her livery lifted the ornate metal headdress from its case; stepped forward. His face was pale, sweat-beaded. His hands trembled.
Vydys' eyes distended. "Why do you shake so, carrion?"
The youth's voice quavered. "She--that girl...." He floundered, groped. "She--she is my sister, Lady Vydys."
"Your sister!" The mask of anger fell away from Vydys' face. "You mean she is of your blood? You love her?"
Mutely, the serfman nodded.
"And you would suffer were she to meet my roller?"
Again, the liveried Baemae's head moved in silent affirmation.
A light gleamed deep in Vydys' eyes, all dark and evil. Once more, she ran the small, pink tongue along her lips, as if savoring the tension of the moment.
"You--you will spare her--?" The youth's words came out a hoarse, cracked whisper.
"Spare her--and spoil the evening's entertainment?" The Lady Vydys' ripe lips curved in a small, slow smile that was straight from hell. "Surely, serf, you would not ask that of me!" And then: "Place my helm upon me."
A new tremor ran through the serving-serf. Wordless, he slid the shining metal casing down over the jet hair, seated it carefully upon the woman's head.
Approvingly, she nodded. "Now, seat yourself before me--here, where I can watch your face."
Stiff-lipped, the youth obeyed.
Vydys laughed softly; turned to Zenaor. "You see, my lord? Down there in the ring will be the wench, pitting herself against my roller; while here close by me sits her brother, suffering with her. It offers a new kind of titillation!"
Zenaor shrugged. "As you will it."
Eyes sparkling, Vydys leaned forward. "Let in the roller!"
An iron gate lifted. A faceted four-foot sphere bowled slowly out of the shadowed passage into the walled ring.
The roller.
A strange creature, in any evolutional pattern. Its surface was completely covered with leathery, inch-wide octagonal pads, each centered with a third-inch cup that served as combined mouth and mode of movement. For through these cups it both took nourishment and pulled itself in whatever direction it sought to go by applying differential suction to the surface on which it rested.
Now, in the center of the ring, it hesitated; paused there, teetering, like some great ball come to rest.
The Baemae girl caught her breath, the sound rasping over-loud in the sudden hush that had fallen upon the crowd. Eyes wild and wide, she shrank, back against the wall, hands splayed out flat against the polished duroid surface.
Still smiling, Vydys spoke to her victim--gentle, coaxing: "This is a game wench--a game betwixt you and me. Do not fear the roller. In itself it is harmless, a mere ball of flesh with so little brain that it barely knows enough to feed. But through this helm"--she touched her headdress--"my thoughts can project waves that stimulate its nervous system, so that it moves wherever I may will it. You understand?"
The girl below gave no sign that she had even heard.
Vydys pressed on: "So, now, I'll spin the roller at you, while you try to dodge it. That is the game. To win, you have only to leap atop the thing and scale the ring-wall."
Among the barons, someone laughed aloud, harsh and explosive.
The Baemae youth who was the victim's brother buried his face in his hands.
Still the girl in the pit said nothing. She seemed to have eyes only for the roller.
Zenaor's black brows drew together. "Get on with it!"
Vydys murmured, "The game begins...." Her face set in a mask of concentration.
Down in the ring, the roller began to move once more. Slowly at first, then faster, it bowled around in a long curve.
The girl slid along the wall, keeping space between her and the creature.
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