The heat of Gor pressed down, a thick, suffocating blanket that shimmered above the swamplands near the city of Ar. My boots, made from the hide of some unfortunate kaiila, soft and water proof, as I carefully waded through the muck and mire, was far from civilized settlements, on a fool's errand perhaps, searching for a rare luminescent fungus rumored to possess potent healing properties – a desperate measure for a new plague afflicting the slaves in Axe Glacier. As my duties often led me into places where even the bravest Gorean warriors hesitated.
My hand instinctively went to the hilt of the long knife at my belt, a habit born of necessity on this brutal planet. The air was thick with the scent of dried blood and some unidentifiable, metallic tang. A warning, usually. But today, it was different. It led me, not to a fresh kill, but to a peculiar silence.
I crested a low ridge, my breath catching in my throat. Below, nestled in a shallow, shadowed ravine, was a sight that defied all my accumulated Gorean experiences. There were… beings. Tall, gaunt, with six jointed limbs – four for locomotion, two for manipulation – and multiple, faceted eyes that gleamed with an unnerving intelligence. Their bodies were covered in a sleek, obsidian chitin, and from their backs protruded spinnerets, from which they spun fine, silvery threads, weaving intricate patterns into what looked like shelters. Spider People. Not beast-men, not slaves, not even a recognized Gorean tribe. These were something else entirely.
My heart hammered against my ribs, a primal fear seizing me. Every instinct screamed “run”. But my physician’s curiosity, a stubborn beast, held me rooted. They moved with an unsettling grace, their many limbs articulating silently. Then, one of them, larger than the others, turned its multi-faceted gaze directly upon me. Its mandibles twitched, and I braced myself for an attack.
Instead, a small, metallic sphere, no larger than my fist, nestled around its abdomen came to life. A soft, synthesized voice, oddly devoid of accent yet perfectly articulate, flowed from it.
“Greetings stranger, do not be alarmed. We mean you no harm.”
My jaw must have dropped. An “electronic translation device”? On Gor? This was an impossibility. My mind raced, trying to reconcile the primitive, monstrous appearance with such advanced technology. I slowly lowered my hand from my knife.
"Who… who are you?" I managed, my voice raspy.
The sphere whirred softly. "We are the Weavers of the Deep. Our name in your tongue is… complex. We have observed you, Physician, for some time. We know of your skills." Observed me? For some time? The implications were chilling. Had I been watched during my most vulnerable moments? My private thoughts, my struggle to adapt to Gor? A cold dread settled over me, but then the Weaver continued, its tone urgent now.
"We require your aid. One of ours is gravely injured. We do not possess the necessary knowledge to mend the breach."
It gestured with one of its manipulative limbs towards the center of their encampment. There, lying on a bed of finely spun silk, was another Spider Person. Its obsidian carapace was fractured, a gaping wound leaking a viscous, greenish fluid. The limb connected to the injured area was twisted at an unnatural angle. Its many eyes were dim, and it trembled violently. My physician's eye instantly assessed the damage: massive trauma, likely internal bleeding, possibly nerve damage. Despite the fear, despite the alienness, the sight stirred my deepest professional instinct. An injured creature, suffering, in need of help. It was a universal language.
"Show me," I said, my voice steadier now.
The large Weaver, whom I mentally dubbed the ‘Elder,’ led me forward. Its companions, smaller and leaner, parted to let me pass, their faceted eyes following my every move. They seemed to hold a mixture of apprehension and hope. My medical kit, a robust leather satchel filled with implements of my Caste , felt heavy and reassuring at my side..
"He fell from the Great Crevasse during the harvest of shadow-moss. The impact was severe. Our traditional mending techniques are insufficient for such a rupture."
The wound was indeed severe. The chitin was splintered, exposing muscle and what looked like internal organs, glistening and strange. My training kicked in, overriding the sensory overload of alien anatomy. I needed to stop the bleeding, clean the wound, and stabilize the fracture. "I need light," I instructed. "And hot water, if you have it. Clean cloths, as many as you can." As I knelt beside the injured Weaver, the Elder’s translation device continued its soft hum. One of the smaller Weavers moved, and from a nearby silk structure, a soft, pulsating orb of light appeared, illuminating the scene with an ethereal glow. Another returned with a steaming, earthenware pot, suspended between two of its limbs, and a bundle of surprisingly soft, strong silk strands.
"This will have to do for sutures," I murmured, examining the silk. It was finer and stronger than anything I had encountered on Gor. "And for bandages."
I sterilized my Gorean-steel instruments in the hot water, the Weavers watching with an intense, silent focus. They didn't flinch as I began to probe the wound, their quiet presence unnerving but also oddly calming. The injured Weaver let out a soft, clicking groan, and the Elder’s device translated, "He endures. He feels pain, but does not falter." "I have pain-reducing agents, but they may not work on his physiology," I warned, preparing a concentrated dose of sap from the sard-thorn, a powerful Gorean analgesic. I applied it topically, hoping for some effect.
Hours blurred into a methodical, focused dance of sutures, antiseptic washes, and bone setting. The fractured limb required careful manipulation. Their internal structures were different, but the principles of mending were the same: reduce the fracture, immobilize it. I used splints carved from local hardwood and bound them with layers of their incredible silk. For the main wound, I meticulously removed shattered chitin fragments, cleaned the exposed tissues, and then, with fine Gorean needles and their own resilient silk, I began to close the rupture. Each stitch was a tiny act of defiance against the brutal laws of Gor, a testament to life’s tenacity. As I worked, I stole glances at the Weavers around me. Their faceted eyes, which I initially found terrifying, now seemed to convey a profound empathy, a shared anxiety for their kin. They offered no commentary, no unnecessary movements, only silent vigilance. Their electronic translator was quiet, used only when I needed to ask for something specific. It was a bizarre, almost surreal operating theatre – a makeshift clinic under the harsh Gorean sun, surrounded by a race of intelligent, tech-wielding arachnids. Finally, the last suture was tied. I wiped sweat from my brow, feeling the bone-deep fatigue that always followed such intense work. The injured Weaver’s breathing was more even, its trembling had ceased.
"He will live," I announced, my voice hoarse. "The next few days are critical. He needs warmth, rest, and fluid. And watch for infection. I can leave you with some antiseptic poultices, but you must apply them diligently." The Elder Weavers inclined their entire bodies in a gesture that I recognized as profound gratitude. The metallic sphere chimed softly. "You have performed a miracle, Physician Elizabeth. Our kind rarely extends its reach beyond the veiled territories. You have shown us a different path."
"A different path?" I questioned, rubbing my weary hands. "What do you mean?"
"Your dedication to preserving life, even that of a species so different from your own, speaks volumes," the device explained. "We had believed all surface dwellers to be driven by conquest or fear. You embody neither." I pondered its words. They had been watching me, observing Gor, and perhaps forming their own judgments. My presence, trying to bring healing to a planet steeped in violence, must have seemed an anomaly. "My path is simply to heal," I replied, gathering my instruments. "It is the only path I know."
Before I left, the Elder presented me with a small, intricately woven pouch of the luminescent fungus I had been seeking. It glowed with a faint, internal light, pulsing gently. "A token of our gratitude. It grows only in the deepest chasms, far from the light of Gor’s sun." I accepted it, my fingers brushing against its cool, spongy surface. It was more than I had hoped for.
As I trekked back towards the familiar, the image of the Spider People stayed with me. Their six limbs, their faceted eyes, their advanced technology shrouded in a primitive existence. They were a secret, a testament to the myriad wonders Gor still held, hidden beneath its brutal surface. And I had just become privy to one of its greatest. The world I thought I knew had just expanded, woven anew with silk and circuitry, and I wondered what other secrets this strange, beautiful, terrifying planet still held.
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