Tarot - God Of Tarot Part 16

"No man can get along on a continual diet of abstinence. A man must be permitted normal s.e.xual expression, as G.o.d intended. He must express his natural urges, of whatever type, or wither away."

"Still," Brother Paul said uncertainly. He had his beliefs, but they were being sorely besieged by this logic and the woman in his arms.

The priestess knelt before him, as though in supplication, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s sliding excruciatingly down the length of his torso. "I adore thee, I A O!" she repeated.

"Hey, that's not I A O!" Brother Paul protested. But then he realized that perhaps it was; she worshiped a serpent-legged G.o.d, so she sought the serpent in man.

Under her ma.s.sage, that serpent rose and swelled like the forepart of a cobra.

The skin of the head peeled back, releasing the faint scent generated in that special pocket-the scent that the knife denied to most Christians and all Moslems and Jews, in the guise of "health."

But Brother Paul had never been subjected to that unkindest cut. His member was whole, and it functioned as G.o.d had designed it to. The scent of arousal wafted out. She inhaled that aroma. A beatific smile spread across her face. "I A O!"

she breathed ecstatically, her breath caressing the organ.

"Love is the law," Therion intoned. "Love under will."

"Enough of this!" Brother Paul cried, drawing her hands and face away from his anatomy. He lifted her up, but she spun away and sprawled half across the couch.

(Couch? Where was the cup? Oh-they were the same.) He pursued her, caught her with both his hands about her waist as she pushed herself up on the support, and brought his groin to her swelling posterior. Her hands, dislodged as her bottom was raised up, slid off the rim; the upper section of her body fell down inside the cup. Now she was bent forward at a right angle, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s flattening against the inner surface of the cup, her elbows braced at its depth, her face invisible within its shadow. But he didn't need her b.r.e.a.s.t.s or arms or face. He guided his member by hand, found the place, and thrust.

He had imagined easy penetration of her exposed v.a.g.i.n.a, but it was not easy.

There was some pain for him as he forced entry past constricted muscles, without sufficient lubrication. But the drug spurred him on; he was, after all, the Conqueror!

The climax was explosive: a nuclear detonation in a subterranean vault. The recoil flung him backward, breaking the connection. Simultaneously his heroin high collapsed; he felt tired and sick, pumped out, without ambition, irritable, and disgusted. The priestess had fallen out of the cup to the floor, outstretched, supine. Therion was squatting beside her, almost over her head.

Maybe she was hurt; it had been quite a blast. Brother Paul didn't care. He just wanted another sniff of H.

He staggered toward Therion. "Give it to me," he rasped.

"I'm busy!" Therion snapped, still squatting. "I have to give her-"

Brother Paul's nose was running and his stomach was cramping. Withdrawal symptoms, he knew. "Give me the stuff."

Therion ignored him, concentrating on the girl.

"I want more smack, more junk," Brother Paul insisted. "What do you call it these days? Horse? Snow? Where is it?"

Still Therion did not respond; he was still squatting.

Sudden rage engulfed Brother Paul. "You're paying more attention to her than to me! You're supposed to guide me!"

"s.h.i.t," Therion said.

Brother Paul remembered; that was another name for heroin. "Then give me s.h.i.t!"

he cried.

A cup appeared before him, but it contained no white powder. Angrily he swung his fist at it, knocking it over. A green snake fell out, hissing. A foot of the G.o.d Abraxas? No, this was merely the symbol of Jealousy.

He was getting nowhere. His hot flash was converting into a chill. What had he gotten into? "Why should you be so self-a.s.sured," Brother Paul demanded, "when I am so confused and sick! It isn't fair!"

Therion looked up. 'I am content because I comprehend my own essential nature,"

he said. "I know what I am, and who I serve. I am at peace with myself. No victory, wealth, or woman can match that. Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law."

"Then show me how to comprehend my essential nature!" Brother Paul cried. "There is the key to ultimate power!"

"You must seek it within yourself, extricating yourself from the prison of the senses," Therion said. "Meditation, such as is sponsored by yoga-"

"No! I can't wait for that. I want it now!"

"Then take the shortcut." Therion held up a small capsule. "LSD."

Brother Paul s.n.a.t.c.hed it and gulped it down.

It was like a headlong rush into a maelstrom. Sensations were coming at him from all directions, and seeming to go out from him similarly. Sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and touches. He saw the room. The girl was still lying on the floor, her mouth open. Therion was still squatting over her. He saw all the furniture. The patch of sunlight from the window. He heard the wheezing of wind around the parapet, the baying of some distant animal, the ticking of an unseen clock. He smelled the leather couch, and the bra.s.s of the inside of the big cup, and dust from the floor, and the faint, sweet scent of a flower outside, somewhere. He tasted the remains of the capsule. He felt the cool stone floor under his feet, the caress of a trifling breeze on his bare body. All distractions, to be dispensed with!

He focused his awareness, shutting all external stimuli out. Now he saw light behind his eyelids, for they were not thick enough to make total darkness. He heard the sound of his own breathing, and of his heartbeat. He smelled his own breath, a touch of whiskey still on it. Whiskey? Oh-from that first drink, back at Temptation. His tongue tasted slightly bitter. He felt the tension of his muscles as they tightened to keep him balanced.

Actually there were many more than five senses, but most of the unnamed ones could be lumped under touch: feeling of discomfort, muscle tension, orientation.

Distractions.

He sat down on the floor, a.s.suming the crosslegged yoga position favored for meditation, and consciously relaxed. Gradually his bodily tensions melted away, releasing his mind.

It was like flying low over a landscape toward the sunrise. His half-random thoughts zoomed past like technicolor clouds, some formless, some beautiful, some menacing. Below was the castle, with the priestess lying like Sleeping Beauty within it, awaiting the kiss to restore her to consciousness, except that that was an expurgation. It was really the s.e.xual act that would rouse her, making the life within her quicken, only they couldn't tell children that (and why the h.e.l.l not?) and in this case that act had put her to sleep instead.

Priestess of Abraxas? What was such temple worship except ritualized prost.i.tution? Prost.i.tution, the oldest profession of woman. It would exist as long as men had the money and the urge and women had neither. How ironic that it should be combined with religion! Yet religion had about as great an affinity for the vices of man as any other inst.i.tution.

The drug enhanced everything, providing a phenomenal visual, aural, and tactile experience. The Dragon of Temptation charged him, but was inflated like a hydrogen balloon until it exploded into harmless flame. Therion would say it had farted itself to death. The priestess of I A O again, opening her lovely body to him, crying, "I adore thee, I A O!" but he was no longer aroused. The suits of the Tarot, symbols flying up around him like the cards in Alice in Wonderland, male wands and swords thrusting through female cups and disks. Swiftly, in mere seconds, he abolished all these interfering thoughts. Gradually he oriented on his target: his own ultimate essence.

Now, in the distance, he saw the first glow of it- the effulgence of the Grail.

Like the breaking of the dawn, that miraculous light expanded as he arrowed toward it. The disruptive presence of his superficial thoughts diminished, shining in pastel hues in the face of that solar brilliance; he coursed past them, unveiling the way to Nirvana.

At last the gleaming rim of it emerged, more splendid than any vision he had heretofore imagined. Onward he flew, bringing more into view: the magnificent curvature of the Holy Grail, hanging perfectly in the sky.

Now he saw that though the Cup itself glowed, as it had when it had floated past the astonished knights of King Arthur's Round Table, this was a faint glimmering compared to its princ.i.p.al illumination. This brilliance was by virtue of its content-that deeply veiled shape whose light spilled out between canopy and rim.. The shape of his Essence!

Eagerly he moved toward it, certain now that he would perceive the glory that was his soul. What form would it take, that divine revelation? A giant, precious, bright crystal with myriad facets, a myriad-squared reflections? A G.o.dlike brilliance, gently blinding the mortal eye? An intangible aura of sheer wonder?

He came up to the monstrous chalice, that goblet of Jesus, the quintessence of ambition, and peeked under the glorious cover. There was an odor, awful and out of place, but he ignored it. Here at last was Truth, was Soul!

It was a huge, half-coiled, half-broken, steaming human t.u.r.d.

8.

Emotion

And Saul, yet breathing out threatenings and slaughter against the disciples of the Lord, went unto the high priest, And desired of him letters to Damascus to the synagogues, that if he found any of this way, whether they were men or women, he might bring them bound unto Jerusalem.

And as he journeyed, he came near Damascus: and suddenly there shined round about him a light from heaven: And he fell to the earth, and heard a voice saying unto him, Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?

And he said, Who art thou, Lord? And the Lord said, I am Jesus whom thou persecutest: it is hard for thee to kick against the p.r.i.c.ks.*

* "to kick against the p.r.i.c.ks"-i.e., to oppose the p.r.i.c.ks of conscience.

And he trembling and astonished said, Lord, what wilt thou have me to do? And the Lord said unto him, arise, and go into the city, and it shall be told thee what thou must do.

And the men which journeyed with him stood speechless, hearing a voice, but seeing no man.

And Saul arose from the earth; and when his eyes were opened, he saw no man: but they led him by the hand, and brought him into Damascus.

And he was three days without sight, and neither did eat nor drink.

THE BIBLE: King James Version ACTS IX: 1-9

Paul sniffed, trying to clear his nostrils of the stink of s.h.i.t. He was driving a car, an old-fashioned internal combustion machine, wasteful of fuel. Therefore this was pre-MT Earth, oddly strange and just as oddly familiar. He knew this was another Animation, quite different from the last, but still a construct of some aspect of his imagination or his memory. Another direction governed by precession, whose laws he did not yet comprehend well enough to utilize consciously.

He seemed to recall having taken a drive like this, perhaps ten years ago, perhaps nine, but where had he come from then, and where had he been going? It would not come clear.

There were many other cars on the highway, traveling at the maximum velocity their governors permitted: 100 KPH, nice and even. All good things were governed by hundreds; it was the decimal, metric, percentage system. Easy to compute with, easy to verify, divisible by many numbers.

The cars were like his own: small hydrogen burners, streamlined, comfortable.

The hydrogen was separated from water at various power plants; some of it was used for fusion into helium for major power, and some for combination with oxygen to make water again (clean water was precious), some treated for nonignition and put into transport blimps, and some burned explosively in motors. Hydrogen: the most versatile element. Paul was uncertain of the original source of power used to separate out the gas, but obviously it sufficed to run the system.

In just a few years all this would change, as the MT program burst upon them and co-opted all the convenient major energy sources. The creature from Sphere Antares, whose very presence was kept secret from the people of the world he so changed; what mischief was he to wreak on Sphere Sol? But right now people were indulging in their last fling; private transportation was still within the rights and means of the average citizen. Barely.

Paul himself could not afford this car. He had the use of it illicitly: he was drug-running. Hidden so well that even he had no notion of where it was, was a cache of mnem, p.r.o.nounced "NEEM": the memory drug. Students used it when cramming for exams; when high on mnem their retention became almost total, enabling them to make very high marks on rote-work without actually cheating. It did not enhance intelligence or give them lasting skills, but temporary memorization was so important in taking machine-graded examinations that this often made the difference in the compet.i.tive grade listings that determined eligibility for employment or promotion. Paul himself had never used mnem during his college days, not because of unavailability, expense, or ethics, but because he hadn't needed it. His college used no tests or grades. The drug had few side effects and could be detected in the human system only through extraordinary clinical procedures that cost more than the public clinics could afford.

Therefore it was fairly safe to use, and much in demand.

There were only three drawbacks to mnem. First, it was illegal. That bothered very few people; when morality conflicted with convenience, morality suffered.

Second, it was expensive, after the manner of addictive illegal drugs; the cost was not in the manufacture but in the illicit distribution system. That bothered more people, but not enough to seriously inhibit its use. The criminal element had a sharp eye for what the market would bear, just as did the business element. In fact, the abilities and scruples of the two elements were similar, and there was considerable overlapping. The mnem cartel proffered incentive options for those in critical need, such as Paul himself. For he, after college, had found a use for mnem. Third, mnem withdrawal caused not only the loss of the drug-enhanced memories, but a more general mnemonic deterioration, leading to disorientation and irregular amnesia. Thus the addiction was neither psychological nor physiological, but practical: once "hooked," a user could not function without mnem. That bothered most people, but they tended not to think about that aspect. It was a paradox of mnem, the subject of much folk humor, that it made people forget its chief drawback while it sharpened their memories enormously.

Which was why Paul was risking his freedom by running this shipment across state lines. He had used the drug to become expert in his sideline; now he could maintain his habit only by cooperating with the suppliers. Fortunately they did not require a particular person to do it often; this was not done from concern for the welfare of the individual, but as a precaution against discovery by the authorities. It might be a year before Paul would have to drive again, and in the interim his own supply of mnem was free. It was really a good deal.

There was someone standing at the margin of the highway; the figure seemed to be female. Other cars were rushing by, of course; it was dangerous to pick up a hitchhiker, male or female. But Paul sometimes got restless; though he did not drive often, this long trip bored him. Company would make a difference, particularly feminine company.

He stopped. The girl saw him and ran up. She was young, probably not out of her teens, but surprisingly well developed. Her clothing was scant and in disarray; in fact she was in a rather flimsy nightgown that outlined her heaving b.r.e.a.s.t.s with much stronger erotic appeal than she could have managed by any deliberate exposure. A natural girl in an unnatural situation.

"Oh, thank you!" she gasped, climbing into the seat next to him. "I was so afraid no one would stop before the police came."

"The police?" he asked with sudden nervousness. If she was a criminal- "Oh, please, sir-drive!" she cried. "I'll explain, it's all right, no trouble for you, only lose us in the traffic. Please!"

But he hesitated, the car still parked. "I have no money worth taking, only a keyed credit you can't use. This car requires my thumbprint every half hour, or the motor locks and the automatic takes over, so you can't-"

She faced him, and he was surprised to see tears on her cheeks. Her fair hair was bedraggled, yet she was lovely in her wild way. "You are in no danger from me, sir! I have no weapon. I have nothing. No food, no identification. I don't know how I can repay you, but please, please drive, or all is lost. I would rather die than go back there!"

Still ill-at-ease, he moved the car forward, gaining speed until he was able to merge into the traffic flow. "Where are you going?" he inquired.

"To the Barlowville Station," she said.

He started punching the coding into his computer terminal, seeking a clarification of the address. "Oh, no!" she protested. "Please, sir, don't ask the machine! They'll key it in to me, and in minutes the police-"

The demon in the machine. Paul's fingers froze. "You're on the criminal index?"

he asked, alarmed. He had just about decided she was harmless, but he didn't like this. The last thing he needed was a police check on this car!

"I'm being deprogrammed," she explained hastily. "I belong to the Holy Order of Vision, and my folks sued-"

"They still deprogram religious nuts?" he asked thoughtlessly. "I thought that went out a decade ago, along with other forms of exorcism."

"It still happens," she said. "The established sects are all right-they finished their initiations years ago-but the new ones are still being persecuted."

The rite of pa.s.sage, he thought. Any new religion had to pa.s.s through sufficient hazing to justify its existence, and when it became strong enough to fight back, as early Christianity had, it became legitimate and started hazing the religion that came next.

He shrugged. "I don't know much about it." Not in his business, he didn't-and he didn't care to. Religion held little interest for him, apart from morbid curiosity about the credulity of people. Still, this was a very pretty girl, who seemed somehow familiar. That flowing hair, those full b.r.e.a.s.t.s, the way she spoke- He was intrigued. "But if you really want to go back to this cult-"

"Oh, I do!" she exclaimed. "Somehow I'll return."

Paul made a decision. "I'll take you there, if it's not too far out of the way.

But if you won't let me get the highway address from the travel computer-"

"I can tell you the way," she said eagerly. Then she faced him and smiled, the expression making her glow. "My name is Sister Beth."

"I'm Paul Cenji." What the h.e.l.l had he expected her name to be? This seemed to be a memory, but it unfolded at its own pace; he could not remember what had happened that day in his past, so had to live it through again.

He drove on for a while, then asked, "How did you get caught away from your church?"

"My Station. We don't have churches as such, just centers of operation. My mother called me and told me my grandmother was dying, so I came at once. I never renounced my family ties; the Holy Order of Vision isn't like that. I wish my family belonged, too! But when I got there-"

"They grabbed you and hauled you off to the deprogramming clinic," Paul finished for her.

"Yes. I suppose I should have suspected something, but I never thought my own mother would..." She shrugged sadly. "But I'm sure she thought she was doing the right thing. I forgive her. They tried to talk me out of going back, and when that didn't work, they said they were going to use mnem-"