his workshop. Half a dozen large, heavy tables lined the walls, each set at a
strange angle so their surfaces were nearly upright. They were not unlike the
wooden frames court artists used to hold their work while painting. All the
tables were fitted with leather harnesses and straps. The wood and leather,
both, showed dried and crusted bloodstains. Four of the tables were occupied.
‘Most so-called medical men only repeat what has gone before…’ Kurd was
saying, ‘…the few who do attempt new techniques do so in a slipshod, trial
and-error fashion born of desperation and ignorance. If the patient dies, it is
difficult to determine if the cause was the original affliction, or the new
treatment itself. Here, under controlled conditions, I actually increase our
knowledge of the human body and its frailties. Watch your step, please…’
Grooves had been cut in the floor, running along beneath the tables and meeting
in a shallow pit at the room’s far end. As he stepped over one, Zalbar realized
that the system was designed to guide the flow of spilled blood. He shuddered.
There was a naked man on the first table and when he saw them coming he began to
writhe against his bonds. One arm was gone from the elbow down and he beat the
stump against the tabletop. Gibberings poured from his mouth. Zalbar noted with
disgust that the man’s tongue had been cut out.
‘Here,’ Kurd announced, pointing to a gaping wound in the man’s shoulder, ‘is an
example of my studies.’
The man had obviously lost control of his bodily functions. Excretions stained