Enchanter's End Game

any cost. The perpetual terror had erased every hint of human affection from the Thull's makeup. He lived in dreadful isolation, without love, without companionship, without any feeling but constant anxiety and dread. The reputedly insatiable appetite of Thullish women had nothing whatsoever to do with morals or lack of them. It was a simple matter of survival. To escape the knife, a Thullish woman was forced to remain perpetually pregnant. She was not driven by lust, but by fear, and her fear dehumanized her entirely.
    "How can they live that way?" the princess burst out to Lady Polgara as the two of them returned to their makeshift quarters in the stout blockhouse which had been erected inside the walls for the use of the leaders of the army. "Why don't they rebel and drive the Grolims out?"
    "And just who's supposed to lead a rebellion, Ce'Nedra?" Polgara asked her calmly. "The Thulls know that there are Grolims who can pick the thoughts from a man's mind as easily as you'd pick fruit in an orchard. If a Thull even considered organizing some kind of resistance, he'd be the next one dragged to the altar."
    "But their lives are so horrible, " Ce'Nedra objected.
    "Perhaps we can change that," Polgara said. "In a way what we're trying to do is not only for the benefit of the west, but for the Angaraks as well. If we win, they'll be liberated from the Grolims. They might not thank us at first, but in time they might learn to appreciate it."
    "Why shouldn't they thank us?"
    "Because if we win, dear, it will be because we've killed their God. That's a very hard thing to thank someone for."
    "But Torak is a monster."
    "He's still their God," Polgara replied. "The loss of one's God is a very subtle and terrible injury. Ask the Ulgos what it's like to live without one. It's been five thousand years since UL became their God, and they still remember what it was like before he accepted them."
    "We are going to win, aren't we?" Ce'Nedra asked suddenly, all her fears flooding to the surface.
    "I don't know, Ce'Nedra," Polgara answered quietly. "No one does - not me, not Beldin, not my father, not even Aldur. All we can do is try,"
    "What will happen if we lose?" the princess asked in a tiny, frightened voice.
    "We'll be enslaved in exactly the same way the Thulls are," Polgara replied quietly. "Torak will become King and God over the entire world. The other Gods will be banished forever, and the Grolims will be unleashed upon us all."
    "I won't live in that kind of world," Ce'Nedra declared.
    "None of us would care to."
    "Did you ever meet Torak?" the princess asked suddenly.
    Polgara nodded. "Once or twice - the last time was at Vo Mimbre just before his duel with Brand."
    "What's he really like?"
    "He's a God. The force of his mind is overwhelming. When he speaks to you, you must listen to him - and when he commands, you must obey him."
    "Not you, certainly."
    "I don't think you understand, dear." Polgara's face was grave, and her glorious eyes were as distant as the moon. Without seeming to think about it, she reached out, picked up Errand and sat him on her lap. The child smiled at her and, as he so often did, he reached out and touched the white lock at her brow. "There's a compulsion in Torak's voice that's almost impossible to resist," she continued. "You know that he's twisted and evil, but when he speaks to you, your will to resist crumbles, and you're suddenly very weak and afraid."
    "Surely you weren't afraid."
    "You still don't understand. Of course I was afraid. We all were - even my father. Pray that you never meet Torak. He's not some petty Grolim like Chamdar or a scheming old wizard like Ctuchik. He's a God. He's hideously maimed, and at some point he was thwarted. Something he needed - something so profound that no human could even conceive of it - was denied to him, and that refusal or rejection drove him mad. His madness is not like the madness of Taur Urgas, who, in spite of everything is still human. Torak's madness is the madness of a God - a being who can make his diseased imaginings come to pass. Only the Orb can truly withstand him. I could perhaps resist him for a time, but if he lays the full force of his will upon me, ultimately I'll have to give him what he wants - and what he wants from me is too dreadful to think about."
    "I don't exactly follow you, Lady Polgara."
    Garion's Aunt looked gravely at the tiny girl. "Perhaps you don't at that," she said. "It has to do with a part of the past that the