The World of Tiers Volume Two: Behind the Walls of Terra, the Lavalite World, Red Orc's Rage, and More Than Fire

by Philip José Farmer

  That one-way input was, as he was to find out, very confusing for him. It would take some time to be able to handle at the same time his own thoughts and identity and Orc’s.

  Orc saw his Uncle Luvah and Aunt Vala as they came from the shadows of the trees. Behind them walked a dozen natives, slaves of the Lords, trackers and beaters. They were somewhat darker than the Lords but only because they spent more time in the sunlight. They wore loincloths, were heavily tattooed, and bristled with feathers stuck in their long dark hair and in holes in their ears. Their only weapons were bamboo air guns which expelled darts with anesthetic-coated tips. Their leader carried a signal horn made from the doubly curving horn of a giant bovoid animal.

  Los’s voice was deep and growling.

  “Any luck, son?”

  “I think one of them is holed up in that cluster of shinthah trees,” Orc said. “He’s been wounded. I’ve trailed him partly by his blood, though he doesn’t seem to be bleeding heavily.”

  “He must be the one who killed the two slaves,” Los said. “The others are all accounted for, dead or gotten away.”

  Jim was vaguely amazed that he could understand the speech of the Lords, or Thoan, their name for themselves. If his reaction was diluted, it was because all his own feelings were, so far, shadowy. But everything funneled through to him from Orc was bright and hard.

  Luvah and Vala moved up to stand beside Los. They had been invited by Orc’s parents to be their guests at the palace and to go on a manhunt. Los had opened the gates between their worlds long enough for them to pass through.

  Los would never have done that on his own. His wife had insisted that Luvah of the Horses and his wife and sister, Vala, be invited. Enitharmon needed more than the company of her family and slaves.

  Orc adored the beautiful and warm-natured Vala. As it turned out, though, he had been kept too busy to talk to her. The hunt had been furious and intense and had few pauses.

  Los said, “Is the man still armed?”

  “I don’t know,” Orc said.

  All the quarry were natives who had been sentenced to death by their own people for serious crimes. Los had decided to override the sentences and use the convicted as prey. He did this now and then when he got bored with other amusements. Seven men, all dangerous, had been taken to this jungle, given spears and knives, and let loose. After twenty minutes of waiting, the Lords and their retainers had started tracking them. The Lords were, except for Los and Vala, armed only with primitive weapons. That ensured that the hunt would be dangerous for the hunters. Orc’s father and his aunt carried the beamers to shoot any beasts of prey that might attack the party or a human quarry if he got the upper hand in a fight with a Lord. Manhunt rules, as determined by tradition, were never broken. Or, if a Lord had broken them, he or she had kept quiet about it.

  “Who wants to go after the beast?” Los shouted.

  “I will be happy to do it,” Orc said. He was aware that he had volunteered because he wanted to get his father’s respect even though he did not like his father. Also, a stronger reason, he wanted to show off before his aunt.

  “It’s true that you do need more practice,” Los said. “You haven’t killed many beasts yet, man or animal. But it’s only polite to allow our visitors first chance. Remember that.”

  Vala said, “I’d love to see Orc in action. I’ll be right behind you, nephew.”

  Jim was thinking, My God! They’re callous enough about it! And cool, too! What kind of people are these? He knew, however, from reading the Tiersian books just how cruel the Lords could be. What had he expected?

  Despite his repulsion, he was feeling Orc’s emotions. The youthful Lord and, therefore, Jim, was excited and eager. At the same time, Orc, therefore Jim, was hoping that he would not make a fool of himself. It was possible that he would also be a dead fool.

  Orc walked slowly into the denseness of the shinthah trees. Their branches, which began about six feet above the earth, merged with those of their neighbors. Vines crawled through the branches and let down loops close to the ground. Moreover, the winshin bush, a very leafy plant, grew among the trees. The tangle of tree, vine, and bush was ideal for hiding and ambushing.

  Holding his spear in one hand, Vala about six feet behind him, Orc plunged into the thick growth. He moved slowly to avoid making noise. He was very tense and was sweating heavily. It suddenly came to him that the quarry had most of the advantages. He stopped when his foot struck something. He looked down. Half-buried in some kind of weedy growth was a spear. The hunted man had dropped it. Which must mean that he was badly wounded.

  Despite this, Orc did not forget to be cautious. It was possible that the man had placed the spear there to make the hunter think just what Orc had thought. He might be waiting close by, his hunting knife in his hand.

  He gestured at Vala to indicate the spear. She nodded that she understood.

  Though the cluster would usually be clamorous with the cries of birds and beasts, it was silent now. The tenants were watching the intruders, waiting to see if they were dangerous before resuming normal activity.

  Orc parted a bush with his right hand and looked past it and down. There was the prey. He was a big man completely unclothed and lying on his back. By his open hand was a large knife. Blood flowed slowly from under the hand held to his shoulder. Sweat had washed all but traces of the blood from his torso and legs.

  Orc said, “Har?”

  Not until then had he known that the quarry was from a village near the palace-city or that he was his half brother. Los had many children by the native women; Har was one of perhaps a hundred. He was a superb tracker who had taught Orc everything he knew about jungle craft. He had been wounded by his own father, Los, who was separated from the group when he had thrown his spear on glimpsing the quarry. Later, Orc had come across Har’s trail of blood.

  The man was pale under his heavy tan. He stared at Orc, knowing that he was about to die. But he did not plead.

  Vala came up to Orc. She said, “You must blood your knife, nephew. It is not correct to finish him off with your spear. Wait until I call the others. They must see you do it.”

  Jim felt Orc’s sudden sickness. He knew what Orc was thinking. He would have to cut Har’s throat and lick some of the blood off the knife. The coup de grace and the blood tasting were not new to him, nor did he find them distasteful. Far from it. But this …! He knew and liked his half brother as much as he could like any leblabbiy, as the non-Lords were called. He told himself that he would sooner kill his father than he would Har.

  But he had to do it. Not only that, he must not show any pity or kindness. By then, the others had arrived. Los said, “So, it was Har I wounded! And you get the credit for the kill! Well, that is the way things sometimes happen!”

  “You wounded him, father,” Orc said. “I couldn’t have caught him if you hadn’t. Why don’t you lick his blood?”

  Los frowned, and he said, “That isn’t the Thoan way. Go ahead.”

  Orc went around the bush, scraping his skin against the abrasive leaves of that bush and the one beside it. The other Lords followed him. The natives stayed behind and would do so unless ordered to witness the killing.

  Har’s eyes were dulled. Yet, he was not so far gone that he did not recognize Orc. He croaked, “Greeting, brother!” He had never said that word to Orc during all their conversations. Though both knew that Los was their father, neither would ever say so. If Har had dared to do that, he would have been punished severely, perhaps with death. Now that he was to die, he did not care.

  “You are immortal or nearly so,” Har said. “Yet, you can be killed. That makes you my brother no matter who our father is.”

  A shiver of fire ran through Orc. He was struck, not with the audacity of Har but with the truth of his words. They were as frightening as lightning in the night when there was no cloud or thunder.

  “Go ahead, Orc!” Los said.

  Orc turned to face him. “I cannot do it,” he
said.

  Los was not the only one who stepped back as if suddenly smelling a carcass long rotten.

  Los shook his head, blinked, and said harshly, “I do not understand. Is something wrong?”

  Orc took a deep breath before speaking. Only Jim knew what courage Orc had to summon for what he was about to do.

  “I cannot kill him. He is flesh of my flesh. He is your son and my brother.”

  Everything around Orc seemed to be fuzzy. The harsh edges of reality were blunted and soft. He felt as if he had stepped into another world that was not quite formed.

  Los looked bewildered. He said, “What? What does that have to do with it?”

  Vala turned and gestured at the head tracker, Sheon, to approach her. As all non-Lords did when called by a Thoan, he came swiftly.

  “What is that man’s crime?” Vala said, pointing at Har.

  Sheon, looking at the ground, said, “Holy One, he slew a son of our chief after he caught him in bed with his wife. Har claimed that the chief’s son attacked him with a knife, and he killed him in self-defense. But Har’s wife witnessed otherwise. She said that Har meant to kill both of them. In any event, Har should have gone to the council and presented his complaint to it. It is against our law to slay a man or a woman caught in adultery. Har could have run away if he was attacked. There was nothing to stop him from running.”

  Vala turned to Orc. “See? He deserves to die by the law of his own people.”

  “Then let them execute him,” Orc said.

  “This is ridiculous!” Los shouted. “You’re stupid! I do not understand you! He’s not Thoan!”

  “He’s half-Thoan,” Orc said calmly, though he was far from calm inside himself.

  “Half is not the whole!” Los said. His face was very red, and his eyes were wild. “Kill him! At once!”

  “Don’t you feel anything for him?” Orc said. “He is your son. Or does that mean nothing to you?”

  Luvah said, “Nephew, you’re out of your mind! What happened? Did you have an accident, strike your head against something?”

  “Something struck me,” Orc said. “It wasn’t physical. It was like a great light … it’s hard to explain.”

  “I’ll strike you!” Los howled, and his fist caught the side of Orc’s jaw. Orc was stunned for several seconds. When he was able to think clearly, he found himself down on his knees. The others, except for Los, looked as if they, too, had been struck. Orc’s mother murmured, “Los! This is not necessary! There is something wrong with the boy!”

  “Yes, there is, Enitharmon! He is not a true Lord! Did you lie with some native and allow yourself to get pregnant?”

  Enithermon gasped, and Vala said, “That is a terrible thing to say!”

  Orc was seized by something that was roaring. The sound was red. Colors did not have sounds, but many things happened in the mind that could not happen outside it. The insult to his mother had loosed all the desires to attack his father that had been caged since as far back as he could remember.

  He was in a dream filled with a bright red light. He seemed to be standing outside of himself and watching himself. He saw Orc, the knife still in his hand despite having been half-conscious, come off the ground quickly. He saw Los step back, but not quickly enough to prevent the blade driving several inches into his left arm. He saw his uncle, Luvah, strike him on the side on his head with the butt of his spear. He saw himself drop the knife and fall onto his face but roll over so that he was faceup.

  Then he was back inside himself. His father had raised the spear held in his right hand to drive it through him. His mother, screaming, grabbed the spear and struggled with Los. She wrested it from his grip and held it so that its point was close to her husband.

  “Don’t do it!” she screamed. It was evident that she would use the spear on him if he tried to kill her son.

  Vala spoke in a high and tight voice. “Los! The leblabbiy are watching you!”

  Los turned and glared. Sheon, the chief tracker, was walking back to his fellows. He did not want the Thoan to know that he had seen the fight, but it was too late for that.

  Los pointed at Orc and said, “Bind him! He goes back to the palace!”

  He pulled his beamer from his holster. “Vala! Come with me! We have to destroy them! I don’t want them alive now they’ve seen us trying to kill each other!”

  Vala said, “I think Sheon was the only one who saw us. He won’t tell the others.”

  “I don’t want to take the chance,” Los said. “We don’t want them to think we’re no better than they, do we?”

  He wanted to kill someone. If he was restrained from slaying his son, he would slaughter the leblabbiy. At another time, he might have listened to Vala. But not now.

  Vala bit her lip, but she said, “Very well.” She walked away with Los, her gun also drawn. As Orc discovered later, the natives had guessed what the Lords planned to do. The more passive and religious stayed to submit to their doom. Four leblabbiy, however, fled into the forest. They would be exiled forever from their tribe and would be men with a price on their head, prey for another hunt by the Thoan.

  Orc was turned over, and his wrists were bound together with tape his mother brought out of a bag. While doing this, his mother bent close to him and whispered, “Do not anger your father again. I’ll do my best to cool him down.”

  “He’ll kill me,” Orc said. “He hates me. He’s always hated me. What did I do to make him hate me, Mother?”

  CHAPTER 15

  Orc had been stripped of his clothing and chained to a boulder near the main palace. One end of the ten-foot-long chain was attached to a steel plate secured to the giant quartzite rock. The other end was fixed to a steel band around his right ankle. For two days and nights, he had suffered this humiliation and discomfort. The sun burned him during most of the day. At night, Los allowed the clouds to come into the levels. Orc slept poorly because of the cold, wetness, and hard floor.

  During the day, he ate one meal, brought by a servant. She left him a bucket of water to drink and to bathe. When he relieved bladder or bowels, he went around behind the boulder as far as he could. He had no toilet paper or wash rag. Once a day, a servant came to clean up the mess.

  At high noon each day, his parents, aunt, and uncle had come down from the palace. Los had asked him if he was sorry that he had behaved so badly. Would he apologize and then promise that he would never do such again and would always obey his parents? Los added that even then his punishment would not be over.

  “There are many Lords who would slay their son on the spot. But I do not wish to grieve your mother, and Luvah and Vala have pleaded for you.”

  “You should not have struck me,” Orc said.

  “I am your father! I have the right and the duty to do so when you deserve it!”

  “You have struck me many times,” Orc said. “I would think that a man who is so many thousands of years old would have some wisdom and love. You have learned nothing. Be that as it may, you have struck me for the last time. You may as well kill me.”

  Los turned and walked away, his long green robe flapping, the tall yellow feather on his wide-brimmed hat bobbing. His mother and his aunt stayed for a minute to beg him to bend to his father’s will.

  “You are so stubborn,” Enitharmon said as tears ran down her cheek. “Your stubbornness will kill you. What will I do if I lose my firstborn?”

  “Kill Los, and so avenge me,” Orc said. “I think you’d like to do it, anyway. I do not know why you stay with him. Aren’t there other worlds you could go to? How about Luvah’s and Vala’s?”

  “You are determined to die,” Enitharmon said. She kissed him on the cheek and left. Luvah, shaking his head, walked away. Vala lingered a moment.

  “I’ll sneak out tonight and bring you a sleeping bag and something good to eat.”

  “Don’t endanger yourself for me, though I thank you. At least, you love me.”

  “Your mother does, too,” Vala said. “You
saw how she defended you when Los was going to spear you. But her character is such that she cannot stand up against Los unless she’s driven to it, and then it doesn’t last long.”

  “You’d think that she could have changed her character during the course of so many millennia. What good is the Lords’ science if it can’t change undesirable character traits?”

  “There have been some who have changed themselves, though not always for the better. But most people cannot unfix their characters no matter how long they live. It’s a matter of will, not of biological engineering. Would you allow yourself to be tampered with?”

  She kissed him hard on his lips before leaving. Orc suspected that Vala lusted for him as he did for her. Or was she just a loving aunt, and had he, so young and inexperienced, misread her affection?

  He looked at his father, still striding toward the major palace of the city of pylons. His son had seen more of the back of his father than his face, though that was most times the preferable side. Then he looked up at the third story of the glittering gold-block-and-much-gemmed wall of the palace. There, framed by a window, was his tutor, Noorosha. He was an intelligent and highly educated native who had been guiding Orc through programmed courses since the Lord was three years old. Now, he was looking down at his student, who should have been in class.

  Orc waved at Noorosha, the person he loved most of all except for his mother and aunt. Why couldn’t his father be like Noorosha?

  The day passed, each minute like a whip stroke. While he paced back and forth, the chain dragging on his leg and clinking on the slightly roughened surface of the transparent floor, his mind was pacing. Back and forth, back and forth from thoughts of ways to escape to visions of killing his father.

  Finally, night fell. The first moon rose. Two hours later, the second lumbered up. Jim, looking through Orc’s eyes, estimated that it was half the size of Earth’s moon. The first moon was half the size of the second one. Their markings, of course, were different from the one Jim knew.