The answer was obvious. He wanted to be the greatest man in the kingdom. And Taro had also volunteered, knowing that he might have to face Hadon with a sword.
Two days later the crowd was again assembled in the stadium around the lake. The centers of interest were, first, the huge and hungry sea crocodiles that slid through the waters. The second was two ropes stretched across a part of the lake between two sturdy poles. One was farther out than the other and at a lower level than the first. One end of a third rope was tied to the middle point of the nearest rope running over the lake, and the other end was held by an official standing on a tower high above the edge of the lake.
The band blared; the crowd roared; vendors passed among the crowd selling fruits, cakes, and beer. Then there was a flourish of trumpets, and the crowd fell silent. Hadon, as the one with most points, had the honor of being the first contestant. He climbed up the high ladder to the platform, where he was handed the end of a rope. This was attached at the other end of the rope which ran at right angles across this corner of the lake. Beyond that rope was the lower parallel rope. And below were the crocodiles, the great gray armor-plated, many-teethed saurians.
Hadon looked at the canopied box in which Awineth and Minruth sat. They were far away, tiny, so he could not see her expression. Was it fear and hope for him? Or, like that which must be on Minruth’s face and on most of the crowd’s, did it show a desire that Hadon would fail and that he and the crocodiles would provide a brief but entertaining spectacle?
He hated the crowd at that moment. Crowds were people who had lost their individuality, who had become no more than vultures. Less, in fact, since vultures acted by the nature given to them by Kho, and by so doing were performing a useful deed. Yet, if he were in the mob, would he be any different from the others?
The starter’s trumpet screamed. The crowd’s roar subsided. He bent his knees, grasped the rope with both hands, and waited. The trumpet screamed again, as it had so many times in the past two thousand years, because this, like the high dive, was an ancient Fish-Eagle Totem custom.
He pushed out, clinging to the rope. The water swooped toward him; he drew up his legs, though the crocodiles could not reach him, and he curved up and out. Then he reached the end of the arc and fell back. He jerked his body on the return and swung back out again. Twice he increased the height of the swing. The third time, as he arrived just before the top of the arc, he prayed briefly and let loose. He soared out toward the rope before him, fell, and his hands closed on the outermost rope. And he was dangling while the crocodiles bellowed below and whitened the water with their furious lunges and thrashings of tails. He was too far away to be reached, of course, but his ordeal was not yet over. He had to go hand-over-hand along the rope until he got to the platform at the end. Then—he hated to think of it—he must take a balancing pole and walk the rope back to its other end.
He had no difficulty getting to the platform, though his palms were sweaty. An official handed him the pole after he had recovered his breath, and the trumpet screamed the third time. He stepped onto the rope, which was not as taut as he would have liked, and walked slowly, his bare feet lifting and gripping slowly. Below, the crocodiles thundered.
Hadon had practiced tightrope walking since he was two. But the crocodiles made a dangerous trick even more dangerous. If he lost his balance and had to grab the rope, he would not be eliminated. But he would have to go back to the platform and start all over again.
The rope swayed, and he strove to balance his weight so that the rope would not go into an increasing oscillation. The cheers of the crowd and some boos from ill-wishers reached him faintly, but the bellowing of the hungry beasts below was loud. He would not look down at them. He must concentrate on getting across.
When he reached the other platform, he almost collapsed. Suddenly, he was shaking and weak. But he had done it and would not have to do it again.
He climbed down and took his place among the contestants, who were sitting on benches near the edge of the lake. Beyond them was the bronze-wire fence put up to keep the crocodiles from coming ashore.
“How was it?” Taro said.
“Not bad,” Hadon said, hating himself for his bravado. It would never do for a hero to confess that his guts had turned into a beast trying to claw its way out through his belly.
The third man lost his balance, grabbed the rope, and hand-over-handed back to the platform. The second try, he fell with a scream, and the water roiled around his body. Hadon felt sick for him but glad for himself.
Hewako had to make two attempts, but he got across. His skin was gray beneath the bronze as he climbed down.
The man who followed him missed the rope when he let loose of the swinging rope, and he fell to his death.
By the time the last of the contestants had reached the ground, the sun was quartering the west, and ten were food in the bellies of the crocodiles.
The funerals the next day were curious in that they lacked the presence of the deceased. Stone statues representing the dead, all with the same stylized faces, were lowered into the graves, and earth was mounded over them and the monoliths set above them. Hadon watched the weeping relatives and wondered if his parents, too, would have occasion to grieve for him.
The next day the youths competed in the javelin-throwing. Each had a small round shield for defense but could not step outside a small circular fence. Each contestant was given three javelins to throw and had to endure three cast at him by another contestant from a distance of a hundred feet.
Twelve were wounded seriously enough to be eliminated; two were buried the next day; one man disgraced himself by jumping out of the ring. He hanged himself that night, and so saved himself from a coward’s grave.
The. games of the next three days were tests of the youths’ skill with the sling. On the first day, Hadon was among the initial group of contestants to enter the field. There were ten of them, and each wore only a loincloth and a leather belt. The belt supported a dagger in a sheath and a leather pouch. The pouch held three biconical molded lead missiles. In the hand of each youth was a sling made of soft dwarf antelope leather. The youths marched to the center of the field and halted when a trumpet blew. The crowd fell silent. Another trumpet blast. A huge door in the wall which they faced swung open. Presently, thirty male gorillas, blinking in the sunlight, growling, nasty-eyed, emerged.
The crowd began yelling and cheering. The ten youths arranged themselves in a line facing the gorillas. Hadon was at its extreme left. The trumpet blew for the third time. Each youth tied one end of the sling’s strap to one of the four fingers of his throwing hand. The other end, knotted, was then placed between the thumb and forefinger of that hand. With his other hand, the youth removed a lead projectile weighing three and one-half ounces from the pouch. He placed it in the pad which formed the pocket at the end of the two straps.
The gorillas, meanwhile, nervously ran back and forth on all fours or stood up and slapped their chests with their open palms. Though fearsome-looking beasts, they were naturally timid. However, for the last thirty days trainers had been trying to condition them to attack human beings. The trainers had pelted them with stones and poked them with sharp sticks until they had driven them into a fury. Eventually, the gorrilas had gotten accustomed to taking out their frustrations on dummies in clothes stinking of humankind. For the last twelve days they had been tearing these apart, apparently with vast satisfaction. And so it was hoped that the gorillas would attack the contestants now. Especially since their trainers, safe on top of the wall, were throwing stones and pointed sticks at them. The giant anthropoids, however, for the moment seemed only bewildered and frightened.
The trumpet blew again. Hadon, with the others, held the ends of the sling above his head with one hand and the missile in its pocket in the other. Then he released the pocket end and began whirling the sling counterclockwise parallel to his body. Around and around, four times, the sling whirled, deriving most of its speed from wrist
movement. At the part of the circle closest to the ground, he released the free end of the sling. The lead projectile, traveling more than sixty miles per hour, hurled in a parabola toward its target three hundred feet away. This was a huge reddish gorilla with a broken right canine and scarred face.
The thud of missiles sinking deep into flesh or smashing against the stone wall could be heard over the entire stadium. Six of the giant apes fell backward under the impact, and none of them moved after that. The crowd roared as the youths placed their second missiles in the slings. By then ten of the apes were advancing toward the youths, roaring, slapping their chests, picking up blades of grass and blowing them, or making short bluffing charges. The second fusillade knocked down seven of them, but two got to their feet, and roaring their hurt and rage, bounded toward the youths.
Before they could reach their objective, they fell dead with several missiles in them.
Hadon was not among those who released his last bicone. He wanted to save it for an emergency. He did not think that this would be long in coming. Thirteen of the anthropoids had been killed or rendered hors de combat. This left seventeen with only eight projectiles still unslung. And even if all eight hit their targets, there would still be nine gorillas left. And, facing them, ten humans with only six-inch knives.
More gorillas, driven by another hail of stones from the trainers, advanced toward the youths. One suddenly broke into a charge that did not end after a few yards. Hadon called out, “Save your missiles! Taro, you alone use your sling!”
Taro’s projectile disappeared within the wide-open mouth of the ape, which fell dead. Hadon then called out the names of those who had missiles left, one by one, and they released them. Eight more gorillas died or were so badly Wounded that they could not get up. But nine of the beasts remained, and these were brave with hysteria.
Four died under the knives, though not before they had killed three youths and badly maimed three more. If they had attacked together, instead of singly, they could have wiped out the humans. But they did not think like men, and so they died as beasts.
Hadon, Taro, and the two other youths still on their feet proceeded to dig out missiles from the carcasses with their knives. Hadon had just removed one bicone when he heard, “Watch out!” He looked up to see another hairy, long-canined monster rushing at him and his companions scattering. Hadon dropped the lead missile, transferred his bloody knife to his left hand, removed from his belt the clean knife he’d taken from a dead man, placed its blade in his palm, and cast it. The gorilla quit roaring, began screaming, somersaulted, and slid to a stop on its back just before Hadon. The hilt of the knife stuck out from its huge paunch.
After that, the four youths used the retrieved missiles to slay the four remaining gorillas. Then, saluting the king and queen, they walked out. Attendants poured in to drag away the dead, carry out the wounded humans, and set up the field for the next ten youths and thirty gorillas.
The next day the funerals for those who’d died were held, and the day after that the youths faced hyenas. There were four starved hyenas to each slinger, and each slinger had four missiles and an ax. The hyenas were more dangerous than the gorillas. They were carnivores, used to hunting in packs, and had been fed human flesh for two weeks before being starved. Their jaws could crush a man’s leg or arm as if they were made of linen, and they had an awe-inspiring tenacity. Of the ten youths in Hadon’s group, five were killed or bitten so badly that they were eliminated from the Games.
The following day, more funerals were conducted. The next day, the contestants faced leopards. These were man-eaters who’d been trapped in the jungle hinterlands of Wentisuh. They had been starved for three days, and goat blood had been smeared on the contestants to arouse beasts that did not need arousing. Three of the big cats were released at a time against two slingers, each of whom had two missiles and a sword. Hadon was paired with Gobhu, who was an even better slinger than his tall companion. Hadon’s first throw broke the hind leg of a big male, and this caused the other two, a male and a female, to charge Gobhu. The mulatto knocked the eye out of the female and sent her rolling over and over. But the male knocked Gobhu down and tore his throat before Hadon’s second missile broke some of its ribs. Hadon cut off its head with his sword, dispatched the stunned female in the same manner, and finally cornered the male with the broken hind leg. Though crippled badly, it charged, and Hadon half-severed its neck while it was in the air.
That night, he and Taro sat at a table talking in a barracks which had grown larger and emptier with death.
“I overheard a judge saying that he understood that Minruth was considering making the Games a yearly event,” Hadon said.
“How could he do that?” Taro said. “How often does a chief priestess lack a husband?”
“Oh, it wouldn’t have anything to do with that. He would hold the Games just for the amusement of the people, not to mention his own. The winners would get large sums of money. And glory.”
Taro made a disgusted sound. There was silence for a while, and then Hadon said, “What I don’t understand is how Minruth thinks he can institute such games. He won’t be king after these are over.”
“Maybe he thinks none of us will survive,” Taro said.
“That wouldn’t do any good. New Games would have to be held.”
There was another silence, broken when Hadon said, “Once the kings ruled only nine years and then were sacrificed. But the first of the Klemsaasa to rule—his name was Minruth, too—abolished that custom. Do you suppose that Minruth intends to refuse to give up the throne?”
Taro was startled. “How could he do that? Kho Herself would destroy him! Nor would the people put up with it!”
“Kho didn’t destroy the first Minruth,” Hadon said. “And the people who rose against him were destroyed. Minruth controls the army and the navy, and while a part of the services would revolt, the other might not. Minruth favors Resu, and he has taken care to make sure that the officers and the soldiers who favor Resu are in key positions. I’m only nineteen years old, but I know that.”
“But, if he did that, what about the winner of the Games? He would have gone through all this for nothing!”
“Less than nothing, if such a thing can be,” Hadon said. “He would be slain by Minruth. You can be sure of that.”
“Oh, that’s all nonsense,” Taro said. “He wouldn’t dare!”
“Perhaps not. But why should that judge have heard that rumor? Who else but Minruth would originate it? He would put it out as a feeler, so he can judge the reaction of the people. One thing is sure, Minruth is exceedingly ambitious, not likely to surrender easily. He’s old, fifty-six, and you’d think he’d want to do the decent thing. Retire full of honors, enjoy a leisurely life, and cherish his grandchildren. But no, he acts as if he will live forever, as if he’s a randy young bull.”
“You have to be wrong,” Taro said.
“I hope so,” Hadon replied.
5
The next-to-last game lasted two days. On the first day, fifteen contestants chosen by lot took their turn facing a bull buffalo the tips of whose horns had been fitted with sharp bronze spikes. The contestant was given a three-foot-long wand on the end of which was wet ocher paint. He went into the center of the arena and waited until the bull was released. From then on, his aim was to mark the exact center of the bull’s forehead with ocher. And he must do it when the bull was facing him.
Once this was done to the satisfaction of the three judges, who sat in a box a safe distance from the bull, the contestant was free to go. All he had to do was to run to a low wall and dive over it before the bull got to him.
“Speed and agility,” Hadon said to Taro. “That is what this takes. Plus courage. Hewako has the courage, I’ll give the surly pig that. But he is heavy and slow. Faster than he looks, but still slow.”
But Hewako did succeed, though not before being gashed lightly along one arm. And in the short dash to the wall, he seemed almost a blur
, he ran so fast.
Taro laughed and said, “If that bull had been behind him during the races, he would have won all of them.”
Taro was the last of the fifteen that day. Before going through the gate, he turned to Hadon and put his hand on his shoulder. He looked very pale.
“I had a dream last night,” he said. “I was drinking blood from a bowl that you had filled.”
Hadon felt a shock going through him. “All dreams are sent by the deities,” he said. “But a dream does not always mean what it seems to say.”
“Perhaps not,” Taro said. “In any event, we two would have faced each other with the swords. One of us would have been pouring out blood for the Other’s ghost. Why did we not shake dice in Opar to see who went to the Games? One of us would have lost a chance to be the king, but he would never have been forced to take his dear friend’s blood. We have loved each other too much even to think of that. Yet greed made us ignore that, greed and ambition. Why did we do that, Hadon? Why didn’t we leave it to the throw of the dice? Whoever won could then have brought his friend to the palace to share in his good fortune.”
Hadon choked up but managed after a struggle to speak.
“Kho must have blinded us. No doubt, for Her own good purposes.”
The trumpet blared, and Taro said, “Why blame the gods and goddesses? Think often of me, Hadon, and do not forget to sacrifice now and then to me.”
“You may have misinterpreted the dream!” Hadon cried desperately, but the gates had swung shut. Taro walked out into the center of the field stiffly, and when the bull, black, snorting fury, ran out from his gate, Taro did not move. The bull pawed the earth and then raced around for a minute. At last, downwind from Taro, it hastened bellowing toward him and then charged. Taro extended the stick toward him and marked the forehead, but he was slow, oh, so slow, far slower than swift Taro had ever moved when danger threatened.
Hadon of Ancient Opar Page 6