At last, he saw the thing. It was indeed Khruuz. He was lying on his back, his eyes open. Blood had spread out from under his body as if Death had unrolled a scarlet carpet for him. Even that thick skull had caved in. Coming closer to the corpse, though still warily, Kickaha saw that a wide and thick bandage was wrapped around its left thigh. Blood had trickled from it down the side of the leg. Clifton must have shot the scaly man before he was killed by him. Khruuz had only taken time enough to bandage himself before he gated Dingsteth with him for the invasion of the palace. He must have been aflame with desire for revenge. He could not wait to get it; he had lauched his attack despite his injury. But the slow loss of blood had weakened him so much that he had fallen off his airboat.
Score one for Clifton.
He radioed Manathu Vorcyon the news. She said, “It is unfortunate that we did not take him alive; he was such a repository of knowledge and the last of his kind. But I am also much relieved that he is no longer a danger to us. By the way, I can see the landscape around the palace. Khruuz gated not only the building, but the lawns and gardens around it. They’re wrecked, but I believe that Khruuz gated himself and Dingsteth to a lawn or garden after the palace had been transmitted here. He would not have wanted to be inside the palace when it landed. Then he entered it to finish the killing.”
Kickaha said, “Now we can look for Anana and Red Orc.”
“I understand your wish to do that,” she said. “But first, we have to find Wemathol.”
They talked for a few minutes. She would proceed from the northeast corner of the palace and search. He would be looking for the clone while he headed for her. They would keep in radio contact and describe where they were every five minutes.
Kickaha signed off. The airboat was hovering about fifty feet above him. He had no way to get to it. He shrugged and started walking and climbing. Eventually, he found an archway that was not entirely jammed with debris. Halfway through the next room, he saw a man propped up in the semidarkness against the side of a fallen and broken marble pillar. He turned his flashlight beam on the figure. It was Wemathol, unmoving, his eyes shut. Dust did not conceal the crimson color of his boots and headband. His chest was smeared with blood mixed with dust. His beamer was not in sight, and his only weapon was a dagger in a scabbard.
Kickaha cried out, “Wemathol!”
His voice was bounced back to him from the vast walls. The clone did not stir.
Kickaha lifted the wrist radio to his lips, then decided to determine Wemathol’s exact condition before reporting. He came close to him and, bending over, spoke his name.
Wemathol’s right foot kicked the beamer from Kickaha’s hand.
22
THOUGH LOCKED UP BY SURPRISE FOR ONE OF THE FEW TIMES in his life, Kickaha unfroze in a sliver of a second. He hurled himself at the man, stabbing at the same time with his pen-sized flashlight.
The Thoan had snatched out his long dagger as he straightened up. Kickaha grabbed the wrist just above the hand holding the dagger. At the same time, his flashlight drove toward his attacker’s left eye. It would have punched through to the brain if the Thoan had not turned his head slightly. It caught in the corner of his eye, gashed it, and slid on. Kickaha dropped the flashlight and twisted the Lord’s left wrist. At the same time, he turned his body sideways to prevent the man from kneeing him in the testicles. Though Kickaha had rotated his antagonist’s wrist with such force that it should have been broken, he was unable to do more than half turn it. The man was indeed powerful. But his dagger dropped to the ground.
Kickaha leaned back then and jerked the man forward, at the same time shifting his footing so that his sidewise stance would enable him to swing the man around. But the man did not resist. He allowed Kickaha to whirl him around and cast him away as if he were a throwing hammer. He spun for ten feet, fell, rolled several times on the ground, and bounded to his feet as if he were a leopard.
Kickaha had charged him even while he was rolling. The Lord dashed for the beamer, which was lying between two small piles. Kickaha changed direction to intercept him. The Lord bent down to scoop up the weapon on the run. Kickaha leaped and struck with both feet the buttocks presented to him. The man cried out as he toppled forward. But he did not let loose of the gun even as he slid on his face and chest.
Though Kickaha had fallen on his back with a thump, he stood up quickly. The Lord turned over, blood welling from deep scratches and shallow gashes on his face, chest, and belly. Then he bent his torso up off the ground, swinging the beamer upward. Just before he pulled the trigger, Kickaha’s throwing knife sped like a dark barracuda in a half-lit sea. Its point drove about an inch into the man’s left biceps, and he dropped the beamer. But he jerked the dagger out and gripped it in his right hand. Then he rose to his feet with astonishing swiftness. Bending over, he reached with his left hand for the beamer.
Roaring, Kickaha leaped, and his feet slammed into the man’s chest just as he straightened up. The beamer shot once, its violet ray slicing the twilight. Kickaha’s right wrist burned. The weapon skittered across the floor. The breath drove out of the Lord’s chest as he went backward. The dagger fell from his hand as he flailed his arms to keep his balance. But he fell on his back.
Kickaha had managed to twist so that instead of slamming onto the ground on his back after his kick, he landed on his feet in a crouch. But he did not take the time to pick up the dagger. Hoping to catch the man while he was still lying down or in a vulnerable position while rising, Kickaha ran toward him. The Lord sprang upright as if he had been lifted by an invisible hand. He was holding something; he hurled it at Kickaha.
For a moment, Kickaha was halfdazed. His brain and body seemed numb. The stone had come flying out of the duskiness, slammed into his forehead, and stopped his charge. A chunk of red, apple-sized marble lay bloodstained on the ground. That it had not killed him or knocked him completely unconscious showed that the Lord was weakened. Or had made a bad pitch.
His own condition was not up to par. And he was at a disadvantage because the Lord had picked up the dagger. But he was also wheezing for breath, and blood was flowing from the wound in his upper arm.
Kickaha wiped his own blood from his forehead and his eyelids. When his wind was back, he would attack again.
Between gasps, he said, “Red Orc! How’d you escape! What did you do to Wemathol before you took his boots, headband, and dagger?”
The Thoan managed to smile. He said, “I did fool you!”
“Not for long.”
“Long enough! Before I tell you how I got away from my prison, tell me what happened here.”
Red Orc wanted to put off renewing the combat until he regained his breath. That was all right with Kickaha. He needed time, too. Time, he suddenly realized, to call Manathu Vorcyon. She would come a-flying. If, that is, she could find him. When he started to raise his arm, he saw that the radio was no longer on it. Where it had been was a burn wound. Red Orc’s one shot had cut through the suction disc holding the radio and taken some skin with it. He was lucky that the ray had not severed his wrist.
Losing the radio was no handicap. He did not need her help, and he would be very disappointed if she, not he, killed Red Orc.
His breathing was not so quick now. He said, “Khruuz gated the entire palace to another universe. The World of Tiers, I believe. The rest you can figure out easily. Now, what’s your story?”
While he had been talking, he had looked around hoping to see the beamer. No luck.
“Ah!” Red Orc said. “So that is it! Is the Khringdiz still alive?”
“No. Did Anana escape with you?”
“I do not know. I was able to crawl out from my prison after it collapsed. I lost much skin getting through some very tight openings. And then I saw Wemathol riding his airboat. I jumped down on him from a pile and knocked him off the boat. Unfortunately, that kept on going. During the struggle with Wemathol, his beamer fell through a hole in the floor and I could not find it later.
When I broke his neck, I put on his boots and headband and took his dagger. I deceived you long enough to get you into this situation. And now I am here to end the saga of Kickaha.”
“I’ll see about that. What makes you believe that you can defeat me? You’re inferior to me, though you’re a Lord and I’m a leblabbiy.”
“How can you say that?” Red Orc said loudly.
“You had to use me to get into Zazel’s World after you had failed during a search of many thousands of years. I was the one who deceived Dingsteth and talked it into releasing us. You didn’t have the imagination to think of the ghost-of-Zazel idea. I had you at my mercy when I locked you up here. You’d still be there if Khruuz hadn’t gated the palace. So, what makes you think you’re a better man than I am?”
“You’re a leblabbiy, a descendant of the artificial humans we Thoan made in our factories!” Red Orc howled. “You are inherently inferior because we made your ancestors inferior to us! You were made less intelligent than we! You were made less strong and less swift! Do you think that we would be stupid enough to make beings who were our equals?”
“That may have been the case when you first made them,” Kickaha said. “But there is such a thing as evolution, you know. If I am indeed one of a lowly lesser breed, why is it I have killed so many Lords and gotten out of so many of their traps? Why do they call me the Trickster, the Slayer of Lords?”
“You have slain your last Lord!” Red Orc bellowed. “From now on, I will be known also as Kickaha’s Killer.”
“Old English saying: `The proof is in the pudding.’ Get ready to choke on what I’m going to feed you,” Kickaha said.
Red Orc was getting into a terrible fury, and that would shape his judgment. Or was he just pretending to be overwhelmed with anger so that his enemy would be too confident?
“I’m pleased you have the dagger,” Kickaha said. “It gives you an advantage you really need.”
“Leblabbiy!” the Thoan screamed.
“Don’t just stand there and call me names like some ten-year-old kid,” Kickaha said. “Try me! Attack! Let’s see what you got!”
Red Orc yelled and ran at Kickaha, who stooped and picked up the marble chunk that had struck him in the forehead. He wound up like a baseball pitcher, which he had been when in high school. He aimed the stone for the Thoan’s chest. But Red Orc stabbed at it, and it struck the point of the dagger. This was knocked loose from his grasp. No doubt, it also paralyzed his hand for a moment. In that time, Kickaha, yelling a war cry, was on him. Red Orc tried to dodge him, but Kickaha slammed into him and squeezed his hands around the thick neck and forced him to stagger backward. The Thoan tried to box both Kickaha’s ears; Kickaha ducked his head so that he was struck on its upper part. The blows made his head ring, but he pulled the Thoan close to him, banged his head against Red Orc’s (it was a question who was more dazed by this), and then fastened his teeth on Red Orc’s neck.
The Thoan fell backward, taking Kickaha with him. Red Orc came out the worse from the fall. His breath whoofed out, and he had to fight Kickaha at the same time that he was trying to get his wind back. Kickaha was now in his own rage. He saw red, though it might have been his own blood or the Thoan’s. Despite the impact and his loss of breath, Red Orc managed to turn over, taking Kickaha with him, and they rolled until they were stopped by a debris heap. Kickaha had fastened his teeth on the Lord’s jugular vein and was biting as deep as he could. He did not expect to cut through the vein. He was no sharp-fanged great ape, but he strove to shut off the flow of blood.
Kickaha’s body was pressed against Red Orc’s left arm so tightly that, for some seconds, Red Orc could not get it free. But he brought the other arm up and over, a finger hooked. It dug deeply into Kickaha’s right eye, and then was yanked back toward Red Orc. Kickaha’s eye popped out and hung by the optic nerve. He was not aware of his other pains; his fury overrode them. But this one pierced through the haze of red.
Nevertheless, he kept on biting the vein. Red Orc then began slamming the side of Kickaha’s head with the edge of his hand. That hurt and dazed Kickaha so much that he unclamped his teeth and rolled away. He was only vaguely aware that the optic nerve had been torn loose. When he stopped rolling, the lost eye flat, its fluid pressed out of it, stared up at him, a few inches from the other eye.
That sent a surge of energy through him. He got to his feet at the same time that Red Orc rose. He charged immediately. Red Orc turned to meet him. He was borne backward as Kickaha’s head slammed into his belly. Kickaha fell, too, but reached out and squeezed the Thoan’s testicles. While Red Orc writhed in agony, Kickaha got up and jumped on him with both feet. The Thoan screamed; the bones of his rib cage were fractured.
That should have been the end of the fight. But Red Orc was not the man to be stopped by mere crippling and high pain. His hand shot out and gripped Kickaha’s ankle even as he writhed, and he yanked with a strength he should not have possessed. Kickaha fell backward, though he twisted enough to keep from falling completely on his back. His shoulder struck the floor. Red Orc had half turned, his grip still powerful. Kickaha sat up and pried one of the Thoan’s fingers loose and bent it back. The bone snapped; the Thoan screamed again and loosed his clutch.
Kickaha got onto his knees and slammed his fist against the Thoan’s nose. Its bridge snapped. Blood spurted from his nostrils. Nevertheless, in a wholly automatic reaction, he hit Kickaha’s jaw with his fist. It was not the knockout blow it would have been if Red Orc had not been weakened. It did make Kickaha’s head ring again. By the time his senses were wholly back, he saw that Red Orc was getting back onto his feet. And now he was swaying as he stood above Kickaha.
“You cannot defeat me,” he croaked. “You are a leblabbiy. I am Red Orc.”
“That’s no big deal. I am Kickaha.”
Kickaha’s voice sounded feeble, but he rolled away while the Thoan staggered after him. Red Orc stopped when he saw the dagger on the ground, and he went to it and picked it up.
“I will cut off your testicles, just as I cut off my father’s,” he said, “and I will eat them raw, just as I ate my father’s.”
“Easier said than done,” Kickaha said. He stood up. “What you did to so many people, especially what you did to Anana, will drive me on, no matter how you try to stop me.”
“Let us get this over with, leblabbiy. It is no use for you to keep hoping you will overcome me. You will die.”
“Sometime. Not now.”
The Thoan waved the dagger. “You will not get by this.”
Looking at the man’s face, squeezed with agony, and at his bent-over posture, Kickaha thought that he might be able to dance around Red Orc until he collapsed. But the chances were fifty-fifty that he might crumble first.
His hand brushed against the deerskin pouch containing the Horn. In his fury, he had forgotten about it. He pulled it out from the pouch and gripped its end as if it were a club. Ancient Shambarimen had not made the instrument to be used as a bludgeon. But it would serve. He advanced slowly toward the Lord, saying, “It will be told that you had to use a knife to kill an unarmed man.”
“You would like me to cast it aside. But no one will have seen this fight. Too bad, in a way. It should be celebrated in epic poetry. Perhaps it will be. But I will be the one who tells others of how it went.”
“Always the cowardly liar,” Kickaha said. “Use the dagger. I’ll kill you anyway. You’ll gain even more fame as the only man ever to be killed by the Horn.”
Red Orc said nothing. He came at Kickaha with the knife. The Horn swung and struck the Thoan’s wrist as he jabbed. But Red Orc did not drop the knife. Instead, he lunged again, and the blade entered Kickaha’s chest. But it only made a shallow wound because Kickaha grabbed the man’s wrist with one hand and banged Red Orc over the head with the Horn. Red Orc tore his wrist from the grasp, retreated for several seconds, breathing heavily, then attacked again.
This time, he used one arm as a shield against the bludgeoni
ng while he thrust with his right hand. His dagger sliced across Kickaha’s lower arm, but Kickaha brought the Horn down and then up and slammed its flaring end into Red Orc’s chin. Though the Thoan must have been dazed by the blow, he managed to rake the edge of the blade across Kickaha’s shoulder and then gash the hand holding the Horn. Kickaha dropped it; it clanged on the ground.
Red Orc stepped swiftly forward. Kickaha retreated.
“You can run now,” the Thoan said hoarsely. “That is the only way you can escape me. For a while, anyway. I will track you down and kill you.”
“You have a lot of confidence for a beaten man,” Kickaha said.
He stooped to pick up the bloody marble chunk. For a few seconds after he had straightened up, he was dizzy. Too much blood lost; too many blows on the head. But Red Orc was in as bad a condition. Who won might depend upon who passed out first.
He wiped the blood from the marble chunk on his short trousers, and he held it up for Red Orc to see.
“It’s been used twice, once by you, once by me. Let’s see what the third time does. I doubt you’ll be able to bat it again.”
Red Orc, wincing, crouched, his knife held out.
“When I was a youth on Earth,” Kickaha said, “I could throw a baseball as if it were a meteorite hurtling through space. And I could throw a curve ball, too. A scout once told me I was a natural for the big league. But I had other plans. They didn’t work out because I came to the World of Tiers, and from there to other universes of the Lords. Let’s see now how an Earthly sport is good for something besides striking out a batter.”
He wound up, knowing that he was out of practice and that the irregularly shaped chunk was no lightweight ball. Also, he did not have much strength left. But he could summon it. And he was only ten feet from Red Orc.
The chunk flew spinning from his hand. Just as it did, the Thoan dropped to his knees and leaned to one side. But the stone, far from going into its target, the chest, veered off the path Kickaha had intended for it.
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