by John Norman
"I wish you well, my colleagues in treachery," said Shaba.
"Farewell," said we to him. He then, bowing, took his leave.
"Give me now the ring," said Msaliti.
"I will keep it," I said.
"Give it to me," said Msaliti, not pleasantly.
"No," I said. I then looked at the ring. I turned it in my hand. I wished to see the minute scratch which would, for me, identify the Tahari ring. I turned the ring feverishly. My hand shook. "Stop Shaba!" I said. "This is not the ring!"
"He is gone," said Msaliti. "That is the ring from the chain on his neck, where he carried the shield ring."
"It is not the shield ring," I said, miserably.
I had been outwitted. Shaba was a brilliant man. He had established for us, earlier, yesterday evening, that the ring on the chain had been the shield ring. Tonight, however, he had substituted a new ring. I might have discerned this had he not appeared to be intent on misdirecting our attention, calling it to the simple warning system, that of the threads and peas, in the ceiling, presumably to effect a switch of the rings while our attention was diverted. I had not permitted my attention, however, to be diverted. Too, when he had turned the chain, I had made certain that the ring which he had surrendered to me had been the ring originally on the chain. The exchange of rings, of course, had actually taken place earlier, in privacy. The ring he had apparently intended to exchange for the true ring would have been the false ring, returning it to us as the true ring. I had not permitted this. My smugness at preventing this exchange had blinded me, foolishly, to the possibility that the ring on the chain this evening might not have been the true ring to begin with.
Msaliti looked sick. I gave him the ring.
Shaba now had both the true ring, the Tahari ring, and the false ring, that which Kurii had intended to be delivered to the Sardar in lieu of the true ring.
"How do you know it is not the true ring?" asked Msaliti.
"Surely you have been taught to identify the true ring?" I asked.
I thought swiftly.
"No," said Msaliti.
The copy of the true ring was well done. At the edge of the silver plate, that held in the ring's bezel, there was indeed a minute scratch. It was similar to, but it was not the identical marring which I recalled from the Tahari. The jeweler who had duplicated the ring for Shaba had failed slightly in that particular. There was a slight difference in the depth of the scratches, and one small difference in the angulation.
"This resembles the true ring closely," I told Msaliti. "It is large, and of gold, and, in its bezel, has a rectangular silver plate. On the back of the ring, when you turn it, there is a circular, depressible switch."
"Yes, yes," said Msaliti.
"But look here," I said. "See this scratch?"
"Yes," he said.
"The true ring, according to my information, possesses no such identifying marks," I said. "It is supposedly perfect in its appearance. Had it been thusly marred I would have been informed of this. Such a sign would make identification simple."
"You are a fool," said Msaliti. "Doubtless Shaba scratched it."
"Would you yourself treat so valuable an object with harshness?" I asked.
Msaliti turned the ring about. He looked at me. Then he depressed the switch. Nothing happened. He howled with rage, the ring clutched in his fist.
"You were tricked!" he cried.
"We have been tricked," I corrected him.
"Shaba then has the perfect ring," he said.
"True," I said. Shaba had the perfect ring, which was the false ring. He also had the true Tahari ring, which the ring in Msaliti's hand so ingeniously resembled.
"You must put men upon Schendi's Street of Coins," I said. "Shaba must not be permitted to cash the notes he carries."
"Surely he must realize that could be done," said Msaliti. "He is not mad. How does he expect to get his gold?"
"He is quite intelligent, even brilliant," I mused. "Doubtless he has anticipated such a move. Yet it must be made."
"It will be made," said Msaliti, angrily.
"How then, I wonder," said I, "does he intend to obtain the gold?"
Msaliti looked at me, in fury.
"He must have a plan," I said.
"I am leaving," said Msaliti.
"Surely you will wish to don your disguise," I said.
"I do not need it longer," he said.
"What are you going to do?" I asked.
"I must move swiftly," he said. "There are many instructions to be issued. There must be an apprehension of Shaba."
"How may I be of assistance?" I asked.
"I will handle matters from here on out," he said. "Do not trouble yourself about them."
He threw a brocaded aba about his shoulders and, angrily, strode from the room.
"Wait!" I called.
He had left the room.
Angrily I followed him. As soon as I had passed through the anteroom and stepped across the threshold, to the street outside, I felt my arms pinioned behind me. A dozen or more men were there waiting, beside the building, on either side of the door. Some seven or eight were askaris, including the two huge fellows whom I had seen yesterday, black giants in skins and feathers, with golden armlets. Another five or six were guardsmen of Schendi. There was also an officer there of the merchant council of Schendi.
"Is this he?" asked the officer of the merchant council.
"That is he," said Msaliti, turning about. "He claims to be Tarl of Teletus but he will be unable to substantiate that identity."
"What is going on here?" I shouted. I struggled, trying to free myself of the four men who held me. Then I felt two daggers pressed through the fabric of my tunic.
I ceased struggling, feeling the points in my flesh. Both could be driven home before I could hurl my captors from me.
My hands were taken behind me and tied.
"These men were waiting for me," I said to Msaliti.
"Of course," said he.
"I see that you were determined, in any event," I said, "to be the one who would return the ring to our superiors."
"Of course," said Msaliti. "I will then stand higher in their favor."
"But what of me?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Who can tell what may have happened to you?" he asked.
"You are an officer of Schendi," I said to the man in charge of the guardsmen. "I demand to be released."
"Here is the paper," said Msaliti to the officer.
The officer took the paper and looked it over. Then he looked at me. "You are the one who calls himself Tarl of Teletus?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
The officer placed the paper inside his robes.
"There is no place in Schendi," he said, "for criminal vagabonds."
"Look in my wallet," I said. "You will see that I am not a vagabond."
The wallet was cut from my belt. The officer shook out gold pieces and silver tarsks into his hand.
"You see?" I asked.
"He arrived in Schendi," said Msaliti, "in the garb of a metal worker. You see him now in the garb of a leather worker." Msaliti smiled. "What metal worker or leather worker," he asked, "carries such funds?"
"He is obviously a thief, doubtless a fugitive," said the officer.
"The work levy imposed on Schendi is due to leave in the morning," said Msaliti. "Perhaps this fellow could take the place of a good citizen of Schendi in that levy?"
"Would you find that acceptable?" asked the officer.
Msaliti looked at me. "Yes," he said.
"Splendid," said the officer. "Put ropes on the sleen's neck."
Two leash ropes were knotted on my neck.
"This is not justice," I said.
"These are hard times," said the officer. "And Schendi fights for her life."
He then lifted his hand to Msaliti and withdrew, taking his guardsmen with him.
"Where am I to be taken?" I asked Msaliti.
"To the interior
," he said.
"You had the cooperation of the council of Schendi," I said. "Someone in a high place must have ordered this."
"Yes," said Msaliti.
"Who?" I asked.
"I," said Msaliti.
I looked at him, puzzled.
"Surely you know who I am?" he asked.
"No," I said.
"I am Msaliti," he said.
"And he?" I asked. "Who might he be?"
"Why, I," smiled Msaliti.
"And you?" I asked.
"I thought it was known to all," he said. "I am the high wazir of Bila Huruma."
16
Kisu
"Get back!" I shouted, striking at it with the shovel. The edge of the shovel struck, cutting, at the side of its snout. It hissed. The noise is incredibly loud, or seems so, when one is close to it. I saw the pointed tongue. The jaws distended, more than a yard in height, with the rows of backward-leaning fangs.
I had managed to get my foot on the lower jaw and, with the shovel, pry up the jaw, releasing the hold on the lacerated leg of Ayari, who, bleeding, scrambled back. I had felt the draw of his chain against my own collar.
I thrust the shovel out again, against the upper teeth, thrusting back, shouting.
Other men, too, to the right of Ayari and to my left, screamed, and struck at it with their shovels.
Eyes blazing it backed away, twisting, small legs, with the stubby, clawed feet, stabbing at the water. Its gigantic tail thrashed, striking a man, hurling him back a dozen feet. The water was to my thighs. I pushed back again, with the shovel. The transparent eyelids on the beast, under the scaly eyelids, closed and opened. It hissed more, its tongue sopping at the blood of Ayari in its mouth.
"Back!" cried the askari, in the inland language, with his torch, thrusting it into the beast's mouth.
It roared with pain. Then, thrashing, squirming, hissing, it backed off in the shallow water. I saw its eyes and snout, nostrils open, almost level with the water.
"Away! Away!" shouted the askari, in the inland speech, brandishing his torch. Another askari, at his side, armed with a lance, gripping it with two hands, shouted, too, ready to support his fellow.
Interestingly the incident did not much affect the work in the area. From where I stood I could see hundreds of men, workmen and askaris, and many rafts, some weighted with supplies, others with logs and tools, some with mud and earth we had dug out of the swampy terrain, mud and earth which would be used to bank the flanking barricades, that the area in which we worked might be drained, that a proper channel might later be excavated.
"Are you all right?" I asked Ayari.
He wiped the flies away from his head. "I think I am sick," he said.
There was blood in the water about his leg.
"Return to work," said the askari with the torch, wading near us.
"You have had a narrow escape," I told Ayari.
He threw up into the water.
"Can you work?" asked the askari.
Ayari's leg seemed to buckle under him. He half fell in the water. "I cannot stand," he said.
I supported him.
"It is well that I am on the rogues' chain," grinned Ayari. "Never before have I been so pleased with my profession," said he. "Had I not been chained, doubtless I would have been pulled away."
"That is quite possible," I told him.
Ayari was of Schendi, a thief. He had been put on the work levy for the canal of Bila Huruma. Schendi was using the misfortune of the levies in order, as much as possible, to rid itself of its less desirable citizens. I supposed she could scarcely be blamed. Ayari, of Schendi, of course, spoke Gorean. Happily, for me, he could also speak the tongue of the court of Bila Huruma. His father had, many years ago, fled from an inland village, one of the Nyuki district, a district noted for its honey, on the northern shore of lake Ushindi. The incident had had to do with the theft of several melons from the chief's patch. His father had returned some five years later to purchase his mother. They had then lived in Schendi. The inland speech had been spoken in the home. It is estimated that some five to eight percent of the people of Schendi are familiar with the inland speech.
"Can you work?" asked the askari of Ayari.
Such simple phrases I could now make out, thanks to Ayari's tutoring.
More impressive to me was Ayari's capacity to read the drums, though, I am told, this is not difficult for anyone who can speak the inland speech fluently. Analogues to the major vowel sounds of the inland speech are found in certain of the drum notes, which differ, depending on where the hollowed, grooved log is struck. The rhythm of the drum message, of course, is the rhythm of the inland speech. Thus, on the drum it is possible to duplicate, in effect, the vowels and intonation contours of inland sentences. When one adds to this certain additional drum signals corresponding, in effect, to keys to the message or to certain consonantal ciphers, one has, in effect, a direct, effective, ingenious device at one's disposal, given the drum relays, for long-distance communication. A message may be conveyed by means of drum stations for hundreds of pasangs in less than an Ahn. Needless to say Bila Huruma had adopted and improved this device and it had played, and continued to play, its role in the effectiveness of his military machine and in the efficiency of the administration of his ubarate. As a communication device it was clearly superior to the smoke and beacon ciphers of the north. There was, as far as I knew, nothing on Gor to compare with it except, of course, the advanced technological equipment at the disposal of the Priest-Kings and Kurii, equipment of a sort generally forbidden, in the weapons and communication laws, to most Gorean humans. I found it astonishing, and I think most Goreans would have, even those of Schendi, that a ubarate of the size and sophistication of that of Bila Huruma could exist in the equatorial interior. One of the most amazing evidences of its scope and ambition was the very project in which I was now unwillingly engaged, the visionary attempt to join Lakes Ushindi and Ngao, separated by more than four hundred pasangs, by a great canal, a canal that would, via Lake Ushindi and the Nyoka and Kamba rivers, then link the mysterious Ua river, it flowing into Lake Ngao, to gleaming Thassa, the sea, a linkage that would, given the Ua, open up to the civilized world the riches of the interior, riches that must then pass through the ubarate of Bila Huruma.
"Can you work?" repeated the askari to Ayari.
"No," said Ayari.
"Then I must have you killed," said the askari.
"I have made a speedy recovery," said Ayari.
"Good," said the askari and waded away, holding his torch above the water. The other askari, he with the tharlarion lance, accompanied him.
In a few moments the mud raft, of logs bound together with lianas, to be loaded with excavated mud, was again poled to our vicinity.
"Can you dig?" I asked Ayari.
"No," he said.
"I will dig for you," I said.
"You would, wouldn't you?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
"I will dig for myself," he said.
"How is your leg?" I asked.
"It is still there," he said.
Most of the workers on the canal were not chained. Most were impressed free men.
Waters from the overflow of Lake Ngao entered the great marsh between Ngao and Ushindi, and, thence, made their ways to Ushindi, which, by means of the Kamba and Nyoka, drained to gleaming Thassa, the sea. The intent of the engineers of Bila Huruma was to set in place two parallel walls, low walls, some five or six feet high, placed about two hundred yards apart. The area between these walls, the marsh waters diverted on either side, was then to be drained and readied for the digging of the main channel. In this work draft tharlarion and great scoops, brought from the north, as well as gigantic work crews, would be used. In the event that the central channel, when completed, would not prove sufficient to handle the overflow of Ngao, as seemed likely, conducting it geometrically to Ushindi, side channels were contemplated. The eventual intent of Bila Huruma was not only to ope
n the rain forests of the deep interior, and whatever might lie within the system of the Ua and her tributaries, to commercial exploitation and military expansion, but to drain the marshes between the two mighty lakes, Ushindi and Ngao, that that land, then reclaimed, thousands of square pasangs, might eventually be made available for agriculture. It was the intent of Bila Huruma not only to consolidate a ubarate but found a civilization.
I slapped at insects.
"Work," said an askari, wading by.
I shoveled another load of mud from the marsh and flung it on the mud raft.
"Work, work," said the askari, encouraging others along the chain.
I looked about myself, at the hundreds of men I could see from where I stood. "This is an impressive project," I said to Ayari.
"Doubtless we can be pleased that we are a humble part of so mighty an undertaking," he mused.
"I suppose so," I said.
"On the other hand," said Ayari, "I would be content to surrender my part in this noble endeavor to others more worthy than myself."
"I, too," I admitted.
"Dig," said an askari.
We continued to shovel mud onto the mud raft.
"Our only hope," said a man to my left, also, like Ayari, from Schendi, "are the hostile tribes."
"That is some hope," said Ayari. "If it were not for the askaris they would fall upon us with their slaughtering knives."
"Surely there is resistance to the canal," I said.
"There are the villages of the Ngao region, on the northern shore," said Ayari. "There is trouble there."
"That is the most organized resistance," said the man on my left.
"The canal is expensive," I said. "It must constitute a financial strain on the coffers of the ubarate of Bila Huruma. This must generate discontent in his court. The work levies, too, must be resented by the villages."
"Those of Schendi, too," said Ayari, "are not too pleased with the project."
"They fear Bila Huruma," I said.
"Yes," said Ayari.
"There are mixed feelings in Schendi," said the man to my left. "She would stand to profit if the canal were completed."
"That is true," said Ayari.
There was shouting from ahead.
Askaris rushed forward.