The Usurper

by John Norman

  “No,” said Iaachus.

  “Then, what?” demanded Julian.

  “I fear I know,” said Iaachus.

  “What?” said Julian.

  “You have noted the unrest in the city, the rioting, the looting,” said Iaachus.

  “Yes,” said Julian.

  “What you are unlikely to have noted, or understood,” said Iaachus, “is that the temples of the gods, and the temples of Floonians, save for one such cult, have been attacked, despoiled, and burned, by zealots, supposedly in the holy cause of propagating a particular faith, one of the several supposedly one true faiths, only the other one true faiths, at least to date, have refrained from promoting their views by destruction, arson, murder, robbery, and such.”

  “Surely the city is in turmoil,” said Julian. “There is general looting and burning. Many districts are unsafe, some devastated.”

  “Some of this is spillage,” said Iaachus. “Fire spreads. One object of value appropriated leads to another. Who can resist the temptation to seize unprotected treasure? Is there no elation in stealing, burning, and killing? In a crowd small men are large, weak men are strong. The unhappy, envious, and resentful are liberated within the concealment of anonymity. Once the beast with many heads has tasted blood it longs for more. In what other country than the mob can hatred and violence, theft and greed, be unleashed with impunity? But there is more, as well, and intention, and calculation.”

  “I do not understand,” said Julian.

  “These riots are fomented with a purpose,” said Iaachus, “and the purpose is the acquisition of power.”

  “I have been long from Telnaria,” said Julian.

  “Do you know of Floonianism?” asked Iaachus.

  “Very little,” said Julian.

  “It is a demand of a particular Floonian leader, the leader of one of the several Floonian faiths, a man named Sidonicus, entitled ‘Exarch of Telnar’,” said Iaachus, “that the empire adopt his version of Floonianism as the official faith of the Telnarian empire, and that the empire should then use its power to supplant and exterminate all other faiths, of whatever sort.”

  “Tolerance is the way of Telnaria,” said Julian, “even from the time of the village kings, even before the institution of the senate, even before the empire.”

  “Sidonicus demands intolerance,” said Iaachus, “on behalf of his own views, of course.”

  “He is insane,” said Julian.

  “Perhaps, rather,” said Iaachus, “brilliant and unscrupulous.”

  “Surely the empire will do nothing so cruel, heinous, and divisive,” said Julian.

  “Rewards would attend this concession,” said Iaachus. “Floonians, in their millions, on many worlds, as you probably know, have largely existed as inactive, benign parasites, living within the shelter of the empire they refuse to support and defend. They ignore state authority, flout law, eschew taxes, decline munera, refuse to bear arms, and so on. They are, I gather, primarily concerned with the welfare of their own koos, whatever that is.”

  “Interesting,” said Julian.

  “But,” said Iaachus, “in exchange for declaring Floonianism the official faith of the empire, and extirpating all other faiths, Sidonicus will bring his flocks into the fold of the empire, supposedly then a reformed, redeemed empire.”

  “As committed, participating citizens, to support, defend it, and so on,” said Julian.

  “Precisely,” said Iaachus. “You can see the potential value to the empire of additional millions of zealous patriots now defending an empire they regard as their own.”

  “And what of our other citizens?” asked Julian.

  “Over one or two centuries,” said Iaachus, “there may be no other citizens. The confused and hesitant, the opportunistic, can be converted, the recalcitrant killed, or, if any should survive, exiled, deported, forced into wastelands, driven into wilderness worlds, to eke out what livelihood they can in scattered, despised enclaves.”

  “And if the empire does not so declare, as the exarch wishes?”

  “Opposition, disruption,” said Iaachus. “Treason, inertness, treachery, betrayal of the empire. You have seen the streets.”

  “Clear them,” said Julian.

  “We dare not,” said Iaachus. “One would do no more than produce martyrs.”

  “And thus the quiescence of guardsmen?” said Julian.

  “What, in any event, would be a hundred guardsmen, or two hundred, against an avalanche of ten thousand?”

  “What will the empire do?” asked Julian.

  “I urge resistance,” said Iaachus.

  “Because of the threat to your own power?” asked Julian.

  “If you wish,” said Iaachus.

  “What of the emperor?”

  “He plays with his toys.”

  “The empress mother?”

  “She is receiving instruction in Floonianism,” said Iaachus.

  “Your power in the palace wanes,” said Julian.

  “Another has her ear,” said Iaachus, “Sidonicus, Exarch of Telnar.”

  “The princesses, Viviana and Alacida?”

  “They care for little but their jewels and gowns, and the flattery of spineless courtiers.”

  “Surrender to Sidonicus,” said Julian, “and the empire survives?”

  “In an unconscionable, unrecognizable form,” said Iaachus, “as an outrage to its former self, as a tyranny which far exceeds that of the sword, a prison of the mind, a citadel of oppression.”

  “I would miss the openness and glory of the empire, its vastness and complexity, even with its faults,” said Julian.

  “The empire has been shrewd,” said Iaachus, “it has calculated, plotted, and done war, but it has never flown the flag of fanaticism.”

  “We spoke earlier,” said Julian, “of the matter of the medallion and chain, and the threat of uniting barbarian peoples under the aegis of that artifact, a threat, we trust, now muchly reduced in portent by a plentitude of competitive devices.”

  “Nothing of this had reached the palace,” said Iaachus.

  “I am not surprised,” said Julian. “But a puzzle lingers. If the scheme of the artifact originated in, or was supported by, forces in Telnar, what could be the motivation for such an anomaly? Who would multiply enemies? Would it not be a matter of throwing oneself on one’s own sword, before the battle had even begun? I am without an explanation. You said, as I recall, you feared you knew.”

  “In this,” said Iaachus, “I see the hand of Sidonicus, Exarch of Telnar.”

  “How so?” said Julian.

  “Think, dear friend,” said Iaachus. “Barbarians desire the defeat of, or the possession of, the empire. Now they are approached by someone who will place in their hands the means for realizing that ambition. To be sure, such a gift is not bestowed without the expectation of receiving something of comparable value in return.”

  “Surely not,” said Julian. “But, what?”

  “I suspect,” said Iaachus, “the conversion of the victorious barbarian peoples, this another road to a familiar end, the imposition of a particular faith on countless worlds.”

  “If the empire were seized?”

  “Yes,” said Iaachus.

  “But what,” said Julian, “if the empire was collapsed, broken in battle, communication lost, cities emptied, men divided, the state vanished, save for local law enforced by bandits?”

  “Still,” said Iaachus, “the faith would be everywhere, and perhaps the more precious and stronger for the uncertainty and precariousness of life.”

  “Woe,” said Julian.

  “Perhaps the future belongs to those such as your friend,” said Iaachus. He slid the center drawer of his desk partly open. “And perhaps to those who are their friends,” he added.

  “I do not und
erstand,” said Julian.

  “It might be politic for successful barbarians, if they wish to preserve the empire, to place a tool upon the throne, one which might preserve the illusion of continuity and stability.”

  “One of high family, such as the Aureliani?” said Julian.

  “Such things are not unknown in statecraft,” said Iaachus.

  “In the forest,” said Otto, “such an insult would call for knives, and entry into the circle of death, from which only one contestant might leave alive.”

  “My dear Ottonius,” said Iaachus, “I fear, in any such contest, I would be ill matched even with dear Julian, let alone with one such as yourself. In any event, we are not in the forest, but in the imperial palace in Telnar, with several guards within easy summoning distance, and, even if we were in the forest, I think I would prefer not a knife but a pistol, much as the one I now draw from the desk.”

  “I came here in good faith,” said Julian, “that I might inform and be informed, and that we might engage in consultation. I assume that we both, in our ways, care for the empire.”

  “I, at least,” said Iaachus.

  “I, as well,” said Julian.

  “You are spies,” said Iaachus, “testing resolve, assessing defenses, scouting for Abrogastes.”

  “No,” said Julian.

  “Clearly you are in league with him,” said Iaachus. “That is made evident by your presence here. No ship has penetrated his blockade.”

  “One did, mine,” said Julian. “We were fired on in our passage, and disabled. We crashed in the delta of the Turning Serpent. We came west on a keel boat.”

  Otto tensed.

  “Do not move,” said Julian.

  “I place you under arrest,” said Iaachus, “as enemies of the throne. As for your lord and ally, Abrogastes, he will be shortly destroyed, or in custody, as imperial cruisers approach from all quadrants.”

  “Abrogastes is not our lord and ally but our common enemy,” said Julian. “If you were more familiar with barbarians you would know they are complex and diverse. Do not expect them to run about in skins and drink bror. Some speak several languages. Some design weapon systems. Some are at home on the bridges of Lion Ships. Abrogastes is the king of the Drisriaks, a tribe of the Aatii, or, as they know themselves, the Alemanni; Ottonius is the king of Otungs, a tribe of the Vandal peoples, and the Alemanni and the Vandals are hereditary enemies.”

  “Where did you conceal your ship?” asked Iaachus.

  “In the courtyard of the palace,” said Julian. “In the emperor’s play garden. In the wardrobes of the imperial princesses. In the private quarters of the empress mother.”

  “Come now,” said Iaachus.

  “Look for it in the marshes of the delta, where it crashed,” said Julian.

  “As you will, dear traitors,” said Iaachus. “Quarters will be arranged for you. I trust they will be to your liking. I shall now summon guards.”

  At this moment there was, far off, a series of explosions.

  “Do not move!” said Iaachus.

  There was a heavy, frenzied pounding on the door of the chamber, and then it was thrown open, and a courtier, distraught and wild-eyed, was framed in the portal. “Exalted Lord,” he cried, “barbarians are in the streets, they approach. Guardsmen, poorly armed, flee. Rioters and looters, in their crowds, at first at ease, noncognizant, and complacent, fearing nothing, then startled, terrified, running, are fired on. Hundreds lie bloody in the streets.”

  “Resistance?” cried Iaachus, standing, dazed, lowering the pistol.

  “Little or none,” said the courtier. “What are bows and blades against the rumbling engines of war?”

  “It cannot be!” said Iaachus. “The batteries!”

  “The city batteries did not fire!” said the courtier.

  Iaachus looked wildly at Julian and Otto.

  “We know nothing of this,” said Julian.

  “One can hire loyalty,” said Otto, “one can hire disloyalty.”

  “Put away your pistol,” said Julian. “See to the safety of the emperor, the royal family.”

  Iaachus raised the pistol, leveled it at Julian and Otto, and then lowered it.

  “Hurry!” urged Julian.

  There was another explosion, this one much closer.

  “Hurry! Hurry!” said Julian.

  “They are at the gate!” cried the courtier.

  Chapter Forty

  Cornhair lay on her left shoulder, on the steel flooring of the motorized vehicle. Her wrists were still tied behind her but now, looped within a thrice-circled cord, her ankles were fastened together.

  “We cannot have you wandering about,” had said one of the vehicle’s crew.

  “No,” Cornhair thought, “you have seen to that. I will remain where you have put me, helpless.” Slaves, of all women, are most aware of their sex, for the sex of both men and women is defined most clearly by the relation of each to the other, the larger and stronger to the smaller and weaker, the taker to the taken, the captor to the captive, and so on. These relationships are, of course, much accentuated and intensified in the institution of bondage. As Master the man is most male, and, as slave, the woman is most female. Slavery permits the woman no lies or pretenses, no falsifications of her nature. She is at a man’s feet, where she belongs.

  Although Cornhair had initially been quite distressed at the thought of approaching the palace, where she might encounter those who had known her as the Lady Publennia, particularly Iaachus, the Arbiter of Protocol, whom she had failed so signally in her attempt to assassinate a barbarian captain of auxiliaries, she was now far less concerned, as it seemed unlikely that such a harrowing encounter would take place. Who but barbarians would note her as she was, a mere tethered prize in a vehicle? And even if Telnarians, common citizens and such, should gaze upon her, they would see no more than what she now was, a common slave.

  Cornhair lay quietly amongst the booted feet of the barbarians.

  “That is the palace,” said one, pointing, standing on the level which permitted him to look over the slitted metal visor half circling the vehicle.

  “It will be pleasant to own the empire,” said another.

  “Rather, destroy it,” said another. “Burn it. Break it, world by world! Tear it down, stone by stone.”

  “See the palace,” said another, impressed, “the portico, its columns, the steps, the pediment, the great portal, the sculptures.”

  “There are many buildings about the great court,” said another.

  “Fountains spraying colored water,” said another.

  “Scented water,” said a man.

  “So where are our noble Telnarians, so brave with their sticks and torches?”

  “Fled, or resting in the streets, flooded with their blood,” said another.

  A fellow laughed.

  “What building is that?” asked one of the men.

  “How should I know?” said another.

  “Oh!” said Cornhair, the side of a boot striking on her thigh.

  “Do you know Telnar?” asked the fellow whose boot was still at her thigh.

  “She will know nothing,” said one of the men. “She is an outworlder, probably from Varna or Tesis II. She is stupid, too; they were going to garbage her outside the city.”

  “A little, Master,” said Cornhair.

  She was caught under the arms and lifted up, tied as she was, by the fellow whose boot had honored her with the attention of a free person. He then placed her on his shoulder, steadying her with one hand. In this fashion, she was held high, well over the slitted metal visor. Doubtless she would have preferred a less conspicuous ensconcement.

  “There,” said the fellow, facing a building, pointing with his left hand.

  “The senate house,” she said, “the supreme power
in Telnaria.”

  “Does it launch fleets, does it march armies?” asked a man.

  “No, Master,” said Cornhair.

  There was laughter.

  “Beyond that, Master,” said Cornhair, “are houses of documents, of deeds and wills, the house of administration, that of law, the housings of the high courts.”

  “What blackened shell of a building is that?” asked another, pointing.

  “It was the temple of Orak Triumphant,” she said. “Emperors sacrificed there. Offerings were burned at the foot of the steps, that the temple not be stained, a hundred white bulls with gilded horns, the incense and smoke detectible for miles about.”

  “It is now a hollow, burned shell,” said a man.

  “It fell upon bad times,” said Cornhair.

  “Look!” said a fellow, pointing back, beyond the broad court.

  “Conceal the slave,” said another.

  Cornhair was lowered to the floor of the vehicle. She drew up her legs.

  “Lie still,” said one of the men.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  Cornhair heard cheers, cries of pleasure.

  A large vehicle rumbled past. Turning about, she saw little more than a pennon atop a supple, swaying, metal rod.

  “Hail, Abrogastes!” men cried.

  “Behold,” said a man, “he has with him, lying at his feet, the slave, Huta.”

  “I fear, and hate her,” said a man.

  “She is nicely chained,” said a man.

  “Why would he bring her?” asked a man.

  “She is well curved,” said another.

  “She makes a suitable display slave,” said a man.

  “I have heard that Ingeld has noted her flanks,” said a man.

  “Let Abrogastes not discover that,” laughed a fellow.

  “She is dangerous,” said the fellow who had spoken before. “I fear her, and loathe her.”

  “Once she was dangerous,” said a man. “But no longer. She is now a slave. Abrogastes has aroused her, caressed her into submission, into need and pleading, enflamed her belly. She now lies in chains, begging to be touched.”

  Again the fellow’s boot brushed Cornhair’s thigh. “What of you, blond slut?” he asked.