by Джеффри Лорд
He was moments too late to save the woman with the bow. Panicking as the four men closed in on her, she dropped her staff, unslung the bow, and launched an arrow. She didn't take enough time to aim. The arrow flew low, drilling one of the attackers through the thigh. He staggered on, grappled her about the waist as she tried to draw a knife, and heaved upward. She shot up and back, coming down with her enemy on top of her, his head butting into her stomach and his hands clawing at her bare thighs under her tunic. She screamed and the other woman came running in, whirling her staff. One knobbed end smashed down on the back of the attacker's neck, crushing spine and skull. The man jerked wildly, arching and twisting, then went limp with a convulsive shudder. The other three men backed off as they saw the woman standing over her comrade, staff ready to strike if they moved any closer.
At that moment Blade heard a series of high-pitched flutings and whistlings. He turned and saw that the leader was holding the «baton» to his lips with one hand and blowing it. The «baton» was a whistle or flute of some sort.
The standing woman grimaced, with a tigerish flickering of white teeth. «He has a stolof within call,» she snapped. «Quickly, stranger-finish him off while I hold these pigs away from Kubona. Then we must flee, even though I am Neena.»
The woman who called herself Neena seemed to know what was happening around her. That was more than Blade did. He decided to follow her advice. He didn't know what a stolof was, but he did know that he didn't want the fallen leader summoning help of any kind. He dropped his staff, drew sword and knife, and stepped toward the man on the ground.
As Blade approached, the man lurched to his feet, teeth clamped tightly on the whistle and still blowing it for all he was worth. His sword rose, ready to slash at Blade. Blade raised his own weapons and held them to make an X. The leader's sword whistled down and drove into the upper half of the X with a clang and a bone-jarring shock. Blade held his arms as steady as iron bars and twisted sharply, twisting the leader's sword out of his hands. Blade kicked it out of the man's reach with one foot, then pivoted and drove the other foot into the man's chest. If he hadn't been wearing the copper and leather vest, the kick would have crushed in his chest. He went down again, the whistle flying from his lips. Blade stood over him, sword and knife raised and ready to drive down into throat and groin to finish the man for good.
He never had a chance to drive home the final thrusts. The leader's whistling had done its work, and the stolof he had been calling answered the call.
Blade was suddenly conscious of a loud chittering noise in the bushes to his left, the sound of bushes being trampled, and another sound he couldn't really describe. It sounded like several large baskets being slowly crushed under the foot of some monstrous animal.
Then the bushes parted and the stolof came into view. Blade knew that this must be a stolof, and he knew that it existed. He found this hard to believe, but he had no choice when it was coming at him.
The stolof looked like a spider, but a spider four feet high and eight feet long, with a head the size of a basketball and eight legs as thick as small trees that ended in clawed feet. Three red eyes glared out of the head, and a great hideous slime-oozing grayish white sack bobbed under the monster's throat. It was covered all over with scales or sheets of something that looked like green plastic, and it chittered and crunched as it stamped toward Blade.
It was real, it was there, and however much Blade might wish it or himself elsewhere, he could do nothing abut it. Nothing, except to fight it as best he could and kill it if possible.
Chapter 4
Blade promptly dove to snatch up his staff again. He was going to need something longer than the sword to help keep the stolof at a safe distance while he figured out the best way to kill it. That green armor looked tough. Attacking the joints of the legs wouldn't help much, either, not with eight legs. The eyes looked vulnerable. He would go straight in, keeping the forelegs and mandibles busy with the staff, then thrust at the eyes. Blade shifted his staff to his left hand, drew his sword again, and moved in.
As he did, the enemy leader blew three sharp notes on his whistle. The stolof reared back on its four rear legs, thrusting out with the others toward Blade. The grayish-white sack under its throat swelled and pulsed. Then out of its mouth shot a long ribbon of something white. The ribbon arched out thirty feet and fell soggily on Blade's sword arm. He felt the stuff sticking to his skin, dropped his staff, and drew his knife to slash the ribbon apart. Before he could draw, the creature twisted sideways. The ribbon tightened so violently that Blade was jerked forward to sprawl in the grass on his face.
Blade held onto his weapons, though. As he struck the ground he slashed out at the ribbon. His knife hacked halfway through it at one stroke. But the stuff was tough. It stuck to the knife and to Blade's hand. He shook the knife furiously, then scraped it hard on the grass, trying to get rid of the clinging ribbon. It clung like glue.
Meanwhile the stolof was slowly backing away, pulling Blade along on his stomach as it moved. Blade felt as though the hair on his arm was being pulled out by the roots and the skin pulled off the flesh.
The ribbon snapped, and he heard a cry of delight from Neena. He also heard an angry shout and more whistling from the stolof's master. Blade sprang to his feet. Before he could take a step, another ribbon shot out, this one slapping itself across his legs. The creature heaved again, and Blade went over backward.
This time the creature did not try to keep the ribbon tight. It lumbered forward, chattering and clattering and hissing like a small steam engine. Blade found that his staff was just within reach. He snatched it up and swung it one-handed at the stolof as the beast loomed over him. He aimed for one of the eyes. The staff wasn't quite long enough, and the heavy mandibles closed on it. The creature jerked back, and the staff was jerked out of Blade's hand. A moment later came the crunching of wood being pulped as the mandibles closed, chopping the staff in two.
The stolof hissed again and came on.
Blade still had his sword and a grim determination to go down fighting, but not much else. He tried to rise to his feet, but the creature twisted to one side, tightening the ribbon. Blade toppled again. Once more he slashed at the ribbon, but he was jerked to one side, and the ribbon wound itself around his legs. His blow thudded down into the grass.
Before Blade could move again, the stolof deliberately bit off the ribbon and launched another one. This one fell with grisly accuracy squarely across Blade's face. His bellow of rage was stifled as the gray-white, slimy stickiness covered his mouth and nose. It felt as loathesome against his skin as the flesh of a decayed corpse, and it smelled like a combination of a poorly tended pigsty and long-overripe cheese. Blade fought down an urge to vomit. He slashed furiously but blindly at where he thought the ribbon ought to be. His sword whistled through empty air and struck one of the stolof's massive legs. It was like hitting a solid column of hard rubber. His sword struck with a dull thunk and bounced off. He struck again, harder. This time the creature kicked out as Blade slashed. The shock was so great that Blade's sword flew out of his hands. He rolled over, clutching at the ribbon across his face with both hands, desperately trying to tear it loose before the creature was on him.
He knew he'd never make it. The stolof's hissing and chittering sounded almost overhead, and he could smell its sour, acrid odor. He could hear the clicking of the mandibles, the ones that had pulped the wood of his staff. Those mandibles would shear through his bones as if they were made of balsa wood. He heaved on the ribbon, felt it pull free-along with skin and eyelashes-felt the mandibles touch the back of his neck, and heard a sudden shout and burst of whistling behind him.
Instantly the stolof backed away from its victim. Before Blade could take advantage of that, the leader ran over to him and laid the point of his sword gently to the back of Blade's neck.
«It would be wiser not to move,» said the man coldly. Blade had to agree.
The man bound Blade's hands behind his
back with a length of wire twisted painfully tight, then added a thin cord. The cord seemed to be studded with tiny metal spikes that slashed and gouged Blade's skin. He could feel the blood oozing from his wrists.
Blade's ankles were already wrapped up in the stolof's ribbon. The leader left the ribbon on, but added another length of wire as a precaution. When he'd finished that, the leader jerked Blade up into a sitting position, stripped the ruby ring off his hand, and left him.
Sweat and the slime from the ribbon were oozing into Blade's eyes and blurring his vision, but he could see clearly enough what had happened to the women. The first one, Kubona, lay unconscious on the ground, her face a bloody mask. The second one, Neena, also lay on the ground. She lay face down, with two of the men kneeling on her arms and a third sitting on her legs. She must have been in considerable pain, but her face showed nothing except furious rage. She was cursing her captors quietly but continuously and in startling detail.
The leader went over to Neena and his men. They rose as he approached. Before Neena could move, the leader kicked her smartly in the stomach. As she doubled up, gasping and obviously trying not to vomit, the leader grabbed her by her long black hair and jerked her to her feet. Then he held her by the hair with one hand, gripped the collar of her tunic with the other, and jerked downward with all his strength. The tunic ripped apart from neck to hem and fell to the ground. Neena stood there, wearing nothing but a look of agony and grim determination. She seemed to catch her breath. then her face twisted and she spat squarely into the leader's eyes.
His face darkened and his fingers tightened in her hair. Then his other hand came up and across her face, five, ten, fifteen times in rapid succession. Each time he struck hard enough to snap her head back. Without his grip on her hair she would have fallen. When he'd finished, her face was as red as if it had been burned, and blood trickled from a split lip. Yet somehow she managed to stand, still glaring at the leader. He slapped her again, she went down, and as she sprawled on the ground he kicked her in the stomach again.
The three surviving warriors looked expectantly at Neena, than inquiringly at their leader. He shook his head.
«She's not for you. Not even for me. That is Neena of Draad, daughter to King Embor. She is fit only for our king. We shall bring her safely to King Furzun, and your reward will be enough to buy all the women even such as you could wish.»
The faces of the three men showed a mixture of disappointment and anticipation. The leader knelt down beside the writhing Neena and drew more cord and wire out of the pouch at his belt. He blew briefly on his whistle, and the stolof drew back, folded its legs, and lay down beside some bushes. Then he pointed to Kubona. By this time she was conscious, moaning softly, and trying to sit up.
«We cannot manage three prisoners, though. That one is yours.»
«We thank you, Lord Desgo,» said one of the men. He and the others bowed. Then they drew their knives and went to work on Kubona.
Blade had seen more ugly sights in his life than twenty ordinary men, and thought he was reasonably hardened. He still found that what the three warriors did to Neena's companion was more than he could stand. If there had been anything in his stomach, it would have come up.
After a while he found he had to close his eyes. He wished he could also close his ears. It took the woman a long time to stop screaming, because the warriors knew exactly what they were doing to her. It took her even loner to die, for the same reason. In the end Blade had to open his eyes and look at the bloody, twitching thing on the grass that had once been a young woman.
Blade didn't like these people. He was thoroughly nauseated by Lord Desgo and the three warriors. Compared to them, the stolof seemed almost friendly and harmless.
But these sadistic thugs were not the only people in this dimension. Somewhere else in or beyond the forests was Neena's homeland, Draad.
There was also Neena, who might not end up being thrown to King Furzun like a bone to a dog- if he stayed alive to help her. Finally, there was Lord Desgo, whom he might have a better chance to kill some time in the future.
All this together meant keeping his temper and staving alive. He had plenty of good reasons, but it still wasn't going to be an easy job.
Chapter 5
A week's journey through the jungle followed. Lord Desgo was careful to keep both Blade and Neena not necessarily healthy, but alive. He made sure that they got enough food and water to keep them on their feet, and made even more sure that they had no chance to escape. Blade stayed alert, but it didn't do him much good.
He might have had a chance of escaping if he'd moved during the first three days. But Princess Neena seemed too stunned and apathetic to be able to make the escape with him. Blade wondered if the princess might be pretending to be more shaken than she really was, to lull her captors into relaxing. She'd been fierce and defiant right up to the end of the battle.
But Blade couldn't be sure. Kubona's ghastly death and her own captivity might have really unnerved the princess. He could not attempt his own escape if that would mean leaving her helpless in Lord Desgo's hands.
On the morning of the fourth day, Blade awoke to find that reinforcements had joined the party. Four more warriors and another stolof had come in during the night, to place themselves under Lord Desgo's command. The soldiers were not particularly happy about his orders to leave Neena alone, however. Blade caught them throwing numerous longing looks at her.
He could understand those looks. Battered, bruised, and dirty as she was, Princess Neena was a strikingly beautiful woman. She was long-limbed and slender, with little spare flesh anywhere, but beautifully muscled and graceful in all her movements. Her small breasts were perfectly molded, and so were all her other curves. Her hair was a gleaming black, so dark that it showed blue tints in the sunlight. Under the dirt her skin was an exquisite copper-gold. Blade could understand those lustful looks of the warriors, and why Lord Desgo expected great favor from King Furzun for giving him Neena.
The four newcomers appeared to accept Lord Desgo's authority without question, but Desgo did not trust to appearances. He was careful that the newcomers took the lead on the march. He never let any of the four get behind him, or turned his back on them. Desgo and his men always slept in a tight circle around the prisoners, one man awake and on guard at all times. Lord Desgo was obviously a warrior who thought as well as fought, and a leader his own men at least would obey and follow.
This went on for three days as they marched through the jungle. The ground underfoot was always level, and spongy with moisture and decay. Around them was always the solid mass of the jungle's vegetation. Most of it was a hundred different shades of green, relieved only by the black or brown of tree trunks, the white of fungi, and the occasional color-splashes of flowers.
Listening to the men talk, Blade discovered that this jungle-grown land was called Gleor. The city toward which they were marching, the capital of the Kingdom of Trawn, was called Trawnom-Driba — «Great City of Trawn.» There lived King Furzun, most of his warrior nobles such as Desgo, the wise men who bred the stolofs for Trawn's hunts and wars, and a great many other people.
Two days' march from the city, Lord Desgo held a drinking party to celebrate the capture of Blade and Neena. The four newcomers went out into the jungle to gather kabo nuts, shaped and colored like watermelons but with a hard shell and a yellowish milk inside like coconut milk.
While the four were out of sight, Blade saw Desgo stick a dagger into the neck of his stolof and draw out a small cup full of yellowish fluid. When the four came back, Blade saw the nobleman slip the fluid into the drinking cup that was passed around. He saw the four newcomers drink deeply from the cup, while Desgo and his men skillfully pretended to drink without letting a drop of the kabo milk down their throats.
The thick darkness of the tropical night came down quickly on the jungle, and Blade fell asleep without seeing or hearing anything more. In the morning, though, he saw the results of the party. All four
of the newcomers lay stretched out dead on the ground, their faces twisted with pain and turned a dark blue.
Blade wasn't particularly surprised at that. He was slightly surprised at the cool, quiet skill Lord Desgo had shown in planning and carrying out the murder. Very definitely Lord Desgo was more than simply a sadistic thug. It was not at all pleasant to think about being in his power, and what that might lead to.
Lord Desgo's warriors showed no emotion at all over the four bodies. If hope of reward wouldn't keep them quiet now and forever about the murder, fear of Lord Desgo's vengeance certainly would. Blade saw no chance of persuading the warriors to betray their master, particularly when he had nothing whatever to offer them.
With only three men again, Desgo was even more careful with his prisoners. Before starting out that morning, he hobbled both of them, tying their ankles with wire from the dead men's packs. He also tied a rope around Neena's neck, so that she could be led along like a dog. Blade realized that his chances of escaping had now become slim indeed. His chances of escaping with Neena were even smaller. He could undoubtedly force Desgo to kill him, but he wasn't that desperate yet.
So Blade settled down to pretending to be a submissive, quiet prisoner. He didn't enjoy it, and he couldn't be sure if it was fooling Desgo or not. But he also knew that he was a fairly good actor. Several times he'd been good enough to save his own life. Perhaps he could do it again.