The Virgin of Zesh & the Tower of Zanid

by L. Sprague De Camp

  “Surely, I’ll go,” said Fallon.

  ###

  Kastambang’s “basement” was an underground chamber the size of a small auditorium. Part of it was given over to a bar, gaming tables, and other amenities. The end, where the animal fight was scheduled to occur, was hollowed out into a funnel-shaped depression ringed by several rows of seats and looking over the edge of a circular steep-sided pit a dozen or fifteen meters in diameter and about half as deep. The chamber was crowded with fifty or sixty male Krishnans. The air was thick with scent and smoke, and loud with talk in which each speaker tried to shout down all the others. Bets flew and drinks foamed.

  As Fallon arrived, a couple of guests who had been arguing passed beyond the point of debate to that of action. One snapped his fingers at the other’s nose, whereupon the second let the first have the contents of his stein in the face. The finger-snapper sputtered, screamed with rage, felt for his missing sword, and then flew upon his antagonist. In an instant they were rolling about the floor, kicking, clawing, and pulling each other’s bushy green hair.

  A squad of lackeys separated them, one nursing a bitten thumb and the other a fine set of facial scratches, and hustled them out by separate exits.

  Fallon got a mug of kvad at the bar, greeted a couple of acquaintances, and wandered over to the pit, whither the rest of the company were also drifting. He thought: I’ll stay just long enough to see a little of this show, then push off for home. Mustn’t let Kordaq and Gazi get back ahead of me.

  By hurrying round to the farther side of the pit he managed to get one of the last front-row seats. As he leaned over the rail, he glanced to the sides and recognized his right-hand neighbor—a tall, thin, youngish, ornately clad Krishnan, as Chindor er-Quinan, the leader of the secret opposition to mad King Kir.

  Catching Chindor’s eye he said: “Hello there, Your Altitude.”

  “Hail, Master Antané. How wags your world?”

  “Well enough, I suppose, though I haven’t been back to it lately. What’s on the program?”

  “ ’Twill be a yeki captured in the Forest of Jerab against a shan from the steaming jungles of Mutabwk. Oh, know you my friend, Master Liyará the Brazer?”

  “Delighted to meet you,” said Fallon, grasping the proffered thumb and offering his own.

  “And I to meet you,” said Liyará. “It should be a spectacle rare, I ween. Would you make a small wager? I’ll take the shan if you’ll give odds.”

  “Even money on the yeki,” said Fallon, staring.

  The eastern accent was just like that which he had heard from the masked party. Was he mistaken, or had Liyará given him a rather keen look too?

  “Dupulán take you!” said Liyará. “Three to two . . .”

  The argument was interrupted by a movement and murmur in the audience, which had by now nearly all taken their seats. A tailed Koloftu popped out of a small door in the side of the pit, walked out to the middle of the arena, struck a small gong that he carried for silence, and announced:

  “Gentle sirs, my master Kastambang proffers a beast-fight for your pleasure. From this portal . . .” (the hairy one gestured) “shall issue a full-grown male yeki from the forest of Jerab; whilst from yonder opening shall come a giant shan, captured at great risk in the equatorial jungles of Mutabwk. Place your bets quickly, as the combat will begin as soon as we can drive the creatures forth. I thank your worships.”

  The Koloftu skipped out the way he had come. Liyará resumed: “Three to two, I said . . .”

  But he was again interrupted by a grinding of gears and a rattle of chains, which announced that the barriers at the two larger portals were being raised. A deep roar reverberated up out of the arena, answered by a frightful snarl, as if a giant were tearing sheet iron.

  The roar came again, almost deafening, and out bounded a great brown furr carnivore: the yeki, looking something like a six-legged mink of tiger size. And out from the other entrance flowed an even more horrendous monster, also six-legged, but hairless and vaguely reptilian, with a longish neck and a body that tapered gradually down to a tail. Its leathery hide was brightly colored in a bewildering pattern of stripes and spots of deep green and buff. Fine camouflage for lurking in a thicket in tropical jungles, thought Fallon.

  The land animals of Krishna had evolved from two separate aquatic stocks: one, oviparous, and four-legged, while the other was viviparous, and six-legged. The four-limbed subkingdom included the several humanoid species and a number of other forms including the tall camel-like shomal. The six-legged subkingdom took in many land forms such as the domesticable aya, shaihan, eshun, and bishtar; most of the carnivores; and the flying forms such as the aqebat, whose middle pair of limbs were developed into batlike wings. Convergent evolution had produced several striking parallels between the four-legged and six-legged stocks, just as it had between the humanoid Krishnans and the completely unrelated Earthmen.

  Fallon guessed that both beasts had been deliberately maltreated to rouse them to a pitch of fury. Their normal instinct would be to avoid each other.

  The yeki crouched, sliding forward on its belly like a cat stalking a bird, its fangs bared in a continuous growl. The shan reared up, arching its neck into a swanlike curve, as it sidled around on its six taloned legs with a curious clockworky gait. Snarl after snarl came from its fang-bearing jaws. As the yeki came a little closer, the shan’s head shot out and its jaws came together with a ringing snap—but the yeki, with the speed of thought, flinched back out of reach. Then it began its creeping advance again.

  The Krishnans were working themselves into a state of the wildest excitement. They shouted bets at each other clear across the pit. They leaped up and down in their seats like monkeys and screamed to those in front to sit down. Beside Fallon, Chindor er-Qinan was tearing his elegant bonnet to pieces.

  Snap-snap-snap went the great jaws. The whole audience gave a deafening yell at the first sight of blood. The yeki had not dodged the shan’s lunge quickly enough, and the tropical carnivore’s teeth had gashed its antagonist’s shoulder. Blue-green blood oozed down the yeki’s glossy fur.

  A few seats away, a Krishnan was trying to make a bet with Chindor, but neither could make himself heard above the din. At last the Krishnan nobleman stumbled over Fallon’s knees and into the aisle. Then he climbed to where his interlocutor was shouting his odds between cupped hands. Others in the rear had climbed over the seats to stand behind those in the front row, peering over their shoulders.

  Snap-snap! More blood; both yeki and shan were cut. The air reeked of cigar smoke, strong perfume, alcohol, and the body odors of the Krishnans and the beasts below. Fallon coughed. Liyará the Brazer was shrieking something.

  The foaming jaws approached each other, each of the animals watching the other for the first move. Fallon found himself gripping the rail with knuckle-whitening force.

  Crunch! The shan and the yeki struck together. The shan seized the yeki’s foreleg, but the yeki at the same instant clamped its jaws upon the shan’s neck. In an instant, the sand of the pit flew as the two rolled over, thrashing and clawing. The whole mansion shook as the massive limbs and bodies slammed against the wooden walls of the pit with drumlike booming sounds.

  Fallon, like the rest of the audience, had his eyes so closely glued to the beasts that he was unaware of his surroundings—until he felt the grip of a pair of powerful hands upon his ankles, lifting. One heave and over the rail he went, plunging downward toward the sand.

  He had a flashing impression that Liyará had thrown him over; then the sand smote him in the face with stunning force.

  Fallon rolled over, feeling as if his neck had been broken. It was, as he found by moving, merely wrenched. He scrambled up to face the yeki, which stood over the shan. The latter was plainly dead.

  He glanced up. A ring of pale-green faces stared down upon him. Most of them had their mouths open, but he could not make out anything, because they were all shouting at once.

  “A swor
d!” he yelled. “Somebody throw me a sword!”

  There was a commotion among the audience. Nobody had any swords, as they all had been left in the cloakroom on arrival. Somebody called for a rope, somebody else for a ladder, and somebody else shouted something about knotting coats together. They milled around, screaming advice but accomplishing nothing.

  The yeki began to slither forward on its belly.

  And then the master of the house himself leaned over the railing, shouting: “Ohé, Master Antané! Catch!”

  Down came a sword, hilt first. Fallon leaped and caught the hilt, spun, and faced the yeki.

  The beast was still advancing. In an instant, Fallon surmised, it would spring or rush, and then his sword would be of no use. He might, with luck, deal it a mortal stab; but much good that would do him—he could still be slain by the dying monster.

  The only defense would be a strong offense. Fallon advanced upon the yeki, sword out. The creature roared and slashed out with its unwounded foreleg. Fallon flicked out his blade and scratched the clawed paw.

  The yeki roared more loudly. Fallon, heart pounding, drove his point at the beast’s nose. At the first prick, the yeki backed up, snarling and foaming.

  “Master Antané!” shouted a voice. “Drive it toward the open portal!”

  Thrust; gain a step; thrust again; jerk the sword back as the great paw slapped at it. Another step. Little by little, Fallon herded the yeki toward the portal, every minute expecting it to spring in its fury and finish him.

  Then, aware of sanctuary, the beast abruptly turned and slithered snakelike into the cavernous opening in the wall. With a flash of brown fur it was gone. The gate clanged down.

  Fallon reeled. At last somebody lowered a ladder. He climbed up slowly, and handed the sword back to Kastambang.

  Hands pounded Fallon’s back; hands pressed cigars and drinks upon him; hands hoisted him on to Krishnan shoulders and marched him around the room. There was nothing reserved about Krishnans. The climax came when one of them handed Fallon a hatful of gold and silver pieces which he had collected among the company as a tribute to the gallantry of the Earthman.

  There was no sign of Liyará. From the remarks passed, Fallon guessed that nobody had seen the manufacturer throw him over the rail:

  “By the nose of Tyazan, why fell you in?” “Had you one too many?” “Nay, he slays monsters for pleasure!”

  If, now, Fallon burst into accusation, there would be only his word against Liyará’s.

  Several hours and many drinks later, Fallon found himself lolling in a khizun with a couple of fellow guests, roaring a drunken song to the six-beat clop of the aya’s feet. The others got out before he did, as none lived so far into the poorer districts to the west. This would mean his paying the others’ fare as well as his own. But with all that money that they had collected for him . . .

  Where in Hishkak was it, anyhow? Then he remembered a series of wild crap-games that at one point had him rich to the tune of thirty thousand karda. But then fickle Da’vi, the Varasto goddess of luck, deserted him, and soon he was down to just the money that he had brought with him to Kastambang’s house.

  He groaned. Would he never learn? With the small fortune that he had in his grip, he could have shaken the dust of dusty Balhib from his boots, leaving Mjipa and Qais and Fredro to solve the secret of the Safq as best they could, and hired mercenaries in Majbur to retake Zamba.

  And now, another horrid thought struck him. What with the adventure with the yeki, and his subsequent orgy of relaxation, he had lost track of time and forgotten all about Gazi and her engagement with Kordaq. Surely they would be back by now—and what excuse should he offer? He clutched his aching head. He no doubt stank like a distillery. In the last analysis, of course, one could fall back upon the truth.

  His mind, usually so fertile in excuses and expedients, seemed paralyzed. Let’s see: “My friends Gargan and Weems dropped in to see how I was; and I felt so much better that they persuaded me to go round to Savaich’s with them, and there my stomach went dobby-o again . . .”

  She wouldn’t believe it, but it was the best that he could do in his present state. The khizun drew up at his door. As he paid his fare his eyes roamed the exiguous façade, which looked less loathsome in the moonlight than by day. There was no sign of light. Either Gazi was in bed, or . . .

  As Fallon let himself in, a feeling told him that the house was empty. And so it proved; nor was there any note from Gazi.

  He stumbled up the stairs, pulled off his sword and boots, threw himself across the bed, and fell into troubled slumber.

  X

  Anthony Fallon awakened stiff and uncomfortable, with a vile taste in his mouth. His neck felt as if it had acquired a permanent kink from last night’s fall. Gradually, as he pulled himself together, he remembered finding Gazi not yet returned . . .

  Where was she now?

  He sat up, and called. No answer.

  Fallon sat on the edge of the bed for a few seconds, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and jerking his head this way and that to exercise his wrenched neck. Then he got up and searched the house. Still no Gazi. Not only was she gone; she had taken her clothes and minor possessions with her.

  As he prepared breakfast with shaking hands, his mind wandered over the various possibilities. Fallon might have reflected that, after all, in Balhib, women were free to change their jagains whenever they pleased. But just now, the mere thought that Gazi might have deserted him for Kordaq roused such rage as to sweep all other considerations aside.

  He choked down a cold breakfast, pulled on his boots, hitched up his sword and, without bothering to shave, set out for the barracks at the east side of the town. The sun had been up less than a Krishnan hour, and the breeze was beginning to make the dust whirls dance.

  A half-hour’s ride on the aya-drawn bus brought him to the barracks, where a surly soldier at the reception desk gave him the address of Kordaq’s suite of rooms. Another half-hour brought his search to a close.

  The apartment house which Kordaq lived in stood at the northern end of the Kharju, where the shops and banks of that district gave way to the middle-class residences of the Zardu to the north. Fallon read the names of the tenants on the plaque affixed to the wall beside the door, and stamped up the stairs to the third floor. He made sure of the right door and struck the gong beside it.

  When there was no response, he struck it again, harder, and finally knocked on the door, which the Balhibuma seldom did. At length he heard movement inside, and the door opened to reveal an extremely sleepy and confused-looking Kordaq. His green hair was awry; a blanket protected his bony shoulders against the early-morning chill; and he carried a naked sword in his hand. It was normal for a Krishnan thus to answer a knock at so untoward an hour, for Fallon might as well have been a robber.

  Kordaq asked, “What in the name of Hoi’s green eyes—oh, ’tis Master Antané! What brings you hither to shatter my slumber, sir? Some gross emergency dire, I trust?”

  “Where’s Gazi?” said Fallon, his hand straying behind him toward his own hilt.

  Kordaq blinked some more sleep out of his eyes. “Why,” he replied innocently, “having done me the honor to take me as her new jagain—in consequence of your folly of yestereve, whereby, despite all I could do, your deception of her revealed itself—the girl’s with me. Where else?”

  “You . . . you mean you admit . . .”

  “Admit what? I’m telling you straight. Now get you hence, good my sir, and let me resume my disjoined doze. Next time, I pray, call upon a night-working man at some more seemly hour.”

  Fallon choked with rage. “You think you can walk off with my woman, and then tell me to go away and let you sleep?”

  “What ails you, Earthman? This is not barbarous Qaath, where women are property. Now get out, ere I teach you a lesson in manners . . .”

  “Oh, yes?” snarled Fallon. “I’ll teach you a manner!”

  He stepped back, whipped out his s
word in a behind-the-back draw, and bored in.

  Still somewhat fogged with sleep, Kordaq hesitated for a fraction of a second before deciding whether to meet the attack or to slam the door shut; thus, Fallon’s blade was lunging toward his chest before he moved. By a hasty parry, combined with a backwards leap, he barely saved himself from being spitted.

  In so doing, however, he relinquished control over the door; Fallon plunged through and kicked the door shut behind him.

  “Madman!” said Kordaq, whipping off his blanket and whirling it around his right arm for a shield. “Your imminent doom’s upon your own head.” And he rushed in his turn.

  Tick-zing-clang went the heavy blades. Fallon beat off the attack, but his ripostes and counters were stopped with ease by Kordaq, either with his blade or with his blanketed arm. Fallon was too full of the urge to kill to notice what an odd spectacle his opponent made, nude but for the sword and the blanket.

  “Antané!” cried Gazi’s voice.

  Fallon and Kordaq both let their eyes stray for a fleeting instant toward the door, in which Gazi stood with her hands pressed to her cheeks. But instantly each brought back his attention to his opponent before the other could take advantage of the distraction.

  Tsing-click-swish!

  The fighters circled, warier now. Fallon knew from the first few passages that they were well-matched. While he was heavier and (being an Earthman) basically stronger, Kordaq was younger and had the longer reach. Kordaq’s blanket offset Fallon’s superior fencing technique.

  Tick-tick-clang!

  Fallon knocked over a small table, kicked it out of the way.

  Swish-chunk!

  Kordaq feinted, then aimed a vicious cut at Fallon’s head. Fallon ducked; the slash sheared through the bronze stem of the floor-lamp and set its top bouncing across the floor, while the remainder of the standard toppled over with a crash.