The Virgin of Zesh & the Tower of Zanid

by L. Sprague De Camp

  Clang-dzing!

  Round and round they went. Once, when Fallon found himself facing Gazi in the doorway, he took the occasion to shout, “I say, Gazi, go away! You’re distracting us!”

  She paid no attention, and the duel continued. By a sudden flurry of thrusts and lunges, Kordaq backed Fallon against a wall. A final lunge would have nailed him to the wall, but Fallon jumped aside and Kordaq’s point pierced the room’s one picture, a cheap copy of Ma’shir’s well-known painting Dawn Over Majbur. While Kordaq’s blade was stuck in the plaster, Fallon gave a quick forehand cut at his foe, who caught the blow on his blanket, jerked out his sword, and faced his opponent again.

  Tink-swish!

  Fallon threw another cut at Kordaq, who parried slantwise so that Fallon’s blade bit into the little overturned table. Fallon felt his blood pound in his ears. He moved slowly, it seemed to him as if wading through tar. But Kordaq, he could see, was getting just as tired.

  Tick-clank!

  The fight went on and on until both fighters were so exhausted that they could do little more than stand on guard, glaring at one another. Every ten seconds or so one or the other would summon up energy to make a feint or a lunge, which the other’s unpierceable defense always stopped.

  Ding-zang!

  Fallon grated, “We’re too—damned even!”

  Gazi’s voice proclaimed, “What ails you is that you’re both cowards at liver, fearing to close each upon the other.”

  Kordaq shouted in a strangled voice, “Madam, would you like to trade places with me—to see how easy this is?”

  “Ye are ridiculous,” said Gazi. “I thought one or the other would be slain, so that my problem should be solved by choosing the survivor. But if ye’ll merely caper and mow all day . . .”

  Fallon panted, “Kordaq, I think—she’s urging us on—so she can enjoy—the sight of gore—at our expense.”

  “Methinks—you speak sooth—Master Antané.”

  They puffed for a few seconds more, like a pair of idling steam locomotives. Then Fallon said, “Well, how about calling it off? It doesn’t look—as if either of us—could best the other in a fair fight.”

  “You started it, sir, but if you wish to terminate it, I—as a reasonable man—will gladly entertain the proposal.”

  “So moved.”

  Fallon stepped back and half-sheathed his sword, watching Kordaq against any treacherous attack. Kordaq stepped into the alcove inside the door and sheathed his sword in the empty scabbard that hung from one of the coat hooks. He looked at Fallon to be sure that the latter’s blade was all the way in and his hand was off the hilt before he released his own hilt. Then he carried sword and scabbard towards the bedroom.

  Before he reached the entrance, Gazi turned her back and preceded him. Fallon fell into a chair. From the bedroom came sounds of recrimination. Then Gazi reappeared in shawl, skirt, and sandals, lugging a cloth bag containing her gear. Behind her came Kordaq, also clad and buckling on his scabbard.

  “Men,” said Gazi, “whether Krishnan or Terran, are the most sorry, loathly, despicable, fribbling creatures in the animal kingdom. Seek not to find me, either of you, for I’m through with you both. Farewell and good riddance!”

  She slammed the door behind her. Kordaq laughed and dropped into another chair, sprawling exhaustedly.

  “That was my hardiest battle since I fought the Jungava at Tajrosh,” he said. “I wonder what raised up yon wench’s ire so? She boiled up like a summer thundershower over Qe’ba’s crags.”

  Fallon shrugged. “Sometimes I doubt if I understand females either.”

  “Have you breakfasted?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ha, that explains your success. Had I fought upon a stomach full, ’twould have been another story. Come into the kitchen whilst I scramble a deyé egg.”

  Fallon grunted and got to his feet. He found Kordaq assembling comestibles from the shelves of the kitchen, including a big jug of falat-wine.

  “ ’Tis a trifle early in the day to start on kvad,” said the captain, “but fighting’s a thirsty game, and a drop of this to replace that which we’ve sweated forth will harm us not.”

  Several mugs of wine later, Fallon, feeling mellow, said, “Kordaq old fellow, I can’t tell you how glad I am you didn’t get hurt. You’re my idea of what a man should be.”

  “Forsooth, friend Antané, my sentiments toward you exactly. I’d rate you even with my dearest friends of my own species, than which I know of no more liver-felt compliment.”

  “Let’s drink to friendship.”

  “Hail friendship!” cried Kordaq, raising his mug.

  “To stand or fall together!” said Fallon.

  Kordaq, having drunk, set down his mug and looked sharply at Fallon. “Speaking of which, my good bawcock, as you seem—when not inflamed by barbarous jealousy—to be a wight of sense and discretion, and serve under me in the Guard, I feel I should cast a hint of warning in your direction, to do with as you will.”

  “What’s this?”

  “The news is that the barbarian conqueror, Ghuur of Qaath, marches at last. Word arrived by bijar post yestereve shortly ere I left the barracks to visit your house. He had not then yet crossed the frontier, but news of that impious introgression may have come by now.”

  “I suppose that means that the Guard . . .?”

  “You divine my very thought, sir. Get your affairs in order, as you may be called out any day. And now I must report to the barracks, to spend the day, no doubt, composing commands and filling forms. Another horrid institution! Would I’d been born some centuries back, when the art of writing was so rare that soldiers carried all they needed to know in their heads.”

  “Who’ll guard the city if the whole Guard’s called out?”

  “They’ll not all be summoned. The probationaries, the incapacitated, and the retired members shall remain to fill the duties of those who leave. We captains of the watch-companies do struggle with the minister, who wishes to keep hale and blooming guardsmen for special watch duty in . . .”

  “In the Safq?” asked Fallon as Kordaq hesitated.

  The captain belched. “I’d not so state, save that you seem apprised of this circumstance already. How heard you?”

  “Oh, you know. Rumors. But what’s in the thing?”

  “That I truly may not divulge. I’ll say this: that this ancient pile harbors something so new and deadly as to make the shafts of Ghuur’s bowmen seem harmless as a vernal shower.”

  Fallon said, “The Yeshtites have certainly done an amazing job of keeping the interior of the Safq secret. I don’t know of a single plan of the place in circulation.”

  Kordaq smiled and wiggled one antenna in the Krishnan equivalent of a wink. “Not so secret as they like to think. This mystery has leaked a bit, as such mummeries are wont to do.”

  “You mean somebody outside the cult does know?”

  “Aye, sir. Or at least we have a suspicion.” Kordaq drank down another mug of falat-wine.

  “Who’s ‘we’?”

  “A learned fraternity whereto I belong, yclept the Mejraf Janjira. Hast heard of us?”

  “The Neophilosophical Society,” murmured Fallon. “I know a little about their tenets. You mean that you . . .” Fallon checked himself in time to keep from saying that he deemed these tenets an egregious example of interstellar damnfoolishness.

  Kordaq, however, caught the scorn in the closing words and looked severely at Fallon. “There are those who condemn our principles unheard, proving thereby their ignorance in rejecting wisdom without making fair trial thereof. Now, I’ll explain them in three words, as best I can in my poor tongue-tied fashion—and if you’re interested I can refer you to others more adept in exposition than I. Hast heard of Pyatsmif?”

  “Of what?”

  “Pyatsmif . . . That proves the ignorance of Earthmen, who have not heard of some of their planet’s greatest men.”

  “You mean that’s an Earthman?” Fallon
had never heard of Charles Piazzi Smith, the eccentric Scottish nineteenth-century astronomer who founded the pseudoscientific cult of pyramidology; but even if he had, it is doubtful whether he would have recognized the name as Kordaq pronounced it.

  “Well,” said the captain, “this Pyatsmif was the first to realize that a great and ancient monument upon your planet’s face—ancient, that is, as upstart Terrans reckon age—was more than it seemed. Truly, it incorporated in its moldering structure clues to the wisdom of ages and the secrets of the universe . . .”

  For the next half-hour Fallon squirmed while Kordaq lectured. He did not dare to break off the audience, because he thought that Kordaq might have some useful information.

  At the end of that time, however, the falat-wine was having a definite effect upon the captain’s discourse, causing him to ramble and to lose the thread of his argument.

  He finally got himself so confused that he broke off: “. . . nay, good Antané, I’m a simple tashiturn soldier, no ph’los’pher. Had I the eloquence of . . . of . . .”

  He broke off, staring blankly into space. Fallon said, “And you’ve got a plan of the Safq?”

  Kordaq looked fuzzily sly. “Sh-said I so? Methinks I did not. But that such a plan exists I’ll not deny.”

  “Interesting if true.”

  “Doubt you my word, sirrah? I am who I am . . .”

  “Now, now. I’ll believe your plan when I see it. There’s no law against that, is there?”

  “No law against . . .” Kordaq puzzled over this problem for a while, then shook his head as if to clear it. “As stubborn as a bishtar and as slippery as a fondaq, such is my copemate Antané. Very well, I’ll show you this plan, or a copy true thereof. Then will you believe?”

  “Oh, ah, yes, I suppose so.”

  Kordaq swaying, went into the living room. Fallon heard the sound of drawers opening and closing, and the captain came back with a piece of Krishnan paper in his hand. “Here then!” he said, and spread it out upon the table.

  Fallon saw that it bore a rough diagram of the ground-floor plan of the Safq, which he could recognize by its curiously curved outline. The drawing was not very clear because it had been made with a Krishnan lead pencil. This meant that it had a “lead” of real metallic lead, not of graphite, a comparatively rare mineral on this planet. Fallon pointed to the largest room shown in the plan, just inside the only doorway. “That, I suppose, is the main temple or chapel?”

  “Truly I know not, for I’ve never been inside to see. But your hypothesis seems to accord with the divine faculty of reason, good sir.”

  The rest of the plan showed a maze of rooms and corridors, which meant little unless one knew the purposes of each part or had visited the site. Fallon stared at the plan with all his might, trying to photograph it on his brain. “Where did this come from?”

  “Oh, ha, ’twas a frolicksome tale. A member of our learned brotherhood by inadvertence got into the secret annex of the royal library, where the public’s not allowed, and came upon a whole file of such plans showing all the important buildings in Balhib. He said nought at the time, but as soon as he was out of this hole he drew a copy from memory, of which this is yet another copy.”

  The captain put the paper away, saying: “And now if you’ll excuse me, dear comrade, I must to toil. Qarar’s blood! I’ve drunk too much of that belly-wash and must needs walk to work to sober up. Lord Chindor would take it amiss, did I enter the barracks staggering like a drunken Osirian and falling over the furniture. Wilt walk with me?”

  “Gladly,” said Fallon, and followed Kordaq out.

  XI

  “What is?” asked Dr. Julian Fredro.

  Fallon explained. “Everything’s ready for our invasion of the Safq. I’ve even got a plan of the ground floor. Here?”

  He showed Fredro the plan that he had drawn from memory, as soon as he had bidden farewell to Kordaq and had acquired a pencil and a pad of paper at a shop in the Kharju.

  “Good, good,” said Fredro. “When is this to be?”

  “Tomorrow night. But you’ll have to come with me now to order your costume.”

  Fredro looked doubtful. “I am writing important report for Przeglad Archeologiczny . . .”

  Fallon held up a hand. “That’ll wait—this won’t. It’ll take my tailor the rest of the day to make the robes. Besides, tomorrow is the only Full Rite of Yesht for three ten-nights. Something to do with astrological conjunctions. And the Full Rite is the only one where they have such a crowd of priests that we could slip in among them unnoticed. So it’ll have to be tomorrow night.”

  “Oh, very well. Wait till I get coat.”

  They left the ’Avrud Terrao, or Terran Hotel, and walked to the shop of Ve’quir the Exclusive. Fallon got Ve’qir aside and asked, “You’re a Bákhite, aren’t you?”

  “Aye, Master Antané. Wherefore ask you?”

  “I wanted to be sure you wouldn’t have religious objections to filling my order.”

  “By Qarar’s club, sir, ’tis an ominous note you sound! What order’s this?”

  “Two robes of priests of Yesht, third grade . . .”

  “Why, have you gentiles been admitted to that priesthood?”

  “No, but we want them anyway.”

  “Oh, sir! Should it become known, I have many customers among the Yeshtites . . .”

  “It shan’t become known. But you’ll have to make them with your own hands, and we have to have them right away, too.”

  The couturier grumped and fussed and squirmed, but Fallon finally talked him round.

  Most of the morning was spent in the back room of the shop being measured and fitted. This proved not too difficult, as the loose, tentlike robes which the cult of Yesht decreed for its priesthood had to fit only approximately. Ve’qir promised the garments by the following noon, so Fallon and Fredro separated, the latter to return to the ’Avrud Terrao to resume work on his article.

  Fallon said in parting, “You’ll have to get rid of those whiskers too, old man.”

  “Shave my little beard? Never! Have worn this beard on five different planets! I have right to wear . . .”

  Fallon shrugged. “Suit yourself, but you can’t pass as a Krishnan then. They’ve got hardly any hair on their faces.”

  Fredro grumpily gave in, and they agreed to meet the following morning, pick up the robes, and go to Fallon’s house to rehearse the ritual.

  Fallon went thoughtfully back to the Juru, had lunch, and returned home. As he neared his house he observed a little wooden arrow hanging by a string from the doorknob.

  With a grunt of displeasure, Fallon lifted the object off its support. This meant that there would be a meeting of all members of the Juru Company at the armory that evening. No doubt this meeting was connected with the rising peril of Qaath.

  ###

  Captain Kordaq faced the assembled Juru Company—two hundred and seventeen organisms. About half were Krishnans; the rest were Earthmen, Thothians, Osirians, and so on.

  He cleared his throat and said, “You’ve no doubt heard the rumors that have been buzzing around the Qaathian question like chidebs about a ripe cadaver, and have surmised that you’ve been called hither on that account. I’ll not deceive you—you have. And though I’m but a rude and taciturn soldier, I’ll essay to set before you in three words the causes thereof.

  “As you all know—and as some of you recall from personal and painsome experience—’twas but seven years ago than the Kamuran of Qaath (may Dupulán bury him in filth) smote us at Tajrosh and scattered our warriors to the winds. This battle bereft us of mastery of the Pandrate of Jo’ol, which theretofore had stood as a buffer ’twixt us and the wild men of the steppes. Ghuur’s mounted archers swarmed all over that land like a plague of zi’dams, and Ghuur himself received the homage of the Pandr of Jo’ol, who in sooth could do little else. Since then Jo’ol hath remained independent in name, but its Pardr looks to Ghuur of Uriq for protection ’stead of to our own government.
”

  “If we had a king in his right mind . . .” somebody said from the back, but the interrupter was quickly shushed.

  “There shall be no disrespect for the royal house,” said Kordaq sternly. “While I, too, am aware of His Altitude’s tragic indisposition, yet the monarchy—and not the man—is what we owe allegiance to. To continue: Since then, mighty Ghurr hath spread his pestilent power, subduing Dhaukia and Suria and adding them to his ever-growing empire. His cavalry have borne their victorious arms to the stony Madhiq Mountains, to the marshes of Lake Khaast, and even to the unknown lands of Ghobbejd and Yeramis—hitherto little more to us than names on the edge of the map, tenanted by headless men and polymorphic monsters.

  “Why, you may well ask, did he not smite Balhib before sending his banner into such distant territories? Because, though we may have degenerated from our greatest days, we’re still a martial race, tempered like steel betwixt the hammer of the Jungava and the anvil of the other Varasto nations, to whom we’ve served these many centuries as a shield against the inroads of the steppe folk. And though Ghuur vanquished us at Tajrosh, he was so mauled in the doing that he lacked force to push across the border into Balhib proper.

  “Now, having bound many nations to his chariot, the barbarian hath at last collected force enough to try handstrokes with us again. His armies have swept into unresisting Jo’ol. Any hour we may hear that they have crossed our border. Scouts report that they are as grains of sand for multitude—that their shafts blacken the sun and their soldiery drink the rivers dry. Besides the dreaded mounted archery of Qaath, there are footmen from Suria, dragoons from Dhaukia, longbowmen from Madhiq, and men of far fantastic tribes in sunset lands never heard of among the Varastuma. And rumors speak of novel instruments of war, ne’er before seen upon this planet.

  “Do I tell you this to affright you? Nay. For we, too, have our strength. I need not recite to you the past glories of Balhibou arms.” (Kordaq reeled off a long list of events unnecessary to mention.)