by Джеффри Лорд
Soon the staple holding his right foot was gone, and the one on the left was cut half through. He was beginning to think of clothing, and how to get some. He was just about to ask Sarnila about this, when he heard footsteps and voices outside the door.
Sarnila froze, and her mouth opened in a soundless scream of terror. Blade did not and could not pay any attention to her. His reflexes and training took over. With a tremendous flesh-gouging lunge he jerked the remaining chain. The half-filed staple snapped. Blade sprang off the bed, clutching the file in his hand. Then he darted across the room and flattened himself against the wall, behind where the opening door would swing. If the people outside opened it just far enough… Now he jerked a beckoning thumb at Sarnila, but she was too paralyzed with terror to move a step. He was calculating if he would have the time to step over and grab her, when the door squealed and groaned open.
Half a dozen Kandan soldiers with the High Priest at their head stamped into the room in a crash of booted feet and a clank of armor and weapons. They took two steps, then stopped at the sight of the empty bed and Sarnila standing numb with fright beside it. For a moment they were as paralyzed as she was. In that moment, Blade moved.
He came out from behind the door in two silent steps and sprang at the High Priest, stabbing with the file toward the exposed back of the man’s thick neck. But a soldier standing just behind the High Priest started to turn as Blade struck. Blade could not halt his stroke; the file clanged off the man’s helmet. The soldier staggered and fell against the High Priest, who spun around with surprising agility for a man his size and weight.
«You!» he gasped as he saw Blade. Then he hoisted up his robes and dashed for the door. The soldiers flung themselves out of his way, then re-formed behind him to block Blade’s path. They were smiling. After all, there were a half dozen of them with swords, and only one of him, with nothing but a file.
Not for long. A soldier lunged at Blade, and he brought the file down on the man’s arm so hard the sword dropped from his hand. Blade dove for it, straight-arming the man in the groin as he also sought to retrieve his weapon. He snatched up the sword and returned it to its previous owner-in the thigh, just below his armor. Then he flipped the sword sideways at a sword arm rising for a stroke, and another sword clattered on the floor, held in a severed hand. The four intact soldiers backed off, staring with dawning fear at the giant naked figure of Blade.
He plunged into their ranks again, beating down two thrusts but not killing or wounding this time. He snatched the statue-like Sarnila off her feet and tucked her under one arm. She was light enough so that he could carry her that way with no trouble. He turned and faced the soldiers.
«Just stay there for a while, friends. I’ve got the High Priest’s daughter.» He did not plan on holding her a hostage, but the soldiers couldn’t know that. They backed obediently against the walls and lowered their swords. Blade turned again and ran out of the chamber.
Outside he found himself in a long, narrow lane between two rows of stoutly timbered wooden huts. «Where are we?» he asked Sarnila. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. He shook her gently. «Where are we? I am going to take you to Zunga with me, and I want to know how to get there.»
Her face collapsed and she began to cry. Blade wondered about the wisdom of the promise he had just made to encourage her. He was far from sure that Sarnila would be able to handle herself in a long flight. The courage she had shown in coming to his but seemed to have entirely gone.
A moment later the question became irrelevant. Pounding down the lane in a glare of torches came a mob of Kandan soldiers, the High Priest again visible among them-well in the rear, Blade noticed. Blade whirled about. Beyond the huts on both sides rose high walls with spiked tops. And down the lane from the other direction a dozen men with Rulami shields were approaching. Blade took all of one second to decide, then dashed straight at the Rulami. Escape was no longer possible, but with the Rulami he and Sarnila might live a little longer and find other chances.
If Blade had wanted to fight the Rulami, he could have taken out half a dozen of them at least. His charge out of the darkness took them by surprise and all their training did not keep them from flinching. But he did not want to fight them. He held his sword point down and shouted, «Save me from the treachery of the Kandans. They mean to kill me and cheat you of your money!» He was gambling that the High Priest’s description of the deal over him was correct.
In a moment he saw that it was. The Rulami drew their swords and glared, not at him, but at the Kandans coming up behind him. The Rulami officer growled contemptuously at Blade, «get behind us, boy. We’ll take care of those priests’ pimps.» Blade led Sarnila through the soldiers as they swung into a formation six-men wide and two deep across the lane.
The High Priest was in the lead now as the Kandans charged up. But he stopped abruptly as the Rulami presented a dozen drawn swords. The officer stepped forward and barked, «Halt, Priest. We don’t like your kind of dealing. If you take one more step after this man-«
«If you draw a single drop of blood from me I’ll-!»
«You’ll what?» sneered the officer. «What can Kanda do to us or for us that we couldn’t do as well on our own? You think you’ve got a real city, don’t you?» The officer spat on the path. «All you’ve got is the Ivory Tower and a huddle of houses. And those boys and old men you call soldiers.» He spat again.
Blade wondered if the Rulami officer wasn’t going too far, deliberately trying to bring on a battle. That was fine with him, of course. The more the Rulami and Kandans were at each other’s throats, the better. And a fight now might even give him and Sarnila a chance to escape.
Apparently the High Priest’s thick skull contained enough brains to make him realize this. He took a deep breath, and in his turn spat on the path. «All right, you no-balls Rulami men, you can have him! You paid for him. Get him out of my sight, get him out of Kanda, get yourselves out of Kanda! But give me that woman.»
«Your daughter?» The officer’s voice held a sneer of total contempt. «Daughter» might have been the foulest word in the whole language, the way he said it.
The High Priest said nothing. He merely shoved his way forward through the Rulami soldiers and grabbed Sarnila by the arm. The girl cringed and whimpered and tried to pull away. Blade took a step forward, and found three Rulami swords aimed at his chest. «None of that, boy,» said the officer. «We don’t want any more fighting over what isn’t our business.»
The High Priest kicked Sarnila’s feet out from under her and dragged her by the hair out into the open. He let go of her hair, and she dropped to the ground with a thud. He kicked her in the stomach, and she doubled up and rolled back and forth moaning.
The High Priest’s face was purple with fury and hatred; he was past caring who heard what. He looked down at Sarnila and snarled, «You little bitch! You whore! You man-woman!» That last seemed to be the ultimate insult. Although his mouth kept opening and shutting, he couldn’t find anything more to say.
Instead he bent and with powerful hands ripped the robes from Sarnila’s body. She made a futile effort to roll over on her stomach as her body was bared, then an equally futile effort to cover herself with her hands. As she lifted her right hand, the High Priest stamped down on it with one booted foot. Blade heard the crunch of bone, and Sarnila’s scream. If a half dozen soldiers hadn’t had a firm grip on him, he would have dashed forward and strangled the High Priest with his bare hands. As it was, he could only heave and jerk and swear that he would have the High Priest’s blood for this.
«You wanted to take her away with you, did you, Blade? Is that why you’re so angry? Well, well. You may indeed have my blood someday. High Priests can die or be killed like men. Oh, yes, we can. But first I will have her blood.» The High Priest leaped into the air, with more agility than Blade would have thought possible in such a man. He came down squarely on Sarnila’s chest, both feet smashing down on her ribs with a terrible crunching
noise. Sarnila heaved once, then lay still, blood oozing from her mouth and nose.
Blade took one look at the mess the High Priest’s weight had made of his daughter’s body, then had to turn away and be very sick. It did not last long. There was not that much in his stomach. Finally the Rulami officer swatted him across the shoulders with the flat of his sword and said roughly, «Come on, boy, and stop puking. You’ll see worse in the arena.» Blade allowed himself to be led away. For the moment he felt too drained to resist.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The High Priest was correct in his prediction. Blade never saw Kanda or the Ivory Tower. After his taste of Kandan habits, he didn’t feel that he was missing anything. If he ever saw Kanda, he hoped it would be at the head of a Zungan army. And if he was snatched back to Home Dimension before he could lead a march on Kanda, he hoped the Zungans would take care of the matter themselves.
Where Blade had been confined turned out to be a sort of trading post. There the Rulami exchanged the rubies from their mines and the ivory their hunters had collected for slaves taken by the Kandan raiders. The slaves were chained into coffles and marched north.
Blade was not put into a coffle. Apparently he was considered too high-quality merchandise to be forced to tramp along the road to Rulam with chains at his neck and ankles. He was chained, to be sure, with chains even heavier than the ones in the hut. But instead of being put into the coffle, he was loaded feet first into a canvas bag. Then they tied heavy ropes around the bag. Finally, they slung Blade, bag and all, onto the back of one of the Ivory People, like a saddlebag on a horse.
Blade rode trussed this way in the bag for six full days, as the caravan tramped north. There were about a dozen of the tame Ivory People, nearly two hundred slaves, a guard of fifty-odd soldiers, and an assortment of wagons. The trip would have taken less than half the time if the Ivory People had been traveling alone; Blade knew from the Zungans that the strange beasts could cover sixty to seventy miles a day without strain. Clumsy as they looked, they were surprisingly fast, and their endurance was enormous. Each night they stopped in clearings by the side of the road. Blade was always taken out of the sack and given water, food, and exercise. He did not need to be forced to take any of these. He was as determined as any of the Rulami that he would be in top condition when he reached the city. Once they even offered him a slave girl from the coffle and a tent in which to enjoy her in privacy. Blade turned down that offer. The brief episode with Sarnila and her fate afterward had left an ugly taste in his mouth.
On the morning of the seventh day the sun was only just clearing the treetops when shouts went up from the head of the caravan. Rulam was in sight, and within an hour even Blade in his sack could see its towers and walls crowning the ridge a few miles ahead. The road was becoming more crowded now. Farmers’ carts and occasional patrols of soldiers rumbled and tramped along in the dust, giving way as the caravan ploughed through. The bridges over the occasional streams were no longer rickety collections of old timber, but solid works of dressed and mortared stone, as wide as the road.
The officer leaned down from his saddle far enough to be able to talk to Blade without shouting. The officer’s name was Horan, and in the past six days Blade had developed a thorough distaste for the man. Horun was a supercilious palace soldier, alternately brutal and condescending toward slaves-especially Zungan ones.
«We’ll be home in a couple hours, Blade,» said Horun.
«I haven’t heard any orders on it yet, but if custom is any guide, the queen will be wanting to look you over.»
«Queen Roxala?»
Horun nodded. «Indeed. She’s a collector of things rare and fine. Animals, birds, jewels-she’s got enough firestones to fill a river barge. And men. Arena men particularly. She picks the best fighters from each new lot of slaves for her personal arena teams. And you’ll be coming in with a reputation running ahead of you. If I were as sure of making general as you ought to be of getting picked for the queen’s team, I’d be a happy man.»
«Are her teams treated well?»
«Oh, nothing but the best for them. Slaves they may be, but they live better than nine out of ten freemen in Rulam. The best meat and wine, girls any time they want them, baths and doctors waiting for them when they come in from the arena. And some of them get a real extra bonus.»
«What kind?» From what Blade had heard of Roxala and from what he could see in Horun’s face, Blade had a fairly good idea. But he wanted to be certain.
Horun practically simpered, and dropped his voice to just above a whisper. «Oh, Roxala has a roving eye, and picks out the best of the stable for her bed. As long as they aren’t Zungans, anyway. She’d die before she bedded with one of those smelly black savages. But the others, like you.» Horun licked his lips. «They say she’s worth it just as a woman.»
«What does the king say about this?»
Horun dropped his voice still further. «King Meptor doesn’t like it a bit. If the laws of Rulam allowed it, he’d have put Roxala away years ago. As it is, all he can do is poison or murder one of her favorites every so often. These days he doesn’t even have much time for that. War preparations.» Horun’s eyes showed that he suddenly realized he was saying too much to a mere slave. He swung back up to his formal pose, and was silent as the caravan began climbing the hill toward the city.
Meanwhile, Blade was turning what Horun had said over in his mind. So Queen Roxala had a taste for gladiators-including a bedroom taste? That was something he had put to good use in the past. Risky, but so far he had always come out on top. Anything within reason that could keep him alive and give him freedom of movement was worth grabbing.
And war preparations? War with whom, and for what? Rulam and Kanda were on bad terms, but that bad? He hoped so. Or was King Kleptor perhaps thinking of an all-out war against the Zungans? That was something to watch out for. But there was nothing he could do about it now. He turned his head as far as he could and stared at the approaching city.
The walls stretched for miles along the top of the ridge, forty and fifty feet high, built of massive blocks of stone and crowned with square towers every hundred yards or so. Behind the wall, more towers rose black and gray against the blue sky. So did columns of smoke from dozens of chimneys, as bakeries, forges, and tanneries settled down to the day’s work. The breeze blowing from the city carried the smell of all of these and much more to Blade’s nose. Dorkalu was a village compared to Rulam. Whatever the Zungans might someday do to Kanda and its priests, they would be hard put to do anything to Rulam inside its walls.
As the caravan approached a massively towered gate, someone hailed them from the gatehouse.
«Horun! Do you bear the prisoner Richard Blade of the English?»
Horun shouted back. «Yes, I do.»
«The queen has left orders that he be brought to the Summer Palace at once.» Horun looked down at Blade, with a lewd grin on his face.
Then Horun rapped his mount sharply on the right side of its head with his goad. The animal swung ponderously to the left, turning away from the gate, and lumbered along the wall. The rest of the caravan vanished through the gate, while Horun goaded the animal to a lumbering trot that kicked up a cloud of dust behind it. They kept on at that pace for a good two miles, until they came to a sprawling gray-brown palace, and rode into its fore courtyard. Horun brought his mount to a stop just inside the gate. A dozen slaves ran out to help him dismount and unload Blade.
After carrying Blade like a piece of furniture into the cellar of a nearby building, the men unwrapped him. They left the chains on, however. Word about Blade’s qualities indeed had run on ahead. Chains and all, they bathed him, shaved him, oiled and perfumed and pumiced and scraped him, massaged him-the process went on for what seemed like hours. Blade began to feel like a prize bull being groomed for a cattle show.
Horun watched the process with a continuous grin flickering across his thin face, openly amused at Blade’s mounting annoyance. «Don’t fight it, Bla
de. If you aren’t looking your best, the queen may turn you down. And if she turns you down for her team, you can be damned sure she won’t let anybody else grab you for theirs. You’ll be on your way to the firestone mines before you can turn around. They say a man is lucky to live a year there-and usually wishes he could die after a single day.»
Horun ran on. Indicating the slaves scurrying around the chamber, he grinned. «Look at those poor bastards. Practically wetting their pants for fear you’ll have one hair out of place or one bit of skin not oiled up sleek. They’re right, too. Roxala’d have their backs striped if you did. You, boy!» He shouted at the nearest slave, who stopped as if he had run into a brick wall. «Turn around!» The slave turned his back toward Blade, who started counting the welts and scars crisscrossing it. He got up to fifty before another barked word from Horun sent the slave back to his business. Blade decided that it would be a pleasure to kill Horun, if the time ever came.
Eventually the slaves finished their work. Blade was dressed in a tight-fitting loin-guard and given an empty sheath to hook over it. «There’ll be a sword in that sheath soon enough,» said Horun. Then, with a bawdy chuckle, he added, «And your other sword may be in another sheath even before that. Lucky man.»
Now a squad of soldiers tramped in, and Horun unlocked Blade’s chains. The soldiers surrounded him with drawn swords, and he was marched out of the cellar. They went along a damp, twisting corridor, each section seeming gloomier than the last, for what seemed like hours. Finally their journey came to an end as they mounted a flight of stairs and Horun pushed open a massive door. Sunlight poured in, for a moment dazzling Blade’s eyes. The soldiers paid no attention to his stumblings, but shoved him into the open.
Slowly his eyes readjusted to the daylight, and he saw that he was standing in the center of another large courtyard-no, garden would be a better description. It was nearly as large as a football field. Where it was not covered with lush green grass manicured to almost billiard-table smoothness, white gravel walks led through rainbow-colored masses of flowers. Their scents filled the air, striking Blade hard enough to almost make his head swim. After the austere plains and the foul smells of his journey, such an overpowering mass of perfumes seemed unhealthy. He felt almost ill.