“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 damn foolishness.
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 pseudo-scientific 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 Antane, 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 Antane. 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.
Chapter 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’s 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’qir the Exclusive. Fallon got Ve’qir aside and asked, “You’re a Bakhite, aren’t you?”
“Aye, Master Antane. Wherefore ask you?”
“I wanted to be sure you wouldn’t have religious objections to filling my order.”
“By Qatar‘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 face
d 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 that the Kamuran of Qaath (may Dupulan 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 has remained independent in name, but its Pardr looks to Ghuur of Urüq 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 Ghuur has 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 has at last collected force enough to try hand-strokes 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, longbow-men 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 Balhibo arms.” (Kordaq reeled off a long list of events unnecessary to mention.)
“But besides our own strong left arms we have something new. ‘Tis a weapon of such fell puissance that a herd of wild bishtars could not stand before it! If all goes well ‘twill be ready by Fiveday’s drill—three days hence. Prepare yourselves for stirring action!
“Now, another matter, my chicks. The Juru Company’s notorious in Zanid’s guard for lack of uniform—wherefor you’re not to be blamed. By your weird diversity of form you defeat the very purpose of a uniform. However, some measure must be taken, lest you find yourselves upon the field of furious battle without means of telling friend from foe, and so be swallowed in confusion and swept into ill-deserved oblivion by your own side’s ignorant arms, as happened to Sir Zidzuresh in the legend.
“I’ve searched the arsenal and found this pile, of ancient helms. Tis true they’re badly scarred by the subtle demon of rust, albeit the armorers have ground and scoured them to oust the worst corrosion. But at least they’re all of a pattern, and in want of other means of identification they’ll distinguish the heroes of the Juru as well as protect your skulls.
“In addition, the proper uniform of the Juru Company—as well you know—comprises a red jacket with one white band sewn to the right sleeve, and not these trifling brassards you wear on patrol. Therefore if any of you has aught in his closet that could serve this vital turn, let him bring it forth. Its cut matters little, so that it be red. Then set you your sisters and jagainis to sewing white bands upon the sleeves. No petty foppery is this—your lives may hang upon your diligence in giving substance to this command!
“One more matter, also a thing of weight and moment. It’s come to the governments’ s keen and multitudinous ears that agents of the accursed Ghuur do slink like spooks about our sacred city. Guard, then, your tongues, and watch lest any fellow citizen display unwonted curiosity in manners of no just concern to him! If we catch one of these rascals in his slimy turpitudes, his fate shall make the historian’s pen to shake and the reader thereof to shudder in generations to come!
“Now form a line for the fitting and distribution of these antique sconces, and may you wear them like the heroes stout who bore them in the great days of yore!”
As he lined up to get his helmet, Fallon reflected that Kordaq had not been very discreet himself that morning. It also occurred to him what a fine joke it would be if he, Anthony Fallon, were killed because of some of the information that he had sold to the opposing side.
Fallon was lured into Savaich’s on his way home, and spent hours there talking and drinking with his cronies. Therefore he again slept late the following morning and hastened to cross the city to pick up Fredro at the Terrao.
It seemed to him that a subtle excitement ran through the city. On the omnibus, he caught snatches of conversation about the new events:
“…aye, sir, ‘tis said the Jungava have a force of bishtars, twice the size of ours, which can be driven in wild stampede through the lines of their foes…” “Methinks our generals are fools, to send our boys off to the distant prairies to fight. ‘Twere better to wait until the foe’s here, and meet them upon our own ground…” “All this stir and armament is but a provocation to Ghuur of Urüq. Did we but remain tranquil, sir, he’d never bethink himself of us…” “Nay, ‘tis a weak and degenerate, age, sir. In our grandsires’ time we’d have spat in the barbarian’s face…”
Fallon found the archeologist typing on his little portable an article in his native language, which, as Fallon glanced over his shoulder, seemed to consist mainly of z’s, j’s, and w’s. Fredro’s chin and lip were still adorned with the mustache and goatee, which he had simply forgotten to remove.
Fallon nagged his man until the latter came out of his fog, and they walked to the shop of Ve’qir the Exclusive. After an hour’s wait they set out, with their robes in a bundle under Fredro’s arm, for Fallon’s home. The omnibus was clopping past Zanid’s main park, south of the House of Judgment between the Gabanj and the Bacha, when Fredro gripped Fallon’s arm and pointed.
“Look!” he cried. “Is zoological garden!”
“Well?” said Fallon. “I know it.”
“But I do not! Have not seen! Let us get off, yes? We can look at animals and have the lunch there.”
Without waiting for Fallon to argue, the Pole leaped up from his seat and plunged down the stairs to the rear of the vehicle. Fallon followed, dubiously.
Presently they were wandering past cages containing yekis, shaihans, karouns, bishtars, and other denizens of the Krishnan wilds. Fredro asked, “What is crowd? Must be a something unusual.”
A mass of Erishnans had collected in front of a cage. In the noon heat most of them had discarded shawls and tunics and were nude but for loincloths or skirts and footgear. The Earth-men walked toward them. They could not see what was in the cage for the mass of people, but over the heads of these an extra-large si
gn was fastened to the bars. Fallon, with effort, translated:
BLAK BER; URSO NEGRO
Habitat: Yunaisteits, Nortamerika, Terra
“Oh,” said Fallon. “I remember him. I wrote the story in the Rashm when he arrived as a cub. He’s Kir’s pride and joy. Kir wanted to bring an elephant from Earth, but the freight on even a baby elephant was too much for the treasury.”
“But what is?”
“An American black bear. If you want to elbow through this crowd to look at one fat, sleepy, and perfectly ordinary bear…”
“I see, I see. Let us look at the other things.”
They were hanging over the edge of the awal tank, and watching the ten-meter crocodile-snakes swimming back and forth in it—one end of a given awal would be swimming back while the other was swimming forth—when a skirling sound made itself evident.
Fallon looked around and said, “Oy! Watch out—here comes the king! Damn—I should have remembered he comes here almost daily to feed the animals!”
Fredro paid no attention, being absorbed in extracting from his right eye a speck of dust that the wind had wafted into it.
Chapter XII
The sound of the royal pipers and drummer grew louder, and presently the whole procession swung into sight around a bend in one of the paths. First came the three pipers and the drummer. The pipers blew on instruments something like Scottish bagpipes but more complicated; the drummer beat a pair of copper kettle-drums. After them came six tall guards in gilded cuirasses, two with ivory-inlaid crossbows over their shoulders, two with halberds, and two with great two-handed swords.
In the midst of them walked a very tall Krishnan of advanced years, helping himself along with a jewelled walking-stick. He was dressed in garments of considerable magnificence, but put on all awry. His stocking-cap turban was loosely wound; his gold-embroidered jacket had the laces tangled; and his boots did not match. Behind the guards trailed a half-dozen miscellaneous civilians, their clothes rippling in the breeze.
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