“It wasn’t singlehandedly and you weren’t in their clutches. Not yet, anyway.”
She made a moue of dismissal. “So I’ll lie a little. It will only win you greater reward. Don’t you want a reward, Tiger?”
“I’m fond of rewards,” I admitted. “I’ve never yet turned one down.”
She laughed deep in her throat. “What if I said I’d get you a reward far greater than you can imagine?”
I looked at her consideringly, but couldn’t see much more than silky black hair and a smooth, dusky brow. Still, I had learned not to underestimate the lady. “What did you have in mind?”
“That’s my secret. But I promise you—you won’t regret it.”
I traced the line of her nose. “Are you sure of that?”
“You won’t regret it,” she whispered. “Oh Tiger … you won’t.”
Which meant, of course, I would.
Del and I had to wait in one of the outer rooms when we reached Hashi’s palace in Sasqaat. Sabo flamboyantly escorted Elamain into the main part of the palace, leaving us cooling our heels, but promised he’d send word as soon as he could. He did, too; within an hour a swarm of servants descended upon us and ushered us into separate rooms. For baths, they said.
I needed no urging to climb into the huge sunken bath filled with hot water and sweet-scented oil. I jumped in before anyone could suggest it—although I did take off sandals, burnous, dhoti and harness. The dusty, sweat-stained garments disappeared at once, replaced by rich silks and soft leather slippers. My servants were all female, which didn’t bother me in the least; I did wonder, however, if they gave Del women as well, or at least eunuchs.
Two of the servants came into the bath with me and proceeded to wash my hair and the rest of me as well. This led to giggling and half-serious suggestions of another way to enjoy a bath, so it took a little longer than I expected. By the time I climbed out, I was clean and drowsy and very, very relaxed. All I needed was a good meal.
I munched on fresh fruit as I got dressed. The grapes were marvelous, and the oranges; the melons were cool and juicy and delicious. The accompanying wine was light but slightly too sweet to provide a good complement to the fruit; it was also quietly powerful. By the time I’d put on the fresh dhoti and deep blue burnous freighted with genuine gold embroidery, my head felt muzzy and heavy.
One of the palace eunuchs came and escorted me to the huge audience hall. It was decked with silken and tasseled draperies of every color so that it almost resembled a giant hyort. The floor was tiled in dizzying patterns of mosaics that repeated themselves all the way up to the dais, on which rested a golden throne. Empty.
Additional eunuchs stood around the throne and dais, all dressed in magnificent clothing and all bearing great curving swords strapped to their chubby waists. Almost unconsciously, I hunched my left shoulder in the automatic gesture that told me Singlestroke rested safely in the scabbard.
Except that he didn’t. I’d left Singlestroke in the bath chamber.
Hoolies, I’d left my sword!
I started to swing around and march back out of the chamber, but one of the eunuchs stepped into my path. “Lord Hashi comes soon. You must wait.”
“I left my weapons behind. I’m going back for them.” Inwardly I chafed in disgust that I could be so stupid.
“A man doesn’t go armed in the presence of the tanzeer.”
I glared at him. “I never go unarmed.”
“You do now,” said Del from behind me. I swung around and she shrugged. “They took mine, too.”
“You let them have that sword?”
She looked at me oddly, and I realized how I’d placed the emphasis. I saw a strange expression in her eyes a moment, a combination of possessiveness, apprehension, and acknowledgment. “Sheathed,” Del answered. “But if they unsheathe it—” She stopped. Shrugged a little. “I can’t be held accountable.”
“For what?” I demanded. “What happens if anyone but you unsheathes that sword?”
Del smiled a little. “You have unsheathed it. You have put your hand upon the hilt. You are better able to explain what happens than I.”
Instantly I recalled the searing pain in my hand, my arm, my shoulder, flooding through bones and flesh and blood. Hot and cold, all at once. I sweated. I shivered. Felt sick. No, she need have no fear that sword would fall into another man’s hands. No one could use it, I knew. No one at all, save Del.
After a moment, I shook my head. “No. No, I can explain nothing. That—that thing is different from anything I know.”
“So am I.” And she smiled.
I glared. “If you were, I’d think you’d be a match for this man.” I indicated the tanzeer’s empty throne.
She shrugged. “Perhaps.”
Then I forgot all about discussing magical swords and witchcraft and old men, because I saw what they’d done to Del. Gone was the loose-limbed Northern girl who claimed herself a sword-dancer; in her place was a woman swathed desert-fashion in translucent rose-colored silks that only served to make her fair body more tantalizing than ever. Each time she moved the veils parted, displaying more veils, or else showing a brief flash of long, pale leg. Her bright hair shone with washing and was twisted on top of her head, pinned with golden clips set with turquoise stones. But the servants had left off the modesty veil, perhaps assuming she wasn’t a true lady if she rode across the Punja with a sword-dancer called the Sandtiger.
“Don’t laugh at me,” she said crossly. “I wanted to stay in my tunic, but they wouldn’t let me.”
“Who’s laughing? I’m too busy staring.”
“Don’t stare.” She scowled at me. “Didn’t your mother teach you better manners?” Then she clapped a hand over her mouth, recalling I had no mother.
“Forget it,” I told her. “Let’s just try to brace ourselves for whatever’s coming.”
She frowned a little. “Why? What do you think is coming?”
I thought about what Elamain had said, when she had said it, and how she had phrased it. “Never mind. You wouldn’t understand.”
Her mouth twisted wryly. “Wouldn’t I?”
But I didn’t answer because I was too busy staring at the withered old man who was making his way onto the dais from a side door, with Sabo’s assistance.
He was ancient. He was stooped and wrinkled and shaking with palsy, but his black eyes glittered fiercely as he took his seat on the throne. I gestured to Del and she turned also, automatically falling in beside me as we slowly approached.
“My lord Hashi, tanzeer of Sasqaat!” Sabo announced. “May the sun shine on him long and well!”
The sun had certainly shone on him long. He had to be close to ninety.
“Approach the throne!” Sabo shouted.
Since Del and I were engaged in doing precisely that, we simply continued.
“My lord Hashi wishes it known he is grateful for the service you have done him in rescuing his bride from certain death and bringing her safely to him. You will be rewarded.” Sabo’s expression held the faintest of secret smiles.
Del and I stopped before the dais. I made the traditional desert gesture of respect: spread-fingered hand placed over the heart while I inclined my head. Del said and did nothing, apparently having been warned that a woman never speaks to a tanzeer until he acknowledges her and invites conversation.
Hashi waved Sabo away. The eunuch moved five paces behind the throne and waited silently, his face perfectly blank. Then the old tanzeer leaned forward in his throne. “You are the sword-dancer they call the Sandtiger?”
“I am the Sandtiger.”
“And the woman travels with you.”
“I’m guiding her to Julah.”
“Julah is not so nice as Sasqaat,” Hashi said harshly, in the quick irritation of the elderly.
I didn’t smile. Old men are unpredictable; old tanzeers are unpredictable and dangerous.
“The tanzeer in Julah is too young for his place,” Hashi continued. “He
knows nothing. He lets his servants run wild with no discipline, and he trafficks in slaves. It’s no wonder the city is a pisspot of common thieves, borjuni, sword-dancers, crooked merchants and slavers, as well as other foolhardy people.” His beady black eyes were fastened on my face. “Sasqaat is a peaceful place, and much safer.”
“But I need to go to Julah,” Del said calmly, and I winced.
Hashi stared at her. His scrawny hands grasped the armrests of his throne. The veins stood out like bruises, crawling across his mottled skin. The healthy dark tan he once had known had grayed with age, leaving him ashpale and sickly looking. It was no wonder he couldn’t perform in bed anymore; I only wondered how Elamain had reacted to him.
“Elamain, you may enter,” Hashi called.
I glanced around in surprise, saw a small side door open, and a moment later Elamain came into the hall. She was dressed similarly to Del, although her colors were subtle yellows and browns instead of the pale pinks and roses Del wore.
She came in smiling sweetly, black hair hanging loose past her rounded rump to her knees. I’d never seen it completely unbound before and I almost swallowed my tongue. Her smile grew a little as she looked at me, and instantly I looked at Hashi to see if he had noticed.
He had. His eyes glittered. “My lady Elamain has told me how kind you have been to her, and how thoughtful. How carefully you guarded her virtue.” He smiled. “Although it is well-known Elamain has none.”
Her smile froze. Her flawless face went very still and her eyes turned from gold to black as they dilated. I wasn’t feeling so well myself.
“But I’ll have her anyway,” Hashi went on conversationally in his grating little voice. “I’m an old man, well past my prime, and I have nothing else left me in this life. It will bring me some pleasure to take the most beautiful woman in the Punja as my wife—and make certain she never lies with a man again.” His smile was malicious, creeping out of the dark shadows of his soul. “Elamain has made a career out of bedding men. So many men, her father feared never to wed her properly. Well, I said I’d take her off his hands. I’ll take her to wife. And I’ll make certain she discovers precisely what it is to want someone so badly, knowing she’ll never be able to have him.”
Elamain was so pale I thought she might drop dead. But she didn’t. She lowered herself to her knees on the tiled floor in front of the dais. “My lord—”
“Silence! This sword-dancer has delivered you to me, for which I am grateful, and I fully intend to reward him as you requested.” He ignored her and looked at me. “Do you know what my bride suggested? Artfully, I must admit—she was magnificent.” He grinned; he had lost most of his teeth. “She said it is customary for a husband and wife to exchange wedding gifts, gifts so special they become highly personal and therefore that much more prized. I agreed. I offered her whatever she would have, within my power to give.” He nodded. “She said she would have you.”
“Me?”
“You.” His eyes bored into mine. “You must be good, to have Elamain require you for more than only a few nights. She never has before.”
“My lord Hashi—” I attempted.
“Silence, sword-dancer. I’m not finished.” He looked at Elamain. “She said I should give her the Sandtiger as a wedding gift because she had one equally magnificent for me.” That almost-toothless grin again. “She said if I gave her the Sandtiger, she would give me a white-skinned, white-haired, blue-eyed Northern woman. For my own.”
My hand flashed to my left shoulder and came up empty. Singlestroke was gone. So was my knife. I saw Del make the same futile gestures, and then she stood very still. She did not look at me.
“She is magnificent.” Hashi stared at Del. “And I think I will take her.”
I became aware that a cluster of tall, heavy eunuchs were at my back and sides. The wicked, curving swords were naked in their hands.
I sucked in a breath. “We are free people,” I told Hashi. “We are not chula, to be traded at your whim.” I didn’t tell him he couldn’t get away with it, because he probably could.
“I’m not trading anything,” Hashi said. “Elamain gives me a gift, which I accept.” He smiled. “But I’m afraid I can’t make her the same gesture. You, Sandtiger, have already had your pleasure on Elamain, and that’s something no man will have again.” He nodded; the cords of his thin neck trembled. “But I’ll keep you here so she can see you, and be reminded of her foolishness. And lest you consider cuckolding me again, I will have it made impossible.” He laughed. “I will have you made a eunuch.”
That’s the last thing I heard because I leaped for his stringy little throat and went down beneath a dozen guardsmen.
Fifteen
Hashi had drugged the wine. I realized that after I woke up because I’d gone down with hardly a fight, and that’s not like me at all. The odds had, of course, heavily outweighed me (and I’m not stupid); I knew the eunuchs would overpower me quickly.
But not so easily.
Hashi’s generosity had ended dramatically. I still had my own room, but this time I wasn’t in a bath chamber. I was in a tiny little cell somewhere in the bowels of the palace. And I wore iron jewelry.
I sat with my back against a cool, hard wall. My head ached dully from the aftermath of drugged wine and the thumping I’d received in the hall. My wrists were cuffed in iron and bolted to the wall sans chain, which limited movement considerably. Same with my ankles. My legs were stretched out in front of me, ankles cuffed and bolted to the floor. As long as I sat there quietly, I was fine. But I’ve never been real good at sitting quietly.
I shut my eyes against the pain in my head a moment, then opened them and looked at the damage done to my body. The scuffle had stripped me of the burnous so I could see the bruises rising on my skin, above and below the suede dhoti. My slippers also were missing, and I noticed that the little toe on my right foot stuck out to the side in a rather bizarre salute to the others. The rest of me, however, seemed to be in one piece, although that one piece was pretty sore. No one had used a sword or knife on me, so I had only bruises to show for my efforts, no cuts or slashes. I was grateful for that much.
The cell was a dark, close place, fouled with the stink of urine and defecation. Not my own; I wasn’t that desperate yet. But it was obvious to me the former occupant(s) had been held for quite a while. You don’t dissipate the stench of close confinement too quickly, even if you sluice the place from top to bottom. And no one had.
My neck was stiff. I had a pretty good idea I’d been in the cell for a while. And, from the way my belly felt, probably overnight. I was starving. I was also incredibly thirsty, but that might have more to do with the drugged wine than any natural factors. I tested my iron bonds and found them solid. No escaping them, unless someone unlocked them for me. And that didn’t seem likely. The only one who’d unlock them was Del, and she was as much a prisoner as I—if in a different way.
Elamain wouldn’t be any help, either; she was probably too busy trying to talk the old man around. Sabo?—I doubted it. He was the old man’s servant. So—I was stuck.
And scared, because no man wants to think about losing his manhood.
Sickness knotted my belly until I wanted to spew it out into the cell, adding to the stench. I could see the sharp blade, hear Hashi’s maniacal laughter, feel the pain as they started to cut. I clamped my teeth closed and screwed up my face as I tried to ignore the picture, shuddering so hard the cold bumps rose up on my skin. Better death than emasculation!
The door to the dungeon opened quietly, but I heard it. I’d have heard anything that heralded an approach. Why would Hashi want it done so soon? Or was it Elamain, come to beg forgiveness?
Well, no, she wouldn’t do that. Not Elamain.
But it wasn’t Elamain, or even Hashi and his eunuch-servants. The door to my cell clanked and creaked open, and it was Del.
I stared at her in the dimness, rigidly prepared to fight to the death the moment I was out of the ir
on cuffs. But now I wouldn’t need to. It was Del.
She paused in the tiny doorway, ducking down to move into the cell. Her white-blond hair was tumbled around her silk-draped shoulders and over her breasts like she’d been in a man’s bed.
Hashi’s? The thought made me sick, sick and angry and—maybe—more than a little jealous.
“Are you all right?” Her whispered question hissed in the dimness.
“How did you get down here?” I demanded in astonishment, “How in hoolies did you manage it?”
She waited as I babbled all my half-incoherent inquiries, then displayed the large iron key dangling from her hand. Eloquent answer to all my questions.
“Hurry up!” I hissed. “Before they come after me!”
Del smiled. “That old tanzeer’s got you scared silly, hasn’t he? The Sandtiger, sword-dancer of the Punja, scared pissless of a little old man.”
“You would be too, if you were a man and in my place.” I rattled my cuffs. “Come on, Del. Don’t dither.”
She snickered and came into the cell, kneeling to unlock my ankles. I couldn’t help myself—the moment my legs were free, I dragged them up to protect the part of my anatomy Hashi wanted to rearrange.
“How’d you get the key?” I demanded. The most obvious answer popped into my mind at once. “I suppose you let Hashi bed you in exchange for it.”
Del paused momentarily as she reached to unlock my wrists. “And would it matter to you if I had?”
Her loose hair hung across my bare chest and face. “Hoolies yes, woman! What do you think?”
“What do I think?” She unlocked my right wrist. “I think you jump to conclusions pretty quickly, Tiger.”
My impression was she was a tad angry. Maybe a little bitter. I don’t know why; it wasn’t Del stuck down here in a cell awaiting castration.
Sword-Dancer Page 16