by John Norman
“You can do nothing now,” said Kisu.
I, held, watched the departure of the Kurii. They, obedient to their orders, withdrew. I admired the Kur commander, that he had been able to instill in his fierce beasts such discipline. As they withdrew some dragged with them the fallen bodies of askaris.
Bila Huruma hurried to the side of Shaba.
I shook loose of Turgus and Kisu and ran to the stones at the threshold. As I ascended to their height I saw the floating bridge cut free at our end. It was then dragged to the opposite side and hauled onto the level. Between myself and the beasts there lay the broad, uneasy moat, some forty feet across, stirring with the movements of the crowded fish.
I descended from the stones which had been piled in the threshold by Shaba’s men, the better to fortify the walled area.
I looked across the moat at the Kurii. Kisu and Turgus, and Ayari, stood behind me.
On the other side of the moat Msaliti lifted the chain and ring over his head. “I have won!” he cried.
The Kur commander took the chain from him and looped it over his head.
“I have won!” cried Msaliti.
The Kur commander than gave orders to one of his beasts. Msaliti screamed with misery as the animal lifted him high over his head and then threw him into the moat.
Almost instantly Msaliti was on his feet and then he screamed, and fell, and again regained his feet, and fell again. There was a thrashing about him, a churning in the water, and it seemed the water exploded with blood and bubbles. Msaliti, as though moving through mud, howling, waded, through the packed, slippery, voracious bodies. I tore the raider’s spear from Kisu and extended it to Msaliti who, screaming, grasped it. We drew him from the water. His feet and legs were gone. We struck tenacious fish from his body. He then lay on the level and we, with strips of cloth, tried to stanch his bleeding.
The Kurii, on the other side of the moat, single file, then padded away.
We fought to save Msaliti. Finally, with tourniquets, we managed to slow, and then stop, the bleeding.
Bila Huruma then stood beside me, on the level near the moat. “Shaba is dead,” he said.
Msaliti lifted his hand to the Ubar. “My Ubar,” he said.
Bila Huruma looked down at Msaliti sadly. Then he said to his askaris, ‘Throw him to the fish.”
“My Ubar!” cried Msaliti, and then he was lost in the moat, the fish swarming about him.
I suddenly felt Janice clinging to my arm weeping. There was leather on her throat, and, on her wrists anal ankles were the deep marks of freshly slashed binding fiber. She and the other girls, during the action, had, one by one, been caught by Kurii and put in throat coffle. The coffle had then been dragged to a corner of the fortresslike enclosure. There the girls, without being removed from the coffle, had been thrown on their bellies and bound hand and foot. They had then been left there, left for later, squirming and helpless, tied as fresh meat. An askari, after the withdrawal of the Kurii, had freed them.
“Oh, my master,” wept Janice, holding me. “We are alive, my master!”
I looked bitterly across the moat. I had failed. Then I held the girl’s head to my shoulder and, as she wept. I considered the fortunes of war.
I saw the narrow column of Kurii disappear among the distant buildings.
I clasped the slave closely to me. “Do not cry, sweet slave,” I told her. Then I, too, but in bitterness and misery, shed tears.
54. We Will Leave The Ancient City
“I have examined the maps and notebooks,” I said to Bila Huruma.
“Were all recovered?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
We stood now on a broad level. To it led the several flights of broad stairs, ascending from that vast marble landing, with its marble mooring posts, which lies at the western edge of the ancient city, that landing to which we had first come, days ago, after our crossing of the lake. The great building, with its tall columns, some broken, fallen aside, in its ruins, lay behind us. Flanking it, on each side, were the towering figures of stone warriors, their stern gaze facing westward. Shaba’s galley, and the three galleys and canoes of Bila Huruma, and our raiders’ canoe, which had served us so long and faithfully, could be seen far below us, where they were moored at the landing.
We looked out over the placid, vast lake.
On the level, to one side, we had built a great pyre. Bila Huruma himself, with his own hands, had cast the ashes of Shaba high into the air where the wind would catch them and carry them over the city, and to the jungles beyond. A part of Shaba, thus, would continue his geographer’s trek, a bit of white ash blown on the wind, evanescent but obdurate, brief but eternal, something irrevocably implicated in the realities of history and eternity.
“This lake, forming the source of the Ua,” I said, “he named Lake Bila Huruma.”
“Cross that out,” said Bila Huruma. “Write there, instead, Lake Shaba.”
“I will do so,” I said.
For a time Bila Huruma and I watched the galleys and canoes being readied for casting off. Hunting had been done. Supplies had been gathered. Of his forces Bila Huruma retained some ninety askaris. Of Shaba’s men some seventeen survived.
“I am a lonely man,” said Bila Huruma. “Shaba was my friend.”
“Yet you pursued him,” I said, “that you might overtake and slay him, doing robbery upon him.”
Bila Huruma looked at me, puzzled. “No,” he said. “I followed him to protect him. He was my friend. In our plans he was to take one hundred galleys and five thousand men. But he fled with three galleys and perhaps not even two hundred followers. I wished to lend him the support and defense of ships and numbers.”
“You were not to accompany him on the originally projected expedition,” I said.
“Of course not,” he said. “I am a Ubar.”
“Then why did you follow him?” I asked.
“I wanted the forces to get through,” he said. “Shaba might have brought them through. I might have brought them through. I was not certain others could do so.”
“But you are a Ubar,” I said.
“I was also his friend,” said Bila Huruma. “To a Ubar a friend is precious,” he said. “We have so few.”
“Shaba told me,” I said, “that he had wronged you.”
Bila Huruma smiled. “He regretted bringing me out upon the river by subterfuge,” he said. “Yet he may have saved my life by fleeing the palace. One attempt already had been made upon my life. He thought that if he had fled I would no longer be in any immediate danger.”
I nodded. Msaliti, needing the protection of the Ubar and his men on the river, would surely desist, at least temporarily in plotting against his life. To be sure, Msaliti had no interest in slaying the Ubar for its own sake. Such a murder was to be only a method for removing an obstacle in the path to the Tahari ring.
“Did Msaliti not encourage you to venture in pursuit of Shaba?” I asked. “Did be not inform you of something of great value which lay in the possession of Shaba?”
“No,” said Bila Huruma. “An effort of such a nature was not necessary of his part. I was determined. He only begged to accompany me, which permission I, of course, granted.”
“It seems,” I said, “that Shaba expected me, or another, to follow him upon the river.”
“Yes,” said Bila Huruma. “He did not expect to survive, for some reason. He wanted you to follow, or another, perhaps, that his maps and notebooks might be returned safely to civilization.”
“It seems so,” I said.
“Why did he not expect to survive?” asked Bila Huruma.
“The river, the dangers, illness,” I speculated.
“The beasts, surely,” said Bila Huruma.
“Yes,” I said, “the beasts, too.”
“And you, too,” said Bila Huruma. “Surely you would have killed him to obtain whatever it was you sought.”
“Yes,” I said. “Had it been necessary, I would have k
illed for what I sought.”
“It must be very precious,” said Bila Huruma.
I nodded. “It was,” I said.
“Was?” he asked.
“The Kurii took it,” I said, “those who attacked us, the beasts.”
“I see,” he said.
“Shaba,” I said, “told me that he had used you for his purposes. I think it was in that sense, rather than in simply having brought you upon the river, that he felt he had wronged you.”
“Of this he spoke to me before he died,” said Bila Huruma.
“I do not understand,” I said, “how you were used for his purposes.
“Is it not now clear?” he asked, smiling.
“No,” I said.
“I was to protect you,” he said, “on your return downriver, that the maps and notebooks might safely reach the environs of civilization.”
I stood on the landing, stunned. Kisu climbed the stairs to where we stood. “The galleys, the vessels, are ready,” he said.
“Very well,” said Bila Huruma.
“We will join you momentarily,” I said.
Kisu nodded and returned down the stairs to where the galleys and canoes were moored.
“We were both tricked,” said Bila Huruma.
“You do not seem bitter,” I said.
“I am not, he said.
“We may burn the maps and notebooks,” I said.
“Of course,” he said.
“I cannot do so,” I said.
“Nor I,” smiled the Ubar. “We shall take them back to Ushindi, and you may then, with a suitable escort, convey them down the Nyoka to Schendi. Ramani of Anango, who was the teacher of Shaba, awaits them there.”
“Shaba planned well,” I said.
“I shall miss him sorely,” said Bila Huruma.
“He was a thief and a traitor,” I said.
“He was true to his caste,” said Bila Huruma.
“A thief and a traitor,” I said, angrily.
Bila Huruma turned away and looked back at the ruins of the huge building, at the great stone statues, worn and covered with vines, and at the city, lost and forgotten, lying to the east.
“There was once a great empire here,” he said. “It is gone now. We do not even know who raised and aligned these stones, forming walls and temples, and laying out gardens and broad avenues. We do not even know the name of this empire or what the people may have called themselves. We know only that they built these things and, for a time, lived among them. Empires flourish and then, it seems, they perish. Yet men must make them.”
“Or destroy them,” I said.
“Yes,” said Bila Huruma, looking down then at the galleys and canoes. Kisu was there, waiting for us. “Yes,” he said, “some men make empires, and others would destroy them.”
“Which is the noblest?” I asked.
“I think,” said Bila Huruma, “it is better to build than it is to destroy.”
“Even though one’s work may fall into ruin?” I inquired.
“Yes,” said Bila Huruma. “Even though one’s work may fall into ruin.
“Do you know,” I asked, “what I, and Msaliti, sought from Shaba?”
“Of course,” he said. “Shaba, before he died, told me all.”
“It was not rightfully his,” I said. “He was a thief and a traitor.”
“He was true to his caste,” said Bila Huruma.
I turned away from the Ubar, and began to descend the steps to the waiting vessels.
“Wait,” said Bila Huruma.
I turned to face him, and he descended the stairs until he reached where I stood.
“Shaba,” he said, “asked me to give this to you. It was concealed upon his person.” He pressed into my hand a large ring, one too large for a human finger. It was golden, with a silver plate. On the outside of the ring, opposite the bezel, was a circular, recessed switch. On the ring itself there was a tiny, unmistakable scratch.
My hand trembled.
“Shaba,” said Bila Huruma, “asked me to extend to you his thanks and apologies. He had need of the ring, you see. On the Ua, as you might expect, he found it of great utility.”
“His thanks?” I asked. “His apologies?”
“He took the ring on loan, so to speak,” said Bila Huruma. “He borrowed it. He hoped you would not mind.”
I could not speak.
“It was his intention to return it himself,” said Bila Huruma, “but the attack of the beasts, so sudden and unexpected, intervened.”
I closed my hand on the ring. “Do you know what you are giving me?” I asked.
“A ring of great power,” said Bila Huruma, “one which can cast upon its wearer a mantle of invisibility.”
“With such a ring,” I said, “you could be invincible.”
“Perhaps,” smiled Bila Huruma.
“Why do you give it to me?” I asked.
“It was the wish of Shaba,” said Bila Huruma.
“I had scarcely known such friendship could exist,” I said.
“I am a Ubar,” said Bila Huruma. “In my life I have had only two friends. Now both are gone.”
“Shaba was one,” I said.
“Of course,” said Bila Huruma.
“Who was the other?” I asked.
“The other I had killed,” he said.
“What was his name?” I asked.
“Msaliti,” he said.
55. The Explosion; We Leave The Ancient City
“Let us leave,” called Kisu.
The Ubar and I descended the steps together, that we might make our departure from the landing, from the eastern shore of Lake Shaba.
It was then that the explosion occurred. It took place several pasangs away. There was a blast of light. A great towering blade of fire stormed upward against the tropical sky. There was a vast, spreading billowing cloud of dust and leaves. The earth shook, the waters of Lake Shaba roiled. Men cried out and girls screamed. We felt a shock wave of great heat and saw trees falling. There was a rain of rocks, branches and debris.
And then it was quiet, save for the water lapping against the landing and the sides of the wooden vessels. To the southwest there was a darkness in the sky. In places the tops of standing trees still burned. Then the fires, no longer sustained by the heat of the blast, one by one vanished, unable to overcome the living freshness of the wood.
“What was that?” asked Kisu.
“It is called an explosion,” I said.
“What is its meaning?” asked Bila Huruma.
“It means, I think,” I said, “that it is now safe to descend the river.”
I smiled to myself. The false ring would never be delivered to the Sardar.
“Let us proceed,” said Bila Huruma.
“Cast off the lines,” I called to the men.
Soon the four galleys and the canoes, including our raiders’ canoe, were upon the lake.
I tied the Tahari ring about my neck, where it hung, with the golden chain of Bila Huruma, on my chest. Near me in the canoe, wrapped in waterproof, oiled skins, and tied to a floatable frame, were the map case and notebooks of Shaba.
I looked back once at the city, and once at the darkness in the sky to the southwest.
I then lowered my paddle and thrust back against the waters of the lake.
56. What Occurred In Nyundo, The Central Village Of The Ukungu Region
“Where is Aibu?” cried Kisu.
We stood in the clearing of Nyundo, the central village of the Ukungu region.
Mwoga, spear in hand, a shield on his arm, came out to greet us. “He is dead,” said Mwoga.
Tende, behind Kisu, cried out with misery.
“How did he die?” asked Kisu.
“By poison,” said Mwoga. “I, now, am chieftain in Ukungu.”
“My spear says it is not true,” said Kisu.
“My spear,” said Mwoga, “says that it is true.”
“We shall, then, let them decide,” said Kisu.
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Small leather strips customarily sheath the blades of the spears of Ukungu. Both Mwoga and Kisu had now removed these tiny strips from their weapons. The edges of the blades gleamed. Each man carried, too, a shield. On the Ukungu shield there is, commonly, a tuft of feathers. This is fastened at one of the points of the shield. When the tuft of feathers is at the bottom of the shield, the shield being so held, this is an indication that the hunter seeks an animal. When the tuft of feathers is at the top of the shield, the shield so held, it is an indication that the quarry is human. On both the shield of Kisu and Mwoga the tufts were now at the top.
“I would make a better Mfalme than Aibu,” said Mwoga. “It was thus that I had him killed.”
The fight was brief, and then Kisu withdrew the bloodied point of his weapon from the chest of Mwoga, who lay at his feet.
“You fight well,” said Bila Huruma. “Will you now see to the slaughter of those who supported Mwoga?”
“No,” said Kisu. “My quarrel is not with them. They are my fellow tribesmen. They may remain in peace in the villages of Ukungu.”
“Once, Kisu,” said Bila Huruma, “you were little more than a kailiauk, with the obstinacy and crudity of the kailiauk’s power, quick to anger, thoughtless in your charges. Now I see that you have learned something of the wisdom of one worthy to be a Mfalme.”
Kisu shrugged.
“Proceed with us further to Ushindi,” said Bila Huruma. “Msaliti is gone. I shall have need of one to be second in my empire.”
“Better to be first in Ukungu,” said Kisu, “than second in the empire.”
“You are first in Ukungu,” said Bila Huruma, naming Kisu to power.
“I shall fight you from Ukungu,” said Kisu.
“Why?” asked Ella Huruma.
“I will have Ukungu free,” said Kisu.
Bila Huruma smiled. “Ukungu,” he said, “is free.”
Men cried out in astonishment.
“Clean now the blade of your spear, Kisu,” said Bila Huruma. “Put once more upon it the sheathing strips of guarding leather. Turn your shield so that the feathers lie again at its base.”
“I will clean and sheath my spear,” said Kisu. “I will turn my shield.”