by Jeffrey Lord
Until this very moment. Now he saw the woman on the terrace below him and he caught his breath. Desire came instantly.
She was near a balustrade, gazing out across the Gorge, combing lustrous red hair that fell to her knees. Even in the colorless eternal twilight of Tharn the red hair glinted like a banner and, in the brooding silence that hung over the Gorge, he could hear the sibilant sound of the comb as she drew it slowly through the lustrous mass.
Blade’s throat was constricted and his heart thudded. Only with difficulty could he draw the dense Tharnian air into his lungs. He had always been a well sexed man, and sexually overprivileged - J’s words - but there was no accounting for the lust that raged in him now.
He leaned far over the railing and studied the woman, seeking for a flaw, for some indication of mutantcy. He found none. This was a woman. A real woman! As he had always known women.
Blade craned to see. Too far. He drew back, fearful of the magveil, it was not a pleasant experience, and suddenly he realized that there was no magveil. Not here! Here was a blank, a blind spot, in the invisible electric cage that imprisoned him.
Purposely done, of course. Honcho wanted him to see the woman. Blade thanked the neuter and did not question the miracle. He leaned far over the balustrade and feasted his eyes. He was having a massive physical reaction.
The woman glanced up. Their eyes met. His eyes were superb and even at that distance he saw that her beauty was classic. The face was oval, the brow high and the eyes wide set, the nose straight and short, finely chiseled, set over a scarlet mouth that was at once firm and sensuous.
She was wearing breastplates and a brief, tight-fitting garment over her genital area that reminded Blade of a bikini. Her legs were long and sum and, though his angle of view was foreshortened, Blade knew she must be tall.
They continued to gaze at each other. Blade felt himself drawn, wanting to leap the railing and fall to her, to immolate and drown himself in the pool of her. His flesh was heavy. It took a great effort to raise his hand and wave to her.
The movement released both of them. The woman fell to her knees, the long red hair cascading about her tawny bare shoulders. She spread her hands beside her on the terrace and began to tap her forehead gently on the blocks of teksin. She was kowtowing to him. In that instant it came to Blade, who was fighting to regain control of his senses and mind, that she thought he was Mazda. HE WHO COMES TO THEY.
That meant Honcho, the neuter. Honcho intended this thing!
Blade watched her. She was still kneeling, still making obeisance. He waited. She glanced up. Blade made a sign, pointing to himself and then to the terrace below. He smiled. Mazda was in a benevolent, even a loving mood. Blade smiled again.
He moved swiftly back into the apartment, went to the closet and began to rip the clothing into long strips. Teksin, made from the mani, had great tensile strength. Blade was not afraid of falling. Neither was he afraid of Honcho for the moment. He was curious. Honcho had willed this to happen, had allowed the magveil to fail at just that spot, and had very likely given the woman instructions. Why? Blade did not really give a damn at the moment. He was consumed with lust. Let Honcho watch and listen on the spiscreens.
Rapidly he knotted together his rope of teksin. He went back to the balustrade and tossed the rope over, secured it, and swung himself out over the void. The magveil was still inoperative.
Blade went down the fragile line like a sailor. He had to drop the last ten feet to the terrace. It was empty now. The woman had vanished. Blade strode to an open window. If the spying Honcho invoked magveil now Blade would be raging and frustrated.
Her apartment was a duplicate of Blade’s. She was in the large central chamber, standing, watching the window. Her flaming hair was drawn down over each shoulder, covering her breasts. When Blade entered she again fell to her knees and began to tap her forehead against the floor.
He went to her and stood for a moment looking down at her nearly nude body. She was exquisitely formed. Her flesh glinted a tawny gold in the pale light. Blade touched her bowed head and she trembled.
Blade struggled to keep the desire and lust from his voice and very nearly succeeded. He said: “Do you know who I am?”
Without looking at him she answered. “I know. You are Mazda. You are the God. You are HE WHO COMES TO THEY.”
Blade repressed a smile. He was prepared to play the role to the hilt. Perhaps this was what Honcho wanted: to see how Blade would play the role of Mazda.
He touched her shoulder again. The flesh was warm, live velvet, smooth and pneumatic and springing to his touch. He had never touched flesh like this before. He had never seen such golden tones of flesh before. And now he was aware of the odor of her. A delicate effluvium only barely sensed, like no woman smell he had ever known. A compound of flowers and flesh that beckoned and lured, a Lorelei scent that was stronger than chains.
“Stand up,” said Blade. “I, Mazda, want to look at you.”
She obeyed. She was as tall as Blade himself, well over six feet. She still would not look directly at him.
“Look at me,” Blade commanded.
Her eyes were large, luminous, and a pure gentian violet. They stared into Blade’s own with a mixture of awe, fear, and curiosity. And just a shade of invitation?
Blade kept his hand on her shoulder. “You acknowledge that I am Mazda? HE WHO COMES TO THEY?”
“I acknowledge it.”
“You will do my bidding?”
“In all things, Lord Mazda.”
Blade could wait no longer. He was perishing in his own flame. He pulled her against him and kissed her.
She obeyed. She was a column of gold-velvet marble. She did not move, nor close her eyes. She stared fixedly into his face as he kissed her again. Her lips were warm, and as unyielding, as unresponsive, as the teksin beneath their feet.
Blade pulled away and tilted her chin with his fingers. “You do not like kissing?”
“Kissing? I do not understand, Lord Mazda. I do not know the word.”
“I will explain,” said Blade. “Come. It is my wish.” He swept her into his arms again and kissed her hard. Again she did not resist, or aid him, but after a moment her lips quivered under his. Blade forced her lips open with his tongue. She began to tremble quietly in his arms. At last he released her.
“That,” said Blade, “is kissing. You will know how the next time. Did you like it?”
“I liked it, Lord Mazda. This is what the Gods do?”
“When they can,” he said lightly. “When they can. What is your name, girl?”
“I am Zulekia. Of the Maidukes of THEY.” By now Blade had read enough to know that the Maidukes were privileged upperclass servants, handmaidens, of THEY. But his reading must have led him astray; his understanding had been that the Maidukes never left Urcit, the great Capital of Tharn.
He took her by the hand and led her toward a great low bed that filled one corner of the room. She went docilely at first, then she pulled away, staring at him. She fell to her knees again.
“No! No, Lord Mazda. I cannot. I am not fit. I am not one intended for HE WHO COMES TO THEY. I am karno! I am karno!”
Blade gazed at her, puzzled and impatient. Karno? He had not come across the word in his reading.
Zulekia saw that he did not understand. Plainly she was puzzled by this, but she squirmed around to show him the back of the bikini-like panties she wore. “I am karno,” she insisted again. “Karno. My seal has been broken.”
Blade was impatient…and intrigued. He bent to examine the back of the panties. There was a slim belt of teksin holding them up, with both ends set cunningly into a seal-like medallion. Zulekia made a deft movement with her hand and the seal fell apart She looked at Blade.
“You understand, Lord Mazda? My seal has been broken. It was broken and could not be put back as the Priestess does. So I am karno. Impure. I have been with the Lordsmen and was caught. It is why I was banished from Urcit and sent here to
be punished.
I am evil. Not clean. Impure. That is why the Lord Mazda cannot make coi with me.”
Blade looked around the room. The dull walls of teksin stared back at him. He hoped that Honcho was enjoying his eavesdropping. Blade was beginning to understand something else about Honcho: the neuter was more than a watcher and a listener. Honcho was a voyeur, a pervert! Honcho had no sex, and yet…and yet…
Blade took her hand again and led her firmly to the bed. “I do understand,” he said. “It does not matter. I do not care. Now, obey me!”
And he did understand. Zulekia was a homid, a human for all intents and purposes, and she had been caught doing what came” naturally to homids. Caught, Blade knew, was the operative word. Caught! Now she was to be punished. Blade’s smile was grim, but he was not at all unhappy. This was something he recognized and understood.
And now he could wait no longer. He turned her so that she stood with her back to him. He fumbled with the catch holding on her breastplates and they fell to the floor with a little click of teksin on teksin. Zulekia stared straight before her, unmoving.
“Raise your arms a bit,” said Blade. He was whispering.
She raised her arms.
Her breasts were cool golden orbs in his hands, the nipples infinitesimal buttons only a moment before and now rising to his finger stroke. Blade’s knees began to shake, he had to fight to restrain himself, and yet he was determined that this play would serve a double purpose. His mouth was close to her ear.
“You know that Honcho is watching?”
She surprised him by answering aloud. “Yes. I know.”
“Nod,” said Blade fiercely. “Nod! Don’t speak.”
She half turned to face him, the great violet eyes filled with puzzlement, and again she saw that he did not understand. She reached to pluck out a long red-bronze strand of her hair. She let it float to the floor. Blade watched. When the hair wafted against the teksin she said: “Honcho heard that.”
Blade suppressed anger. What was the use of raging? And it was good to know that the spiscreens were so sensitive. It was nearly beyond belief, yet he did believe. Whispering was no good. And there was no place to hide. Then he had an inspiration. Just maybe…but it could wait. Everything could wait.
He turned her about and caressed her breasts again for a moment. He led her to the bed and commanded her to lie down. She did so without demur. Now that she had warned him, told him she was karno, and he did not appear to care, she was prepared to do as the God pleased. So Blade read her thoughts.
Zulekia gazed up at him, the violet eyes watching without expression. Blade stripped away her brief pants. Her pubic hair was a swatch of color against her tawniness. Blade hurled away his own clothes.
As he prepared to enter her Blade wondered, for one sickening moment, if this was another of Honcho’s devilish tricks. Was this woman real? Or was this simlu? A wraith and not woman?
A moment later he knew. It was not simlu. She was real. She was more than real. Zulekia was the essence of all the women Blade had ever had, and he knew that he had never had a woman before. This was the mystery, the unattainable, and Blade was solving it and attaining it.
Zulekia made no sound. Not the whole time. She did not put her arms about Blade. Yet she moved beneath him as he had never suspected a woman could move. The odor of her arose and engulfed him. Taunting and satisfying him at the same time. He had the feeling that what she was doing was as natural as breathing to her. She did not pretend. She did not try. She simply was. Her body perfectly fitted to his, flesh exactly measured to flesh, thrust to thrust, moistness to moistness, pestle to mortar.
It was Blade who groaned and cried aloud. Blade who threshed in frenzy. Blade who poured out in one great spill of ecstasy.
They lay quietly. Blade, from the corner of his eye, saw something move in a corner of the room. He turned to see Honcho’s simlu slowly fading, vanishing. The mocking sneer was the last to go.
Chapter Five
Blade had hoped to work out some secret means of communication with Zulekia, perhaps body pressures or blinking their eyes, but he was given no chance. A troop of ceboid soldiers came immediately and he was escorted back to his own chambers. Blade, glancing back at the woman, thought he detected a hint of entreaty in her violet eyes. Did she expect him to save her from her fate? Could he?
Honcho was waiting for Blade. He was wearing a breastplate and a heavy cloak of transparent teksin. In his hand he carried two odd-looking belts. They reminded Blade of cartridge belts with bandoliers attached.
The neuter handed Blade one of the belts. “Put it on.” He touched Blade lightly to show that he was real, not simlu, then said: “Come with me. We have a long journey to make. Perhaps it would be well if you took a cloak. We are going into the Gorge and there will be weather there.”
From his reading Blade knew that Tharnians understood weather, could in fact control it, but it had never been mentioned before. He could not help wondering how such a state of affairs would work out in England. Most people would be struck dumb!
Honcho touched a wall and a panel slid back. Blade followed the neuter into darkness. Immediately a misty blob of light appeared and began to dance along before them.
They made their way along a smooth floored passage so narrow they had to walk in single file. Honcho led the way. For a moment Blade was greatly tempted. This was real Honcho, not simlu, and he could surely kill the neuter with his bare hands.
He fought back the urge. It was not yet the time. He was still very much a stranger in a strange land and the truth was that he needed the neuter as much as Honcho appeared to need him.
The neuter walked on rapidly, following the light He said: “For the first time I put myself in jeopardy. You will do well to remember it and act accordingly, because if I am in jeopardy so are you. We go to see King Org, of the Pethcines, and his daughter Totha. They do not like me, nor trust me, but they must know about you. The Pethcines do not believe in the Gods of THEY, and I do not think they will believe you are Mazda - they are too cunning and brutish for such beliefs - but I can make them believe that you can help us. As you can, of course. Help me!”
Blade let that pass. He was still feeling his way, but he was already sure that Honcho was up to nothing more than an old-fashioned palace revolution. He was planning to overthrow THEY and take power in Tharn. In some way he intended to use both Blade and the Pethcines in this. Let it wait. Bide his time. For all Blade knew THEY were better overthrown, and Blade had his own future to worry about.
Casually Blade said, “Did you enjoy it, Honcho? Watching the woman and me? Or, rather, did your simlu enjoy it?”
“I did not watch to enjoy!” Honcho threw the words back as he strode along. “I watched to understand. I have never seen coi performed before. Nor has any other neuter. Normally curiosity about coi is not instilled in us during our decanter period. I, of course, am different. I find coi interesting and puzzling. What did you call it in this place from which you claim to come?” During his stay in the Gorge Tower Blade and the neuter had had several long discussions. Blade had been candid about himself and his background. He had seen little point in being otherwise.
Now he found that he was enjoying baiting Honcho. “We call it sex,” he said. “It is an emotional thing, one that a neuter cannot be expected to understand. It is also a very powerful physical drive, a hunger. Perhaps the most powerful in all the world.”
He saw Honcho nod in the soft light. The creature’s voice was calm and it appeared pleased.
“I saw that. I was watching very closely. I noted your reflexive convulsions, and your face. I saw something more than physical. Something that I do not really understand yet, though I will. It appeared to me that, in this act of coi with the Maiduke woman, you were in her power for a little time. This is so?”
Blade was instantly wary. He warned himself again not to underestimate this…this thing? In that moment he began to think of Honcho as He, not as it.
In a way it was a victory for Honcho, though Blade had no intention of letting him know it.
So he was curt. “I enjoyed it. It was pleasure while it lasted. I was not in her power.”
“I think otherwise,” said Honcho. “I cannot express it, because we do not have the words in Tharnian. But it is there.”
He was cunning. Blade admitted the loss of another round and was not surprised when Honcho said: “You will now care what becomes of Zulekia? You would wish, perhaps to save her from the punishment that has been decreed?”
Blade raged inwardly. There might not be words in Tharnian for love, or tenderness, or even for casual human affection, but Honcho had seen the point readily enough.
“I would not like to see her harmed,” he admitted. “If it is possible to save her I would do so. What is her punishment to be?”
Honcho laughed and the sound was cruel. “To be given to the ceboids, of course. To all of them, even to the lowest. They are very fond of homid women. Then she will be given to the ceboid females, who will tear her to bits and toss the pieces into the Gorge.”
Blade, who was not an easy or a soft man, did not like to think of that. “I would not have this happen,” he said.
Honcho said: “I did not think so. It is in my power to prevent it. I will prevent it, as long as you obey my orders and try no treachery against me. Understand that well, Blade. I have placed the woman in a new place, a very secret place, under guard of my most trusted ceboids. She remains safe so long as you are my man, my Mazda, my HE WHO COMES TO THEY.” And Honcho laughed again.
Blade did not answer. The man was a ferret. A cunning and damnable ferret who, without even understanding it, had sought out a weakness in Blade.
The tunnel widened now. The dancing light stopped and hovered over a dark circular hole in the floor. Blade noted again that the Tharnians knew and used the circle concept, though they had long ago discontinued use of the wheel as inefficient.