by Jeffrey Lord
Blade was watching the girl and a tall, thickset man who was obviously in command of the detail. He rode a white horse and now spurred it close to the girl’s mount. Blade’s eyes were 10-10 - a fact that none of the doctors in Home Dimension could quite believe - and though he was a hundred yards distant he easily made out the flash of white teeth under a great hooked nose in a dark bearded face. Jewels glinted from a spiked helmet. The big man said some thing to the girl, leaning close and placing a beringed hand on one slim leg.
She slashed at the hand with a riding crop and shouted at the man, her scarlet lips thin with fury. She pulled her mount around and went galloping down the beach. Equebus - blade knew it must be he - stared after her with a stony composure. His hand went to his belt and half drew a shiny dagger, then thrust it back into the scabbard. He shrugged, spat, and rose in his stirrups to bellow at his troops. Blade went under water and breathed through the reed.
When he surfaced the patrol was out of sight. He nudged Pelops with a foot and the little man came gasping to the surface. As they waded in to shore Blade said: “We will hide in the marsh again for a time. They will not think to search it twice.”
He told Pelops of the incident between the patrol leader and the golden haired woman. Pelops grinned slyly and nodded.
“That was Equebus. A nose like a sword? And very dark of skin and beard? Yes - that would be Equebus the Cruel. And you say the girl struck him?” Pelops tittered. “I would like to have seen that.”
Blade lay in the mud, brushing away a swarm of gnats. He was beginning to be very hungry and his longing for clothing and arms increased by the moment. Yet he knew he must bide his time and be patient. Wait and watch and listen. Reserve all value judgments. Survive.
His stomach growled. Blade scowled and slapped at the plague of insects. “The golden haired woman - can you also name her?”
Pelops narrowed his eyes at the big man. He appeared quite content in the marshy sludge and the gnats did not bother him. Now he favored Blade with a wry and mirthless smile.
“I think I know. Her name is Zeena and she is the daughter of Queen Pphira, she who rules Sarma in Bek’s name. Equebus gets much above himself if he lays hands on Zeena. A bad mistake, that. Just as it is a mistake for you, sire, to think about women at a time like this. When we are naked and starving and unarmed. When I, for one, am terrified. This is no time to think about women!”
Blade’s discomfort and empty belly nearly made him lose his temper. He checked himself in time. He stroked the dark stubble on his stubborn chin and regarded the little naked man. Then, because it was his nature, he could not restrain his laughter. The sound burbled up from his massive chest like thunder.
“In the first place, man, I am not thinking about women. I am thinking about food! Then weapons. Then clothing. In that order. But if I were thinking of women I do not see that it is your concern. I like women. I will have women when I please, and I do not need an undersized school master - for that is what you sound like - to say me yes or no. Neither do I need moralizing or philosophy, for neither of them will feed us or keep us alive. I hope all that is clear, Pelops? If it is, then answer my question and leave out the advice - who is this Zeena, a daughter of the Queen, you say? - and I suppose that makes her a Princess? - who is she that she rides with a slave patrol instead of adorning a palace?”
It was near to a tirade, for which Blade later blamed his belly and his frustration, and the little man shrank away. Yet his eyes met those of Blade squarely and he folded his hands on his chest in resignation. There was a primness about the gesture that began to rekindle Blade’s anger.
“For that matter,” said Pelops, “I was a school teacher. And in the palace, too. In the capital city of Sarmacid. I was a very fine teacher, very likely the best in all Sarma.”
Blade took a deep breath and regarded him darkly. “Then what do you do here, little man? Sitting forlorn and naked, hungry, in a stinking marsh with a man you have never seen before? Answer me that, since you do not like to talk about women.”
Pelops made a T sign on his scant, pouter-pigeon breast. “I was betrayed by a woman, sire. My very own wife. Me, Pelops, who was the favorite of her six husbands - or so I thought until she betrayed me to the slave patrol. Later, when I was taken, I found out that she yearned for a new and younger husband. This she could not do until I was made a slave and so was no longer considered husband to her. So you see, sire, why I say beware of all women. They are a trap and a snare and a - “
“A delusion,” muttered Blade. “I know what you mean, Pelops.” There were, he had found, certain constants in any dimension.”
His anger ebbed away. Six husbands? This he must know about. He patted the little man on a frail shoulder. “Tell me about Sarma,” he ordered. “It will fill the time and there is much that I must know. The more the better. Talk, Pelops, talk!”
Pelops made a tower of his fingers and stared over them at Blade. He nodded and smiled. Blade thought that the man had spoken truth - he had been a schoolteacher.
Pelops cleared his throat. “Of what shall I speak, sire?” He might have been about to address a class.
Blade scowled, then repressed a chuckle. “Of everything, little man. Of anything that comes into your head. Of ships and sealing wax and cabbages and kings.”
Pelops widened his eyes. “I do not remember having heard of - “
“You wouldn’t,” said Blade. “Don’t let it worry you. Talk.”
Pelops was in his element. He did not talk so much as lecture. Blade, interrupting now and again with shrewd and pertinent questions, ingested a capsule history of the land of Sarma in the next hour.
The lecture came to an abrupt end. A horseman appeared far down the beach, coming from the direction in which the patrol had disappeared and making for the fort on the promontory.
Pelops was instantly in despair. “A messenger to the fort. They have found that I am missing. A message will be sent from the fort to Sarmacid and in a few hours the whole country will be looking for me. And you, sire.”
Blade was at the edge of the marsh and peering at the oncoming horse and rider. It was the girl with the golden hair.
He spoke over his shoulder. “How will they send a message to this Sarmacid?”
Pelops crawled through the mud to join Blade. The little man was pale and shaking. “There is a semaphore,” he quavered. “Flags on a pole.” He pointed to the range of brown hills inland. “There are such poles all the way to Sarmacid. The message will be picked up and passed on. It will be in Sarmacid by nightfall.”
Blade nodded, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He watched the horse come slowly down the beach, still half a mile off. The beast was tired and the girl was not forcing it. Blade made his decision. He had a half formed plan, still valid, but this new idea could do no harm - if he brought it off.
He turned to Pelops and spoke rapidly. The little man quailed. “I - I don’t know, sire, if I can do it. I am not a very brave man, as you must know by now.” And he made that curious sign of the T again.
Blade frowned at him and growled, “Do what, man? I ask you to do nothing! Just that - you will lie on the beach and play dead. As though you have used all your strength in trying to reach the sea, and have expired just as you did reach it. Just play dead. I will do the rest. Hurry now - she can see you and so put on a good act. Stagger from the marsh and fall. Get up. Fall’ again not too far from the marsh edge. I want no great distance, for I must take her by surprise.” He was remembering those slim white legs. She could probably run like an antelope.
Pelops forgot his fear in his horror at what Blade intended. It had just dawned on him.
“You would put hands on her? On the person of Zeena, daughter to Queen Pphira?”
“That,” said Blade grimly, “is the general idea. I need a hostage. She will do as well as any.”
Pelops began to tremble again. He made the T. “That is sacrilege, sire. Bek will swallow us alive. We will die in his fi
ery maw. I cannot - “
Blade clenched a great fist, then thought better of it. He was in Sarma now and Pelops could not help what he was. Blade folded his arms over his chest and stared down the beach at the horse and rider now only a quarter of a mile distant.
“I see now,” said Blade, “why you were made a slave. It fits you, slavery. You were born to be a slave. And you will be a slave again, I can see that, too, because you are afraid of even a little risk So be it. I will try to do it alone. But I cannot catch a horse, even a tired one, and if she gets away and warns the fort we will be taken at once. I will not be taken because I will die fighting. But you - “
Tears glinted in Pelops’ dark eyes. He dabbed at them with a finger and said. “No! I will not be a slave again. I will do it.”
Blade gave him a little shove. “Get on with it, then. And remember, die not too far from the marsh. Die well and convincingly and leave the rest to me.”
A strange little man, Blade thought as he watched Pelops stagger from the marsh. An odd mixture of cowardice and courage. Blade crouched at the very edge of the marsh and watched the girl approach on the tired horse. He cast a glance at the promontory, thankful that this strip of beach could not be seen from the fort. That would have been fatal.
The girl, Zeena, responded as Blade had guessed she would. At the sight of Pelops staggering and falling on the shingle she reined in the horse. She shaded her eyes and peered down the beach. Then, reassured that it was only the slave they were seeking, she dug her bare heels into the horse’s sides and forced it into a weary gallop. Blade smiled grimly and waited.
Chapter Seven
Pelops played his part well. He lay so inert and lifeless that Blade wondered - had the little man chosen that moment to depart life?
The girl, her full breasts jouncing beneath the metal plates, did not so much as glance at the red-fringed marsh. She reined up beside the limp body of Pelops and stared down at it for a moment. She raised a graceful hand to push golden hair away from her eyes. She leaned down for a closer look. But she did not dismount.
Blade cursed silently. Get off the horse. Get down! He willed her to dismount. Otherwise it would be very chancy. He could not wait too long.
She slid sideways on the horse and reached with a long white leg, poked at Pelops with a tentative toe. Blade fretted. And got ready to do what he did not want to do, or even think he could do - run down the horse.
She was not going to dismount. Blade could not afford to let the horse get a start. He had no choice. He pushed himself from the reeds with a great bound, attaining full speed in three strides and running as silently as he could.
Blade gained a precious few seconds as the girl stared at him in shocked surprise - this naked brawny giant! Her eyes widened, her scarlet mouth was a frightened O, she gave one small scream of terror. Then she reined the horse around and dug her heels into it with a shout of command. The beast leaped away.
Blade had momentum. If he was to catch her at all it must be in the first few seconds. He put everything he had into it, oblivious of the jagged shingle ripping his bare feet.
He came even with her and grabbed one of her legs. She slashed him across the face with her crop, screaming now in fear and anger. His fingers slipped from the smooth flesh and she hit him again with the crop. The horse was getting into full stride. Blade grabbed again for her leg. She raised it and kicked him in the face. Blade stumbled, recovered, and put his last strength into clutching at the reins. He tugged. The reins broke.
She was cursing and whipping him now, her lovely face a mask of fury. Blade ignored the blows. He had a grip on the full mane of the horse and was running along with it stride for stride. But the horse was picking up speed.
Blade made a desperation move. He had never bulldogged a steer in his life, but he had seen it done, and if a man could bulldog a steer he should be able to handle a horse. All he could do was try.
He leaped into the air, throwing himself up and halfway across the long arched neck of the horse. He reached around and caught his left wrist in his right hand - he had killed men with such a headlock - and he applied pressure at the same time his heels dug into the shingle. Blade gave it all he had in a single gut wrenching twist of his great arms and shoulders. The neck of the beast came around. It stumbled. Blade hung on and twisted, his eyes popping, streaming sweat, his muscles knotting and roiling beneath the sleek swart hide. The horse went crashing down.
The girl went sailing over the animal’s head. She landed hard and lay stunned, twitching a little. Blade ran to her. She lay on her back, arms and legs outflung, her eyes closed and breathing shallowly. A strap had broken and one perfect breast hung free of its protecting plate. It was her left breast. Blade knelt and put his ear against the velvet flesh, felt the nipple stir in automatic reaction to his touch, listened to her heart action. It was strong. He picked up a limp blue-veined wrist. Pulse good, too. She would be all right.
He spun around at a sound behind him. Pelops, crossing himself again and again with the T sign, stared from Blade to the girl and back at Blade. His expression was a mingle of admiration, panic, hope, and abject terror. He was trembling and near tears again.
Blade stood up. “She will be all right, little man. Only stunned and the wind knocked from her.” He pointed. “Get that horse on its feet and get ready to move. We must not linger here.”
The animal was still stretched on the shingle. It quivered in spasmodic little movements and could not raise its head.
Pelops said, “The horse is dying, sire. You have broken its neck.”
Blade cursed, then shrugged his shoulders. “Then we shall have to do without it. That is bad luck, but it cannot be helped.” He pointed down at the unconscious girl. “Keep an eye on her while I find a rock and kill the horse. I cannot leave it suffering like this.”
Pelops took a step back and made the sign of the T. “I - I cannot do that, sire. Do not ask it. She is Zeena, Princess of Sarma. I taught her as a child. I can do nothing against her person. Or against her word. If she commands me I must obey. So I beg you do not charge me to do this thing.”
For a moment Blade stared at the little man, arms akimbo, trying to keep his anger in leash. His impulse was to cuff the man to his knees. He restrained it. At last he shrugged.
“So I must do everything, then? So be it. But you make matters difficult, Pelops. A thing we will speak of later.”
He searched until he found the riding crop. It was made of plaited leather thongs. Blade speedily unraveled the thongs and used them to bind the girl’s ankles and wrists. Pelops looked on in horror and moaned and made the T sign.
Blade was in a hurry now. He kept scanning the beach to right and left. It was still empty. He found a good sized boulder and approached the horse. One glance told him that Pelops was right - the beast’s head was twisted at an odd angle and its legs kept trembling and threshing on the shingle. “Sorry, old fellow.”
Blade raised the boulder high and brought it down on the animal’s skull. It died instantly.
When he got back to the girl she had regained consciousness. She did not struggle against her bonds as Blade approached, but watched him with a mixture of cold hatred and curiosity. Pelops stood by in silence, wringing his hands and making the sign of the T. The girl ignored him.
Blade stared down at her. For the first time he was acutely aware of his nakedness. Her eyes, wide and a cool gentian violet, deep pools the color of the nearby sea, roamed over every inch of Blade’s body. They missed nothing, those eyes, and their stare gave Blade an uneasy feeling.
She forced Blade to speak first. He smiled, using his charm consciously, if a great naked brute could be said to possess charm, and said: “Do not be afraid, Princess Zeena. I am not going to harm you. I had need of your horse, but the poor beast is dead. And I have even more need of you. But you will not be harmed and as soon as I can I will let you go.”
The violet eyes probed his. “Who are you? How are you called? An
d how do you dare lay a hand on a Princess of Sarma?”
Blade made a little bow, contriving for the moment to cover his genitals with his hands. “I am called Blade. Richard Blade. I am not in Sarma of my own will - but that I will explain later. I dare hold you prisoner because I must. That also I will explain when there is time. Now we must leave this place.”
She flashed small white teeth at him. “How came you by my name?”
Blade indicated Pelops. “This little man. He claims he is a teacher - he even claims that he taught you as a child. This is true?”
The violet eyes slanted at Pelops. Her laugh was cruel. “He speaks true. I remember him now. Of all my tutors he could talk the longest and say the least. Until now I had only that against him.” Her eyes narrowed. “But now he shall share your fate when I am set free.”
Pelops cringed, made the T sign, and dabbed at tears in his eyes.
Blade laughed harshly. “We will see about that, Princess. In the meantime you will be our guest for a little while.”
He bent over her. One lovely taut breast was still showing. Blade lifted it back into the breastplate and secured the strap. She spat in his face. He cuffed her lightly with the back of his hand. Pelops moaned aloud.
The girl lay quietly, staring up at Blade with wonderment and disbelief in her violet eyes. It was, he knew, the first time she had been struck. It had been no blow at all, merely a token warning, yet the effect was as if he had bashed her solidly. Their glances locked and held and Blade thought he recognized another element, a spark, a bare beginning and recognition of something other than hate or anger or resentment. He had seen that look in women’s eyes before now. He would exploit it if he could.
Blade, unspeaking, picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. She was silent. He nodded brusquely at Pelops. “Back into the marsh, little one. You lead. Stay under cover and get us into those hills yonder as soon as possible.” Blade nodded toward the sere mountains on the horizon. “And use those scholar’s brains of yours - we must have clothes and food and weapons. Consider it an equation and let me know when you have the answer.”