“However, the chief killers are booze and too much food and the loss of youth. You can do something about the first two, but over the last, no man has control. A man should know when to quit, when to hang up the iron tenu and wear only the honorary copper tenu. Pride may prevent him from doing this, and then Sisisken, who loathes pride and arrogance, will chop him down.”
“And when will you hang up your tenu?” Hadon said.
Tadoku grinned and said, “I don’t expect to find any great swordsmen, or any swordsmen at all, in fact, out in the Wild Lands. The savages have only stone or wooden weapons—the ax, the spear, and the club. And the sling and the bow, which are not to be sneered at, but swords wielded by the greatest are no good against arrows, so why worry about them? After we get back—if we get back—then I may start wearing the copper. In the meantime, I serve my queen.”
They discussed the relative merits of the sword, the ax, and the club.
“At close range, the axman is at a disadvantage,” Tadoku said. “But beware the skilled thrower of the ax. As for the club, if it is brassbound, it can be dangerous. However, the only club I would fear would be that in the hands of the monster Kwasin. I saw him once, when he was on his way to the Western Lands, just after he had been exiled. He is as tall as a giraffe and as strong as a gorilla, and when he is fighting, as berserk as a rhinoceros in rut. He is strangely quick for such a giant, and he seems to know all the tricks of a swordsman. But it is force he depends upon, force that only the heroes of old had. I doubt that even the giant hero Klamsweth could have stood up to him.”
“I know,” Hadon said. “Kwasin is my cousin.”
“I’m well aware of that,” Tadoku said testily. “I didn’t want to bring it up, since I thought you might not like to talk about it. No relatives of his that I have so far met ever wanted to admit that they were related.”
“I’m not fond of him,” Hadon said. “But I feel no shame because of his crime. I didn’t commit it, and besides, he’s not of my totem.”
“That’s a sensible attitude,” Tadoku said. “The more I know you, the less I resent serving under you.”
“Ah, then you do resent me!” Hadon said.
Tadoku merely grinned.
9
The galley slowly rounded the curve that took the cone of Khowot out of sight. At midday it was free of the mouth of the Gulf of Gahete. As the cliffs dwindled, Khowot became visible again. At dusk it could still be seen, but it was sinking into the horizon. Clouds of smoke were still rising from it, great black masses, and Hadon wondered if it were about to erupt again. The last serious explosion had half-destroyed the city of Khokarsa two hundred and fifty years ago. It would be ironic if he completed his mission only to find that Awineth and Minruth had perished under gas, smoke, and lava.
Since the wind was from the northwest, the galley was unable to use its sails. It could beat against the wind only to a limited extent, and in this case it had to depend entirely upon the oars. Once again Hadon asked for permission to row at least twice a day. The captain reluctantly said yes. Tadoku was at first upset. It was not fitting that a hero should work side by side with common fellows. But on seeing that the rowers were very pleased because Hadon was working with them, he changed his mind.
“You’re shrewder than I thought,” he said to Hadon. “It is well to become popular with the lower classes. As long as you preserve your dignity, of course, and don’t become a clown to please them. The rowers will boast about this in the ports, and the story will spread throughout the empire faster than mail can be delivered.”
Hadon did not disillusion him. He had only wanted to keep in shape, but if others thought he was intelligent enough to have done this for a political motive, let them think so.
Days of hard rowing passed, and the city of Mukha rose from the round of the sea. At noon the galley pulled past the opening of the massive stone breakwaters and docked. Tadoku hurried into the city to warn the rulers that they were to make no fuss about the appearance of Hadon. The orders were that the expedition was to be organized as quickly as possible and marched off northward into the Wild Lands. But such was not to be. Hadon waited in the camp northwest of Mukha for a week before the first contingent of his force rowed into the harbor.
“Break your back hurrying so you can sit on your ass,” Tadoku growled. “The old army motto.”
At the end of another ten days (the Khokarsan week was ten days), the last shipload marched off to the shrilling of bagpipes, the throoming of bullroarers, and the clanging of bronze gongs. These were the Klemqaba assigned to the expedition, and Hadon’s heart, already low, sank even further. The wild Klemqaba were recruited from the coast northwest of the Strait of Keth and from the even wilder tribes of the mountainous interior. They were short, broad fellows, half-neanderthaloid, half-human, tattooed in blue and green all over, wearing only codpieces of polished buffalo horn which projected in a semicomic, semisinister fashion. They carried small round shields and heavy bronze axes and slings of goat hide and pouches of stones for the slings. Their standard was a carved figure of Kho as the Goat-Headed Mother on the end of a long pole bearing on its length dried phalluses of famous enemies slain in combat. Their breaths stank of s“okoko,* the water of life, a liquor made in the high mountains, a harsh peaty-flavored drink which only they could down with ease.
*Khokarsan had two syllables for water, -kem- meant any relatively unconfined liquid or jellied mass, hence, -kemu-, literally, water-great or sea. -s“o- referred to liquids, jellies, or gases in containers.
“The best fighting men in the empire,” Tadoku said. “Stronger than we are, and without fear, able to eat food which would kill us off, meat a week rotten, vegetables fit only for garbage, and they never complain as long as they’re in action. But they’re hell to discipline when there’s no fighting. And the fact that they’re entitled to bring their women along causes discontent among the other troops.”
“I don’t see why,” Hadon murmured. The women were a squat, ugly lot, most of them stronger than the average human soldier, wild-haired, slack-breasted, clad in animal-skin loincloths, some pregnant, others nursing babies. Like the men, they were tattooed from head to foot.
“Why would a soldier, or anyone, desire such women?”
“After a long time without women of any kind, they begin to look good,” Tadoku said.
“Couldn’t we at least make those with babies stay behind?” Hadon said.
“If they have to make a choice they’ll kill the babies,” Tadoku said.
Tadoku started to add something but swore instead. He gestured at a group of twenty soldiers in the rear guard. These were bearded and tattooed red and black and carried kite-shaped shields, and their standard was the figurine of a bear-headed woman.
“Minruth is doing his best to screw us up!” Tadoku groaned. “You never, just simply never, put the Klemklakor with the Klemqaba!”
Hadon asked for an explanation and was told that not all the tribes of these people were of the Goat Totem. A few belonged to the ancient Bear Totem, and these were sworn enemies of the Klemqaba.
Hadon had never seen a bear, though he had seen drawings and statues of them. At one time the mountains north of the Kemu had been heavily populated by the small brown bear and the giant russet cave bear, huger than, as the saying went, a lion and a half. But there had been no validated reports of the russet bear for two centuries, and the brown bears had been hunted close to extinction. Nevertheless, their totems were still in existence. In fact, Kwasin was a member of the Klakordeth or Thunder Bear Totem. Which made him, though not a blood brother, since he was all-human, a spiritual brother of the hybrids.
“If you give an order to the two totems,” Tadoku said, “make sure that an officer of one is not to transmit it directly to the other. The officer just won’t do it.”
“How can we maintain discipline then?”
“That’s just one of the many problems this fouled-up outfit presents us with,” Tadoku said.
Hadon looked thoughtful. During the week in camp, he had learned all he could about the army procedure, and he had considered carefully the welfare of the expedition. He had been given two hundred and fifty men and women, far too large a force. He desired only fifty. A larger body would cause very slow marching and be difficult to feed. When they were about halfway on their outward journey, they would run out of supplies, and from then on they’d have to depend on their hunters. He had a plan to weed out all but fifty before they got to the last outpost of civilization.
That night he had to settle five quarrels and numerous complaints. He stopped a brawl between the Klemqaba and the Klemklakor only by threatening to smash the s“okoko containers if peace was not restored at once. The officers retorted that, since they were mercenaries, they would quit if he carried out his threat. He told them that that was fine with him. They could return home in disgrace, and they would miss out on fighting the wild savages.
Tadoku turned pale when he heard Hadon, but he said nothing. Later, after the two totems had sworn not to fight among themselves for at least ten days, Tadoku commented.
“That was a narrow escape. If the totems had said to hell with you, we would have had a battle which would have cut us down to less than fifty. And I’m afraid that less than half of that would have been human. Though the humans are nothing to brag about.”
“It worked,” Hadon said. “Now, I want some officers and enlisted men to spread stories about the horrors waiting for us in the Wild Lands. I want the weak-livered ones among us to desert. Give the guards orders to ignore anyone they see sneaking away. Even if they’re carrying stolen supplies. Be sure to pick good men as guards, because we don’t want the guards deserting too, and leaving us wide open for attack.”
Tadoku saluted and hurried off, though he evidently did not like this unconventional breach of discipline.
By the morning of the third day, Tadoku reported that thirty-five men had stolen away in the night. He was surprised, because he had thought that they would lose a hundred. None of the AWOL’s were Klemqaba or Klemklakor, which was to be expected.
“The road ends tomorrow at the outpost,” Hadon said. “We’ve been making only about ten miles a day because we have to match our pace with the oxen-drawn wagons. Also, we’ll be stopping every two miles to mark our trail. Once we get to the rough country, we’ll be reduced to about five miles a day, if that. We’re going to lose the oxen, eventually; they can’t survive long in the Wild Lands. So we’re going to have another test. Announce tonight that the wagons will be abandoned. Slaughter the oxen for a feast, and tell everybody to drink everything except what they think they can carry. Move the Klemklakor about a half-mile away so they won’t be fighting the Klemqaba. Station your best men around the camp, and if things get out of hand, they’re to interfere only if I give the order.”
“May I ask you what the object of this is?” Tadoku said.
“Tomorrow, before breakfast, I will tell them that they are not to eat until they get to the outpost fort. They must pack up and run for the fort. The first fifty only will be allowed to continue into the Wild Lands. The rest will either be sent back to the fort at Mukha or paid off.”
“The Goat and Bear people won’t stand for that,” Tadoku said.
“If they want to argue with us, they’ll have to catch us first,” Hadon said. “And when we get to the fort, well have the garrison to back us up. I intend to eliminate as many problems as possible right now. It’s going to be tough enough when we get to the Wild Lands.”
“The women will abandon their babies,” Tadoku said. “The hyenas, the jackals, and the vultures will be eating them before the sun has quartered the sky.”
“Very well. We’ll cheat a little. There are five babies. Pick seven of your best men, fellows you know are trustworthy, and hide them outside the camp. They can follow and pick up the babies, and the mothers can claim them later. Let’s hope none of the mothers will be among the first fifty. Oh, yes, we have to have Hinokly and the bard and the doctor, so tell them to start marching at midnight. With that headstart, they should be all right.”
“They march in the night?” Tadoku said. “This is leopard and lion country. They might not get to the fort.”
“We need Hinokly as a guide and Kebiwabes for morale,” Hadon said. “Very well. Pick six good men to escort them.”
“I don’t think I have that many,” Tadoku said, and he groaned.
“Do the best you can,” Hadon said.
There was an uproar when Tadoku announced Hadon’s orders. Hadon immediately told them that he wanted only men and women who had the stuff of heroes on this expedition. Anybody who would confess that he didn’t have it should step forward, and he would be sent back to the fort at Mukha. There would be no official penalties attached, though he could not control those who might jeer at them.
Not a single one of the Goat and Bear people moved. Ten of the humans shamefacedly crossed the line that a sergeant had drawn in the dirt.
“Very well,” Hadon said. “Tonight the rest of you may feast and drink all you wish. But don’t look to replenish your supply of liquor at the fort.”
He dismissed them. The oxen were killed and the clay bottles and goatskin containers of beer, mead, and s“okoko were opened. Hadon retired to his tent, which he would use no more after that night. It would be left with all tents and burdensome baggage.
From now on all would be sleeping in their bags under the open skies. Tadoku was scandalized when he learned that all officers, including Hadon, would have to carry their own bags, armor, and weapons.
“It just isn’t done! It puts us on a footing with the common soldier!”
“Except for a leather helmet and cuirass, I won’t be wearing any armor,” Hadon said. “Nor will anybody. We don’t need bronze armor against the stone weapons of the savages, and we’ll be much more mobile without them.”
“But armor is expensive!”
“There’s a cave up in the hills,” Hadon said. “One of the scouts located it for me. The armor will be cached there, and we’ll pick it up on the way back. It it’s stolen, I’ll pay for the loss. As king, I will be able to do that. Everyone will be given a receipt now, collectible in Khokarsa. Oh, by the way, what about the priestess for this expedition? Are we suppose to pick up one at the fort?”
“There is nothing about a priestess in our orders, as you well know,” Tadoku said. “Either it’s an oversight, which doesn’t seem likely, or Minruth is sending us out without a spiritual guide.”
“We’ll get one at the fort anyway,” Hadon said. “If they have only one, they can get another from Mukha.”
“And suppose the priestess doesn’t want to go with us?”
“I’ll tell her we’ll take a priest of Resu instead. If she’s conscientious, she won’t allow that.”
“Then we will have a mutiny.”
“Perhaps you and I and Hinokly and Kebiwabes and the doctor may be the only ones left,” Hadon said, smiling. But he wondered if he was predicting accurately.
Hadon left his tent at midnight. Taps had been ignored, at his orders. He wanted the self-indulgent to eliminate themselves for the race in the morning, and apparently there were many doing just that. The shouting, singing, and laughing were almost as loud as they had been two hours ago, and eight men and one woman had been carried off bleeding and stunned to the medical tent, where the drunken doctor, Onomi, treated them. Hadon walked away from the camp toward the site of the Klemklakor. When the din had become low, he listened for noise from the Bear people. But all was silent. He smiled. They had chosen to quit drinking early and go to bed so they would be in shape tomorrow. Only a desire to beat out their hereditary enemies, the Goat people, could have induced them to refrain from gulping their beloved s“okoko to the last drop. And they must have a strong leader, otherwise they would never have been able to practice such self-discipline.
At dawn, the drums and trumpets of reveille got most of the ca
mp to its feet, though here and there a sleeper snored heavily. Hadon gave them a little while to drink water and to eliminate, and then he lined them up across the broad plain.
“When the bugle blows, the race is on!” he cried out.
A few minutes later, he gave them the signal, and two hundred and five men and women, uttering savage cries or hoarse croaks, ran forward. Rather, some did. Most staggered or shambled.
Hadon took the lead and never gave it up. He swung along easily, trotting, and when he had covered the ten miles, felt that he could go another ten. The fort was a massive earthworks construction with several stone towers flying the flags of Khokarsa and of the Mukha queendom. The commander had not expected the force so soon, and there was a delay until he could be summoned from the little wooden temple in one corner of the court. He came cursing and red-faced. Hadon found out later that he and the priestess had been busy at something or other in the privacy of her quarters, and he resented being disturbed. But when he saw Hadon, he forced a smile and greeted him as enthusiastically as he could under the circumstances.
Hadon explained what had happened after he had recovered his breath. The colonel laughed and detailed soldiers to set up two posts and to mark the first fifty to arrive. Hadon talked with Hinokly, the bard, and the doctor, who had made an uneventful journey, though they had heard the roars of hunting lions nearby. After a while, the first ten straggled in, tough old Tadoku and three commissioned officers among them. These were, as Hadon had expected, human soldiers who had abstained from drinking. The Goat and Bear people were very powerful, but long-distance running was not their specialty. Their short legs and massive physiques handicapped them.
Farmer, Philip Jose Page 10