Tschai-Planet of Adventure (omnibus) (2012)

by Jack Vance

  The motor-wagon trundled off on its eight tall wheels: away from Smargash, out over the plain toward the west. Reith, Anacho and Traz sat alone in the aft passenger cubicle.

  Anacho was pessimistic in regard to their chances. “The Dirdir will not be confused for long. The difficulties will only make them keen. Do you know that the Dirdir young are like beasts? They must be tamed, then trained and educated; the Dirdir spirit remains feral; hunting is a lust.”

  “Self-preservation is no less a lust with me,” Reith stated.

  The sun sank behind the rim; gray-brown dusk settled over the landscape. The wagon paused at a dismal little village; the passengers stretched their legs, drank brackish water raised from a well, haggled for buns with a withered old crone who asked outrageous prices and laughed wildly at counter-proposals.

  The wagon proceeded, leaving the old woman muttering beside her tray of buns.

  The dusk faded through umber into darkness. From across the wasteland came a weird hooting: the call of night-hounds. In the east rose the pink moon Az, followed presently by blue Braz. Ahead loomed a jut of rock: an ancient volcanic neck, so Reith surmised. From the summit glowed three wan yellow lights. Looking up through his scanscope* Reith saw the ruins of a castle … He dozed for an hour and awoke to find the wagon rolling through soft sand beside a river. On the opposite bank psillas stood outlined against the moonlit sky. Presently they passed a many-cupolaed manor-house, apparently uninhabited and in the process of decay.

  * A binocular photo-multiplying device, with a variable magnification ratio up to 1000x: one of the articles Reith had salvaged from his survival kit.

  Half an hour later, at midnight, the wagon rumbled into the compound of a large village, to halt for the night. The passengers composed themselves to sleep on their benches or on top of the wagon.

  Carina 4269 finally rose: a cool amber disk only gradually dispelling the morning mist. Vendors brought trays of pickled meats, pastes, strips of boiled bark, toasted pilgrim pod, from which the passengers made a breakfast.

  The wagon proceeded to the west toward the Rim Mountains, now jutting high into the sky. Reith occasionally swept the sky with his scanscope but discovered no signs of pursuit.

  “Too early yet,” said Anacho cheerlessly. “Never fear; it will come.”

  At noon the wagon reached Siadz, the terminus: a dozen stone huts surrounding a cistern.

  To Reith’s intense disgust, no transportation, neither motor-wagon nor leap-horse, could be hired for transportation onward across the rim.

  “Do you know what lies beyond?” demanded the elder of the village. “The chasms.”

  “Is there no trail, no trade-route?”

  “Who would enter the chasms, for trade or otherwise? What sort of folk are you?”

  “Serafs,” said Anacho. “We explore for asofa root.”

  “Ah, the Serafs and their perfumes. I have heard tales. Well, don’t play your immoral antics on us; we are a simple people. In any event, there is no asofa among the chasms; only cripthorn, spumet and rackbelly.”

  “Nevertheless, we will go forth to search.”

  “Go then. There is said to be an ancient road somewhere to the north, but I know of none who have seen it.”

  “What people inhabit the chasms? Are they friendly?”

  “‘People’? A joke. A few pysantillas, red cors under every rock, bode-birds. If you are extremely unlucky you might meet a fere.”

  “It seems a dire region.”

  “Aye, a thousand miles of cataclysm. Still, who knows? Where cowards never venture, heroes find splendor. So it may be with your perfume. Strike out to the north and seek the ancient road to the coast. It will be no more than a mark, a crumble. When darkness comes, make yourself secure: night-hounds range the wastes!”

  Reith said, “You have dissuaded us; we will return east with the motor-wagon.”

  “Wise, wise! Why, after all, throw away your lives, Seraf or no?”

  Reith and his companions rode the motor-wagon a mile back down the road, then inconspicuously slid to the ground. The wagon lumbered east and presently disappeared into the amber murk.

  There was silence about them. They stood on coarse gray soil, with here and there wisps of salmon-colored thorn and at even greater intervals a coarse tangle of pilgrim plant, which Reith saw with a certain glum satisfaction. “So long as we find pilgrim plant we won’t starve.”

  Traz gave a dubious grunt. “We had best reach the mountains before dark. On the flat night-hounds have advantage over three men.”

  “I know an even better reason for haste,” said Anacho. “The Dirdir won’t be puzzled long.”

  Reith searched the empty sky, the bleak landscape. “They might conceivably become discouraged.”

  “Never! When thwarted they grow excited, furious with zeal.”

  “We’re not far from the mountains. We can hide in the shadow of the boulders, or in one of the ravines.”

  An hour’s travel brought them under the crumbling basalt palisade. Traz suddenly halted, sniffed the air. Reith could smell nothing, but long since had learned to defer to Traz’s perceptions.

  “Phung* droppings,” said Traz. “About two days old.”

  * Phung: a solitary nocturnal creature indigenous to Tschai.

  Reith nervously checked the availability of his handgun. Eight explosive pellets remained. When these were gone the gun became useless. It might be, thought Reith, that his luck was running out. He asked Traz, “Is it likely to be close at hand?”

  Traz shrugged. “The Phung are mad things. For all I know, one stands behind that boulder.”

  Reith and Anacho looked uneasily about. Anacho finally said, “Our first concern must be the Dirdir. The critical period has begun. They will have traced us aboard the motor-wagon; they can easily follow us to Siadz. Still, we are not completely without advantage, especially if they lack game-finding instruments.”

  “What instruments are these?” asked Reith.

  “Detectors of human odor or heat radiation. Some trace footprints by residual warmth, others observe exhalations of carbon dioxide and locate a man from a distance of five miles.”

  “And when they catch their game?”

  “The Dirdir are conservative. They do not recognize change,” said Anacho. “They need not hunt but are driven by inner forces. They consider themselves beasts of prey, and impose no restraint upon themselves.”

  “In other words,” said Traz, “they will eat us.”

  Reith was gloomily silent. At last he said, “Well, we must not be captured.”

  “As Zarfo the Lokhar said, ‘Death comes but once.’”

  Traz pointed. “Notice the break into the palisade. If ever a road existed, there it must go.”

  Across barren hummocks of compacted gray soil, around tangles of thorn and tumbled beds of rubble, the three hurried, perspiring and constantly watching the sky. At last they reached the shadow of the notch, but could find no trace of the road. If ever it existed, detritus and erosion had long ago expunged it from view.

  Anacho suddenly gave a low sad call. “The sky-car. It comes. We are hunted.”

  Reith forced back a panicky urge to run. He looked up the notch. A small stream trickled down the center, to terminate in a stagnant tarn. To the right rose a steep slope; to the left, a massive buttress overhung an area of deep shade, at the back of which was an even deeper shadow: the mouth of a cave.

  The three crouched behind the tumble which choked half the ravine. Out over the plain the Dirdir boat, with chilling deliberation, slid toward Siadz.

  Reith said in a neutral voice, “They can’t detect our radiation through the rocks. Our carbon dioxide blows up the notch.” He turned to look up the valley.

  “No point in running,” said Anacho. “There’s no sanctuary. If they follow us this far they will chase us forever.”

  Five minutes later the sky-car returned from Siadz, following the road east, at an altitude of two or three hundr
ed yards. Suddenly it swerved and circled. Anacho said in a fateful voice, “They have found our tracks.”

  The sky-car came across the plain, directly toward the notch. Reith brought forth his hand-gun. “Eight pellets left. Enough to explode eight Dirdir.”

  “Not enough to explode one. They carry shields against such missiles.”

  In another half-minute the sky-car would be overhead. “Best that we take to the cave,” said Traz.

  “Obviously the haunt of Phung,” muttered Anacho. “Or an adit of the Pnume. Let us die cleanly, in the open air.”

  “We can walk through the pond,” said Traz, “and stand below the overhang. Our trail is then broken; they may follow the stream up the valley.”

  “If we stand here,” said Reith, “we’re finished for sure.”

  The three ran through the shallow fringes of the pond, Anacho gingerly bringing up the rear. They huddled under the loom of the cliff. The odor of Phung was strong and rich.

  Over the shoulder of the mountain opposite came the sky-boat. “They’ll see us!” said Anacho in a hollow voice. “We’re in plain sight!”

  “Into the cave,” hissed Reith. “Back, further back!”

  “The Phung —”

  “There may be no Phung. The Dirdir are certain!” Reith groped back into the dark, followed by Traz and finally Anacho. The shadow of the sky-car passed over the pond, flitted on up the valley.

  Reith flashed his light here and there. They stood in a large chamber of irregular shape, the far end obscured in murk. Light brown nodules and flakes covered the floor ankle-deep; the walls were crusted over with horny hemispheres, each the size of a man’s fist.

  “Night-hound larva,” muttered Traz.

  For a time they stood in silence.

  Anacho stole to the cave-mouth, looked cautiously forth. He jerked back. “They’ve missed our trail; they’re circling.”

  Reith extinguished the light and looked cautiously from the cave-mouth. A hundred yards away the sky-car descended to the ground, silent as a falling leaf. Five Dirdir alighted. For a moment they stood in consultation; then, each carrying a long transparent shield, they advanced into the notch. As if at a signal, two leaped forward like silver leopards, peering along the ground. Two others came behind at a slow lope, weapons ready; the fifth remained to the rear.

  The pair in the lead stopped short, communicating in odd squeaks and grunts. “Their hunting language,” Anacho muttered, “from the time they were yet beasts.”

  “They look no different now.”

  The Dirdir halted at the far shore of the pond. They looked, listened, smelled the air, obviously aware their prey was close at hand.

  Reith sighted along his hand-gun, but the Dirdir continually twitched their shields, frustrating his aim.

  One of the leading Dirdir searched the valley through binoculars; the other held a black instrument before his eyes. At once he found something of interest. A great bound took him to the spot where Reith, Traz and Anacho had halted before crossing to the cave. Sighting through the black instrument, the Dirdir followed the tracks to the pond, then searched the space below the overhang. He gave a series of grunts and squeaks; the shields jerked about.

  Anacho muttered, “They see the cave. They know we’re here.”

  Reith peered into the back reaches of the cave.

  Traz said in a matter-of-fact voice, “There is a Phung back there. Or it has not long departed.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I smell it. I feel the pressure.”

  Reith turned to the Dirdir. Step by step they came, effulgences sparkling up from their heads. Reith spoke in a fateful croak: “Back, into the cave. Perhaps we can set up some kind of ambush.”

  Anacho gave a stifled groan; Traz said nothing. The three retreated through the dark, across the carpet of brittle granules. Traz touched Reith’s arm. He whispered, “Notice the light behind us. The Phung is close at hand.”

  Reith halted, to strain his eyes into the dark. He saw no light. Silence pressed upon them.

  Reith now thought to hear the faintest of scraping sounds. Cautiously he crept back through the dark, gun ready. And now he sensed yellow light: a wavering glimmer reflecting against the cave-wall. The scrape-scrape-scrape was somewhat louder. With the utmost caution Reith peered around a jut of rock, into a chamber. A Phung sat, back half-turned, burnishing its brachial plates with a file. An oil lamp emitted a yellow glow; to the side a broad-brimmed black hat and a cloak hung from a peg.

  Four Dirdir stood in the mouth of the cave, shields in front, weapons ready; their effulgences, standing high, furnished their only light.

  Traz plucked one of the horny hemispheres from the wall. He threw it at the Phung, which gave a startled cluck. Traz pressed Anacho and Reith back behind the jut of rock.

  The Phung came forth; they could see its shadow against the glimmer of lamp-light. It returned into its chamber, once more came forth, and now it wore its hat and cloak.

  For a moment it stood silent, not four feet from Reith, who thought the creature must surely hear the thud-thud-thud of his heart.

  The Dirdir came three bounds forward, effulgences casting a wan white glow around the chamber. The Phung stood like an eight-foot statue, shrouded in its cloak. It gave a cluck or two of chagrin, then a sudden series of whirling hops took it among the Dirdir. For a taut instant, Dirdir and Phung surveyed each other. The Phung swung out its arms, swept two Dirdir together, squeezing and crushing both. The remaining Dirdir, backing silently away, swung up their weapons. The Phung leapt on them, dashing the weapons aside. It tore the head from one; the other fled, with the Dirdir who had stood guard outside. They ran through the pond; the Phung danced a queer circular jig, sprang forth, leapt ahead of them, kicking water into a spray. It pushed one under the surface and stood on him, while the other ran up the valley. The Phung presently stalked in pursuit.

  Reith, Traz and Anacho darted from the cave and made for the sky-car. The surviving Dirdir saw them and gave a despairing scream. The Phung was momentarily distracted; the Dirdir dodged behind a rock, then with desperate speed dashed past the Phung. It seized one of the weapons which had previously been knocked from its hand, and burned off one of the Phung’s legs. The Phung fell in a sprawling heap.

  Reith, Traz and Anacho were now scrambling into the sky-car; Anacho settled to the controls. The Dirdir screamed a wild admonition, and ran forward. The Phung made a prodigious hop, to alight on the Dirdir with a great flapping of the cloak. With the Dirdir at last a tangle of bones and skin, the Phung hopped to the center of the pond where it stood like a stork, ruefully considering its single leg.

  Chapter III

  Below lay the chasms, separated by knife-edged ridges of stone. Black gash paralleled black gash; looking down Reith wondered whether he and his party could possibly have survived to reach the Draschade. Almost certainly not. He speculated: Did the chasms tolerate life of any sort? The old man at Siadz had mentioned pysantillas and fere; who knows what other creatures inhabited the gulches far below? He now noticed, wedged in a crevice high between two peaks, a crumble of angular shapes like an efflorescence from the mother rock: a village, apparently of men, though none could be seen. Where did they find water? In the depths of the chasm? How did they provide themselves with food? Why did they choose so remote an eyrie for their home? There were no answers to his questions; the eyrie was left behind in the murk.

  A voice broke into Reith’s musings: a sighing, rasping, sibilant voice, which Reith could not understand.

  Anacho touched a button; the voice cut off. Anacho showed no concern; Reith forbore to ask questions.

  The afternoon waned; the chasms spread to become flat-bottomed gorges full of darkness, while the intervening ridges showed fringes of dark gold. A region as grim and hopeless as the grave, thought Reith. He recalled the village, now far behind, and became melancholy.

  The peaks and ridges ended abruptly to form the front of a gigantic scarp; the f
loors of the gorges extended and joined. Ahead lay the Draschade. Carina 4269, sinking, laid a topaz trail across the leaden water.

  A promontory jutted into the sea, sheltering a dozen fishing craft, high at bow and stern. A village straggled along the foreshore, lights already glimmering into the dusk.

  Anacho circled slowly above the village. He pointed. “Notice the stone building with the two cupolas and the blue lamps? A tavern, or perhaps an inn. I suggest that we put down to refresh ourselves. We have had a most tiring day.”

  “True, but can the Dirdir trace us?”

  “Small risk. They have no means to do so. I long since isolated the identity crystal. And in any event, that is not their way.”

  Traz peered suspiciously down at the village. Born to the inland steppes, he distrusted the sea and sea-people, considering both uncontrollable and enigmatic. “The villagers may well be hostile, and set upon us.”

  “I think not,” said Anacho in the lofty voice which invariably irritated Traz. “First, we are at the edge of the Wankh realm; these folk will be accustomed to strangers. Secondly, so large an inn implies hospitality. Thirdly, sooner or later we must descend in order to eat and drink. Why not here? The risk can be no greater than at any other inn upon the face of Tschai. Fourthly, we have no plans, no destination. I consider it foolish to fly aimlessly through the night.”

  Reith laughed. “You have convinced me. Let’s go down.”

  Traz gave his head a sour shake, but put forward no further objections.

  Anacho landed the sky-car in a field beside the inn, close under a row of tall black chymax trees which tossed and sighed to a cold wind off the sea. The three alighted warily, but their arrival had attracted no great attention. Two men, hunching along the lane with capes gripped close against the wind, paused a moment to survey the sky-car, then continued with only an idle mutter of comment.

  Reassured, the three proceeded to the front of the inn and pushed through a heavy timber door into a great hall. A half-dozen men with sparse sandy hair and pale bland faces stood by the fireplace nursing pewter mugs. They wore rough garments of gray and brown fustian, knee-high boots of well-oiled leather; Reith took them for fishermen. Conversation halted. All turned narrow gazes toward the newcomers. After a moment they reverted to the fire, their mugs, their terse conversations.