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perhaps, my disguise had been penetrated. But then, by how much? How deeply into my multifarious
deceptions had they penetrated? It was no good worrying; I would find out in Zair s good time.
The calsanys halted just after the hollow echoes told me we had entered a stone courtyard bounded by
high walls. The moment I was dragged out a great blindfold was whipped about my eyes. Prodded and
pushed, I went where I was directed, up stone stairs, along passages, then into corridors where carpets
felt soft and luxurious beneath my toughened soles. Coolness dropped about me, and the tinkle and
splash of fountains sounded most refreshingly. I heard girls laughing. I heard the deep-toned voices of
men in conversation, their worlds clearly far removed from that of slaving.
A feeling of soft pressure against my shoulder explained why no one appeared to have taken any notice
of a party of armed guards and a naked slave in chains; some form of pierced screen, of wood or ivory,
probably, shielded us from their observation. I was led into a room I knew by the echoes to be relatively
small. A door clashed. The guards remained, for I heard their suppressed breathing, the creak of their
harness.
After a moment a fat and unctuous voice said: Is this it?
This is the slave Bagor, Notor, said the Deldar.
The abrupt feel of soft fingers prodding my muscles, digging me in the belly, poking about in my mouth,
sickened me.
I bit.
The resultant shriek was most instructive. The blow that sent me reeling until brought up by the chains
was also intended to be instructive.
The nulsh! The fat eunuch it had to be sounded anguished. Take it away! Wash it! Clean it!
Perfume it! Do not bring the offensive carcass before me again until it has been tamed.
The Deldar s voice hid a quaver. We were told the slave Bagor was a wild leem, Notor.
They carted me off and I went through a caricature of the baths of nine. At least, I washed off the sweat
and the dust. They dressed me up in a mocking suit of colored clothes, all bright yellows and greens and
reds, with feathers, bells, and ribbons. I knew I looked an imbecile; I would endure, for by now I was
intrigued.
Again the blindfold was wrapped about me. This second time the journey was shorter, and involved
getting into and out of a boat. The soldiers pulled the oars and by the splashings I knew they were an
unhandy lot. I was prodded up a steep and slippery flight of stone steps, very narrow, and the guards
lumbered after, swearing by their soldier gods.
More chambers and corridors and stairs followed. At last, and not before time, I was told to incline. I
did so. I wanted to know what was going on. The incline involves the prostration of the entire body, head
down, rump up, a stupid and undignified position, one used by slaves for princes.
Or princesses. The blindfold was whipped away, many lights blinded me, and a harsh voice bade me
crouch. I crouched.
Then, blinking, I could see through the tears in my smarting eyes.
She sat on a throne fashioned from crystal, a block of multifaceted crystal that must have weighed tons.
The delicate gilding of arms and backrest could not disguise the power of that throne. Many brightly hued
rugs bestrewed the throne and the dais. There golden-chained Chail Sheom simpered in attendance.
Giant Womoxes waved faerling fans on each side of her. She looked and I ll give her her due
mighty impressive.
So, Bagor ti Hemlad. You are nothing better than a common thief.
She no longer wore all black. Her body was smothered in silver tissue, with a gold-tissue vest. Her
jewels scintillated with a sparkle from the ranked lights so that she appeared a glittering statue and,
yet, no statue, for now the blood burned in her cheeks, and those slanting green eyes leeched fiercely
upon me, a corner of the rich red lips caught up between white pointed teeth.
You do not answer! Speak, onker.
I was staring past the massively muscled man in the half-armor of gilded steel and the brilliantly feathered
helmet, who stood by her left side, leaning on an arm of the throne and fingering his rapier, and I stared
and stared at the familiar, horrible forms that crouched at her feet. Poor silly fat Queen Fahia of Hyrklana
had attained a kind of surrogate dignity with her pet neemus, those vicious and treacherous black-furred
cats. This woman, who had called herself the Kovneva Serea of Piraju, had gone at a bound far past fat
Queen Fahia.
I looked at the jiklos.
I knew them, these manhounds. I had been chased by them through the jungles of Faol, had faced them
with a wooden stave, had seen them rip shrieking victims to pieces. Apims, are the manhounds of Faol,
apims trained to run on all fours and with their jagged teeth seize upon their prey. This woman of the
blazing green eyes kept jiklos as her throne-step pets!
To give the woman her due she gave me time to answer. Not so the man in half-armor. He left off
fingering his rapier. He bounded down the dais steps, his face congested, roaring at me.
No stinking cramph of a slave insults the Majestrix while King Doghamrei stands ready to defend her
honor!
Just before he reached me with every intention of knocking me headlong, I said, quickly and icily, So
King Doghamrei would soil his lily-white hands on a slave? and then I sidestepped, clanging my chains,
and tripped him and trod on him as he fell.
Bedlam!
The guards yelled and dragged me off and this buffoon King Doghamrei shrieked as I put a foot into his
ribs and the Queen for obviously this icy woman who had traveled incognito as the Kovneva Serea
was Queen Thyllis of the Empire of Hamal gave curt orders that in surprising time sorted out the
rumpus.
I was dragged up and then flung down before her.
Doghamrei the king of one of the kingdoms within the Empire of Hamal was being sick and
hustled away by his slaves. Oh, yes, that had been quite refreshing. Quite like old times. I thought the
Queen would now release me, seeing that I had saved her life, finding a regal pretext to overturn the law
and the sentence, and then I could get on with finding out what this mysterious cayferm was that went into
the paol-boxes.
Of course Dray Prescot, as ever, was as stupid as an onker, a get-onker!
Speaking in a low level voice that flayed like one of my clansmen s skinning knives, she told me that her
routine perusal of the criminal lists had revealed the name of Bagor. My personal effects, taken from me
and docketed, revealed the violet-and-gold-zhantil brooch. She had had me brought here to inspect me.
Here she took her green eyes away from my face, which must have been looking diabolical. When she
continued I detected a quiver in her voice. Only chance brought you to me in the first instance. Chance
saw to it that I was apprised of your imprisonment. You, Bagor, whom I dignified with the cry of Jikai,
are a common criminal.
For three damned scales? I shouted.
One of the guards they were a fresh lot, clad in mesh and probably of the same pastang that had
been on duty at the little white folly came up and hit me. I wasn t watching him, staring at the Queen.
He staggered me. I turned and swung a loop of my chains at his legs. It is an old trick. He toppled with a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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perhaps, my disguise had been penetrated. But then, by how much? How deeply into my multifarious
deceptions had they penetrated? It was no good worrying; I would find out in Zair s good time.
The calsanys halted just after the hollow echoes told me we had entered a stone courtyard bounded by
high walls. The moment I was dragged out a great blindfold was whipped about my eyes. Prodded and
pushed, I went where I was directed, up stone stairs, along passages, then into corridors where carpets
felt soft and luxurious beneath my toughened soles. Coolness dropped about me, and the tinkle and
splash of fountains sounded most refreshingly. I heard girls laughing. I heard the deep-toned voices of
men in conversation, their worlds clearly far removed from that of slaving.
A feeling of soft pressure against my shoulder explained why no one appeared to have taken any notice
of a party of armed guards and a naked slave in chains; some form of pierced screen, of wood or ivory,
probably, shielded us from their observation. I was led into a room I knew by the echoes to be relatively
small. A door clashed. The guards remained, for I heard their suppressed breathing, the creak of their
harness.
After a moment a fat and unctuous voice said: Is this it?
This is the slave Bagor, Notor, said the Deldar.
The abrupt feel of soft fingers prodding my muscles, digging me in the belly, poking about in my mouth,
sickened me.
I bit.
The resultant shriek was most instructive. The blow that sent me reeling until brought up by the chains
was also intended to be instructive.
The nulsh! The fat eunuch it had to be sounded anguished. Take it away! Wash it! Clean it!
Perfume it! Do not bring the offensive carcass before me again until it has been tamed.
The Deldar s voice hid a quaver. We were told the slave Bagor was a wild leem, Notor.
They carted me off and I went through a caricature of the baths of nine. At least, I washed off the sweat
and the dust. They dressed me up in a mocking suit of colored clothes, all bright yellows and greens and
reds, with feathers, bells, and ribbons. I knew I looked an imbecile; I would endure, for by now I was
intrigued.
Again the blindfold was wrapped about me. This second time the journey was shorter, and involved
getting into and out of a boat. The soldiers pulled the oars and by the splashings I knew they were an
unhandy lot. I was prodded up a steep and slippery flight of stone steps, very narrow, and the guards
lumbered after, swearing by their soldier gods.
More chambers and corridors and stairs followed. At last, and not before time, I was told to incline. I
did so. I wanted to know what was going on. The incline involves the prostration of the entire body, head
down, rump up, a stupid and undignified position, one used by slaves for princes.
Or princesses. The blindfold was whipped away, many lights blinded me, and a harsh voice bade me
crouch. I crouched.
Then, blinking, I could see through the tears in my smarting eyes.
She sat on a throne fashioned from crystal, a block of multifaceted crystal that must have weighed tons.
The delicate gilding of arms and backrest could not disguise the power of that throne. Many brightly hued
rugs bestrewed the throne and the dais. There golden-chained Chail Sheom simpered in attendance.
Giant Womoxes waved faerling fans on each side of her. She looked and I ll give her her due
mighty impressive.
So, Bagor ti Hemlad. You are nothing better than a common thief.
She no longer wore all black. Her body was smothered in silver tissue, with a gold-tissue vest. Her
jewels scintillated with a sparkle from the ranked lights so that she appeared a glittering statue and,
yet, no statue, for now the blood burned in her cheeks, and those slanting green eyes leeched fiercely
upon me, a corner of the rich red lips caught up between white pointed teeth.
You do not answer! Speak, onker.
I was staring past the massively muscled man in the half-armor of gilded steel and the brilliantly feathered
helmet, who stood by her left side, leaning on an arm of the throne and fingering his rapier, and I stared
and stared at the familiar, horrible forms that crouched at her feet. Poor silly fat Queen Fahia of Hyrklana
had attained a kind of surrogate dignity with her pet neemus, those vicious and treacherous black-furred
cats. This woman, who had called herself the Kovneva Serea of Piraju, had gone at a bound far past fat
Queen Fahia.
I looked at the jiklos.
I knew them, these manhounds. I had been chased by them through the jungles of Faol, had faced them
with a wooden stave, had seen them rip shrieking victims to pieces. Apims, are the manhounds of Faol,
apims trained to run on all fours and with their jagged teeth seize upon their prey. This woman of the
blazing green eyes kept jiklos as her throne-step pets!
To give the woman her due she gave me time to answer. Not so the man in half-armor. He left off
fingering his rapier. He bounded down the dais steps, his face congested, roaring at me.
No stinking cramph of a slave insults the Majestrix while King Doghamrei stands ready to defend her
honor!
Just before he reached me with every intention of knocking me headlong, I said, quickly and icily, So
King Doghamrei would soil his lily-white hands on a slave? and then I sidestepped, clanging my chains,
and tripped him and trod on him as he fell.
Bedlam!
The guards yelled and dragged me off and this buffoon King Doghamrei shrieked as I put a foot into his
ribs and the Queen for obviously this icy woman who had traveled incognito as the Kovneva Serea
was Queen Thyllis of the Empire of Hamal gave curt orders that in surprising time sorted out the
rumpus.
I was dragged up and then flung down before her.
Doghamrei the king of one of the kingdoms within the Empire of Hamal was being sick and
hustled away by his slaves. Oh, yes, that had been quite refreshing. Quite like old times. I thought the
Queen would now release me, seeing that I had saved her life, finding a regal pretext to overturn the law
and the sentence, and then I could get on with finding out what this mysterious cayferm was that went into
the paol-boxes.
Of course Dray Prescot, as ever, was as stupid as an onker, a get-onker!
Speaking in a low level voice that flayed like one of my clansmen s skinning knives, she told me that her
routine perusal of the criminal lists had revealed the name of Bagor. My personal effects, taken from me
and docketed, revealed the violet-and-gold-zhantil brooch. She had had me brought here to inspect me.
Here she took her green eyes away from my face, which must have been looking diabolical. When she
continued I detected a quiver in her voice. Only chance brought you to me in the first instance. Chance
saw to it that I was apprised of your imprisonment. You, Bagor, whom I dignified with the cry of Jikai,
are a common criminal.
For three damned scales? I shouted.
One of the guards they were a fresh lot, clad in mesh and probably of the same pastang that had
been on duty at the little white folly came up and hit me. I wasn t watching him, staring at the Queen.
He staggered me. I turned and swung a loop of my chains at his legs. It is an old trick. He toppled with a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]