The World of Tiers, Volume 1

by Philip José Farmer

  Suddenly Kickaha gave a whoop of delight. “Keep going!” he shouted at them all. “May the Spirit of AkjawDimis favor you!”

  Wolff did not understand him until he looked at where Kickaha’s finger was pointing. Before them, half-hidden by the tall grass, were thousands of little mounds of earth. Before these sat creatures that looked like striped prairie dogs.

  The next moment, the Hrowakas had ridden into the colony with tbe Half-Horse immediately behind them. Shouts and screams arose as horses and centaurs, stepping into holes, went crashing down. The beasts and the Half-Horses that had fallen down kicked and screamed with the pain of broken legs. The centaurs just behind the first wave reared to halt themselves, and those following rammed into them. For a minute, a pile of tangled and kicking four-legged bodies was spread across the border of the prairie-dog field. The Half-Horses lucky enough to be far enough behind halted and watched their stricken comrades. Then they trotted cautiously, intent on where they placed their hooves. They, cut the throats of those with broken legs and arms.

  The Hrowakas, though aware of what was taking place behind them, had not stayed to watch. They pushed on but at a reduced pace. Now, they had ten horses and twelve men; Hums Like A Bee and Tall Grass were riding double with two whose horses had not broken their legs.

  Kickaha, looking at them, shook his head. Wolff knew what he was thinking. He would have to order Hums Like A Bee and Tall Grass to get off and go on foot. Otherwise, not only they but the men who had picked them up would inevitably be overtaken. Then Kickaha, saying, “To hell with it, I won’t abandon them!” dropped back. He spoke briefly to the tandem riders and brought his horse back up alongside Wolff. “If they go, we all go,” he said. “But you don’t have to stay with us, Bob. Your loyalty lies elsewhere. No reason for you to sacrifice yourself for us and lose Chryseis and the horn.”

  “I’ll stay,” Wolff said.

  Kickaha grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. “I’d hoped we could get to the woods, but we won’t make it. Almost but not quite. By the time we get to that big hill just half a mile ahead, we’ll be caught up with. Too bad. The woods are only another half-mile away.”

  The prairie-dog colony was as suddenly behind them as it had been before them. The Hrowakas urged their beasts to a gallop. A minute later, the centaurs had passed safely through the field, and they, too, were at full speed. Up the hill went the pursued and at the top they halted to form a circle.

  Wolff pointed down the side of the hill and across the plain at a small river. There were woods along it, but it was not that which caused his excitement. At the river’s edge, partially blocked by the trees, white tepees shone.

  Kickaha looked long before saying, “The Tsenakwa. The mortal enemy of the Bear People, as who isn’t?”

  “Here they come,” Wolff said. “They must have been notified by sentinels.”

  He gestured at a disorganized body of horsemen riding out of the woods, the sun striking off white horses, white shields, and white feathers and sparking the tips of lance.

  One of the Hrowakas, seeing them, began a high-pitched wailing song. Kickaha shouted at him, and Wolff understood enough to know that Kickaha was telling him to shut up. Now was no time for a death-song; they would cheat the Half-Horse and the Tsenakwa yet.

  “I was going to order our last stand here,” Kickaha said. “But not now. We’ll ride toward the Tsenakwa, then cut away from them and toward the woods along the river. How we come out depends on whether or not both our enemies decide to fight. If one refuses, the other will get us. If not … Let’s go!”

  Haiyeeing, they pounded their heels against the ribs of their beasts. Down the hill, straight toward the Tsenakwa, they rode. Wolff glanced back over his shoulder and saw that the Half-Horse were speeding down the side of the hill after them. Kickaha yelled, “I didn’t think they’d pass this up. There’ll be a lot of women wailing in the lodges tonight, but it won’t be only among the Bear People!”

  Now the Hrowakas were close enough to discern the devices on the shields of the Tsenakwa. These were black swastikas, a symbol Wolff was not surprised to see. The crooked cross was ancient and widespread on Earth; it was known by the Trojans, Cretans, Romans, Celts, Norse, Indian Buddhists and Brahmans, the Chinese, and throughout pre-Columbian North America. Nor was he surprised to see that the oncoming Indians were red-haired. Kickaha had told him that the Tsenakwa dyed their black locks.

  Still in an unordered mass but now bunched more closely together, the Tsenakwa leveled their lances and gave their charge-cry, an imitation of the scream of a hawk. Kickaha, in the lead, raised his hand, held it for a moment, then chopped it downward. His horse veered to the left and away, the line of the Bear people following him, he the head and the others the body of the snake.

  Kickaha had cut it close, but he had used correct and exact timing. As the Half-Horse and Tsenakwa plunged with a crash and flurry into each other and were embroiled in a melee, the Hrowakas pulled away. They gained the woods, slowed to go through the trees and underbrush, and then were crossing the river. Even so, Kickaha had to argue with several of the braves. These wanted to sneak back across the river and raid the tepees of the Tsenakwa while their warriors were occupied with the Half-Horse.

  “Makes sense to me,” Wolff said, “if we stay there only long enough to pick up horses. Hums Like A Bee and Tall Grass can’t keep on riding double.”

  Kickaha shrugged and gave the order. The raid took five minutes. The Hrowakas recrossed the river and burst from the trees and among the tepees with wild shouts. The women and children screamed and took refuge in the trees or lodges. Some of the Hrowakas wanted not only the horses but loot. Kickaha said that he would kill the first man he caught stealing anything besides bows and arrows. But he did reach down off his horse and give a pretty but battling woman a long kiss.

  “Tell your men I would have taken you to bed and made you forever after dissatisfied with the puny ones of your tribe!” Kickaha said to her. “But we have more important things to do!” Laughing, he released the woman, who ran into her lodge. He did pause long enough to make water into the big cooking pot in the middle of the camp, a deadly insult and then he ordered the party to ride off.

  CHAPTER TEN

  They rode on for two weeks and then were at the edge of the Trees of Many Shadows. Here Kickaha took a long farewell of the Hrowakas. These also each came to Wolff and, laying their hands upon his shoulders, made a farewell speech. He was one of them now. When he returned, he should take a house and wife among them and ride out on hunts and war with them. He was KwashingDa, the Strong One; he had made his kill side by side with them; he had outwrestled a Half-Horse; he would be given a bear cub to raise as his own; he would be blessed by the Lord and have sons and daughters, and so forth and so on.

  Gravely, Wolff replied that he could think of no greater honor than to be accepted by the Bear People. He meant it.

  Many days later, they had passed through the Many Shadows. They lost both horses one night to something that left footprints ten times as large as a man’s and four-toed. Wolff was both saddened and enraged, for he had a great affection for his animal. He wanted to pursue the WaGanassit and take vengeance. Kickaha threw his hands up in horror at the suggestion.

  “Be happy you weren’t carried off, too!” he said.

  “The WaGanassit is covered with scales that are half-silicon. Your arrows would bounce off. Forget about the horses. We can come back someday and hunt it down. They can be trapped and then roasted in a fire, which I’d like to do, but we have to be practical. Let’s go.”

  On the other side of the Many Shadows, they built a canoe and went down a broad river that passed through many large and small lakes. The country was hilly here, with steep cliffs at many places. It reminded Wolff of the dells of Wisconsin.

  “Beautiful land, but the Chacopewachi and the Enwaddit live here.”

  Thirteen days later, during which they had had to paddle furiously three times to escape p
ursuing canoes of warriors, they left the canoe. Having crossed a broad and high range of hills, mostly at night, they came to a great lake. Again they built a canoe and set out across the waters. Five days of paddling brought them to the base of the monolith, Abharhploonta. They began their slow ascent, as dangerous as that up the first monolith. By the time they reached the top, they had expended their supply of arrows and were suffering several nasty wounds.

  “You can see why traffic between the tiers is limited,” Kickaha said. “In the first place, the Lord has forbidden it. However, that doesn’t keep the irreverent and adventurous nor the trader, from attempting it.

  “Between the rim and Dracheland is several thousand miles of jungle with large plateaus interspersed here and there. The Guzirit River is only a hundred miles away. We’ll go there and look for passage on a riverboat.”

  They prepared flint tips and shafts for arrows. Wolff killed a tapirlike animal. Its flesh was a little rank, but it filled their bellies with strength. He wanted then to push on, finding Kickaha’s reluctance aggravating.

  Kickaha looked up into the green sky and said, “I was hoping one of Podarge’s pets would find us and have news for us. After all, we don’t know which direction the gworl are taking. They have to go toward the mountain, but they could take two paths. They could go all the way through the jungle, a route not recommended for safety. Or they could take a boat down the Guzirit. That has its dangers, too, especially for rather outstanding creatures like the gworl. And Chryseis would bring a high price in the slave market.”

  “We can’t wait forever for an eagle,” Wolff said.

  “No, nor will we have to,” Kickaha said. He pointed up, and Wolff, following the direction of his fingertip, saw a flash of yellow. It disappeared, only to come into view a moment later. The eagle was dropping swiftly, wings folded. Shortly, it checked its drop and glided in.

  Phthie introduced herself and immediately thereafter said that she carried good news. She had spotted the gworl and the woman, Chryseis, only four hundred miles ahead of them. They had taken passage on a merchant boat and were traveling down the Guzirit toward the Land of Armored Men.

  “Did you see the horn?” Kickaha said.

  “No,” Phthie replied. “But they doubtless have it concealed in one of the skin bags they were carrying. I snatched one of the bags away from a gworl on the chance it might contain the horn. For my troubles, I got a bag full of junk and almost received an arrow through my wing.”

  “The gworl have bows?” Wolff asked, surprised.

  “No. The rivermen shot at me.”

  Wolff, asking about the ravens, was told that there were many. Apparently the Lord must have ordered a number to keep watch on the gworl.

  “That’s bad,” Kickaha said. “If they spot us, we’re in real trouble.”

  “They don’t know what you look like,” Phthie said. “I’ve eaves dropped on the ravens when they were talking, hiding when I longed to seize them and tear them apart. But I have orders from my mistress, and I obey. The gworl have tried to describe you to the Eyes of the Lord. The ravens are looking for two traveling together, both tall, one black-haired the other bronze-haired. But that is all they know, and many men conform to that description. The ravens, however, will be watching for two men on the trail of the gworl.”

  “I’ll dye my hair, and we’ll get Khamshem clothes,” Kickaha said.

  Phthie said that she must be getting on. She had been on her way to report to Podarge, having left another sister to continue the surveillance of the gworl, when she had spied the two. Kickaha thanked her and made sure that she would carry his regards to Podarge. After the giant bird had launched herself from the rim of the monolith, the men went into the jungle.

  “Walk softly, speak quietly,” Kickaha said. “Here be tigers. In fact, the jungle’s lousy with them. Here also be the great axebeak. It’s a wingless bird so big and fierce even one of Podarge’s pets would skedaddle away from it. I saw two tigers and an axebeak tangle once, and the tigers didn’t hang around long before they caught on it’d be a good idea to take off fast.”

  Despite Kickaha’s warnings, they saw very little life except for a vast number of many-colored birds, monkeys, and mouse-sized antlered beetles. For the beetles, Kickaha had one word: “poisonous.” Thereafter, Wolff took care before bedding down that none were about.

  Before reaching their immediate destination, Kickaha looked for a plant, the ghubharash. Locating a group after a half-day’s search, he pounded the fibers, cooked them, and extracted a blackish liquid. With this he stained his hair and his skin from top to bottom.

  “I’ll explain my green eyes with a tale of having a slave-mother from Teutonia,” he said. “Here. Use some yourself. You could stand being a little darker.”

  They came to a half-ruined city of stone and wide-mouthed squatting idols. The citizens were a short, thin, and dark people who dressed in maroon capes and black loincloths. Men and women wore their hair long and plastered with butter, which they derived from the milk of piebald goats that leaped from ruin to ruin and fed on the grasses between the cracks in the stone. These people, the Kaidushang, kept cobras in little cages and often took their pets out to fondle. They chewed dhiz, a plant which turned their teeth black and gave their eyes a smoldering look and their motions a slowness.

  Kickaha, using H’vaizhum, the pidgin rivertalk, bartered with the elders. He traded a leg of a hippopotamus-like beast he and Wolff had killed for Khamshem garments. The two donned the red and green turbans adorned with kigglibash feathers, sleeveless white shirts, baggy pantaloons of purple, sashes that wound around and around their waists many times, and the black, curling-toed slippers.

  Despite their dhiz-stupored minds, the elders were shrewd in their trading. Not until Kickaha brought a very small sapphire from his bag—one of the jewels given him by Podarge—would they sell the pearl-encrusted scabbards and the scimitars in their hidden stock.

  “I hope a boat comes along soon,” Kickaha said. “Now that they know I have stones, they might try to slit our throats. Sorry, Bob, but we’re going to have to keep watch at night. They also like to send in their snakes to do their dirty work for them.”

  That very day, a merchantman sailed around the bend of the river. At sight of the two standing on the rotting pier and waving long white handkerchiefs, the captain ordered the anchor dropped and sails lowered.

  Wolff and Kickaha got into the small boat lowered for them and were rowed out to the Khrillquz. This was about forty feet long, low amid ships but with towering decks fore and aft, and one fore-and-aft sail and jib. The sailors were mainly of that branch of Khamshem folk called the Shibacub. They spoke a tongue the phonology and structure of which had been described by Kickaha to Wolff. He was sure that it was an archaic form of Semitic influenced by the aboriginal tongues.

  The captain, Arkhyurel, greeted them politely on the poopdeck. He sat cross-legged on a pile of cushions and rich rugs and sipped on a tiny cup of thick wine.

  Kickaha, calling himself Ishnaqrubel, gave his carefully prepared story. He and his companion, a man under a vow not to speak again until he returned to his wife in the far off land of Shiashtu, had been in the jungle for several years. They had been searching for the fabled lost city of Ziqooant.

  The captain’s black and tangled eyebrows rose, and he stroked the dark-brown beard that fell to his waist. He asked them to sit down and to accept a cup of the Akhashtum wine while they told their tale. Kickaha’s eyes shone and he grinned as he plunged into his narration. Wolff did not understand him, yet he was sure that his friend was in raptures with his long, richly detailed, and adventurous lies. He only hoped Kickaha would not get too carried away and arouse the captain’s incredulity.

  The hours passed while the caravel sailed down the river. A sailor clad only in a scarlet loincloth, bangs hanging down below his eyes played softly on a flute on the foredeck. Food was carried to them on silver and gold platters: roasted monkey, stuffed bird, a
black hard bread, and a tart jelly. Wolff found the meat too highly spiced, but he ate.

  The sun neared its nightly turn around the mountain, and the captain arose. He led them to a little shrine behind the wheel; here was an idol of green jade, Tartartar. The captain chanted a prayer, the prime prayer to the Lord. Then Arkhyurel got down on his knees before the minor god of his own nation and made obeisance. A sailor sprinkled a little incense on the tiny fire glowing in the hollow in Tartartar’s lap. While the fumes spread over the ship, those of the captain’s faith prayed also. Later, the mariners of other gods made their private devotions.

  That night, the two lay on the mid-deck on a pile of furs which the captain had furnished them.

  “I don’t know about this guy Arkhyurel,” Kickaha said. “I told him we failed to locate the city of Ziqooant but that we did find a small treasure cache. Nothing to brag about but enough to let us live modestly without worry when we return to Shiashtu. He didn’t ask to see the jewels, even though I said I’d give him a big ruby for our passage. These people take their time in their dealings; it’s an insult to rush business. But his greed may overrule his sense of hospitality and business ethics if he thinks he can get a big haul just by cutting our throats and dumping our bodies into the river.”

  He stopped for a moment. Cries of many birds came from the branches along the river; now and then a great saurian bellowed from the bank or from the river itself.

  “If he’s going to do anything dishonorable he’ll do it in the next thousand miles. This is a lonely stretch of river; after that, the towns and cities begin to get more numerous.”

  The next afternoon, sitting under a canopy erected for their comfort, Kickaha presented the captain with the ruby, enormous and beautifully cut. With it, Kickaha could have purchased the boat itself and the crew from the captain. He hoped that Arkhyurel would be more than satisfied with it; the captain himself could retire on its sale if he wished. Kickaha then did what he had wanted to avoid but knew that he could not. He brought out the rest of the jewels: diamonds, sapphires, rubies, garnets, tourmalines and topazes. Arkhyurel smiled and licked his lips and fondled the stones for three hours. Finally he forced himself to give them back.