Running her fingertips along the lighted surfaces of the control panel, Tess recalled the afternoon when, to entertain her, one of the pilots here at the regional capital of this sector of Sarma had offered to teach her how to operate a floater. She had spent the last few weeks at the capital, a luxurious place of terracotta-colored domes and sparkling fountains and pools set into one of the mountainous areas of the planet. She had come here to help the Sarmians settle into their new status quo. With their new king, Dantar, ascending to the throne, the time of internecine wars that had divided the planet and taxed its resources was over. It was time for the warring factions, which had fought over the throne since Dantar's father became unfit to be king, to iron out the last of their differences and get on with their new lives. Tess had jumped at the chance to help them do it and left Earth to aid in the negotiations between tribes. That was what had brought her to the Lotar Valley—and that was where she met Rendar.
The thought of Rendar motivated her to recall more clearly her day of floater piloting lessons. The man was as magnificent as any terrestrial male beauty she had ever seen. He was built as much for pleasure as for battle. The Sarmians had the unusual trait—by Earth standards—of hair on their foreheads in a tapering pattern down to the bridge of the nose. In Rendar's case, the forehead hair complemented the spread of hair across a chest like two shields of hard, muscular flesh and down the rocky road of his abs. These were the highlights of a body of muscle with massively powerful arms, formidable shoulders and legs, and a broad, mighty back that made him look as if he could hold up the mountains of his home like the mythical Atlas holding up the Earth. Judging by what she had seen of him, Tess could only imagine what kind of war club he must have in his private arsenal, but she shook off that thought as too distracting for the moment. If she could not head off the thing that was about to happen, the universe might be deprived of that wondrous masculinity.
Recalling what buttons to press to lift the floater out of its spot in the outdoor hangar space of the capital, Tess got the thing off the ground and made it skim its way out from among the other vehicles and into the surrounding terrain. Soon she had it humming over grass and out to the hillsides where the interior of the Lotar Valley awaited. She was grateful that her chosen assignment was in one of the more temperate areas of Sarma. She had heard of some of the fauna that inhabited the desert areas of the planet—like those vicious, burrowing shambleclaws—and was perfectly happy not having to deal with any of them. All things considered, Sarma was a planet as lovely as Earth, in spite of the toll that the wars for the throne had taken on large sections of it. In fact, it was widely believed that contact between Sarma and Earth had unfolded peacefully because Sarma's infrastructure was in such disarray and its resources were so depleted from all the conflict. An interstellar skirmish with these proud, aggressive people was the last thing Earth needed. Besides, with a Sarmian like Rendar there were things so much more pleasing to do than fight.
Unbidden but not exactly unwelcome, the image of Rendar once again came into Tess's mind. He had the body of a warrior, but his square-jawed face was built for other things entirely. Those dark eyes and that perfectly trimmed dark hair accented features that demanded surrender on something other than a battlefield. As she had helped to hammer out the new peace treaty between Rendar's tribe and their neighbors, Tess's mind had turned again and again to negotiations of a different kind with Rendar himself. The tribal leader had treated her cordially during her stay at the capital. He had escorted her on a personal tour of the Capitol compound itself and been her host for a display of Sarmian battle skills to entertain the diplomats from Earth. The Sarmians were extremely proud of their mastery of combat. It was ironic that they had entertained their human guests with mock battles during peaceful functions, but it was the Sarmian way. And Rendar, clad only in his battle kilt with shield plates strapped to his chest and shoulders, made the most stunning of combatants. Gliding over the field and toward the forest on the floater, Tess recalled the sight of him on this very plain, striding out with sword and spear, leading the men of his tribe in war games. How like a god of battle he had seemed—a handsome, noble god.
In quieter functions, Rendar had paid Tess personal attention, sitting with her at banquets, telling her stories of the history of his planet and his tribe, fascinating her with the strange duality of his people. The Sarmians were basically as advanced as Earth, but their ways seemed so much more primeval. She ironically found them more "earthy" than the people of Earth, in spite of their having the same level of culture and technology. From talking with Rendar, she had picked up on how intrigued the Sarmians were with their cousins from across space. To the Sarmians, terrestrial humans were everything they were and everything they were not: a strong and hardy but oddly genteel race. Rendar had never said it in so many words, but Tess had always had the feeling that he and his people found Earth humans rather "soft." And by Sarmian standards, they were. There were no women like her among the younger women of Sarma. On this planet, soft and round bodies were the province and privilege of age. To be sure, the magnificent Rendar had never known the intimacy of a woman less magnificent than himself. Tess had never asked him what he actually thought of her. She had the feeling that he liked her well enough, but that his fondness was mostly an appreciation of her manners and her helpfulness. He certainly could never think of her in the same way that he thought of the women of his own world. Tess knew she was a curiosity to Rendar, and that was all.
And as fascinating as Tess found this leader of his tribe, the one thing she did not want to know about him was how red his blood was in comparison with her own. Depending on the outcome of what was about to happen today, something she had been powerless to prevent, she might just have to face the dread of finding out.
Now that she was getting the hang of piloting this craft, which ordinarily would be piloted for her, Tess felt confident enough to speed up her skimming path into the forest. She swooped and swerved around trees with bark that resembled the scales of fish, and flowers in shapes and combinations of colors that never occurred on Earth, and grasses in more shades of green than she could count, looking more like the bristling manes of horses than like vegetation. All of these she had admired on previous visits out here, and might have stopped to admire more, if her course and destination were not so urgent.
She sped her way down along the forested slope of a hillside, the natural beauty of Sarma becoming a blur in her focused eyes. At the bottom of the slope, the forest broke into a broad meadow, on the other side of which lay a hill like the one she had come down. Midway between the meadow and the other hillside, a river meandered its way through this, the heart of the Lotar Valley. On her side of the river, a large gathering of Sarmians had divided itself into two groups. One group huddled around a figure which Tess could not see, but whose identity she could well guess. The other group congregated near a proud, muscled, chest-and-stomach-haired figure clad only in a battle kilt and boots, whom Tess recognized instantly. Rendar looked on with curiosity and concern as Tess lowered the floater to the grass of the meadow, climbed out, and headed directly for him. Tess saw that he was holding a mighty spear with a formidable, leaf-shaped blade at either end. She gulped at the sight of it.
She reached Rendar's side directly, and for the first time in their acquaintance he looked as if he were not happy to see her. "Tess," he said, more sternly than she had ever heard him speak. “What are you doing here? Why have you come? This is not a matter for off-worlders. Your diplomatic corps would not approve."
"That's why I didn't tell them I was coming," answered Tess. “And now it's too late to stop me. I want you to stop this. The wars are over, Rendar. This is madness."
"Nay," Rendar said. "'Tis not madness. It is tradition. You have studied our ways, Tess. You know this."
"I know there are alternatives. Listen to me. This is a new chapter in your history. You have a new king and you've begun a relationship with a new world—mine. You can
learn new ways to do things. I helped you work out a peace treaty with Godan's tribe. Let me help you work out some kind of peace between you and Godan himself. You don't have to do this."
"For a woman skilled in negotiation," said Rendar, "you are most stubborn. Yes, we must do as we do. The treaty that you helped to strike between our tribes was between the tribes themselves. Each side made concessions for the good of both. That matter is resolved. This matter... is not. It is not about the division of resources or the drawing of territorial borders. It is a personal dispute between Godan and me. His wife is no more. She fell at my hand."
"Godan's wife was a casualty of war. In what war do people take revenge for casualties on one soldier?"
"I was not merely a soldier, Tess. I was and I am the leader of my tribe, as Godan is the leader of his. On our planet, matters of personal combat may incur personal retribution, the pursuit of personal satisfaction. I slew Godan's wife. By custom and tradition he may seek satisfaction from me. And by custom and tradition—especially as the leader of my tribe—I am bound to answer his call. This battle needs must be."
Tess poured all of her frustration and fear, and not a little anger at the whole bloody situation, into her protest. "What is with you people? You talk like poets and you act like... like..."
Rendar gave her an intense, cautioning look, a gaze to warn her to measure her reactions and select her words with the greatest care. "Yes?" he dared her to finish that sentence.
She shut her eyes and sighed, choosing discretion in the end. "I'm sorry, Rendar. I just don't want to see you hurt. You've come so far and accomplished so much. You're at peace, ready to make a new start. I don't want to see you lose it all."
His look softened at this. "What we have accomplished has been with your help, Tess. 'Twas your patience, your wisdom, your help and guidance that brought Godan's tribe and mine to where we are now. From the day you arrived on Sarma, I have admired your firm but gentle hand in the way that you have advised and counseled us. I have admired your understanding of history, the history of my planet and your own; and your understanding of the needs that shape our ends. You have shown skill in diplomacy, in speech, in approaching people and encouraging dialogue. You are a true diplomat. As much as you fear for me, I fear for you sacrificing all that you are and all that you have done with your life on my behalf. I ask you to show the same understanding that you showed in our negotiations—and stand aside and let be that which now must be, whatever may come."
Tess took in his words and found them wise and true. He had expressed his thoughts with the strength of a warrior and the conviction of a leader—but under them was something more. His tone spoke of a warmth earned by time spent in each other's company, a friendliness born from sharing his world and his experiences with her. The way he spoke to her showed respect and appreciation and a genuine fondness. Was she hearing something else in his fondness that was not really there? Was it only her imagination telling her that Rendar had grown to feel something more for her than a leader's appreciation of a diplomat who had traveled far across space to help him?
Unbidden from Tess's mind came the thought of Rendar taking her in his arms and kissing her. To be sure, she was only reading such a desire into his sincere manner. He could not actually want to do that—not with her. Not with an Earth woman of a size and shape unlike any other woman with whom he had ever shared a bed, a woman who resolved disputes over a negotiation table instead of on a battlefield. It was completely out of bounds, Tess knew, for her to imagine such a thing.
And yet, there was that picture on the wall of her mind, and as quickly as she took it down it mounted itself back up.
"Rendar, you're right.," Tess said at last. "This is your planet. This is your culture, these are your ways, and as a visitor and an off-worlder I'm bound to respect them, especially in the interests of diplomacy. I apologize. I stepped out of line."
The tribal leader allowed himself just a hint of a reassuring smile. "Thank you," he said. "No harm is done. I accept your apology."
"But Rendar," she pressed gently. "Godan's wife was a casualty of war. In every war, both sides understand that there will be casualties. It's the tragedy of war, and it's why we use diplomacy to try to stop it from happening, or when that fails, stop it from happening again. When we lose someone we love in a war, we don't look for personal revenge against the one who cut them down. We look for ways to make any more wars unnecessary."
"And yet," Rendar pointed out, "does not your planet have a history of punishing those who perpetrate crimes in time of war?"
"Yes, we've prosecuted war criminals," Tess answered. "But we prosecuted them in courts of law where they faced juries and judges! We didn't call war criminals to battle! And anyway, you are not a criminal! Genocide and torture are crimes; what you did isn't!"
"I know the truth of what you say," said Rendar. "Such has been true on Earth and such is true on many other planets. But Sarma is different. A tribal leader retains the right to seek personal satisfaction for losses in battle. Our descendants may change the custom. Future generations, with wise ones such as you to help them, may make things different. I hope they shall. But we must live in the reality of here and now, and I cannot refuse Godan's call to personal combat. To refuse would be to risk another war at a time when we need peace the most. It is for the peace that I do this."
Tess could do nothing but look down and shake her head. With a sigh, she said, "Fighting for peace. My people used to tell themselves peace was something to fight for." She looked back up at him. "We learned better."
Rendar allowed himself more of an open smile. "So shall we," he said.
To Tess's surprise, he did something else then, something she did not expect, which made her have to suppress a gasp. He reached over to her and touched her, just on the shoulder, and squeezed it lightly. This time there was no mistaking the affection with which he did it. That was not only kindness and appreciation. She was sure of it. She told herself it was friendship, that if Rendar lived beyond this afternoon the two of them would grow to be great old friends.
She smiled back at him, a smile that masked her fears and the dread of what she was about to witness. The last thing that a warrior going into battle needed to see, Tess knew, was fear on the face of someone that he might well be leaving behind.
"Good luck, Rendar," Tess said.
"I thank you, Tess—for everything," the handsome warrior replied.
Resigned to what must be, Tess stepped away from Rendar and joined the other Sarmians who had accompanied him, obviously members of his tribe. Now that her attention was on something other than Rendar himself, she recognized many of them as Sarmians who worked in official capacities at the Capitol, or were responsible for hospitality for guests of the tribes. Some were relatives of the tribal leader; she waved at and exchanged greetings with cousins, aunts, and uncles Rendar had introduced during her stay. Rendar had no siblings. He had inherited his position from his father. He had no wife. Tess had learned, largely from conversations with the people around her now, that Rendar was very much what would on Earth be called a "playboy". He was one of the most eligible bachelors on Sarma, and the role he had made himself most eligible for was that of willing bedmate to any interested female. He never boasted of how prolific he was, but his reputation for seldom sleeping alone was universally known.
Tess could only imagine how many women on this planet would be only too happy to take Rendar off the market, and each of them was more lean and toned and sinewy than the last. They were nothing like her. They were all fat-free entrees compared to the doughy dish that Tess presented. It was all the more reason for Tess to be sure that his wanting to kiss her was just an idle fantasy on her part.
Seeing nothing constructive in dwelling on fantasies when a very stark reality was about to play itself out before her, Tess turned her mind to the whys and wherefores of it all. Sarmian civilization had a structure at the top of which sat the king. As of now, that monarch was the newly
ascended Dantar, whose assumption of the throne that had been in his family for generations ended the wars that had broken out when his father died. At that time, Dantar, the crown prince, had faced challenges to his ascent from the leaders of the many tribes that populated the planet. The tribes in turn had battled each other over possession of land and resources. Whoever held the greatest resources was in the best position to challenge the crown prince. The whole melee had cost Sarma years of turmoil and bloodshed, until Dantar rallied the support that he needed to hold the crown. With his triumph, weary of war, their homes in ruins and their resources depleted, the tribes fell into line. This was the state in which explorers from Earth had found Sarma at first contact.
In this time of picking up the pieces and moving on, what remained of those conflicts was the settling of personal scores, grievances less dire than war but still potentially bloody. Laws older than any Sarmian now alive permitted this. As Tess turned her attention to the tableau of private retribution that this day held, she sent out a heartfelt hope to the universe that Rendar and his foe would simply wound each other to the point that neither of them could battle on, and that would be the end of it. Then, she resolved, she would remain on Sarma for however long it took to get those damnable laws thrown out or rewritten, so that no other beautiful Sarmian should ever have to face what awaited Rendar today.
And with that, she glanced across the field to where the huddle of other Sarmians were parting to reveal the grim, dour figure of a man sitting on a rock, his countenance and the set of his body so hardened with anger that it seemed to Tess that he was carved from the very rock itself. She caught her breath at the sight of him: for this could be none other than Godan. He was attired in the same fashion as Rendar, but his appearance and Rendar's had little else in common. His body was of a similar build, but his skin was of a more darkly bronzed tan. The darkness of his complexion was far surpassed by the darkness of the look on his face. Glaring across the grass at Rendar, he frowned so deeply that it was as if he had never worn any other expression in his life. The thick goatee that wreathed his mouth and covered his chin only accentuated the look, and the baldness of his scalp suggested that his anger had actually burned off his hair. It was not at all difficult for Tess to imagine curls of smoke unfurling from his flaring nostrils.
Desired By The Cowboy (Love In Collin's Ranch 2) Page 67
