Quest of the Golden Ape

by Randall Garrett

  CHAPTER XVII

  _The Prison Without Bars_

  No one tried to stop Bram Forest until he reached the very gates ofthe amphitheater. But there a guard with drawn whip-sword barred theway and demanded: "You don't look Nadian to me. What delegation areyou with, man?"

  Bram Forest had no time to parry words with words. He tried to pushhis way past the guard who, too surprised to thrust with his weapon,used his free hand to grab Bram Forest by the shoulder and spin himaround. Bram Forest drove his left fist into the guard's belly andheard the whoosh of air escaping from his lungs.

  That was the last thing he heard for some time. A second guard creptup quietly behind him and struck expertly with the hilt of hiswhip-sword just behind the left ear. Bram Forest fell as if the grounddropped out from under him.

  "By all the fiery gods of Tarth, will you look at that!" the firstguard exclaimed.

  The second guard could only gawk, not comprehending.

  The unconscious man was growing tenuous.

  The first guard in confused alarm, lashed down with the whip-sword.But its point passed through Bram Forest's now transparent bodywithout meeting any resistance.

  "Right through him! Right through him!" cried the guard.

  And, by the time he said it, and coiled his sword again, Bram Foresthad vanished.

  * * * * *

  When an urgent message had come for Retoc, the Princess Volna, alonein the royal box, had decided to investigate the matter herself. Shehad to hurry, though. In not many minutes, Retoc and Bontarc wouldfind themselves face to face on the sands of the amphitheater.Wouldn't Bontarc be surprised! Too proud to flee, not swordsman enoughto match the mighty Retoc....

  "Yes, yes, what is it?" she snapped irritably when she entered thedungeon-like ready-room below the amphitheater sands. She was in ahurry to return to her box, lest she miss the duel between Bontarc andRetoc. Alone in the ready-room was a soldier in the uniform of Abaria.

  "Begging your pardon, ma'am," said the soldier. "My message is forRetoc of Abaria."

  "And I tell you Retoc of Abaria is not here to receive it." Volnaclapped her hands and two of her own guards appeared. "I am thePrincess Volna. Well?"

  Pirum looked at her, at the armed guards flanking her on either side,at the door through which she had entered, at the ready-room's seconddoor. "Very well," he said at last, and opened the second door,beckoning.

  Volna went to the doorway and looked. She gasped involuntarily, hardlyable to believe her eyes. There on the stone floor of a smallerready-room, only now regaining consciousness, was the Virgin Wayfarerof Ofrid, she who had seen Retoc slay Jlomec, she who had been sent byVolna herself to sure death on the Journey of No Return. Terrorgripped her.

  "What does this mean?" Volna cried. "Where did you find her? Where,man? Speak!"

  "On the river, ladyship."

  "On the river? Returning from the Place of the Dead?"

  "No, ladyship. Heading toward the Place of the Dead."

  Volna went to the girl and stood over her. "You! What's your name?"

  "Ylia," the girl said.

  "What were you trying to do, Ylia?"

  The girl said nothing.

  Volna called to Pirum, who came at once. "Hit her," Volna said.

  Grasping Ylia by her hair, Pirum struck her face with his open hand.Her head snapped back. The mark of his fingers was on her face. Shesaid nothing.

  "Hit her again," Volna said.

  Pirum struck Ylia a second time. The girl whimpered, but held hertongue. "Where is your friend, that giant of a man?" Volna asked.

  Again Pirum hit Ylia when she would say nothing. Finally Volnashrugged. "She'll talk, given enough of that. What's _your_ name,man?"

  "Pirum, ladyship."

  "Very well, Pirum. My guards and I are returning to our seats. Thereis a duel I wouldn't want to miss. All Tarth will reap itsconsequences. Meanwhile, stay with this girl and do what you must doto make her talk. It might be important."

  Pirum bowed. "Yes, ladyship," he said, and watched the others depart.Then, when they were alone, Ylia surprised him by flying at him, nailsbared, like a wildcat. He fought off her attack and struck her asavage open-handed blow, and she fell back. At least this, Pirumthought advancing on her, might be an interesting assignment.

  * * * * *

  "... hit by that cab, mac."

  "You all right?"

  "He's getting up, ain't he?"

  "Jeez, I swear," the sweating taxi driver said to the crowd which hadgathered about the prostrate man, "he popped up outa nowhere. Onesecond I'm driving along, looking for a fare, the next, he's standingright in front of me. I almost pushed the brake through the floor,honest, but--"

  "Ylia," the stricken man said.

  "Hey now, take it easy."

  "What he say, anyhow?"

  "... be going to a costume ball or something. Lookit that outfit he'swearing, willya? What's he supposed to be, a man from Mars orsomething? I read in the papers where Mars was pretty close a whileback. My kid thinks there are...."

  "Aw, shudap about your kid."

  "Need any help, mister?"

  "No. No, thank you. I'm all right."

  "... got a nasty crack on his head, is all. See? See the blood?"

  "He's getting up."

  "... a cop. When you don't want 'em, they're around. Now you needthem, where in heck are they, that's what I wanna know."

  "The bracelet!" the stricken man said in sudden alarm. He stared athis own right arm in confusion, then his left. His arms were bare.

  "You wasn't wearing no bracelet, mac," someone said.

  "No bracelet," he said. "No bracelet." His eyes looked vague,confused.

  After a while a policeman came and took in the situation at a glance."All right, all right," he bawled. "Step back and givemair, givemair,will you?"

  The crowd dispersed slowly, and the policeman talked for a while withthe taxi-driver, then with the stricken man.

  "My name?" the stricken man said in answer to a question. "BramForest. Yes, Bram Forest. But I don't have the bracelet. The braceletis gone, forever. Without the bracelet I can't...." his voice trailedoff.

  "He drunk?" the policeman asked the cab driver.

  "Search me."

  "'A prison without bars,'" the man recited. "Earth is my prison,forever. Ylia. Ylia!"

  The driver made a circular motion with his forefinger, in the generalvicinity of his temple.

  "You both better come down the station house with me," the policemansaid.

  "Aw, officer, I'll lose some fares."

  "Anyhow. The guy talks batty, but he don't look drunk. We got tofigure this here out."

  "Ylia," the man said, almost as if the sound were a name and he wascrying out to the owner of that name across an unthinkable abyss.

  * * * * *

  Bontarc, King of Nadia, felt as good as could be expected under thecircumstances. Now that the first shock of bereavement had passed, heknew no mourning would bring back his dead brother Jlomec. And the sunof Tarth was hot on the amphitheater sands as Bontarc stood awaitinghis as yet unknown adversary. He flexed and uncoiled his whip-sword,smiling in expectancy. He was a competent swordsman, among the dozenor so best in Nadia. The duel-to-first-blood would be just what heneeded. Win or lose, he'd feel a lot better afterwards. And meanwhile,he was a king, wasn't he? The adulation of the crowd swept down allaround him, lifting his spirits. The corpse of Prince Jlomec,treacherously slain, seemed very far away--as, indeed, it was....

  A roar of expectancy went up from a hundred thousand throats asBontarc's adversary appeared at the other end of the arena. The sunwas dazzling. At first Bontarc saw the swordsman only as a dot acrossthe gleaming sands. But now the roar of expectancy had turned to agroan of dismay, which was followed by a silence, as of death, then aneager whispered buzzing. Why should this be? Why....

  The figure came closer on the burning sands. B
ontarc squinted. Was itpossible? He felt a tremor go through his body.

  It was Retoc of Abaria!

  "To the death, Bontarc," Retoc said softly, savagely, as theyapproached.

  Bontarc shook his head imperceptibly. He was no coward, but knew hewas no match for Retoc and didn't see why he should lay down his lifeon the amphitheater sands. "I'll not fight you to the death, Retoc ofAbaria," he said.

  Retoc shrugged as if it weren't very important. "Well," he saidslowly, "if you don't want to kill the slayer of your brother...."

  Bontarc charged.

  Laughing, Retoc was ready for him.

  * * * * *

  "... Please ... please ... you're just wasting your time. I ... won't ...tell you."

  "No?" Pirum said, panting. He saw the girl through a haze of anger,frustration, and desire. She was naked, her lips were bloody, but hereyes still flashed defiance. Pirum, like most Abarians, was somethingof a sadist.

  "Oh, you'll talk," he said. "You'll talk."

  "... never...."

  He dug his strong finger cruelly into her tender body.

  "Bram Forest...." she cried.

  * * * * *

  The policeman behind the desk was saying things. Bram Forest heard thedroning voice, but not the words. Ylia, he thought. Ylia. A momentbefore, he actually believed he heard her cry out to him in pain. Butthat couldn't be. Besides, what could he do about it? He was trappedforever on Earth, without the bracelet which could send him, almost onthe wings of thought, back to Tarth, to Ylia, to his destiny.

  _I love you, girl of Tarth, he thought. I love you, Ylia, more thanwords and more than worlds._

  Something whisperingly cold plucked at him, and for an instant hisheart was stilled.

  _Ylia!_

  Could his love for the girl of Tarth draw him across the unthinkableabyss?

  "... immodestly attired and ..." the desk sergeant was saying.

  _Ylia, Ylia, call me! Draw me to you, girl of Tarth._

  _... bramforesthelp...._

  _Ylia! I hear you! I hear you!_

  "What the heck's he doing? Praying?" the patrolman asked.

  For Bram Forest was staring devoutly at nothing, staring at the air infront of his face there in the mundane precinct room as if it held aradiant vision.

  Suddenly the desk sergeant's jaw dropped open. The patrolman said:"Hey, wait a mo...."

  Bram Forest was becoming tenuous, vanishing.

  * * * * *

  Insubstantial, transparent, the image of Bram Forest soared past theencampment of the Golden Apes. "Bylanus!" he called, and his voice wasnot insubstantial. Bylanus came at once.

  "If the Abarian legions move, attack them, Bylanus."

  "As you will, Bram Forest. But you...."

  "Don't worry about me. I can control it, I can control it."

  Bylanus passed an enormous hand through Bram Forest's body.

  "I'll materialize, when I find Ylia. She draws me...." Already thevision was fading.

  "Farewell, Bram Forest."

  _Farewell...._

  Was it merely the sound of the wind along the banks of the River ofIce? Bylanus wondered.

  * * * * *

  Something struck Pirum's shoulder. The girl crouched, sobbing, at hisfeet. Pirum whirled.

  His face went white when he saw the man. He swung his fistdesperately, and the man blocked it without effort. His arm wascaught, as in a vise. He screamed. Something snapped in his arm.Something streaked at his face....

  He took the blow from Bram Forest's fist under the point of the jaw.His head snapped back against the dungeon wall and memory and desireand lust and life oozed out through his smashed skull.

  "Ylia!"

  "You came, Bram Forest."

  "I'll never leave you again."

  "Yes, now, in the amphitheater. I think...."

  Overhead, the crowd roared. Bram Forest listened for a fraction of asecond, and raced for the stairs.

  When word of the duel between Bontarc and Retoc came by courier toLaugrim, second in command of the Abarian army under the missingHultax, Laugrim decided it was time to attack. He gave the signal forhis army to march on the city, and the signal was passed fromsignal-fire to signal-fire in the huge encampment. In a very shorttime, the army's vanguard began to march. _There's no force on allTarth strong enough to stop us now_, Laugrim thought exultantly. _Thisday, Retoc would rule Tarth._

  He was right. There was no Tarthian army strong enough to stop them.But the Army of the Golden Apes which, after Bram Forest's warning,had deployed itself at the very gates of Nadia City so the people inthe amphitheater might witness the battle, was not of Tarth....

  * * * * *

  "Well, Bontarc," cried Retoc, "can't you do better than that? Surely aking...."

  For many minutes now Retoc, the finest swordsman on Tarth, had beentoying with his adversary. He could have killed Bontarc a dozen timesover, but he waited, driving the Nadian ruler back, playing with him,making him do incredible gymnastics in order to survive, three timesreturning his whip-sword to him when it had been torn from theNadian's hands.

  All Nadia--and all the rulers of Tarth--watched spellbound. It seemedto them that the Nadian ruler had gone into the contest willingly.They made no move, and under the ethics that governed their world,would make no move, to stop the uneven contest.

  Retoc's blurring sword-point whipped and flashed, drawing blood from adozen superficial wounds. The smile never left Retoc's face.Desperately, knowing his life was forfeit whenever Retoc chose,Bontarc parried the whip-lashing blade.

  * * * * *

  Bram Forest emerged into the dazzling sunlight of the arena floor.Squinting, he saw the figures across the sand.

  The men before him were Bontarc of Nadia and Retoc, slayer of hismother, destroyer of Ofridia.

  Retoc saw him first, and cried out exultantly. His wrist blurred, hiswhip-sword flashed, the point singing, and Bontarc's sword flew fromhis fingers. "You!" Retoc cried.

  The sword-point had slashed an artery on Bontarc's wrist. The bloodspurted out and Bontarc stood there, dazed, holding the wound shutwith his left hand.

  "Are you all right, sire?" Bram Forest asked.

  "I can manage until a doctor binds--"

  * * * * *

  Bram Forest picked up the Nadian ruler's whip-sword and faced hisenemy, sword to sword, at last.

  Retoc looked at him, and laughed. "I almost killed you once," he said.His hand barely seemed to move, but the point of his blade, whipping,flashing, was everywhere. Bram Forest parried desperately. "I'llfinish the job now," Retoc vowed.

  Then Bram Forest did an unexpected thing. He used the whip-sword notas a sword: he couldn't hope to match Retoc's skill as a swordsman. Heused it as a whip is used, his great arm slicing back and forththrough air, up over his head and down, the long length of theuncoiled blading whipping and darting like something alive across thesands.

  Retoc retreated two steps, and lunged with what he hoped would be adeath blow.

  Prokliam the seneschal was trembling so much he could hardly stand.Just outside the amphitheater, in the very shadow of the amphitheaterwall, the great Golden Apes of legend had materialized. There werethousands of them, and they were three times the size of men, andmethodically and with great ease, they were destroying the Abarianarmy before it could enter the amphitheater.

  Without the Abarian army, Volna and Retoc would never subjugate Nadia,never rule Tarth. But Prokliam the seneschal had committed himself totheir cause. Now only death awaited him.

  Or, had he committed himself? Couldn't he change sides before it wastoo late? Couldn't he slay Volna, here in the royal box, for all tosee? Couldn't he become a hero of the people? He was confused. Hewished he could think clearly, but he was more frightened than he hadever been in his life. There was
something wrong with his logic.Something.... Well, no matter. Slay Volna first, call her traitor, andthen worry about his logic--

  He turned away from the wall and marched down the flights of stairsbetween the citizens of Nadia, flanked in two wildly shouting mobs oneither side of the aisle, and plunged a knife into Volna's back,killing her instantly.

  The people roared, and rose up. Like a tide they swept towardProkliam, the seneschal who had wanted to be prime minister.

  "No, no!" he cried. "No, please. You don't understand. ... I see it now ...what was wrong with my thinking ... you don't know yet ... you don'tknow ... to you she was still the Princess Volna, loyal, true ... youdon't understand, please."

  The wave rolled over Prokliam the seneschal, leaving him battered andbloody and dead in its wake.

  * * * * *

  The strong, whipping motion of Bram Forest's arm made a wall of steelof his whip-sword. Try as he might, with all the skill at his command,Retoc could not dent that wall. But, he thought, there was anotherway. Slowly, desperately, he maneuvered Bram Forest back towardBontarc, who was sitting in the sand and using all his remainingenergy to hold the life blood in his veins, his fingers clamped,vise-like, about his own arm.

  Bram Forest's arm blurred up, down, to either side. He wove a web ofdeath. It was brawn against skill, he knew--and the strength of hisarm might win! Retoc was sweating. Retoc was not the cool swordsman hehad been moments before. Desperately, Retoc sought an opening, andfound none. True, his superior footwork was forcing Bram Forest backacross the sand, but what did that matter? Last time they dueled hehad made the mistake of meeting Retoc on his own grounds as greatestswordsman of Tarth. This time....

  His legs caught against something. He fell heavily.

  Retoc's sword-point flashed down.

  Bram Forest rolled over, stood up with sand blinding his eyes. Forprecious moments he could see nothing but could only spin with thewhip-sword; slashing air in all directions, hoping Retoc couldn'tstrike through the wall of steel.

  Then, slowly, vision returned to his stinging eyes. Bontarc laystretched out on the sand now, unconscious, the blood pumping from hissevered artery. If he bled like that for more than a few moments, hewould die. If he died, and if Nadia rose in its wrath against Abaria,then all that Bram Forest had dreamed of, not revenge against Abariafor a wrong done, but eternal peace on Tarth, would be lost....

  He took the offensive, weaving his wall of steel toward Retoc. TheAbarian thrust his own sword, and withdrew it, and parried, and lungedand thrust again. The wall of steel which was Bram Forest's singingblade advanced relentlessly.

  Round and round his head, Bram Forest whirled the whip-sword. Retoccould--just--block the motion, the death-laden circle, with his ownblade. He became accustomed to it. He used all his effort, all hisskill to block it.

  Then, abruptly, Bram Forest raised his sword-arm and brought it downfrom high over his head.

  Retoc screamed.

  And died screaming, his head and torso split from crown to navel.

  Bram Forest rushed to Bontarc, stretched out on the sand, and with hisown hand stemmed the bleeding.

  Bylanus the Golden Ape said: "All Tarth is yours to command if youwish it, Bram Forest."

  "No, Bylanus. Take your people back to your world and live in peace.We of Tarth thank you."

  Bylanus smiled. "I thought you would say that."

  "Portox was a great scientist," Bram Forest said. "But he thought toomuch of revenge. The ancient wrong is righted."

  "Then you'll spare Abaria?" gasped the delegate of the assembledTarthian nobles, who had come to the meeting called by Bylanus thatnight.

  "My fight was with Retoc and the Abarian army. Retoc is dead, the armydecimated and disbanded. My fight with Abaria is over."

  "Then what will you do?"

  Bram Forest took Ylia's hand. "I'd like to see a great nation riseagain on the Plains of Ofrid."

  Bontarc, his arm bandaged, said: "My people will help you build. And,with your wayfarers as a nucleus maid Ylia...."

  "It will be a small nation at first," Ylia said.

  "It will grow, so long as Tarth knows peace," Bontarc told her.

  "Tarth will know nothing but peace from now on," Bram Forest promised.

  It was a promise which he knew all of them would keep.

  THE END

  * * * * *