by J. T. Edson
‘Look at them!’ Sarlio spat out, moving restlessly on her oclia-gatah gelding’s saddle and glaring about her disdainfully. ‘Even hyenas and jackals have more courage.’
Tall, well endowed, although the years had thickened her mid-section, and with her long brown hair held back in what on Earth would have been called a ‘pony tail’, the woman’s reasonably beautiful features were marred by an expression which warned of a sullen and vicious temper. A simple, one-piece, sleeveless, short white tunic gave inadequate cover to her still attractive figure. Her shapely, hard muscled lower legs were protected by brown leather greaves and she had flat-heeled sandals on her feet. A sword swung in its sheath on the left side of her plain leather belt. Dangling from a loop on her right wrist was a short riding quirt that she used impartially on both sexes of the Telongas when employed in an abduction.
Each of the men was close to six foot in height and sturdily built. Although they had on metal helmets embossed with a quagga’s head, their nation’s rhinoceros hide breastplates had never been considered necessary when dealing with the Telongas and had been left at Bon-Gatah. They wore simple white smocks. That of Arat was decorated by an excellent, fully colored reproduction of a savage-looking, rearing quagga stallion. While he was armed with nothing more than a sword, the two warriors also carried lances. They all had on greaves and sandals, but their ‘claiming cloaks’, which all the escort sported on regular visits, were rolled up and strapped to the cantles of their saddles.
‘It would be so much more fun if only some of these jackals would show fight,’ Sarlio went on, from her place at Arat’s left side. She sniffed her contempt and continued, ‘But that’s too much to hope for.’
‘What would they fight with?’ asked the man riding the grar-gatah gelding slightly to the rear and on the right of the party. ‘They’ve no weapons and wouldn’t know how to use them if they had. I gave one my lance last moon and he said, “How do I pick up the gatah shit with this fork, it’s only got one tine?”.’
‘I fell off my first saddle laughing at that,’ grunted the second young warrior, looking past Sarlio and Arat to ensure that his grar-gatah station was slightly ahead of his socially inferior companion. ‘Anyway, I’m going to join a raiding party when I get back this time. That way I’ll see some fighting.’
Listening to the conversation, Arat did not offer to join in. At Traug’s age he too had frequently contemplated trying to join the raiding parties which preyed upon the more warlike nations as a means of gathering sacrifices for the Quagga God. While the Telongas made adequate—if somewhat lazy and short-lived—slaves, they were too poor-spirited to be the kind of sacrificial victims required by the Mun-Gatah population.
By the time the riders reached the edge of the Dancing Circle, all of the villagers had assembled. Looking them over, Arat realized they were not behaving in the manner to which he had become accustomed. Instead of chattering among themselves, making wagers over who would be claimed, or discussing the various dances they had attended and love they had made, they were standing silent and staring in a frightened fashion at his party.
Guildo and the other three Elders were waddling with unaccustomed rapidity towards the Mun-Gatahs. White haired, corpulent from too much good living and too little work, the quartet wore multi-colored sarongs and were bare footed. In addition to being lined with anxiety, alarm and fear, their faces were beaded with perspiration. As was the case with all their nation’s Elders, they had been elected to their positions because of their easy-going natures. So they hated anything which threatened to disrupt or endanger the even flow of their lives.
‘Great One!’ Guildo greeted and his normally booming, jovial voice had a whining, servile timbre. ‘You did not send word of your coming. If you had—’
‘Arat!’ Sarlio interrupted arrogantly. ‘Look over to the right!’
Turning his gaze in the required direction, the banar-gatah rider saw a group of fifteen men formed up outside one of the houses on the opposite side of the Dancing Circle. While they had black hair, brown skins, and features like the majority of the Telongas, they were more vigorous and muscular in appearance. Instead of the gaily colored sarongs worn by the male members of the community, they had on loincloths made from the skins of leopards or jaguars.
There was, however, another and even more important difference, the Mun-Gatahs noticed. Every one of the fifteen had a knife sheathed on his belt. Several were holding thick shafted spears and the remainder grasped the handles of what looked like smallish hammers to the backs of which were attached slightly curved spikes.
‘Who are they?’ Arat demanded of the Elders, feeling perturbed as he considered the disparity of numbers between his party and the armed group.
‘Our hunters, Great One,’ Guildo explained and, although his spirit revolted against mentioning such a secret and sacred matter as the ‘putting away’ ceremony, he continued in exculpation, ‘If we had known you were coming, we would have—’
‘So they’re only Telongas then,’ Arat grunted, all his worries departing. In the past, captives had occasionally mentioned their villages’ hunters. However, such persons were never in evidence on the visits and he had always been inclined to regard them as mere fantasies. Although he could not account for the presence of the armed men, the ‘putting away’ never having been spoken of, he was satisfied that he had nothing to fear from them despite their weapons. ‘I want the girl who escaped from us.’
‘Ye—Yes, Great One,’ Guildo answered, his face working nervously. While relieved that the Mun-Gatah was not inquiring into the sacred business of ‘putting away’ the hunters, or about the failure to have done so, he could foresee trouble as a result of the reply he must make. Pointing to Tav-Han’s house, beyond At-Vee and his companions, he went on, ‘She’s in there.’
‘I’ll go and fetch her,’ Sarlio offered, tossing her right leg over the head of the ocha-gatah and jumping to the ground. Allowing her reins to dangle, she stalked forward, calling, ‘Hey, one of you jackals fetch that man-chasing little bitch out of there and bring her to me.’
‘Do you want Traug and Brarat to help you, Sarlio?’ Arat inquired when, instead of obeying the order, the hunters stood fast
‘With this pack of jackals?’ the woman scoffed, having no desire to share what little excitement and acclaim was to be had from the situation. She could see that the hunters were perturbed by her advance and felt sure they would prove no more dangerous than the ordinary Telongas. ‘Do what I told you, little jackals, or I’ll soon make you wish you had.’
Realizing that they were faced by the possibility of an open confrontation with the dreaded Mun-Gatahs, the hunters exchanged worried glances. Brave enough when dealing with the most dangerous of wild animals, they had never come into conflict against other human beings. Ordinarily, although they occasionally kept foreigners under unsuspected observation, they had been conditioned by their training and traditions to avoid actual contact with members of other nations. So they regarded their spears and shilvas as tools for dispatching beasts rather than fighting weapons and, in fact, had no idea of how to use either for the latter purpose. So they regarded the approaching woman with considerable misgivings.
Slowly, hesitantly, trying not to meet each other’s eyes, the hunters began to move. While none of them offered to turn and fetch Joar-Fane who was watching from inside the house with her father, with one exception they opened up a path through which Sarlio would be able to pass.
Only At-Vee remained motionless. He was as deeply perturbed as any of his friends but had a greater stake in the issue. What was more, he had the advantage of knowing that members of the Mun-Gatah nation could be defeated, frightened away, or killed. Gripping his shilva with grim determination, he told himself that he would not give way. No matter what the rest of his friends might do—and he did not blame them for their behavior—if the People-Taker regained possession of Joar-Fane, it would only be after he was dead.
‘Hey, Arat!’
Sarlio whooped derisively, coming to a halt and studying At-Vee as his companions drew away from him. ‘This jackal thinks he’s a hunting dog.’
‘Let’s hope he keeps thinking it,’ Brarat declared, dropping forward the head of his lance. He raised his voice, yelling, ‘Don’t run like the others, little jackal. Show me some sport before you die.’
‘He’s mine!’ Traug protested, also lowering his lance into the ready position.
‘Leave him to Sarlio,’ Arat ordered, wanting to avoid friction in his small party. ‘If he runs, the one in whose direction he goes gets him.’
Even as the banar-gatah rider was delivering his judgment, he noticed two figures coming through the alley at the side of the house in which the girl was hiding. The smaller was a woman, but a single glance as she halted by the hunter’s right side informed Arat that she was not the one he was seeking. However, his main interest was directed at the male newcomer. Clad in a leopard skin loincloth, empty handed but having a huge knife in a sheath on his belt, he was white haired—yet did not appear to be an old man—light skinned and was even larger than the defiant Telonga at whose left elbow he had stopped.
Being the nearest of her party, Sarlio was in the best position to examine the pair from the alley. Although neither of them appeared to be Telongas, she was not unduly alarmed. Maybe the man had the finest muscular development she had ever seen and despite the color of his hair, he was still young; but his only weapon (and he had not drawn it) was a knife. Large it might be, but the lances carried by the two grar-gatah riders were much longer and were therefore more effective weapons.
Satisfied on that score, the woman turned her attention to the female foreigner. Studying her, Sarlio decided that she would be worth taking captive and delivering as a sacrifice for the Quagga God. Collecting her would bring the kind of acclaim which very rarely came the way of a member of the People-Taker’s escort.
If the woman had known more about her intended victim, she might not have reached such a decision. Being ignorant of the facts, she started to advance with the intention of making the capture.
‘Take her, Dawn!’ Bunduki said quietly, having discussed a plan of campaign with his adoptive cousin as they were approaching the Dancing Circle. ‘Don’t take chances. Watch her, not what I’m doing.’
‘Yes, my master,’ the girl assented in tones of mock servility.
Flicking a glance at Dawn as he stepped forward, Bunduki found that she did not return his look. Instead, having answered, she was keeping her eyes on the Mun-Gatah woman and moving off to the right.
Discovering that the Mun-Gatahs’ party consisted of only one woman and three men, Dawn and Bunduki had decided against going to collect the bows or the m’kuki and shield from Tav-Han’s house. Not only were the former weapons unstrung, but the hunters might have come under attack while they were doing so.
There had been little time for discussion as Dawn and Bunduki were crossing from the palisade, but they had decided upon what they considered to be their best line of action. Their decision to arrive armed with no more than their knives had not been reached without a full appreciation of the chances they would be taking. However, both had believed the risks were acceptable and justified. They wanted to-prove that the Mun-Gatahs could be beaten in combat. In that way, they hoped to give the hunters—if not the rest of the villagers—sufficient confidence to be ready to take up arms and fight against oppression. What was more, as the Jey-Mat Telonga hunters were not archers, the lesson would be more effective if it was administered with weapons other than bows and arrows.
‘Hey!’ Traug ejaculated, as he watched the blond giant ranging alongside At-Vee. ‘That one doesn’t look like a Telonga.’
‘No, but he looks like he might be able to fight,’ Brarat answered eagerly. ‘If so, he’ll be better sport than those jackals.’
Ignoring the comments, Arat was scrutinizing Dawn and Bunduki with greater attention and experience than his companions. He was puzzled and perturbed by what he saw. Unless he was mistaken, the two newcomers might prove to be a more difficult proposition than the villagers or the armed hunters. They were different from any other people with whom the banar-gatah rider had come into contact. Every fighting man’s instinct he possessed warned him that they were exceptionally dangerous, no matter what kind of weapons they had on them. He felt they should not be treated with the casual contempt and lack of caution suitable for members of the Telonga nation. He only hoped that Sarlio and the two headstrong young warriors would have enough sense to come to these same conclusions and act accordingly.
‘Give me that knife, you!’ the woman commanded arrogantly, oblivious of her superior’s feelings on the subject. Although surprised by the way in which the slightly smaller and lighter foreign girl was acting, she made no attempt to draw her sword while speaking. Instead, she swerved towards Dawn and continued, ‘We’ll take you with us as well as that man-chasing little bitch.’
‘You’re not capable of taking me,’ the girl countered, leaving her knife in its sheath as she strode on a converging course with the woman. ‘You’d better call your friends to help you.’
‘I’ll show you all the help I need!’ Sarlio shrieked furiously and, confident that size and weight were in her favor, she swung up her quirt and rushed towards what she imagined would be an easy victim.
Even as Arat was on the point of giving orders to his male companions, he saw Sarlio commencing the attack. At the same moment, Traug let out a yell and set his grar-gatah stallion into motion.
Having taken note of his subordinate’s comment, Traug did not intend to give Brarat an opportunity to kill the big, white haired foreigner. Always a slow thinker, Brarat found that he had been left behind. However, by the time Traug had gained a lead of about twice the length of his mount, Brarat was urging the grar-gatah gelding to follow him.
With their nine foot long lances held ready for use, the two kill-crazy young warriors charged across the Dancing Circle at Bunduki.
Chapter Eleven – We’ve Both Made Enemies
If the four intruders in Charole’s garden had continued to move with the stealth that they had displayed on their entry, they would have had a much better chance of taking their quarry by surprise. At that moment, the Protectress of the Quagga God and the High Priest of the Mun-Gatah nation were too engrossed in their conversation to be watching what was going on elsewhere in the garden. However, the quartet was a good thirty yards from the divan and there was no other cover to conceal them. For all that, by advancing quietly, they might have taken advantage of their intended victims’ preoccupation and have drawn much closer before being detected.
Before the four men had advanced very far beyond the bushes, Charole and Dryaka had heard them. Swinging their heads around, the Protectress and the High Priest stared and understood what was about to happen. Clad solely in brown loincloths and carrying bared swords, the quartet were clearly up to no good.
Only the man at the left had the swarthy complexion of a male Mun-Gatah. However, his curly, shoulder long brown hair informed the couple that he was of mixed, if predominantly Mun-Gatah, blood. In which case, under the laws of their nation, he should not have been armed and, like his companions, ought to have had a brass ‘collar of ownership’ around his neck.
The omission of the collar struck Charole and Dryaka as being particularly significant.
Matching the half-breed’s six foot height, the attacker on the right was burlier. Although his black hair was long, instead of being shaved except for a scalp-look across the middle of the skull, his coppery red skin and his aquiline features told them that he was a Gruziak who had been taken prisoner as a child and retained as a slave because he was too young to be sacrificed.
About six inches shorter than their companions, the remaining pair was much alike in general appearance. They had thickset bodies, with somewhat stooping shoulders and long arms, but their bowed legs were short in proportion. Their heavy brow-ridges, receding chins, uncombed
and straight reddish brown hair and beards gave them a brutish look that the amount of hair on their bodies emphasised. Known as Brelefs, they were members of a sub-human xlv nation which the Mun-Gatahs had enslaved and used mainly as guards for property.
Silently cursing his stupidity for having put himself in Charole’s power, Dryaka prepared to sell his life dearly. Leaping to his feet, he started to snatch out his sword with all the speed that his long hours of training had instilled. He did not doubt he was in dire peril, but grudgingly conceded that the Protectress was handling his assassination cleverly. She had sent her male adherents away—at his own specific request—and was employing slaves whose collars had been removed to prevent them from being identified as her property.
Restraining an almost irresistible impulse to turn on her and kill her, Dryaka studied his assailants. The Gruziak and one of the Brelefs were coming straight for him, with the former drawing ahead due to being fleeter of foot. However, the other pair was going off at an angle. Clearly they must be intending to take him from the right while he was occupied with fighting their companions.
With her beautiful face showing far more anger than fright, or even the satisfaction which the High Priest would have expected to see if he had been looking at her, Charole was crouching on the divan like a wildcat preparing to spring and rend its prey. She was furious over the way that she had allowed her curiosity to override caution. Although Dryaka had arrived unescorted, he had in some way—possibly by using a duplicate of the key she had loaned to him in the days of their intimacy—contrived to bring the men into the garden. As always, he had planned very carefully. Even if any of the attackers should be caught, there was no way that she could prove they belonged to him or one of his supporters.
For all her anger, Charole discarded her first intention of striking at the High Priest in repayment for his perfidy. Her instincts warned that the four slaves would pose the more immediate danger to her. Wanting to be able to claim his innocence after the attack, Dryaka would only lend a hand as a last resort. She noticed that, as the Brelefs’ physical development stressed strength rather than speed and agility, the half-breed was taking the lead. While he and one of the sub-humans were making directly in her direction, the second and the Gruziak were moving around so that they could outflank her. Or they might have been told to pretend that they were attacking their master.
