by J. T. Edson
Oblivious of the thoughts which were assailing Charole, although they would have relieved him of one anxiety had he known them, the High Priest sprang to meet the Gruziak. There was, Dryaka knew, one thing in his favor. Despite belonging to a warrior race, the young man was unlikely to have any great skill at fighting. Being aware of the dangers, the Council of Elders laid down very strict laws governing how far the training of slaves in martial arts could be taken. Even the Brelefs who were employed as property guards were not permitted to attain any great proficiency in the use of weapons.
Looking startled when he found his proposed victim approaching him, the Gruziak launched a wild swing with his sword. He had been taught the use of the weapon so that he could fight in gladiatorial combat with other slaves. Unfortunately for him, his education had been far less extensive than that of the man at whom he was aiming.
Parrying the unscientific blow without difficulty, Dryaka heard a yelp of pain from his right. Ignoring the sound, apart from noticing that it was masculine in timbre, the High Priest swung his sword in a lightning fast counter attack. His blade flashed in the direction of the slave’s neck. Going in so deeply that it almost removed the Gruziak’s head from his shoulders, the sword also thrust him aside and to the left. That allowed Dryaka to see the brutish Brelef bounding forward raising his sword high above his head ready to strike.
While the High Priest was advancing to meet the Gruziak, the Protectress rose without looking in his direction. Keeping the divan between herself and the approaching pair, she skimmed the pillow which she was grasping as hard as she could towards the half-breed. Having practiced such a form of attack until she had acquired considerable skill at it, she turned her wrist in such a way that the missile flew through the air in an upright position.
Seeing the pillow coming towards him, the half-breed regarded it as nothing more than a diversionary tactic to allow the woman to obtain a weapon. Intending to do no more than remove an obstruction in his view of her, he swung his left arm to knock the pillow down. As his hand made contact, several of the porcupine quills concealed beneath the innocuous-appearing cover made their presence known. Emerging, they sank into his palm. Even as he screeched in pain and surprise (which also caused him to drop the sword) he saw that—despite the information supplied by the person who had opened the garden gate for them—their female victim was far from being unarmed.
After hurling the pillow Charole bent down and her right hand found and closed around the handle of the throwing axe which she had concealed beneath the other pillows on the couch. Good as she was with a sword, she had not intended to match Dryaka with one, even after having struck him with the deadly pillow if it had come to a fight.
At the sight of the Protectress producing the weapon and knowing how effective such a devise could be, the half-breed turned and fled towards the bushes. However, his Brelef companion lacked his knowledge and continued to lumber onwards.
Liberating his weapon from the neck of his dying victim, Dryaka displayed the skill that rated him as one of the Mun-Gatahs’ finest swordsmen. Unlike the majority of his people (Charole being another exception, due to his tutelage) he understood the value of thrusting with the point. He did not rely solely upon the cutting edge.
Going into a fast lunge, the High Priest rotated the knuckles of his right hand upwards. He impaled the Brelef’s left breast before the other weapon could begin its descent Numbed by the agony as the obtuse angle point of the one and a half inch wide blade passed horizontally between his ribs and into his heart, the sub-human released his sword so that it fell behind him instead of driving forward.
Up, back and ahead whipped Charole’s right arm. She sent the throwing-axe through the air with the same deadly precision and aim that she had employed when throwing the pillow. Such was the speed with which she moved that a life form more intelligent than the Brelef would have found difficulty in taking any type of evasive action. Having made a single turn in the air, the axe’s razor-sharp, convex blade came into contact with the centre of the sub-human’s head. The force with which the collision occurred caused it to cleave through the bone and into the brain. Crumpling in mid-stride, he sprawled lifeless on to the divan scattering the pillows about him.
Even as Charole threw the axe, a woman started screaming from an upstairs window of her villa. She knew it to be the servant whom she had ordered to keep watch during the interview. Help from some of her female adherents would soon be on its way, but she realized that she could not count on them to save her. Yet she had a problem. In falling, the Brelef had landed on the sword that she had concealed beneath the pillows in case the other two weapons failed to render the High Priest hors-de-combat.
Instead of wasting valuable seconds trying to retrieve the sword, Charole sprang to the harpy eagle’s perch. Careful feeding and regular exercise ensured that the great bird of prey was almost always in the emotional state which Oriental exponents of falconry on Earth referred to as ‘yarack’; meaning it was ready to attack any creature at which it was flown.
Knowing that the raptor, as it was trained to do, would launch itself at the nearest person Charole intended to release it and cause a diversion while she obtained another weapon with which to defend herself. Filled with rage over what she regarded as Dryaka’s treachery, she meant to see that it would select him as its victim.
With her left hand grasping the horizontal bar of the stand and the right reaching for the harpy eagle’s hood, the Protectress glanced around. She wanted to make sure that the High Priest was the first person seen by the raptor when she uncovered its head. In that way she would not only be revenged, but would have increased her chances of survival. Protecting herself against the two remaining slaves would be less dangerous than contending with their ‘master’.
Even as Charole looked, having disposed of the Gruziak, Dryaka was driving his sword into the chest of his second attacker.
A realization of what it all meant struck the Protectress like a flood of icy cold water, causing her to revise the line of action she was about to take. Instead of immediately removing the hood she twisted the stand so that its occupant was facing in the direction of the fleeing half-breed. Having done so, she plucked off the covering which was only removed when the bird was being fed or flown at prey. Having already crouched in expectation at the feel of her fingers on the hood, the enormous raptor glared ahead. Its eyes located and fixed upon the running half-breed.
‘Kill!’ Charole shouted and, giving a scream, the eagle launched itself from the stand with a swishing of heavily beating wings.
Hearing the Protectress, Dryaka’s first thought was that the word had been directed at her second pair of assassins. So he was alarmed even before he heard the bird’s shriek and the sounds of its flight.
There was no time for the High Priest to wonder why Charole had decided to release the bird, which seemed just as likely to attack one of her own men. His sword was embedded so deeply in the Brelef’s chest that it could be extracted only with difficulty. Such was his extreme sense of urgency that he did not even attempt to do so. Instead, he thrust and released the hilt, allowing his staggering victim to carry the sword away. Instantly he crouched down and reached for the weapon that had been dropped by the Brelef. He also turned his head to make a quick assessment of the danger.
Watched by its owner and the High Priest, who began to realize that things were not what he imagined, the harpy eagle flew at an ever-increasing speed after its prey. The half-breed had reached the bushes, but they did not offer him any protection. While they had served to hide him and his companions during the advance from the gate, there were open spaces across which he had to pass. What was more, he ran erect instead of crouching low as he had to avoid being noticed by the servant who was watching from the upstairs window. Such conditions favored the great raptor. Its kind normally hunted among the treetops of the jungle.
Guided by the instincts of generations, the eagle rose above the tops of the bushes and, havi
ng determined the location of its quarry, swooped down. By reversing its wing-beats and spreading the fan of its tail, it changed into the attacking position. Out went the great talons of its feet. Those at the rear were particularly fearsome weapons, thicker than—if not quite as large as—the claws of a full-grown, one thousand, six hundred pound Kodiak bear. xlvi
The half-breed heard the rushing hiss of the eagle’s wings. Realizing that the sound was coming closer, he threw a look over his right shoulder. An expression of horror came to his face as he saw the enormous raptor which was descending.
Before he could do anything to protect himself, it was too late.
Letting forth an awesome screech, delivered to paralyze its prey with fright during the vital instant of the attack, the eagle struck with its powerful yellow legs. Taking hold of the half-breed’s head, the mighty talons tightened their grip to such an extent that they passed through as if the bones of his skull were no more than a thin sheet of paper. The terrible constricting power of the grip was such that the brain was squashed out of the cranium and the man’s eyes burst from their sockets. Thrown from his feet by the impact, the slave went down with the raptor still locked to him. He was dead within three tenths of a second of the bird striking him.
After watching the eagle and its victim disappear behind the bushes, Charole leapt to the sword that he had dropped when the pillow struck him. Despite her realization that the High Priest was not responsible for the attack, she wanted to be able to defend herself if she should be wrong. What was more, Dryaka might believe that she had arranged the attack, in which case he could be angry enough to seek revenge. Sure enough, he was duplicating her actions by retrieving a weapon dropped by one of his assailants.
‘They weren’t your slaves,’ Charole stated, facing the High Priest with the sword in her hand. However, she allowed it to dangle point downwards by her side instead of raising it in a threatening or defensive manner.
‘They weren’t,’ Dryaka confirmed, having reached a conclusion similar to that of his hostess. He too made no attempt to raise the weapon that he had acquired. ‘Nor yours either.’
For all his belief that he was correct, the High Priest turned so that he could watch the Protectress and also keep under observation the four armed women who were dashing from the house. Attired in halters and short skirts of silver lame mesh, with the straps of similarly colored sandals crisscrossing on their calves almost to knee level, they were shapely and good looking. However, for all their pulchritude, Dryaka knew that they were trained warriors, skilled in the use of the spears or throwing axes which they carried.
‘Varbia!’ Charole called urgently, waiting to assure the High Priest that she had no evil intentions. ‘This carrion attacked Lord Dryaka and I—’
‘They must have got in through the gate, or over the wall, my lady,’ the taller and leading woman announced, skidding to a halt and staring at the bodies. ‘They couldn’t have passed us in the house.’
‘Go and check on the gate,’ Charole interrupted irritably, knowing that her lookout on the first floor would have—or should have—seen the quartet if they had come over the wall, but might not have noticed them if they had entered through the gate. ‘The rest of you search the bushes and make sure there are no more of them in the garden. Keep away from the eagle and it won’t bother you. It will be too busy feeding.’
Waiting until the women had separated to carry out the Protectress’s orders, Dryaka decided to give her a sign of his trust and good faith. Dropping the dead Brelef’s inferior quality weapon, he went to regain possession of his own sword. Standing with one foot on the corpse while drawing the blade free, he deliberately presented his back to his hostess. However, he was alert for and ready to take action against any hint of treachery. None came and, having liberated the weapon, he bent to jerk off the Brelef’s loincloth. Using the garment to wipe the blood from the weapon, he turned around.
‘Would you care to come up to my sitting room, my lord?’ Charole inquired, discarding the half-breed’s sword and advancing with empty hands. ‘We can continue our talk over food and wine while my people clean the garden.’
‘I’d be honored to,’ the High Priest declared, throwing the loincloth on to the corpse and sheathing the sword.
‘My lady!’ Vardia reported, returning at a run before any more could be said. ‘The gate’s locked from the outside. At least, there’s no key on this—’
‘Take Badra outside then!’ Charole commanded. ‘Whoever locked it will probably have gone by now, but see if you can find anybody who saw them.’
‘Yes, my lady!’ Vardia assented. ‘Hey, Badra, come with me!’
‘On your way through the house,’ Charole continued as the woman turned away, ‘have one of the servants fetch Balbuf to take care of the eagle.’
‘Have you any idea who they might belong to, Charole?’ Dryaka asked, nodding to the corpses after Vardia and Badra had taken their departure.
‘No,’ the Protectress replied, looking at each body in turn. She noticed the way Dryaka addressed her and regarded the omission of the honorific “Lady” as a good sign. ‘But all slaves look pretty much alike to me. How about you?’
‘There’s nothing special, or distinctive, about any of them that I can see,’ the High Priest declared.
Neither Charole nor Dryaka had expected the other to be able to make an identification. Members of the Mun-Gatah aristocracy paid little or no attention to slaves as individuals. While each could probably have recognized his or her own, they would be unlikely to be able to do so with those belonging even to close associates.
Going upstairs, the Protectress and the High Priest entered her sumptuously furnished sitting room. Waving him to one of the stools by the low, glass topped table, she smiled a little as she noticed that he tested the cushion on it before he sat down. Making no comment about the precaution, she called for the serving woman. It was the one who had been on lookout from the window, but Charole did not ask why she had failed to locate the four men. The woman had been told to watch Dryaka, so she would not have been scanning the garden for intruders. Leaving the matter until a more appropriate moment, the Protectress gave orders for food and wine to be fetched.
‘Who do you think sent them to kill us?’ Charole inquired as soon as the serving woman had left. She sank on to the divan at the opposite side of the table to her guest and adopted a lounging posture which she felt sure he would find attractive.
‘I wish I knew,’ Dryaka admitted, allowing his gaze to roam over his hostess’s magnificent and scantily covered body. ‘Have you any ideas?’
‘We’ve both made enemies and there are those, even among our adherents, who would like to take our places,’ Charole replied, enjoying the High Priest’s scrutiny. ‘Any of them would be capable of trying to get rid of us, particularly since the Council’s refusal to grant us an audience has made it look as if we are out of favor and losing our authority.’
‘That’s true,’ Dryaka conceded. ‘But to have organized it, they would have to know we were meeting in the way we did.’
‘Did Elidor know about it,’ Charole asked, knowing that the woman in question might have guessed at the reason for the visit and have seen in it a threat to her position as the High Priest’s favorite adherent.
‘I sent her home to Veet-Gatah until her jaw is set,’ Dryaka answered. ‘She didn’t even come back from the hunting camp.’
‘Hulkona is her uncle,’ the Protectress commented. ‘He wouldn’t be very pleased about you letting Dawn of the Apes escape after breaking her jaw when they fought.’
‘He wasn’t,’ Dryaka admitted. ‘But I don’t think he’d try to have me killed. He hasn’t a replacement and wouldn’t want somebody he doesn’t support to become High Priest.’
‘Whoever it was,’ Charole said, a cold timbre creeping into her voice. ‘They must have a source of information. Which means we were betrayed by some of my people, or yours. It could have been either.’
&nb
sp; ‘Yes, it could,’ Dryaka agreed, being equally aware of their nation’s capacity for intrigue. ‘It’s almost impossible to keep anything a secret.’
‘I’d suggest that each of us tries to find out who the traitor is and who’s behind it,’ Charole stated, not caring for the way in which her guest had spoken and wanting to retain the amicable atmosphere.
The arrival of the serving woman, carrying a loaded tray, brought a temporary halt to the conversation. Before it could be resumed, Varbia entered to deliver what amounted to a negative and unhelpful report. There were no more armed slaves in the garden, nor had any been found on the street beyond the wall. On checking, she had found that the gate showed no signs of having been forced open. Which implied that, although no key was present, one must have been used by whoever had let in the would-be assassins. She had sent her companions to try and locate anybody who might have seen the gate being opened, but did not hold much hope of success. In general, Mun-Gatah people tended to mind their own business, ignore any suspicious behavior which did not directly concern them, and either evade, or lie, when asked questions regarding the actions of others. On being told to return to her duty and bring word in the unlikely event of anything being learned, the woman took her departure.
For a time, while drinking wine and eating some of the fruit from the assortment in a golden bowl, Charole and Dryaka resumed their discussion. They agreed that the attempt could only have been organized by a person with sufficient social status to have spies well placed in their retinues. The High Priest felt sure that the messenger whom he had sent to the Protectress could be trusted, but promised to question him and see if anything could be learned. The most obvious suspects were the six members of the Council of Elders, possibly excepting Hulkona and Temnak, the District Administrators and about a dozen wealthy and influential banar-gatah riders who, while not holding official positions, were prominent in the nation’s affairs.
