I ran back very sharply to the prostrate guards and relieved them of all their weapons and Lin's uniform—which was dry. When I leaned over and stared at my reflection in the water I looked a proper fancy guard.
Then I retraced my steps around the pond to the farther gate.
This led into a further garden whose walls were covered with espaliers.
The colors and scents of flowers wafted most pleasantly across the central grassy lawn. A two-wheeled handcart carrying a rotund water tank was attended by two old Ochs who were painstakingly watering the borders. They looked up indifferently as I ran past. The jet of water did not waver by a hair's breadth. Making for the gate opposite the one I had entered by, I reflected that the old Ochs were slaves and they were females. The next gate led into a walled garden crammed with flowers.
By this time I had a shrewd suspicion that where I had touched down after the Scorpion dropped me had landed me in very hot water.
That made me look back for an instant at the spectacle I must have made tumbling out of the sky, going splash! into the water and then spouting up again with the lily pad balanced ludicrously on my head. Well, yes, I suppose it was comical. Had those two dozy guards, Lin and Kwang, been more awake they might even have found a little chuckle, if not going to the extreme of actually laughing.
More walled gardens followed, gate after gate. A few more female Och slaves barely looked up as I went by, intent upon their labors.
Given that the sound of the party ought to come from the central portions of this damned maze of gardens, then to keep on going directly away from the party should bring me to the outside wall. That, at least, was the theory. Ha! You who have followed my narrative will know how theories have the diabolical habit of mercilessly tripping up one hight Dray Prescot.
So far the guard uniform had brought me through without question. Slaves do not normally stand up when a guard passes and challenge him with a “Who are you?"
Other guards might, though.
Two other guards did. Directly, harshly, slanting their spears at my midriff. They were tough, hard-faced, wearing curved leather armor and polished metal helmets flaunting red and yellow feathers. They marched smartly in through the open gate towards which I was walking and simply marched straight up to me, pointed their spears, and challenged me in a most decisive and unmistakable way.
They did not speak exactly as Lin and Hwang had done; the burden of their message was exactly the same.
“There is no excuse,” said the left hand one in a clipped, tight voice. “You are not allowed here."
The right hand one said: “We shall take you along to the guardroom. Now just come along quietly."
To reinforce the words she used her spear to tickle my ribs.
“Now look here—” was as far as I got before the spear jabbed again.
“Get moving, you loveless spawn of Holpo the Blasphemer!"
Well, as many folk have said many times, if ladies wish to put on armor and act as soldiers, jikai vuvushis, and wield weapons, they are perfectly entitled to do so. In the struggles in Vallia during the Times of Troubles, I, myself, had cause to be thankful to the gallant regiments of jikai vuvushis who had fought so well for us. I had shuddered away from their use and had only reluctantly come to realize that girls, no less than boys, must be allowed to do what they wish and are able for the good of all.
All this being so, the obverse is also so.
I took the spear haft into my fist, pushed and then snatched it cleanly from the girl's grasp and used it to parry the second girl's automatic stroke. Then I tapped both as gently as I could under the fancy helmets just above their ears. I tried to catch both as they fell, but as I am an apim, Homo sapiens sapiens, and have only two arms, one of the poor girls pitched over onto the path. I lowered the other to her side and stepped back to view them. I shook my head. This happening is the obverse of the bright colors and armor and glittering weapons and flaunting feathers. They both slumbered peacefully.
When I moved off I did so very smartly.
Which was just as well.
A long blue-fletched Lohvian arrow sprouted from the thigh of the nearest sprawled girl.
Without thought, without hesitation, instantly, I hurled myself sideways, ducking away, fleeting over the ground.
More arrows flicked past. When a Bowmaid of Loh shoots at you, you must deflect the shafts, run and dodge the shafts, or let the shafts shaft you to death.
“By Makki Grodno's pustule-covered armpits and leprous biceps!” I said to myself as I leaped from side to side and raced on, zigzagging to save my life. “They're mighty sharp around here."
I went roaring past the open gate and immediately cut along to the left beside the wall. That pitiless rain of arrows dried up. I took a breath and scuttled rapidly along by the wall heading for a narrow door at the far end of the path. I ignored the opposite gate this time; it seemed to me that would only admit me onto more trouble. I could hear a few high-pitched shouts from the rear and guessed the Bowmaids would be running after me, their long legs flashing in the suns-light.
The door proved to be unlocked. When I opened it, slid through, and slammed it at my back I assumed the girls, seeing this garden empty, would realize I hadn't had time to cross to the opposite gate and therefore know I'd gone through here. In that case ... I slid the bolt firmly, snicking it into its socket with a click.
I turned around. The walls in this garden were completely bare of the vegetation of all kinds that graced the walls of the other gardens. The whole expanse was covered in coarse gravel of a reddish orange tint. In the centre stood a brick fountain with water gushing up and falling into a stone basin. A number of indentations here and there over the gravel thickened near the fountain. Each little scoop looked to be the size of a large animal's hoof, and the further indentations around the central one looked unmistakably and unpleasantly like the mark of giant claws.
The only other exit in this walled garden lay opposite and in the centre of the wall. The door stood wide open. I crossed to it.
To have rushed in through the open doorway would have been highly foolish. I loosened one of my swords and, leaning against the wall, poked an eyeball around the edge of the doorway. This garden looked perfectly normal. Perhaps there were a few more trees than usual and more pretty little birds, otherwise the flowers banked in profusion and the air was filled with their perfume. I took a breath and stepped past the edge of the doorway. At the side an opening had been formed. This was a double wall, creating a long alleyway between the gardens. The alleyway was floored in the same reddish orange gravel. Also, I had not failed to notice the size of this doorway, and the width of the alley between the walls convinced me the animal who lived here and was brought here to drink was of a considerable size.
I shoved my sword back firmly in the scabbard and prowled on.
So far I'd managed to avoid the cluster of roofs visible over the walls. Red tiled roofs, with flat terrace and balcony connecting features, they seemed to me to denote that this place was a luxurious country villa. In that, of course, I could be wildly wrong. By the movement of the twin suns I saw I was in the northern hemisphere of Kregen again. All these walled gardens would appear to indicate I was still in the continent of Loh.
From these conclusions and from what had happened to me since I'd arrived it was now quite clear just where I was. Whilst it is no doubt a splendid and magnificent thing to die young for some great cause, it is, as San Blarnoi points out, far more comfortable to support the great cause without getting killed. And, as the soldier poet Kapt Larghos the Lame observes in his military rhythms, you can get just as dead in a petty skirmish as you can in a full-scale battle. He should know—he got himself killed in an ambush fifteen hundred seasons ago.
The need at the moment was to find the outside wall and go either through a gateway or over the wall and get clear of these gardens. They were highly unhealthy—for unwanted men.
Going on cautiously I crossed three more enclosed spa
ces of flowers. Apart from that mad dash to the left away from the arrows, I believed I'd kept to a straight line. Unless the villa possessed grounds of enormous extent I ought to be nearing the outer wall, surely, for the sweet sake of Opaz?
Or, perhaps I was running along this series of gardens parallel to the outer wall? “By the Black Chunkrah!” I said to myself. “That is not one of your more helpful notions, Dray Prescot."
The next garden contained a pool clearly designed for people to go swimming. The place was deserted, but from beyond the far wall floated the happy sounds of laughter and the clink of glasses. I stopped and listened. You may believe me when I say I listened most carefully, most carefully indeed, by Krun!
Over in the jungles of South Pandahem we'd encountered the Cabaret Plant. This little beauty grew in the form of a large gourd with tendrils. It had the happy knack of making sounds as of a party to lure its victims to a carnivorous end. Seg and I had experience of the horrors which the dinkus of the forest call the Naree-Giver for they obtain the poison with which they tip their blowpipe darts. So, I stood and I tried to identify the merry sounds and the clink of bottles and glasses.
One thing was sure, I couldn't afford to hang around long. Those ferocious Bowmaids of Loh were after me and they'd shaft me on the spot. The idea that there might be Cabaret Plants growing here to yield their poison came as an ugly thought. Although, mind you, I didn't believe a Bowmaid of Loh needed to tip her deadly arrow heads with any poison.
Taking great care, I stuck an eyeball around the corner. Truth to tell, perhaps, the sight of a Cabaret Plant might have been more welcome than the scene that confronted me.
With caution I could have walked around and past a Cabaret Plant. There was no way I was going to pass this little lot. They were having a party, they were enjoying themselves, and they'd welcome me to their festivities as the human sacrifice to be offered up to whatever dark gods they worshipped.
The women wore precious little in the way of ordinary clothes. Sumptuous silks flowed from their shoulders and trailed them across the grass. They wore artificially-high-heeled shoes. Their navels were bare and many wore jewels there. Their hair piled high in artful mountains of gems and loops of pearls. There was a great use of blown glass as ornament, glittering in the radiance of the Suns, twining around neck and arm and thigh. Every woman was veiled.
“I knew it!” I said to myself. “That damned gerblish onker of a Scorpion! Dropped me down into a harem.Right into a seraglio. This is where I'll lose portions of my anatomy first, before they chop me up.” I felt quite warm. “That idiot Ahrinye and the Star Lords between ‘em are out to do me down.” This was not strictly true, as I knew; but, as I say, I was somewhat warm by this time.
The harem women moved in loose graceful poses. The veils were light chiffon-like drapes, heightening the beauty and mystery of the concealed faces. Most of the poor creatures would be slave, and there was a very great deal of money parading about there. And, they were drinking and listening to the music from an enclosed balcony, and appeared not to be too displeased with their lot.
Time to go. I drew back cautiously and turned about. The other gate in this garden would have to lead somewhere useful, by Krun!
Padding off towards the gate and keeping my head turning I saw the lissom figures appear above the wall to my right rear. Here came the Bowmaids!
Running fleetly over the grass and jinking from side to side, I managed to avoid the lethal arrows sleeting in. If they brought up any more girls they'd put down a barrage no one, not even a Krozair of Zy, was going to run through unscathed.
With a last burst of energy I roared through the gateway. The ground here was uniformly covered by reddish orange gravel. No fountain sparkled at the centre. Instead a monstrous form towered up, shaggy, shambling, its six arms forming a wagon wheel of colossal power. Its four legs supported it in a half-upright position. Its eyes were large, like saucers, round and staring—staring at me! A red tongue licked out past rubbery lips and the gleam of yellow fangs was enough to put a breeze up anybody's spine.
The thing shambled over the gravel towards me. The six arms reached for me. High excited shouts at my rear told me there was no way back.
“By the Blade of Kurin,” I snarled to myself, and ripped out my sword. “If this is the way of it, then I'll make a jikai of it!"
* * *
Chapter two
The thing advanced towards me, shambling. Something red shone in one of its hands. I cocked up the sword, braced and ready to rush in.
“Nnng—nnng—” The thing mouthed incomprehensible words, slobbering. It stopped stock-still. “Nnng—bbl—” It threw the red object from one hand to another and I saw it was a child's ball.
Ready to leap forward and deal in my usual way with monsters, I paused. The thing turned its grotesque head to one side, and I felt that movement was one of puzzlement, almost of pleading. Once more it threw the ball from hand to hand. Then it threw the ball at me. The rubbery lips writhed over the words. “Bbl—play!"
The ball bounced towards me.
I caught it in my left hand and threw it back. Instantly the thing assumed a crouching position, six arms waving. For a sick moment I thought I hadn't played the game correctly. The thing swayed from side to side as the ball flew towards it and I saw it was playing. It caught the ball cleanly and emitted a high chirruping noise of triumph. That sound was echoed by the menacing shouts of the Bowmaids chasing me.
The thing tossed the ball up again and threw it at me. This time I used the sword. Grasped in two hands, it swung like a bat, caught the ball on the fly and fairly belted it into the far corner of the garden.
That shot was worth a home run or a six over the pavilion any day.
The thing let rip a snorting squeak which I took to be pleasure and started off after his ball. Running around in the other direction I skirted along the wall and fairly sprinted for the distant gate.
The thing lollopped over to the ball and picked it up. When he swung back to where I'd been, he emitted a pinging sound of puzzlement.
Then my movement caught in the corner of his eye and he turned. What he was going to do now I didn't know—had I spoiled his game? Was I ready to be dealt with as monsters habitually deal with folk they don't like?
He let rip a squeak and hurled the ball at me. I noticed that he threw it ahead, allowing for my movement. Obligingly I used the sword and gave the ball a square cut that drove it past wide of his six arms. He started lolloping off after it. I went skidding non-stop through the open gateway.
The Bowmaids would know the animal and wouldn't be halted. I had to run like stink to get away before they shafted me.
Now the cluster of red roofs lay to the rear and the sounds of the party faded. These gardens were mostly given over to vegetables. At this I took heart.
My beliefs were justified shortly when, past a garden with the bright shoots of momolams sprouting healthily, I saw ahead a wall taller than any so far encountered. This jolly-well had to be the outer wall!
There were, naturally, no doors or gates visible in the entire length.
Suddenly, and with an icy chill, I heard among the shouts of the girls the growing howling and barking. I recognized those ululations. Werstings! A pack of the killer-dogs had been let loose on my heels. They'd follow me remorselessly until they were all slain—or, if I were extremely lucky, until I could shake them off. And that, by Krun, was extraordinarily hard to do.
Running through the nearest gateway into the next garden I looked about for some means of scaling that damned wall.
This was the outer wall and they were not stupid enough to grow trees or vines conveniently placed for intruders to enter—which meant they were useless to me trying to get out.
The menacing growls and sharp barks of the werstings appeared to me to grow louder and louder.
One aspect of these walled gardens that had impressed me from the outset was their tidiness and well-kept appearance. I'd seen female sl
ave gardeners on my chase through here; but I'd not seen any of those little gardener's huts one finds in gardens where the tools of the trade are kept. The obvious answer for that was the slaves were issued with their implements from a central source by an overseer. Slave owners do not like stores of potential weapons lying about ready for the first disaffected slave to snatch up. No, sir.
With that in mind as I entered the next garden I saw the solution to my problem, along with, of course, further problems to obtain that solution.
These walls contained an orchard. The trees were not overly tall and in my state of urgency I didn't bother to notice what kind they were. What I wanted was one of the ladders the slaves were using to climb up to the tops of the trees. One of those ladders ought just to reach the wall.
Making sure my borrowed uniform was in correct order, I strutted up to the nearest tree. A woman was working away at the top of the ladder and a group waited below. I put on my harsh voice.
“Get that ladder down at once! Bring it over here! Grak!"
“Yes, master,” said the slave with a yellow headband. Slave she might be, she had her meed of petty authority, even if not up to the class of the balass stick.
The slaves wore the gray slave breechclout. The one at the top of the ladder slid down as neatly as a snotty would slide down the backstay. As I stood importantly, scowling at them, four of the slaves took up the ladder and the overseer looked expectantly at me.
“What are you waiting for?” I bellowed. “This way.” With that I started off strutting through the garden gate towards the outer wall.
They followed me, marching in step. They must have heard the sounds of the pursuit by now, the howling of the werstings and the excited calls of the Bowmaids and Jikai Vuvushis, but they gave no visible sign of interest. That kind of thing was not their concern. Truth to tell, it struck me that they probably associated noises of that kind with escaped slaves.
We reached the wall and I made a sharp and contemptuous gesture and up went the ladder to clatter against the top of the wall. It was short by about two feet; that would present no problem.
Scorpio Invasion [Dray Prescot #40] Page 2
