The Sword Lord

by Robert Leader

  There was a long silence in the audience hall. In addition to the king and his chief general there were a dozen men gathered there, not counting the guards, slaves and priests. The noble houses of the city were all represented; the princes Sanjay and Devan, younger brothers of Kara-Rashna were there, looking grim and angry, while the princes Rajar and Nirad, the younger sons of Kara-Rashna by his second queen, stood together like two resplendent young fighting cocks both burning to be unleashed.

  It was Rajar who spoke first. “Why do we wait for Kanju and Maghalla to attack?” he cried fiercely. “If Kanju has formed this alliance against us, then let us attack Kanju now. We can easily strike at Kanju before Maghalla can come to their aid. Kanju alone cannot stand against Karakhor. And once Kanju is defeated, we can deal with Maghalla in their turn.”

  “No.” Kara-Rashna lifted his head sharply and half rose from his chair. “If Kanju comes against us with Maghalla, we will fight them both. But I will not strike Kanju first. I will give Kumar-Rao time to find his own way out of his dilemma.”

  “But if Kumar-Rao cannot find his way out?” Prince Devan shrugged and left his sentence unfinished. He was a strong fighter with little imagination and less faith in the politics of peace. In his own heart and mind he knew there would be war.

  Kara-Rashna glared at him and repeated, “I will not strike the first blow against Kanju. We owe that much to our oldest friend.”

  Prince Sanjay was a tall lean man, famous as a charioteer, from which he could throw a javelin as accurately as any man in Karakhor. He looked to Jahan and asked calmly: “How will Karakhor compare, matched against the combined forces of Kanju and Maghalla?”

  “We have eight hundred war elephants and almost as many chariots. And we can field up to five thousand foot warriors.” Jahan had the facts ready at his fingertips. “Kanju has four hundred war elephants, some six hundred chariots and can field three thousand foot warriors. Maghalla has three hundred war elephants, four hundred chariots, but can field almost seven thousand foot warriors. We are outnumbered in chariots and warriors but numbers do not win battles. Many of our warriors and charioteers are highly skilled in battle.”

  “Kanju may be soft,” Devan reflected, “but the Maghallans are renowned for a cruelty and ferocity that makes up for their lack of skill.”

  “We can defeat them,” Jahan predicted confidently.

  “Providing they do not find any more allies.” Rajar would not defy his father by repeating that they should attack Kanju first, but his tone conveyed as much.

  Kara-Rashna beat his fist against his forehead. “All this talk of war with Kanju is madness. I still cannot believe that this is happening.” A sudden nameless but vaguely identifiable fear lanced through his heart and he put it, unthinking, into words. “I wish we had not sent Kananda and Kaseem to the South. I wish Kananda were here.”

  The young prince Nirad was only eighteen and prone to quick speech, which he often regretted almost immediately. “You do not need Kananda,” he blurted. “You have Nirad—and Rajar. We are your sons too. We are as brave as Kananda.”

  Kara-Rashna turned on him swiftly, but then let tolerance mellow his reply. Pride and boldness, even when they were out of place, were qualities to be carefully nurtured in young princes. “I mean you and your brother no slight,” he reassured the boy. “But in this hour of danger, Karakhor needs all her sons.”

  “And you are right to be concerned, sire.” Jahan had no time for sibling rivalries and kept to the point. “Now that Sardar has won Kanju to his banner he will be more open in his search for more allies. If so it may prove a mistake to have sent the princes Kananda and Ramesh to fly our banners along our southern borders. Sardar may be tempted to attack our hunting party, and if he can make a successful attack against two royal princes, then that will impress the monkey tribes. Kananda and Ramesh will not know of these new events that will make Sardar more audacious. They may be in grave danger.”

  “Then we must recall them,” Kara-Rashna decided.

  “If they returned in haste it would be taken as a sign of weakness,” Jahan advised. “’Let them be warned, so that they may be vigilant, and return without any apparent haste as soon as the prince Ramesh has killed his tiger.”

  There was a murmur of approval, and the monarch nodded his agreement. Only Nirad and Rajar looked displeased. With Kananda absent from the city the crisis might have proved their opportunity to shine more brightly.

  The debate would have continued, but at that moment there was a terrifying interruption. A faint growl of thunder filled the hot, still air, growing swiftly in power and volume until it vibrated through the entire city. The fearsome sound echoed like a monster’s roar beneath the golden domes, and the slender columns of the audience hall shook and trembled. The assembled faces turned ashen as the blood drained away from every man. The guards stood transfixed. The priests sank onto their knees and prayed. The slaves fell on their bellies and faces to whimper and cower. Kara-Rashna made a great effort to struggle up from his throne, but then slipped feebly back again.

  Jahan moved slowly on leaden feet, as if in a nightmare, and stared out through the arch of an open window. Even with his own eyes as witness, he had no comprehension of what was happening, but what he saw descending from the sky was a five-clustered pinnacle of steel that slowly lowered itself on a red pillar of fire. The hand that had automatically rested on the ruby hilt of his great sword went dead. Like the rest of his body, it was nerveless with shock.

  The princes Sanjay and Devan had moved reluctantly to stand behind him. All were equally numbed, their mouths agape, their minds reeling. They watched as the spaceship came to rest on the far side of the river and shock waves like those of a minor earthquake rocked the very foundations of the city beneath their feet. The pillar of red fire became a bowl of orange flames and boiling black smoke in which the ship briefly nested and then the fire slowly died and the thunder ceased.

  The city became still again. As still as though every heart had stopped and every soul was frozen.

  A Gheddan spaceship had landed.

  Chapter Five

  From space the third planet had appeared as a perfect marbled sphere, thickly veined with diffusing colours of ocean blue, the white of polar ice caps, and the green and brown of its continents, revealed in patches beneath swirling white clouds. Apart from Dooma, it was the only other inhabitable planet in the solar system. If Dooma was to ultimately destroy itself, as many of the leading scientists and thinkers of Alpha believed was inevitable, then there was only the third planet to offer any possible hope of refuge to the survivors.

  Ghedda did not hold to the Alphan view that the home planet would disintegrate in a full scale nuclear and lazer beam war between the two continents. That was a soft-stomached Alphan ploy designed to hold off the superior military might of Ghedda, which the craven hearts of Alpha so desperately feared. It was also a smokescreen to cover the real reasons for the Alphan expeditionary flights to the third planet which they undoubtedly had hopes to colonize. Ghedda had no fear of war with Alpha, or of its consequences, but the Gheddan Empire was concerned with the possibilities of inter-planetary conquest. To deny the Alphans a bolt-hole and to reap the rewards of conquest for Ghedda—these were the twin aims behind the presence of the Gheddan warship.

  The ship was a Class Five Solar Cruiser, its design incorporating a central rocket with four smaller, finned booster rockets. Like the Alphan ships, it was nuclear-pulse powered. It carried a crew of six and these were all male. There was no sexual equality on Ghedda.

  The six men wore white uniforms which contrasted with the pale blue of their skin colour and the darker blue of their hair. They also wore wide belts of chain mail, together with cod-pieces and outer vests of the same fine linked steel, which could protect their vital organs from dagger and sword thrusts. Two of the six, Caid and Landis, were engineers. Garl and Taron were the two lazer gunnery officers. The cold-eyed, cold-faced Thorn, who had twenty sword due
ls and twenty sword deaths to his credit, was Deputy Commander and Navigator. In overall command of the space cruiser was Raven, Commander First Class of the Gheddan Space Force and a Sword Lord of Ghedda.

  Even Thorn, as skilled and defiant as any Gheddan swordmaster, was proud to serve with Raven. Raven had thirty-seven sword duels, and thirty-seven kills to his credit, including two of his own brothers. Now, no one dared to challenge him.

  They had studied the computer screen with its selected images of the land mass terrain recorded on their initial orbits. The major populated and cultivated areas were easily identified and so they had chosen the flat plain beside the largest city of the great pear-shaped subcontinent for their first dramatic landing.

  Maryam had watched the landing in mortal terror, holding Namita so tightly that she had violently bruised the younger girl’s shoulders and arms. Her own arms were also black and blue where Namita’s clutching fingers had dug into the bone, but she had not felt a thing. For long minutes she was petrified, but after the fire and sound had stopped there was nothing. The earth no longer heaved and the river flowed as calmly as before. There was just the strange, towering monument of black steel standing against the far forest and sky, where before there had been nothing.

  Moisture returned to her dry throat. She felt the movement of her own and Namita’s breathing. They were alive. The city was still here. Voices were beginning to sound from behind, the palace walls, voices tinged with fear, edged with panic.

  Her heart was suddenly beating very fast. By regulating her breathing she gradually controlled it. She realized slowly that she was dry-eyed, and that although there was now fear in her heart there was no longer the frustrated anguish that had so recently caused her to weep. Something new had happened, something totally different from anything that had ever happened before. This visitation must have some tremendous new meaning. Perhaps it portended some cataclysmic change in the order of the world, in the whole order of creation. Perhaps the gods had come themselves to aid, or to punish Karakhor. Whatever the meaning it pushed the issues of Kanju and Maghalla into insignificant proportion.

  Borne on impulse and a mixed wave of fear and hope Maryam scrambled to her feet. She pulled Namita with her and hurried into the palace. Her sister was still in shock and she handed her into the care of two equally distressed slave girls, trusting that the three of them could comfort each other. Then, pulling her lace shawl over her head, she ran swiftly to the audience hall where she knew her father was in conference with his advisors.

  The rulers of Karakhor had rallied themselves, recovering some of their courage and composure. Kara-Rashna had been helped to the window where he could see for himself the great steel spire that stood taller than Indra’s temple. As the silence lengthened, he had cursed his stiffened arm and leg and agreed that Jahan should lead a party out of the city to investigate this incredible phenomenon.

  “Should we go in strength?” Sanjay wondered. “Or to pay homage?”

  “We will go in strength,” Jahan answered, “but we will go prudently, with priests in the forefront to pay homage.”

  The attendant priests turned a shade paler at the thought, but the monarch nodded his approval. “Let the priests light their fires and give blessings to the city, then let them be mounted on war elephants to lead the way. But take as many chariots and warriors as you can muster.”

  Jahan nodded and turned to issue his orders to the priests and to the senior nobles who also served as military commanders. Sanjay and Devan hurried away to don their weapons and harness their chariots. The young prince Rajar stepped forward to face his father and gathered up all his faltering courage.

  “Sire, as you cannot sally forth, then I should represent you. As the eldest son present of the royal line, I should lead our forces on this task.”

  Kara-Rashna frowned, but then smiled faintly. “Well-spoken, my son. Your day of glory will come, Rajar, but I think it is not yet. In this hour Karakhor has need of a wise old head as much as proud young blood. Jahan has my royal mandate in this matter. He will lead our forces. You must stand by him well as I know you will.”

  Rajar was only slightly mollified, and then to his increasing annoyance there was another interruption from behind him. Maryam had arrived, breathless but determined, and in the general confusion no one had thought to bar her from the room.

  “Sire,” she said bravely. “The first royal line should be represented, the true royal line. Prince Kananda is not here, so let me go in his place.”

  “There is no place for a woman in this.” Rajar glared at her, but in the presence of their father did not dare rebuke her further.

  Maryam shot him a look of anger, but then turned more beseeching eyes upon her father. “Sire, if anything happens to Kananda—and may the gods forbid that misfortune should befall him—then one day I may rule Karakhor as her queen. It is my right and duty to attend these important matters.”

  The ailing king was unable to escape the fervent intensity of her gaze as he considered. She had all the sweet, woman’s wiles of her mother he realized, but surely the strong independence of spirit within her was a reflection of his own. She warmed his heart, and he did not know whether he wanted to keep her here to protect her, or grant her the favour she desired. Finally he nodded his head. “If Lord Jahan will consent to take charge of you, you may go.”

  Maryam smiled, knowing she had won. She had always looked upon Jahan as her favourite uncle, and she knew that as long as she behaved sensibly he would not refuse her.

  Kara-Rashna recognized the smile and wondered if he had been too indulgent.

  It was an hour before all the necessary sacrifices and ablutions had been performed, and all the due supplications made to the gods. The priests would gladly have taken longer, but at last they were purified and ready, and a dozen of them were mounted on elephants to lead the way across the carved stone bridge that spanned the river. As they passed through the main gateway of the city and onto the bridge they were all praying loudly, their eyes closed and their white-knuckled hands clasped piously before them.

  Behind them came two score of chariots, flying as many different brilliant banners that fluttered defiantly in the light breeze that had now sprung up along the river. First the proud purple banner of Jahan, with its snarling tiger emblem. From the chariot beside him Maryam flew the rising sunburst banner that would have been Kananda’s if he had not been absent. A golden hawk clutching a javelin was the proud standard of Prince Sanjay. A lion’s paw with reddened claws unfurled over the chariot of his brother Devan. The princes Rajar and Nirad raised standards depicting a silver falcon and a silver boar. The double-bladed axe of the House of Gandhar was there, the black orchid of the House of Tilak, the blue raven of the House of Bulsar. The jostling banners of the lesser houses were almost as splendid, and every charioteer was armed for war. Behind them tramped a great mass of foot warriors, carrying their own war banners before them.

  The great cavalcade spread out into a broad front after it had crossed the river, and then approached slowly with the elephant-borne priests and the jostling mass of chariots in the centre. They took courage from their own sheer weight of numbers, their own bristling display of spears and axes, swords and maces, and from those bold and trusted banners of their proven champions. They also took courage from the fact that only one man, human-shaped and human-size, stood alone to meet them.

  Raven had walked fifty paces away from his ship and stood with arms calmly folded as he awaited the coming of the earthmen. A sword was slung at his left hip, and a lazer hand weapon was holstered at the right. The brief, but strategically tailored sections of his chain mail armour gleamed golden bright against the pure white of his high-tunic uniform. He smiled at the size of the company that had issued from the city to challenge him, and it was the smile of a man who had to deal with the innocence of children. The simple fools did not know whether to be belligerent or cautious, but they would soon learn.

  The cavalcade stopp
ed at what they thought was a safe distance. The elephant drivers would go no further, and the priests would not interrupt their praying to urge them. The chariots ground to a halt, but after a brief confusion, Jahan drove between two of the elephants to halt in front of them. The other princes joined him, and not to be outdone Maryam pushed her chariot through to stand by her uncle. They all stared at the lone man, and then at the towering rocket ship behind him, wondering what they should do next.

  “He is a god,” Rajar said suddenly. “Look, the colour of his skin is blue.”

  Maryam stared in wonder. In all the pictures she had ever seen of the gods they had all been depicted with a multitude of arms and legs, and always with skin of light, radiant blue. This man had only one set of arms and one set of legs, but his face and hands were definitely a soft, pale blue. Surely he had to be a god. She stared at him and realized that he was also a handsome god, and an extremely sensual god. He was standing with feet apart, and her gaze flickered back and forth between his sardonic face and that loin-draining bulge of gold chain mail between his thighs, and she felt herself go faint and near to swooning.

  The princes looked to Jahan for a lead. The old general looked back to the priests and saw that none of them would be of any practical value. Not one of them had yet dared to open his eyes. Feeling certain only of his duty to do something Jahan lifted his reins to coax his horses a little closer, and then he stopped again.

  Raven had moved, unfolding his arms slowly from his broad chest. Lazily he extended one hand and pointed to his right. A great pile of boulders stood there, as high as the walls of Karakhor, and timelessly cloaked in tangles of green creeper and yellow lichens. As the signal was given a fierce beam of white energy lanced down from the nose cone of the spaceship behind him, blasting into the giant tumble of rocks. The creepers and lichens were burned off in the first split second of the flash of fire, and then the rocks themselves slowly shrank and melted.