The Sword Lord

by Robert Leader

  Maryam was as dismayed as anyone, her feelings and emotions tangled and torn as though they had been trampled by a bull elephant. The noise of the preceding nights events had brought her running to Namita’s apartments, where she had arrived just as the great gong had begun to boom out its fateful message. She would have gone with her father and uncles to the audience hall except that her mother had stopped her. The two queens needed help to whisk Namita into a safe place of hiding and the best opportunity would be now while the men were busy elsewhere.

  So Maryam had immediately become involved in Namita’s swift and secret removal from the palace. The House of Tilak could be reached by a roundabout route through the back streets and alleys of the city, and the noble lady of that household was a close friend of Padmini’s. The women dressed, cloaking themselves in dark shawls to hide their finery and their faces, and with only two guards, hurried out into the night. When they were only halfway to their destination, the top of Indra’s temple had abruptly disintegrated in the unholy burst of lightning and thunder, scattering rubble over half the city. Fragments of stone had rained around them, scaring them out of their wits, and they had finished the journey in terrified flight.

  Tilak’s wife had answered their knock, even though her husband was absent. Namita had been granted sanctuary, but then Maryam found that her mother and aunt intended that she, too, should remain with her half-sister. Maryam had protested vigorously. Raven was not Thorn, she told them. Raven would not harm her and while she had Raven’s protection, she had no fear of Thorn. She could not add that what they so desperately feared had already happened between her and Raven and that she had welcomed it and gone to him willingly.

  In the end Maryam had won her argument and had returned with Padmini and Kamali to the palace. It was only later that she had learned the full story of what had taken place in the great audience hall. That had been the real shock to her nervous system, spinning her thoughts out of balance and turning her emotions upside down. She could believe that Thorn would attempt to rape her sister but she could not believe that Raven had become a cold-blooded murderer.

  She extracted a broken, jumbled and anguished account from her half-brother Nirad and had to rearrange the sequence of events back into order. The young prince had been devastated by what he had witnessed and his chief impressions were of the bravery with which Gandhar had died and the merciless cruelty of the god who had killed him. Everyone had noticed how the old man had stepped forward and to one side so that the white fire would consume him only and spare the king and the others. Such courage should have been rewarded, not despised. And everyone knew that Gandhar was innocent—a true god should also have known that the old man was blameless.

  Nirad fumed and wept as he talked. His royal blood was outraged and he was suffering as much pain and humiliation as any of his elders without being able to control it. Gandhar had now to be cremated and it should be done with full funeral rites and absolutions. But no one knew whether they dared to make the arrangements. No one knew whether they dared to show their respects. Such was the deep and overpowering shame to which the blue-skinned ones had reduced the once proud city of Karakhor.

  Maryam let the impassioned tirade flow over her, trying to pick out the salient facts. In her own mind, she was trying to redeem the man she hoped to marry and so she singled out the points that were meaningful to his defence. Plainly, Raven had been attacked by three assassins whom he had then killed. Those assassins had been paid to make their attempt by someone in the city. Even if Gandhar was innocent, as everyone seemed to think, the assassins had worn the colour of his household, so Raven had good cause to believe him guilty. Perhaps Raven was justified in meting out the punishment he believed Gandhar deserved.

  Maryam felt the need to be alone. She made her excuses to escape from Nirad and retired in confusion to the privacy of her chamber. There, she spent several hours of in fruitless agony, trying to straighten out her own thoughts and feelings. It was all too much. Her head began to ache. The heat bothered her. Her room became a prison, too small to contain her restless pacing to and fro, and so she escaped again to the palace gardens by the river. There at least the air was more easily breathable, and the blue sky, the fresh flower blossoms and the limpid blue-green curve of the Mahanadi were all more soothing to her suffering spirit.

  Until she walked aimlessly through an archway of trailing bougainvillea and came face to face with Raven.

  He wore a clean white uniform and a new weapon belt. His golden chain mail shone brightly in the sun. There was not a mark on him that was visible and he smiled as though nothing at all had happened since they last met.

  “Maryam, I have been looking for you. Have you been avoiding me?”

  She stared at him, understanding only her own name. The strength drained out of her and she did not know how to respond. Confusion froze in her mind. All her whirling thoughts stopped and her brain was suddenly numb.

  Raven laughed, took her nerveless hand and led her down to the edge of the river. There he sat with her on a stone bench shaded by a large orange tree. He pointed across the water and said calmly, “My spaceship, space—ship.”

  Her brain still refused to function. She looked at him blankly.

  “Space—ship,” Raven repeated slowly. He pointed again toward his black temple of steel. “Space—ship, space—ship.”

  Maryam understood. Yesterday they had begun this game of exchanging words in each others languages, naming objects first with the Gheddan word, and then in Hindu. She swallowed hard to moisten her throat and then said faintly:

  “Space—ship, God’s temple.”

  “God’s temple?” Raven’s brow furrowed. She had used those words before. And then he remembered their first walk in the city. “God’s temple” was how she had described the carved religious buildings in stone. It struck him suddenly that these people probably believed that he and his crew were their gods, and he began to laugh uproariously.

  Maryam could only wait in bewilderment for the name game to continue. She felt as though she was living in some strange dream, or perhaps it was a nightmare. Perhaps the things that were said to have happened in the great audience hall were the nightmare. She felt as though she had become detached from reality.

  Earlier in the day, Thorn had gone back to Namita’s apartments and had been furious to find that she was no longer there. The two chambers were empty and there was not even a guard on the door. He had caught a luckless female slave in the corridor outside and had tried to question her, but she could not understand his language and he could not understand hers. Despite her evident terror, it was a hopeless business and after a few minutes he gave up in disgust. He had spent the rest of the morning prowling the palace, becoming quickly aware that everyone from the lowest slave to the king himself was desperately trying to avoid him. At first he had been amused by the sounds of flight and panic that preceded his heavy-footed approach, but slowly he had become angry again. Finding Namita had become an obsession with him and he was determined to find her and have her.

  At noon he returned to his own chambers in a particularly vile mood. The two slave girls who had been allotted to tend his needs shrank back against the far wall as he entered. He ignored them and looked to the food and wine that had been set out to please him. There was meat, rice and fruit. He ate hungrily, and then took a large peach and a full wineglass over to the open window. There was a seat beside the window and he sprawled there, eating the fruit, sipping the wine and glowering down into the street below.

  It was a narrow street of brightly coloured awnings shading small shops and foodstalls. The rich smells of spices and sweetmeats wafted upward on the languid air. There was the bustling of voices and movement which he assumed was the haggling over prices and the displaying of wares. Thorn watched and listened and contemplated getting drunk. Surely if a man drank enough of this pale virgin’s water, there must be some alcoholic effect.

  Time passed. Thorn extended his arm sever
al times for his glass to be refilled with wine. He watched the business of the street below without any real interest and yet suddenly his brooding gaze focussed on a young slave girl who was hurrying furtively through the milling throng. The girl wore her veil high and her shawl pulled low and carried a large bundle of what appeared to be fine silk clothing. Thorn leaned forward and stared sharply. He was sure he had seen her before.

  As she passed directly below, recognition clicked in Thorn’s mind. It was the slave girl whom he had booted away from Namita’s door the previous night. His surly face split into a wide grin of triumph. There, sneaking out of the palace and obviously taking clothes to her mistress, was the highborn one’s personal slave.

  Thorn allowed the girl to get out of sight and hearing and then he deftly swung himself out of the window and dropped down into the street. Ignoring the startled looks and exclamations all around him, he pushed his way through the crowd and began to run after the slave. When he had her in sight again, he dropped back and followed her at a discreet distance.

  The slave was moving fast, afraid of her own shadow and too scared to look back. Thorn had no difficulty in keeping pace without being seen. The short pursuit led him through a roundabout route of small streets and alleys to the rear of one of the fine nobleman’s houses that faced onto one of the main avenues. Here the slave girl disappeared through a narrow, heavily studded teak door that was set in a high wall.

  The door was not bolted behind her. Thorn went through and found himself in an unexpectedly spacious courtyard. A small fountain bubbled in the centre, flowering shrubs were set attractively among the flag-stones and slender columns supported overhanging balconies on either side. The only occupant of the courtyard was a strutting peacock displaying its magnificent tail.

  Thorn crossed the courtyard and strode up the short flight of wide steps that led into the main part of the building. He passed down a short corridor and then came into a large central room with more corridors leading off on all sides. On his left, a wide and elegant stairway leading up to a balcony level gave access to more rooms and corridors. Everywhere the house was grandly furnished with drapes, tapestries and cushions, and the floors were either carpeted or tiled.

  There was again no sign of the girl he had followed but there were other slaves here and the lady of the house reclining on a velvet sofa. A chorus of shrieks greeted Thorn’s sudden entrance and brought the warriors and men of the household running to the scene. They halted in confusion when they saw the identity of their unwelcome visitor.

  The frightened glances of several of the women shifted briefly to the top of the staircase. Thorn guessed that his quarry lay in that direction and turned toward it. The fat lord of Tilak appeared hastily at the top of the staircase, spreading his pudgy arms to bar the way. He was shouting hysterically. Thorn drew his lazer and, remembering Gandhar’s fate, Tilak abruptly closed his mouth and moved to one side.

  There was a rush of feet behind Thorn as the sons of Tilak and the bravest of his warriors surged forward. Thorn spun on his heel, crouching, lazer leveled. Tilak cried out in anguish, ordering his household to move back. They did so and Thorn laughed. He turned again to ascend the staircase, walking past the head of the house and leaving the fat man to weep with shame.

  Lazer in hand, he kicked open three doors before he found Namita and her slave girl huddled together in one of the bedchambers. He threw the slave girl out and slammed the door behind her. There was a wooden bar to secure the door and seal it from any outside interference and he dropped the bar into place. Then he holstered his lazer and advanced upon the quaking princess.

  Namita began to scream again. Thorn found the sound irritating and to shut her up he stuffed her mouth with one of her own lace handkerchiefs.

  He slapped her hands away and tore off her clothing. Then for the second time he unbuckled his belt and dropped his chain mail codpiece and leggings. With both hands gripping her knees he wrenched her legs apart, and at that stage Namita swooned. Thorn completed the rape without any further resistance and when he had finished he decided that the whole experience had not been worth the trouble he had taken. This highborn one had been no more exciting than the other dull women of this planet had been.

  He strapped his weapon belt back into place and slowly became aware that the girl was still unusually motionless and silent. She had stopped writhing and fighting the gag. He went back to her and discovered to his mild but unconcerned surprise that she was dead. Namita had choked on the handkerchief and suffocated.

  At about the same time, there were urgent whispers of excitement flying about the palace and the news was that a runner had at last arrived from Kananda.

  Two couriers had traveled together as was customary, but one of them had suffered a snake bite on the way. The other had been reluctant to allow a beloved cousin to die alone and so the delay had added a further two days to his journey. The news he brought was six days old. It reported only that the two princes and their hunting party had encountered with strange and wonderful golden-skinned gods in silver suits—gods who came in a black temple of steel from the stars.

  The news was carried to Maryam on the river bank, where she was still struggling to communicate with Raven. The runner was still with the king and his advisors, but a young captain of the palace guard had gleaned enough to know that he could find favour with his mistress. He ran to inform her, hesitating only briefly when he saw that she was not alone.

  Maryam was delighted, bewildered and amazed, her expressions and emotions jumping from one display to another. Any news of Kananda was welcome relief and the story that there were more gods with golden skins was fantastic. She pumped the young guard captain for every detail, but all that she learned further was how little he actually knew.

  Raven stood watching and listening. He was intrigued by her excitement. Twice the young guard captain had pointed across the river to the distant Solar Cruiser. Several times there had been mention of the name “Kananda”, which Raven knew had something to do with the delay over their planned marriage ceremony.

  He began to ask questions of his own. Maryam tried to answer, pointing to the spaceship and then indicating the southwestern horizon far beyond it. She held up two fingers, tapping one and gesturing back to the spaceship, then the other finger and the horizon beyond.

  Abruptly Raven understood.

  Somewhere out there was another spaceship.

  It could not be another Gheddan ship, which could only mean that it must be from Alpha.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Raven held war council on his ship where all five of his crew could be present and speak their minds on the decisions to be made. So far their sojourn on this planet had been one of general inactivity and boredom and their expressions brightened at the prospect of blood and battle. The general consensus of opinion was that they should immediately locate and destroy the Alphans and their vessel. Whatever happened here on Earth was beyond the knowledge and intervention of any power on Dooma, which gave them complete freedom to act as they saw fit.

  “There is more to consider.” Raven did not hold his command solely by virtue of his Gheddan appetite for a fight. “If we are to engage in a ship-to-ship battle, then even in destroying the Alphans we will probably suffer some damage to our own vessel. We may find it necessary to return directly to Ghedda without finishing our business here. We could leave the impression that we have departed in fright at the mere mention of there being other visitors to this planet who have similar powers to ourselves.”

  Garl shrugged. “Does it matter? The garrison force will soon dispel any such false ideas when it arrives.”

  “True. But do we need to leave any unfinished business?” Landis guessed at some of what was in Raven’s mind and looked back to their commander.

  “There is no need,” Raven said firmly. “We can see that there are already signs of rebellion in this city which must be crushed before we depart. The attack upon my own person was one such sign. The
stronger men of this city, those two brothers of the king and that old war-dog who always stands with them, are all too eager to reach for their swords. They would oppose us if they dared. Until now our lazer power has kept them under control, but if they had Alphan help and Alphan lazer weapons to support them, they could become openly hostile.”

  “You think there may already be Alphans in the city?”

  “I think not. Until Maryam learns more of our language, I cannot question her in detail and I can only grasp the broad outline of what she has tried to tell me. There is an Alphan ship on this planet. It has landed some days travel from here and I think that the crew has made contact with some Earth group who are from, or friendly to, this city. It may be that they are on their way here. It may be that the Alphans know of our presence. These things are possible but are unclear to me.”

  “So first we crush all possibility of resistance in the city,” Landis offered. “Then we seek out and destroy the Alphans.”

  “We can wipe out the city now.” Caid carried the offer one step further. “I have the ship’s battle lazers targeted in a maximum destruction pattern of its principle areas.”

  “No.” Raven shook his head. “If there is a possibility that we may have to engage an Alphan ship, then we cannot waste any more of our lazer power on the city. Besides, a pile of rubble is of no value. We want a subject population.”