by E. C. Tubb
Dumarest looked to where men clustered around the giant. They were stripping him, coating him with oil, fastening a loincloth of leather around his hips. Dwarfed by his stature the chief elder stood to one side, hands lifted, lips moving as he called a blessing down on the champion of the people.
Nimino came to stand beside the girl and Dumarest.
"You'd better get ready, Earl," he said, his voice reflecting his worry. "Is there anything I can do?"
"Fetch him a laser," said Lallia. "That or a score of men to help him out."
The navigator ignored the comment. "Well, Earl?"
"No." Dumarest flexed his toes in his shoes, his shoulders beneath the material of his uniform. The plastic was firm and would give some protection against the claws of his opponent. "Do we fight bare-handed?"
A guard came forward and handed him a stave. It was a plain length of wood, six feet long and two inches thick; both ends were bound with leather. Nimino stepped back, pulling the girl with him as Gilliam moved to the center of the open space.
"I kill," he said. And rushed forward.
Dumarest ducked and felt the wind brush his hair, the drone of the staff's passing sounding like a deep-toned bee. Immediately he sprang aside as Gilliam, turning with amaz shy;ing speed, again lashed out with the staff. He held it in one great hand, wielding it as a boy would a stick, lashing with the full power of his arms and shoulders at the darting figure in the cleared space.
"Good luck, Earl!" called Nimino.
"Kill him, Earl!" said the girl.
Dumarest ignored the encouragement as he warily darted from the attacks of his opponent. He held his own staff horizontal before him, each hand a third of the way from either end, ready to parry or strike as the opportunity pre shy;sented itself. The weapon was clumsy, awkward to handle, needing much practice before a man could become pro shy;ficient in its use. Had Gilliam used it properly Dumarest knew that he would already be dead.
He ducked again, darted to one side, sprang back as a vicious downswing caused the air to strike his eyeballs. It was useless to attempt to tire his opponent, those great mus shy;cles would house inexhaustible energy and, too, they pro shy;tected the bone beneath. Letting trained reflexes govern his evading movements Dumarest studied the weak points against which he must aim his attack: the groin, joints, eyes, and throat. The groin presented too small a target and was protected by the swell of thighs and the ridged muscle of the belly. A successful attack could win the contest but the chances were against it being successful. The deep-set eyes were set with ridges of overhanging bone; the spade of the chin lowered over the vulnerable throat. The elbows were awkward to get at.
Only one thing was really in his favor: the limited intel shy;ligence of the giant. Gilliam had been given a staff and told to kill his opponent. He tried to do it with the staff alone instead of adding the weapon to his natural armory. Also he was using it as a saber-and any man armed with a quarterstaff could beat a swordsman.
If he were skilled with its use.
If the swordsman had normal strength.
Again the giant swung his staff through the air. Duma-rest ducked, straightened, and saw the length of wood sweeping in a backhand slash towards his skull. Desperate shy;ly he threw up his own staff, the wood meeting with a vicious crack, the force of the interrupted blow knocking his own weapon hard against the side of his head. Dazed, Duma-rest fell to the ground, rolling frantically as the staff whined down towards him, the end gouging deep as he sprang to his feet.
"Kill!" gloated the giant. "I kill!"
Dumarest tensed as the giant reared back, the staff lifted high. His hands shifted as he altered his grip on his own weapon. Should Gilliam sweep his staff downwards in a cut shy;ting blow then he must spring to one side and slam the end of his own pole directly into one of the eyes. If he should try a sidewise swing then he must duck and strike before the giant could recover his balance.
Air droned as the staff swept towards him.
Dumarest crouched, straightened, and struck at the side of the giant's face, the end of his staff smashing against the prominent ridge of bone protecting the eye. Immediate shy;ly Gilliam turned, staff whining in a backhand blow. Duma-rest sprang from it, throwing himself behind the giant's back, poising himself with the staff held by the end in both hands, the tip well beyond his shoulder. As the giant, baffled, turned again to find his elusive opponent, Dumarest sprang forward, the staff a blur as he sent the length of wood hard against the exposed kneecap. There was a dull crack of yielding bone and Gilliam staggered, his face distorting in pain.
"Hurt," he mumbled. "Hurt!"
Dumarest struck again, viciously, using the full strength of back and shoulders. Again the staff cracked against the bro shy;ken kneecap. As it did he threw himself backward in a com shy;plete somersault, landing just beyond the reach of the giant's staff.
Gilliam sprang after him. Sprang and fell as his shat shy;tered knee refused to carry his enormous weight. As he crashed to the ground Dumarest leaped forward, staff lifted high above his head, smashing it down at the base of the muscular neck. Twice he struck. At the third blow the staff cracked and fell apart. Chest heaving, the broken end of the staff held sword-fashion in his right hand, Dumarest stepped towards the fallen giant.
Nimino caught his arm as he went to stab the splintered end into the corded throat.
"That's enough, Earl! Earl, damn you, that's enough! You've won!"
Dumarest drew air deep into his lungs and looked at the shattered staff in his hand. "He's dead?"
"Stone cold. You snapped his neck."
"Good." Dumarest lifted a hand and touched a wetness on his head. One of the giant's wild blows must have torn his scalp. He looked at the blood on his hand. How close had death been then? Quietly he said, "So I've won. Now get us out of here. All of us. The girl as well."
"And the oil," said Sheyan as he joined the group. "Don't forget the oil."
VI
"pearls," said yalung. He tilted his cupped hand, the salon light filling his palm with nacreous beauty. "They are fine but . . ." Regretfully he shook his head. "On every world there are seas and in every sea there are bivalves. They are very pretty, my dear, but I'm afraid of very little value."
"These are special," said Lallia. "And you know it."
She sat on the edge of the table, long bare legs swinging beneath the hem of an iridescent dress made of finely tanned fish skin. Three hours from Candara, bathed, her lustrous black hair piled in thick coils above her head, she had doubled her beauty.
And her boldness, thought Dumarest. He sat beside her, facing the dealer in precious stones, feeling the ache of fatigue gnaw at his bones. The fight had drained the last of his strength.
"They are special," admitted Yalung after a moment. "To you, no doubt, they are very special. To others, my dear, they are merely pearls. How did you get them from their owners?"
Lallia smiled. "I own them. They were given to me by love-sick fools. I hid them in a place only my lover shall find." Her hand reached out, the slim fingers running through Dumarest's hair.
"And the dress?" Yalung was curious.
"I wore it beneath that stinking woolen thing they made me put on. The men weren't allowed to touch me and the old biddies were satisfied as long as I didn't dazzle their men. Men!" She snorted her contempt. "Blind fools who lived in terror of imagined perils to come. The old ones were the worst, coming to me with the excuse they wanted to save me from eternal damnation. When that didn't work they tried to buy what they wanted. I took what they gave and laughed in their faces. The fools!"
"You were the fool," said Dumarest flatly. "Didn't you even think of the dangers you ran?"
"I thought a ship would come," she admitted. "I hoped every day that a trader would call. When it did I didn't even see it. They had me locked away in the dark. God, you'll never know how relieved I was to see some real men again!"
Again she reached out to caress Dumarest's hair.
"R
eal men," she murmured. "And one of them a very real man indeed. Tell me, lover, am I to your liking?"
"He fought for you," said Yalung. "He could have died for you. Would a man do that for someone he cared nothing about?"
"I want him to say it," she said and then, as Dumarest re shy;mained silent, "well, perhaps later. What will you give for the pearls, dealer? And don't think I'm some ignorant fool who doesn't know their real worth."
"I will give you the cost of a High passage," said Yalung. "More I cannot give."
"Then forget it." Reaching out she took the pearls from the yellow palm. "The captain will give me more than that. More than you think, perhaps." She smiled at Dumarest, her face radiant. "Can you guess, lover, at what I mean?"
Again Dumarest remained silent. Yalung said, "Tell me, girl, how did you come to be on Candara?"
"I wanted to travel the Web so I entered into a ship-marriage with an engineer. I didn't know that he rode a commune ship and he didn't tell me until we were well on our way. They share everything they own and I refused to be shared. So, when we hit Candara, they kicked me out." She laughed, remembering. "They didn't do any trade, though. I told the chief man that they practiced abominable rites and he believed me. So they went off empty-handed."
Dumarest looked at the long length of her naked thigh. "And before that?"
"You're interested, lover?" Her teeth were white against the red of her mouth. "Before that I worked in a carnival. Reading palms, that sort of thing. And before that I-"
"You read palms?" Yalung interrupted, his smile bland. "Surely not."
"I don't lie, dealer. Give me your paw and I'll tell you things." She reached out for the yellow hand as Yalung snatched it away. "No? Scared, maybe?"
"Cautious," he said, smiling. "Why don't you read the hand of our friend here?"
"Why not?" Lallia again ran her fingers through Duma-rest's hair. They were gentle, caressing. "Give me your hand, Earl." She studied it, brooding, the tips of her slender fingers tracing lines, hesitating from time to time, the touch as gentle as the impact of butterflies. "A strange hand," she murmured. "One not easy to read. There is a sense of power and a mystery hard to unravel. You have lived close to violence for a long time now, lover. You have traveled far and will travel further. You have loved and lost, and you will love again. And you have a great enemy." She sucked in her breath. "Earl! I see danger!"
"A carnival trick!" He jerked his hand away with sudden irritation. "Shall I read your palm?" He caught her hand and, without looking at the mesh of lines, said, "You have ambition. You have dreams and are never long content. You have known many men and many worlds and there are those who have reason to hate your name. You are greedy and selfish and will come to a bad end. Is that enough or do you want more?"
"You-"
He caught her wrist as she swung her hand at his cheek.
"Don't, you're hurting me!" Her eyes widened as she looked into his face. "Earl! Don't look at me like that! Don't make me feel so unclean!"
He dropped her hand, fighting his sudden, inexplicable anger. Who was he to judge? Like himself she was a trav shy;eler making out as best she could. And if she used her woman's wiles to get her way, was that any different to him using his natural speed and acquired skill? Was it worse to hurt a man's pride than to gash his body with blades?
"I'm sorry, Lallia," he said. "I'm tired and spoke without thinking. Please forget it."
"I'm sorry too, Earl. Sorry that we didn't meet years ago. Things could have been so different if we had." She dropped her right hand to his left, squeezed, her fingers tight against his ring. "Earl!"
"What is it?" He stared into her face. It was pale, beaded with perspiration, suddenly haggard with lines of strain. "Lallia!"
"Death," she muttered. "And pain. So much pain. And a hopeless longing. Oh, such a hopeless longing!"
And then, abruptly, she collapsed, falling to lie sprawled on the table, naked arms and legs white against the ir shy;idescence of her dress, the dingy plastic of the surface.
Nimino rubbed the side of his chin with one slender finger and looked thoughtfully down at the girl on the bunk. "A sensitive," he said wonderingly. "Who would have suspected it?"
"Are you sure?" Dumarest had carried the girl into his cabin and now stood beside the navigator.
"I'm sure. She has all the characteristic symptoms of one who has suffered a severe psychic shock. I have seen it many times before." Nimino leaned forward and lifted one eyelid exposing the white ball of the eye. "You see? And feel the skin, cold and clammy when it should be warm and dry. The pulse, too-there can be no mistake."
Dumarest stared curiously at the girl. She lay at full length, the mass of her hair, which had become unbound, a midnight halo around the paleness of her face. The long curves of arms and legs were filled with the clean lines of developed muscle covered with scanty fat. The breasts were full and proud, the stomach flat, the hips melting into rounded buttocks. A courtesan, he thought, the typical body of a woman of pleasure, all warmth and smoothness and femininity.
And yet-a sensitive?
He had met them before, the sports of mutated genes, the products of intense inbreeding. Always they had paid for their talent. Sometimes with physical weakness or ir shy;regular development of body or mind. But always they had paid. Lallia?
"You said that she claimed to be able to read palms," mused Nimino. "Not a clairvoyant then, not even a telepath as we understand the term, neither would have allowed themselves to fall into the position in which we found her. But she could have some barely suspected ability. Barely suspected by herself, I mean. How accurate was the read shy;ing?"
Dumarest looked up from the girl. "It was nothing," he said flatly. "A jumble of nonsense. I could do as well myself."
"Perhaps she was not really trying," said the navigator shrewdly. "She is a girl who has learned the value of cau shy;tion. And she is beautiful," he added. "Not often have I seen a woman of such loveliness. You have won a remarkable prize, my friend."
"Won?"
"But, of course, Earl. To the victor the spoils. Both of you must surely be aware of that." Nimino smiled and then grew serious. "Tell me exactly what happened just before she collapsed."
"We were talking," said Dumarest. "She dropped her hand to mine and touched my ring. That's when it hap shy;pened."
"Your ring?"
Dumarest lifted his left hand. "This."
"I see." Nimino brooded as he examined the stone. "I ask no questions, my friend, but I will venture a statement. This ring has high emotional significance. To you and perhaps to the one who owned it before. Am I correct?"
"Yes," said Dumarest shortly.
"Then I think I understand what could have happened to Lallia. She is a sensitive of undeveloped and probably unsuspected power. There is an ability possessed by some by which they are able to tell the past of any object they may touch. It is almost as if they had a vision in which time unrolls before their awareness. I put it crudely, but you understand what I mean. And if the object has a strong emotional charge then the vision can become overpowering. I suggest that is what happened in the salon. She was ex shy;cited, emotionally sensitive, and she touched your ring. It was as if she had received a sudden electrical discharge through the brain."
"And now?"
"Nothing, my friend." Nimino gripped Dumarest's shoul shy;der. "She will sleep a little and wake as good as before. Her talent is untrained and undemanding and, as I said, probably she is not even aware of it other than the ability to read palms and tell fortunes. For time runs in both directions and such a one could have a limited awareness of events to come. Events appertaining to the object held, I mean. She is not a clairvoyant-as we both have reason to know."
Nimino dropped his hand as he moved towards the door of the cabin. "Let her wake and find you here, Earl. And, if you are afraid of demons, I know seven effective rites of exorcism. But I think the one she would appreciate most can only be performed by you."
"Earl."
He opened his eyes. Lallia was awake, lying with her eyes on his face, the long length of her body relaxed, a thick coil of hair shadowing one side of her face. Her arms lifted as he stooped over her, white restraints pulling him down, holding him against the yielding softness of her body while her lips, soft and avid, found his own.
"Earl, my darling!" she whispered. "Earl!"
He could do nothing but sink into a warm and comforting sea.
They slept and woke to drink cups of basic and slept again in the warm cocoon of the cabin, lulled by the soft vibration of the Erhaft field as it sent the Moray arrowing to a distant world. Dumarest moved uneasily in his sleep, haunting dreams bringing him a montage of faces and places, of violence and blood, of hope and arid disappointment.
Finally he woke, refreshed, stretching his body and open shy;ing his eyes. Lallia stood at the side of the bunk, smiling, vapor rising from the cup in her hand.
"You're awake," she said. "Good. Now drink this."
It was basic but with an unusual flavor. He sipped ap shy;preciatively before emptying the container.
