The Man of Gold

by M. A. R. Barker

  “Yet this is solid rock, not stonework. This is no crawl-hole from one warren to the next.”

  “So it is.” Taluvaz wriggled his shoulders, making his Aomiiz tattooes dance. “As I said, certain places were built as catacombs for the dead, others for the storing of valuables, and some for reasons now known only to the Gods.”

  They came to another large cavern, a natural bubble which the ancient miners had exploited to advantage. Here they halted. A broken bronze adze lay on the floor, mute evidence of one who had laboured here long ago. Mirure hefted the blade but opined that it was too corroded to serve. There was no sign of the handle; if Taluvaz were correct, anything made of wood must now be dust.

  The lowest section of the cave held a pool of water. From this they gratefully drank and washed themselves. Once they sat down, however, the need for rest swept over them like a wave. Tlayesha and Mirure were used to walking, but there was no telling how long Taluvaz and Simanuya could keep up. Itk t’Sa might be tired too. The Pe Choi could go without rest for days, but their rhythms were different from those of humankind, and when fatigue finally struck, it felled them as surely as any spear-blade. Harsan massaged his own limbs and decided that neither Jayargo nor all the monsters of Sarku’s hells would get him up until he had slept for a time.

  They busied themselves with prosaic little tasks. This took away from the mute and malignant darkness, the terror that hovered just beyond their circle of light, and the uncertainties of the future. Tlayesha saw to Mirure’s wound again, for it was growing painful. Morkudz then let his spell of radiance expire, and blackness swept in to press upon their eyes like the silver coins that Lord Belkhanu’s priests lay upon the eyes of the dead. Harsan could not begrudge the Heheganu his sleep; his sorcery had exhausted him more than any of them. There was only one other entrance to the cave: the continuation of their tunnel. It seemed best to post someone to watch while the rest warmed themselves against one another and dozed. He asked Itk t’Sa and she did not demur, saying that she could remain alert a while longer.

  They woke hungry, but there was no food. They drank again, and took counsel. Their only course was to continue. Jayargo might have lied about another entrance through which he could come at them, but even this would be more cheering than to discover that this corridor ended in nothing, a dead-end, a blank wall from which they would have to retrace their weary steps— and find some way to recross the fiery chasm!

  The passage turned, wound up and down, and finally began to rise in earnest: slanting corridors interspersed with flights of long and shallow steps. Simanuya exclaimed that he felt breath of air coming from up ahead, and their pace became quicker, their spirits higher.

  Even if their pursuers did know the labyrinth, was it not possible that they might await them at some other entrance and hence miss them? Or that Harsan and his party might emerge before Jayargo could reach the place?

  “If we come forth from here alive, you must hide us in the city,” Harsan said to Taluvaz. “Later I shall return with you to seek the Man of Gold. I have made up my mind to take you at your word—for now. I shall give it over to Prince Eselne. Let him worry about the future!”

  “You shall not regret this, priest Harsan.”

  “I regret every moment since leaving the Monastery of the Sapient Eye.” He knew that this was not true even as he said it. Had he remained there, he would never have experienced life at all! Whether he lived or died now, at least he was a player, a swatch of gold thread amidst the dull warp and woof of the Weaver’s tapestry. More, he never would have met Tlayesha. (—And Eyil, a voice within him added primly.)

  “Prince Eselne will arrange protection for you—and these others as well. Be assured that he will employ your Man of Gold wisely, for the good of your nation.” Taluvaz extracted a pomander from a pouch at his belt and sniffed at it. The sweet, heady, resinous fragrance of Kilueb-essencc trailed after him in the dank air.

  “I hope so.” Harsan forbore any mention of his own private reservations. Only after he had examined the situation as carefully as an old woman inspecting vegetables in the market would he really consider handing the Man of Gold on to Prince Eselne.

  He might find a way to benefit from it himself—or pass it on to others with whom he had more in common.

  They plodded on. Then Harsan said, “I do not suppose that you are willing to tell me more of your own part in this, Lord Taluvaz?”

  The other stopped and turned about to face him. “I cannot, priest Harsan—I cannot. But I swear—by all my Shadow Gods and by my Arrio ancestors and by anything else you name—that my arrows are not aimed at you, nor at any target dear to you! This I say to you as a friend.”

  “I accept your word. And Prince Eselne? He will help? He must have someone in his service who knows this maze well enough to lead me to the area in which the Man of Gold is likely hidden? Some priest of Karakan? Some scholar of my own temple?”

  “I do not doubt it. The high Prince’s priests and soldiers will be ours to command.” Lord Taluvaz waved his pomander again under his black-tattooed nostrils. He seemed almost buoyant. “More, I have other contacts if we need them—among the Heheganu. Their leaders can be made to aid us further ...” Harsan pulled at his chin skeptically. He said only, “You say that I shall not regret this decision. I hope indeed that you speak the truth.”

  Lord Taluvaz gave him a courteous smile.

  The passage in which they walked was now intersected by another: a narrow tunnel that entered almost at right angles on their left and departed at a steeper bend from the right. The walls here were once more of masonry; they had left the depths. Harsan looked back to Morkudz for guidance but got only a dubious shrug in return.

  They stopped to test the air. Simanuya again felt a breeze from in front of them; Tlayesha said that it came from the right-hand corridor. Itk t’Sa took the glassblower’s side, and Harsan was disposed to agree. The Pe Choi possessed a canny wisdom when it came to matters of location and direction.

  They hesitated, debated, and stood irresolute while Taluvaz once more inspected the crumbling blocks of the wall. These were small, neatly laid, well mortared, and undamaged by water or time.

  “Engsvanyali? Was not this city a provincial capital during the time of the Priestkings?’ ’ He dug a fingernail into the mortar. “If so, we are well above the Llyani regions.”

  Morkudz whispered, “Something approaches from the left!” There was no place to hide except in the farther reaches of the darkness, no time to make a plan. Harsan, Tlayesha, Itk t’Sa, and Morkudz fled back down the corridor by which they had just come. Taluvaz, Mirure, and the glassblower scattered into the right-hand tunnel.

  The Heheganu extinguished his light. They waited.

  The darkness did not last long. Orange and amber lamplight sent shadows rocking out of the left-hand passage toward them. Voices sounded, the clatter of sandals, the sibilance of fabric, the squeak of leather.

  Harsan tensed himself for one last confrontation with the minions of Lord Sarku. He would prefer to fight here. Should the foe win, they could only race blindly back down into the long tunnel to Vimuhla’s flaming crevasse. If he could not cross that, he would let it claim him as a sacrifice!

  Somebody sang, “Ohe, maid of Jakalla, the garnet ring-stone cries envy of your lips, the onyx its jealousy of your eyes... !” The melody was a popular air, the voice deep and. rich but terribly off-key.

  A small being raced out of the left-hand passage in a whirl of arms and legs. As Lord Thumis loved the Tetel-flower! It was a child!

  Four people followed. They were labourers, lower-class, nondescript, ordinary human beings. Three wore cloaks, the fourth a mantle cut in distinctly feminine style.

  Tlayesha gasped and would have rushed forward. She ran full tilt into Morkudz, who blocked her way. The Heheganu was a good handspan shorter than she, and both went down. For one wonderstruck second Harsan stood, too bemused to intervene. Itk t’Sa made as if to go around the two on the floor,
but Morkudz shot out a hand to seize her plated tail. His expression warned Harsan that something was terribly amiss. Instead of helping Tlayesha up, Harsan crouched and put one hand over her mouth. He used the other to motion her to silence and then to clutch the Heheganu’s oddly doughy shoulder.

  “What is it?”

  “Look you,” Morkudz gasped. “Look at their legs—so thick, like columns. Look at their bodies: heavy and round. See how they all move in unison.”

  Tlayesha struggled in his arms, but he kept his palm over her lips until she quieted.

  “They are not what they seem. We call them Sramuthu—in my tongue it means ‘those who dwell together.’ They—they put on the seeming of those they meet, pretend to be friends or harmless persons, seduce them, lure them—”

  “Why?”

  “So that they may consume them. The beings of the underworlds require sustenance as you do. Their ways are not yours.”

  “They have intelligence?” Itk t’Sa gently freed her tail from the Heheganu’s grasp.

  “Yes. They are symbiotes, creatures who dwell amongst you, imitate you, use your habitations so that they themselves do not have to build. They live from your larder—and take some of you as food. My elders say that they dwelt in the cities of humankind since before your ancestors came to Tekumel, and they accompanied you all undetected when you came. They prefer the dark places of your great cities, where their disguises will not be questioned, where no one will ask ...”

  The four who might have been human were were moving away from them. The child pranced on before; they could hear its high, happy prattle. The singer broke off to whistle the song’s refrain.

  Itk t’Sa stood up. “If they have wisdom enough to speak, then they are part of my seeking, my mission. Stay here. I will go and talk with them.” Her eyes glittered opalescent green.

  “No!” Tlayesha pulled Harsan’s hand away.

  “What else? We are already seen. Even now one has turned to look. I shall take care. But I must try; such is my undertaking as Speaker for my people. You know it, Harsan. If they are of the ‘Underpeople,’ if they have the intelligence to think, to converse, then they are not insensate monsters.”

  “I—we—cannot let you—you must not!” Tlayesha pleaded. Itk t’Sa touched Harsan’s hand with one of her upper, smaller ones. He stood back. To her this was noble action; to stop her would be ignoble. He pressed her hard chitinous fingers in return.

  One of the labourers raised his lamp high, the child clutching his stumpy legs. “Ohe, there,” the full, deep voice called, “who are you?”

  The Pe Choi glided forward, four hands empty and open at her sides. “We offer no harm. We seek an exit from this place.” “La, it’s a Pe Choi!” the female cried with all of the pleasure of a woman just introduced to a new baby granddaughter.

  There was a babble of genial voices. The child, a girl, came running back to stare up at Itk t’Sa’s bone-white features.

  Harsan pulled Tlayesha up, stole forward with her until they reached the cross-tunnel on the right. Morkudz skulked behind.

  Itk t’Sa drew abreast of the eldest male. The others surrounded her, their lamp held high. Someone said, “Exit? Ai, we can take you there—we go now to work in the distilleries. Easy to go out of the Splendid Paradise from there.”

  “Your comrades, then,” one of the younger males questioned. “They would come too?”

  “Yes, when they are satisfied that no harm will befall them.” Itk t’Sa paused. “Who are you people? How is it that you are here, below even the warrens of the Heheganu?”

  The three males eyed one another uneasily. Their movements were stiff, like the actions of puppets, Harsan thought. He never would have noticed if it had not been for Morkudz’ warning. The female grinned vacuously at Itk t’Sa. The little girl went around behind the Pe Choi to gaze raptly at her segmented tail.

  “I am told—I have heard—” Itk t’Sa obviously did not know where to begin. How does one accuse a party of simple tenement dwellers of being nonhumans?

  “Yes? How can we help you?” The speaker addressed her as Tusmikru, “the You of Courteous Alienness,” as was polite and proper. This was difficult.

  “Oh, look at her dear companions, Korush,” the female cried. “All bruised and dirty—lost down here, no doubt of it! Come, girl, and let me see,” she made a motherly gesture toward Tlayesha. “I have a spare shawl in my bag here. You’ll be needing it.”

  The one called Korush raised his lantern. “Ah, gentlepersons, as my wife says! Come you here and let us tend to you.”

  Harsan sidled a pace or two into the cross-tunnel, Tlayesha’s hand gripped so hard in his that her fingers must surely be crushed.

  “Go on ahead,” Morkudz answered them. “We need nothing. We will follow.”

  “Not so, now...” The female made as though to advance upon Tlayesha, arms out to embrace her.

  Itk t’Sa said, “I am told ... I have heard... Are you SramuthuV'

  Everything stopped. Prince Dhich’une’s ‘Excellent Ruby Eye’ could not have frozen the scene any more completely.

  "Sramuthu?” one of the younger males asked slowly. “What be that?”

  “Never heard of that clan-—such folk—” the female muttered.

  The little girl said, “They know us.”

  Her voice was no longer childlike and trilling but soft, muffled, and susurrant, like the rasping of an insect.

  “Aruja, Mrelur, Siggu, do you go and aid the boy and girl,” the one named Korush said in his pleasant, bass voice. “Tisa and I will wait here with this Pe Choi.”

  “Hold!” Itk t’Sa hissed. “Truly, we mean you no harm. I am a Tii Petk, a Speaker sent by my people. Let us talk. I would speak to all of the Underpeople, to all of those who dwell with humankind upon Tekumel.”

  “La, that’s very nice,” the female replied. “I do so enjoy a good chat, dears.” She began to edge around to Itk t’Sa’s left. “And I have a loaf of bread here in my bag, fresh-baked, and a little jug of beer. Just let me get them out for you ...”

  The child stood up on her thick, short legs. “They have no weapons, nothing.” She spread her arms.

  Her features cracked, split down the middle. Her left eye and her cheek peeled away to slide down upon her shoulder; her right eye hung oddly suspended in her hair. She wriggled. Her small chest opened, tunic and all, to reveal a tangle of dark, damp limbs within.

  “You’re too quick about it, love!” the female scolded, still in her jolly, maternal voice. Then she, too, began to change.

  “Will you not hear me?” Itk t’Sa screamed. “Listen!”

  Korush’ cloak parted in two at the back with a delicate tearing sound. Wing-casings, black and damp-glistening showed beneath. His voice dropped an octave or two and took on the same dark, burring note.

  “Ai, we’ll be happy to heed what you have to say, Mistress Speaker, or whatever you be. Ai, we’ll give full attention to your words...’’He said something else, but his speech had become no more than an unintelligible buzzing mumble.

  “Run!” Morkudz shrieked. “Run, Pe Choi!”

  They fled into the cross-tunnel. Tlayesha was the fleetest of foot, but the pudgy little Heheganu almost overtook her. Harsan lagged behind, wondering as he ran if he could not somehow aid Itk t’Sa. Weaponless, what could he do? The Pe Choi were a trifle faster than humans; he only prayed that she could take advantage of that!

  They panted to a ragged standstill in near-darkness. With horror Harsan saw that a figure stood before them with a lighted torch, no more than thirty paces away. He shouted and almost turned to fling himself back in the other direction. Just in time he recognised Mirure. Taluvaz and Simanuya crouched farther down the corridor behind her.

  There was no sound from the direction they had come.

  The Heheganu gabbled out his story of the Sramuthu in one long breath. Harsan shushed him to listen. Still he heard nothing.

  Something moved up the passageway. They po
ised themselves. The ruddy torchlight danced upon white chitin.

  “Itk t’Sa!” Harsan cried in utter relief.

  The Pe Choi stumped forward upon thick, cylindrical legs. “My friends,” her voice warbled between a high soprano and a deep bass. “I managed to get free—”

  They fled again. And this time they did not stop until the darkness and several intersections had swallowed up the Sramuthu behind them as surely as a tomb.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “Will they follow?” Taluvaz Arrio panted.

  “Who knows?” Morkudz answered, then shook his head. “No, I think not. They are not swift, nor are they fond of armed prey who know their tricks. No, Lord, we should be secure here for the moment.”

  “Where are we?” Taluvaz guided the Heheganu over to examine the walls of the new cavern into which the tunnel had debouched.

  “A section of catacombs, I think. These domes conceal tomb-shafts ...”

  “The nobles of the First Imperium, the Age of Queen Nayari of the Silken Thighs, built such. Yes, these appear to be of that period ...”

  Morkudz showed no interest in ancient history but went off to make a circuit of the chamber.

  The Livyani cast a worried glance back at Mirure. She sat near the entrance consoling the physician girl. The priest of Thumis squatted there also, his face blank and numb. Shock did that, the sudden loss of a friend. The Weaver of Skeins would have to add many threads before these memories could be folded away and lost within the fabric of the tapestry.

  The glassblower came up beside Taluvaz to squint at the rows of masonry domes lining the uneven floor of the chamber. These resembled nothing so much as the kilns of a potters’ clanhouse, being perhaps a man-height tall and two or three man-heights in diametre. In front of each stood a pentagonal stone stela proclaiming the quality and deeds of the sleeper within.