The Tritonian Ring and Other Pasudian Tales

by L. Sprague De Camp

  "Yes; he brought the serpent throne to life with his damned piping. But go on."

  "I did not know that and supposed him merely an old acquaintance. Besides I do not often get a chance to converse with foreigners, and after my travels I find my own folk dull.

  "Qasigan told me he had been following you—he did not say why—with the aid of this Coranian, whose ears served not only to hear sounds of the usual sort but also to hear men's unspoken thoughts—even though the men were miles away. Thus so long as he followed you closely enough Yok could always tell what direction you were in. You left Huperea at such a clip that for a while you were out of Yok's range, but the King of Phaiaxia had told Qasigan you were bound for Tritonia—"

  "Curse the old rattlepate!" cried Vakar, but then remembered that he had no cause to blame Nausithion, whom he had not sworn to secrecy. Abeggu continued:

  "They had a hard time getting to Tritonia. First you stole a wheel from their chariot, which took them many days to replace, and then the vehicle kept breaking down and getting stuck. Qasigan may be a mighty magician, but he is no wainwright. In Tritonia the Amazons captured this odd trio and took them to Kherronex. The warrior women had just chosen a new queen to replace the old, who had died in some confused sea-battle wherein the king of the Tritons had also perished. Now, the Amazons extend the ultimate in female hospitality to any male they catch. Nji performed nobly, serving the queen herself; Qasigan begged off on grounds of loss of his magical powers; but poor little Yok succumbed under the strain of so much love-making and died."

  "I can see how he might. What then?"

  "Without the Coranian, Qasigan lost the trail, as nobody among the Amazons knew whither you had gone. Therefore he escaped from the Amazons by magical means and started homeward."

  "How did he do that?"

  The Gamphasant's melancholy face lit up with a rare smile. "He cast upon them the illusion that an army of lovers came to visit them: tall beautiful men with great— ah—thews. These phantoms told the Amazons they loved them but would not consummate their love until Qasigan were safely ashore on the mainland, and so he set out for our land."

  Vakar grinned. "I imagine the girls were in a rare rage when their promised gallants faded away. Go on."

  "Well, Qasigan came hither as I have told you. When I saw him he was in a gloomy state, fearing that even should he escape his present predicament and win back to the Gorgades, King Zeluud would take off his head because of his failure.

  "However, let us concern ourselves with methods of saving you, for I have no wall-shattering magic like that of Qasigan. I have a plan, though. If when you enter the arena you take three paces straight out from the door and dig in the sand, you will find two broadswords. These I brought back from my travels, but I had to hide them or the magistrates would have had them thrown into Lake Kokutos."

  "Why are you helping us?" asked Vakar. "Because you once spared my life in Sederado when, by your principles, you were entitled to take it."

  "If we beat Nji, what then?"

  "It will give us time to plan something else while the consuls send men to catch another lion. This is a hard land to escape from, being flat treeless country with few places to hide; and horses are not tamed here."

  Vakar mentioned the impending attack of the Gwedulians. Abeggu shook his head, saying:

  "The judge's action is what I should have expected. Even if he had wished to defend the land by force, what could he have done? The folk have no weapons and would not know how to use them if they had, for they have been taught weapons are accursed things."

  "Could you not appeal to the king?"

  "We have no king. There is a hereditary senate of big landowners—my father is a senator, which is how I could travel—and every year the people elect two consuls. As these consuls are men of conventional Gamphasantian outlook, it would do no good to appeal to them."

  Vakar said: "I believe some free cities like Kernê are governed like that. Judging from your people, the masses are not enough aware of their own interests for the scheme to work."

  Abeggu shrugged. "It might work if they could all read, and if papyrus were so common every family could own a scroll containing the wisdom of the race. But here writing is deemed an evil foreign innovation, and all knowledge is handed down by word of mouth. However, I must go now to bury those swords, or it will be too late."

  He called to the jailer, who came with his assistants to unbar the door. Vakar, watching Abeggu's departing back, said:

  "It's nice to know we have one friend in this hog-wallow of a country. Cheer up, Fual; we're not dead yet... Yes?"

  The jailer had placed his face against the grille and was saying: "What is this?"

  Vakar took a look. The fellow had the Tahakh in one hand and held Abeggu's arm with the other. Using the latter as interpreter the jailer explained:

  "We have burned your clothes and thrown your weapons into the lake, and your other possessions we have placed in the common store, but we do not know what to do with this. What is it?"

  "Tell him," said Vakar, "it is a talisman—you know, a good-luck piece."

  The jailer went off, staring at the heavy blackish mass, and Abeggu departed likewise. Then Vakar had to put up with Fual's nervous chatter. One minute the Utile man was boasting of what such puissant heroes as they would do to the monster; the next he was giving garrulous tongue to abyssmal despair:

  "... last night I dreamed of a goat that ate three blue apples while reciting poetry, which undoubtedly means we shall be slain, sir. Ah, why didn't you let me go when I asked you in Gadaira? Never shall I see the golden spires of the Temple of Cuval in Kerys again ..."

  Vakar was tempted to cuff his man about to silence him, but forebore, thinking how sorry he would be if he did and then Fual did die in the arena after all.

  -

  Under the blazing tropical sun the sand of the arena glared whitely in Vakar's eyes. He put a bare foot upon it, then hopped back with a yelp.

  "That's hot!" he said.

  "Out you go," said the jailer behind him. "Or must we push you?"

  "Come, Fual," said Vakar, setting his teeth against the heat of the sand. "We should have toughened ourselves by walking barefoot on hot coals like the devil-dancers of Dzen."

  A door opened in the far end of the arena and Nji slouched in with the same old brass-bound club over his shoulder. Vakar took three paces quickly and started to dig.

  "Help me, ass!" he snarled at Fual as his sifting fingers met nothing solid.

  Nji swaggered closer. Vakar was too busy scrabbling in the sand to notice the elliptical plan of the arena, the tiers of mud-brick benches, and the silent brown crowd.

  "Ha!" His fingers struck metal. An instant later he and Fual were on their feet facing the ape-man, each with a broadsword in hand. A murmur of surprise came from the spectators.

  "Remember," said Vakar, "our only hope is a headlong attack. H we run in under his club quickly enough, one of us at least may get home before he knocks our brains out. Ready?"

  Vakar tensed for a dash. Nji took hold of his club with both hairy hands and opened his great mouth.

  "Go!" cried Vakar, sprinting.

  Nji gave a roar and charged—but not at Vakar. He ran at an angle, in pursuit of Fual, who in a spasm of panic had dropped his sword and run towards the side of the arena, apparently with the idea of climbing up among the spectators.

  Vakar struck at the ape-man as the latter lumbered past him but missed; then doubled, leaning for the turn and cursing his servant's cowardice under his breath. Fual had almost reached the wall when Nji caught up with him and brought the club down in a mighty blow. Fual's skull crunched and his brains spattered. And at the same instant Vakar came up behind Nji.

  With no time for a survey of the towering hairy back, Vakar bent and struck a powerful backhand draw-cut at the monster's leg just above the heel, then sprang back just as Nji started to turn. As the creature put weight on his hamstrung leg the member buckled un
der him. He fell with a ground-shaking thump. Vakar sprang in again to slash at the ape-man's throat; The great teeth snapped and an arm caught Vakar's ankle and hurled him to the ground, almost dislocating the attached leg.

  Vakar rolled over in an effort to twist free, but the bone-crushing grip held fast. Feeling his foot being drawn towards the ape-man, Vakar looked and saw that the creature was about to stuff the appendage into his gaping mouth. The Lorskan doubled and twisted, planting his other foot against Nji's chest to give him a purchase and, getting a grip on Nji's shoulder-hair with his free hand, hacked at the hairy hand that held his ankle.

  Nji screamed shrilly and let go the ankle, but instantly caught Vakar's right arm in one hand and his hair with the other. This time the monster began to pull Vakar's head towards his jaws while it scratched and kicked at his body with its great splay feet.

  Vakar grasped Nji's thick throat with his right hand, not to choke the ape-man (a task far beyond his strength) but to hold off the slavering fangs that wanted to tear off his face. Meanwhile his left arm was furiously driving the sword into Nji's chest and belly. Again and again he stabbed, but the ape-man's immense strength seemed undiminished.

  Though the muscles on Vakar's lean arms stood out like iron rods, little by little his right arm bent as the ape-man drew him nearer. Blood and spittle ran over his gripping hand, and the creature's foul breath blasted into his face. The tusks gaped closer.

  At last he drove the sword into the gaping mouth itself, and up through the crimson palate—and up—and up ...

  Nji relaxed with a shudder as the bronzen point broached his brain. For an instant Vakar, battered and worn, lay panting on the baking sand, his blood and that of the ape-man running over his skin in big red drops. The front of Nji's body was covered with wounds any of which would have killed a man.

  Then Vakar staggered to his feet. He was covered with blood and dirt and some of his hair had been pulled out. His ankle was swollen and discolored where Nji had wrenched it, and the scratches from Nji's toe-nails on his belly and legs stung like a swarm of hornets. When a glance showed him that Fual was patently beyond help, he turned towards the exit.

  He found himself facing a crowd of Gamphasants with nets and ropes in their hands. For an instant he considered trying to cut his way through, but gave up that idea. Though he killed two or three, the rest would overpower him and then things would only go harder with him. A similar crowd had issued from the other entrance, the one through which Nji had come.

  "All right," he said in his rudimentary Gamphasantian. "I will come quietly."

  The jailer, scowling, asked: "Where did you get that sword?"

  Vakar smiled. "The gods visited me in dreamland and told me where to dig. Does this make me the official executioner?"

  "No. Nji was made executioner because he was more beast than man, and the Gamphasants, being a just people, do not punish dumb brutes for breaking laws beyond their comprehension. You, however, are not only a man but also an intelligent one, and must therefore pay the full penalty as soon as we can get another lion."

  Vakar limped back to his cell feeling forlorn. Poor Fual would never see the silver beaches of Aremoria again. The little fellow may have been a snob, a coward, and a thief, but he had been faithful in his lachrymose and unreliable way. Vakar would keenly miss a man to tote his burdens and listen to his jokes and songs. He regretted the beatings he had given Fual because of the latter's incurable thievery; for all his faults Fual had saved his life in Torrutseish, which counted for more than a bookkeeper's balance of virtues and vices.

  The tears were running freely down Vakar's own face when his cell door opened and in came Abeggu lugging a ewer and a towel. The Gamphasant said:

  "You did a great deed, and I am sorry your servant was slain. I cannot spend much time with you for I think I am suspected of having a hand in this affair. I asked my father if he would intercede to free you, but he said he had got in enough trouble by letting me travel abroad contrary to the traditions of the Gamphasants, and would do nothing."

  "I hope," said Vakar, "you can think of something before the next Hon arrives."

  "I will try, but I am not hopeful."

  "How about a tool to dig through the wall?"

  "No good. The jailer comes into your cell every day, and since Qasigan's escape one of his assistants walks continuously around the outside of the prison. But we shall see."

  And off he went, leaving Vakar feeling let down. He thought some bitter thoughts about fair-weather friends; but then he reflected that Abeggu had already saved his life once at some risk, and he had no reason to expect the man to do it over and over.

  -

  In the morning Vakar was awakened by a distant murmur. Still stiff and sore from the previous day's ape-handling, he called the jailer:

  "Ho there, Nakkul! What is happening?"

  The prison seemed deserted. Vakar went to his window but could see nothing. The murmur grew and the heads of several Gamphasants shot past Vakar's window, going at a run. Now Vakar could distinguish shrieks of pain and terror.

  If anyone were here to bet with, he thought, I'd wager ten to one the Gwedulians have come. And then the bolt of his cell door thudded back and the door creaked open. Abeggu, standing in the doorway, cried:

  "The Gwedulians are slaying us! Flee while you can!"

  "Good of you to remember me," said Vakar, hurrying out.

  "The consuls went forth unarmed to welcome them, and these fiends slew them with javelins ..."

  In the jailer's office Vakar paused to glance around on the slim chance that some of his belongings might still be there. It was no easy thing to flee forth in a strange country without clothes, arms, or trade-goods. He saw none of these, but in one corner lay a dark lumpish thing: the Tahakh. He snatched it up by the knob at one end and turned down the short corridor that led out.

  At that instant a Gwedulian stepped into the entrance, a few paces away. The intruder wore the usual head-cloak and face-veil. On his left arm was strapped a small round ostrich-hide buckler that left his left hand free, and in both hands he carried a long copper-headed spear. Before he could do more than stare at the newcomer Vakar heard a shriek beside him and saw that the Gwedulian had thrust his spear deep into the brown belly of Abeggu, who seized the shaft with both hands.

  Vakar took three long steps forward, swinging the Tahakh down, back, and up in a circle at the end of his straight left arm. The Gwedulian tugged on his spear, but Abeggu still gripped it. Then the Gwedulian released the shaft with his right hand to fumble for a hatchet in the girdle of his breech-clout. Before he could pull the shaft free the Tahakh descended on his head with a crunch. Down went the Gwedulian.

  Vakar looked back at Abeggu, who lay huddled against the wall of the corridor, still clutching the spear-shaft, though the Gwedulian's tug had pulled the head out of the wound.

  "Can you walk?" asked Vakar.

  "No. I am dying. Go quickly."

  "Oh, come along! I will help you," said Vakar, though in his heart he knew that men seldom recovered from a deep abdominal stab.

  "No, go. It will do you no good to drag me, for I shall be dead soon, and you will merely get yourself killed if you try."

  Muttering, Vakar tore the head-cloak and veil off the dead Gwedulian and put them on. Under them the nomad was a lean dark man, physically much like the Gamphasants, with his head shaved except for a scalp-lock. Vakar also took the man's sandals, but left the corpse its breech-clout, feeling squeamish about putting so foul a garment against his own skin. He appropriated the buckler, the ax with the head of polished stone, and the spear. Then he took Abeggu by the arm and tried to drag him down the corridor, but the man shrieked, crying:

  "Go on, fool! You can do nothing for me!"

  Vakar gave up and hurried out the door, feeling a mixture of guilt at leaving Abeggu and relief at not having to haul the wounded man to safety.

  In front of the entrance knelt the Gwedulian's dromedary. Vakar g
lanced up and down the street. Gamphasantian corpses lay here and there, and other Gwedulians rode hither and thither in pursuit of live victims, riding them down with their lances or hurling javelins into their backs. A swirl of pursuers and pursued raced past Vakar while the camel sat placidly chewing its cud. A hundred paces upstreet a knot of dismounted Gwedulians was raping a woman seriatim.

  Vakar approached the camel in gingerly fashion. The beast looked at Vakar from under long eyelashes, its jaw moving with a rotary motion. A wooden frame fitted over the hump on its back, with a foot-long piece of wood sticking up in front. A kind of blanket was fastened over and under this frame, and from the sides of this saddle hung a quirt, a quiver of flint-tipped javelins, a large goatskin booty-bag, and smaller bags containing food and water.

  Vakar gathered up his meager booty and climbed on to the camel's back, trying to assume the Gwedulians' posture. The Tahakh and the ax he dropped into the large bag. But how to make the creature go? Several commands produced no result; he knew no Gwedulian. Finally he unhooked the quirt and struck the camel on the rump. Nothing happened, so he punched the beast with his fist.