Slave of Sarma

by Jeffrey Lord

  It was, thought Blade, as good a time as any to bargain. To ease his mind of certain matters.

  “I agree,” he said. “But I would beg certain favors of you, El Kal. Nothing for myself. For others.”

  More whispering. Then the voice boomed back. “Favors, Blade? This is unusual.”

  “The situation is unusual,” said Blade dryly.

  “Ask your favors, Blade. If possible they will be granted.”

  Blade made a little bow. “I thank you. They are as nothing to one so great as you, El Kal. It is the woman who came with me - the one who has no mind. I would see her well taken care of, but not placed in a mad house. There is a former slave, one called Chephron, who is kind to her and whom she loves and obeys. If they could stay together - perhaps even marry. And be given subsistence?”

  It was the best he could do for Zeena. Never mind the irony, the bitterness, the mine slave married to a mad princess. It was not only the best, it was all he could do.

  “It shall be so,” boomed the idol. “And now - “

  Blade raised his hand. “There is one more thing.”

  Impatience now. “Then ask it, Blade. And let it be the last.”

  “There is a friend, a companion of mine, a servant if you will. His name is Pelops. I would have him given safe conduct back to his own land of Sarma.”

  After a moment: “The man is known to us. But can you vouch that he is no spy? We do not trust Sarma, now in revolt against its lawful master.”

  “Pelops is no spy. That I vouch, for if he is spy so am I a spy. And I am not.”

  Hasty whispering. Canda was hardly bothering to conceal her presence now.

  At last: “This also is granted. Your friend will be given an escort to the Purple Sea and a ship will be procured for him. That is all I promise.”

  “It is enough. I thank you again, El Kal.” Go, little man, and become a genius in Sarma. Invent the wheel. Blade bowed low to conceal his smile.

  The voice again, “Go then, to your quarters and await a summons. You will visit Canda this night. The first of four. Go.”

  Blade backed away from the idol as he had been instructed. A last shred of girl laughter came to his ears. Oversexed little minx. Playing with fire and men’s lives. Canda was the one who stood to lose nothing in this weird upcoming contest. Little nympho! She was the gainer any way you looked at it - she stood to end up well screwed no matter the outcome.

  He was met outside the temple and taken to his sumptuous quarters. Pelops, nervous and afraid, but trying to hide his jitters, hovered about as Blade bathed again - one must go clean to the lady - and donned fresh clothing. Blade informed him of the promise extracted from El Kal.

  Pelops began to weep great silver tears. “I will not go, sire. I will stay with you. I am not afraid, at least not very much, and I have come to love you. I stay.”

  “You go,” Blade said sternly. “It is your own wish, remember. And you have work to do in Sarma. Have you forgotten the secret I told you? Have you forgotten that you are to be famous and have images built in your likeness? Come, little man. Show a bit of courage now. Anyway it would do you no good to linger in the city - I will not be here.”

  Another pain skewered his head as he donned a vest. Blade grimaced and sat down for a moment, holding his head in his hands.

  Pelops wrung his hands. “You are ill, sire. I know it. So I cannot go. How would you fare without me to look after you? I am greatly skilled in medicine, as you know, and though it may take time I am sure that I can experiment and find this illness of yours and pronounce a cure. If you will just put yourself in my hands and give me full charge. I remember a time, long ago, when - “

  “Be quiet!” roared Blade. He pointed to the door. “Out. I want to think and I cannot do it with you gabbling. Go and make your preparations for travel.”

  Pelops left, still sniveling.

  They came for him. A Lieutenant of Guards and a soldier bearing a flambeau. He was led through twisting corridors and up stairs and past open doors whence came the sounds and smells of many women. El Kal was reputed to have a thousand wives. Yet Canda could have but one consort. It hardly seemed fair. Blade, as so often before, reminded himself that life was very seldom fair - in any dimension!

  His escort left him at the door to Canda’s chamber. A great door of leather, brass studded as were all the palace doors. The Lieutenant halted down the corridor and watched until Blade pushed the door open and entered.

  There was a low bed with a stand near it. On the bed lay the naked Canda, her body laved, caressed, by the flames of two tapers nearby. Blade halted and drank in the scene, feeling a hot ache and strain in his groin, reacting immediately to the exposed flesh, the taut upthrusting breasts, the mixture of perfume and musk she exuded.

  She spoke softly. “You hesitate, Blade? Why? Surely this is better than a bed of sand and rocks.”

  “It is that, my lady.” Blade slipped off his vest and let it drop. He walked slowly toward the bed.

  Canda smiled. Her hair was a night wave, dark as sin, floating about her bare shoulders, tendrils kissing her breasts. Her pubic area was a curly triangle of the same jet black. The wide gray eyes, sparkling gold, watched him in anticipation.

  “You are slow, Blade. Formal. You are troubled?”

  There was a small box made of some exquisitely carven stone on the bedside taboret. Idly he picked it up and opened it. The contents looked like stringy tobacco, oily and coarse, and gave off a sweetish odor.

  “It is called ashi,” said the woman. “Chew a little and it dulls the brain, the nerves also. You must swallow the juice. It is said to greatly extend the male powers. Do you need it, Blade?”

  He snapped the box shut. “Not I, my lady. As I will show you soon enough.”

  She extended her arms to him. “Prove that to me, Blade.

  Prove it well. I would have you win this trial, you know. In my heart I want you above your twin. But you must prove the better man.”

  He smiled down at her. “I think you lie in your beautiful teeth, Canda. How is it that you are not sweating? You must have hurried to get here from the temple.”

  She raised herself to an elbow and frowned at him. Then a glint of teeth. “You know, then?”

  He nodded. “That you were in the belly of the idol? Of course. A childish trick, that.”

  Canda lay back with a sigh of exasperation. “Did you come to talk, Blade?”

  He dropped his breeches. Canda gazed at him and her moist red mouth twisted. She darted a pink tongue between her teeth. “That is better. Much better. So come now - and no more talking.”

  Before the long night was over Blade did think of having recourse to the ashi in the stone box. She was beyond any woman he had ever known in her demands. There was scarcely time to catch his breath between bouts. When she exhausted all known postures she invented new ones.

  Dawn saved him, barely in time. As he was leaving she pulled a cover over her glistening moist body and favored him with a last sleepy smile.

  “You are indeed a man, Blade. As of this morning I favor you - but who can tell? Tonight it is your brother’s turn. He is also a man. Though I admit he uses the drug, the ashi. Still I do not hold that against him so long as he satisfies me. Good morning, Blade.”

  So it went. Blade was not permitted to see the Russian again. Canda gave him no hint as to her final decision. Pelops left the city with his escort, after a final weeping farewell, and the Russian, in his capacity as Vizier, sent Blade a note stating that Zeena and Chephron were married and given a sinecure in the palace. They would have enough to live on. It was a note of cheer, the only one during a bad time. The pains were getting progressively worse, but still the computer did not take him. And Blade was mortally tired. As he was taken to Canda’s chamber on the fourth night he decided that, if he must, he would use the ashi. He was at the end of his tether. Canda was no woman, but a succubus draining the life from men.

  As usual the Lieutenant watched u
ntil Blade pushed open the leather door. Blade entered the bed chamber.

  Canda was on the bed, naked as always. She raised her arms in greeting and invitation.

  “I have been longing for you, Blade. I thought the day would never pass. Come to me - hurry - hurry!”

  As he moved toward the bed, divesting himself of his garments, he knew something was wrong. Either that or his nerves were beginning to go. He halted and gazed around the chamber. It was the same. No windows, leather hangings on the wall, the same sparse furniture, the stone box of ashi on the taboret. On impulse he opened the box. It was empty.

  Canda writhed impatiently. Blade bent close and peered into her gray eyes. No golden sparks tonight. Her eyes were dulled, lackluster, the pupils enlarged. She put up her arms to caress him and her smile was loose, simpering. Dark juice drooled from her mouth and crusted in the corners of her full lips. She was drugged.

  She seized him and pulled him down atop her. She raised her legs and enclosed his body, squeezing. “I want you, Blade. Now - now - “

  He hesitated. Pain in his head. Canda opened her eyes again, wondering that he had not entered her, then slapped him across the face.

  “Now, Blade! This instant. Else I will call my guards and have you beheaded before my eyes.”

  She was out of her mind, deeply drugged, and capable of carrying out the threat. Blade plunged. Canda groaned deeply.

  He heard the leather hangings rustle too late. The lance point was in his back, just over the heart.

  “Just keep on doing what you are doing,” said the Russian. “I’ll let you have a few minutes, old man. You must admit it’s a grand way to go out.”

  Canda sighed and moaned and tugged at Blade. She did not seem to know the Russian was there. Blade, sweating now, kept working away. Duped. Had. He did not understand it. What could the man gain?

  The lance point, razor sharp, dug painfully into his flesh.

  The Russian said: “The pains are getting worse, chappie, but I think I have figured out a way to beat the computer. The drug. The ashi. I’ve been loading myself with it. My brain is practically paralyzed now. Maybe the cells won’t react to your damned computer. Anyway it’s worth the gamble. Keep plugging away, laddie. Our Canda here is hard to satisfy. As we both damned well know - but with you out of the way things might be a little easier.”

  Canda moaned and writhed and clutched at Blade with her legs. “More,” she sobbed. “Oh, Blade! More - more - more - “

  “I had one hell of a time getting the stuff into her,” said the double. “But I did and she won’t remember much. So much the better for me.”

  “Why?” panted Blade. “Why? I don’t understand you. I made you a promise, man. Defect and - “

  The lance jabbed harder. “I have been misleading you a bit, lad. I don’t want to go back to Home Dimension! Ever! You would understand if you had ever lived in Russia. Only a fool would go back to that!”

  “But you don’t have to - “

  Again the lance. Blade wondered how much time he had. He had to make a desperation move soon.

  “Your bloody England won’t be much better,” said the Russian. “For that matter, our world won’t be any better. Much worse. I’ve got it made here with the Moghs, and I am staying. I’ll be consort to Canda and probably end up on the throne. Now that is something to look forward to, eh? But I can’t afford to have you around, chum. You see that? You would only louse things up. Two of us is just one too many I Sorry, old man. You have got to go.”

  Blade played for time. He was already bleeding from the lance point.

  “But the computer, man! Any minute now it will - “

  “No good, old boy. You said yourself that you can’t trust it. I don’t want to go and I can’t know when it will take you, if ever. Killing you is the easiest and surest way. Finished yet? No? Well, I’m sorry for that, but no help.”

  Blade moved sideways, fast as angel’s flight, taking the point of the lance in the loose flesh under his left armpit. He felt the tear of flesh and blinding pain as he ripped away. Canda, so drugged that she did not even scream, took the point in her breast. Blood gushed.

  Blade, bleeding like a butchered pig, was off the bed with an armful of bed clothes. The Russian cursed and jabbed again with the spear. Blade flung a pillow and took the lance on his flimsy shield, felt the point nick into his leg near his groin. He let out a piteous moan and fell to his knees, hoping the Russian would take the bait.

  The man leaped on the bed, straddling the dying Canda, and raised the lance for the death thrust. Blade got both hands under the edge of the bed and heaved. Every muscle in his massive shoulders worked as he threw the bed and man and the woman against the wall with a tremendous crash.

  The Russian shouted a curse and tried to disentangle himself. Blade leaped across the room like a great cat and seized the butt of the lance. He and the Russian strove mightily for it, silent now, grim, their bare feet shuffling on the floor as they moved back and forth across the room.

  The butt end of the lance broke off in the Russian’s hand. He smashed Blade across the face with it. In so doing he loosed one hand from the lance and Blade gave a mighty tug. He had it. Had the weapon.

  The Russian turned and ran for the door. Blade leaped after him, remembering that he had put the door on lock. The man would have no time. Blade prepared to jab with the broken lance, to run it through the man from the back. Get it over with.

  The Russian screamed and fell. He writhed and tore at his head. Blade, stunned by his own terrible pain, gazed down at the screaming man and then looked dully at the lance. He had not yet touched the man.

  New pain seared his skull. He knew. The computer had him. This was it!

  The Russian arched his back and screamed again. Blade, already falling into the void, managed by a last effort to point the lance at the man’s heart. Slowly - so very slowly - he placed the lance point over the heart.

  The chamber spun green and gold. Voices clamored for Blade to come, to come, to come -

  A huge hand appeared from nowhere and beckoned. Canda came alive again and smiled at him from a far off mountain and he saw that she was all covered with blood and sweat and long fine hair. She was desirable. The smell of her smashed into his nostrils. He reached for her. She vanished.

  Blade spun. Blade whirled. Blade came apart and flew into the universe.

  He fell for a last time into nothing and, with the last of his senses, knew that he was holding something and had something to do with what he held, but what - what - what - ?

  Blade was strangely leaning on a stick. He fell and the stick gave beneath his weight. The stick made a scrunching sound. The stick broke. Blade fell onto something wet and kept going and kept going toward the music and the stars…

  Chapter Twenty One

  Lord Leighton said: “Try to calm down a bit, J. It’s all right now. The boy is going to come through in fine shape. And please do stop pacing - you interfere with my concentration.”

  J told His Lordship, in no uncertain terms, what he could do with his concentration. Blade was in surgery, fighting for his life, and His Lordship was worried about his bloody tapes and closed circuit TV and his ruddy concentration.

  J was in a bad state of nerves - this whole operation had been demoralizing - and Lord Leighton was prepared to make allowances. J was as a father to Blade, that was it, as though the boy were his own flesh and blood, and that sort of thing was understandable.

  They were in the debriefing room beneath the Tower. Banks of tape recorders reeled and clicked. On a square oblong of lighted screen they watched Dr. Kenneth Bates-Denby, Royal College of Surgeons, operating on Blade. Two masked assistants hovered near him.

  Until now the small, compact, completely self-sufficient surgery had never been used for anything more than patching minor wounds. It was wired into the debriefing room and J and Lord L could hear as well as see.

  Bates-Denby extended a hand and a gleaming tool was slapped into it.
“I’m going to trim a few centimeters of flesh from beneath the skin flaps,” the surgeon said. “There will be scarring, but not too bad. Have those sutures ready. We’re just about ready to finish up.”

  J turned away from the picture. For a man in his job he had a peculiar aversion to blood. Maybe, he thought, I am getting too old for this sort of thing. It needs thinking out. When the boy is on his feet again perhaps we can take a little holiday together. Thrash matters out. Maybe I can talk him out of going into X Dimension again. Hope so. The lad has certainly done his bit!

  Lord Leighton hobbled to a white steel table and picked up the bloody lance point. It was broad, triangular, razor sharp and there was a foot or so of hardwood shaft fitted to it. His Lordship touched it gingerly with a finger, then picked up a typed slip of paper and read it for perhaps the fifth time.

  He turned to J. “Three distinct types of blood on the lance point. Three! What do you make of that, J?”

  “Very little. As usual. We’ll have to wait until the boy is well enough to undergo hypnosis and debriefing. All we have gotten so far is some muttering about a purple sea and uranium.”

  “Ah,” said His Lordship. “Ah! Uranium. I am looking forward to hearing about that.”

  J fumbled for his pouch and pipe. “Much bloody good it will do us out in X Dimension.”

  “You never know,” Lord L said cheerfully. “I’m working on something now that is going to amaze you.”

  J scowled. “Spare me for now. I am sufficiently amazed that Blade got back alive - with a hole in him large enough to drive a tank through.”

  Lord L went back to perusing the lance point. “You exaggerate,” he murmured. “As usual you exaggerate. Though I will admit the lad was one hell of a bloody mess when he turned up in the computer. But that is over and done with and all is going to be well - I wish I could puzzle out this, little spot of mystery. Three distinct types of blood! Two of them well known to us. One is Blade’s, of course, and the other also Caucasian. It’s the third type that is the puzzler, J. A new blood type - unknown to our science. Hmmmm - the best the hematologist can say is that it approaches R type, but not exactly R. Hmmm - leaves us nowhere.”