Planet of Adventure Omnibus (18 page)

The men
sprang to the rope: high into the air swung the Gnashter, kicking and flailing.
Reith ran over to the derrick. He loosed the rope which held the cage aloft,
lowered it to the ground, threw open the top. The wretch within, crouched and cramped,
looked up in fearful expectation, then an impossible hope. He tried to raise
himself, but he was too weak. Reith reached down, helped him forth. He signaled
to the men who had hoisted on the rope. “Take this man and the lad to the inn;
see that they are cared for. You need fear the Gnashters no more. Take weapons
from the dead men; if Gnashters appear, kill them! Do you understand? There are
to be no more Gnashters in Pera, no more taxes, no more hangings, no more Naga
Goho!”

Diffidently
men took the weapons, then turned to look up toward the citadel.

Reith waited
only long enough to see Traz and the man from the cage helped toward the inn,
then he turned and ran up the hill toward Naga Goho’s makeshift palace.

A wall of
piled rubble lay across the path, enclosing a courtyard. A dozen Gnashters
lounged at long tables, drinking beer and munching strips of pickled
reed-walker. Reith looked right and left, slid along the wall.

The hill fell
away below to become a precipice; Reith pressed closer to the wall, clung to
the corners and crevices of the blocks. He came to an aperture: a window
crisscrossed by iron bars. Cautiously Reith looked within, to see only
darkness. Ahead was a larger window, but the way was perilous, sheer over a
seventy-foot drop. Reith hesitated, then proceeded, moving with painful
slowness, hanging to the rough edges and crevices by his fingertips. In the
gathering dusk he was inconspicuous, a blot on the wall. Below spread old Pera,
with yellow lights beginning to flicker among the ruins. Reith reached the
window, which was screened by a grille of woven reeds. He looked through, into
a bed-chamber. On a couch was the outline of someone sleeping-a woman.
Sleeping? Reith peered through the gloom. The hands were raised in
supplication, the legs were gracelessly sprawled. The body lay very still. The
woman was dead.

Reith tore
open the grille, climbed into the room. The woman had been beaten about the
head and strangled; her mouth was open, her tongue protruded foolishly. Alive
she had been not uncomely, or so Reith conjectured. Dead, she was a sad sight.

Reith took
three long strides to the door, looked out into a garden courtyard. From an
archway opposite came a murmur of voices.

Reith slipped
across the courtyard, looked through the archway, into a dining hall hung with
rugs patterned in yellow, black, red. Other rugs muffled the floor; the
furnishings were heavy chairs, a table of age-blackened wood. Under a great
candelabra flaring with yellow lights sat Naga Goho at his evening meal, a
splendid fur cloak thrown back from his shoulders. Across the room sat the
Flower of Cath, head downcast, hair hanging past her face. Her hands were
clasped in her lap; Reith saw that her wrists were bound with thongs. Naga Goho
ate with exaggerated delicacy, conveying morsels to his mouth with mincing
twitches of finger and thumb. As he ate he spoke, and as he spoke he flourished
a short-handled whip in a mood of sinister playfulness.

The Flower
sat with a still countenance, never raising her eyes from her lap. Reith
watched and listened for a moment, one part of him as single-minded as a shark,
another disgusted and horrified, still another sardonically amused for the
grotesque surprise awaiting Naga Goho.

He stepped
quietly into the room. Ylin-Ylan looked up, face blank. Reith signaled her to
silence, but Naga Goho perceived the focus of her eyes and swung around in his
chair. He jumped to his feet, the fur cloak falling to the floor. “Ha ho!” he
cried out, startled. “A rat in the palace!” He ran to seize his sword from the
scabbard over the back of the chair; Reith was there first, and, not deigning
to draw his own blade, struck Naga Goho with his fist and sent him sprawling
across the table. Naga Goho, a strong active man, turned an agile somersault, came
up on his feet. Reith leapt after him, and now it developed that Naga Goho was
as skilled in Tschai hand-fighting as Reith in the intricate techniques of
Earth. To confuse Naga Goho, Reith began to throw left jabs into his face. When
Naga Goho grasped for Reith’s left arm, to attempt a throw or a bone-break,
Reith stepped in and hacked at Naga Goho’s neck and face. Naga Goho, desperate,
attempted a terrible sweeping kick, but Reith was ready; seizing the foot, he
yanked, twisted, heaved, to break Naga Goho’s ankle. Naga Goho fell on his
back. Reith kicked his head and a moment later Naga Goho lay with arms triced
up behind him, a gag in his mouth.

Reith
liberated Ylin-Ylan, who closed her eyes. So pale was she, so drawn, that Reith
thought that she would faint. But she stood up, to stand weeping against Reith’s
chest. For a moment or two he held her, stroking her head; then he said, “Let’s
be out of here. So far we’ve had good luck; it may not last. There are a dozen
or more of his men below.”

Reith tied a length
of thong around Naga Goho’s neck, yanked. “To your feet, quick now.”

Naga Goho lay
back, glaring, making angry sounds through his gag. Reith picked up the whip,
flicked the side of Naga Goho’s face. “Up.” He hauled on the thong; the
erstwhile chieftain rose to his feet.

With Naga
Goho hobbling in great pain, they passed along a hall lit with a reeking
cresset, entered the courtyard where the Gnashters sat over tankards of beer.

Reith gave
the thong to the Flower. “Walk on through; don’t hurry. Pay no heed to the men.
Lead the Goho on down the road.”

Ylin-Ylan,
taking the thong, walked through the courtyard leading Naga Goho. The Gnashters
swung around on their benches, staring in wonder. Naga Goho made hoarse urgent
noises; the Gnashters rose irresolutely to their feet. One of them came slowly
forward. Reith stepped into the courtyard holding the catapult. “Back; into
your seats.”

While they
stood, he slipped across the courtyard. Ylin-Ylan and Naga Goho were starting
down the hill. Reith told the Gnashters, “Naga Goho is finished. So are you.
When you come down the hill, you had better leave your weapons behind.” He
backed out into the dark. “Don’t any come after us.” He waited. From within
came a furious babble of talk. Two of the Gnashters strode toward the opening.
Reith appeared in the gap, shot the foremost with his catapult, stepped back
into the dark once more. Within the courtyard, while Reith dropped a new bolt
into the slot, was utter silence. Reith looked back in. All stood at the far
side of the courtyard, staring at the corpse. Reith turned, ran down the path,
where the Flower struggled to control Naga Goho, who jerked at the neck thong,
trying to pull her close so that he might fall upon her, perhaps knock her
down. Reith took the thong, dragged Naga Goho stumbling and hopping at a smart
pace to the foot of the hill.

Az and Braz
both rode the eastern sky; the white blocks of old Pera seemed to glow with a
wan intrinsic light.

In the plaza
stood a crowd of people, brought forth by rumors and wild reports, ready to
slink off among the ruins should the Gnashters come marching down from the
palace. Seeing only Reith, the girl and the stumbling Naga Goho, they called
out in soft surprise and came step by step closer.

Reith halted,
looked around the circle of faces, pallid in the moonlight. He gave a yank on
the thong, grinned at the crowd. “Well, here is Naga Goho. He is chieftain no
more. He committed one crime too many. What shall we do with him?”

The crowd
moved uneasily, eyes shifting up to the palace, then back to Reith and Naga
Goho, who stood glaring from face to face, promising dire vengeance. A woman’s
voice low, husky, throbbing with hate, said: “Flay him, flay the beast!” “Impalement,”
muttered an old man. “He impaled my son; let him feel the pole!” “The flame!”
shrilled another voice. “Burn him with slow fire!”

“No one
counsels mercy,” Reith observed. He turned to Naga Goho. “Your time has come.”
He pulled off the gag. “Do you have anything to say?”

Naga Goho
could find no words, but made only strange noises at the back of his mouth.

Reith said to
the crowd. “Let’s make a quick end to him, though he probably deserves worse.
You-you-you.” He pointed. “Lower the Gnashter. It’s the rope for Naga Goho.”

Five minutes
later, with the dark form kicking in the moonlight, Reith spoke to the crowd. “I
am a newcomer to Pera. But it’s clear to me, as it must be to you, that the
city needs a responsible government. Look how Naga Goho and a few thugs
brutalized the entire city! You are men! Why act like animals? Tomorrow you
must meet together, to select five experienced men for your Council of Elders.
Let them pick a chieftain to rule for, say, a year, subject to the approval of
the Council, who should also judge criminals and impose penalties. Then you should
organize a militia, a troop of armed warriors to fight off Green Chasch,
perhaps hunt them down and destroy them. We are men! Never forget this!” He
looked back up toward the citadel. “Ten or eleven Gnashters still hold the
palace. Tomorrow your Council can decide what to do about them. They may try to
escape. I suggest that a guard be posted: twenty men up along the path should
be ample.” Reith pointed to a tall man with a black beard. “You look to be a
stalwart man. Take the job in hand. You are captain. Pick two dozen men, or
more, and mount guard. Now I must go to see my friend.”

Reith and the
Flower started back to the Dead Steppe Inn. As they moved away they heard the
black-bearded man say, “Very well, then; for many months we have performed as poltroons.
We’ll do better now. Twenty men with weapons; who’ll step forward? Naga Goho
escaped with simple hanging; let’s give the Gnashters something better...”

Ylin-Ylan
took Reith’s hand, kissed it. “I thank you, Adam Reith.”

Reith put his
arm around her waist; she stopped, leaned against him and once again fell to
sobbing, from sheer fatigue and nervous exhaustion. Reith kissed her forehead;
then, as she turned up her face, her mouth, in spite of all his good
intentions.

Presently
they returned to the inn. Traz lay asleep in a chamber off the common-room.
Beside him sat Anacho the Dirdirman. Reith asked, “How is he?”

Anacho said
in a gruff voice, “Well enough, I bathed his head. A bruise, no fracture. He’ll
be on his feet tomorrow.”

Reith went
back to the common-room. The Flower of Cath was nowhere to be seen. Reith
thoughtfully ate a bowl of stew and went up to the room on the second floor,
where he found her waiting for him.

She said, “I
have still my last name, my most secret name, to tell my lover alone. If you
come close-”

Reith bent
forward and she whispered the name in his ear.

ON THE
FOLLOWING morning Reith visited the drayage depot at the extreme south of town:
a place of platforms and bins piled with the produce of the region. The drays
rumbled up to the loading areas, the teamsters cursing and sweating, jockeying
for position, oblivious to dust, smell, protest of beast, complaints of the
hunters and growers, whose merchandise was constantly threatened by the
jostling wagons.

Some of the
wagons carried a pair of teamsters, or a draymaster and a helper; others were
managed by a single man. Reith approached one of these latter. “You haul to
Dadiche today?”

The
draymaster, a small thin man with black eyes in a face which seemed all nose
and narrow forehead, gave a suspicious jerk of the head. “Aye.”

“When you
arrive in Dadiche, what is the procedure?”

“I’ll never
arrive to begin with, if I waste my time talking.”

“Don’t worry;
I’ll make it worth your while. What do you do?”

“I drive to
the unloading dock; the porters sweep me clean; the clerk gives me my receipt;
I pass the wicket and take either sequins or vouchers, depending on whether I
have an order for return cargo. If I have return cargo I take my voucher to the
proper factory or warehouse, load and then start back for Pera.”

“So,
then-there are no restrictions to where you drive in Dadiche?”

“Certainly
there are restrictions. They don’t like drays along the river-side among their
gardens. They don’t want folk to the south of the city near the race-course,
where teams of Dirdir pull the chariots, or so it is said.”

“Elsewhere,
no regulations?”

The
draymaster squinted at Reith across the impressive beak of his nose. “Why do
you ask such questions?”

“I want to
ride with you, to Dadiche and back.”

“Impossible.
You have no license.”

“You will
provide the license.”

“I see. No
doubt you are prepared to pay?”

“A reasonable
sum. How much will you demand?”

“Ten sequins.
Another five sequins for the license.”

“Too much!
Ten sequins for everything, or twelve if you drive where I bid you.”

“Bah! Do you
take me for a fool? You might bid me drive you out Fargon Peninsula.”

“No risk of
that. A short distance into Dadiche, to look at something which interests me.”