Planet of Adventure Omnibus (9 page)

“Why did you
do that?” cried Traz. “It would have been content with the Dirdirman.”

“Shoot it
with your catapult,” Reith told him.

“Bolts won’t
touch it, swords won’t cut it.”

“Shoot at its
head.”

Traz gave a
despairing sound, but bringing forth his catapult, he aimed and snapped the
release. The bolt sped toward the pallid face. At the last second, the head
jerked aside, the bolt clashed against a stone buttress.

The Phung picked
up a chunk of rock, swung back its long arm, hurled the rock with tremendous
force. Traz and Reith fell flat; the stone splintered behind them. Reith wasted
no further time and aimed his gun at the creature. He touched the button; there
was a click, a hiss; the needle struck into the Phung’s thorax, exploded. The
Phung leapt into the air, uttered a croak of dismay and came down in a heap.

Traz clutched
Reith’s shoulder. “Kill the Dirdirman, quick! Before he flees.”

Reith
descended from the pedestal. The Dirdirman snatched forth his sword; apparently
the only weapon he carried. Reith put his gun in his belt, held up his hand. “Put
up your sword; we have no reason to fight.”

The
Dirdirman, puzzled, moved back a step. “Why did you kill the Phung?”

“It was about
to kill you; why else?”

“But we are
strangers! And you”-the Dirdirman peered through the gloom-”are sub-men. Do you
think to kill me yourself? If so-”

“No,” said
Reith. “I only want information; then, so far as I am concerned, you may go on
your way.”

The Dirdirman
grimaced. “You are as mad as the Phung. Still, why should I persuade you
differently?” He came a step or two forward, to inspect Reith and Traz at
closer range. “Do you inhabit this place?”

“No; we are
travelers.”

“Then you
would not know of a place suitable for me to spend the night?”

Reith pointed
to a pedestal. “Climb to the top, as we have done.”

The Dirdirman
gave his fingers a petulant flicker. “That is not to my taste, not at all. And
there may well be rain.” He looked back to the slab of concrete under which he
had taken shelter, then to the corpse of the Phung. “You are an obliging pair:
docile and intelligent. As you see, I am tired and must be allowed to rest. You
are at hand; I would like you to stand guard while I sleep.”

“Kill the
nauseous brute!” muttered Traz in a passion.

The Dirdirman
laughed: a queer gasping chuckle. “That’s more the way of a sub-man!” He spoke
to Reith. “Now you are a queer one. I can’t place your type. Some strange
hybrid? Where, then, is your home region?”

Reith had
decided that the less attention drawn to himself the better; he would say no
more of his terrestrial origin. But Traz, stung by the Dirdirman’s
condescension, cried out: “Not a region! He is from Earth, a far world! The
home of true men like myself! You are a freak!”

The Dirdirman
wagged his head reproachfully. “Of madfolk, a pair. Well, then, what can one
expect?”

Reith,
uncomfortable at Traz’s disclosures, quickly changed the subject. “What do you
do here? Was the Dirdir flyer searching for you?”

“Yes, I fear
so. They did not find me, I took good care to ensure.”

“You are a
fugitive?”

“Precisely.”

“What is your
crime?”

“No matter;
you would hardly understand; it is beyond your capabilities.”

Reith, more
amused than annoyed, turned back to the pedestal. “I plan to sleep. If you
intend to live till morning, I suggest that you climb high, out of reach of the
Phung.”

“I am puzzled
by your solicitude,” was the Dirdirman’s wry remark.

Reith made no
reply. He and Traz returned to their pedestal and the Dirdirman gingerly
climbed another nearby.

The night
passed. The clouds pressed heavily upon them, but produced no rain. Dawn came
imperceptibly; and presently brought light the color of dirty water. The
Dirdirman’s pedestal was bare. Reith assumed that he had gone his way. He and
Traz descended to the plaza, built a small fire to dispel the chill. Across the
plaza the Dirdirman appeared.

Observing no
signs of hostility, he approached step by step, at last to stand a wistful
fifty feet away, a long loose-limbed harlequin with garments much the worse for
wear. Traz scowled and prodded the fire, but Reith gave him a civil greeting: “Join
us, if you’re of a mind.”

Traz
muttered, “A mistake! The creature will do us harm! Such as he are
smooth-tongued and supercilious; and man-eaters to boot.”

Reith had
forgotten this latter characteristic and gave the Dirdirman a frowning
inspection.

For a period
there was silence. Then the Dirdirman said tentatively, “The longer I consider
your conduct, your garments, your gear, the more puzzled I become. Whence did
you claim to originate?”

“I made no
claims,” said Reith. “What of yourself?”

“No secret
there. I am Ankhe at afram Anacho; I was born a man at Zumberwal in the
Fourteenth Province. Now, having been declared a criminal and a fugitive, I am
of no greater consequence than yourselves, and I will make no pretensions
otherwise. So here we are, three unkempt wanderers huddled around a fire.”

Traz growled
under his breath. Reith, however, found the Dirdirman’s frivolity, if such it
was, refreshing. He asked, “What was your crime?”

“You would
find it difficult to understand. Essentially, I disregarded the perquisites of
a certain Enze Edo Ezdowirram, who brought me to the attention of the First
Race. I trusted to ingenuity and refused to be chastened. I compounded my
original offense; I exacerbated the situation a dozen times over. At last in a
spasm of irritation, I dislodged Enze Edo from his seat a mile above the
steppe.” Ankhe at afram Anacho made a gesture of whimsical fatalism. “By one
means or another I evaded the Derogators; so now I am here, without plans and
no resources other than my-” Here he used an untranslatable word, comprising
the ideas of intrinsic superiority, intellectual élan, the inevitability of
good fortune deriving from these qualities.

Traz gave a
snort and went off to hunt his breakfast. Anacho watched with covert interest
and presently sauntered after him. The two ran here and there through the
rubble, catching and eating insects with relish. Reith contented himself with a
handful of pilgrim pods.

The
Dirdirman, hunger appeased, returned to examine Reith’s clothes and equipment. “I
believe the boy said ‘Earth, a far planet.’ “ He tapped his button-nose with a
long white finger. “I could almost believe it, were you not shaped precisely
like a sub-man, which renders the idea absurd.”

Traz said in
a somewhat lordly tone, “Earth is the original home of men. We are true men.
You are a freak.”

Anacho gave
Traz a quizzical glance. “What is this, the creed of a new sub-man cult? Well
then, it is all the same to me.”

“Enlighten
us,” requested Reith in a silky voice. “How did men come to Tschai?”

Anacho made
an airy gesture. “The history is well-known and perfectly straightforward. On
Sibot the home-world the Great Fish produced an egg. It floated to the shore of
Remura and up the beach. One half rolled into the sunlight and became the
Dirdir. The other rolled into the shade and became Dirdirmen.”

“Interesting,”
said Reith. “But what of the Chaschmen? What of Traz? What of myself?”

“The
explanation is hardly mysterious; I am surprised that you ask. Fifty thousand
years ago the Dirdir drove from Sibol to Tschai. During the ensuing wars Old
Chasch captured Dirdirmen. Others were taken by the Pnume; and later by the
Wankh. These became Chaschmen, Pnumekin, Wankhmen. Fugitives, criminals,
recalcitrants and biological sports hiding in the marshes interbred to produce
the sub-men. And there you have it.

Traz looked
to Reith. “Tell the fool of Earth; explain his ignorance to him.”

Reith only
laughed.

Anacho gave
him a puzzled appraisal. “Beyond question you are a unique sort. Where are you
bound?”

Reith pointed
to the northwest. “Pera.”

“The City of
Lost Souls, beyond the Dead Steppe ... You will never arrive. Green Chasch range
the Dead Steppe.”

“There is no
way to avoid them?”

Anacho
shrugged. “Caravans cross to Pera.”

“Where is the
caravan route?”

“To the
north, at no great distance.”

“We will
travel with a caravan, then.”

“You might be
taken and sold for a slave. Caravan-masters are notoriously without scruple.
Why are you so anxious to reach Pera?”

“Reasons
sufficient. What are your own plans?”

“I have none.
I am a vagabond no less than yourself. If you do not object, I will travel in
your company.”

“As you wish,”
said Reith, ignoring Traz’s hiss of disgust.

They set
forth into the north, the Dirdirmen maintaining an inconsequential chatter
which Reith found amusing and occasionally edifying, and which Traz pretended
to ignore. At noon they came to a range of low hills. Traz shot a skate-shaped
ruminant with his catapult. They built a fire, broiled the animal on a spit and
made a good meal. Reith asked the Dirdirman, “Is it true that you eat human
flesh?”

“Certainly.
It can be the most tender of meats. But you need not fear, unlike the Chasch,
Dirdir and Dirdirmen are not compulsive gourmands.”

They climbed
up through the hills, under low trees with soft blue and gray foliage, trees
laden with plump red fruits which Traz declared poisonous. Finally they
breasted the ridge, to look out over the Dead Steppe: a flat, gray waste,
lifeless except for tufts of gorse and pilgrim plant. Below, almost at their
feet, ran a track of two wide ruts. It came up from the southeast, skirted the
base of the hills, passed below, then three miles northwest turned among a
cluster of rock towers, or outcrops, which rose near the base of the hills like
dolmens. The track continued to the northwest, dwindled away across the steppe.
Another track led south through a pass in the hills, another swung away to the
north-east.

Traz squinted
down at the outcrops, then pointed. “Look yonder through your instrument.”

Reith brought
forth his scanscope, scrutinized the outcrops.

“What do you
see?” asked Traz.

“Buildings.
Not many-not even a village. On the rocks, gun emplacements.”

“This must be
Kazabir Depot,” mused Traz, “where caravans transfer cargo. The guns protect
against Green Chasch.”

The Dirdirman
made an excited gesture. “There may even be an inn of sorts. Come! I am anxious
to bathe. Never in my life have I known such filth!”

“How will we
pay?” asked Reith. “We have no coin, no trade-goods.”

“No fear,”
declared the Dirdirman. “I carry sequins sufficient for us all. We of the
Second Race are not ingrates and you have served me well. Even the boy shall
eat a civilized supper, probably for the first time.”

Traz scowled
and prepared a prideful retort; then, noticing Reith’s amusement, managed a
sour grin of his own. “We had best depart; this is a dangerous place, a vantage
for the Green Chasch. See the spoor? They come up here to watch for caravans.”
He pointed to the south, where the horizon was marked by an irregular gray
line. “Even now a caravan approaches.”

“In that
case,” said Anacho, “we had best hurry to the inn, to take accommodation before
the caravan arrives. I have no wish for another night on the gorse.”

The clear
Tschai air, the extent of the horizons, made distances hard to judge; by the
time the three had descended the hills the caravan was already passing along
the track: a line of sixty or seventy great vehicles, so tall as to seem
top-heavy, swaying and heaving on six ten-foot wheels. Some were propelled by
engines, others by hulking gray beasts with small heads which seemed all eyes
and snout.

The three
stood to the side and watched the caravan trundle past. In the van three
Ilanths scouts, proud as kings, rode on leaphorses: tall men, wide-shouldered,
narrow of hip, with keen sharp features. Their skins were radiant yellow; their
raven-black hair, tied into stiff plumes, glistened with varnish. They wore
long-billed black caps crowned by jawless human skulls, and the plume of hair
rose jauntily just behind the skull. They carried a long supple sword like that
of the Emblems, a pair of hand-guns at their belts, two daggers in their right
boot. Riding past on their massive leap-horses they turned uninterested glances
down at the three wayfarers, but deigned no more.

Great drays
rumbled past. Some were top-heavy with bales and parcels; others carried tiers
of cages, in which blank-faced children, young men, young women, were mixed
indiscriminately. Every sixth vehicle was a gun-cart, manned by grayskinned men
in black jerkins and black leather helmets. The guns were short wide-mouthed
tubes for the discharge, apparently by propulsor-field, of projectiles. Others,
longer, narrow of muzzle, were hung with tanks, and Reith presumed them
flame-ejectors.