Brain World

Chapter Nineteen

They filed back into the living room and found the others there.

Gil said unhappily, “This is the first we’ve seen of any of them since they stuck us in here. I have a sneaking suspicion that the time has come for the annual ceremonies.”

The door opened and through it, swagger stick in hand, strode the Kshatriya officer, followed by two of his trident-bearing soldiers.

He faced them and the thought came, It is time for you to choose your weapons.

“Well, at least we’ve got a choice,” Ronny muttered.

The two soldiers posted themselves near the door, which had automatically closed. The officer approached the large center table, floating there without support and looked at its surface. The table disappeared, to reappear almost immediately covered with a wide range of weapons—hand weapons.

Ronny had never seen such a variety outside the museum in Greater Washington. Possibly half of them were unknown to the Earthlings, even from books. The rest resembled, in varying degrees, early weapons of Earth, some of them so primitive that it was difficult to believe that they would still be in use. There was even what was obviously a throwing stick, quite similar to a boomerang. There were spears in variety ranging from a flint-tipped throwing spear to metal-tipped javelins and pikes. There were various types of clubs, including a mace with a vicious-looking flanged metal head. There were swords of a dozen varieties, one even with a double blade looking as though it would make a clumsy weapon.

The six Earthlings looked down at the display in dismay. The collection looked terribly businesslike, and unlikely.

Each of you is allowed to choose two weapons for the fray.

Ronny looked at the four men from Einstein. He said, “I suggest that you each choose a short spear, one of these metal tipped ones about six feet long. You’ll use it for jabbing in protecting yourselves, rather than throwing. And a short sword, one of those that look Roman. None of you know fencing, but those have both points and double cutting edges. You can just flail away.”

The four nodded dumbly and each in turn pointed out to the Kshatriya officer their choice.

Dorn, meanwhile, had taken up the largest of the swords, which looked considerably like a double handed Viking weapon of the Dark Ages of Earth. It was obviously meant to be used gripped with two hands, since its weight precluded an ordinary man from wielding it. But Dorn swung it back and forth singlehandedly with ease, his face thoughtful.

Ronny took up a heavy short spear of the type once known on Earth as a boar spear and considered it.

Boy looked at him and said, “How about me, Boss?”

Ronny looked down at him and frowned, “How do you mean, Boy?”

Boy hung out his tongue, gave a couple of pants and said, “We Vizslas were originally war dogs. For two thousand years or more we fought side by side with the Huns on their way from Siberia to where they finally settled down around Budapest. We’re not this size for nothing and we don’t have the speed we have for nothing. The Magyars, the Huns, raised us basically as war dogs.”

Ronny stared at him. The Dawnworld Kshatriyas had never seen animals, evidently, not to speak of war dogs.

He turned to the Dawnman officer and said, “What are the rules pertaining to weapons that can be utilized in the arena?”

Any weapon can be utilized that predates powered projectiles.

“Very well, I demand the right to utilize a weapon of my own planet that predates projectiles.”

The Kshatriya scowled at him. What weapon? You brought no weapons with you. He evidently hadn’t taken in what Boy had said.

“A Magyar war dog.”

“What is a Magyar war dog?”

Ronny pointed at Boy.

The other’s face went blank for a moment. Then a new voice entered into the minds of the Earthlings. It was that of the Brahmin.

I have read your mind and memory and the information behind what you have said is correct. In the early days of Earth, men fought accompanied by their war dogs. Your request is acceptable. You shall be allowed the war dog and one other weapon.

Plotz looked up at Dorn and said, “Cut me a piece of the steak. I don’t like the smell of these people. In fact, they don’t have a smell. Dogs go by smells, and I like you but not them.”

Dorn had on his own come to the same conclusion as Ronny had. “All right,” he said. He turned to the officer. “I’ll take this sword and the female war dog.”

Ronny decided on his boar spear.

All the weapons were returned to the table which disappeared, to return almost immediately with four short spears, four short swords, Ronny’s boar spear and Dorn’s Viking-like double handed sword. The six men took them up and turned to look at the Kshatriya.

Follow me, he said in their minds and headed for one of the walls.

They eyed him in puzzlement, but fell in behind.

The women will remain here.

The two soldiers who had been posted at the door followed after.

Just before the officer reached the wall, an apperture opened in it and he marched through. The Earthlings followed along with the dogs and the two soldiers behind them.

Rosemary called out in a choked voice, “Good luck, boys.”

Lee Chang looked after them wordlessly. The four Einstein men, in particular, hardly knew how to carry their weapons.

They emerged into what had every appearance of a medieval dungeon, a sizeable dungeon of crudely worked stone, a type of granite, by the looks of it. The dungeon was completely unfurnished. It was a far cry from the house they had just left. The room was out of the furthest past.

Gil looked blankly back at the now closed entry through which they had just passed. It had closed again, leaving no signs. The wall was of the same stone as the balance of the room. He said, “They’ve mastered how to go through underspace bodily. Instant transportation from one place to another, probably any distance.”

Nobody bothered to answer him.

Roy was looking pale about the gills. He said, “I think that I’m going to be sick.”

Ronny stepped up quickly and slapped his face. “Snap out of it,” he snarled. “You got yourself into this. We’re going to have to fight as a team. We need every man… ” he looked down at the two grim Vizslas, “… and dog.”

Roy shook his head and looked embarrassed and had the courage to say, “Sorry. I’ll do my best.”

At the far side of the dungeon was a window barred with what looked like iron rods.

The officer gestured at it. The Arena, he thought at them.

The six Earthlings went over and stared out.

They looked upon an arena which resembled one of the early Roman ones, perhaps the Collosseum. The floor of it was strewn with sand. The only difference was that there were no observers in the stands, which were dilapidated and looked as though no one had been seated in them for long millenia. It would seem that the Dawnworld people did not watch the gladiator battles. At least, not in person. Ronny suspected that there were the equivalent of Tri-Di lenses directed on the arena floor.

Even as they watched, waiting for whatever was to come, heavy wooden doors opened on the opposite side and long rows of Dawnmen filed in, marching in perfect step.

They moved about in unison, taking positions that had obviously been previously set. The variety of weapons they carried was not extensive. It would seem that although a wide selection was offered, a few were preferred. The trident was prominent among them. So were various other types of spears. And most had, as an auxiliary weapon, some type of sword. Ronny could see none who carried a boomerang, though there were some who had heavy maces, rather than swords.

The officer’s voice came into their minds. The first stage of the annual ceremonies will be conducted by aspiring members of the Kshatriya. Similar contests are being held throughout the planet and on every other planet of the… Dawnworlds. From among the survivors who have in particular triumphed, will be selected six who will have the honor of killing you.

“God damned savages,” David muttered.

The gladiators flourished their weapons.

“We who are about to die, salute you,” Dorn Horsten murmured.

And suddenly the arena erupted into chaos.

“Watch carefully,” Ronny rapped. “We aren’t going to have much time to study their fighting methods, but you could pick up some ideas that might save your life later.”

Roy looked pale about the gills again, as the first Dawnman went down, a javelin through his belly and coming out his back. It was only seconds later that a trident man impaled a sword-wielding opponent, who survived long enough to completely sever his killer’s head from his trunk.

Ronny was breathing deeply, even as he watched. Every man out there was handling his weapons like a veteran, with a skill denoting long years of drill. This was even worse that he had expected. They were all experts.

They invariably fought one against one, not in teams. When a gladiator downed his immediate opponent, he turned to find another. Wounded men were mercilessly cut down, but once prone on the sands they were not finished off. Being reserved for the sacrificial altar, Ronny thought grimly. Indeed, red-kilted stretcher bearers began to appear and pick up the fallen wounded. The dead they let lie.

Ronny was sorry now that he hadn’t chosen a trident, rather than his boar spear. It was obviously one of the most efficient and vicious weapons in the arena, and highly preferred by the Dawnmen. The prongs were razor sharp and could be used for slashing as well as prodding.

In surprisingly short order, approximately half of the young fighting Dawnmen were on the sands, dead, bleeding to death, or being picked up by the stretcher bearers. It occurred to him now that these latter were not Kshatriya but members of the Sudras caste, the working caste that he had come in contact with the first time he had been on this Dawnworld. They moved about, carrying their stretchers, cheerfully, smilingly, all as though this was a daily affair. Ronny shuddered.

Suddenly, some sort of signal must have been sounded, telepathically, undoubtedly. For the still-standing fighters came to a halt, held high their weapons and began to file toward the wooden doors through which they had entered. Half a dozen of those sprawled on the sands tried to crawl after them and were rejected at the gates by guards.

They aren’t all as much ant-men as all that, Ronny thought, compassion in him in spite of his position. The crawlers were scheduled for the altar.

As soon as the gladiators had filed out, members of the Sudras caste hurried in and began to sweep the sands of the arena, covering over the blood and sometimes the guts. Others went about dragging off the corpses.

“Okay,” Ronny said. “Now comes the moment of truth. Now listen to me, and carefully. They fight as individuals, man against man. We cooperate. I assume that you’ve all read about the phalanx, in Earth history.”

“I haven’t,” Charles said. “I’m a physicist.”

Ronny groaned. “No time to explain,” he said. “But we fight as a unit. Roy, David, Gil, Charles, you’re our center. Stick your swords in your belts. Go in with the spears advanced, held in both hands, side by side. Grab the swords out later, when needed. But initially you go in with the spears advanced. Dorn will be on your right flank with that overgrown cheese knife he selected. He’ll be further off than I’ll be because he’ll need lots of room to swing that confounded thing. Plotz will be to his right, doing whatever it is that war dogs do.”

He looked around at them. “I’ll be on the left flank with Boy.” He took a deep breath. “We’re going to take casualties. These opponents are well trained. You might say that they’ve been professionals for a few megayears. There’ll be the four of you, side by side, with Dorn and I and the dogs on each end. If one of you falls, close up ranks. We continue to fight as a unit, as long as two or more of us are standing.”

“I’m going to be sick,” Roy said, his face green.

“Shut up,” Ronny told him. “And now listen. We have to go in there projecting confidence and high morale. Our battle shout will be… ” he thought for a moment “… United Planets Forever, and we’ll flourish our weapons as we shout it.”

“Oh, come now,” Dorn said, “can’t you think of something a bit more, ah, inspiring?”

Ronny glared at him and growled, “I don’t have the time. Do you want to write a sonnet?”

“Shakespearean or Spenserian?” Dorn said, smiling one of his seldom smiles.

Ronny appreciated his attempt at morale building humor but turned back to the four from Einstein and said, “There’s small chance that we’ll get out of this and actually there’s precious little we’re fighting for besides our lives. These Dawnworld people could take United Planets inbetween scratches of a mosquito bite… if they had mosquitos. However, there is a certain dignity, embracing our whole race, in our going down… like men.”

“Hear, hear,” Dorn Horsten said sarcastically.

“Screw you, Dorn!” Ronny grinned at him.

Dorn said, “Shouldn’t you report to John Fodor? I think he must be getting anxious.”

Ronny said, “Damn little good it will do us,” but he complied and got out his communicator.

When Captain Fodor’s face faded in, anxious, Ronny rapped, “We’re about to go into a gladiator fiasco. If we don’t report back to you, in the next couple of hours, or if one of the others don’t, in case I go down, make a bee-line for Earth—if you can make it. Our chances of survival are practically nil.”

“Should we land and attempt to come to your assistance?”

“Don’t be a cloddy.” Ronny flicked off the instrument.

He turned back to the others. Boy and Plotz had been standing on their back feet, their paws on the window sill, and looking out.

Boy said, “I still say, I’d like to get my chompers into one of those bare legs.”