Jandar of Callisto

9. I ESCAPE FROM THE SLAVE PENS

The roof was flat and bare. Two of the airy skywalks connected it to adjoining structures. But before I could even begin to make my way towards one of them, I was under attack and fighting for my life.

The strident clamor of an alarm gong sounded within the huge building. And now, racing across the roof to challenge me came a burly guard, his dark cloak floating out behind him like immense wings, the naked glitter of a rapier in his hand.

I was unarmed and nearly naked, but I ducked under his stroke. The sword sang past my ear as I drove my fist into his belly. He doubled over, grunting, and I lifted his heels two inches off the roof with a right to the jaw. He fell heavily, his head wobbling loosely, and I saw that I had slain him.

I had known that my muscular strength was far superior to that of the Yathoon arthropods, but I had not realized my superiority to the human natives as well. The gravity of Thanator is somewhat less than that of Earth: not much, but there is a discernible difference. But it would seem that even that slight variance makes a measurable increase of strength in one born and raised under the heavier gravitational pull. For my blow had broken the fellow's neck.

I had no time just then to mourn the guard's demise, even if I had felt the inclination. I am no pacifist, and in fact I am perfectly ready and willing to kill an enemy seeking to strike down an unarmed man with a swordblade, especially when that man is myself. I bent over his body and began stripping him, exchanging my ragged slave clout for his high-necked, open-throated leathern tunic with the blazon of Zanadar on the breast. Where there is one guard there may soon be two, and if I must fight for my life and freedom I prefer doing it clad in fighting harness.

In half a minute I had donned his tunic, buskins, girdle, baldric, helmet, and cloak. Wrapping my old loincloth about his middle, I tipped his corpse over the edge of the roof and heard him thud against the cobbles far below. The discovery of a slave corpse by guards seeking an escaped slave might delay pursuit by an appreciable fraction of time, perhaps permitting me to complete my escape.

In the pallor of moonlight I hoped to pass scrutiny as a Zanadorian. The copper helm would cover my unusual yellow hair and the eye-shield of the helm would hide my blue eyes, and there was nothing I could do about the tan of my skin except hope that no one would notice.

I crossed the roof swiftly and made a remarkable discovery.

The guard had landed here in a two-man flying gig, which was tethered to a mooring post towards the rear of the roof.

I had not seen one of these miniature ornithopters before, and thus I consumed some moments of precious time examining it. It did not bear a very close resemblance to the enormously larger frigates, and of course it was not powered by slaves at the wheel, since it was only twelve feet long. The craft looked for all the world like a kayak, an enclosed canoe. It rose high in prow and poop, with a curved and ornamental bowsprit like that of a Venetian gondola. Instead of having a bilge compartment filled with the levitating gas, it had an airtight double hull that rendered it completely weightless. The wingspan was twenty-two feet from tip to tip, and the gig obviously did not fly by flapping the vans, for, although they were hinged and could be operated by foot pedals which communicated via external cables to a pulley arrangement on the van-tips, mere pedaling action alone could not suffice. I assumed the gig was more of a glider than a true ornithopter, and that it rode the strong updrafts of the mountaintop city.

I suppose it was suicidally foolish of me to attempt to fly the thing. But I climbed in, cast off the bowline, settled my feet against the pedals, and began testing the controls as an updraft whirled me away from the rooftop.

I was in a vile, self-recriminatory mood, and did not hold my life to any great account just then. It proved a good thing that this was so, for before the rooftop vanished beneath me I saw guards come pouring out of a trapdoor to scour the area for me.

Like a leaf caught in a millrace, I was whirled between tall tapering towers. The curved span of airy skywalks flashed past, one of them narrowly missing me. I could well have wrecked the gig during those first few minutes, but luckily I did not.

The controls were simplicity itself. Levers controlled the pitch of the ailerons and the rear vertical rudder fin. The jointed wingtips served to turn the craft in midair as desired. Whatever the nature of the buoyant gas held within the hollow space inside the double hull, it had remarkable lifting power and rendered the gig completely weightless. Never have I had so completely the sensation of flying; it was like a dream, wherein you are unconscious of weight or of effort, but flit about at will.

As soon as I had familiarized myself with the controls, I swung her bowsprit about and headed for the Middle City. If the swiftness with which I mastered the craft seems uncanny, I must confess I have had some experience piloting gliders in Switzerland, and that I fully grasped the principles of glider flight.

Doubtless my decision to quit the Lower City was a wise one. Lukor later heard that my substitution of the guard's body for my own allayed for at least an hour suspicion that I had escaped. It was not until the Slavemaster had been roused from his sodden slumbers, shortly before dawn, that my escape was confirmed. For of course the guard, being a native Zanadarian, lacked my yellow hair, blue eyes, and tan skin. And I also learned that even after it had been discovered that one of the wheel slaves had made a successful escape from the pens, no one dreamed he had made his way up into the Middle City, and the search for my whereabouts was confined to the lower levels on the theory that I had found a hiding place in some hovel. The spans leading to the Middle City are heavily guarded against thieves from the slum regions below, and hence it did not seem possible that I had crossed over undetected. No one knew at first of the theft of the gig.

I achieved the tiers of the Middle City, but only by a hairsbreadth. A chance gust swept me against the carved gryphons and gargoyles on an ornamental balcony with a resounding crash which breached my hull. I did not need the scream of escaping gas to know my craft no longer was airworthy, for she was settling sluggishly and I barely had time to hop out on one of the bridges before she lost buoyancy altogether and fell like a stricken gull into the dark chasms between the huge structures.

It was nearly four o'clock in the morning. I must find some haven in which to hide before daylight exposed my alien coloring to all eyes.

I decided to dump my guard clothing. The first guard I passed might be suspicious of my presence. I was unfamiliar with the ranks in the guards of Zanadar, and I did not know password or salute. I retained the common leather tunic and girdle, which are worn by most Thanatorian warriors, as well as cloak, buskins, and baldric. But I got rid of my copper helmet and the blazon of the city, tossing them into a convenient trashcan. The cloak was a simple, unmarked garment of dark wool, with a cowl which I drew up to hide my hair and shadow my face. Then I set forth to explore the winding ways of the City in the Clouds.

As the skies brightened with dawn, I was passing down a broad avenue, keeping well to the shadows and avoiding the gaze of the chance passerby, when I glimpsed a dramatic tableau.

A dark alley thrust from one side of this broad boulevard, like the tributary of some mighty river. It ended in an enclosed courtyard. And there a lone man battled for his life against a growling circle, of oafish opponents.

I have always favored the underdog and I have never avoided a good fight. And besides, I could not in all conscience turn aside and pretend I had not seen a fellow human battling valiantly against impossible odds.

He was an elderly man, thin and slender, of middle height, with a short, neatly trimmed beard of iron gray and a leonine mane still streaked with black. He had cool, thoughtful eyes and a good jaw, and he stood with his back to the wall, not even deigning to cry for help, his agile, flickering blade holding at bay a dozen coarse-faced bullies armed with cutlass and cudgel. His blade had already accounted for four of the bravos, who lay dead at his feet, and as I came on the scene he evaded the backhanded blow of the biggest of his foes, sliding past the other's guard with a supple twist of the wrist, his blade flashing in and through the other's burly chest, and out again with a practiced recovery.

As the hulking bully swayed a moment on his feet, gurgling blood before crashing to the pave, I sprang on the scene with drawn rapier. I must have seemed like some apparition melting out of nothingness, so swift and silent had been my approach. Indeed, the man closest to me turned with a start, eyes goggling, as I sprang from the alley's mouth to drive my steel through his shoulder. His cutlass rang on the cobbles and his hoarse cry of astonishment and pain drew the attention of his fellows to the fact of my presence.

Surprise is always a strong advantage in any battle, and I managed to slay two of the mob before a sufficient number engaged my blade. Unlike my last experience in sword combat―my humiliating defeat at the hands of Prince Thuton―in which I was burdened with an unfamiliar Yathoon whip-sword, this time I fought with a slender rapier I had taken from the guard's body―a weapon much more to my liking. I engaged their blades and was soon fighting for my life.

The elderly man to whose aid I had come cast me a merry glance from bright, appraising eyes, and smiled grimly.

"I know not from whence you have sprung, friend, but you are most welcome indeed!" he greeted me.

I grinned recklessly. "My sense of chivalry will doubtlessly be the death of me yet, sir, but I thought you might not be so selfish as to keep this fight all to yourself."

He laughed. "I am unselfish to a fault―so pray help yourself!"

And then we were both too busy for any further jesting. We fought back to back for a while, each accounting for two more of the bullies. Eventually, and just before my arm began to tire, the foemen decided they had had enough, and disengaged. We permitted them to flee without pursuit, and then turned to salute each other.

"Your assistance was most timely, indeed, sir, and I thank you for it," my companion said with a smile and a nod of the head.

"Not at all; I have always thought twelve against one most unequal odds, and, besides, I felt the need of a little practice," I replied―having learned by now that on Thanator a warrior always depreciates his own skill and prowess.

"I was returning home from a late performance at the theater and had unwisely bade my companions goodnight, thus proceeding alone through an area not entirely safe. The street gang doubtless mistook me for a man of substance, and I doubt not they would have been heartily disappointed had they succeeded in cutting me down, only to find my purse perhaps leaner than their own," the elderly gentleman explained.

"And no leaner than mine own." I grinned. "Had both of us fallen, they would have had all that work for nothing."

"My home is not far. Will you share the hospitality of a warm hearth and a cup of wine, sir?" he asked in a courtly manner.

"I should be most glad to do so, as the night grows cold and I am far from my home," I said gratefully.

We strode through a passageway into another court where a red and black sorad tree lifted glistening leaves against the first light of dawn. Here my companion unlatched a door and gestured for me to proceed him.

"Be welcome, my friend, to the poor home of Lukor the Swordmaster, proprietor of the Academy Lukor and its sole tutor in the gentlemanly art of the blade," he said, offering me a comfortable chair before the fire. I introduced myself as Jandar, but did not mention a home city, saying only that I was a traveler from a faroff land. My host was too polite to ask further information.

It was a bare, spartan room, scrupulously neat and of immaculate cleanliness. The few articles of furniture were of the finest quality and the artworks, if inexpensive, were of superior skill. These were obviously the quarters of a gentleman of bachelor habits, aristocratic breeding, and slender fortunes. The Swordmaster took my cloak and his own, hung them in a closet, and left the room, inviting me to make myself comfortable before the fire.

In a moment he returned, bearing a wine service of fine if well-worn silver, two tall goblets and a chilled carafe of a light, dry wine of most excellent vintage, as well as a small platter of cold spiced meats, unfamiliar candied fruit, and the most delicious, crusty biscuits―a repast most welcome to one who had scooped greasy stew from a slave trough for the past few days.

We drank to each other's health and relaxed in the flickering warmth of the fire. It was a snug, cozy little room, mullioned windows bright with dawn, the air spicy with the scent of some subtle incense. I felt very comfortable and relaxed.

"So you are a swordmaster, sir? I should have guessed as much from the ease with which you were holding your own against a dozen foes."

"Aye, my friend. My name is not completely unknown among the masters of the art, I must confess; although the young nobles of this city, alas, regard the finer elements of swordplay as superfluous and frivolous pedantry! But permit me to return the compliment: your own performance was not without agility and adroitness, if a bit soft from lack of practice, if you will pardon the observation―the eye of the professional is too exacting, and I fear I display in. civility towards one whom I can only regard as my gallant rescuer!"

I smiled and said something to the effect that I had enjoyed insufficient leisure in recent weeks to keep in practice. "I gather from your words," I continued, "that the Academy Lukor is new to this city, and that Zanadar is not your native homeland?"

"Quite so: I am a Ganatolian," he said, naming a small city between Shondakor and Narouk, in the eastern foothills of the White Mountains. "There are already two schools of the sword in my native city, hence I adjourned to the realm of the warlike Sky Pirates, hoping to find a virgin field for my craft. Alas, my pupils have been few and my earnings insufficient to permit even the hiring of a second instructor."

Then, eyeing me with polite inquiry, he turned the subject of our conversation to me.

"But you, sir; obviously, you are not. native to Zanadar either, for never have I met a gentleman of your unique coloring of flesh, hair, and eyes. May one inquire, without offense―?"

"I, too, am a stranger here," I admitted. Then, in a rush of honesty, I went on to say that although born in Rio and tutored at Yale, I had most recently lived in Vietnam before departing for these regions.

These terrene names, of course, were unknown to him. Lukor considered them gravely, then observed: "They must certainly be far distant, these lands whereof I have not heard. I assume the people of your homeland visit these regions but rarely?"

"Most rarely, indeed," I said―truthfully―"in fact, so far as I know, I am the first visitor from my homelands to these parts."

Conversation languished for a bit. I blinked sleepily, lulled by the superb wine and the warmth of the fire. Perhaps I even dozed a bit―after all, I had not slept a wink this night. The next thing I knew, my host was shaking my shoulder.

"The morning is upon us, and I am for my bed; I must be off to the citadel before midday, as I tutor the young lords Marak and Eykor in the sword. Rather than make the long trek to your own quarters, will you not accept the hospitality of my roof?"

I made polite objections, suggested that I was imposing upon him, but nothing would satisfy the Swordsmaster but that I sleep in his house.

And since I did not in fact have other quarters, I accepted his kindness, slid out of my garments, and was soon fast asleep.

Thus calamity led to a fortunate meeting, and I made my first friend in Zanadar. And never again will I question the wisdom of springing to the assistance of a stranger in need, seeing how well the friendship of Lukor was to reward my chivalrous urge.