Killer Plants Of Binaark

Chapter 4

On the morning of his twelfth day in the Dimension of the killer plants, Richard Blade sat on the bank of a river washing his feet.

Yesterday he'd seen what he hoped would be the last of the plants, and also the first signs of intelligent life in this Dimension. One sign was a trail beaten through the last of the jungle by hooves and bare feet. Another sign was a tumbled heap of moss-covered logs, once a fair-sized house. Blade was relieved. By temperament he was a rather solitary man, but there was a such a thing as being too solitary.

Besides, a journey to Dimension X spent wrestling carnivorous plants and climbing hills in his birthday suit would produce nothing likely to increase enthusiasm and support for Project Dimension X. Blade agreed with Lord Leighton that politicians tended to be shortsighted about the need for basic research. He also agreed with the politicians that scientists like Lord Leighton often expected the ultimate value of their projects to be taken on faith.

Blade stood up, stretched, and waded farther out into the river. It was too beautiful a day for worrying about Lord Leighton's running battle with the politicians. The sky was clear, with only a few puffs of cloud, and the sun was almost hot. The river was washing away the filth of his days in the jungle, and the hills on both banks of the river were a healthy green, with none of the man-eating plants anywhere in sight.

Blade had to wade nearly out to the middle of the river before it reached his waist. He dove and rose several times, splashing happily like a porpoise, then started scrubbing off the jungle filth with handfuls of sand from the bottom of the river. By the time he'd scrubbed off all the filth, he felt as if he'd also taken off the top layer of skin, but he didn't care.

From a hilltop on the bank behind him he'd seen that the river flowed from south to north. To the north it joined a larger river about a day's march farther on. To the south Blade had seen what looked very much like the ruins of a bridge and a town or at least some collection of structures far too regular to be natural. Whichever way he went, he'd have plenty of water, and there were probably fish in the river.

He decided to take another look, now that it was full daylight. He climbed out of the water, shook himself like a dog, picked up his club, and walked toward the hill. He'd covered about half the distance when three of the gray cats seemed to spring out of the ground almost at his feet. A single glance told Blade they weren't wild. Each wore a leather collar decorated with brass and soft leather protectors on their legs.

Just as clearly, they were trained to hunt, and right now they were hunting Blade. One crouched in front of him, just out of reach of his club, growling and digging its hind-claws into the ground as if it was about to leap at his throat. While the first cat held his attention, the other two loped around to his right and left. They could attack him from both sides at once, and move almost as quickly to cut off his retreat to the river.

The first thing Blade did was put down his club slowly and carefully, with no sudden moves to startle the crouching cat in front of him. The club wouldn't make much difference against three of the cats working together, and it might provoke their masters, who couldn't be far away.

Again moving slowly, Blade crossed his arms on his chest. Then he heard the thud of hooves from beyond the hilltop. A horse neighed sharply, and four riders came trotting over the crest and onto the slope facing the river. Blade had plenty of time to study them as they approached. Their mounts sounded and moved like horses, and perhaps their ancestors had been horses, but they definitely were different from horses in England. Their tails were long and bare, with only a tuft of brown hair, their ears were hairy and even longer than a mule's, and their hooves divided into four toes ending in stubby claws. Their enormous eyes were a blue so dark it was almost purple. All four wore elaborate muzzles of boiled leather.

Two of the riders were men, wearing boiled-leather jackets and helmets and carrying long knives and twelve-foot lances. The other two were women, wearing soft leather shirts and knee-length leather trousers that admirably displayed excellent figures. They carried shorter lances and bows slung across their backs. One of the women was a short, snub-nosed blonde; the other was tall and brown-haired with a vaguely Oriental look.

The brunette whistled sharply to the three cats, and they sprang away from Blade. The blonde spurred her mount forward, swinging her lance down so that when she reined in its point was only a foot from Blade's chest.

«I hadn't expected such good hunting here,» she said. She was smiling, but Blade didn't find the smile reassuring with the steel point so close. «How long have you been here, and who among the Elstani sent you?»

Her language was high-pitched and full of sibilants but reached Blade's mind as fluent English. He knew his reply would come out in the woman's language. The transformation of his brain so that he could understand and be understood by the people of each new Dimension was still one of the mysteries of Project Dimension X. Blade was willing to live with the mystery, considering how often it had saved his life.

«I have been here since dawn, and I call none among the Elstani master. I am a warrior from a distant land called England.» A good cover story in this or any other Dimension was always as true as possible, but he decided to say that he'd left his heavier gear behind in the ruined city, then lost his clothes while bathing in the river.

One of the men cursed, and his cursing was echoed by a snort from his mount. He rode up to Blade and drew his silver-mounted sword. Blade saw elaborate engraving on the blued steel.

«Lying to Tressana of Jaghd is not wise for anyone, man. For spies from Elstan, it is very foolish. Do you want a good death, or-?» The sword twitched.

The blonde woman-Tressana? — held up a hand. «A moment, Curim. You are not of Elstan, you say?»

«No.»

Well-groomed blonde eyebrows rose skeptically. Then the tall, brown-haired woman rode up and looked down at Blade. «Your Grace,» she said to the other woman, «it could be so. Certainly few men of Elstan are so tall, and I have never seen one with a beard like that.»

«Looking for some new toy for your bed, Jollya?» said the swordsman, with a coarse laugh. The brown-haired woman glared at him, and Tressana held up her hand again.

«Silence, both of you. Whatever he is, this man is no fit audience for your quarrel.» She turned to the second man. «Fayod!»

«Yes, your Grace?»

«Ride and bring the others.» She pulled a ring out of a pouch at her belt and tossed it to the man. As he rode off she turned back to Blade.

«Man of Elstan or stranger, I hope you have some notions of honor. Will you swear not to try escaping until my hunters come?»

«I swear it,» said Blade, spreading both hands in a peaceful gesture. He grinned. «I doubt if I'd have much hope of escaping anyway.» He pointed at the three cats now sitting quietly to one side. One was washing a paw in the self-absorbed fashion of cats of every size in every Dimension, but the other two still had their eyes on Blade. «Even if I could hope to kill the three of you, they wouldn't leave much of me.»

Jollya smiled. «You are no fool, whatever else you are.» She'd looked rather forbidding, but the smile transformed her. Unlike Tressana's smiles, Jollya's reached her eyes.

Blade sat down, keeping his hands carefully in sight. After a moment Tressana thrust her lance point-first into the ground, dismounted, and tied her mount's reins to the lance. Jollya and Curim remained mounted.

Blade did his best to relax. He'd be under the women's protection unless he did something stupid, and he wasn't going to take any chances. The Jaghdi appeared to be at least half civilized, and they might be interesting. In any case, he'd rather trust himself to almost any human beings than to the killer plants of the jungle behind him.