King Of Zunga

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

When Blade drifted back to consciousness, there were aches and pains shooting through every part of his head. There was also the same silver-robed figure looming over him, looking down at him. Blade looked up at the man and met his gaze. The man was gray-bearded and fair-skinned, but except for that and his silver robes, he resembled the On'ror so much they might have been brothers or at least cousins. Both were broad and fleshy in face and figure, and both had the look of men long accustomed to power. Not only long accustomed to power, but totally lacking in scruples when it came to keeping it. Blade did not like thinking that his path and that of the Zungans ran through two such men.

The man crossed both arms in front of his chest and smiled down at Blade. It was the sort of gloating, triumphant smile Blade might have expected from such a man, and it didn't make him feel any better. But he was determined not to give the man any advantage, so he kept his mouth shut. The ache in his head made that fairly easy.

«Well, Richard Blade of the English,» said the man. Blade just managed to keep from stiffening in surprise at hearing his name. The man shot a hard look at Blade, searching for some signs of surprise, then smiled again, as unpleasantly as before.

«Well, Richard Blade of the English,» he said again.

Blade found the strength to return the smile. «Are you a man or just a talking animal? You don't seem to be able to say very much.»

The smile on the man's face slipped for a moment. Blade felt that he had scored. «I do not need to say very much, Blade. But if I wanted to hear you talk, it would be easy. Oh, it would be so easy.» The man licked his lips. It was obvious what he had in mind as a «so easy» way of making Blade talk.

«But I am not free to do what the ghosts of my soldiers would like me to do. No, I am not free. The men of Rulam want to see you in the arenas. They greatly want to see you in the arenas. They have given me many firestones and many lesser slaves for you. Oh, they have paid me well. The Ivory Tower will be richer because of you. That is not something you enjoy hearing, is it? I know you have been teaching the Zungans how to fight a new way. It is a good way, too. When you are dying, you can think that it is a good way. Oh, yes, I am a generous man. Even my enemies can have their last thoughts.»

The man rambled on like this for quite some time. Before too much longer Blade was sure that he was dealing with a madman. Or, more accurately, that he was being dealt with by one. But he still paid close attention to every one of the man's words, searching them for any clues as to where he was and who the man might be. While he listened, he also looked around him.

He was lying on his back on a wooden bedframe covered with a thin straw mattress. His wrists and ankles were tied with heavy iron chain to staples set in the bed. The chain would be too heavy to break, but could the staples be pulled out?

He could move his head enough to see that the walls and ceiling of the room were of heavy timber, darkened with age and smoke. Possibly he was in a peasant's cottage, but it looked too well built for that. The door was low, no more than five feet high, and as massive as the walls. The floor seemed to be bare earth covered with straw-straw that had not been changed for a long time, his nose told him.

There was only one light in the room, a guttering rush light dangling from the ceiling. By its feeble glow Blade again examined the man standing over him from head to toe. He appeared to be unarmed, although a large black leather purse dangled from a black silk sash around his ample midriff. But now Blade could make out more closely what was dangling on the man's chest. It was a model of a cylindrical tower, with the windows and doors clearly shown. It was a beautiful and delicate piece of carving, with the yellow-white sheen of old ivory.

Blade remembered what he had heard of the ruling Priests of the Ivory Tower in Kanda. Was this man one of them? It seemed likely. And it was obvious he resented turning a man who had killed Kandan soldiers over to the Rulami as a gladiator. Was there anything more to this resentment? Could something more perhaps be made of this resentment, until Kanda and Rulam were at least mildly at-odds over Blade's disposal? Blade realized that he was grasping at straws, but also realized that for the moment there was nothing much better that he could do.

How long the silver-robed man continued his half-incoherent monologue Blade had no way of guessing. The longer it continued, the more Blade was certain that the man was someone high up among the Priests of the Ivory Tower. He spoke with authority, if not arrogance, and his comments on the Rulami were seldom charitable.

Eventually the man ran out of things to say or perhaps out of breath. He raised his arms in what might have been a parting blessing-or perhaps only a stretching of cramped muscles. Then he said, «Farewell, Blade. I do not think I will be seeing you again, for you will never see Kanda, and I seldom leave it. Certainly I will never go to Rulam and walk among the barefaced women of that city. But you-you will find favor in their eyes, I think.» He turned and went out. A moment later Blade heard the clank as a chain was attached to the outside of the door, and the click of a key turning in a lock. He was truly a prisoner.

The light was still burning, so Blade examined his chains more closely. The staples were heavier than he had thought at first. He tried a few tentative pulls, but soon realized that there was little hope of getting enough power from the strength of only one arm. And there was even less hope of bringing two arms to bear on one staple. The chains were too short.

Then he tried the iron wrist and ankle bands to which the chains were attached. Perhaps he could find a flaw in one of them? But the iron was solid, and all his jerking only made his wrists and ankles raw and red.

Very well, he was not going to escape from this particular prison. As long as his captors were not going to kill him here and now, he didn't really need to escape. Not for the first time his fighting qualities seemed to have destined him for a career as a gladiator. He would wait until he reached Rulam, and then look for ways of escape. At least as a gladiator he would be certain to have easy access to weapons. After deciding that, he was able to drift off to sleep. He would need to conserve his strength.

A metallic clink from the door woke him with a start. The light still burned, dimmer now but showing the chamber still empty. Somebody was outside, working at the chain and lock. Somebody sent to kill him? The Ivory Tower priest had not sounded very happy about sending him up to Rulam. Perhaps he was going to cheat the Rulami by having Blade «killed while attempting to escape.»

The clinking came again the sound of a key turning in the lock. Then the rattle of the chain being pulled through its fastenings. And finally to creak of seldom-oiled hinges as the door swung open.

The figure that slipped into the room on noiseless feet was dressed in the same silver robes and black sash as the Ivory Tower priest. But its head was completely concealed by a red hood drawn tight over the face so that only the eyes showed. It came across the room and stood over Blade, staring down at him. Blade tried to read the expression in the eyes, but could not. Yet he felt this one's examination was of quite a different kind from that of the other priest. It was less hostile, more openly curious.

Then the figure raised its arms, and the silver sleeves fell back, revealing slim hands in red gloves. The hands went up to the hood and jerked it suddenly back. Blade's eyes opened in amazement. He would have sat up and stared if the chains had let him. From out of the red hood, the face of a young woman stared at him.

Young, and also beautiful. Long ash-blonde hair framed a finely chiseled face, with wide blue eyes and an impudently up-tilted nose. The eyes were roaming over Blade's naked body, lingering here and there with unmistakable interest. Blade could not help grinning as he almost read the woman's mind. This seemed to be a trip for meeting women who wanted to make love in strange places.

In a single graceful motion she knelt down beside Blade and brought her mouth close to his right ear. «Blade, listen to me,» she whispered. «I am Sarnila, daughter to the High Priest of Kanda.»

Blade looked a question at her. She nodded. «Yes, the man in the silver robes who was talking to you earlier. He does not want to turn you over to the Rulami. He wants to have you killed and make it look like an attempt to escape. I have come to help you really escape before my father's killers arrive.»

Blade frowned. In a whisper as low as hers, he said, «Why should I trust you? You are the High Priest's daughter. Why should you want me to escape?»

Something like a shudder of revulsion passed over Sarnila's delicate features. «And I am also his mistress.» She looked at Blade. «Yes, I see you think of this as a Rulang or a Zungan would. But it is nothing unusual in Kanda, at least not for the upper priests. They can have families when they are younger, but when they are older they are supposed to be celibate.» Sarnila looked as if she wanted to spit on the floor. «But they are still men. And their daughters can be relied on not to talk. So they make their daughters their mistresses and keep them almost as slaves. There are a hundred or more young women in Kanda who have never known any man but their fathers. Their old, fat, half-impotent fathers!» This time she did spit on the floor.

She took one glove off now and ran her hand over Blade's body. «You are a warrior. Your body feels like that of a warrior. Do you know how many warriors there are in Kanda? Real warriors, not just slave catchers and slave guards and slave beaters? Only a handful. And yet every fat priest and merchant thinks that by keeping his women behind veils and behind lock and bars, he is being a man. Even the Zungans are wiser than that!»

The hand kept moving as she talked, and suddenly closed around Blade's genitals. It did not take him long to respond to the pressure. Sarnila's mouth widened in a smile as she watched Blade's arousal make itself clear.

«Do you know how long it takes the High Priest to get stiff that way?» she asked. It was a question obviously intended to go unanswered.

Blade had a more practical question of his own. «Aren't you going to get me unchained if we're going to make love?»

Sarnila laughed. «No, Blade. I don't trust you that much. You might just run off into the darkness if I let you go now. Then I would never know what the love of a man and a warrior is like. Never.» She patted the purse that hung from her belt. «I have a file in here. I could get the keys to your chains, but it is a good, hard file. It will have you free when I am ready for you to be free.» Her voice held some of her father's arrogance as she said this.

Blade sighed, more in frustration than in passion. He did not look forward to being used as the object of Sarnila's lust and vengeance. He was more than slightly angry at her distrust. But he had to admit she was right. If he were free now, no power and no woman could keep him from heading out of that door and south toward Zungan territory as fast as his legs would carry him. That brought another question to his mind.

«Did the Zungans who were with me escape from the Rulami soldiers?»

«I will tell you that also afterward,» she said sharply. But he noticed that her own breathing was beginning to come a little faster. He could see one of the blue veins under the pale skin of her temples pulsing and jumping.

He was fully aroused now, but her hands still kept moving. Her skill was remarkable. He knew that in another minute he would be fighting for control. And a minute after that he would lose the fight. Sarnila would not like that. Odds were, she would abandon any plan to help his escape. Blade realized his freedom depended on his self-control.

The first minute passed, and Blade found himself clenching his teeth and his fists. Then suddenly Sarnila's hands stopped their maddeningly skilled and delicate work. She undid her sash. A quick jerk, and the robe flew through the air and landed on the floor. Under it she was wearing only a semitransparent shift. A quick wriggle, and she was entirely bare.

Naked, Blade saw that Sarnila was younger than he had thought. Her breasts were perfect but shallow cones, with small pink nipples. Her stomach was flat and hard, with only a faint crease above the sparse growth of darker hair that furred her pubic triangle. She stood before him posing and posturing for a few moments. The play of her supple young muscles under the light would have been beautiful under other circumstances. Now Blade's mind was screaming only, «Stop playing around and get on with it!» Now that the stroking hands were gone, the strain of waiting, of listening for the fatal knock on the door, was getting to him. He wondered if he would fall short of her demands through failure instead of haste, with the same disastrous results.

Finally the slow dance came to an end. In a single swift and graceful motion she swung herself astride Blade, then lowered herself onto him. As her wetness and tightness took him in, Blade knew he could stop worrying about failure. The slow steady friction as she rose up and down on him was bringing him back to peak, regardless of the tensions preying on his mind.

Then he forgot all about the tensions and was aware only of Sarnila, her endless motions, the little jerk at the end of each cycle, the little gasps from her half-parted lips. Those veins were almost dancing now. Her hands played a steady tattoo on the muscles of his chest, plucking at the hairs. Her own hair tossed about wildly, whipping about the white shoulders, vagrant strands falling down over the neat little nose.

Now her movements were speeding up of their own accord, as her body slipped out of control. Her head was thrown back until her hair hung almost vertically down her back, the ends brushing her neat buttocks. Her mouth was wide open, the moans coming louder now. Blade hoped the walls and door of this room were thick enough to muffle the sound. Her skin was beginning to feel flushed and damp.

Then the first spasm took her, throat muscles and pelvic muscles contracting and jerking and her wetness suddenly flowing harder. A second spasm, and a third; with Blade still firm as she jerked up and down on him. He was biting his lip to keep from groaning with the strain of fighting for self-control. He felt himself losing the fight, abandoned it, spurted into her with a gasp. She jerked and writhed for a fourth time, then collapsed on Blade's chest, fingers still moving idly through the hair on it.

Blade had never before worried about his own willingness to relax and even sleep in such moments after release. But now he knew he had to force his body and his mind into action, fast action, and soon. He reached up a hand to the limit of the chain and chucked Sarnila under the chin.

«Have I given you what you wanted?»

He thought he heard her murmur, «Yes,» and was almost certain he heard an equally faint «More.»

Blade shook his head. «No, Sarnila. No more. I must escape. Now. When I have escaped, perhaps I can come back and take you away to where there are many warriors. But first I must get out of here!» He pointed at her purse. «You said you had a file. Give it to me.» He made his voice as firm and harsh as he could without risking being overheard outside the chamber.

He had to repeat his words several times. But eventually they got through the erotic fog that still enveloped Sarnila. Slowly she rolled off him, knelt down on the floor, and rummaged the file out of her purse. It was a massive object, as tough as she had said, and long and heavy enough to make a good improvised weapon. That was somewhat encouraging, but Blade knew that he would have little chance of getting clean away except by stealth. But at least he could take a few more of the slavers with him if it came to a fight. He took the file from Sarnila-almost snatched it, in fact-and went to work on the staples.

The iron was tough, but the file ground and chewed its way through the staples with encouraging speed. And also with a discouraging amount of noise. Half a dozen times Blade stopped, listening, certain that the uproar he was making must be waking up everybody within a half mile and bringing them at the run to investigate. The staple holding the chain to his right wrist gave way. He turned over and went to work on the one for the left wrist.

While Blade was filing away, Sarnila was kneeling on the floor. She had not bothered to put her clothes back on, and Blade could see goose flesh on her bare skin. She still seemed half in a trance. He hoped she would get her head clear before the time came for him to escape. He did not like the thought of leaving her in this condition.

As he finished the left-hand staple and started freeing his feet, she rose slowly and began pulling her robes on. Alertness began creeping back into her eyes. In the middle of his filing and scraping, Blade turned to her and said, «Remember, I asked you about the other Zungans with me. Did they escape or not?»

She was pulling her robe over her head at that moment, and her voice came out half-muffled. «Seven of them did. One was killed outright, one died later. The others all ran away. I thought Zungan warriors never ran away-«

«Zungan warriors are learning many new things,» said Blade. «They will be much more dangerous because of this. The warriors who ran away will be back someday soon, with many companions. And then it will be the Rulami-«he nearly added «-and the Kandans,» but stopped himself in time «-who run away or die.»

Sarnila's head popped out of the neck of her robe. «That is good. I do not like the Rulami.»

Blade looked at her. «I thought the Rulami treated their women well. Why do you not like them?»

«They treat their women well. The women of the Rulami have great power, from Queen Roxala on down. But they do not treat other people or other people's women at all well. There was a time when they even made slaves of the women of Kanda, the way they do now with the Zungans. The Rulami are very proud and haughty, and in their eyes all should go down in the dust and kiss their feet.»

Blade was taking mental notes at a furious clip. He would not need to spend any time deepening the animosity between Kanda and Rulam, if she was telling the truth. It already ran deep enough, as deep as he could hope for. His job would be to find some way of exploiting it. A job that he could do, he reminded himself, only if he escaped. He resolutely shut his ears to the noise he was making, and kept working with the file.

Soon the staple holding his right foot was gone, and the one on the left was cut half through. He was beginning to think of clothing, and how to get some. He was just about to ask Sarnila about this, when he heard footsteps and voices outside the door.

Sarnila froze, and her mouth opened in a soundless scream of terror. Blade did not and could not pay any attention to her. His reflexes and training took over. With a tremendous flesh-gouging lunge he jerked the remaining chain. The half-filed staple snapped. Blade sprang off the bed, clutching the file in his hand. Then he darted across the room and flattened himself against the wall, behind where the opening door would swing. If the people outside opened it just far enough… Now he jerked a beckoning thumb at Sarnila, but she was too paralyzed with terror to move a step. He was calculating if he would have the time to step over and grab her, when the door squealed and groaned open.

Half a dozen Kandan soldiers with the High Priest at their head stamped into the room in a crash of booted feet and a clank of armor and weapons. They took two steps, then stopped at the sight of the empty bed and Sarnila standing numb with fright beside it. For a moment they were as paralyzed as she was. In that moment, Blade moved.

He came out from behind the door in two silent steps and sprang at the High Priest, stabbing with the file toward the exposed back of the man's thick neck. But a soldier standing just behind the High Priest started to turn as Blade struck. Blade could not halt his stroke; the file clanged off the man's helmet. The soldier staggered and fell against the High Priest, who spun around with surprising agility for a man his size and weight.

«You!» he gasped as he saw Blade. Then he hoisted up his robes and dashed for the door. The soldiers flung themselves out of his way, then re-formed behind him to block Blade's path. They were smiling. After all, there were a half dozen of them with swords, and only one of him, with nothing but a file.

Not for long. A soldier lunged at Blade, and he brought the file down on the man's arm so hard the sword dropped from his hand. Blade dove for it, straight-arming the man in the groin as he also sought to retrieve his weapon. He snatched up the sword and returned it to its previous owner-in the thigh, just below his armor. Then he flipped the sword sideways at a sword arm rising for a stroke, and another sword clattered on the floor, held in a severed hand. The four intact soldiers backed off, staring with dawning fear at the giant naked figure of Blade.

He plunged into their ranks again, beating down two thrusts but not killing or wounding this time. He snatched the statue-like Sarnila off her feet and tucked her under one arm. She was light enough so that he could carry her that way with no trouble. He turned and faced the soldiers.

«Just stay there for a while, friends. I've got the High Priest's daughter.» He did not plan on holding her a hostage, but the soldiers couldn't know that. They backed obediently against the walls and lowered their swords. Blade turned again and ran out of the chamber.

Outside he found himself in a long, narrow lane between two rows of stoutly timbered wooden huts. «Where are we?» he asked Sarnila. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. He shook her gently. «Where are we? I am going to take you to Zunga with me, and I want to know how to get there.»

Her face collapsed and she began to cry. Blade wondered about the wisdom of the promise he had just made to encourage her. He was far from sure that Sarnila would be able to handle herself in a long flight. The courage she had shown in coming to his but seemed to have entirely gone.

A moment later the question became irrelevant. Pounding down the lane in a glare of torches came a mob of Kandan soldiers, the High Priest again visible among them-well in the rear, Blade noticed. Blade whirled about. Beyond the huts on both sides rose high walls with spiked tops. And down the lane from the other direction a dozen men with Rulami shields were approaching. Blade took all of one second to decide, then dashed straight at the Rulami. Escape was no longer possible, but with the Rulami he and Sarnila might live a little longer and find other chances.

If Blade had wanted to fight the Rulami, he could have taken out half a dozen of them at least. His charge out of the darkness took them by surprise and all their training did not keep them from flinching. But he did not want to fight them. He held his sword point down and shouted, «Save me from the treachery of the Kandans. They mean to kill me and cheat you of your money!» He was gambling that the High Priest's description of the deal over him was correct.

In a moment he saw that it was. The Rulami drew their swords and glared, not at him, but at the Kandans coming up behind him. The Rulami officer growled contemptuously at Blade, «get behind us, boy. We'll take care of those priests' pimps.» Blade led Sarnila through the soldiers as they swung into a formation six-men wide and two deep across the lane.

The High Priest was in the lead now as the Kandans charged up. But he stopped abruptly as the Rulami presented a dozen drawn swords. The officer stepped forward and barked, «Halt, Priest. We don't like your kind of dealing. If you take one more step after this man-«

«If you draw a single drop of blood from me I'll-!»

«You'll what?» sneered the officer. «What can Kanda do to us or for us that we couldn't do as well on our own? You think you've got a real city, don't you?» The officer spat on the path. «All you've got is the Ivory Tower and a huddle of houses. And those boys and old men you call soldiers.» He spat again.

Blade wondered if the Rulami officer wasn't going too far, deliberately trying to bring on a battle. That was fine with him, of course. The more the Rulami and Kandans were at each other's throats, the better. And a fight now might even give him and Sarnila a chance to escape.

Apparently the High Priest's thick skull contained enough brains to make him realize this. He took a deep breath, and in his turn spat on the path. «All right, you no-balls Rulami men, you can have him! You paid for him. Get him out of my sight, get him out of Kanda, get yourselves out of Kanda! But give me that woman.»

«Your daughter?» The officer's voice held a sneer of total contempt. «Daughter» might have been the foulest word in the whole language, the way he said it.

The High Priest said nothing. He merely shoved his way forward through the Rulami soldiers and grabbed Sarnila by the arm. The girl cringed and whimpered and tried to pull away. Blade took a step forward, and found three Rulami swords aimed at his chest. «None of that, boy,» said the officer. «We don't want any more fighting over what isn't our business.»

The High Priest kicked Sarnila's feet out from under her and dragged her by the hair out into the open. He let go of her hair, and she dropped to the ground with a thud. He kicked her in the stomach, and she doubled up and rolled back and forth moaning.

The High Priest's face was purple with fury and hatred; he was past caring who heard what. He looked down at Sarnila and snarled, «You little bitch! You whore! You man-woman!» That last seemed to be the ultimate insult. Although his mouth kept opening and shutting, he couldn't find anything more to say.

Instead he bent and with powerful hands ripped the robes from Sarnila's body. She made a futile effort to roll over on her stomach as her body was bared, then an equally futile effort to cover herself with her hands. As she lifted her right hand, the High Priest stamped down on it with one booted foot. Blade heard the crunch of bone, and Sarnila's scream. If a half dozen soldiers hadn't had a firm grip on him, he would have dashed forward and strangled the High Priest with his bare hands. As it was, he could only heave and jerk and swear that he would have the High Priest's blood for this.

«You wanted to take her away with you, did you, Blade? Is that why you're so angry? Well, well. You may indeed have my blood someday. High Priests can die or be killed like men. Oh, yes, we can. But first I will have her blood.» The High Priest leaped into the air, with more agility than Blade would have thought possible in such a man. He came down squarely on Sarnila's chest, both feet smashing down on her ribs with a terrible crunching noise. Sarnila heaved once, then lay still, blood oozing from her mouth and nose.

Blade took one look at the mess the High Priest's weight had made of his daughter's body, then had to turn away and be very sick. It did not last long. There was not that much in his stomach. Finally the Rulami officer swatted him across the shoulders with the flat of his sword and said roughly, «Come on, boy, and stop puking. You'll see worse in the arena.» Blade allowed himself to be led away. For the moment he felt too drained to resist.