King Of Zunga

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Queen Roxala's bath would not have been out of place in a luxury apartment in London. The sunken marble tub was almost large enough to be used as a swimming pool. Thick gold-colored woolen rugs covered the floor. Blade sank into them up to his ankles as the slaves led him to the bath. He waited while a relay of slave girls clad only in short trunks poured hot water from gilded bronze buckets into the bath. Then he let himself be guided down the steps until the water was lapping around his chin. He lay back, floating luxuriantly, feeling the water sting as it cleaned his scrapes and abrasions and soothed his aching muscles.

Looking up at the ceiling, he saw that it was covered in mosaic tiles. At first he could not make out any patterns in the swirl of steam-fogged colors above. Then gradually he realized he was looking at a spectacular, vivid, and explicit series of erotic illustrations. He noticed that most of the women on the ceiling, no matter what their poses, were full-figured and dark-haired. They weren't exactly portraits of the queen, but as far as body type they all might have been sisters. A new variation on decadence, thought Blade. Have your erotic fantasies done so you can look at them while you take your bath. He wondered if Roxala picked what she would do with her next partner from this sexual catalogue in tile while she bathed.

Several of the slave girls now dove into the water with him, carrying sponges, soaps, and pots of soothing ointments. They clustered around him, working away industriously to scour and annoint him. It was as thorough a job as the slaves in the cellar had done. What kept Blade from enjoying it more was the complete lack of any life or spirit in the faces of the girls. They seemed completely unaware of his maleness or their own near-nudity. Their joyless attentions to him once more made him feel like a prize steer being groomed for showing.

To see if he could put a little life into the proceedings, he gently patted one of the girls in the appropriate place. She gasped and spun around to stare at him. It was as though he had jabbed her with a red-hot iron. Her eyes were filled, not with anger or indignation, but with raw fear. Were the girls afraid of him-or was it just that Queen Roxala had a «hands off» rule for her chosen studs?

Before Blade could ask any of the girls, the surgeon came in. He was at least seventy and stooped with age and rheumatism. Moreover, he was ugly, not only by nature but as a result of a series of scars that furrowed his cheeks and neck.

«You are Richard Blade, warrior of the English and soon to be warrior of Rulam?» The man's voice was high and quavering.

«I am.»

«I am to examine you for your fitness in all things. Please lie down upon the floor.» As Blade did so, the surgeon opened a leather bag, and with his gnarled hands began removing instruments from it.

In spite of his age, the surgeon's hands were skilled and swift in their movements. The surgeon went over Blade from head to toe, examining his abrasions and bruises with particular care. He also paid particular attention to Blade's genitals, examining them with such care that Blade began to wonder about the surgeon's sexual preferences.

Finally the surgeon stood up. «You are a very fine physical specimen,» he said. Then he added, with the first trace of expression Blade had heard in his voice, «Possibly even good enough to meet our queen's requirements for more than a few months. For your sake, I hope so.» The surgeon bent over until his thin-lipped mouth was close to Blade's ear. «And for your sake, remember that Queen Roxala is eaten up by jealousy. When she picks a man or a woman, that man or woman is hers until she tires of them and has them killed.»

«Woman?»

«Queen Roxala has a-wide-taste in pleasures, Blade.» The surgeon's thin mouth hardened. «Once she caught me with a girl she had picked for her own. I got these.» He pointed at his scars. «I would have been castrated if the girl hadn't persuaded the queen that she had seduced me. So Roxala had the girl tortured to death. Whips were the mildest part of it. Be careful, Blade. When the queen is well satisfied, it is easier for all of us.»

Blade nodded, keeping his face expressionless. He was beginning to dislike the Rulami nearly as much as he did the Kandans. He couldn't hope to see the Zungans storm over the walls of this city. But if the Rulami ever sent an army south to try to overcome the Zungans, he would be very happy to see the bodies of its soldiers littering the plain all the way to the horizon.

The surgeon went out and the girls followed him. Not one of them even looked back at Blade. He was alone in the whole vast bath chamber, lying on the rug, looking up at the figures writhing across the ceiling.

He was not alone for long, though. The faint squeal, of a door opening was followed by the padding of bare feet approaching him across the rug. He looked up. He hardly needed to do so to know that Queen Roxala was standing there, looking down at him.

She wore a shimmering blue gown bordered with black and gold, with ruby buttons down the front. Blade could not help staring at the rubies. Some of them were the size of pigeon's eggs.

Roxala misinterpreted the stare. «You want me, do you Blade? I could see that in the garden. I can see it now. Am I right?» There was a bantering note in her voice, but also an implied threat.

«You are a superlatively beautiful woman,» said Blade carefully. «How could I help but want you?» And in fact the thought of embracing the body he had seen half-revealed earlier that afternoon had certainly aroused him. Within seconds it had increased to the point where eyes less sharp than the queen's would have seen it. Blade was glad for once that his reason did not control every part of his body. If it had, he would have been hard put to conjure up the response necessary for dealing with this lushly decadent queen.

«You obviously cannot help it,» said Roxala. She reached out a bare foot with gilded toenails and squeezed Blade's stiffened organ with her long supple toes. «That is good for both me and you.» Her hands moved to the top button of her robe and undid it. «Would you like to see me dance for you, Blade?»

Blade was able to come up with what he hoped would be a tactful answer. «If it will display your beauty to yet a greater advantage, Your Majesty, then by all means dance.»

That seemed to please her. She smiled-Blade could almost call it a simper. It seemed horribly out of place, here and on the face of this woman, considering what he knew about her. He despaired of ever trying to make sense of Queen Roxala, and lay back on the rug, head propped on one arm to watch her dance.

She started off with a slow swaying of her hips that made the gown swirl and wave and throw off reflections. The rubies flashed fire. She bent forward, slowly, gracefully, until she was bent almost double, swaying her upper body as she did so. Blade could see the full breasts moving under the thin material of the gown. She bowed further, until her long black hair flowed down to the rug. Then she snapped upright and arched almost as far back as she had arched forward. As she curved backward, thrusting her breasts up at the ceiling, she unhooked another of the buttons. Then she swayed forward again.

This time as she bowed, she shrugged first one shoulder, then the other. The gown slipped down until it was held halfway up her arms. Her breasts were outlined against the gown, full, ripe, and now half-exposed.

She straightened up and began to move in a rapid circle, feet flicking in and out under the skirt of the gown. At the same time her hips went into action again. Not a circular motion this time, but a slow, infinitely sensual rocking back and forth. Inch by inch the gown slipped down. Now it was held only by the swell of her breasts. With thumb and forefinger she teased the third ruby out of its hook. The gown gave up the struggle entirely and slipped down onto the floor.

She waited as it flowed down into a blue pool around her feet, then stepped out of it. Now she was nude except for a golden girdle that rose to just below her breasts. The breasts themselves swayed free, ripe and full like summer melons, boldly tipped with nipples whose darkness was a startling contrast to the white skin with its net of fine blue veins.

Free of the gown, Roxala's movements became freer-and wilder. She whirled and leaped and swayed. She cupped her breasts in her long-fingered hands and thrust them toward Blade. She knelt down and shook her whole upper body, making her breasts wiggle and her hair leap and flow about her shoulders. A thought passed through Blade's mind, ludicrous but undeniable. Perhaps he should try to kidnap Roxala and get her back to Home Dimension. The project could be run for years on what the queen would earn as an erotic dancer. Then Roxala's hands fluttered down to the hooks on the girdle and Blade's attention snapped back to her.

One hook, two hooks-he could see the cleft of her buttocks now, and faint curls of dark hair in front. Three hooks-a quick wiggle of now bared hips, and the girdle slipped down to join the gown on the rag. Naked, flaunting all the magnificence of her body, she rose on tiptoe, raising her arms high over her head and arching her body. Then she flowed down in a single motion onto the floor and rolled over on her back.

«Come to me now, Blade. Come to me now,» she sighed. He did not need her urging. The long slow stripping and the wild erotic fury of her dance had him aroused more than he would have believed possible without physical contact. He did not even take time to rise to his feet, but rolled over and over, across the rug to her.

Her body was already wet with sweat from her dancing and as slippery to his touch as if it had been oiled. She moaned as his hands clamped down on her breasts. Blade sensed she wanted no gentleness, no tenderness, rather strength and fury. So his hands squeezed down hard on the full breasts she again thrust toward him. He was rewarded by feeling those startlingly dark nipples rise and stiffen under his hands, thrusting out into dark spears. It seemed impossible that they could be so long, so hard. He said so.

«Ah, but its how hard you are, how long you are, that's important now,» she said in a half-gasp, half-moan. She reached for his erect phallus and grabbed it with the same vigor he had used on her. «Come on, Blade. Come-on!»

He obliged. He rolled toward her as she twisted on her side and rolled toward him. They met, they joined, he thrust deep into her already slick vagina. He felt her stiffen and saw her head roll back and her eyes roll up as he drove into her. Again he made no effort at gentleness or tenderness, again he hurled himself into the play with all his force. He made no effort to slow himself or hold himself or pace himself, and got away with it all. It was barely seconds before the queen's body shuddered for the first time, enormously and terribly, breath rasping in her throat. It was not much longer before she peaked again. And then Blade's furious vigor brought him to the peak also. His own hot fury spurting into her brought her to the third and most savage — climax. She collapsed beside him, limp and numb. But her arms-strong arms too-held him so tightly that even if he had wanted to, he could not withdraw from her.

They lay on the rug, silent, bodies locked together for a long time. Gradually their breathing slowed to normal, gradually the glazed animal look left Roxala's eyes. She lifted herself up to look at Blade, her nipples brushing his now sweaty chest, and smiled.

«Blade, I think you are what a woman needs. Even a woman who is a queen. You will be staying with me.» It was not a question, not even an order. It was a flat statement, intended to have the force of natural law. And for Roxala, Blade realized that her will was just exactly that.

That was the first time they made love, but not the last. It was not even the last time that day, because Roxala drew Blade into four more bouts before the next dawn. Blade wasn't sure if it was correct to call the queen insatiable, since she was eventually satiated. But no one could ever call her moderate in her pursuit of pleasure.

But Roxala was not a complete slave to her pleasures-far from it. Though the laws and customs of Rulam offered much freedom to women, it still took unusual force of character for Roxala to have held her own against King Kleptor for nearly twenty years. This was particularly true when one considered that King Kleptor was not in fact a weak character.

«He indeed is the one pushing for all-out war against Zunga,» said Roxala as they lay in her bed watching dawn break over the city. Blade managed to avoid any visible reaction. But the queen's words were a considerable surprise to him. So Kleptor was actually pushing for the thing the Zungans most feared, an invasion in strength by Rulam's ironclad soldiers?

But Roxala was going on, too concerned with her own views of the situation to pay any attention to Blade's reactions. «Yes, he is massing the beasts and the men and the wagons in his camp already. In another two or three months he will start south, as soon as the summer heat leaves the plains. He thinks that by conquering the Zungans he will obtain such glory that he will be able to move against me, remove me, execute me even.» She turned to him and flowed against his chest. «And it was Kleptor who ordered the efforts to capture you. The-whatever you call your Minister for War down in Zunga-the-«

«The On'ror?» Blade's voice was flat and cold.

«Yes, that one.» She made no attempt to pronounce the name. «He and your priests sent word that if you were allowed to train the Zungans in your new fighting arts, it would become almost impossible to defeat them. So Rulami soldiers were wandering all over the Kandan forests looking for you.» She smiled. «I didn't care much whether the Zungans learned to fly through the air on broomsticks and land on top of the royal palace. I still don't. The important thing is, I have you. Here. With me. And no other woman can have you again.» Then they made love once more.

Fortunately Roxala had some affairs of her own to attend to, so Blade was left alone after breakfast. He badly needed both the breakfast, to fill his stomach, and the solitude, to set his thoughts in order.

Roxala was lusty, scheming, fiercely jealous, and feared nothing and no one, not even King Kleptor. She was a dangerous protectress, but would be an effective one as long as he satisfied her physical desires. And she was not ambitious for conquest. Kleptor was. And that made him the real enemy. Behind Roxala's protection-from behind her skirts, as it were-Blade had a priceless opportunity to work against the man who dreamed of conquering Zunga. He wished he could also get word back to the Zungans of the On'ror's treachery. That would give Afuno all the excuse he needed and ten times more besides to move against the Ulungas. But without Kleptor, there would be no one left to whom the On'ror could betray Zunga. The On'ror and his priestly allies would be left stranded and harmless. Kleptor had to be the main target for now.

Blade found the next two months maddeningly frustrating. He had complete freedom to move about within Roxala's palace, and all the servants jumped to obey any order he gave. Or almost any. He could not leave the palace without the queen accompanying him, nor could he pay any attention to the woman slaves. He did not mind so much being confined to the palace most of the time. Certainly not after four black-masked men leaped out of the bushes in the courtyard one night while he walked there in search of fresh air. He was unarmed, but fortunately they only had knives, so he found it easy to kill two at once and hold off the others until the guards came up and finished the work. If Blade had doubted Kleptor's hostility before, he did so no longer. Even the queen was surprised by the limits to which the king seemed prepared to go.

«I think he truly fears that you are a threat to his throne, not just to his possession of me,» Roxala said. «Before, the men I have taken were good, stout fellows, lusty and strong and inexhaustible. But what brains they had were between their legs, not between their ears. He knows that you are a different kind of man. You have all the talents of those who have come before you-«she grinned wickedly «-and many more besides. When Kleptor thinks of you, I'll wager he has visions of you sitting on the throne of Rulam beside me and his own body staked out on an ants' nest. That might happen. It might.»

So there was another thing for Blade to worry about. Was Queen Roxala suddenly going to start plotting to overthrow Kleptor? Not that Blade objected to overthrowing Kleptor-in fact it was the best thing that could happen for the Zungans. But he did not want to get any more involved in anything Roxala was planning than was absolutely necessary. He neither liked her nor trusted her.

He liked and trusted her even less after seeing what she did the one and only time he spoke to one of the slave girls. The poor girl made matters worse by replying. She even smiled at Blade as she did so. The next morning Roxala led Blade down into a deep cellar, where the girl was chained to a wall. She had Blade stand and watch while the girl was whipped until her back was pulped, raw, bloody flesh. Then the girl was turned around-and this time when the whip stopped she was dead.

But Roxala let herself go that way only a few times. Meanwhile, she taught Blade or had him taught an immense amount about living among the Rulami. He was initiated into the Caste of Warriors. Roxala took particular delight in making Horun one of the warriors whose role it was to stand up and bear witness to Blade's skill as a fighter. He was taught the use of Rulami weapons, which he learned easily and well. He was taught to ride and manage the Ivory People. That he did not learn so easily, but he put so much effort into it that he also learned it well. When and if the time came for escape, he would find that escape far easier mounted on one of the great beasts, pounding along at seventy miles a day. He also studied all the maps of Rulami and Kandan territory he could get hold of. He told Roxala that he wanted to be able to play a part in the coming war with the Zungans worthy of his rank.

Roxala was almost skeptical. «But were you not aiding the Zungans to develop new ways of fighting us?»

«I was. But I see things rather differently now. This is a great city and a mighty people. The Zungans are a bunch of black savages living in huts.» Never mind that Afuno was a better and wiser leader than any Blade had seen in Rulam or Kanda, or that Princes Aumara was worth ten of this lust-driven and sadistic queen. Blade knew he had to fill Roxala's ears with what she wanted to hear. And what she wanted to hear was what all the Rulami believed-that the Zungans were worthless black savages, fit only to be stamped out under the feet of Rulam's soldiers and made slaves.

For all her sophistication in intrigue, Roxala took Blade's remarks at face value. She was too prejudiced and vain to do otherwise. She grinned and said, «In that case, have you thought of teaching our soldiers how to cope with those new methods of fighting you taught the Zungans? That would certainly convince King Kleptor that you were to be trusted.»

Blade looked sharply at Roxala. «Do you really want me to help Kleptor's dreams and schemes?»

Roxala laughed and shook her head. «No, I suppose when all is said and done, I don't. But I do know what I want you to do now, with me.»

They did it and afterward while Roxala went off to let her women bathe her, Blade lay in the bed and let out a long sigh of relief. That could have been a nasty one. The Zungans would have little enough chance against the Rulami army as it was. If their enemies knew and could meet the new fighting style their chances would shrink away almost to nothing. He would have done his best to get out of helping the Rulami, but it might have been hard to think up a good excuse if Roxala had insisted.

Blade's luck and quick wits kept him out of trouble for the rest of the two months, while he made love to the queen, practiced with his weapons, and sharpened his skills as a rider of the Ivory People. As long as Roxala was getting enough loving, she was willing to think of politics and war only at intervals, although she thought dangerously well at those times. If it came to the crunch, Roxala looked like she'd be a treacherous but probably competent ally. And from his experience, Blade much preferred treacherous allies to incompetent ones. The latter were totally unpredictable, most likely to open their mouths when they should keep them shut.

At the end of the two months, word came up from the south that a Zungan army was marching north into Rulami territory! It was now just south of the main forest belt, with one wing thrown out to mask Kanda. The Kandans had retreated into their city, and the Rulami patrols in the area had already been swept up or forced to retreat into the forest.

Blade could not keep a straight face when the news came. Fortunately, he was able to pass off his amazement as surprise at the Zungans' folly. «How can they think of doing anything against the army of Rulam, fighting on its home territory? If they are defeated, they will never get home, and the whole of Zunga will lie open to its enemies.» He was entirely sincere in that attitude and those words. What had possessed King Afuno?

The queen shrugged. They were lying in bed after a bout of love, and she was reluctant at such times to discuss politics and war. «I don't know. They say the Ulungas had omens, and the-the On'ror-interpreted the omens as telling the Zungans to march north.»

Blade felt slightly sick inside. That was just what the Ulungas and the On'ror would do if they wanted to ensure the defeat of the Zungan army. No doubt they had realized how their schemes for restricting the training in the new fighting had been outflanked They had realized that the Zungans might soon become invincible and their own position become precarious. So, once again, they had chosen to doom the Zungan people rather than risk their status. Under the covers, Blade's fists clenched. He wished he had the On'ror there before him, He would drive his fists into the man's face until there was nothing but splintered bone and mashed flesh.

That was only the first news. Over the next few days more poured in, and then more. Kanda was under siege, its armies finding it safer not to take to the field. The Zungans had no method of scaling the walls, but they held the city's fields and the shores of the lake where its fishermen drew their nets. It had food for less than a month within its walls. If the Zungan army was not driven away soon, it would be the end for Kanda.

Personally, Blade thought that the end of Kanda was an excellent idea. So did more than a few of the Rulami leaders, including, so the rumor ran, King Kleptor himself. They had always chafed at having to pay out good firestones for ivory and slaves. If Kanda and the Ivory Tower fell, this would end. Rulam's boundaries could be extended a full two days' march southward. And the Zungan army, weakened from its long campaign against Kanda, would be easier prey. Kanda and Zunga, a clean sweep of both rivals to Rulam's power! Blade saw and heard sober elder statesmen drinking confident toasts to their city's new glory.

Then there came rumors and then hard news of a fair-sized battle between Rulami patrols and the Zungan outposts. A battle in which the Zungan king himself had been present, and some of his family captured. There was no report of who had won, or of what the casualties had been. But rumor had it that the Rulami had been quickly beaten off after their first attack, and driven away with heavy losses. Considering how the same elder statesmen who had been prematurely celebrating victory suddenly began going around with sober, even grim faces, Blade was inclined to believe the rumors.

«But at least we've got some of that bastard Afuno's family to play with,» said Roxala as she and Blade sat over dinner talking of the battle. «One of them's a princess, daughter to Afuno himself.»

It took a greater effort than ever before, but Blade managed to keep his face calm. Then he fought down an impulse to ask about the princess. Her name, for example. Roxala did not know about him and Aumara, but if he started asking questions, she might easily become suspicious. And then the fate of the princess, whether she was Aumara or another, would at once become much, much harsher.

«Kleptor wants to hold the princess as a hostage. For what, I wonder? That band of savages can't have any proper family ties. What good would it do? No, I have a better plan.» It seemed that Kleptor was going to hold a massive field day at the army's camp, with large-scale combats between the various teams of arena men. This was to be Kleptor's day of vaunting and glory. But Roxala would have her moments, too. She would offer the crowd an unprecedented show-the public execution, by torture, of a real live Zungan princess. She could be quite sure of getting her hands on the princess, so the matter was all but settled.

«And you will be there beside me, Blade, fully armed, with the firestone of the Queen's Champion on your chest. You will lead my arena men in the contest, and Kleptor and all Rulam will get a chance to see you in action.»

Roxala kept that promise. When she took her seat in the Queen's box at the camp arena three days later, Blade was indeed standing beside her. His helmet and armor were silvered, his sword of the finest steel with a gold hilt, his boots and shield choice polished leather from the hides of the Ivory People. A red plume nodded from the crest of his helmet, and on his armored chest dangled the promised ruby. It was the finest pigeon's-blood color, and larger than he would have believed possible-as large as his own clenched fist. He heard a clank every time it swung on its gold chain against his breastplate. Queen Roxala wore another one of her tight-fitting gowns, this one a dazzling mixture of silver and gold, with rubies on ears, throat, wrists, fingers, and along the seams of the gown. Blade tried to reckon up the value of her rubies, then abandoned the struggle.

The arena before them was about two hundred feet on a side. From its hard-packed earth it obviously served as a drill field for Kleptor's army. Wooden stands rose along one side for the high-ranking spectators. Of the other three sides, two were occupied by soldiers drawn up in flawless formation, standing motionless under the broiling sun. On the third side a vast mass of slaves, mostly Zungan, also stood motionless. What little breeze there was blew from them, blowing their stench across the arena to Blade and the queen. The queen buried her nose in a perfumed pomander, and even Blade found himself wrinkling his nose.

Now came a mighty blare of trumpets, echoed by the bellowings of the Ivory People. Through the corner between the two masses of soldiers came a procession of a dozen or more of the great beasts, each carrying half a dozen soldiers. Blade saw Horun mounted on the neck of the first one. At the end of the procession came a beast whose tusks had been gilded and tipped with gold balls, whose flanks were hung with silver cloth shimmering with rubies, whose claws had been painted a glossy black. On its back sat King Kleptor.

Like all the Rulami, he was a well-fleshed type. But even from this distance Blade could see that Kleptor had carried the tendency to extremes. A massive paunch swelled out his gold tunic, and his swollen thighs and calves strained at their hose. A square-cut black beard did not conceal the jowls, the double chin, or the sagging cheeks. Blade grimaced in disgust. Kleptor seemed an appropriate king for Rulam, proud, rich, and decadent as it was. He looked aside for a moment at Roxala. At least her decadence had some life in it. Kleptor looked like a thing dying, if not already dead.

The processions stopped in front of the stands, and four slaves ran out pushing a wheeled ladder to the side of Kleptor's mount. The king heaved himself off the saddle and lurched and staggered down the ladder, while the slaves struggled to hold it upright.

«Once the slaves let it fall, and Kleptor with it,» said Roxala. «He had all four of them burned alive over a slow fire.»

As Kleptor lumbered toward the far end of the stands, two servants from his train ran toward where Blade and the queen sat. Each was carrying a ruby-studded gold cup. As they approached, Blade could see that each cup was filled with translucent green wine. Standing on the hard earth in front of the stands, they could just reach up high enough to offer the wine cups to Blade and the queen. Roxala stared at the slaves, then over at Kleptor, then at Blade.

«Slaves!» she barked. «You will drink first from each cup, then offer it.» Blade started, then stared down at the two slaves. Did the one in front of him look a little startled?

He leaned over and stared closer, then said, «The queen commands you to drink.» The slave with the queen's cup lifted it to his lips and drank deep. The slave with Blade's cup hesitated, then his cup too rose. Blade watched the wine trickle down from the corners of the man's mouth. Then in one leap he was out of his seat, over the edge of the stands, and down on the ground. His sword rasped out and jabbed the slave in his wine-stained neck. His voice was a rasp as he spoke. «The queen said drink, you swine, not spit it out. Now drink! And I want to see your throat move.»

The wine cup rose again, and this time the wine did not trickle down. The slave's throat jerked in swallowing motions once, twice, three times. He stood in silence a moment, the wine cup still raised to his lips. Then his hands loosened. The wine cup thudded to the ground, spilling out a green puddle. He bent double, hands clasping at his stomach. Then he fell forward onto the ground, kicking wildly. As he hit the ground, he began to scream.

Blade turned to Roxala. Her face was pale, but she only shrugged. «Kleptor must be getting overbold, to try to poison my champion before all the nobles and the army,» She smiled grimly. «Or perhaps he thought it would be part of the day's entertainment. Perhaps I can make a few changes in the plans, too.» Blade did not like the expression on her face. If he had been Kleptor, he knew that he would have liked it even less.

Blade looked toward the king's end of the stands. Kleptor was sitting as still and silent as a temple image. But watching closely, Blade saw the king's eyes occasionally flicker toward the queen, then to Blade, and finally down to the slave dying in agony on the ground. There was no expression on his face during any of this. Kleptor, Blade suspected, would prove a shrewder plotter than the queen.

Then the trumpets blared again. Through the gap in the corner of the arena more armed men were marching. These were tough-looking, rangy men of all colors and sizes, in a variety of dress and fighting equipment. The arena men. They were marching in two columns of fifty-odd men apiece, one headed by the king's standard, one by the queen's. The players were here; the game was about to begin.

No, there was still something missing. The Zungan princess Roxala had snatched. Her death by torture was supposed to be the opening event. Blade was glad he had eaten only an early and light breakfast. Seeing helpless women die by inches was not something he could watch unmoved. But at least he hoped he could keep his face straight. Doing anything to arouse Roxala's hair-trigger jealousy would simply prolong the girl's torment.

There came another blast of trumpets, and after it the sound of a Zungan iron gong. Someone was beating it in a mocking parody of the Zungan processional.

Then three clusters of figures marched into the arena. Two Zungan slaves carrying a gong, with a Rulami walking behind them and beating it with a mallet. Four armed guards with drawn swords, escorting a large wooden stake carried by half a dozen more slaves. And finally four more armed guards, marching along in a square. In the middle of the square, a woman. Naked, her mahogany skin layered with dust, sagging under fatigue and the weight of the chains on her neck and limbs.

Princess Aumara.