King Of Zunga

CHAPTER FOUR

By the time Blade had drunk enough to quench his thirst and had filled the hollow gourd that Nayung had given him to use as a water bottle, the Zungan warrior had gone around to all of his men. Those who had been unconscious he had revived, gently or roughly as the case required-Chamba very roughly indeed.

The man with the smashed kneecap, however, could not walk. Even to try standing made him scream again in agony and, collapse, writhing on the ground. Nayung looked down at him, his face set hard.

«He cannot walk. The spirits of his feet are gone. If we had an Ulunga with us we might try to bring the spirits back to his feet. But none of us, is an Ulunga. He cannot walk, and we cannot carry him. It is our custom then for the D'bor to give him a quick death with the spear, so that all the other spirits of his body may go together. If we leave him here… «

Blade nodded and raised a hand. «I understand. But if your camp is only an hour away, I think I can carry him myself. If I cannot do so by myself, I know a way in which two can carry him.»

Nayung was looking at Blade with interest when Chamba strode forward, waving his spear in his left hand. «Nayung, do you call this man a warrior when he is so soft he will not see that the customs must be followed? If neither of you has the courage to follow them, then I will.» The spear in Chamba's hand stabbed downward into the chest of the man on the ground before anybody could move. The man gasped, clutched at the spear shaft for a moment, then relaxed all over and lay still.

Nayung glared at Chamba. «Chamba, you have a very thick head. But if you ever do this again, I will break that head into so many pieces that its spirits will spend the next thousand years finding them.» His grip on his spear shaft tightened. «The warrior Richard Blade of the English is second to me now. Do you understand?» The spear came up and the point was leveled at Chamba's stomach.

Chamba looked down at the spear, then up to Nayung's grim face, and nodded slowly.

«Good,» said Nayung. He turned to Blade. «If that fool Chamba makes any more trouble, kill him.» Blade nodded reluctantly. He didn't like Chamba any better than Nayung did, but he wasn't sure if it was a good idea to humiliate such a proud and dangerous man in front of a stranger. Chamba would be thinking of revenge now that was certain.

The six men moved out. They walked through the forest in single file, with Nayung leading and Blade bringing up the rear. That was just as well. He did not want Chamba behind him for now.

The Zungans stepped along at a pace that Blade could only match with effort. They plowed straight along through the forest, stopping every fifteen minutes or so to take their bearings. Blade asked Nayung about this during one of the halts.

«The men of Kanda and Rulam do not come into the forests,» said the Zungan. «They are afraid. That was why I thought you might not be a Kandanor a Rulami, since you have gone where they never go.»

«What of the animals in the forest?»

«The animals do not bother us. Only sworn warriors go into the forest, to hunt the Ivory People, and the animals know that such warriors are dangerous to attack. So they avoid us.»

Blade nodded. «But if the Kandans and the Rulami do not go into the forest, why don't all the Zungans move into the forest and be safe from the raiders?»

Nayung looked at Blade as though he had just accused the Zungan of murdering his own grandmother. «Only sworn warriors blessed by the Ulungas may enter the forests. The women and children and men past the age of being warriors are forbidden. The spirits of their bodies would depart if they did so.»

It was on the tip of Blade's tongue to ask whether any woman or child had ever tested this theory by going into the forest. But he decided against it. He would not earn Nayung's trust by expressing heretical opinions about the Zungans' beliefs. He merely nodded and said nothing.

They reached the camp while the sun was still sending a golden glow down through the thinner patches of leaves. It was a neat little compound, obviously permanent. Its floor was of beaten earth, and Nayung immediately sent two of the warriors back into the forest to pick up fresh leaves to cover the floor. Its walls were of branches and saplings, interlaced with thorny twigs to present a prickly face to the world. More saplings were laid across the tops of the walls, and yet more of the three-foot leaves laid across the saplings to make a roof. There were clay pots filled with dried meat, fruit, and water.

Blade praised the shelter to Nayung, and saw that the man was pleased. «You English must be a wise and understanding people. The Kandans think we are evil because we do not obey the Priests of the Ivory Tower and keep our women as slaves. The Rulami think we are savages because we are brown-skinned and live in towns on the plains, instead of in a great crowded, noisy city the way they do. Our people could never live the way the Rulami do. The spirits of their bodies would go away. You English must teach your warriors not to look down on other peoples, but to take each for what they are worth. That is a very wise thing. When you are too old to be a warrior, you will be an adviser to the king because of your wisdom.»

Blade saw no point in explaining that he would be returning to the land of the English long before enough years had passed to force him to retire as a Zungan warrior. Or if not returning to England, at least moving on to another land than Zunga. Nayung obviously liked and trusted him, wanted to treat him as a friend, and wanted to see him stay and be accepted by the Zungans. Blade suspected that Nayung also had in mind his value as an ally for some plans of his own.

There was plenty of food and water for all six men, and Blade dug in vigorously, not trying to hide the appetite he had worked up since his arrival in this dimension. Chamba jeered at him for that.

«Blade,» he said, «a Zungan warrior can march for two days and then fight a great battle on half of what you have eaten and drunk at one sitting.»

«I don't doubt it,» said Blade. «But if he cannot reach his goal before the enemy does, or win the battle when he meets the enemy, what good does that do? And if he has not eaten and drunk enough simply to prove how strong he is, then he has simply proved that he has the brains of a little cheeping bird as well as the appetite of one.»

If Nayung had not fixed him with a glare, Chamba would have jumped up and hurled himself on Blade then and there. It occurred to Blade that he might wisely be a little less sharp-tongued with Chamba. On the other hand, the man was obviously Nayung's enemy as well as his own. For Blade's own safety, he decided to deal with Chamba fairly soon. Baiting him was the best way to push him into the necessary fight. But it would definitely be better to wait until they had reached the home territory of the Zungans, and Blade had gained some status among them. This would keep people from asking too many nasty questions of either him or Nayung when Chamba did not come back from the hunting trip.

In spite of his words to Blade, Chamba ate like a starving man, then lay down and promptly fell asleep. Nayung looked down at him with a sour smile on his face. «He is quite certain that he is too good to be asked to wear himself out mounting guard.» Nayung shrugged. «It seems to be up to me, then. I…»

Blade shook his head. «You have been hunting all day. I have not traveled far, and I am less tired than you are. I will keep the first watch tonight.»

Nayung tried to argue, more out of his pride as a warrior than because he disagreed with Blade or resented his offer. But eventually he gave in and lay down on the carpet of leaves. He was asleep within a few moments. The other warriors soon joined him.

Blade picked up one of the spears and hefted it experimentally. The spearhead was actually more like a short sword. It was about two feet long from socket to point, about five inches across at its widest point, and nearly half an inch thick in the middle. It was made of poor-quality wrought iron. Both the point and the edge were surprisingly sharp, considering the quality of the iron. In fact, the workmanship of the whole spear was considerably better than the materials. The Zungans obviously were proud of their weapons and spent much time and thought in making them.

Then Blade examined the spear shaft. It was four feet of tough, limber, and exceedingly hard wood. He tried to pull the spearhead off, to test the balance of the shaft without the head, but the socket was too tight. So he stood up and went through a series of quarterstaff and kendo movements with the complete spear. Then he grinned again. With some more weight at the butt end, the spear would be perfectly balanced for use as quarterstaff. The wood was excellent. In fact, the spear would probably be a more effective weapon without the head, if all the head was used for was that overhead downstroke or the windmill slash that Blade had seen in the fight.

Suddenly Blade felt light-headed and almost buoyant. Less than twelve hours after arriving in this dimension, his training with weapons had already put one key to solving the Zungan's problems into his hand. Then he shut off that line of thought and took a more sober look at the situation.

The Zungans were obviously much given to being hostile to strangers. He could not blame them, but here it was. His own prospects for a peaceful reception still depended on Nayung. And he had no idea what Nayung's reaction would be to turning the entire Zungan fighting style head over heels with this new method. Blade knew he had better find out before he started shooting off his mouth. Such a proud people as the Zungans might balk at learning from even a friendly stranger.

He knew at least which side he should be on in this dimension. Nayung had described the Kandans and the Rulami as raiding the Zungans for slaves-mine slaves, domestic slaves, and gladiators. That didn't necessarily make them completely evil. But Blade had a perspective on slavery that few modern men had. He had been a slave several times, and what it did to a man's spirit was not something written in the pages of a book. He might not aid the Zungans if he found them unwilling or unable to accept his aid. But it would take some very extraordinary virtues among the Kandans or the Rulami to make him willing to help either one of them.

That settled that point in his mind for the time being. He stood up, and began a slow walk around the wall of the little compound, peering out into the darkness.