Lallia

V

Night came with a thin wind gusting from the sea, a mist of cloud hiding the stars and intensifying the darkness. Men with torches came to escort the tribunal, their faces hard and solemn in the guttering light. Nimino's voice was low as he walked beside Dumarest, both men three paces behind the captain.

"We get this from time to time. As traders we're con shy;sidered to be impartial and when a hard decision has to be made we are asked to give it. That way no one has any reason to hold a grudge. A lot of these worlds have a tribal culture or large families locked in a struggle for power. A vendetta would ruin them and most are too proud or too wary to submit to the judgment of other residents." Nimino stumbled as his foot caught an obstruction and he grabbed at Dumarest's arm to save himself from falling. "I just hope that we don't have to execute anyone."

The meeting house was a long, low-roofed structure built of logs caulked with clay, lit by flaring torches, and hung with a clutter of various trophies. Benches accommodated the audience, the sour reek of their bodies rising to blend with the resinous smell of the torches, the odor of damp soil.

Dumarest studied them as he took his seat on the raised platform occupying one end of the hall. They wore either rough jerkins and trousers made of treated fish skins or som shy;ber garments of wool. The fishers and farmers, he decided; but aside from their clothes they seemed all cast from the same mold. Like the elderly guards, their faces were set in fanatical lines as if to laugh was to commit a sin. Hair was long and held back with fillets of skin or leather; those of hammered steel being obviously a badge of authority. There were no young women present but a double row of matrons, shapeless in voluminous dresses, sat at the extreme rear.

Nimino leaned towards Dumarest and said quietly, "Look at their eyes, Earl. Have you ever seen such an expression before?"

It was the blood-lust glare inherent to mobs and to those anticipating blood and pain. He had seen it a hundred times in the eyes of watchers clustered around a ring where men fought with ten-inch blades. At his side Sheyan moved restlessly on the hard wooden chair.

"Why the delay?" he said to the chief elder. "We are assembled, where is the prisoner?"

There was a stir at the far end of the hall. A dozen men, guards, hard-faced and no longer young, marched forward with someone in their midst. They halted before the raised platform and stepped back, their staves swinging horizontal before them to form a barrier. Isolated in the clear space before the platform, a girl looked coolly at the tribunal.

"By God," she said. "Men. Real men at last!"

"Silence!" Herkam's voice was harsh with anger. "There will be no blasphemy. Guards! If the woman Lallia speaks so again you will strike her down!"

Nimino drew in his breath with an audible hiss. "By the sacred mantras of the Dedla Vhal," he said. "That is a woman!"

She was tall, with a mane of lustrous black hair which swept from a high forehead and rested on her left shoulder. Beneath a rough dress of undyed wool the curves of her body strained under the fabric. Her skin was white, arms and feet bare, the long column of her throat unadorned. The long-lashed eyes were bold, challenging, and the full lips held a wealth of sensuous passion.

Herkam looked at Sheyan, at the others of the tribunal.

"This is the one on whom you must pass judgment," he said. "She came to us several months ago from a ship which called here. We gave her the guest offering of food and wine and accepted the stranger within our gates. In return she has sowed dissension, turning brother against brother, mocking our sacred ways and filling the young men with thoughts of evil.

We gave her work among the women and she dazzled their minds with tales of orgies, dancing, fine raiment, and decadent living.

We put her to work alone and then had to set guards to keep the young men away from the enticement of her body."

"A moment." Sheyan lifted his hand. "What is the charge against her?"

"That of witchcraft! Of consorting with the Evil One!"

"The evidence?"

It was as Dumarest expected; a list of petty incidents inconsequential in themselves, but in this in-bred, neurotic community, swollen to grotesque proportions. A woman had pricked her thumb while cleaning fish skins, the resultant infection was wholly due to the accused's evil eye. A young man had died while fishing-a spell must have been laid on his spear so that it broke at a critical time. Crops had withered after she had walked among them. A baby had sickened after she had spoken to it.

Dumarest looked at the chief elder during the interminable list of complaints and accusations. Herkam was no fool and must know the real value of what was being said. Lallia was guilty of arousing nothing more than jealously and re shy;sentment among the women, desire and frustration among the men. And yet, in such a community, such emotions were dangerous. He began to understand why the case had been given to outsiders to judge.

"This is a bad one, Earl." Nimino's voice was barely a whisper. "We're dealing with fanaticism and aberrated fears — an ugly combination."

It was more than that. Dumarest leaned back, watching the faces of the girl, the men and women seated on the benches. Herkam was playing a shrewd game of politics and playing it well. There would be factions for and against the girl. Young men of high family would be enamored of her beauty, each snarling like a dog over a favored bone, each determined that if he could not win the prize then it should fall to no other. The women would be banded in a common determination to bring her down. Herkam would be trying to both maintain the peace and his own authority.

And shortly would come the time of festival when the wine flowed and old scores were settled. A time of unleashed pas shy;sion and explosive violence. In such an atmosphere the girl would be a match to tinder and, no matter what happened, the chief elder would be held to blame.

Dumarest leaned forward as the accusations ceased and said to Sheyan. "Let us hear from the girl herself."

"There's no need," the captain was sharp. "She'd deny everything, what else would you expect?"

"He's right, Earl." Nimino joined the low conversation. "We're not dealing with justice here. The girl is innocent, of course, but we daren't say so. They wouldn't accept it. They want her to be found guilty and destroyed. Herkam wants that, too, but he doesn't want her blood on his hands." The navigator frowned, thinking. "We could take her with us but I doubt if they would let her go. They have to be proved right and they want to see her suffer."

"We could execute her," said Sheyan. "At least that would be quick."

"No," said Dumarest.

"What else?" The captain's face was bunched, knotted with anger. "Do you want her to be burned? Or have you got some crazy idea of rescuing her? If you have forget it. We're three against an entire community and we wouldn't even get out of this hall. And we'd lose the oil," he added. "Unless we play this Herkam's way he won't release it."

"The oil," said Dumarest tightly. "Is that all you're think shy;ing about?"

"I'm thinking of the ship, the crew, your share and mine. Do you think I intend to throw away the best trade I've ever made for the sake of some stupid slut? Look at her!" Shey shy;an gestured to where Lallia stood, waiting. "A cheap harlot who got herself dumped. Well, to hell with her! I'm no wet nurse to aid the fallen. She's got herself into a mess and she can't expect us to lose our profit to get her out. I say we re shy;turn a verdict of guilty."

"No," said Dumarest again. "She's innocent and we all know it."

"What's that got to do with it?" Sheyan looked at his hands, they were trembling. "Don't push it, handler," he said harshly. "I don't like doing this but it has to be done. We won't get that oil unless we act smart-and I intend getting that oil. A majority vote will do it. Nimino?"

The navigator hesitated. "She is very beautiful. To destroy such beauty would be a crime."

"Are you turning soft on me?"

"No, captain, but there could be another way. Do you object to taking her with us?"

"As long as we get the oil-no."

"And you, Earl? Will you help?"

Dumarest was wary. "What have you got in mind?"

"A trick," said Nimino. "An appeal to their religious con shy;victions. It is the only chance the woman has."

The hall fell silent as Nimino rose to his feet, soft whispers dying to be replaced by a straining expectancy. In the gut shy;tering torchlight eyes gleamed savage, feral: the eyes of animals rather than those of men. From where he stood to one side, the chief elder stepped towards the tribunal.

"Have you reached your verdict?"

"We have." The navigator's voice rolled with the power of an incantation. "It is the verdict of us all."

"And that is?"

Deliberately Nimino took his time before answering, let shy;ting the silence lengthen to obtain dramatic effect. He was a good actor, thought Dumarest, and was putting to use the things he had learned from attending numerous religious ceremonies. Casually he glanced at the woman. Lallia stood, tense, white teeth gnawing at her lower lip. Her eyes, no longer bold, held a shadow of worry. The tribunal had taken too long, there had been too much discussion, and she was cynical in her knowledge of the ways of men. Dumarest caught the slight tension of muscles beneath the fabric of her dress, the tensing of thighs and stomach, the unconscious reaction of a person who readied herself for struggle or flight.

But there was nowhere to run and she would not have to fight.

"Your verdict?" Herkam's nerve had snapped and he spoke to break the tension. "What is your decision?"

"That the woman face trial by combat!"

It was totally unexpected. The chief elder's face went blank as he tried to grasp the implications and Nimino spoke again, quickly, before he could protest.

"We have traveled many worlds and have seen the manifestations of the All Powerful in many guises. And, too, we have seen the malicious designs of the Evil One. Who can gauge the extent of his cunning? Who can deny that they are proof against his insidious evil? This woman has been accused of witchcraft and it may well be that she is guilty. If so then she must be put to death for it is an abomina shy;tion that such as she be allowed to live. But if she has been wrongly accused, what then?"

"She is a witch!"

"Kill her!"

"Slay the thing of evil!"

The voices poured from where the double row of matrons sat at the rear of the hall. Others, less coherent, came from the assembled men. Several sprang to their feet, arms waving, feet stamping the dirt of the floor.

"Hold!" The chief elder signaled to the guards and heavy staves lifted and fell as they beat the young men back into their places. "There will be silence in this place. We deal with a human life and that is not a thing to be treated with shy;out due solemnity." He turned to where Nimino stood. "Ex shy;plain."

"The charge of witchcraft is one easy to make and hard to refute," continued the navigator. "It could be that the All Powerful has reached forth to place the truth on the lips of those who accuse-or it could be that the Evil One seeks to rend the hearts of those same accusers by causing them to bear false witness. If that should be the case, and if the accused should die because of it, then woe to the people of Candara." His voice deepened, echoed with rolling thunder. "They shall die and perish to be blown away by the wind. Their crops shall fail and their cattle abort and the beasts of the sea shall withhold their meat. Demons shall come to torment the night with ceaseless dreams and all shall perish to become as dust in the wind. For the All Powerful will not extend the wing of protection to those who are seduced by the Evil One. There will be no peace, no comfort, brother shall turn against brother and man shall turn against wife. All, all will be totally lost and pass as if they had never been. This I prophesy!"

Herkam frowned; he had no liking for anyone but himself making such prophecies, especially not visiting traders. And things were not going as he had planned. He had expected a quick verdict of guilty in which case the woman could have been disposed of and the incident forgotten.

He said sharply, "We know full well the might of the All Powerful. What does your verdict imply?"

Nimino smiled, white teeth flashing in the torchlight. "The woman denies being a witch," he said. "We have decided that the matter be judged by a Higher Power. If her cham shy;pion falls then she is proven guilty. If not, then she must be allowed to depart in peace."

The thing had its possibilities. The chief elder pondered them, conscious of the watchful eyes in the hall, the air of anticipation. A fight would provide the needed spectacle, the necessary blood and, in the remote event of the woman's champion winning, he would be able to castigate those who had made the accusations. In either case he would be rid of the troublemaker. But it would be best if the woman did not win.

He said, "Who is the woman's champion?"

Dumarest rose. "I am."

Herkam felt a glow of inner satisfaction. A trader. One who, by the nature of his employment, must of necessity lack the strength of a manual worker.

"I bow to your verdict," he said sonorously. And then, to the guards, said, "Find Gilliam and bring him here."

The man was an atavar, a monster, a mutated freak spawned from radiation-distorted genes. Seven feet tall, his shoulders and arms heavy with ridged and knotted muscle, his legs as thick and as strong as the boles of gnarled trees, he lumbered from the rear of the hall and stood blinking in the cleared space before the platform. Matted hair fell to just above his deep-set eyes. Bare feet, callused and scarred, toed the ground. His hands clenched as a voice rumbled from the depths of his chest.

"You want Gilliam, chief elder?"

"I want you to fight." Herkam pointed towards Dumarest. "This is the man."

"To kill?"

"To kill." Herkam gestured at the guards. "Take him and prepare him for battle."

"Earl, I'm sorry." Nimino sucked in his breath. "I didn't know. I thought they would use one of the guards. You're fast and could have taken any of them without trouble. Who would have guessed they had a monster like that?"

"Win or lose I want that oil." Sheyan's face was furrowed with worry. "If you fall, Dumarest, I'm sorry; but it will be just too bad. There's nothing we can do to help you. You go and the girl goes with you."

Dumarest looked to where she stood, the full lips blood shy;less now, her eyes like those of a trapped beast. The hands at her sides were clenched, the knuckles showing white be shy;neath the skin. She turned and caught his eyes, her own following him as he stepped from the platform and moved towards her.

"Mister," she said flatly, "I thank you for what you're try shy;ing to do, but you haven't got a chance. That freak can't be stopped."

"You want me to pull out?"

"No." Her voice was resonant, musical beneath the harsh shy;ness of strain. "This way I've got a slim chance," she ad shy;mitted. "The other way I've got none at all. These crazy people want my blood and if you quit they'll get it." She shivered a little. "Look at them! Animals! And Gilliam's the worst. He's an idiot, solid bone and muscle with the intel shy;ligence of a five-year-old. They use him to haul up the boats and do all the heavy stuff. Sometimes he goes insane and then they have to catch him in nets and tie him down. As a reward they let him slaughter the cattle. He thinks it's fun."

Dumarest looked to where men clustered around the giant. They were stripping him, coating him with oil, fastening a loincloth of leather around his hips. Dwarfed by his stature the chief elder stood to one side, hands lifted, lips moving as he called a blessing down on the champion of the people.

Nimino came to stand beside the girl and Dumarest.

"You'd better get ready, Earl," he said, his voice reflecting his worry. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Fetch him a laser," said Lallia. "That or a score of men to help him out."

The navigator ignored the comment. "Well, Earl?"

"No." Dumarest flexed his toes in his shoes, his shoulders beneath the material of his uniform. The plastic was firm and would give some protection against the claws of his opponent. "Do we fight bare-handed?"

A guard came forward and handed him a stave. It was a plain length of wood, six feet long and two inches thick; both ends were bound with leather. Nimino stepped back, pulling the girl with him as Gilliam moved to the center of the open space.

"I kill," he said. And rushed forward.

Dumarest ducked and felt the wind brush his hair, the drone of the staff's passing sounding like a deep-toned bee. Immediately he sprang aside as Gilliam, turning with amaz shy;ing speed, again lashed out with the staff. He held it in one great hand, wielding it as a boy would a stick, lashing with the full power of his arms and shoulders at the darting figure in the cleared space.

"Good luck, Earl!" called Nimino.

"Kill him, Earl!" said the girl.

Dumarest ignored the encouragement as he warily darted from the attacks of his opponent. He held his own staff horizontal before him, each hand a third of the way from either end, ready to parry or strike as the opportunity pre shy;sented itself. The weapon was clumsy, awkward to handle, needing much practice before a man could become pro shy;ficient in its use. Had Gilliam used it properly Dumarest knew that he would already be dead.

He ducked again, darted to one side, sprang back as a vicious downswing caused the air to strike his eyeballs. It was useless to attempt to tire his opponent, those great mus shy;cles would house inexhaustible energy and, too, they pro shy;tected the bone beneath. Letting trained reflexes govern his evading movements Dumarest studied the weak points against which he must aim his attack: the groin, joints, eyes, and throat. The groin presented too small a target and was protected by the swell of thighs and the ridged muscle of the belly. A successful attack could win the contest but the chances were against it being successful. The deep-set eyes were set with ridges of overhanging bone; the spade of the chin lowered over the vulnerable throat. The elbows were awkward to get at.

Only one thing was really in his favor: the limited intel shy;ligence of the giant. Gilliam had been given a staff and told to kill his opponent. He tried to do it with the staff alone instead of adding the weapon to his natural armory. Also he was using it as a saber-and any man armed with a quarterstaff could beat a swordsman.

If he were skilled with its use.

If the swordsman had normal strength.

Again the giant swung his staff through the air. Duma-rest ducked, straightened, and saw the length of wood sweeping in a backhand slash towards his skull. Desperate shy;ly he threw up his own staff, the wood meeting with a vicious crack, the force of the interrupted blow knocking his own weapon hard against the side of his head. Dazed, Duma-rest fell to the ground, rolling frantically as the staff whined down towards him, the end gouging deep as he sprang to his feet.

"Kill!" gloated the giant. "I kill!"

Dumarest tensed as the giant reared back, the staff lifted high. His hands shifted as he altered his grip on his own weapon. Should Gilliam sweep his staff downwards in a cut shy;ting blow then he must spring to one side and slam the end of his own pole directly into one of the eyes. If he should try a sidewise swing then he must duck and strike before the giant could recover his balance.

Air droned as the staff swept towards him.

Dumarest crouched, straightened, and struck at the side of the giant's face, the end of his staff smashing against the prominent ridge of bone protecting the eye. Immediate shy;ly Gilliam turned, staff whining in a backhand blow. Duma-rest sprang from it, throwing himself behind the giant's back, poising himself with the staff held by the end in both hands, the tip well beyond his shoulder. As the giant, baffled, turned again to find his elusive opponent, Dumarest sprang forward, the staff a blur as he sent the length of wood hard against the exposed kneecap. There was a dull crack of yielding bone and Gilliam staggered, his face distorting in pain.

"Hurt," he mumbled. "Hurt!"

Dumarest struck again, viciously, using the full strength of back and shoulders. Again the staff cracked against the bro shy;ken kneecap. As it did he threw himself backward in a com shy;plete somersault, landing just beyond the reach of the giant's staff.

Gilliam sprang after him. Sprang and fell as his shat shy;tered knee refused to carry his enormous weight. As he crashed to the ground Dumarest leaped forward, staff lifted high above his head, smashing it down at the base of the muscular neck. Twice he struck. At the third blow the staff cracked and fell apart. Chest heaving, the broken end of the staff held sword-fashion in his right hand, Dumarest stepped towards the fallen giant.

Nimino caught his arm as he went to stab the splintered end into the corded throat.

"That's enough, Earl! Earl, damn you, that's enough! You've won!"

Dumarest drew air deep into his lungs and looked at the shattered staff in his hand. "He's dead?"

"Stone cold. You snapped his neck."

"Good." Dumarest lifted a hand and touched a wetness on his head. One of the giant's wild blows must have torn his scalp. He looked at the blood on his hand. How close had death been then? Quietly he said, "So I've won. Now get us out of here. All of us. The girl as well."

"And the oil," said Sheyan as he joined the group. "Don't forget the oil."