Renegade of Callisto

17 The Trap

Dawn flared above the Hidden Valley of Sargol on the day after Koja had led the Kandars through the pass and into the heartland of his race.

It lit to flame the golden skies of Callisto, gleaming upon the walls of the Arena, the row upon row of Yathoon tents, and illuminating the tiered citadel of the Arkon.

With dawn, Koja broke his fast with his chieftains. Then, with Borak at his right hand, he and his chieftains rode across the Valley to the citadel which soared against its farthest wall.

There, in the great hall before the Arkon’s throne, all of the high chiefs of the five Clans were assembled, with their chieftains.

With the Arkon and his retinue leading the way, the lords and princelings of the Horde descended by a secret stair behind the Arkon’s throne into a mighty cavern hollowed deep within the living rock of the mountains.

They went in solemn silence. Only the clink of their weapons and accouterments and the tramp of many feet broke the sepulchral silence of this hallowed place.

They descended to look upon the precious and jealously guarded secret which their forefathers had hidden from the world for a thousand generations.

Deep within the cavern they entered into a chamber. It was capacious, that niche within the rock, and roofed with crystal so that the glory of the daylight fell in splendor upon rich carpets and silken cushions and the dainty furnishings wherewith the gaunt walls of stone and the rocky floor were rendered sumptuous.

There they looked upon the females of their race.

In all respects, the females of the Yathoon are identical to the males, but they are smaller and slimmer of build, and their mandibles are less developed and therefore lend them an aspect less ferocious and bestial than that of the males.

Their slim chitin-clad forms were naked and of a more mellow hue than the harsh coloring of the males. And, whereas the male Yathoon were naked but for their war harness, the bodies of the females blazed with a thousand gems.

In a deep, soft nest of meadow grasses reposed the larva. Like naked, glistening grubs they were, and repulsive to the human eye. But in the grave and melancholy gaze of the silent males they were incredibly beautiful. For from these larva would hatch the children of the Yathoon, which represented the future of their race.

As did the females.

In the Valley beyond, perhaps twenty thousand Yathoon warriors were encamped, the entirety of the race.

And here, within this cushioned holy of holies, thirty-nine females dwelt in sumptuous and silken luxury.

And this was the secret which the Yathoon concealed from the world. Their race was dying.

They looked long upon the sight of those precious to them, then turned away and regained again the open air.

That day the Horde conducted its business. Laws were discussed, punishments bestowed, rewards given.

That night there was another feast.

The great hall of the citadel blazed with the light of two hundred torches. At long low tables, seated tailor-fashion upon cushions, tile lords and princes of the Horde feasted solemnly and conversed humorlessly.

Throughout the feast, and without seeming to do so, the Arkon stole many furtive glances at his rival, Koja.

Borak, seated upon Koja’s right, was also under the scrutiny of an old rival and enemy. For the Haroob Clan were, of course, in Sargol for the annual Games, and this was the Clan from whose chieftainship Borak had been ousted by the jealous Gorpak and his cunning henchman, Hooka.

Throughout the meal, Gorpak had glowered across the tables at the imperturbable Borak, muttering surly comments about “traitors” and “renegades” in harsh tones clearly meant to be overheard. It was only proper for Borak to ignore them.

But the Arkon Kamchan noticed this exchange and recognized Koja’s chieftain as the former lord of the Haroobs. The fact bore no obvious correlation to the present situation, but, wily and cunning as he was, the Arkon never let anything escape him and filed this tidbit of information away in his cold, Machiavellian brain.

You could never tell when a smoldering rivalry between two warriors would be fanned to a blaze which might consume a hated rival …

After the feast, the Arkon dismissed his chiefs but passed along word to Gorpak of the Haroobs to join him at moonset.

The two conversed for some time, circling around and around the central point, and parted near dawn in complete agreement.

With day, the Games began. Champions were selected from the five great tribal groupings to contest for the victory. And, although it was not customary for an akka-komor to compete against warriors of lesser rank or renown, Koja entered the lists as a common contestant.

Perhaps he felt that it was incumbent upon him to prove his prowess before the Kandars, that he might gain once again their loyalty and regard.

A famous champion, Koja competed throughout that day with the finest and most skillful warriors of the Five Clans, as often as not carrying off the victory. They fought with whip-swords, then with bows, followed by lassos, and finally with spears; afoot and mounted and in light chariots drawn by teams of matched thaptors, and the applause mounted with every victory that Koja won.

And with every victory won by his hated rival, the Arkon Kamchan’s humor became more bitter and savage.

But, as for the lords and chieftains of the Horde, they admired the extraordinary skill and strength and prowess of the new Kandar princeling unreservedly. A warrior race born and bred, only a superior display of skill in the warlike arts could win their favor. And Koja triumphed during that long day, rapidly becoming once again one of the favorites of the Horde.

Borak as well, taking his cue from his chief, entered the lists and scored remarkably with bow and spear, to the envy and disgruntlement of the jealous Gorpak.

This fact did not escape the cold and watchful eyes of the Arkon.

And then there occurred one of those small accidents upon which the destiny of nations sometimes revolves.

When each contest was concluded, it was the task of each of the five Clans in turn to remove the corpses, broken weapons, and other debris, and to clean and smooth the fine sand with which the floor of the arena was covered. These tasks, of course, the warriors of each Clan gave over to their slaves and captives. And, as chance would have it, today it was the responsibility of the captives of the Zajjadars to repair the damage and remove the fallen. As Koja was retiring from the field, he happened to encounter the first of the slaves as they entered the Arena. Among them were none other than Prince Valkar, young Taran, Xara of Ganatol, and the lieutenant, Kadar. Koja stopped short in astonishment.

“Valkar of Shondakor, is it you?” he exclaimed. And in the next moment, Taran, crowing with joy, was hugging the towering form of his friend, while solemn Koja, somewhat dazedly, exchanged greetings with the Princess of Ganatol and Kadar.

And Gorpak of the Haroob Clan saw it all.

So did the Arkon Kamchan. That his hated rival had friends and comrades among the captives taken recently by the Zajjadar warriors was an interesting, a potentially valuable, fact. One of those little items of information which Kamchan liked to file away in his memory for later use …

That very night, as the chiefs of the Horde feasted in the citadel of the Arkon, there occurred that which caused events to move rapidly toward their destined, and sanguinary, conclusion.

It had greatly alarmed and disgruntled Gorpak to find Borak alive and among the chieftains of the Kandars. From the position of obvious intimacy he shared with his high chief, Koja, it seemed very likely to Gorpak that Borak might prevail upon Koja to lend the strength and influence and prestige of the Kandars in an effort to dislodge Gorpak from his high place, in order that Borak might once again become the akka-komor of his Clan.

He had discovered, as well, that the Arkon was not unalterably opposed to the defeat or humiliation of Borak, since thereby might Koja also be made to fall from power. The two had discussed several means by which this might be effected; for the Haroob Clan were strong supporters of the Arkon Kamchan, or, at least, Gorpak and his hench-crony Hooka were.

An incident was arranged. Two of the Arkon’s most powerful henchmen, Norga and Gorn―matchless warriors with great skill―were to rig a quarrel with Borak during the feast, and were to loudly demand satisfaction in blood. If Koja spoke up on behalf of his chieftain, then both Gorpak and Hooka were to announce that Borak―whom they would pretend to have just recognized―was aharj, that is, an outlaw and exile, and hence not under the protection of any Clan and fair game for the duello.

By this means, it was considered likely that everyone involved would gain their desired ends. Surely, Norga and Gorn would make short work of Borak, which would make Gorpak and Hooka rest easier. And Koja would have to stand by and swallow the humiliation of watching his comrade insulted, challenged, and slain before his eyes. Which would make him lose face before the other chieftains of the Kandars, lessening his prestige and thereby reducing his ability to remain a rival to the Arkon.

Things went according to this cunning plan. Borak, affronted, accepted the challenge. Koja, however, realizing that his friend stood little chance against two of the finest warriors of the entire Horde, spoke up to remind the council of chiefs of the Sacred Peace which invested all of the Valley of Sargol and made it a sanctuary in which duels, murders, and assassinations were strictly forbidden. The words were scarcely out of his mouth before Hooka and Gorpak rose to point out that Borak was an outlaw and hence under sentence of death anyway. And, in turn, according to their prearranged plan, the Arkon next rose to pronounce as his will that the outlaw Borak accept the challenge and fight to the death.

An endless moment of silence stretched taut in the vast room. Koja remained standing, staring levelly into the coldly malignant gaze of Kamchan. He saw too late―the trap into which he had fallen. But he could not, in all conscience, stand idly by and watch his comrade butchered: The waiting became interminable. Then―

“I challenge your ruling, mighty Arkon,” Koja said in a flat voice. The words, evenly spaced, fell one by one into the silence.

Kamchan blinked incredulously, a dawning wonder and delight growing within his cruel heart. Was it possible that Koja was challenging him to the duello? That would be the most satisfactory of all possible conclusions to this carefully arranged scene: a bully, stuffed full of overweening pride and lordly confidence in his oft-proven abilities, Kamchan deemed that he had little to fear from Koja.

“To challenge your Arkon’s will,” he grated harshly, inwardly gloating, “is to challenge your Arkon!”

Koja knew this very well. But, as an akka-komor of the Horde, it was his privilege to challenge the leader of the Horde to personal combat at any time. This was usually done only when one of the high chiefs of the Clans felt sufficiently confident of victory to risk unseating the Arkon, thereby to replace him. However, there was no way out of this now …

“I, Koja, akka-komor of the Kandars, challenge the Arkon Kamchan to the duello,” he said emotionlessly. Kamchan instantly accepted. In the interval his wily, malicious brain had realized a way to utilize the valuable information he had learned only a little time before.

“As the challenged, it is my privilege to dictate the form and nature of the duel,” he announced. And then he let fall the first thunderbolt he had been saving. “It shall be in the form of a game of Darza, fought between Koja of the Kandars and myself, the Darza Pieces to be represented by living men and women, of my selection.”

A murmur of consternation and surprise ran over the room, and there was a rustle of involuntary movement as the auditors of this astounding statement turned to stare in wonder at each other.

Koja nodded briefly, giving assent to the terms of the duello. The Arkon’s passion for the game of Darza was widely known; so, too, was the fact that he was a great Darza master. But it could not be helped.

Then Kamchan let fall a second thunderbolt. He turned to Yazar, the high chief of the Zajjadars, and in a loud, ringing voice commanded him to select from among his captives four slaves whom he described, not knowing their names. The high chief of the Zajjadars acceded to his Arkon’s request.

“These captives, together with the outlaw Borak, shall serve, O Koja, as your living Darza pieces,” said Kamchan gloatingly.

Koja said nothing.

The captives who would fight in this game of living Callistan chess were none other than Prince Valkar, Princess Xara, Kadar of Shondakor, and little Taran.

And the game would be―to the death.

18 The Game of Darza Begins

Under the blazing skies of golden dawn the strangest and most unusual game of Darza ever played in the immeasurable ages which compose the history of the jungle Moon commenced.

“Darza” means, literally, “war-game,” and is used in the sense of “tourney,” or “mock-battle.” But now, for the first time since the game was invented aeons ago, it took on every aspect of a genuine tourney.

The sandy floor of the great Arena had already been marked off into a Darza “field,” which closely resembles an earthly chessboard. Alternate squares of dark- and light-colored sand formed a long rectangular playing area composed of nine rows of seven squares each.

At either end of the gigantic chessboard, tall wooden thrones had been set up wherefrom Koja and Kamchan would overlook the field of play and control the movements of the players.

Now swords were solemnly struck against shields, the Yathoon equivalent of the braying of trumpets, and the living chessmen who would fight to the death for victory in this weirdest of all Darza games began to assemble.

They marched upon the field in two rows, and their garments were colored either Red or Black, representing the two sets of Darza pieces customarily used in the game.*

Kamchan and Koja took their positions as Prince on either throne, while their five players arranged themselves before each Prince in an open arrowhead formation. To Koja’s right in the second row, as his Chieftain, Kadar was stationed, and to his left, Borak.

One row ahead of Kadar and to his left, Xara of Ganatol served as Bowman, while to Borak’s right, in the same row, Valkar stood in position as Swordsman.

Spearheading the formation was young Taran, as Scout.

Koja was fully armed, befitting a Prince: he could move the entire length of the field if he chose, but only at right angles. Kadar and Borak, the Red Chieftains, were armed with sword, axe, and spear. They could move at right angles, too, but for only three squares each turn. As Bowman, Xara could move only on the diagonals, the length of the field if she wished. Valkar, the Swordsman, could move with exactly the same ease as a knight in chess―ahead two squares and over one square more, or ahead one square and over two. He, of course, was armed only with sword and shield.

Taran, as Scout, could only move ahead one square at a time. And he bore neither weapons nor shield and was defenseless. But, if he reached “Prince’s Row” ―the last row on the field, currently occupied by Kamchan―he could become a Prince and would receive full weaponry. In effect, then, the Scout in Darza resembles the pawn in chess.

Koja’s team were the Reds, and Kamchan’s were the Blacks.

Kamchan had, perhaps maliciously, or perhaps because he knew how much they lusted for the death of Borak, positioned Hooka and Gorpak as his Chieftains, while for his Bowman and Swordsman he had chosen two renowned and skillful veteran fighters, Norga and Gorn. His Scout was a powerful arthropod called Orad.

And so this strangest of all games of Darza began …

It is customary to open with one’s Bowman, moving him to the fifth square of the farthest row, so that he challenges the opposing Swordsman. Kamchan, however, advanced his Scout, Orad, so that he faced little Taran.

His motives for this unorthodox opening were extremely clever. This was no academic Darza match, but a battle to the death. In an ordinary game, the Red Prince would probably not scruple to sacrifice his Scout since, with his next move, he could take the Black Scout with his Bowman.

But here, of course, Koja would not care to risk the life of his young friend, for Orad was bigger and more powerful than the young boy, and in any struggle―even with bare hands―he could doubtless kill the youth. So Koja advanced his Swordsman, Valkar, two squares forward and one to the right.

As Valkar entered the square, Orad threw himself upon him, obviously determined to defend himself as best he could. A Yathoon, he was of course nearly twice as tall as the Shondakorian, with far greater reach of forelimbs, and the ability to leap high in the air―which is exactly what he did, kicking Valkar in the head as he sprang over him.

Not expecting the blow, Valkar did not block it and fell to his knees, shaking his head dizzily. Landing lightly beyond him, Orad whirled and seized his sword-arm, and strove to wrest the weapon from him. But Valkar struck out with the edge of his shield, catching Orad in the midsection, where the abdomen joined the thorax―a numbing blow. The stalklegged giant staggered, and Valkar tore his sword-arm free and sank his steel into the heart of the Black Scout.

There was no applause. From his wooden throne in Prince’s Row, the Arkon glowered grimly. Valkar stood, shaking his head to clear it and catching his breath, while slaves dragged the corpse of Orad from the field.

It then being Kamchan’s move, he advanced his own Swordsman two rows ahead and one square to his right, so that he entered the square now occupied by Valkar. And a second pitched battle ensued, but this time between two equally armed warriors. Still, however, the advantage lay with the Black Swordsman, Gorn. The clash of steel, the shuffle of sandaled feet in the sand, the grunt and wheeze of effort were the only sounds that broke the stillness of the tense scene.

Xara felt stifled as if she could hardly breathe, and her heart thudded painfully against her ribs as the gallant Prince fought for his life against the towering Gorn, armed with his long, flexible whip-sword, which was nearly half again the length of Valkar’s blade. The two circled, watching for an opening, while Gorn measured his singing needle-like blade against Valkar’s long-sword. Each time he struck, he forced Valkar to raise his left arm, catching the steel lash of the razory blade upon his shield. The fourth time this happened, Gorn kicked out with his long, double-jointed legs, trying to give Valkar a crippling blow in the groin.

Valkar hastily dropped his shield, blocking the kick and then, before the Black Swordsman could bring his whipsword back into play to cut off his exposed head, he risked all on a daring lunge over the top of his shield.

It caught Gorn full in the breast, and, although the tough chitin of his natural armor deflected the stroke, it slashed a long and fairly deep furrow the width of his thorax. Blood welled forth from the footlong wound. Gorn lurched to his knees and fell forward. Valkar bent and cut off his head.

The next move being Koja’s, he commanded Valkar to advance two rows and to occupy the square to the right, which had been Gorn’s original position. This, in effect, put Kamchan, the Black Prince, in check, for Valkar was only one move away from a duel with the Arkon. Glaring and fuming, Kamchan was forced to move to his own right one square, to be out of Valkar’s reach―which wasted him a move.

Koja now enjoyed a definite advantage, having taken Kamchan’s Scout and Swordsman, and, luckily, having lost none of his own “pieces.” As it was now his turn to move, he pressed his advantage and advanced his Chieftain, Borak, three rows, so that he stood directly facing the Black Chieftain, Hooka. Borak’s expressionless visage could not express the grim satisfaction he doubtless felt, but the extreme agitation of Hooka was obvious to all. The Black Chieftain knew that Borak well remembered the trick with the poison he had played, in order to drive Borak into exile and to elevate Gorpak. And he quavered inwardly, hoping against hope that Kamchan would remove him from the reach of Borak’s steel.

Kamchan, however, callously left Hooka where he was and unlimbered his Bowman, rightly determining that it was time he took the initiative again. He advanced his Bowman, Norga, to his left along the diagonal until, after two squares, he again menaced Koja’s Scout, Taran. With the next move, Norga could easily slay the boy. Taran was pale but did not restrain himself from casting an appealing look in Koja’s direction. Norga nocked his bow, and his cold, glittering eyes marked a spot on the boy’s breast beneath which there beat his heart.

Koja had no alternative than to direct Taran to step forward one square, which placed him out of danger.

Then Kamchan, wishing he had placed another in the position, launched Hooka forward to engage Borak. The cunning and treacherous Hooka, as cowardly as he was clever, had no recourse but to attack. Sprinting forward, he leaped high, uttering a harsh, grating war-cry, and brought his whip-sword slashing down. But Borak caught it on his buckler and struck with his lance, narrowly missing Hooka’s hurtling form. Landing lightly behind Borak, the Black Chieftain sprang forward, lashing out with his sword again. Borak imperturbably caught that blow on his shield as well, and struck out in turn. For long minutes the two warriors alternately lashed out with their whipswords and blocked their opponent’s return strokes.

Then Borak sprang into the air, leaping above Hooka. But, instead of striking downward between his legs with his whip-sword as he soared over the head of the other, he thrust with all the strength of his arm with his javelin, letting go of his shield. The thrust caught Hooka’s shield―which was held above his head, for all the world like a veritable umbrellasquare in the center-boss, and the impact drove the Black Chieftain to his knees.

Landing, Borak whirled and cast his gleaming lance.

It transfixed Hooka through the back as he knelt, pinning his corpse to the ground. In a ringing silence, Borak strode forward to take his proper position again, drawing his javelin forth from the dead Chieftain’s flesh.

They dragged the corpse from the field, and over the heads of the combatants, Kamchan and Koja exchanged a long, eloquent look.

The move now belonged to Koja. He was clearly winning the game, for Kamchan had only one Chieftain left―Gorpakand his Bowman, Norga, while Koja had preserved his full complement of human chesspieces untaken―which is to say, unslain.

But overconfidence has been the ruination of many a man, both in play and in war. Koja stared long and thoughtfully before making his move. He then advanced Xara, his Bowman, one square along the diagonal, to her right, so that she menaced Norga.

Kamchan growled under his breath, but he could not risk losing Norga. Then, cunningly, he instructed his Bowman to advance one square to his right, so that he now occupied Taran’s original position as Scout. And now Norga menaced Koja’s other Chieftain, Kadar, who, sweating and fuming at his enforced inaction thus far, still held his original position on the field.

Koja now had two possible moves that he could make, in order to extricate Kadar from his dangerous position. In an ordinary, or nonlethal, game of Darza, he might have permitted his Scout to take the Black Bowman by moving back into his original position; but in this case, to have done so would have meant pitting the unarmed Taran against the huge Norga. So Koja was forced to waste a move in altering Kadar’s position; he moved his Chieftain two squares to the left, so that he was now stationed directly in front of Koja’s throne.

And then Kamchan himself struck―and cruelly.

Against Taran!

For the boy now stood helpless and unarmed only five squares away, directly down the third row of the field. And Kamchan, as a Prince, could traverse as many rows as he wished. Flexing his jaw mandibles in a gloating and lustful grin―or the Yathoon equivalent thereof―the heavily armed Arkon strode down the row to where the boy stood with bare hands.

And time slowed down to a mere crawl for Koja, frozen on his high wooden throne above the field.

Xara cried out shrilly; Valkar cursed futilely from his position far up the field; Borak hefted his spear, glancing in question back to where his Prince sat motionless. Kadar unlimbered his own spear, waiting for Koja’s word.

For Koja, it was an interminable, timeless moment of unbearable agony.

Of course, he could not simply sit there while his unarmed little friend was murdered in cold blood by Kamchan. To do so was unthinkable; rather would Koja himself step forward into the path of certain death.

But the Yathoon insectoids are coldly logical; for Koja to have directed Borak or any of the others against Kamchan would be to have broken the rules of the game, hence forfeiting it. And that meant to forfeit the lives of Xara, Borak, Valkar, and Kadar, as well as Taran’s and his own …

Of course, there was nothing else to do. He could not merely sit there, while Kamchan ran the lad through. He would intervene, even if it meant that in the next moment of time the six of them must face a vengeful host of ferocious warriors, which is exactly what it did mean.

At least they would die with weapons in their hands.

Koja tensed, gripping the arms of his seat. He was about to rise and hurl his long, slender javelin at Kamchan … when Fate stepped in.

Kamchan advanced upon the half-naked boy, hefting his long, supple sword. He stood now directly before the square which Taran occupied. Taran, naturally, was very frightened, but he set his square young jaw and looked the towering Arkon straight in the eye, refusing to flinch or to break and run.

Kamchan struck

Like lightning, Taran darted forward nimbly, ducking under the Arkon’s blade, and ran between his legs!

Then he whirled-bent-caught Kamchan by the lower leg and pulled him off balance. Rasping a harsh oath, the Arkon fell on his face. The boy darted forth, snatched the war axe from Kamchan’s harness, and drew back, hovering in a crouch, facing the giant arthropod, weighing the heavy axe in one capable young fist.

Probably at that moment everyone who partook in the scene forgot to breathe.

Koja, half-risen from his chair, froze again―and with a curt word arrested Borak and Valkar and the others in their tracks, for all of the Red players had half-started forward instinctively to the boy’s aid.

Is it possible that it might not be needed?

That one thought rang through the minds of Valkar, Koja, and the others at the same instant.

Kamchan, having regained his feet, glared furiously down at the nimble boy. Then, rasping an oath, he slashed out again with the whip-sword―a vicious blow that would probably have cut the half-naked boy in two had it landed.

But it did not landl Lithe as a dancer, Taran wove to one side, avoiding the blow.

The boy’s mind raced, thoughts tumbling through his head rapidly. His heart was pounding and his breath came in short, panting gasps, but his head was clear and cool as he weighed possibility against possibility.

The towering arthropod, with his long gaunt arms, and with the length of the whip-sword to boot, had a reach that enormously outmeasured Taran’s. So there was no way the boy could close with his opponent and use the axe as it was meant to be used.

Instead, he flung it.

For all the world like an Apache hurling a tomahawk, the boy swung back his arm and let the axe fly ... The heavy blade flashed wickedly in mid-air as it caught the glare of daylight, spinning end over end.

But Taran knew little of the art of axe-throwing, wherein precise balance and timing are all-important.

Therefore, the axe whipped end over end one time too many, and it was only the flat of the handle which caught Kamchan, and not the blade.

Still, the axe was forged of heavy steel, and the blow struck with staggering impact. It caught Kamchan upon the forelimb―about where the wrist would be on a human arm―and the blow was numbing.

Kamchan croaked with the shock of the blow, and his whip-sword fell from his suddenly strengthless grasp to thud against the sand.

And now both Taran and Kamchan were disarmed. But only for the moment, for Kamchan had only to draw forth his sword or spear.

And Taran had only his bare hands with which to fight.

Then it was that the unexpected happened―and a more timely diversion even Taran himself could not have hoped for.