Sos the Rope

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Nameless and weaponless, he marched. It was spring, almost two years after he had journeyed dejectedly toward the mountain. Sos had gone to oblivion; the body that clothed his brain today was a different one, his face a creation of the laboratory, his voice a croak. Plastic contacts made his eyes stare out invulnerably, and his hair sprouted without pigment.

Sos was gone-but secret memories remained within the nameless one, surging irrepressibly when evoked by familiar sights. He was anonymous but not feelingless. It was almost possible to forget, as he traveled alone, missing the little bird on his shoulder, that he came as a machine of destruction. He could savor the forest trails and friendly cabins just as the young sworder had four years ago. A life and death ago!

He stood beside the circlet the one where Sol the sword had fought Sol of all weapons for name and armament and, as it turned out, woman. What a different world it would have been, had that encounter never taken place!

He entered the cabin, recognizing the underworld manufacture and the crazy maintenance. Strange how his perceptions had changed! He had never really wondered before where the supplies had come from; he, like most nomads, had taken such things for granted. How had such naivete‚ been possible?

He broke out supplies and prepared a Gargantuan meal for himself. He had to eat enormously to maintain this massive body, but food was not much of a pleasure. Taste had been one of the many things that had suffered in the cause of increased power. He wondered whether, in the past, the surgeons had been able to perform their miracles without attendant demolition of peripheral sensitivity. Or had their machines taken the place of warriors?

A girl showed up at dusk, young enough and pretty enough, but when she saw his bare wrist she kept to herself. Hostels had always been excellent places to hunt for bracelets. He wondered whether the crazies knew about this particular aspect of their service.

He slept in one bunk, the girl courteously taking the one adjacent though she could have claimed privacy by establishing herself on the far side of the column. She glanced askance when she perceived that he was after all alone, but she was not concerned. His readings had also told him that before the Blast women had had to watch out for men, and seldom dared to sleep in the presence of a stranger. If that were true-though it was hardly creditable in a civilization more advanced than the present one-things had certainly improved. It was unthinkable that a man require favors not freely proffered-or that a woman should withhold them capriciously. Yet Sosa had described the perils of her childhood, where tribes viewed women differently; not all the badness had been expunged by the fire.

The girl could contain her curiosity no longer. "Sir, if I may ask-where is your woman?"

He thought of Sosa, pert little Sosa, almost too small to carry a full-sized bracelet, but big in performance and spirit. He missed her. "She is in the world of the dead," he said.

"I'm sorry," she said, misunderstanding as he had meant her to. A man buried his bracelet with his wife, if he loved her, and did not take another until mourning was over. How was he to explain that it was not Sosa's death, but his own return to life that had parted them forever?

The girl sat up in her bed, touching her nightied breast and showing her embarrassment. Her hair as pale. "It was wrong of me to ask," she said.

"It was wrong of me not to explain," he said graciously, knowing how ugly he would appear to this innocent.

"If you desire to-" -

"No offense," he said with finality.

"None," she agreed, relieved.

Would this ordinary, attractive, artless girl sharing his cabin but not his bed-would she ever generate the violence of passion and sorrow he had known? Would some stout naive warrior hand her his bracelet tomorrow and travel to the mountain when he lost her?

It was possible, for that was the great modern dream of life and love. There was in the least of people, male and female, the capacity to arouse tumultuous emotion. That was the marvel and the glory of it all.

She fixed his breakfast in the morning, another courteous gesture that showed she had been well brought up. She tried not to stare as he stepped out of the shower blessed her and went his way, and she hers. These customs were good, and had they met four years ago she been of age then- It took him only a week to cover the distance two men and a girl traveled before. Some of the cabins were occupied, others not, but he kept to himself and was left alone. It surprised him a little that common manners had changed; this was another quality of the nomad society that he had never properly appreciated until he learned how blunt things could be elsewhere.

But there were some changes. The markers were gone, evidently the crazies, perhaps prompted by his report to Jones, had brought their Geiger clickers (manufactured in the underworld electronics shop) and resurveyed the area at last. That could mean that the moths and shrews were gone, too, or at least brought into better harmony with the rest of the ecology. He saw the tracks of hoofed animals and was certain of it.

The old camp remained, replete with its memories-and it was still occupied! Men exercised in the several circles and the big tent had been maintained beside the river. The firetrench, however, had been filled in, the retrenchments leveled; this was the decisive evidence that the shrews longer swarmed. They had finally given way to the stronger species: man.

But back nearer the fringe of the live radiation, where man could not go-who ruled there? And if there should ever be another Blast....

Why was he surprised to find men here? He had known this would be the case; that was why he had come first to this spot. This had been the birthing place of the empire;

He approached the camp and was promptly challenged. "Halt! Which tribe are you bound to?" a hefty staffer demanded, eyeing his tunic as though trying to identify his weapon.

"No tribe. Let me see your leader."

"What's your name?"

"I am nameless. Let me see your leader."

The staffer scowled. "Stranger, you're overdue for a lesson in manners."

Sos reached out slowly and put one hand under the staff. He lifted.

"Hey, what are you-I" But the man had either to let go or to follow; he could not overcome. In a moment he was reaching for the sky, as Sos's single arm forced the staff and both the man's hands up.

Sos twisted with contemptuous gravity, and the staffer was wrenched around helplessly. "If you do not take me to your master, I will carry you there myself." He brought the weapon down suddenly and the man fell, still clinging to it.

Others had collected by this time to stare. Sos brought up his other hand, shifted his grip to the two ends of the rod, while the staffer foolishly hung on, bent it into a spendid half-circle. He let go, leaving the useless instrument in the hands of its owner.

Very shortly, he was ushered into the leader's presence.

It was Sav.

"What can I do for you, strongster?" Sav inquired, not recognizing him under the mauled features and albino hair. "Things are pretty busy right now, but if you come to enlist-"

"What you can do for me is to identify yourself and your tribe and turn both over to me." For once he was glad of the harshness inherent in his voice.

Sav laughed good-naturedly. "I'm Sav the Staff, in charge of staff-training for Sol, master of empire. Unless you come from Sol, I'm turning nothing over to you."

"I do not come from Sol. I come to vanquish him and rule in his stead."

"Just like that, huh? Well, mister nameless, you can start here. We'll put up a man against you in the circle, and you'll either take him or join our tribe. What's your weapon?"

"I have no weapon but my hands."

Sav studied him with interest. "Now, let me get this straight. You don't have a name, you don't have a tribe and you don't have a weapon-but you figure to take over this camp?"

"Yes."

"Well, maybe I'm a little slow today, but I don't quite follow how you plan to do that."

"I will break you in the circle."

Sav burst out laughing. "Without a weapon?"

"Are you afraid to meet me?"

"Mister, I wouldn't meet you if you had a weapon. Not unless you had a tribe the size of this one to put up against it. Don't you know the rules?"

"I had hoped to save time."

Sav looked at him more carefully. "You know, you remind me of someone. Not your face, not your voice..You-"

"Select some man to meet me, then, and I will take him and all that follow him from you, until the tribe is mine."

Sav's look was pitying now. "You really want to tackle a trained staffer in the circle? With your bare hands?"

Sos nodded.

"This goes against the grain, but all right then." He summoned one of his men and showed the way to a central circle.

The selected staffer was embarrassed. "But he has no weapon!" he exclaimed.

"Just knock him down a couple of times," Sav advised. "He insists on doing it." Men were gathering; word had spread of Sos's feat with the guard's staff.

Sos removed his tunic and stood in short trunks and bare feet.

The bystanders gasped. The tunic had covered him from chin to knee and elbow, exposing little more than the hands and feet. The others had assumed that he was a large chubby man, old because of the color of his hair and the leathery texture of his face. They had been curious about the strength he had shown, but not really convinced it had not been a fluke effort.

"Biceps like clubheads!" someone exclaimed. "Look at that neck!" Sos no longer wore the metal collar; now his neck was a solid mass of horny callus and scar tissue. The staffer assigned to meet him stood openmouthed.

Sav pulled the man back. "Gom, take the circle," he said tersely.

A much larger staffer came forward, his body scarred and discolored by many encounters: a veteran. He held his weapon ready and stepped into the circle without hesitation.

Sos entered and stood with hands on hips.

Gom had no foolish scruples. He feinted several times to see what the nameless one would do, then landed a viciouis blow to the side of the neck.

Sos stood unmoved.

The staffer looked at his weapon, shrugged, and struck again.

After standing for a full minute, Sos moved. He advanced on Gom, reached out almost casually for the staff, and spun it away with a sharp twist of one wrist. He hurled it out of the circle.

Sos had never touched the man physically, but the staffer was out of business. He had tried to hold on to his weapon. Gom's fingers were broken.

"I have one man, and myself," Sos announced. "My man is not ready to fight again, so I will fight next for two."

Shaken, Sav sent in another warrior, designating a third as collateral. Sos caught the two ends of the staff and held them while the man tried vainly to free it. Finally Sos twisted and the weapon buckled. He let go and stepped back.

The man stood holding the S-shaped instrument, dazed. Sos only had to touch him with a finger, and the staffer stumbled out of the circle.

"I have four men, counting myself. I will match for four."

By this time the entire camp was packed around the circle. "You have already made your point," Sav said. "I will meet you."

"Yourself and your entire tribe against what I have here?" Sos inquired, mocking him.

"My skill against your skill," Sav said, refusing to be ruffled. "My group-against your service and complete information about yourself. Who you are, where you came from, how you learned to fight like that, who sent you here."

"My service you may have, if you win it, or my life- but I am sworn to secrecy about the rest. Name othes terms."

Sav picked up his staff. "Are you afraid to meet me?"

The men chuckled. Sav had nicely turned the dialogue on him. Who mocked whom?

"I cannot commit that information to the terms of the circle. I have no right."

"You have shown us your strength. We are curious. You ask me to put up my entire camp-but you won't even agree to put up your history. I don't think you really want to fight, stranger." The gathered men agreed vociferously, enjoying the exchange.

Sos appreciated certain qualities of leadership he had never recognized in Sav before. Sav had surely seen that he must lose if he entered the circle, and be shamed if he didn't. Yet he was forcing Sos to back off. Sav could refuse to do battle unless his terms were met, and do so with honor-and the word would quickly spread to Sol's other tribal leaders. It was a tactical, masterstroke.

He would have to compromise. "All right," he said. "But I will tell only you. No one else."

"But I will tell whom I please!" Sav specified.

Sos did not challenge that. He had to hope that, if by some mischance he lost, he could still convince Sav in private of the necessity for secrecy. Sav was a sensible, easygoing individual; he would certainly listen and think before acting.

It was too bad that the smiling staffer had to be hurt by his friend.

Sav entered the circle. He had improved; his staff was blindingly swift and unerringly placed. Sos tried to catch the weapon and could not. The man had profited from observation of the two lesser warriors, and never let his staff stand still long enough to be grabbed. He also wasted no effort striking the column of gristle. `He maneuvered instead for face shots, hoping to blind his antagonist, and rapped at elbows and wrists and feet. He also kept moving, as though certain that so solid a body would tire soon.

It was useless. Sos sparred a few minutes so that the staffer would not lose face before his men, then blocked the flying shaft and caught Sav's forearm. He yanked it to him and brought his other hand to bear.

There was a crack.

Sos let go and shoved the man out of the circle. No warrior present could mistake the finality of a dripping compound fracture. Men took hold of Sav as he staggered, hauled, at his arm and set the exposed bone in place and bound the terrible wound in gauze, while Sos watched impassively from the circle.

It had not been strictly necessary. He could have won in a hundred kinder ways. But he had needed a victory that was serious and totally convincing. Had Sav lost indecisively, or by some trick blow that made him stumble from the circle like an intoxicated person, unmarked, the gathered witnesses would have been quick to doubt his capability or desire to fight, and the job would be unfinished. The break was tangible; Sav's men knew immediately that no one could have succeeded where their leader had failed, and that there had been no collusion and no cowardice.

Sos had inflicted dreadful pain, knowing that his erstwhile friend could bear it, in order to preserve what was more important: the loser's reputation.

"Put your second-in-command in charge of this camp," Sos snapped at Sav, showing no softness. "You and I take the trail-tomorrow morning, alone."