Warlords Of Gaikon

Chapter 4

Blade never found out whether the guards came after him or not. They would have had a job catching up with him if they had. He kept on at a steady lope for nearly half an hour, heading downhill as much as possible. When his breath began to come short, he slowed down to an equally steady jog. He kept that up for another full hour. By that time he estimated he was at least six miles from the temple and decided it was safe enough to stop and rest. He badly needed to catch his breath and reorient himself. He didn't want to wind up marching steadily away from civilization, on top of everything else that had gone wrong since he had arrived in this dimension. So far about the only things he had done right were not getting himself killed and not killing anybody else. For all he knew, the affair at the temple might even now have the guards scattering all over the countryside, with a description of him and a «kill this man on sight» order.

So he rested just long enough to catch his breath and get some of the aches out of his legs. Then he was on his feet again and on his way downhill. Sooner or later going downhill should bring him to civilization. He had never heard of a people who built all their homes on the tops of the hills and none in the valleys.

He had been walking for about another hour when it started to rain, a miserable, chill drizzle that soon strengthened into an even more miserable and chillier downpour. The rain made some of the caked and smeared brown paint run, so that before long he looked like the victim of some particularly repulsive skin disease. Blade was too disgusted and almost too tired to even swear at this.

It was beginning to get dark when Blade finally came out on the bank of a small swift stream tumbling downhill through a series of pools and rapids. Unmistakable paths ran along both banks of the stream. Blade nearly let out a cheer, and then swallowed it as the sound of human voices reached him over the patter of the rain and the gurgle of water boiling over the stones.

It was women singing-or rather, chanting rhythmically. Their voices were punctuated by wet, slapping noises. Blade slipped silently through fifty feet of trees and dripping bushes, then crouched and watched even more silently.

Two half-nude young women-hardly more than girls, judging from their slight figures-squatted on the edge of the stream, washing clothes and singing to themselves as they worked. They pounded each garment on a convenient rock to get the dirt out and then spread it out on one of the bushes behind them. Blade saw loincloths, long socks, sashes and scarves, and more of the kimonolike robes in half a dozen different styles and colors. If he could just sneak in and make a quick grab, his clothing problem at least would be solved.

Blade had once made it safely through a Communist minefield with a sixty-pound pack on his back, so there wasn't much he had to learn about moving silently and carefully. Inch by inch he crept closer, belly flat to the mound most of the time, raising his head to take an occasional bearing. It took him five minutes to cover five yards. By the time he did, all his bruises and strained muscles were protesting angrily. His spine felt as though it were going to snap with a crack loud enough to alert the women.

Two yards more. Then he had to freeze for what seemed like an hour, as one of the women sat down to rest with her eyes on the spread-out clothes. Blade lay motionless, gritting his teeth to stifle a grunt of impatience, wondering if the woman would ever get up off her arse!

It seemed like an hour, but it couldn't have been more than five minutes before the woman stood up and began unwrapping the cloth around her waist. It fell to the ground, and she stepped naked down into the pool. As the other woman turned to do the same Blade snaked forward the last few feet, and his long arms reached out. In seconds he gathered in a long blue robe, a red sash, and a loincloth. In a few more seconds he was back under the bushes, crawling away as fast as he could. The two girls were still splashing about cheerfully in the pool, completely unconcerned with what might be going on around them.

A quarter of a mile later, Blade stopped to put on the clothes and get his bearings again. The loincloth was plain linen, but the sash seemed to be heavy red silk, with stylized waves embroidered on it in white thread. The blue robe was also linen, light but fine and tough, with elaborate patterns of black and white checks embroidered around the neck, bottom, and cuffs. On the right sleeve about halfway to the elbow was a stylized golden sunburst with sixteen rays picked out in red.

For all its elegance, the garment had obviously been made for someone rather shorter and slimmer than Blade. From the cut it was obviously intended to be fought in, but it made Blade feel more like a sausage stuffed into its skin. Oh, well, he could always strip it off if he had to fight or run again.

He guessed that there must be a house nearby if the girls had felt safe washing and bathing alone by the stream, as they obviously had. It would probably be downstream, too. The water in the stream would be cleaner above the house.

Blade had guessed right. A few minutes walking, and he saw a large house and the glow of lanterns through the forest and the rain. The house was on the far side of the stream, but a gracefully arched wooden bridge provided an easy crossing.

The house itself was a sprawling, one-story affair, with several wings apparently running off at odd angles to each other and a massive tile roof that seemed too heavy for the building under it. Blade saw no one moving outside, but he could see the glow of lights through the delicate lattice-work shutters over the windows. From the rear rose a column of smoke, coiling upward slowly until it disintegrated under the rain.

Blade darted across the bridge and began working his way around the house toward the rear. That smoke might mean the kitchen, and that was the place he intended to start. The chill weather and his exertions during the day had made Blade hungry enough to eat a colt, if not a full-grown horse.

As he reached the rear of the house, the appetizing sound and even more appetizing smell of frying food drifted out to greet him. He stood up and tied the sash more neatly around his waist. He couldn't be sure exactly what class or rank his robe indicated, but he suspected it was something well up the social scale-possibly even the local warrior caste. Blade's experience with warrior castes in several different dimensions had taught him that they always carried themselves with a swagger. So he drew himself up to his full six feet one as he approached the kitchen door and knocked as sharply as if he were a policeman. It never hurt to look and sound as though you had every right to be where you were and to be doing what you were doing.

The door opened after Blade's third knock. An old woman peered out, her wrinkled but sharp brown features screwed up into an angry frown. Then she took in Blade's commanding height, his air of calm arrogance, and his robe. Her expression changed in a split second to one of abashed servility. She dropped to her knees, beat her head three times on the ground with her hands over her eyes, and then straightened up.

«What is your wish, Honorable dabuno?»

«My wish is food.» Blade kept his voice cold and haughty.

«Food, yes. Do you wish anything else?»

«We will speak of that after the food.» And after he had taken a look around.

«It shall be so.» The woman's voice had an almost ritual quality as she spoke. Then she stood up, bowed low, and led Blade inside.

The kitchen was lit by several lanterns and the glowing bed of charcoal under the heavy iron grate on the stone hearth. On that grate stood several large iron pots and an iron pan at least a yard in diameter. What looked like enough meat and vegetables to feed a battalion sizzled cheerfully in the pan, and clouds of sweet-smelling steam rose from the pots. Blade kept his face straight, but he could not keep his stomach from giving off a rumble like a tank engine.

There was a mat in one corner of the kitchen. Blade sat down cross-legged on it. Strains, sprains, and bruises protested as he did so. He realized that he would have to get thoroughly thawed out, and fast. Otherwise he would be stiff enough tomorrow to be slowed down in a fight. That could be fatal.

The curtain across the door leading into the main area of the house was pushed open, and a young woman came in with a stack of dirty dishes. Blade's eyes flickered across her, recognizing her as one of the women by the stream, scanning her for any sign that she suspected anything. But she bowed as the old woman had done when she saw the blue robe, then she murmured, «The house of the Honorable Captain Jawai is honored by your presence, dabuno.»

Blade merely nodded graciously. Then the old woman came over with a lacquered tray holding a bowl of soup, a bowl of meat and vegetables, and a large plate of coarse, whitish porridge. The only eating utensils visible were six-sided lacquered sticks, enough like chopsticks so that Blade could use them easily. He dug into the food with no effort to conceal his hunger. Perhaps the dabuni were supposed to be ascetics who picked at their food, but at the moment he didn't care. He could argue that or any other point much better with a full meal in his stomach.

Neither of the women made any comment on the rate at which Blade emptied his tray, nor raised an eyebrow when he asked for more. The young woman only asked, «Do you also wish saya?»

Whatever that was, it sounded alcoholic. Blade shook his head. After a long and exceptionally exhausting day that might still end violently, he wanted to stay absolutely sober.

«Ah, I see you have taken the dem vow as well as becoming a Lonely Brother,» said the older woman. «Then you will not wish to meet the Honorable Captain Jawai?»

Blade had been wondering how to get out of going through any social formalities with the master of the house. But now the woman had just presented him with what seemed like a ready-made excuse.

«Yes, I have taken the dem vow.» The paint on his skin was beginning to itch. He pulled the robe half off his left shoulder and rubbed vigorously. He would have to ask for some turpentine or something to get this muck off before long.

The girl's eyes widened at the width and muscles of Blade's chest. The old woman noticed where the girl was looking and slapped her lightly on the shoulder. «Don't make eyes at a Lonely Brother who has taken the dem vow, Kika. He's not for you.» Blade decided he should nod again at those words. «Now go and tell the Honorable Captain about our guest.»

Kika vanished through the curtain, still looking back at Blade. Blade looked at his empty tray, considered whether he should eat any more, and decided against it. The food and the warmth would be making him feel sleepy before long.

Blade's tray had barely touched the mats on the floor when a sharp, shrill scream sounded from farther inside the house. Then the girl's voice-«No, Honorable Master, please. I did not know!»-the sound of two hard blows, another scream, and the thud of a falling body.

Blade was on his feet before the first scream died away, his eyes flickering around the room for a safe spot and a weapon of some sort. One leap carried him into the opposite corner, where he had both flanks protected by heavily timbered walls. As he moved he snatched up the poker leaning against the hearth. Then before the old woman could move or even open her mouth for a scream of her own, he scooped up her carving knife with the other hand.

He had barely regained his safe corner when more noises came from inside the house. First the clatter of falling trays, and bowls, then the fussing sound of a sword being drawn, finally the thud of fast-moving feet heading toward the kitchen. Blade crouched low, raised the poker to guard, and held the carving knife ready to thrust.

A moment later the curtain flew open, and another man in a blue robe burst into the kitchen. Both hands held a curved, yard-long sword above his head. The light shimmered on the flawlessly polished steel, and another kind of light gleamed in his eyes. It was the light of an almost maniacal determination to kill or die.

Blade had braced himself physically for an attack. Now he quickly braced himself mentally for a fight to the death.