me, closer now. The answering whistle, however, was still rather toward the end of the tunnel. The fellow there, not the leader, it seemed, was less eager to move forward into the darkness. I, for one, did not blame him.
I had then come again to the area of Alcove Twenty-Six. It was well down the tunnel. I had felt it before. I thrust back the curtain. 'Master?' I heard, within, and a sound of chain. I then again closed the curtain. I moved to the next alcove. That was Twenty-Seven, on the left. I moved back the curtain. I heard nothing within. This one, I thought, would do nicely. I then entered the alcove. I then listened to the whistles approaching more closely.
It is normal practice, in a situation of this sort, to separate the enemies, meeting first one, and then the other, substituting two one-to-one conflicts, so to speak, for one two-to-one conflict. This works best, of course, when one can see what one is doing. Too often, darkness neutralizes skill; too often chance thrives in darkness. There are, of course, tactics for fighting in the darkness, such as misdirection, the casting of pebbles to encourage an opponent to make a move, the use of back kicks, giving extension to one's striking capacity while providing a minimum exposure of vital areas, the attempt to lure a blow from a distance, with full-arm knife probes, to encourage an opponent to lunge and overextend himself, and so on, but, in the true darkness, very different from what commonly passes as 'night fighting,' there is probably no really satisfactory way to reduce risk levels to tolerable limits. I prefer to avoid it. Accordingly, in entering the tunnel I had determined, from the beginning, in the event it was unlighted, that I would prefer to arrange matters in such a way that the considerable risks involved be taken by the other fellows. I myself did not care for the odds.
I stuck my head out of the alcove. 'Who is there?' I called, as though alarmed. 'Is there anyone there?' Who is it?'
I then heard another whistle, from my right, toward the entrance to the tunnel. This was answered by one from my left, toward the end of the tunnel. There was then another insistent whistle from my right. It was no closer. The whistle from my left, then, was a bit closer. This was what I had hoped for. They would hope to coordinate their efforts, to take me between them, at the same time.
'Who is there?' I called again, once more as though alarmed.
'Do not fear,' called a voice, from the right. 'We mean you no harm. Are you Tarl, of Port Kar?'
'Yes,' I said. 'I am he!'
'We have a message for you,' said the voice.
'Yes,' I said.
'Remain where you are,' said the voice. 'We will bring you the message.' 'You are certain that you mean well?' I inquired.
'Yes, yes,' said the fellow to the right, soothingly. I could now hear the small sound of the metal, presumably a knife, on the stones, coming from my left. Did they really think I would believe that two fellows were needed to deliver a message?
'I am not certain of that,' I said.
'Do not be alarmed,' said the fellow to the right.
'You have a message for me?' I asked.
'Yes,' said the fellow to the right.
'I am drawing my sword,' I said. I then withdrew the blade from the sheath a good deal more noisily than was necessary. I did not want them to mistake the sound. I thought that that would give them something to think about. I wanted them to be somewhat alarmed. Then, when I sheathed it, they might be inclined to act more swiftly, more precipitately. 'We are friends,' said the fellow to the right, in the darkness. In there intentness, in their hunt, in the darkness, I did not think they would be keeping track of the alcoves. They would, in any case, have had to feel carefully for them. They would be thinking, I expected, only in terms of the tunnel and the walls. I had, further, led them to believe that I was in the tunnel itself. Too, surely this would seem reasonable to them. I had further confirmed this suspicion by the drawing of the blade. Presumably such a draw would not take place in the close quarters of an alcove, were there was little room for its wielding. To be sure, there was not much room in the tunnel either, though thrusting could surely be dangerous. With the sword drawn I did not think either would care to be the first to make contact with me. With it sheathed both, for all I knew, and particularly the fellow on the right, might be eager to make the first strike.
'Sheath your sword,' said the fellow on the right.
'No,' I said.
'We will then not deliver the message,' he said.
'Very well,' I said.
'But we must deliver it,' he said. 'It is a matter of life and death.' 'That sounds serious,' I granted him.
'It is,' he assured me.
'From whom does this message come?' I asked.
'From the regent himself,' said the fellow.
'I see,' I said.
I doubted, personally, that the regent would be sending me messages, and, if so, that he would be doing it in this fashion. I was prepared to believe, however, that the business to which these fellows were about might have its origins in individuals close to the regent. Their mention of the regent, of course, convinced me that they were not common assailants, after a purse.
Run-of-the-mill brigands would surely refrain from allusions so dubious and exalted, allusions so incredible that they would be sure to put a normal fellow on his guard.
'How may we convince you of our good intentions?' he asked. I heard him come a foot or so closer. 'I would consider that to be your problem,' I said. 'Not mine.' I heard the fellow on the left come a little closer.
'Are you armed?' I asked.
'We will slide our knives, sheathed, along the tunnel floor,' said the fellow at the right. 'That way you will know we come in peace.'
'Excellent,' I said.
In a moment two objects, presumably sheaths, though I doubted from the sound they contained knives, with some buckles and straps, came sliding along the tunnel floor, one from the right, the other from the left. I judged the two fellows to be about equidistant, each about ten feet away. They had a good idea of my approximate location, it seemed, from my voice.
'I am convinced,' I announced. Actually I was not quite candid in this announcement.
'Sheath your sword,' said the fellow on the right. I heard them both coming a little closer.
'There,' I said, thrusting the blade back in the sheath. I then drew my head back. 'Where is the message?' I asked.
'Here!' I heard, from the right, this cry coupled with the rush forward of a body in the darkness.
'Die!' I heard, from the left, with the sound of another rapidly moving body. I then heard some very ugly noises in the tunnel outside the entrance to the alcove. I was within the alcove, my quiva in hand. If anyone tried to enter these limited quarters, it would be quite easy in the darkness, he in such an exposed position, to cut fiercely at his head and neck.
I listened.
There was not much noise outside. I could hear some gasping, and also some coughing, and spitting. Someone's lungs seemed to be clutching at breath. Not very successfully, it seemed. From the sound of the coughing, that of the other fellow I think, I conjectured that the mouth might be filling with welled-up blood. I think both of them were there. I think they were both just outside the alcove, perhaps locked in one another's arms, or now, leaning against one another, supporting one another. I wondered if they realized what had happened, or if each, puzzled, thought he had closed with this fellow Tarl, of Port Kar. Then I heard one of the bodies take another thrust. Then they seemed, both, to fall to the side, and then, it seemed, one was trying to move away, crawling. That might have been the fellow who had been on the left. I could hear the movement of the knife on the stones. Then whoever it was, coughing, and with a grunt, sank to the stones. The knife was then quiet. It had been a short trip. Doubtless the stones would be sticky. They would have to be cleaned in the morning. Slaves could do that, or, perhaps, the free woman I had been offered earlier in the evening, she who had been in the wrap-around tunic, the Lady Labiena, who was being 'kept for a friend.' I supposed the hostesses might enjoy having her do such things, perhaps monitoring her work with a whip or pointed stick.
I continued to listen. I now heard nothing.
I think both of these fellows had probably been reasonably skillful. They probably knew their business. I did
