As we approached the city walls, the banners I’d seen from the air increased in numbers. They were hung from trees and buildings by vertical and horizontal poles. They fluttered from the walls, which were constructed of the best bits of scrap I’d seen so far.
The height of the wall was its main defense, at least 10 yards in most areas with some parts rising another five beyond that. Here and there, I could see markings resembling serial numbers, company names, or logos. I began to wonder how many other civilizations were represented just in the barrier.
I waited until the crowd thinned out enough to whisper a question to Skrew. “What do the banners mean? Are they here all the time?”
“No,” Skrew whispered back. “Red banners mean arena fights. Fights of blood and death and smash and kill and scream and die. Red banners mean people. Called arena. Scary fights. Jacob not fight. Means more guards. Guards find competitors. Some say want to fight. Others make to fight by guards. Some fight good. Some die if Skrew fart on them.”
The walls were marked with conduits that looked welded into place. Pipes weaved in and out of the metal structure. As I followed them with my eyes, I discovered small devices protruding from them like barnacles. A quick inspection revealed that two of them were lights.
So, Brazud had functioning power. I thought back to the refinery where I’d rescued Skrew. Had it been a powerplant of some kind?
The only thing that was missing was long-range weapons, but the guards patrolling the walls carried what looked like close combat weaponry. They wielded six-foot-long wooden poles topped with stylized axe-heads. The weapons resembled ancient halberds. But the whole point of having a wall was to give the guards time to destroy the enemy before they got close enough to attack with a polearm. So where were the long-range weapons?
The extra security and my strength were going to make things a bit more difficult. If the guards were on the lookout for arena contestants, they might try to scoop me up to toss me into the arena. I’d have to work harder at keeping a low profile.
Things just got a bit more difficult and would definitely slow my search.
We joined the enormous line that gathered in front of the closed gate. The line to enter the city was miles long, and nobody seemed happy to let us through. A few hard looks convinced them to stand aside, but avoided forcing my way through. Doing so might draw unnecessary and unwanted attention.
After a good while, we got through the line. I had to hurry out of the way of a large circus wagon being pulled by at least 60 bug-like aliens. They looked exactly like the ones I’d battled in Madomar. I quickly turned my head away, just in case one of them had escaped the carnage and come here.
Once I was certain I was far enough away and there were enough bodies to keep the short bugs from having a clear view of me, I turned to take a closer look at the circus wagon. The keeping of animals for entertainment had been banned long before I’d been born, but I’d always been fascinated with the pageantry and outlandish costumes some of the performers wore.
The wagon rolled along on huge wheels constructed of solid metal. The wagon carried a cage, festooned with gold representation of the skulls of at least a dozen different species. In the back was a six-armed brute, twice as tall as me, marching back and forth in the cage. Its entire body was covered in scars; they stood out because of their light purple color against blue skin. The alien had obviously been in a lot of fights, and I wondered if the cage was just for show, if it was for the alien’s protection, or if it was a slave.
I didn’t see any guards escorting the wagon, but the bugs pulling it probably served double-duty. I felt bad for the brute. His only escape from a fight would be death.
“Must get to gate,” Skrew whispered to nobody in particular. “Get to gate, then to guard. Get to guard then inside. Get to inside, then to Bada-dabu. Bada-dabu knows things. Must see Bada-dabu.”
As we approached the gate, I noticed guards of various species, but only one vrak. Yaltu had said the guard who’d let us through would be a vrak.
The four-armed guard looked up from his boring task of telling people “No, I won’t open this gate” at least a million times. His polearm was a little different. It had short spikes jutting from the sides of the ax blade, which would make it more difficult for him to cleave an enemy in two. However, it would also be a bit more intimidating to the untrained eye. A battle avoided was a battle won.
At the sides of the spikes were dull silver rods with another piece protruding at almost a right angle from one end. It looked like an electronic club, possibly a less-than-lethal weapon for crowd control.
His uniform fit him snugly. It was a dark shade of blue with black piping around his ankles, four wrists, and neck. His chest, front of his legs, forearms, and shoulders all looked a bit thicker than the rest of the uniform, and I was pretty sure there was some kind of armor concealed underneath.
“Gate closed,” he said as we got closer.
“Open gate,” Skrew demanded.
The guard answered
