mouth.
Blade knelt beside the man. Long dark eyes stared up at him in anguish. The head was long and narrow, bald except for a dark babyish fuzz. The eyes implored.
The mouth said: 'Save me, master. In Bek's name save me.'
Blade looked over his shoulder. The crabs were coming along at a rapid pace. Blade began to dig with his hands. Slow going. He found a shell and began scooping. Sweat popped out on him.
'Try to help yourself,' Blade grunted. 'Twist and turn, push with your feet. Use your hands and elbows.'
'I cannot. I am bound.'
Blade cursed and looked back. The nearest crab was now only fifty feet away. The man was only half uncovered. Blade dropped the shell and ran to a solitary pole that stood some ten feet away. It was eight feet high, of iron hard wood and a foot in diameter. It was fitted with iron rings and straps. As he stooped, put his arms about the pole and began to pull, Blade wondered why the man had been buried instead of bound to the pole as obviously intended?
Blade strained. The pole was set deep into the sand. Sweat greased Blade's face and trickled down his body. The great thews in his arms and shoulders writhed like snakes under the smooth hide. Slowly Blade came upright, the pillars of his thighs bulging as he pulled the post out of the clinging sand.
The buried man screamed. Blade, the post on his shoulder, spun around. The crabs had arrived. One was darting at the helpless man. A great claw clashed and opened and reached out to tear away the face. Blade ran.
He rammed the pointed end of the pole through the crab just in time. The impaled creature gave a screaming sound and wriggled in agony. Blade raised the pole and let the dying thing slide off. He used the pole to push the shattered carapace closer to the other waiting crabs. They fell on it in a fury of slavering and gobbling sounds.
Blade went back to digging, keeping an eye on the gorging crabs. The smell was terrible.
The man's hands were bound with leathern thongs. Blade sawed them loose with a sharp edge of shell. 'Now help yourself,' he commanded. 'Those crabs will be at us again as soon as they finish their brother.'
The man tried, groaning with pain. He nodded toward the ravening cluster of giant crabs. 'The capado are bad, master, but not so bad as those who set me here. We must hurry. They will return soon to make sure I am dead.'
Blade was flinging sand in a frenzy. 'Who will return?'
'The slave patrol, sire. Who else? With Equebus in command. Equebus who is the crudest man in all Sarma - may Bek strike him with fire and burn him slowly for many years.'
Blade dug, panting hard. 'You are a slave, then?'
'I was, sire. I was - but I escaped. I did not want to be a slave. I was caught. That is why I am here for the capado to eat, why I was buried in the sand instead of being lashed to the post. So it would take the capado longer to find me, so I would suffer longer in my mind. For the thinking about suffering is as bad, or worse, than the suffering itself. Equebus, the cruel rogue, knows - '
'Be quiet man, and dig - dig! We can talk later.'
'I am nearly free. A little more about my legs.'
Blade picked up the post and speared another crab. The feast began again. He went back to the man, made a swift survey, then seized him beneath the armpits and yanked him out of the sand. When he let him down the man collapsed on the sand. Blade knelt and began to massage the thin hairless legs. These Sarmaians, for what he had seen so far, were all fragile people. But then he had not seen many of them - one live one and fifty skeletons. None of that mattered right now. First things first. Stay alive and out of danger until he could get his bearings.
He killed one more crab, fed it to its kin, then pulled the slight man to his feet. The long opaque eyes regarded Blade with a touch of wonderment and fear. The little man edged away a step or two from this brawny hirsute giant.
Blade saw it and frowned. Best get matters straight at once. He had a sense of sand running fast from the glass, and he still naked and without arms or any helpful information.
'You need not fear me,' Blade said. 'Have I not just saved your life?'
The man looked at the crabs, writhing and crunching, and he shivered. Nodded. 'You did, sire. I am grateful.'
Blade smiled and nodded, then extended his big hand. The man stared at the hand, but made no effort to touch it. Blade laughed.
'In my land we have a custom - when two men decide to trust and help each other they touch hands. Now, I have helped you and I would have you help me. I am a stranger in your land and I need help. As much as you needed it just now. Do you agree? Will you touch my hand?'
The dark eyes narrowed as they studied Blade. Then they widened and a hint of a smile touched the lips and the smooth beardless face was friendly. A small-boned hand sought Blade's in a slight pressure.
'I agree. I am called Pelops. I was a slave, but am no more. I will never be again. I owe you much and I will try to pay the debt and help you. As long as you do not seek to make me a slave again.'
'I make no man slave,' Blade growled. 'But there must always be a leader. I lead.' He gave Pelops a cold stare. 'If you do not accept that, and bide by it, we had better part now. I can make my way without you if I must.'
Pelops' smile involved his whole child-like face. His teeth were small and white. 'I accept that, sire. I will follow - so long as it is understood that I am no slave.'
Blade clapped him on the shoulder. Too hard, and poor little Pelops reeled. 'You are no slave,' agreed Blade. 'Now or ever - at least to me. But now to things of greater moment - when is the next slave patrol to pass this way?'
