Blade nudged him with a contemptuous foot. 'Be quiet, little man. The long march has addled your brains. We agreed, remember, that such stories were myths to frighten children. No more of it. We have to keep our wits about us. I - '
At that moment there was a thunderous roar from the plain below them. A pale yellow haze of smoke drifted up. Blade sniffed and made a face. The odor seemed compounded of brimstone and burnt meat and bones.
'What is that stink, Pelops?'
Pelops pointed to the great image of Bek-Tor that loomed on the plain away from the city walls. Blade had noticed it in passing, but forgot it in his interest in the city and harbor. Now he scanned the image in detail and did not like what he saw.
This particular image of Bek-Tor, towering a hundred feet into the air, had an open gaping mouth. A twisted yawn of menace. As Blade stared the sound came again and a huge gout of fire and smoke belched from the mouth. Again there was the smell. And again Blade made a face and looked askance at the little teacher.
Pelops made the sign of the T. 'It is the Bek-Tor of Sarmacid, sire. The priests are cleaning it of burnt bodies and bones, and that is the smell that offends you. When Otto the Black arrives there will be sacrifices, and slaves and criminals will be executed. It is always so when The Black comes. Girl children are given to Bek - the criminals and slaves who are condemned go to Tor.' Pelops began to shiver. Tears welled in his eyes. 'I think, sire, it would be as well if you could join your Princess soon. B-better for both of us.'
Privately Blade agreed. He did not like the charnel smell. Again he watched smoke and flame gush from the mouth of the image. There had to be a large bellows concealed somewhere in the image.
Equebus rode up then on his white steed. He had six guards with him. They struck off Blade's fetters.
'We go to the Palace,' said Equebus. 'At once. I think your Princess is impatient and longs for you, Blade. Would you join her?'
There was a hint of mockery in the Captain's tone, of satisfied malice in the narrow stare. Uneasiness rolled in Blade again. He nodded curtly.
'I would go.' He pointed to Pelops. 'Loose him also. He is my servant and I need him. And we are both under the protection of the Queen.'
Equebus roared with sudden laughter. He slapped his leg, leaned down to peer closely at Pelops, then went into another gale of laughter. He pointed at the little man with a shaking finger.
'That one? The Queen would protect that one? Bek's blood! As skinny as a post and a weeping coward into the bargain. I know something of history - his own wife betrayed him to the slavers! Some man he must have been, eh, for his wife to do that?'
The Captain went into more laughter. The guards joined in and poked at Pelops with their lances. The little man cringed in his chains and would not look at Blade.
Equebus broke off his laughter and turned gruff. Curtly he ordered the guards to bring Blade along. Pelops was to remain behind. 'It will distress Her Majesty,' the Captain said with a leer, 'to be deprived of your beauty and strength, little slave, but she will have to endure it. She bears many Ts now - this will be one more. March!'
Pelops raised his narrow fuzzy skull and stared defiantly at the Captain. His eyes were dry. 'Do not call me slave,' he said in a voice that quavered just a little. 'I am not slave - I never will be again.'
Equebus drew his sword and struck Pelops over the head with the flat. 'You arc what I say you are! Now we march.' Blade moved too late. They knew his mettle now and there were three men hanging on each of his arms in an instant.
He did not struggle. Pelops, not badly hurt, raised his head from the dust as they dragged Blade away.
'I will do what I can,' Blade shouted. 'Do not be afraid.
Be a man.'
Pelops only nodded. His eyes followed Blade until the big man, well escorted, was out of sight down a winding path that led to the plain below.
Chapter Eleven
They said of Queen Pphira that she was ageless. Legend had it that she had never been born, having always existed, and that she could never die. As Queen she had the right to take as many lovers as she chose, where and when she wished. The lovers might be men or women. Perversion was not in the Sarmaian vocabulary. Probably, thought Blade, because no one had thought of it yet Just as nobody had thought of the wheel.
All he knew he had learned from Pelops. Now, as he faced the Queen and her High Council of Priests, he felt naked and unarmed and very alone. There would be no help from Zeena. Once again he was dependent on his magnificent body and his youth. This time he feared they would not be enough. The priests were hostile.
They were in a large chamber overlooking the harbor. There was a ring of chairs carved from the soft white stone that was everywhere in Sarmacid. The chair of Queen Pphira was on a low dais. Below her, ranged in a half circle, were the chairs of the priests. The High Council or, as Pelops called them, the Council of Five.
Blade, as prisoner, slave, husband of Zeena - he did not really know his status yet - stood on a block of stone between the throne and the semi-circle of priests. He had been standing so for two hours and his legs were beginning to cramp. He was bored. He was also angry, but this he contrived to conceal. This was no time or place for anger, for he had not a single friend at court.
'The marriage is forbidden and annulled. The Princess Zeena is banished to a punishment ship.'
That was all they would tell him. All! He was forbidden to raise the subject again. Zeena was to be forgotten. As though she had never been. Blade, helpless for the nonce, must perforce play it their way.
Now, bathed and barbered and clipped, perfumed, wearing a leather kilt and high gaitered sandals, naked to the waist, enjoined to silence, he stood with his huge arms crossed and watched the Council of Five. And bet against himself.
The Five were barefoot. They wore black robes. They were typically Sarmaian, small with narrow skulls and opaque eyes. No man in Sarma had much facial hair, but the priests shaved their skulls of even the fuzz. Blade thought they looked like five aging vultures with their scrawny necks protruding from the black robes. They made
