He’d make a good poker player, Jason thought. I can’t read his cards and he knows all of mine. Then what should I tell him? Why not the truth?
“My people want to take metal from the ground,” he said aloud. “We harm no one, we will even pay—”
“No.” There was a flat finality to the sound. Temuchin turned away.
“Wait, you haven’t heard everything.”
“It is enough,” he said, halting for a moment and speaking over his shoulder. “You will dig and there will be buildings. Buildings make a city and there will be fences. The plains are always open.” And then he added in the same flat voice.
“Kill him.”
As the band of men turned. to follow Temuchin, the standard-bearer passed in front of the cage. His pole was topped with a human skull and Jason saw that the banner itself was made up of string after string of human thumbs, mummified and dry, knotted together on thongs.
“Wait!” Jason shouted at their retreating backs. “Let me explain. You can’t just do this—”
But, of course, he could. A squad of soldiers surrounded the cage and one of them bent underneath it and there was the rattling of chains. Jason cowered back as the entire cage swung up on creaking hinges, and he clutched at the bars as the soldiers reached for him.
He sprang over them, kicking one in the face as he went by and crashed into the soldiers beyond. The results were a foregone conclusion, but he made the most of the occasion. One soldier lay sprawled on the ground and another sat up holding his head when the rest carried Jason away. He cursed them, in six different languages, even though his words had as much effect on the stolid, expressionless men as had his blows.
“How far did you travel to reach this planet?” someone asked.
“Ekinortul” Jason mumbled, spitting out blood and the chipped corner of a tooth.
“What is your home world like? Much as this one? Hotter or colder?” Jason, being carried face down, twisted his head around to look at his questioner, a gray-haired man in ragged leather garments that had once been dyed yellow and green. A tall, sleepy-eyed youth stumbled after
him dressed in the same motley, though his were not so completely obscured by grime.
“You know so many things,” the old man pleaded, “so you must tell me something.”
The soldiers pushed the two men away before Jason could oblige by telling him some of the really pithy things that came to mind. With so many men holding him, he was completely helpless when they backed him against a thick iron pole set firmly in the ground and tore at his clothing. The metalcloth and fasteners resisted their fingers until one of them produced a dagger and sawed through the material, ignoring the fact that he was slicing Jason’s skin at the same time. When his clothing had been pulled open to his waist, Jason was bleeding from a dozen cuts and was groggy from the mauling he had taken. He was pushed to the ground and a leather rope lashed around his wrists. Then the soldiers went away.
Although it was early afternoon, the temperature must have been just above the freezing point. With his insulated clothing stripped away, the shock of the cold air on his body brought him instantly to full, shivering consciousness.
What the next step would be was obvious. The strap that secured his wrists was a good three meters long and the other end was fastened to the top of the pole. He was alone in the center of’a cleared area, and there was a bustle on all sides as the hump-backed riding beasts were saddled and mounted. The first man ready uttered a piercing, warbling cry and charged at Jason with his lance leveled. The beast ran with frightful speed, claws digging into the soil, hurtling forward like an unleashed thunderbolt.
Jason did the only thing possible, jumping to the other side of the pole and keeping it between himself and the attacking rider. The man jabbed with his lance but had to pull it back swiftly as he went by the pole.
Only fighting intuition saved Jason then, for the sound of the second beast’s charge was lost in the thunder of the first. He grabbed the pole and spun around it. The lance clanged against the metal as the second attacker went by.
The first man was already turning his mount and Jason saw that a third had saddled up and was ready to attack. There could be only one possible outcome to this game of deadly target practice: he could dodge just so often.
“Time to change the odds,” he said, bending and groping in the top of his right boot. His combat knife was still there.
As the third man started his charge, Jason flipped the knife into the
air and caught the hilt between his teeth, then sawed his leather bindings against its razor edge. They fell away and he crouched behind the slim pole to avoid the stabbing lance. The charge went by and Jason attacked.
He sprang, the knife in his left hand, reaching out with his right to grab the rider’s leg in an attempt to unseat him. But the creature was moving too fast and he slammed into its flank behind the saddle, his fingers clutching at the beast’s matted fur.
After that everything happened very fast. As the rider twisted about, trying to stab down and back at his attacker, Jason sank his dagger right up to its hilt in the animal’s rump.
The needlelike spikes of the prickspurs that the warriors used in place of rowels on their spurs indicated that the creatures they rode must not have very sensitive nervous systems. This was true of the thick hide and pelt over the ribs, but the spot that Jason’s dagger hit, not too far below the animal’s tail, appeared to be of a different nature altogether. A rippling shudder passed through the creature’s flesh and it exploded forward as though a giant spring had been released in its guts.
Already off balance, the rider was tipped from his saddle and disappeared. Jason, clutching at the fur and worrying the knife deeper with his other hand, managed to hold on through one bound, then a second. There was the blurred vision of men and animals streaming by while Jason fought to keep his grip. This proved impossible and, on the third ground-shaking leap, he was tossed free.
Sailing headlong through the air, Jason saw he was aiming toward the space between two of the dome- shaped structures. This was certainly better than hitting one of them, so he relaxed and tucked his chin under as he struck the ground and did a shoulder roll, then another. Landing on his feet, he ran, his speed scarcely diminished.
The domed structures, dwellings of some kind, were scattered about with lanes between them. He was in a wide, straight lane and thoughts of spearheads between the shoulder blades sent him darting off at right angles at the next opening. Outraged cries from behind him indicated that his pursuers did not think highly of his escape. So far, he was ahead of the pack and he wondered how long he could keep it that way.
A leather flap was thrown back on one of the domes ahead and a gray-haired man looked out, the same one who had been trying to question Jason earlier. He appeared to take in the situation in a glance and, opening the flap wider, he motioned Jason toward it.
It was a time for quick decisions. Still running headlong, Jason glanced around and saw that, for the moment, no one else was in sight. Any port in a storm. He dived through the opening dragging the old
man after him. For the first time he was aware that the combat knife was still in his hand, so he pressed it up through the other’s beard until the point touched his throat.
“Give me away and you’re dead,” he hissed.
“Why should I betray you?” the man cackled. “I brought you here. I risk all for knowledge. Now back, while I close the opening.” Ignoring the knife, he began to lace the flap shut.
Looking quickly about the dark interior, Jason saw that the sleepyeyed youth was dozing by a small lire, over which hung an iron pot. A withered crone was stirring something in the pot, completely ignoring the commotion at the entrance.
“In back, down,” the man said, pushing at Jason. ‘They’ll be here soon. They mustn’t find you, oh no.”
The shouting was coming closer outside and Jason could see no season to find fault with the plan. “But the knife is still ready,” he warned, as he sat against the back wall and allowed a collection of musty skins to be draped over his shoulders.
Heavy feet thundered by, shaking the earth, and voices could be heard from all sides now. Graybeard hung a leather shawl over Jason’s head so that it obscured his face, then scrabbled in a pouch at his belt for a reeking clay pipe that he poked into Jason’s mouth. Neither the old woman nor the youth paid any attention to all of this.
They still did not look up when a helmeted warrior tore open the entrance and poked his head inside.
