distinguished. We ranked our Deldars after the impressive opening ritual, where prayers were spoken and the choirs sang suitable hymns and the incense was burned and the sacrifice made. The ib of Five-handed Eos-Bakchi here in Havilfar was represented by the ib of Himindur the Three-eyed. For the first time I realized, with a pang, that five- handed really did have a strong and terrible meaning. So, with due propitiation made and the fortunes of Luck and Chance called upon, we took our places upon the blue and yellow sanded squares.
For a considerable period of the game I stood with a Deldar on an adjacent square and a swod — a Pachak with a brisk professional air about him, determined to get on — on the square to my left diagonal. He could not attack me by reason of the Deldar. We fell into an interesting conversation, although this was against the tenets of the game, and I learned of his history. I like Pachaks with their two left arms and their absolute loyalty in their nikobi to their oaths. Luckily for both of us we did not fight, the main action sweeping up the left hand side of the board and then, as Konec plunged, angling directly to the center and the Yellow Princess. Konec was a bold player, ruthless when he had to be. Dav was acting as Pallan. He was thrust forward, crossing a front, plunging into a direct confrontation with the Yellow Pallan. The fight was absorbingly interesting; Dav won, the right wing Kapt and Chuktar swept in and, with a Hikdar angling for the last kaida, the triumphant hyrkaida was made by Dav, sliding smoothly in and, challenged by the Yellow Princess’s Swordsman, defeating him in a stiff but brief battle. The various shouts of acclaim went up, the Blue prianum, the shrine where the victory tallies were kept, notched up another win, and it was all over. I had neither struck nor received a blow. I bid a shaky remberee to the Pachak swod and we all went back to the hotel.
Anticlimax — no. For I had seen what went on in Kazz-Jikaida, and was not much enamored of it. Konec said, “In two days’ time I meet a fellow from Ystilbur. You will be a Deldar, Jak.”
I nodded. There was little I felt I could say.
Pompino, who had had to beat a swod, told me he was not going to act again. We were standing in the shade of a missal tree growing by the wall of the courtyard and the shadows from the walls crept over the sand. The sounds of the twin cities came muted. The air smelled extraordinarily fresh and good.
“Ineldar is forming his caravan. I shall be one of his guards. You, Jak?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Excellent. By Horato the Potent! I cannot wait to get out into the Desolate Waste!”
A shadow moved among the shadows.
Our thraxters were out in a twinkling.
A voice said, “Jak? Pompino?”
Pompino pointed his sword. “Step you forward so that we may see you. And move exceeding carefully.”
A dark form lumbered out into the last of the mingled light. Jade and ruby radiance fell about him. His hunched shoulders, his bulldog face, all the gentle power of him was as we remembered from the nights under the stars.
There was blood on his right hand.
Bevon the Brukaj said, “I have run away from my master. He abused me cruelly. And I struck a guard
— I do not think I killed him; but his nose bled most wonderfully, to my shame.”
“Well, by the Blade of Kurin…” whispered Pompino.
“Will you help me? Will you take me in?”
The sound of loud voices rose from the street, approaching, and with them the heavy tramp of footsteps and the clank of weapons, the chingle of chains.
“Inside, Bevon. Pompino, find Dav. Explain. We cannot allow them to take Bevon.”
“But-”
“Do it!”
Pompino took Bevon’s arm and guided him into the inner doorway. Fixing a blank look on my face and sheathing my sword, I turned to the gate and stood, lolling there and picking my teeth.
Chapter Sixteen
Over the seasons I have taken much enjoyment and indulged in merry mockery and silly sarcasm from that fuzzy look of blank idiocy I can plaster all across my weather-beaten old beakhead. But as the guards and the Watch strode up, clanking, I felt the pang of a realization that, perhaps, this stupid expression was truly me, after all.
“Hey, fellow! A slave, a damned runaway slave. Have you seen him?”
I picked my teeth. “Was he a little Relt with a big wart alongside his hooter?”
“No, you fambly-”
“I haven’t seen anyone like that.”
“A hulking stupid great oaf of a Brukaj-”
“Best look along by the Avenue of Bangles — they’re all notors in here.” I screwed my eyes up. “D’you have the price of a stoup of ale, doms? I’m main thirsty-”
But, angry and waving their poles from which the lanterns hung, flickering golden light, they went off, shouting, raising a hullabaloo. The black and white checkers vanished along the way and I, still picking my teeth, went back into the rear quarters of the hotel. They had given me no copper ob for a drink. They had cursed me for a fool, unpleasantly, and had there been time they’d have drubbed me for fun. Not nice people. I would not like Bevon to fall into their clutches. After a quantity of shouting and arm-waving we persuaded Dav that Bevon wouldn’t murder us all in our beds. As a runaway slave he was a highly dangerous person to have on the premises; but Dav’s good nature surfaced. He was a man who knew his own mind, and he summed Bevon up shrewdly. Runaway slaves are not tolerated in slave-owning society for the bad examples they set. It was left to Bevon to say the words that got us all off the hook.
“Here in Jikaida City,” he said in his pleasant voice, having got his breath and composure back and washed off the guard’s nose bleed, “I am told that a slave may gain his freedom by taking part in the games.”
“That is true, Bevon. But he has to act the part of a swod and he must survive a set number of games. It has been known — but is rare, by the Blade of Kurin.”
“Enter me in the next game, and I shall be safe from Master Scatulo. My blood-price will be paid by the Nine Masked Guardians, for they always welcome anyone willing to take part in Kazz-Jikaida as a swod. You know that. I cannot be touched by the law until I am free or dead. That is the law.”
Kov Konec, when consulted, agreed to Dav’s proposals, and it was settled. I own I felt relief. Bevon seemed to me to be far too gentle a fellow actually to take up sword and fight; but as he said himself, rather that than being slave any longer.
The day of the game against the player from Ystilbur was set as Bevon’s introduction to Kazz-Jikaida, and the authorities were notified. Also, this day coincided with the decision about the caravan out of here. Pompino was in no doubt.
“If we do not give our undertaking to Ineldar by tonight and conclude the bokkertu, he will have to employ other guards.” Pompino stood with me watching as Dav stood facing a table on which a huge ale barrel was upended. The spout gushed ale into an enormous flagon. Dav stood there, hands on hips, his head thrust forward, licking his lips, and, I am sure, feeling the tortures of the damned. There was no ale for Dav on the day of Kazz- Jikaida.
Rather, there was no ale until we had won.
“I have promised to fight-” I said.
“Well, I shall not. They have been good friends to us, yes, I agree. But our duty lies elsewhere.”
“I thought you said you didn’t get enough time away from your wife?”
“True. But I’ve had enough time, now, by Horato the Potent!”
By just about any of the honor codes of Kregen there could not really be any faulting of Pompino’s logic. I said, “I’ll just play in this game for them and then I’ll come with you to sign on with Ineldar.”
“You might get chopped.”
