Warlord

knowledge that there was no way to dodge a bullet in the time available. All the universe vanished, outside the enormous circle of the muzzle.

The lariat that settled around the sniper's shoulders was almost as much a surprise to Raj as it was to the sniper; his brain had screened out peripheral vision. The trooper galloping his dog down the lane to the gate already had the rope snubbed to the pommel of his saddle; ten meters before he reached the Captain the braided leather cord went bar-tight and the Colonist shot off the roof as if launched by a catapult. He landed in the street with a dull thud that cut his shout of rage off knife-sharp, and dragged fast enough that he rolled to the feet of the two dogs when the trooper reined in.

'Nice work, Companion,' Raj said, conscious of breathing once again; an impressive display, even though the lariat was a standard working tool back in Descott County.

'I was a vakaro for a while, sir,' Corporal Holdor Tennan said. 'With an outfit rounding up wild cattle. . Senior Lieutenant Staenbridge's compliments, and they've secured the mosque.'

There were shouts outside the gate, and Kaltin Gruder jogged through at the head of a column of dismounted troopers with fixed bayonets. Raj held up a hand as he began to speak, turned to the other Companion: 'My congratulations, and he's to hold in position, stationing marksmen on the minarets and the roof of the Caid's mansion. Kaltin,' he continued, turning to the man standing at his stirrup. The troopers were fanning out down the street, scanning windows and rooftops. 'Ready?'

A brisk nod; even after a week's march through the desert the elder Gruder had kept a clean tunic for the attack. He had even shaved, which was devotion, if you liked.

'All the ones who got out are secured, Raj,' he said. 'Put 'em in a livestock pen, trussed up. Two-twenty, about. No casualties.'

'Well. You and Thiddo fan out-' He made an encompassing gesture '-and start doing a house-to-house; First and Fifth already have blocking forces at the intersections and fire teams on the palisade. Quick and dirty; spike anyone who gives you trouble. Separate the men out, move the commoners out to that pen. Women, children, and anyone who looks important into the center of town, we'll use the mosque to contain them. And keep the troops in hand.'

'Won't be able to much longer, Raj,' he warned.

The soldiers looked alert enough, their fingers on their triggers and eyes moving restlessly, but many of them were grinning. With the primal exultation of having come through an action alive, and with anticipation of the rarest pleasure of a soldier's life, the sack of an undamaged town. Two pounced on the groaning sniper and began frisking him for weapons, tying his hands behind his back; he shrieked as they wrenched at a dislocated shoulder, but it seemed to bring him back to consciousness. The trooper popped it back into place with rough efficiency.

'Off wit' yer, Mohammed,' he said, pushing the prisoner toward the gate. 'Any messages to yer wife? I'll be seein' 'er before you does!' Barking laughter. 'Milio, put 'im in the pen.'

Kaltin indicated the byplay with a jerk of his head. 'Not much longer at all.'

'Well, we'll just have to do it quickly, then, won't we?'

* * *

'— and that concludes this phase of the operation, except for finding the Caid. Where is the Caid?' Raj asked in frustration, lighting a cigarette. It had been the sort of action soldiers dreamed of in barracks, a rich town taken with negligible loss, but somehow his teeth were on edge.

The command group was meeting in the loggia of the mansion that had been owned by the Caid, the headman, of El Djem; a narrow, irregular cobbled triangle fronted it, with the mosque on one side and high-walled houses on the other. The Caid's was slightly different, with a sheltered verandah where he could address public meetings, give impromptu judgment, and right now the shade was welcome as the temperature built to its brain- frying noonday maximum. A rather informal type of governance, but this had not been a large town, no more than five thousand or so. It would have been convenient to have the chief administrator on hand for interrogation, but not essential.

'Probably hiding in a basement,' Muzzaf said. The Komarite looked as tired as any of them, but more relaxed than he had been since they left the White City. 'In any case, the Battalion has done well this day.'

Raj nodded. Ten dead, which was derisory for a five-company action. . except to the ten, of course, for whom it was infinitely significant.

'Double share for the fallen?' he said; everyone else nodded. The loot of a town taken by storm was the property of the troops, less the government's ten percent. Officers and noncoms shared half according to a complicated formula, and the rest went in equal shares to the ordinary soldiers, in Descott-recruited units. Double shares for casualties was more of a custom than a tradition; it would be delivered to the kin with the urn of ashes and the deceased's rifle, sword, and dog.

Across the way a group of troopers appeared on the flat roof of a building, manhandling a huge clay jar between them. They gave a shout of laughter as it arched out to shatter on the cobbles, spraying a flood of olive oil. The first sweep for obvious loot was over, and the proceeds under guard in the warehouses; the real value had been there to start with, anyway. Now came the 'gleaning,' when anything a man found was his own to take, or destroy. Odd the pleasure they get from smashing things, Raj thought. Like extravagance for its own sake, all the pleasure of being a spendthrift with none of the drawbacks. Grimly: They've earned it, or will, before this is over. Or the other dues of the victors; clumps of troopers waited by the steps of the mosque, grinning and pushing each other in rough dogplay as they waited. A sergeant stirred bits of paper around in his helmet, picked out one and read: 'First Company, second platoon, third squad!' One of the clumps pushed their way forward. The mosque door opened, and a half-dozen young women were pushed out into the sunlight, blinking and cringing. A raw whoop lifted from the crowd, and the Colonist women flinched as if from a blow. One fainted as the squad rushed up the stairs to claim their prize, raising an ironic jeer from the spectators, and most of the others began to scream or whimper as the troopers lifted them in fireman's hoists or simply cuffed them along toward the unit's billet. Jovial shouts followed:

'Good luck, yer bullcocked bastards!'

'Show 'em why Descott girls is bowlegged!'

'Hey, Sandor! This mean yer gonna sell the ewe?'

That nearly started a fight, until friendly hands dragged the heckler away and Trooper Sandor had to make a dash to recover his prize, who made a break for the alleys through the laughing ranks of the Descotters. None of them paid any attention to Sandor's blasphemous calls to trip her; bets were called back and forth, and paid up as he closed a hand on her hair on the second circuit of the little plaza. He kept his hold on the long black tresses and bent her arm up behind her back in an efficient come-along hold, scowling at the mock-tender inquiries of his comrades who wondered aloud if he had the wind to do anything else but catch her.

'All right, yer dickheads,' the sergeant on the steps said, making another draw. 'Next-Second Company, third platoon, second squad! Come and get it!'

'No, yer gets it and then comes!' someone said. 'Plunder, then burn.'

Muzzaf had been searching in the folds of his robe while the Companions idly watched the byplay.

'Ahh, yes,' he said. 'I have done a preliminary calculation. . one thousand five hundred silver FedCreds. Per share.'

Shocked silence fell.

'Sweet Avatars of the all-knowing Spirit,' Gerrin said, at last. He turned and fisted Barton lightly on the shoulder. 'War Academy for you in a year or two, my lad! We'll make a two-semester wonder of you.'

Da Cruz moistened his lips, remembering a retirement due in five years.

'Squire Dorton said he'd rent Cazanegri Farm to a man who could stock it decent, it don't pay 'im to run it with a bailiff,' he said meditatively.

'Don't price the unborn calf,' Raj said, and they all spat and made the horn-sign. He eyed Muzzaf narrowly. 'How do you figure that?'

The man from Komar smiled, almost his old salesman's grin, and produced a piece of paper. 'These are the price estimates for the frankincense I found; this is a collection point for it. . and I know a factor for the Church, in Kendrun, who will pay 93 % of the East Residence price. The specie, the dinars, you can do better than turning them in to the Fisc for recoining-they use their own scales. There are merchants in Sandoral who will give you 3 %