Moyna led the way. It said: "I only know that this place was made long ago, in the time of the great wars, when the Pethcines broke into Tharn from the Gorge and ravaged the land. That much is instilled at fourth level. And a little more. It is in kronoswrite that the survivors, even the Queen Goddess herself, with the High Priestess and some of the Lordsmen, hid in such a place as this for many kronos until a way could be found to defeat the Pethcines. That is all I know, Lordsman Blade. When your brain is well from the blow you will know all, of course."
"Of course," Blade agreed. And smiled inwardly. He was a pretty big boy to have to go back to school, to start from scratch, but that was exactly what he must do.
They walked on and on. The elusive light danced on ahead of them. For the first time Blade felt a little cold. Moyna did not seem to be affected.
"Where does this tunnel go, Moyna?"
"I do not know, Lordsman. When I was here before, the only time, I came only as far as a garrison room. It is just ahead now. Beyond that I did not venture. But I have some small capacity to guessthink, only a little, and it may be that this tunnel leads on to one of the Gorge Towers. It is from the Towers that the Pethcines are observed and kept in check, as the Lordsman will remember when he is well."
"Of course," agreed Blade.
The tunnel widened abruptly into a large chamber. The light that had been dancing on ahead of them now centered itself in the chamber and hung there, a glowing blob of effulgence. Blade approached the light and thrust his hand into the periphery of radiance. He felt a tingling, a mild shock, and drew back his hand. Electricity of some sort!
The neuter was watching him, its slender hands on almost nonexistent hips. Its features registered surprise as Blade thrust his hand into the light, but it said nothing.
In the exact center of the large chamber was a circular plaque, or pad, set into the floor. It was of the same opaque, plastic-like substance that Blade had seen before. It occurred to him that Tharnians did not know or understand metal, or had no use for it.
Blade pointed to the circular pad. It was about six feet in diameter. "What is that, Moyna?"
The neuter fell to its knees and clasped its hand in an attitude of prayer. "No, Lordsman Blade! No! It is forbidden. I cannot speak of it." It was cowering, averting its eyes now, refusing to look at Blade or the pad.
Blade shrugged and skirted the spot gingerly. Some sort of danger, but it need not concern him at the moment. He was much more interested in the various weapons and articles of clothing that hung on the walls or lay scattered about. Moyna must be right, Blade thought. At one time or another this must have been a guard room, a garrison of some sort.
Clothing! Blade was feeling the need of it. From a peg he selected what appeared to be a complete uniform. Everything was there, from high-thonged sandals to a plumed high-crested helmet. Again no metal. It was all made of the same dull opaque plastic material, light as a feather except for the helmet and breastplate. They were heavier and had a bronze tint.
Blade tapped the helmet with his finger. "Of what is this made, Moyna? I have forgotten."
The neuter, now that Blade no longer appeared interested in the frightening pad, came forward with a smile. "Of the mani, Lordsman. What else? Everything is made of mani, though it has many different names."
Blade tapped the helmet again. "This? This heavy stuff?"
"Tekshi, Lordsman."
Blade began to get dressed. Moyna watched with approval, nodding every now and then. As Blade drew on a pair of very short and feather-light breeches, the neuter clapped its hand and bowed several times. For some reason which Blade could not fathom at the moment it appeared proud and deliriously happy. A moment later he got an inkling.
Moyna had been staring at Blade's genitalia. As they disappeared beneath the breeches the neuter said, "I am most happy, Lordsman, that you chose me to make slaveface for you. It was kind of you to let me see the Mystery. Perhaps my memspeak will forget how it was, for such is the nature of things, but even so I am grateful. I, Moyna, alone of all my level, have been shown the Mystery. Thank you. Thank you, Lordsman Blade."
Blade filed it away for future reference. When there was time he would think about it. Obviously Moyna, a neuter, had never seen a man's sexual equipment before and was awed by it. Just as obviously, going by inference, sexual equipment such as Blade's own did exist in Tharn. That meant other men. Or did it? Blade kept dressing. He at least, with clothing and weapons, felt more like a man. He had never been entirely comfortable when naked.
Blade donned a kilt-like garment that fitted snugly about his waist and fell to his knees. Over his broad shoulders and deep chest he drew a light undershirt. Then a heavier shirt, woven of the teksin, which was very like chain mail. It was when he began to buckle on a breastplate, from the back, that he halted and gazed at the armor in puzzlement and slight dismay. The frontal armor had two large bulges. No mistaking their purpose. The armor had been made for a woman. A woman with large breasts!
Blade glanced at the neuter. It displayed no interest in Blade's puzzlement. In a moment Blade understood. Moyna had never seen a man's genital area before and it was quite unlikely that it knew what breasts were.
He threw the breastplate to the floor and stomped out the bulges with his foot The teksin yielded but did not break. He buckled on the plates, donned a plumed helmet, and began to examine the weapons available. These, like the armor, like everything in Tharn so far, were made of the inevitable opaque plastic, teksin, or whatever the hell it was. Blade determined to think of it as plastic.
One of Blade's hobbies, before J and Lord Leighton, had been weaponry. One of his clubs was the Medieval Club - on fine summer afternoons in Kent they got together and had at each other with broadsword, mace, and lance - and Blade was also an expert on such arcana as wheel locks, miquelets, the snaphaunce, and right through to such weapons as the M-16. So it was that the weapons he examined now had a familiar look about them, though he had never seen anything exactly like them before.
They were all fashioned of the dull plastic. He was amazed to see that the stuff took a very fine edge. There were sabers, rapiers, cutlasses, and one blade that was very like a trench knife. Blade selected a rapier and hung it from his shoulder in the baldric that came with it. He drew the long thin blade and feinted with it several times, stamping back and forth and whipping the blade in the air. He was an expert swordsman and it felt good to have a weapon in his hands again.
Moyna watched patiently. It did not appear to be frightened of, or even to understand, the rapier. Blade sheathed the rapier and turned his attention to the long row of tubes that stood upright in a case along one wall. Under the case was a chest filled with thin and very sharply pointed plastic darts. Blade took down one of the tubes. It took him only a few seconds to figure it out.
The tubes were air guns. Simple and effective. Blade found a small lever and pumped it, felt the pressure build within the tube. There was nothing resembling a stock or a butt, just a circle with a trigger in it. Blade pulled the trigger and the tube emitted a hollow spang.
Blade found a rammer and pushed one of the darts down into the tube, then pumped it up again. He pointed the tube at a shield on an opposite wall and pulled the trigger again. Spang.
The dart penetrated the plastic shield to a depth of two inches. Blade pulled out the dart and looked at the barb. For the first time he noticed a dark coloration on the point. Poison? Drug? Probably a most effective weapon at short range. Nevertheless he had the impression that all this store of weapons was antique, long disused and obsolete, left here in this underground chamber to molder. But beggars could not be choosers, and they must suffice for the moment.
Moyna had been watching all this with disinterest. Weapons apparently meant nothing to him. Blade guessed that neuters never saw weapons, or came in contact with them, did not understand them and therefore had no fear of them. That meant, of course, that neuters were not killed with weapons. How then?
Blade glanced at the circular pad of plastic in the center of the chamber. Moyna was afraid of that! Blade was about to pursue the matter, for his curiosity was great, when he saw the mirror for the first time.
The mirror was of plastic, but had been polished to a high sheen. Blade stared at his image with a sense of shock. It was the same lean, handsome face, the same muscular and perfectly conditioned body, yet there was something about the eyes, the forehead, that he did not remember having seen before. The difference was vague, ephemeral, but it was there. It was, he thought, almost as though the intelligence behind the eyes had changed.
The plumed helmet and breastplate, the kilt-like skirt, gave him a familiar Roman-Graeco look. Blade smiled at himself in the mirror. He had seen pictures in the history books of ancient warriors that looked much as he did now. Blade nodded at his image and smiled again. He had always had his share of vanity. The outfit became him well.
Blade strode resolutely to the circular pad of plastic in the center of the chamber He watched the neuter closely as he did so. The pad intrigued Blade; he was determined to seek out its meaning.
Moyna fell to its knees again. It began to shiver and shake and moan, again clasping its hands in a prayerful attitude.
Blade halted at the very edge of the circle. He whipped the rapier out of its scabbard and slashed it back and forth through the area over the pad. Nothing happened. Blade glanced back at Moyna. The neuter was on its knees still, keening and making the little whistling, sobbing sounds. It would not look at Blade nor at the pad, but Blade could catch the words.
"No, Lordsman! Do not. I have been good slaveface. I have obeyed. Do not. Do not!"
Blade began to lose his temper. "What do you fear?" he shouted at the neuter. "Look, Moyna. Look!"
Blade stepped into the center of the pad.
Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. Blade smiled at Moyna and stepped out of the circle. "You see, Moyna. There is nothing to be afraid of in this place. Come. We'll be on our way."
The neuter glanced from Blade to the circular pad. It shook its head. "Even yet you do not understand, Lordsman. You who are of a high level and memspeaked for it. It is your head, of course. You have forgotten much. But it is not danger for you, Lordsman, it is danger for me. Come. Come! Let us leave this place. We will see if the other tunnel leads to the Gorge Tower. If it does not I cannot help us."
Moyna got to its feet and, carefully avoiding the pad, started for the passage that led out of the chamber on the far side. Blade stared at the pad, slowly shook his head, then followed the neuter. He had always hated leaving a mystery unsolved and...
Moyna reached the point where the tunnel began to narrow again. There was a sudden flash of blue flame. Moyna was hurled backward, landing flat at Blade's feet.
Blade stared down at the prostrate Moyna. The neuter made no attempt to rise. It looked at the big man and great tears rolled down the smooth cheeks.
"Honcho!" said the neuter. "Honcho has seen us. We are trapped. The magveil!"
Blade stepped over the prostrate figure. He had already guessed that some sort of electro-magnetic screen had been thrown around the chamber. It had hurled the neuter back. Would it work on him?
He walked boldly into the tunnel. Flash! A blue sheet of flame. Blade was whirled off his feet and slammed backward. There was no pain, no sense of electrical shock or bum, just a great invisible hand smashing him back. He was as helpless as an insect in a typhoon.
Blade lay for a moment on the floor He cursed softly to himself. What now? What next?
The neuter made a high whining sound, a babble of wordless terror. It was pointing to the circular plastic pad.
Something was materializing on the pad. A whorl of gauzy vapor. Blade watched, too fascinated to feel fear.
As though some unseen hand had painted it, in broad clear strokes on thin air, a figure began to materialize on the pad. Slowly at first, then rapidly. Then it was there.
It was another neuter. It was as naked as Moyna, with the same smooth and hairless genital and chest areas, the same light covering of hair. But there the resemblance ended. This neuter was much larger than Moyna and its head was shaven. Its head was also much larger, the cranium well developed, and the green eyes were alive with an intelligence that was tinged with cunning.
Moyna began to knock its head against the floor in abjection. It wept. "Honcho! Forgive, Honcho! I only made slaveface, as is the law. I could do no other. You know that, Honcho. You know that!"
The neuter called Honcho stepped off the pad. It did not so much as glance at Blade, who watched with fascination and first faint beginnings of alarm. This neuter wore a chain about its neck that was obviously a badge of office. The stones, set into plastic strands, gleamed like diamonds in the pale light. Diamonds the size of ice cubes.
Honcho approached the sniveling Moyna and stood staring down at it. Honcho's face was impassive, the green eyes narrowed now. It reached out and tapped the cringing Moyna on the shoulder.
"How many kronos?"
"Not yet 200, Honcho! Not yet of mid-kronos. I beg, Honcho, I beg..."
Honcho put long tapering fingers to its chin and stood looking down at Moyna. It frowned. The watching Blade could detect no mercy, no sympathy, yet there was no sign of anger, of vindictiveness. Only thought. Deep thought.
At last Honcho said, "I am sorry, Moyna. It is not really your fault. That I admit. You made slaveface to the Lordsman here, as you must do by law. As I, also, must do."
The tall neuter turned to face Blade, as though seeing him for the first time, and said: "I make slaveface, Lordsman. I am Honcho. Kronos 4005 AG. Tier 1, Decantment 1. Destruct Kronos 800. It is here so written. I present it as required by law."
Honcho raised his arm and pointed to a medallion set into the skin below the armpit, just as Moyna had done. And yet not quite as Moyna had done. Blade did not miss the difference. There was an arrogance, a near contempt, about the gesture. Blade recognized it instantly. It was the way a subordinate salutes an officer whom he hates and distrusts.
Honcho spoke again. "I am 14th level, Lordsman. I am He of all neuters. If you will now excuse me I will attend to Moyna. I again make slaveface, Lordsman." The green eyes were narrowed and there was no mistaking the smirk on the mobile lips.
Blade knew, in that instant, that here was an enemy!
Honcho turned again to the cringing Moyna. It pointed to the circular pad. "Enter. I, who am He, command it!"
Moyna wept. It began to crawl on its hands and knees toward the pad. Just as it reached the edge it turned back to face Blade. Blade sensed the enormous effort this took. The creature was going against all its training, its conditioning, its built-in obedience.
Moyna held out its hands in pleading. "Lordsman! You promised...you promised to extend my kronos. Keep your promise. Save me!"
The other neuter had stepped a little away and was watching with an enigmatic look on its bland features.
Blade had promised. He whipped the rapier from its sheath and stepped between Honcho and the begging Moyna.
"It is my responsibility," said Blade. "I commanded Moyna to do what was done. If anyone is to be punished, let it be me. So, Honcho, punish me if you dare!"
For a moment they confronted each other. Blade extended the rapier in threatening fashion, watching Honcho's face for every nuance of response. He had no idea how this would turn out. That was the trouble: he didn't know exactly what he was doing. He could only follow his instincts.
Doubt and puzzlement flickered for a moment across Honcho's face. Then it laughed. "There is something very wrong here, Lordsman." No mistaking the sneer.
Honcho looked at Moyna. "In! I am being merciful. If you do not obey at once you will suffer Number 2 destruct! Do you wish that, Moyna?"
Moyna gave a little whistling sob and crawled onto the plastic pad. Blade leaped at Honcho and thrust with the rapier, a long reaching lunge that was aimed at the heart. In the practice of his profession Blade had dueled in earnest more than once and had lived. He felt a surge of primitive joy, of blood lust, as he rammed the slim rapier directly into Honcho's heart.
Blade tripped and fell, off balance. He sprawled ignominiously on the floor of the chamber. The rapier clattered from his hand. It had passed through air. He had stabbed nothing! The sharp edged teksin had sliced through a wraith.
Honcho was a dozen feet away, on the other side of the chamber. It stared at Blade with narrowed green eyes and laughed, a taunting laugh. "There is indeed something very wrong here, Lordsman. More than I thought at first. You attempt to attack a simlu? You are mad, or you have the soka illness. Or...but we will speak of that later. Moyna!"
Blade cursed and got to his feet, raging and helpless. He could do nothing. He did not understand it all, but he did understand that this Honcho was not the real neuter, the real He. It was a picture, a ghost, a wraith, call it anything, that was somehow projected into the chamber. The real Honcho was watching from some secret place.
Moyna was crouched in the middle of the pad, whimpering and trembling. Honcho - the projection of Honcho - raised a finger. Blade guessed that it was a command to some unseen soldier or servant.
Moyna vanished in mid-scream. There was a slight cloud over the pad, like steamy gauze, and a faint smell of burning in the chamber. That was all.
Honcho did not look at Blade. It spoke, apparently to the vacant walls. "Moyna destruct. See that it is entered so."
Blade picked up the rapier and sheathed it. He had been defeated but not shattered. He could not kill a simlu, as Honcho had named his image, but it was logical that where there was a simlu there had to be a real neuter. A real Honcho. Blade must bide his time.
Honcho turned to Blade. "And now, Lordsman, let us speak of you. You will answer my question. You are one of the Twenty? You have escaped from the Cage in Urcit?"
Blade tried to bluff it out. The tale had worked with Moyna. Poor Moyna.
"Yes," said Blade. "That is so. I escaped, but I suffered a bad fall. I struck my head. I do not remember much."
Honcho regarded him. No doubt of the sneer now. And yet Blade could sense that Honcho was not altogether sure of himself. Not 100 percent convinced about Blade. Something was lacking.
Honcho pointed to Blade's kilt-like nether garment "Pull it up. I would see."
Blade obeyed. He bared his genitals. The neuter gasped and took a step backward. For a moment Blade thought it was going to fall on its knees and make slaveface as Moyna had done. But no.
The green eyes had narrowed still more, until they were mere slits now. Honcho nodded and nodded and stroked its chin with the tapering fingers. Blade covered himself, adjusting the kilt, sensing that he was losing this round.
Honcho walked around Blade. Around and around, studying the big man from every angle. At last the neuter spoke.
"You are no Lordsman! That I know. Yet you are homid, one of THEY. I do not understand it. And I should understand it. My birthplate lies - I am far above 14th level, although THEY do not know that - and I should understand it." Honcho ran a finger over his close-clipped skull. "There is a great mystery here - a mystery that I will understand, I swear it - and perhaps a mystery that I can use in my own plans."
Blade had to keep reminding himself that this was only a simlu, not the real Honcho. It was hard to do. The neuter confronting him now was real in everything but substance.
Blade said: "All right, Honcho. I am no Lordsman. I may be homid, but I don't know exactly what that is. I lied. I did not strike my head. I am a stranger in your land. You appear to be an intelligent being, so let us sit down and reason together. Let us talk. You can find out about me and I can find out about you. We will be friends, not enemies."
Blade smiled at the neuter. It was his best smile and he took great pains with it. "I am sorry that I lost my temper and tried to kill you, Honcho. Shall we be friends?"
Honcho fingered its chin. "It is most strange. You speak our language. We understand each other. Yet you use words I have never heard before. Friends? What are friends?"
Blade kept his smile firm. "It means that we will not try to harm each other. That perhaps we can help each other, work together, so that each of us gets what he wants."
The neuter nodded slowly. "Yes. I understand that. Not that you could harm me with weapons as crude as these." It gestured around the large chamber. "These are arfactis, from the time of a million kronos, kept as curiosities or as playthings for the beast-soldiers."
Blade did not answer. He sensed that the neuter image was only talking to cover deep thought. It was trying to come to a decision.
The decision was made. Honcho put a finger to its lips and shook its head slightly at Blade. When it spoke it was not to Blade, but to the listening walls. Blade knew that this was only simlu, not the real flesh and blood creature, yet his skin crawled and the hairs prickled on his neck.
Honcho said: "All spiscreens in Provo of North Gorge to be shuttered. I am He who commands. There will be no memspeak of those past minikronos. I repeat - no memspeak! All to be erased. Do so on command of He."
Honcho raised his hands and clapped them sharply. Blade sensed that now the unseen listeners and watchers were gone. Honcho wanted privacy for some reasons of his own.
The neuter image stared at him. "Come," said Honcho. "We will go to my real where we can talk. In secret." He stepped toward the circular pad. Blade hesitated.