Blade took her hand again and led her firmly to the bed. "I do understand," he said. "It does not matter. I do not care. Now, obey me!"
And he did understand. Zulekia was a homid, a human for all intents and purposes, and she had been caught doing what came" naturally to homids. Caught, Blade knew, was the operative word. Caught! Now she was to be punished. Blade's smile was grim, but he was not at all unhappy. This was something he recognized and understood.
And now he could wait no longer. He turned her so that she stood with her back to him. He fumbled with the catch holding on her breastplates and they fell to the floor with a little click of teksin on teksin. Zulekia stared straight before her, unmoving.
"Raise your arms a bit," said Blade. He was whispering.
She raised her arms.
Her breasts were cool golden orbs in his hands, the nipples infinitesimal buttons only a moment before and now rising to his finger stroke. Blade's knees began to shake, he had to fight to restrain himself, and yet he was determined that this play would serve a double purpose. His mouth was close to her ear.
"You know that Honcho is watching?"
She surprised him by answering aloud. "Yes. I know."
"Nod," said Blade fiercely. "Nod! Don't speak."
She half turned to face him, the great violet eyes filled with puzzlement, and again she saw that he did not understand. She reached to pluck out a long red-bronze strand of her hair. She let it float to the floor. Blade watched. When the hair wafted against the teksin she said: "Honcho heard that."
Blade suppressed anger. What was the use of raging? And it was good to know that the spiscreens were so sensitive. It was nearly beyond belief, yet he did believe. Whispering was no good. And there was no place to hide. Then he had an inspiration. Just maybe...but it could wait. Everything could wait.
He turned her about and caressed her breasts again for a moment. He led her to the bed and commanded her to lie down. She did so without demur. Now that she had warned him, told him she was karno, and he did not appear to care, she was prepared to do as the God pleased. So Blade read her thoughts.
Zulekia gazed up at him, the violet eyes watching without expression. Blade stripped away her brief pants. Her pubic hair was a swatch of color against her tawniness. Blade hurled away his own clothes.
As he prepared to enter her Blade wondered, for one sickening moment, if this was another of Honcho's devilish tricks. Was this woman real? Or was this simlu? A wraith and not woman?
A moment later he knew. It was not simlu. She was real. She was more than real. Zulekia was the essence of all the women Blade had ever had, and he knew that he had never had a woman before. This was the mystery, the unattainable, and Blade was solving it and attaining it.
Zulekia made no sound. Not the whole time. She did not put her arms about Blade. Yet she moved beneath him as he had never suspected a woman could move. The odor of her arose and engulfed him. Taunting and satisfying him at the same time. He had the feeling that what she was doing was as natural as breathing to her. She did not pretend. She did not try. She simply was. Her body perfectly fitted to his, flesh exactly measured to flesh, thrust to thrust, moistness to moistness, pestle to mortar.
It was Blade who groaned and cried aloud. Blade who threshed in frenzy. Blade who poured out in one great spill of ecstasy.
They lay quietly. Blade, from the corner of his eye, saw something move in a corner of the room. He turned to see Honcho's simlu slowly fading, vanishing. The mocking sneer was the last to go.
Chapter Five.
Blade had hoped to work out some secret means of communication with Zulekia, perhaps body pressures or blinking their eyes, but he was given no chance. A troop of ceboid soldiers came immediately and he was escorted back to his own chambers. Blade, glancing back at the woman, thought he detected a hint of entreaty in her violet eyes. Did she expect him to save her from her fate? Could he?
Honcho was waiting for Blade. He was wearing a breastplate and a heavy cloak of transparent teksin. In his hand he carried two odd-looking belts. They reminded Blade of cartridge belts with bandoliers attached.
The neuter handed Blade one of the belts. "Put it on." He touched Blade lightly to show that he was real, not simlu, then said: "Come with me. We have a long journey to make. Perhaps it would be well if you took a cloak. We are going into the Gorge and there will be weather there."
From his reading Blade knew that Tharnians understood weather, could in fact control it, but it had never been mentioned before. He could not help wondering how such a state of affairs would work out in England. Most people would be struck dumb!
Honcho touched a wall and a panel slid back. Blade followed the neuter into darkness. Immediately a misty blob of light appeared and began to dance along before them.
They made their way along a smooth floored passage so narrow they had to walk in single file. Honcho led the way. For a moment Blade was greatly tempted. This was real Honcho, not simlu, and he could surely kill the neuter with his bare hands.
He fought back the urge. It was not yet the time. He was still very much a stranger in a strange land and the truth was that he needed the neuter as much as Honcho appeared to need him.
The neuter walked on rapidly, following the light He said: "For the first time I put myself in jeopardy. You will do well to remember it and act accordingly, because if I am in jeopardy so are you. We go to see King Org, of the Pethcines, and his daughter Totha. They do not like me, nor trust me, but they must know about you. The Pethcines do not believe in the Gods of THEY, and I do not think they will believe you are Mazda - they are too cunning and brutish for such beliefs - but I can make them believe that you can help us. As you can, of course. Help me!"
Blade let that pass. He was still feeling his way, but he was already sure that Honcho was up to nothing more than an old-fashioned palace revolution. He was planning to overthrow THEY and take power in Tharn. In some way he intended to use both Blade and the Pethcines in this. Let it wait. Bide his time. For all Blade knew THEY were better overthrown, and Blade had his own future to worry about.
Casually Blade said, "Did you enjoy it, Honcho? Watching the woman and me? Or, rather, did your simlu enjoy it?"
"I did not watch to enjoy!" Honcho threw the words back as he strode along. "I watched to understand. I have never seen coi performed before. Nor has any other neuter. Normally curiosity about coi is not instilled in us during our decanter period. I, of course, am different. I find coi interesting and puzzling. What did you call it in this place from which you claim to come?" During his stay in the Gorge Tower Blade and the neuter had had several long discussions. Blade had been candid about himself and his background. He had seen little point in being otherwise.
Now he found that he was enjoying baiting Honcho. "We call it sex," he said. "It is an emotional thing, one that a neuter cannot be expected to understand. It is also a very powerful physical drive, a hunger. Perhaps the most powerful in all the world."
He saw Honcho nod in the soft light. The creature's voice was calm and it appeared pleased.
"I saw that. I was watching very closely. I noted your reflexive convulsions, and your face. I saw something more than physical. Something that I do not really understand yet, though I will. It appeared to me that, in this act of coi with the Maiduke woman, you were in her power for a little time. This is so?"
Blade was instantly wary. He warned himself again not to underestimate this...this thing? In that moment he began to think of Honcho as He, not as it. In a way it was a victory for Honcho, though Blade had no intention of letting him know it.
So he was curt. "I enjoyed it. It was pleasure while it lasted. I was not in her power."
"I think otherwise," said Honcho. "I cannot express it, because we do not have the words in Tharnian. But it is there."
He was cunning. Blade admitted the loss of another round and was not surprised when Honcho said: "You will now care what becomes of Zulekia? You would wish, perhaps to save her from the punishment that has been decreed?"
Blade raged inwardly. There might not be words in Tharnian for love, or tenderness, or even for casual human affection, but Honcho had seen the point readily enough.
"I would not like to see her harmed," he admitted. "If it is possible to save her I would do so. What is her punishment to be?"
Honcho laughed and the sound was cruel. "To be given to the ceboids, of course. To all of them, even to the lowest. They are very fond of homid women. Then she will be given to the ceboid females, who will tear her to bits and toss the pieces into the Gorge."
Blade, who was not an easy or a soft man, did not like to think of that. "I would not have this happen," he said.
Honcho said: "I did not think so. It is in my power to prevent it. I will prevent it, as long as you obey my orders and try no treachery against me. Understand that well, Blade. I have placed the woman in a new place, a very secret place, under guard of my most trusted ceboids. She remains safe so long as you are my man, my Mazda, my HE WHO COMES TO THEY." And Honcho laughed again.
Blade did not answer. The man was a ferret. A cunning and damnable ferret who, without even understanding it, had sought out a weakness in Blade.
The tunnel widened now. The dancing light stopped and hovered over a dark circular hole in the floor. Blade noted again that the Tharnians knew and used the circle concept, though they had long ago discontinued use of the wheel as inefficient.
Four ceboid soldiers were guarding the shaft. They bowed obsequiously as Honcho approached. They wore armor, carried swords, and were equipped with the teksin air guns. Honcho spoke briefly to them in their own language and they stepped aside, watching Blade with bloodshot animal eyes.
Honcho adjusted the belt he wore by turning a dial on it. He told Blade to do the same. The big man did so, understanding now that the belts were some sort of antigravity mechanism. It was perfectly reasonable that the Tharnians, who could harness magnetism and magnetic flux, could also control gravity.
The neuter stepped into the hole and began to float downward. Blade did the same. It was a pleasant sensation, like descending in a very slow elevator. Very slowly, side by side, they floated down and down into the darkness.
Honcho was silent for a long time. Then: "We have many magkronos to go. So listen carefully, Blade. And obey absolutely."
The neuter talked for a long time, while Blade listened and absorbed.
At last they reached the bottom of the shaft and drifted gently to a landing. They were in a great arching cave. Honcho took off his belt and also took Blade's. He bid the belts beneath a rock and beckoned to Blade. They went toward the front of the cave, bending and finally crawling into a narrow passage.
Just before they reached the end of the passage Honcho said: "From what you have told me, Blade, I think you will find the land of the Pethcines much like the place from which you come. Or claim to come. You will perhaps feel at home here. They are brutes and barbarians."
Blade did not answer. He stepped out of the cave, feeling a strange exhilaration. It was dark. Pitch dark. Wind slammed around him and rain dashed into his face and splashed from his armor. It was cold, much colder than it had been above. This was weather, real weather, that he could understand.
He filled his great lungs with the cold, damp air. Then Honcho tapped his arm. "Come. There is not much time."
The neuter led the way along a narrow, rock strewn ravine. He went easily into the dark, obviously knowing the route. They rounded a bend and Blade saw the flicker of a campfire.
They approached the fire. It was the entrance of another cave and a little knot of men crouched about it. Honcho halted for a moment in the shadows, barring the way with his arm. The men around the fire did not see or hear them, perhaps because of the storm. Blade studied them closely. They were men, real men, and he recognized the type as what he would have once called Mongoloid.
They were squat, shaggy men dressed in skins and crude armor. They all carried knives, or short swords, or both. Lances were stacked nearby, and some of the men had short bows and quivers slung over their shoulders. They were all talking animatedly, gnawing on joints of meat and every now and then tossing a bone to one of the huge dogs that lolled about.
One of the dogs suddenly pricked its ears and growled into the darkness. Honcho squeezed Blade's arm. "Remain here until I call." He strode into the circle of firelight.
Blade watched, half admiring Honcho's poise. The neuter had said there was danger, and Blade believed him, yet Honcho did not appear afraid. He raised his right hand high over his head and walked nearer the fire. Some of the men sprang to their feet, some remained seated. One picked up a lance. Another swiftly notched an arrow to his bow.
Honcho began to speak in Tharnian. The men eased a little and listened attentively.
"I am He, of Tharn," said the neuter. "As you well know. You will take me to King Org at once. I have urgent business. I also bring another, a stranger, who will also be a guest of the King, and whom you will treat with the same courtesy and consideration you show to me. This is understood?"
One of the men, a beetle-browed man with huge shoulders and powerful bowed legs, pushed back a pointed fur cap from his low forehead and growled, "Where is he, then? This stranger?"
Honcho turned and cocked a finger at Blade. "Come."
Blade strode into the firelight, towering over the squat men, conscious that in his armor and with his magnificent build, he made a striking picture. Blade halted and struck a deliberate pose. Honcho was not the only one who was cunning, who could play games, and already Blade was wondering if he could use these Pethcines, and how?
The men stared at Blade and muttered among themselves in a language he could not understand. Blade looked at Honcho. The neuter appeared cool enough, though Blade sensed that he was tense and waiting for something.
The man who had spoken to Honcho, the leader, fell to his knees and touched his short sword to his forehead. "Lord," he said in Tharnian. "We obey."
Blade was watching Honcho's green eyes. He saw amusement, and something of relief.
Blade touched the kneeling man's shoulder. "Rise," he said. "You are my friends. So it shall be, now and always." One of the great dogs whined softly and came to lick Blade's hand. Blade felt a strange sense of pleasure, or power, that he had never known before. He was playing a role, but at the same time he was living it!
Honcho clapped his hands. "Take us to King Org now."
The leader of the band plucked a torch from the fire and led the way. The others did not follow.
They followed the wavering torch back into a narrow ravine. The wind gusted and guttered the torch, which tossed smoky red shadows on the rain streaked rocks. Honcho, walking beside Blade, said in a low voice: "You did that well. I admit that you have fine presence. I begin to think that you have not told me all about this place of yours. Were you a king there?"
"I am no king," said Blade curtly.
They left the ravine and approached a wide opening to a vast cavern. Before they reached it Blade heard the murmur of hundreds of voices. The place was ablaze with the light of a thousand torches.
The Pethdne who was leading them flung down his torch and stood aside. He looked at Honcho in a strange manner and there was defiance in his voice. "We are having the feast of our own Sacer, as you see. Not as THEY of Tharn have it, but as we Pethcines have it, and will have it again in Urcit."
The neuter nodded and touched the man on the shoulder. "So it will be. Go now. My thanks. When you come to Urcit I will not forget you."
The man vanished into the dark. Blade gazed at the blazing entrance of the cave, from which came the roar and mumble and shouting of a great crowd. And, as Blade recognized at once, not a sober crowd. He looked at Honcho and gestured toward the cave mouth. "Soka?"
The neuter's smile was faint. "They call it dema. It is the same, with the same effects. I told you they are a swinish, brutish lot, and there is danger. Do exactly as I told you. Come, Mazda!" Again the sneering little smile.
They walked into the vast cave and paused. For a moment they were not noticed, then someone saw them and shouted. A hush fell over the crowd as all peered to see. Blade gazed around, feeling his heart step up its beating. It was a garish and barbarous spectacle.
The cavern was gigantic, in the form of an amphitheater, with myriad torches ringing it. The crude stone seats were packed with Pethcines in every stage of disarray and disorder and drunkenness. Most were staring at Blade and Honcho, but some were not. The couples who were copulating nearby, in plain view of the mob, and without anyone seeming to care or notice, did not so much as glance at the two interlopers.
Honcho nudged Blade. "The stone! Go to it at once and bow. Do not touch the sword!"
Blade nodded. He remembered his instructions well. He glanced down the huge oval to the great block of stone that stood exactly in the middle of it. The stone was at least ten feet long and stood shoulderhigh to Blade. He began to walk toward the stone. His stride was firm, his shoulders squared, his head high. He glanced about him as he walked, deliberately making his gaze arrogant. The Pethcines would understand arrogance.
He was walking on sand now. His foot struck something and he saw that it was a severed head. Another one lay near by. Gouts of blood stained the sand. He passed a naked and headless body and approached the stone. Honcho had been most explicit about this.
Blade paused at the end of the stone. The silence was nearly absolute now. Beyond the stone, fifty feet or so, was a high double throne on which sat a man and a young woman. King Org and his daughter Totha. Blade's glance flicked over them without hesitating. He stared down at the huge sword on the stone.
He had seen swords like it before. In museums. It was not unlike a medieval broadsword, double edged and with a sharp point. The long hilt was a mass of twisted gold, tarnished now, and heavily studded with jewels. Blade knew it would be tremendously heavy. No Pethcine, Honcho had said, had ever been able to wield it with one hand.
Blade fell to his knees before the stone. He placed his forehead against the cold edge and raised his hands, careful not to touch the sword. Then he stood up. A great roar filled the cavern. Blade could not tell if it was approbation or bloodlust. He stepped around the stone and stood waiting, as the neuter had said to do.
Honcho now approached the stone and made his obeisance. He joined Blade and together they approached the throne. The throng was still howling like a mad thing. Yet Honcho spoke clearly enough for Blade to hear above the roar.
"I will bow to Org and his daughter. You will not bow! Mazda does not bow. Do not speak until you are spoken to. Be proud, be haughty, but do not overdo it. Follow my lead in all things, but if something arises that I have not foreseen you must handle it yourself."
They halted before the throne. The crowd was still riotous. Honcho fell to one knee. "Org. Totha. I bring the one of whom I spoke. Mazda. HE WHO COMES TO THEY!"
King Org had eyes that were bloodshot and piggish in a fat, ringlet bearded face. They were also very shrewd. They stared at Blade for a very long time. Blade, unflinching, stared back. The roaring of the crowd died now to a gusty whispering and when Org spoke his words came clear and sharp.
"You say it, Honcho. I do not have to believe it. I will admit that he looks the part. But you have proof? He has proof?"
Honcho inclined his head. His smile was slight. "In time, Org, in time. But not before this mob. You know they will accept him if you do. One thing at a time. The important thing is that if he is Mazda, HE WHO COMES TO THEY, he has not gone to they. He has come to us! So what is written in the Tharnian Book is not true. It is false. He is our God, the Pethcine God, and not theirs. He will lead you back to Urcit, where you should be ruling now. It is so easy, Org. All you have to do is allow me to guide you."
Org was squat and powerful, with an enormous paunch. His slitted eyes were nearly concealed in fat, yet they surveyed Honcho and Blade with a cold inquisitional stare.
"So you still say, Honcho. You may be right. I do not say you are not. I do not even say that, for our purposes, he is not Mazda."
Org turned suddenly to his daughter. "What say you, Totha?"
All this time Blade and Totha had been dueling with their eyes. She had never taken her eyes off him, since his approach to the throne, and there was no mistaking the message. Her eyes were oval, almond, true Mongoloid, and at that distance appeared a deep brown. Her mouth was wide and red, her teeth sparkling white, her nose small and straight, her ears tiny. Her glistening black hair was set high on her head and garnished with small golden combs. Her skin was dusky ivory, her pear-shaped breasts sharp and firm with long brown nipples. She wore only a very short skirt of some animal skin and her legs were slim and well formed with exquisite ankles.
Blade stared back at her, his face impassive. The impact of her eyes was a physical thing, crawling over his flesh like insects that excited instead of repulsing him. They rested for a long time on his groin and her lips moved in what could only have been anticipation. He had never seen a girl so lovely and at the same time so lewd". He could detect the stark honesty, along with cruelty and desire.
Totha's eyes played over his long legs, his torso, his tremendous chest and shoulders, the majestic tallness of him. Her smile grew. At last her glance met his again and again there was no mistaking the offering. Take me if you want me. And if you can!
Totha leaned toward her father and said something.