Planet of Adventure Omnibus (10 page)

Reith said to
Traz, “This is the caravan we met at lobu Ford.”

Traz gave a
gloomy nod. “Had we taken it I might yet have carried Onmale ... But I am not
sorry. There was never such a weight as Onmale. At night it would whisper to
me.”

A dozen of
the drays carried three-story lodges of blackstained timber, with cupolas,
decks and shaded verandahs. Reith looked at them with envy. Here was the
comfortable way to travel the steppes of Tschai! A particularly massive dray
carried a house with barred windows and iron-bound doors. The front deck was
enclosed by heavy wire mesh: in effect, a cage. Looking forth was a young
woman, with a beauty so extraordinary that it seemed to have a vitality of its
own, like the Onmale emblem. She was rather slight, with skin the color of dune
sand. Dark hair brushed her shoulders; her eyes were the clear browngold of
topaz. She wore a small rose-red skull-cap, a dull red tunic, trousers of white
linen, rumpled and somewhat soiled. As the dray lurched past she looked down at
the three wayfarers. For an instant Reith met her eyes, and was shocked by the
melancholy of her expression. The dray rolled past. In an open doorway at the rear
stood a tall woman, bleak-featured, with glittering eyes, an inch-long bristle
of brown-gray hair. In vast curiosity Reith applied to Anacho for information,
but to no avail. The Dirdirman had neither knowledge nor opinion.

The three
followed the caravan past the fortified rock-juts, into a wide sandy compound.
The caravan master, a small intensely active old man, ranged the vehicles in
three ranks: the cargo wagons next to the depot warehouse, then the
slave-carriers’ houses and barracks, and finally the gun-carts with the weapons
directed toward the steppe.

Across the
compound stood the caravansary, a slope-sided two-storied structure of
compacted earth. The tavern, kitchen and common-room occupied the lower floor;
on the second was a row of small chambers opening upon a porch. The three
wayfarers found the innkeeper in the common-room: a burly man in black boots
and a brown apron, with skin as gray as wood-ash. With raised eyebrows he
looked from Traz in nomad costume to Anacho and his once-elegant Dirdir
garments to Reith, in Earthstyle whipcord breeches and jacket, but made no
difficulty about providing accommodation and agreed to provide new garments as
well.

The chambers
were eight feet wide, ten feet long. There was a bed of leathern thongs across
a wooden frame, with a thin pallet of straw, a table with basin and ewer of
water. After the journey across the steppe, the accommodations seemed almost
luxurious. Reith bathed, shaved with the razor from his survival kit, donned
his new garments in which he hoped to be less conspicuous: loose trousers of
brown-gray canvas, a shirt of rough white homespun, a black short-sleeved vest.
Stepping out on the porch, he looked down into the compound. His old life on
Earth: how remote it seemed! Compared to the bizarre multiplicity of Tschai,
the old existence was drab and colorless-though not the less desirable for all
that. Reith was forced to admit that his initial desolation had become somewhat
less poignant. His new life, for all its precariousness, held zest and
adventure. Reith looked across the compound toward the dray with the iron-bound
house. The girl was a prisoner: so much was evident. What was her destiny that
she should display such anguish?

Reith tried
to identify the dray, but among so many humped, peaked and angular shapes it
could not be found. Just as well, he told himself. He had troubles enough
without investigating the woe of a slave girl, glimpsed for five seconds in
all. Reith went back into his room.

Certain items
from his survival kit he thrust into his pockets; the rest he concealed under
the ewer. Descending to the common-room, he found Traz sitting stiffly on a
bench to the side. In response to Reith’s question, he admitted that he had
never before been in such a place and did not wish to make a fool of himself.
Reith laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, and Traz managed a painful grin.

Anacho
appeared, less obviously a Dirdirman in his steppedweller’s garments. The three
went to the refectory, where they were served a meal of bread and thick dark
soup, the ingredients of which Reith did not inquire.

After the
meal Anacho regarded Reith through eyes heavy-lidded with speculation. “From
here you fare to Pera?”

“Yes.”

“This is
known as the City of Lost Souls.”

“So I
understand.”

“Hyperbole,
of course,” Anacho remarked airily. “‘Soul’ is a concept susceptible to
challenge. The Dirdir theologies are subtle; I will not discuss them, except to
remark that-no, best not to confuse you. But back to Pera, the ‘City of Lost
Souls,’ as it were, and the destination of the caravan. Rather than walk, I
prefer to ride; I suggest then that we engage the best and most comfortable
transport the caravan-master can provide.”

“An excellent
idea,” said Reith. “However, I-”

Anacho
fluttered his finger in the air. “Do not concern yourself; I am, for the moment
at least, disposed kindly toward you and the boy; you are mild and respectful;
you do not overstep your status; hence-”

Traz,
breathing hard, rose to his feet. “I carried Onmale! Can you understand that?
When I left camp do you think that I neglected to take sequins?” He thumped a
long bag down upon the table. “We do not depend on your indulgence, Dirdirman!”

“As you wish,”
said Anacho with a quizzical glance toward Reith.

Reith said, “Since
I have no sequins, I gladly accept whatever is offered to me, from either of
you.”

The
common-room had gradually filled with folk from the caravan: drivers and
weaponeers, the three swaggering Ilanths, the caravan-master, others. All
called for food and drink. As soon as the caravan-master had eaten, Anacho,
Traz and Reith approached him and solicited transportation to Pera. “So long as
you are in no hurry,” said the caravan-master. “We wait here until the
Aig-Hedajha caravan comes down from the North, then we travel by way of Golsse;
if you are in haste you must make other arrangements.”

Reith would
have preferred to travel rapidly: what would be happening to his space-boat?
But with no swifter form of transport available, he curbed his impatience.

Others also
were impatient. Up to the table marched two women in long black gowns with red
shoes. One of these Reith had seen previously, looking from the back of the
dray. The other was thinner, but taller, with a skin even more leaden, almost
cadaverous. The tall woman spoke in a voice crackling with restrained anger, or
perhaps chronic antagonism: “Sir Baojian, how long do we wait here? The driver
says it may be five days.”

“Five days is
a fair estimate.”

“But this is
impossible! We will be overdue at the seminary!”

Baojian the
caravan-master spoke in a professionally toneless voice: “We wait for the
southbound caravan, to exchange articles for transshipment. We proceed
immediately thereafter.”

“We cannot
wait so long! We must be at Fasm for business of great importance.”

“I assure
you, old mother, that I will deliver you to your seminary with all the
expedition possible.”

“Not fast
enough! You must take us on at once!” This was the hoarse expostulation of the
other, the burly slab-cheeked woman Reith had seen previously.

“Impossible,
I fear,” said Baojian briskly. “Was there anything else you wished to discuss?”

The women
swung away without response and went to a table beside the wall.

Reith could
not restrain his curiosity. “Who are they?”

“Priestesses
of the Female Mystery. Do you not know the cult? They are ubiquitous. What part
of Tschai is your home?”

“A place far
away,” said Reith. “Who is the young woman they keep in a cage? Likewise a
priestess?”

Baojian rose
to his feet. “She is a slave, from Charchan, or so I suppose. They take her to
Fasm for their triennial rites. It is nothing to me. I am a caravaneer; I ply
between Coad on the Dwan to Tosthanag on the Schanizade Ocean. Whom I convoy,
where, to what purpose-” He gave a shrug, a purse of the lips. “Priestess or
slave, Dirdirman, nomad or unclassified hybrid: it’s all the same to me.” He
gave them a cool grin and departed.

The three
returned to their table.

Anacho
inspected Reith with a thoughtful frown. “Curious, curious indeed.”

“What is
curious?”

“Your strange
equipment, as fine as Dirdir stuff. Your garments, of a cut unknown on Tschai.
Your peculiar ignorance and your equally peculiar competence. It almost might
seem that you are what you claim to be: a man from a far world. Absurd, of
course.”

“I made no
such claim,” said Reith.

“The boy did.”

“The
question, then, is between you and him.” Reith turned to watch the priestesses,
who brooded over bowls of soup. Now they were joined by two more priestesses,
with the captive girl between them. The first two reported their conversation
with the caravan-master with many grunts, jerks of the arms, sour glances over
the shoulder. The girl sat dispiritedly, hands in her lap, until one of the
priestesses prodded her and pointed to a bowl of soup, whereupon she listlessly
began to eat. Reith could not take his eyes from her. She was a slave, he
thought in sudden excitement; would the priestess sell? Almost certainly not.
The girl of extraordinary beauty was destined for some extraordinary purpose.
Reith sighed, turned his gaze elsewhere, and noticed that others-namely the
Ilanths-were no less fascinated than himself. He saw them staring, tugging at
their mustaches, muttering and laughing, with such lascivious jocularity that
Reith became annoyed. Were they not aware that the girl faced a tragic destiny?

The
priestesses rose to their feet. They stared truculently in all directions and
led the girl from the room. For a time they marched back and forth across the
compound, the girl walking to the side, occasionally being jerked into a trot
when her steps lagged. The Ilanth scouts, coming out of the common-room,
squatted on their heels by the wall of the caravansary. They had exchanged
their war-hats with the human skulls for square berets of soft brown velvet,
and each had pasted a vermilion beauty disc on his lemon-yellow cheek. They
chewed on nuts, spitting the shells into the dirt and never taking their eyes
from the girl. There was badinage between them, a sly challenge, and one rose
to his feet. He sauntered across the compound and, accelerating his steps, came
up behind the marching priestesses. He spoke to the girl, who looked at him
blankly. The priestesses halted, swung about. The tall one raised her arm,
forefinger pointed at the sky, and called out an angry reprimand. The Ilanth, grinning
insolently, held his ground. He failed to notice the burly priestess who came
up from the side and dealt him a vicious blow on the side of the head. The
Ranth tumbled to the compound, but leapt to his feet instantly, spitting
curses. The priestess, grinning, moved forward; the Ilanth tried to strike her
with his fist. She caught him in a bear hug, banged his head with her own,
lifted him, bumped out her belly, propelled him away. Advancing, she kicked
him, and the others joined her. The Ilanth, surrounded by priestesses, finally
managed to crawl away and regain his feet. He shouted invective, spat in the
first priestess’s face, then, retreating swiftly, rejoined his hooting
comrades.

The
priestesses, with occasional glances toward the Ilanths, continued their
pacing. The sun sank low, sending long shadows across the compound. Down from
the hills came a group of ragged folk, somewhat undersized, with white skins,
yellow-brown hair, clear sharp profiles, small slanting eyes. The men began to
play on gongs, while the women performed a curious hopping dance, darting back
and forth with the rapidity of insects. Wizened children, wearing only shawls,
moved among the travelers with bowls, soliciting coins. Across the compound the
travelers were airing blankets and shawls, hanging the squares of orange,
yellow, rust and brown out to flap in the airs drifting down from the hills.
The priestesses and the slave girl retired to their ironbound dray-house.

The sun set
behind the hills. Dusk settled over the caravansary; the compound became quiet.
Pale lights flickered from the dray-houses of the caravan. The steppes beyond
the outcrops were dim, rimmed by plum-colored afterglow.

Reith ate a
bowl of pungent goulash, a slab of coarse bread and a dish of preserves for his
supper. Traz went to watch a gambling game; Anacho was nowhere to be seen.
Reith went out into the compound, looked up at the stars. Somewhere among the
unfamiliar constellations would be a faint and minuscule Cepheus, across the
Sun from his present outlook. Cepheus, an undistinguished constellation, could
never be identified by the naked eye. The Sun at 212 light-years would be
invisible: a star of perhaps the tenth or twelfth magnitude. Somewhat
depressed, Reith brought his gaze down from the sky.

The
priestesses sat outside their dray, muttering together. Within the cage stood
the slave girl. Drawn almost beyond his will, Reith circled the compound, came
up behind the dray, looked into the cage. “Girl,” he said. “Girl.”