Planet of Adventure Omnibus (12 page)

“You are as
good as dead,” said Traz gloomily. “The priestesses are witch-women. We had
several such among the Emblems. We killed them and events went for the better.”

Anacho
inspected the Flower of Cath with the cool detachment he might have used for an
animal. “She’s a Golden Yao, an extremely old stock: hybrids of the First Tans
and the First Whites. A hundred and fifty years ago they became arrogant and
contrived to build certain advanced mechanisms. The Dirdir taught them a sharp
lesson.”

“A hundred
and fifty years ago? How long is the Tschai year?”

“Four hundred
and eighty-eight days, though I see no relevance to the discussion.”

Reith
calculated. A hundred and fifty Tschai years was equivalent to about two
hundred and twelve Earth years. Coincidence? Or had the Flower’s ancestors
dispatched that radio beam which had brought him to Tschai?

The Flower of
Cath was regarding Anacho with detestation. She said in a husky voice, “You are
a Dirdirman!”

“Of the Sixth
Estate: by no means an Immaculate.”

The girl
turned to Reith. “They torpedoed Settra and Balisidre; they wanted to destroy
us, from envy!”

“‘Envy’ is
not the proper word,” said Anacho. “Your people were playing with forbidden
forces, matters beyond your comprehension.”

“What
happened after?” asked Reith.

“Nothing,”
said Ylin-Ylan. “Our cities were destroyed, and the receptories and the Palace
of Arts, and the Golden Webs-the treasures of thousands of years. Is it any
wonder we hate the Dirdir? More than the Pnume, more than the Chasch, more than
the Wankh!”

Anacho shrugged.
“Expunging the Yao was not my doing.”

“But you
defend the deed! This is the same!”

“Let us talk
of something else,” suggested Reith. “After all, the happening is two hundred
and twelve years gone.”

“Only a
hundred and fifty!” the Flower of Cath corrected him.

“True. Well,
then, what of you? Would you like a change of clothes?”

“Yes. I have
worn these since the unspeakable women took me from my garden. I would like to
bathe. They allowed me water only enough to drink...”

Reith stood
guard while the girl scrubbed herself, then handed in steppe-travelers’
garments which made no distinction between male and female. Presently she
emerged, still half-damp, wearing the gray breeches and tan tunic, and they
once more went down to the common-room, and out upon the compound, to discover
an atmosphere of urgency, occasioned by the Green Chasch, who had approached to
within a mile of the caravansary. The gun emplacements on the rock juts had
been manned; Baojian was driving his gun-carts up into the openings where they
commanded all avenues of approach.

The Green
Chasch showed no immediate disposition to attack. They brought up their own
wagons, ranged them in a long line, erected a hundred tall black tents.

Baojian
pulled at his chin in vexation. “The North-South train will never join us with
nomads so near. When their scouts see the camp they’ll back away and wait. I
foresee delay.”

The Grand
Mother set up an indignant outcry. “The Rite will proceed without us! Must we
be thwarted in every particular?”

Baojian held
out his hands to implore reason. “Can’t you see the impossibility of leaving
the compound? We would be forced to fight! We may have to do so in any event!”

Someone
called, “Send the priestesses forth to dance their ‘Rite’ with the Chasch!”

“Spare the
unfortunate Chasch; “ spoke another impudent voice. The priestesses retreated
in a fury.

Dusk settled
over the steppe. The Green Chasch started up a line of fires, across which
their tall shapes could be seen to pass. From time to time they seemed to halt
and stare toward the caravansary.

Traz told
Reith, “They are a telepathic race; they know each other’s minds. Sometimes
they seem to read the thoughts of men ... I myself doubt that they do.
Still-who knows?”

A scratch
meal of soup and lentils was served in the common room, with dim lights to
prevent the Chasch from silhouetting those on guard. A few quiet games were
played to the side. The Ilanths drank distillation, and presently became loud
and harsh, until the innkeeper warned them that he maintained as stringent a
policy as did the caravan-master, and that if they wished to brawl they must go
forth on the steppe. The three hunched forward over their table, hats pulled
thwartwise across their yellow faces.

The
common-room began to empty. Reith took Ylin-Ylan the Beauty Flower to a cubicle
beside his own. “Bolt your door,” he told her. “Do not come out until morning.
If anyone tries the door, pound on the wall to wake me.”

She looked at
him through the doorway with an unreadable expression and Reith thought never
had he seen more appealing a sight. She asked, “Then you really do not intend
me to be a slave?”

“No.”

The door
closed, the bolt struck home. Reith went to his own cubicle.

The night
passed. On the following day, with the Green Chasch still camped before the
caravansary, there was nothing to do but wait.

Reith, with
the Flower of Cath close by his side, inspected the caravan guns-the so-called “sand
blasts”-with interest. He learned that the weapons indeed fired sand, charging
each grain electrostatically, accelerating it violently almost to light speed,
augmenting the mass of each grain a thousandfold. Such driven sand-grains,
striking a solid object, penetrated, then gave up their energy in an explosion.
The weapons, Reith learned, were obsolete Wankh equipment, and were engraved
with Wankh writing: rows of rectangles of different sizes and shapes.

Returning to
the caravansary, he found Traz and Anacho arguing as to the nature of the
Phung. Traz declared them to be creatures generated by Pnumekin upon the
corpses of Pnume. “Have you ever seen a pair of Phung? Or an infant Phung? No.
They go singly. They are too mad, too desperate, to breed.”

Anacho waved
his fingers indulgently. “Pnume go singly as well, and reproduce in a peculiar
manner. Peculiar to men and sub-men, I should say, for the system seems to suit
the Pnume admirably. They are a persistent race. Do you know that they have
records across a million years?”

“So I have
heard,” said Traz sourly.

“Before the
Chasch came,” said Anacho, “the Pnume ruled everywhere. They lived in villages
of little domes, but all trace of these are gone. Now they keep to caves and
passages under the old cities, and their lives are a mystery. Even the Dirdir
consider it bad luck to molest a Pnume.”

“The Chasch
then came to Tschai before the Dirdir?” Reith inquired.

“This is
well-known,” said Anacho. “Only a man from an isolated province-or a far
world-could be ignorant to the fact.” He gave Reith a quizzical glance. “But
the first invaders indeed were the Old Chasch, a hundred thousand years ago.
Ten thousand years later the Blue Chasch arrived, from a planet colonized an
era previously by Chasch spacefarers. The two Chasch races fought for Tschai,
and brought in Green Chasch for shock-troops.

“Sixty
thousand years ago the Dirdir arrived. The Chasch suffered great losses until
the Dirdir arrived in large numbers and so became vulnerable, whereupon a
stalemate went into effect. The races are still enemies, with little traffic
between them.

“Comparatively
recently, ten thousand years ago, space-war broke out between the Dirdir and
the Wankh, and extended to Tschai when the Wankh built forts on Rakh and South
Kachan. But now there is little fighting, other than skirmishes and ambushes.
Each race fears the other two and bides its time until it can expunge all but
itself. The Pnume are neutral and take no part in the wars, though they watch
with interest and take notes for their history.”

“What of men?”
asked Reith guardedly. “When did they arrive on Tschai?”

Anacho’s
side-glance was sardonic. “Since you claim to know the world where men
originated, this information should be in your possession.”

Reith refused
to be provoked and made no comment.

“Men
originated,” said the Dirdirman in his most didactic manner, “on Sibol and came
to Tschai with the Dirdir. Men are as plastic as wax, and some metamorphosed,
first into marsh-men, then, twenty thousand years ago, into this sort.” He
pointed toward Traz. “Others, enslaved, became Chaschmen, Pnumekin, even
Wankhmen. There are dozens of hybrids and freakish races. Variety exists even
among the Dirdirmen. The Immaculates are almost pure Dirdir. Others exhibit
less refinement. This is the background for my own disaffection: I demanded
prerogatives which were denied me, but which I adopted in any event...”

Anacho spoke
on, describing his difficulties, but Reith’s attention wandered. It was clear,
to Reith at least, how men had come to Tschai. The Dirdir had known
space-travel for more than seventy thousand years. During this time they
evidently had visited Earth, twice at the very least. On the first occasion
they had captured a tribe of photo-Mongoloids; on the second occasion, twenty
thousand years ago, according to Anacho-they had collected a cargo of
proto-Caucasoids. These two groups, under the special conditions of Tschai, had
mutated, specialized, remutated, respecialized to produce the bewildering
diversity of human types to be found on the planet.

So then: the
Dirdir undoubtedly knew of Earth and its human population, but perhaps reckoned
it still a savage planet. Nothing could be gained by advertising the fact that
Earth was now a spacefaring world; indeed Reith could envision calamity arising
from the knowledge. There were no clues aboard the space-boat to point to
Earth, except possibly the corpse of Paul Waunder. In any event the Dirdir had
lost possession of the space-boat to the Blue Chasch.

Still
unanswered was the question: who had fired the torpedo that destroyed the
Explorator
IV
?

Two hours
before sundown the Green Chasch broke camp. The high-wheeled wagons milled in a
circle; the warriors mounted on monstrous leap-horses, lunged and bounded; then
at some imperceptible signal-perhaps telepathic, reflected Reith-the band
formed a long line and moved off toward the east. The Ilanth scouts set forth
and followed at a discreet distance. In the morning they returned to report
that the band seemed to be veering to the north.

Late in the
afternoon the Aig-Hedajha caravan arrived, laden with leather, aromatic logs
and mosses, tubs of pickles and condiments.

Baojian the
caravan-master took his wagons and drays out upon the steppe, to effect
exchanges and transshipments. Derricks rolled between the two caravans,
swinging goods back and forth; porters and drivers toiled and strained, sweat
rolling down their naked backs and into their loose brown breeches.

An hour
before sunset the transfer of goods had been effected and a call came into the
common-room for all passengers. Reith, Traz, Anacho and the Flower of Cath
started across the compound. The priestesses were nowhere to be seen; Reith
assumed that they were aboard their house.

They walked
out under the rock juts toward the caravan. There was a sudden jostle; arms
gripped Reith in a bear-hug and he was pressed against a soft wheezing body. He
struggled; the two toppled to the ground. The Grand Mother gripped him in her
massive legs. Another priestess seized the Flower of Cath and dragged her at an
awkward lope out to the caravan. Reith lay enfolded in masses of flesh and
muscle. A hand squeezed his throat; blood surged through his arteries and his
eyes began to start. He managed to free an arm, drove stiff fingers up into the
Grand Mother’s face, into something moist. She gasped and wheezed; Reith found
her nostrils, clenched, twisted; she cried out and kicked; Reith rolled free.

An Ilanth was
rummaging through his pack; Traz lay limp on the ground; Anacho was coolly
defending himself against the swordplay of the remaining two Ilanths. The Grand
Mother grabbed for Reith’s legs; Reith kicked furiously, won free, lurched
aside as the Ilanth investigating his pack looked up and flicked a knife at
him. Reith struck up at the lemon-yellow chin with his fist; the man went down.
Reith leapt on the back of one of the Ilanths who were attacking the Dirdirman,
bore him down, and Anacho deftly stabbed him. Reith side-stepped a thrust from
the third Ilanth, seized the outstretched arm, threw the man cartwheeling over
his shoulder. The Dirdirman, standing by, struck down with his sword, nearly
cutting through the yellow neck. The remaining Ilanth took to his heels.

Traz,
tottering to his feet, stood holding his head. The Grand Mother was at this
moment mounting the steps into the drayhouse.

Reith in all
his existence had never been so angry. He picked up his pack, marched to where
Baojian the caravan-master stood directing the passengers to their
compartments.

“I was
attacked!” stormed Reith. “You must have noticed! The priestesses have dragged
the Cath girl into their house and hold her prisoner!”

“Yes,” said Baojian.
“I saw something of the sort.”