Rebellion (4 page)

he yelled, the warning coming almost unbidden from his throat. "Above you!" O'Neil had already heard the commotion overhead. He stepped up his pace as he scaled his way to the top, a grin stretching his face.

Lined up at the crest were Skaara and his ragtag band of shepherds. When they spotted O'Neil, their right arms moved in unison to give him a snappy salute. "What the hell-" Draven muttered as he stared up. The boys' discipline wavered and broke as O'Neil finally reached them. They gathered around their hero, and Skaara forgot himself sufficiently to give the thoroughly embarrassed colonel a welcome hug and kiss. "Seems like a very demonstrative culture," Preston remarked dryly. The young men were jabbering away, eager to demonstrate their soldiering skills, but the handsome young fellow with the curly hair and earrings quickly restored order with a few sharp if incomprehensible commands. "That's one to keep an eye on," Draven said in a low voice. "A leader." The pair of earthlings painfully essayed the climb, to be met by a dozen helping hands to make their way over the crest. O'Neil made introductions. "This is Skaara, and the group of young men who helped us put an end to RaThe boy commandos couldn't understand what he was saying, but they caught the reference to Ra. Almost to a man, they spat at the mention of his name. Again, it was up to Skaara to restore order.

Draven was not much impressed with the young men. They had no uniforms, all of them clad in dull, ill-fitting homespun. Their equipment was laughable-the handful of rifles not enough to outfit even half their company. The only other sign of martial equipment was the plastic compound helmet on Nabeh's head. But Skaara-there, Draven had to admit, there were possibilities. People followed the young man. He had looks.

He had leadership potential. He could either be dangerous, or, as Draven automatically classified him, Skaara could be used to destabilize the present regime-whatever that turned out to be.

It was just as well that the Horus guards stationed outside the entrance to Sebek's apartments were masked. If Hathor had seen the expressions on their naked faces, she'd probably have felt obliged to kill them all-and that wasn't part of her plan. The guards' reaction was only to be expected under the circumstances. Hathor was clad in a shift composed of about ten percent linen and ninety percent air-for all intents and purposes, a transparent wrapping for her abundant charms. Ra's servants were, of course, chosen almost from infancy on the basis of physical beauty. Some, like Thoth, grew up to be ugly ducklings in reverse.

Hathor, on the other hand, had matured into a beautiful swan, far outstripping her childhood prettiness. The sinuous perfection of her body offered all the attributes one might expect of a goddess of sex and love. And Hathor was wise enough not to gild the lily. Glass bangles and a pair of thick-soled sandals made up the rest of her seduction ensemble. One of the guards moved to block her path-he'd happily have rubbed against her-while ogling her with his eagle eyes. "What brings you here?" he demanded. She set her eyes demurely on the floor. "My master Thoth sent me hither." The guard grunted, then turned in communication with someone inside the apartment. "Got a girl out here-a peace offering from Thoth." A couple of coarse interpretations on that phrase came from within-and then an order. Outside, the guard gave out with a loud guffaw. "Search her?" he laughed. "She's got no place to hide anything!" Hathor was then ushered into a large marble chamber filled with warriors of Sebek's faction, obviously at play. The place stunk from a pungent combination of beer and sweat. Men shouted at the tops of their lungs, boasting, arguing, placing bets, all in counterpoint to the incessant rattling of dried knucklebones being tossed on the polished stone floor. As the crowd slowly became aware of Hathor's presence, the din subsided until finally the room was near dead silence, the men eating Hathor up with their eyes. One of Sebek's lieutenants reached him and whispered in his ear. The crocodile god's broad body lurched upright, his heavy face flushed from an excess of beer. "So, Thoth sent you, did he?" Hathor nodded. "And did he send a message with you?" Hathor shrugged, knowing it was a good effect. "Only that he sends me as a token of his high regard." "Well, he certainly knows how to choose a good ... gift. And he's wise in the choice of recipients as well." He turned to his followers with a coarse laugh.

"He certainly wouldn't have enough woman-stuff of this quality to send to all contenders, would he, men?" A loud, boozy chorus of assent rose from the assembled warriors. "So perhaps you'll excuse me while I enjoy Thoth's offering ... alone." Sebek hooked a finger to her and set off across the room. Hathor trailed behind, her eyes still modestly downcast. She was impressed by the discipline evident in the troops.

Although they hooted and howled, not a man of them moved to put a hand on the woman destined for their leader. Hathor left the large common room and followed Sebek to a more secluded chamber. The viceroy dropped onto a heavy divan and surveyed her with hot eyes. "Stay there," he said, gesturing for her to stop. "And turn around. I like to see what I'm getting." With a slow, sinuous movement she revolved before him, displaying herself beneath the wisp of linen she wore. Sebek's breathing was already heavy as he beckoned her forward. Hathor could feel his body heat as she came to a stop inches from the seated man.

Sebek's hands darted out with the eagerness of a two-year-old unwrapping a present. One fist wrapped itself in the exiguous linen of her shift and yanked downward. As her only covering tore and pooled at her feet, Sebek's left hand curved around her hip to grasp a buttock and drag her forward those last few inches. His breath was hot on her belly as he crushed her to him. Even as Sebek pulled her forward, Hathor's hands were in motion. Her right hand lashed down at the arm holding her while her left slashed upward against Sebek's face. The razor-sharp glass bangles did their work. The viceroy's gashed arm slacked its grip, allowing Hathor to slip free. Her other attack opened Sebek's left cheek from the jawline almost to his eye. For a long count he sat frozen on the divan, staring at the blood. Then his face contorted with rage.

"Bitch!" he muttered, starting to rise. Hathor's kick caught Sebek in the midsection, driving the air from his body. Long ago, when she had decided to compete in the ranks of the warriors, she sought out the best trainers available. And she had paid them well, in gold or in the coin of love. Her experts explained that Hathor could never develop the strength of arms and shoulders to match a male warrior. Her legs, however, were stronger than any man's arms-not to mention having longer reach. And the delicate looking sandals she wore boasted a heavy metal plate in the built-up sole. Sebek's glare seemed to ask, who is this devil woman, as he wheezed, trying to get some air into his lungs. A difficult feat, given his bruised stomach muscles, Hathor knew. She could read his dilemma clearly. One call, and the room would be full of warriors. But what effect would it have on his faction if he needed warriors to protect him from a lone, naked woman? Hathor feinted a low kick with her left foot. When Sebek committed himself to trying to grab her ankle, she shifted to a roundhouse kick Coming from the right. The weighted sole caught Sebek in the temple, toppling him to crash halfconscious on the stone floor. He lay there for a moment, unmoving.

Then he tried to prop himself up on hands and knees. A kick to his left elbow nearly wrecked that joint, collapsing Sebek on his side. Hathor followed up with a kick to his kidneys, then hooked a toe under Sebek's ribs, turning him over to expose his more vulnerable underbelly. The crocodile god tried to huddle into himself and protect his already bruised stomach, only to have one of Hathor's heavy soles come crushing down on his testicles. In a moan of agony, his breath went whooshing out again. Sebek tried to turn turtle, but Hathor kicked him out flat on his back again. At this point Sebek wanted to scream for help, but didn't have enough air in his lungs to do it. Hathor didn't help the situation. With a cold smile she moved her right foot toward Sebek's throat. The only response the helpless, gasping man could make was to scrunch his jaw down, trying to protect the soft tissue now at risk. One more kick from the warrior woman twisted Sebek's head back while tearing the wound on his cheek even wider. Blood gushed down onto the crocodile god's throat as Hathor's foot descended relentlessly. A strangled croak whispered out of his mouth. "Who-" That was all he could manage.

Hathor's smile became twisted. The question might have been "Who sent you?" Sebek probably suspected one of his rivals in the succession.

Thoth, he was sure, didn't have the resources-human or testicular-to set an assassin on him, much less a trained female killer. But if Sebek's lieutenant had checked with Thoth, as Hathor had fully expected, he'd have gotten wholehearted confirmation of the "gift." Because Thoth wasn't a free agent anymore. He was acting in support of-indeed, at the orders of-the champion who was going to save and restore Ra's empire. So Hathor took Sebek's unfinished question as "Who are you?" She thought it was only fair to let him know. So Hathor stepped away for a moment, removing a package from under the divan. Apparently, these warrior types had yet to realize that Tuat's housekeeping staff were part of the administrative staff-and owed fealty to Thoth. Hathor removed one of the pectoral necklaces that converted into god heads. As she resumed her position, one foot on Sebek's throat, she settled the necklace around her neck and activated the smart metal mask. The faintly glowing goldflecked material formed itself into the semblance of a cat's head-the ancient sign of Hathor. Sebek's eyes bulged in shocked recognition as he stared up at her. The mask was the last thing he saw.

Hathor bore down with her foot, crushing his trachea. As Sebek writhed in his death throes, Hathor returned to the package she'd arranged to be preset, removing a warrior's kilt and donning it. She waited until the crocodile god was truly and irretrievably dead before she headed to the chamber entrance. Hathor had never doubted her ability to murder Sebek.

That had been the easy part of this incursion. Now she faced the real challenge-stepping back into the room where the men-at-arms were taking their recreation, and uniting all there in fealty to her. Her breath sounded very loud in her helmet as she pressed the tab to unmask. She wanted the warriors to see her face-to recognize the face of the woman Sebek had taken off for his pleasure returning as the warrior who had killed him. There remained only one final touch. She reached into the satchel and removed the knife. The blade was of a miracle alloy, sharpened down to the thickness of a molecule. A razor would seem hopelessly clumsy beside it. Hathor hefted the blade. If she didn't succeed in overawing the crowd out there, she'd need the weapon to slash at attackers, perhaps to use on herself if the beasts tried to use her as Sebek had. But she had a more practical use for the knife right now.

She rested the heel of one hand under the corpse's jaw, forcing his head back. Then she began slicing through the flesh and cartilage of the throat. Ignoring the gore that billowed forth, she worked with the same practical moves as a housewife preparing a chicken. The only problem was the neck bones. Thrusting the tip of the knife between two of the cervical vertebrae, she twisted until they popped apart. Then all she had to do was saw away at the flap of skin that still held Sebek's head to his body. Hathor wiped her knife on the corpse's kilt, then held up the head at arm's length to assess her handiwork. The slash was a bit ragged, and it was still dripping blood. Luckily, like most warriors Sebek affected the long side-lock of youth. The hair provided a convenient handle. Knife in one hand, Sebek's head in the other, Hathor kicked open the door and strode down the short hallway to the main chamber. The revels again halted as the warriors realized what she was carrying. Hathor hurled her bloody burden into their midst. "I and I alone killed this one," she chanted in a loud voice, invoking the ceremony of assassination and offering a tacit challenge to all in the room. "There can be but one Sebek, and I have proven my worth by the severest of means." Still keeping her knife at the cuard position, she moved her free hand up to the tumbler switch on her pectoral necklace.

"But I will not take Sebek's place," she went on, diverging from the ancient ceremonial. "For my own worth and position are greater than Sebek's. I am legend. I am Hathor." She triggered the transformation of the biomorphic metal, the cat's head forming over her features. The gleaming mask panned back and forth over the assemblage of fighting men, its eyes glowing green as Hathor intently studied them for any trace of hostile action. Sebek's followers sat in stunned silence. Their leader had stepped away to enjoy a ripe handmaid. But the maid had returned as a warrior woman bearing Sebek's head. She laid claim to a name legendary even in their ferocious community. But the grisly proof of that claim had been thrown almost contemptuously to bounce among them.

Hathor could almost follow their thoughts from the looks on the warriors' faces. Sebek had been a deadly master of arms and tactics.

That was why this assemblage of fighting men had chosen to follow him.

But Sebek's strength and craft had obviously been overcome by this interloper. A grizzled warrior came to the obvious conclusion. He slowly sank to his knees and made obeisance to Hathor. Others followed, until at last the whole room had abased itself in fealty. Beneath her cat mask Hathor's lips stretched in a fierce grin as she tossed away her knife. A legend can be a useful thing, she thought. A sharper weapon than the best-forged blade. Hathor emerged from her ablutions clad only in a towel draped over her shoulders. As a member of a society based on beauty and used to scant clothing, she had no problem. But she noticed that Thoth turned away from her displayed body. After what had happened to Sebek, almost all of her new followers had become very careful with their eyes. She felt very good, her muscles reacting at their accustomed capabilities. And certainly she had worked up a sweat this morning.