The Steel of Raithskar Read online

  “Good evening, gentlemen. Where will you be seated?”

  But it was a small mystery and not worth my attention. I stared into my faen and thought about the greater mystery. What had happened to the Ra’ira?

  The room had grown quiet, but I assumed that most of the people had left. I was thinking that I, too, should be going, when a deep voice sounded at my shoulder, crashing through my preoccupation.

  “I think we will sit here,” it said.

  I looked up, then. Two men were standing next to me. They were dressed in a manner I had not yet seen in Gandalara. Their trousers and tunics were a finely-woven fabric exactly the color of the desert sands. Their boots and wide-brimmed hats were a darker tan, and tied around their waists were long sashes of a pale yellow muslin. They wore baldrics, swords, and an arrogant manner.

  To one side of them stood the bartender, looking at me, his expression one I could not read.

  16

  I blinked up at them, trying to will away the fog. I was bewildered by the fact that the room hadn’t cleared, after all. It was still full, but everyone was standing up, away from their tables. Everyone except me.

  As I struggled to grasp the significance of that fact, the newcomers glared at me. One of them put a hand to his chin and slid a wooden bead down a slim string. Then he thumbed his hat back from his forehead and it slid off to hang from his shoulders, held around his neck by the string. It was a curious hat, stiff-brimmed with a rounded top.

  If it were red instead of tan, I thought crazily, that hat would do a nineteenth-century cardinal proud.

  “Well?” the stranger asked.

  “Well?” I repeated, feeling as though I had just awakened. I was confused. I was beginning to be frightened.

  “Stand up, you son of a flea!” he yelled. Both of them took a step backward, and they drew their swords.

  Suddenly everything seemed crystal clear to me.

  Those are uniforms! They must be local cops. How the hell did Zaddorn get word here so fast?

  The effects of the faen and the calmness of my brief reverie faded away from me. I was back in focus, sharply alert, and there was one driving thought uppermost in my mind.

  I can’t let them take me now—not when I’ve come this far. Thanasset’s future depends on my getting to Thagorn and finding the truth.

  I’ve already killed a cop. They can’t hang me twice … and I can’t go back to Raithskar without some answers.

  The glass of faen was in my right hand, still half full. I tossed it into the face of the nearest man—the one who was still wearing his hat. At the same time, I stood up and launched my empty dinner plate at the other one. He ducked.

  I had knocked over my bench and the one behind it. I kicked them away from me, and drew my sword.

  The bartender moved then. He went behind the bar and with steady, practiced movements, began pulling breakables down from the shelves.

  Some of the customers left hurriedly out of whichever door was nearest. Most of them just pressed back away from the three of us, me and the two hats. They looked on with great interest.

  I decided I had misjudged the bartender. He needn’t have worked the lower level of the city to have earned those broken teeth.

  As the two uniformed men squared against me, my perception shifted the same way it had done when Milda had come into my room the first time I saw her. In one timeless instant, it was as though the flim of life had stopped and I was looking at a single frame frozen on the screen.

  The title of the film should have been Tarzan on the Planet of the Apes.

  I was faced by a couple of mad bull apes clad in comic khaki uniforms. The one on my left, who had pushed his hat back, had a snarl on his face that revealed a snaggled right tusk that somehow looked more dangerous than the normal one.

  The one on my right had a neat scar that ran down his right cheek from the inner corner of his eye to a point about an inch from the corner of his mouth. You might have called what he was doing a smile—if you were feeling generous.

  The film started moving again.

  Snaggletooth came in with an overhand cut that was meant to cleave me from guggle to zatch. Scarface came in with an underhand thrust to my belly. These two boys knew how to work together.

  I brought my own sword up from my left in a backhand slash that slammed Snaggletooth’s sword aside and brought its edge dangerously close to his partner’s nose. Instinctively, Scarface leaped backward, and his thrust missed me by inches.

  As Scarface’s sword arced upward without meeting any resistance, I reversed my own slash and slammed my blade against his. The weapon spun free of his hand and looped to my left, spinning. It clanged point-down on a tabletop, fell over, and skittered off the edge.

  That marble surface can’t have been any good for the point of the bronze sword, I was thinking. In fact, I hope he’d have trouble roasting a marshmallow with it now.

  Snaggletooth recovered from the deflection of his overhand chop and moved in to protect the disarmed Scarface. For a few seconds it was cut, parry, thrust, and parry while Scarface ducked around behind his partner and snatched up his sword.

  I was beginning to tire, and I knew that I couldn’t handle both of them for long; I had to put one of them out of commission, and fast.

  I picked on Snaggletooth because he was closer, and because he was doing his very best to slice off whatever of my body he could get at. I backed him a little, waited for an opening, and aimed a thrust at his midsection. As he was recovering from that, I whipped the sword up in a backhand slash at his head. His blade came up in time to deflect mine a little. My wrist turned—instead of the cutting edge, the flat of my blade slammed against Snaggletooth’s temple.

  He dropped his sword and crumpled to the floor.

  I whirled to find Scarface aiming a low, shallow slash at my legs. I jumped the swinging sword and chopped down with my sword, drawing blood from a gash on his forearm.

  He stepped back toward his partner, watching me. Snaggletooth was rousing; he rolled and started to get up from the floor. Scarface misjudged the distance, collided with his partner, and fell over him, knocking Snaggletooth back to the floor.

  I suppose I could have killed both of them right there, but it didn’t occur to me. Ricardo had done his share of scrapping, but always in self-defense. So I retreated down the room, moving backward to keep both of them in sight while I caught my breath.

  I glanced behind me; the kitchen door at the end of the bar was blocked by spectators. The two sand-uniformed men were between me and the front door, and they were recovering fast. Snaggletooth seemed groggy still, and Scarface had shifted his sword from his bleeding right arm into his left hand. But they were getting to their feet and they looked, if possible, even less friendly than before.

  I was about to make up my mind to try a surprise dash between them when the front door was blocked.

  An angry sha’um squeezed through the man-sized door and filled up that end of the room. He padded toward us, and another one came in after him. They knocked aside tables and ranged themselves on either side of the uniformed men. Then, almost in unison, they let out snarling roars and started across the littered floor for me.

  I suddenly felt sorry for the men who had faced Keeshah in Thanasset’s garden.

  Nobody was more surprised than I was when they stopped. The men walked forward and stood beside their cats, glancing from them to me and back again.

  They sheathed their swords.

  “We have other business, stranger,” said Scarface.

  “But we will see you again,” said Snaggletooth. “Next time save yourself some trouble—show the proper respect.”

  The big cats got themselves turned around and padded softly back out the front door. One of them looked back at me one last time. It had eyes the color of gold, and they shone with hatred. It growled softly—That’s a promise if I ever heard one—then went on out.

  Before the men could follow their sha’um, the bart
ender moved his bulk to block the doorway.

  “What about the damage to my place?” he asked.

  Scarface jerked his hat in my direction.

  He never lost his hat! I noticed. Shades of Roy Rogers!

  “He started it,” he said, and now he was holding his right forearm with his left hand, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. The right leg of his trousers was decorated with vertical red streaks. “Let him pay.”

  “He’s a stranger here,” defended the bartender. “And he didn’t draw the first blade.” He smiled. “Though he did draw the first blood.”

  Scarface would have backhanded him for that, but Snaggletooth grabbed his shoulder and squeezed. Then he opened his pouch and drew out some coins. “This cover it?” he asked, and dropped them into the bartender’s hand.

  The bartender hefted the coins thoughtfully, then stepped aside. “That’s fine. Come again anytime.”

  The two men glared at him and walked out. There was a heartbeat or two of stunned silence, then the crowd descended on me in a rush of noise. I was backslapped and congratulated and bought more faen than I could have drunk. I caught fragments of conversation:

  “Never saw anyone better with a sword.”

  “Standing up to them alone. Imagine! And their sha’um. That takes real guts.”

  “Stupid, if you ask me.”

  I agree with you, buddy. I just wish I’d had a choice.

  “Maybe they’ll learn they can’t push everybody around, the arrogant …”

  “They’ll be back, and he’ll be gone. What then? I’ll tell you what,” the voice rose in pitch, “they’ll take it out on us, that’s what.”

  “Worth it, I say, just to see them taken down a notch or two …”

  In the end—and it didn’t take very long—they all wandered away to spread the legend I had fumbled into being. All at once I was almost alone with the bartender.

  I looked around the wrecked room and said, “I’m sorry for all this.”

  “Don’t be,” he grinned his gap-toothed grin. “You’ve made me famous.”

  Yeah. Great way to travel incognito. I sure as hell hope I’m a good long way ahead of Zaddorn. He’s not going to have any trouble at all following this trail.

  I reached for my pouch. “How much do I owe you for that delicious dinner?”

  He waved his hands. “Forget it. What they paid will cover your tab, too.” He shook his head. “Beats me what happened. I’m not complaining, mind you. But that’s the first time I ever saw any of the Sharith walk away from a fight.”

  “I can’t help you,” I told him. “I figured it was all over when those sha’um showed up.”

  The bartender looked at me sharply. “You didn’t know they were Sharith? That explains a lot.”

  “The man at the desk said something about a bath-house,” I changed the subject.

  “Koreddon’s?” I nodded. “Out the front door to your left. At the end of the stair level there is a side street that comes around back of the inn. Koreddon’s is the third door on the opposite side of the street.”

  “Thanks.”

  He grinned again, and I decided that, on him, the missing teeth had a certain charm. “My pleasure.”

  I found Koreddon’s with no trouble, and I was delighted to learn that it had some of the qualities of a Japanese bath-house. It was run by a large family. The youngest boy brought me towels and soap and filled a marble-lined tub in a large, ornate room. As I soaked, I listened to some beautiful minor-toned strains produced by a mature woman I took to be Mrs. Koreddon from what looked like a rectangular harp.

  And when I was clean, an almost toothless old man dried and massaged me with iron-strong hands.

  So that’s what the Sharith are like, I was thinking. Not very appealing, are they? But not foolish, either. Their cats brought a message about something more important than an upstart stranger who didn’t know enough to offer his seat to the Riders, and they listened.

  At least Zaddorn didn’t send them. I still have some time. What happened today could cause trouble in Thagorn—but I’ll face that when I come to it.

  I feel as though I should be worrying about Zaddorn, I thought as I relaxed under the old man’s soothing fingers. But I’m too tired to do any more worrying.

  The old man had to wake me when he was finished. He solemnly accepted the extra zak I offered him when I settled the bill. From the boy I got a shy smile of thanks.

  I went up to my room and settled down on a fluffy floor mat such as I had seen in my room at Raithskar. It had been a long, eventful, confusing day, and I was pooped. I reached out with my mind to touch Keeshah’s—he was already asleep, but he responded to the contact with the mental equivalent of *Mmph?*

  *Nothing, Keeshah. Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.*

  *Mmph,* he agreed.

  Still lightly linked with Keeshah, I dropped gratefully into sleep.

  17

  I woke well after dawn, feeling refreshed and eager to see Keeshah again. I ate breakfast in the Onyx Room, and was surprised when the bartender from the night before brought out two plates of food and sat down to join me.

  His name, as it turned out, was Grallen. Throughout the delicious breakfast, I was entertained by stories about the bar’s regular clientele and the odd and sometimes funny confrontations between different types of people which occur in hotels.

  When we were finished, he gathered up the dishes and seemed to be ready to leave.

  “Going off duty now?” I asked him. “You work a long shift.”

  “Have to,” he said. “It’s my place.”

  For a moment I thought he was referring to class status of some sort, and I had to struggle to fit such a self-effacing statement into the frontal-assault personality I had already observed. Then it hit me.

  “You mean you own the Onyx Room?”

  “And the Green Sha’um Inn. And a good chunk of real estate on this side of the street.” He grinned. “Surprised?”

  “Yes,” I said, laughing. “Sorry, but you sure look like a bartender.”

  “Not at all strange, since that’s what I am. But I figured out early on that there’s no profit in pouring someone else’s faen.” He settled back into his chair and devoted a few seconds of concentration to scraping and stacking the plates. “I don’t usually make any noise about having a little money and some weight to throw around.”

  “Why are you telling me?” I asked him.

  “Last night.”

  “You mean the two Riders?”

  He nodded. “Let’s just say I owe the Sharith a little aggravation, and I feel as though you’ve paid part of that debt. It’s a service I won’t soon forget.”

  He looked into me with dark, knowing eyes. I wondered how I could have missed seeing the wisdom behind the battered face.

  “I know people, my friend. You’re not just an ordinary stranger. I don’t care what you’re up to. I just want you to know that Grallen’s behind you if you ever need help. And I thought you should know the value of the help I could offer.

  “Breakfast,” he finished briskly, “is on the house.”

  He stood up, and so did I.

  “Thank you.” It was all I could think of to say, and he understood that I wasn’t just referring to the free breakfast.

  Grallen carried the dishes back into the kitchen, and I walked out into the morning.

  I made my way slowly down the central stairway toward the city gates. I stepped into several shops along the way to make small purchases: cured strips of meat, fresh and dried fruits, and a tasty loaf of coarse-grain bread that looked as though it would keep well. I also bought a few sweet bakery treats and I munched them happily as I walked out of Omergol.

  Instead of retracing my steps exactly, I turned right as I left the city and walked north along the road which followed the foothills. The morning smelled fresh and new, and the people I passed greeted me with cheerful good humor. After last night’s massage, my body felt loose
and strong and ready for anything.

  A suspicion nibbled at the back of my mind. You shouldn’t be feeling this good, it warned me. I slapped it down and told it to shut up. Feeling good feels wonderful for a change!

  When I had walked about as far north as I had traveled south the day before, I stepped off the road and headed west. I hadn’t gone far when that annoying suspicion sat up and said I told you so.

  I saw them at the same moment Keeshah’s warning sprang into my mind.

  *Markasset. Sha’um. I am close. I come.*

  “Them” was Snaggletooth. Riding the mean-looking, golden-eyed sha’um. I heard a soft sound behind me. I didn’t have to turn around to know that Scarface and the other sha’um were back there.

  *No, Keeshah,* I ordered, and grappled with my own fear so that I could better control the cat. *Are you downwind? Do they know you’re nearby?*

  *Yes. No.* He sounded puzzled.

  Snaggletooth slid off his sha’um’s back and walked slowly toward me.

  *Keeshah, stay away unless I call. Please. If they see you, they’ll know who I am. These guys could be my ticket into Thagorn—don’t spoil it. Please stay hidden. I promise I’ll call if I need help.*

  I felt Keeshah hesitate, wonder, grumble. He was primed for a fight; I sensed his conflict as he tried to obey my wishes above his own instincts.

  *Yes,* he agreed at last, then added: *Don’t like it.*

  I didn’t have time to thank him because Snaggletooth’s bruised face was only inches away from mine. It was no more attractive from such a close view.

  “We got a score to settle,” he said. His tone told me that there would be no reprieve this time—the score would be settled.

  I wasn’t quite sure how these two men could help get me into Thagorn. The possibility had only occurred to me when they had shown up just now. But I had already settled on step one of the unknown plan: Don’t get yourself killed.

  “So now you’re going to let your sha’um finish the job you couldn’t do yourselves?” I asked. Snaggletooth’s face turned dark.

  It was an old trick, a challenge of honor by ridicule. Like when an unarmed man challenges a man with a gun to a fist-fight. Yeah, I thought uncomfortably, and the man with the gun laughs in the other guy’s face and blows his head off.