King Of Zunga

The High Priest kicked Sarnila's feet out from under her and dragged her by the hair out into the open. He let go of her hair, and she dropped to the ground with a thud. He kicked her in the stomach, and she doubled up and rolled back and forth moaning.

The High Priest's face was purple with fury and hatred; he was past caring who heard what. He looked down at Sarnila and snarled, «You little bitch! You whore! You man-woman!» That last seemed to be the ultimate insult. Although his mouth kept opening and shutting, he couldn't find anything more to say.

Instead he bent and with powerful hands ripped the robes from Sarnila's body. She made a futile effort to roll over on her stomach as her body was bared, then an equally futile effort to cover herself with her hands. As she lifted her right hand, the High Priest stamped down on it with one booted foot. Blade heard the crunch of bone, and Sarnila's scream. If a half dozen soldiers hadn't had a firm grip on him, he would have dashed forward and strangled the High Priest with his bare hands. As it was, he could only heave and jerk and swear that he would have the High Priest's blood for this.

«You wanted to take her away with you, did you, Blade? Is that why you're so angry? Well, well. You may indeed have my blood someday. High Priests can die or be killed like men. Oh, yes, we can. But first I will have her blood.» The High Priest leaped into the air, with more agility than Blade would have thought possible in such a man. He came down squarely on Sarnila's chest, both feet smashing down on her ribs with a terrible crunching noise. Sarnila heaved once, then lay still, blood oozing from her mouth and nose.

Blade took one look at the mess the High Priest's weight had made of his daughter's body, then had to turn away and be very sick. It did not last long. There was not that much in his stomach. Finally the Rulami officer swatted him across the shoulders with the flat of his sword and said roughly, «Come on, boy, and stop puking. You'll see worse in the arena.» Blade allowed himself to be led away. For the moment he felt too drained to resist.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The High Priest was correct in his prediction. Blade never saw Kanda or the Ivory Tower. After his taste of Kandan habits, he didn't feel that he was missing anything. If he ever saw Kanda, he hoped it would be at the head of a Zungan army. And if he was snatched back to Home Dimension before he could lead a march on Kanda, he hoped the Zungans would take care of the matter themselves.

Where Blade had been confined turned out to be a sort of trading post. There the Rulami exchanged the rubies from their mines and the ivory their hunters had collected for slaves taken by the Kandan raiders. The slaves were chained into coffles and marched north.

Blade was not put into a coffle. Apparently he was considered too high-quality merchandise to be forced to tramp along the road to Rulam with chains at his neck and ankles. He was chained, to be sure, with chains even heavier than the ones in the hut. But instead of being put into the coffle, he was loaded feet first into a canvas bag. Then they tied heavy ropes around the bag. Finally, they slung Blade, bag and all, onto the back of one of the Ivory People, like a saddlebag on a horse.

Blade rode trussed this way in the bag for six full days, as the caravan tramped north. There were about a dozen of the tame Ivory People, nearly two hundred slaves, a guard of fifty-odd soldiers, and an assortment of wagons. The trip would have taken less than half the time if the Ivory People had been traveling alone; Blade knew from the Zungans that the strange beasts could cover sixty to seventy miles a day without strain. Clumsy as they looked, they were surprisingly fast, and their endurance was enormous. Each night they stopped in clearings by the side of the road. Blade was always taken out of the sack and given water, food, and exercise. He did not need to be forced to take any of these. He was as determined as any of the Rulami that he would be in top condition when he reached the city. Once they even offered him a slave girl from the coffle and a tent in which to enjoy her in privacy. Blade turned down that offer. The brief episode with Sarnila and her fate afterward had left an ugly taste in his mouth.

On the morning of the seventh day the sun was only just clearing the treetops when shouts went up from the head of the caravan. Rulam was in sight, and within an hour even Blade in his sack could see its towers and walls crowning the ridge a few miles ahead. The road was becoming more crowded now. Farmers' carts and occasional patrols of soldiers rumbled and tramped along in the dust, giving way as the caravan ploughed through. The bridges over the occasional streams were no longer rickety collections of old timber, but solid works of dressed and mortared stone, as wide as the road.

The officer leaned down from his saddle far enough to be able to talk to Blade without shouting. The officer's name was Horan, and in the past six days Blade had developed a thorough distaste for the man. Horun was a supercilious palace soldier, alternately brutal and condescending toward slaves-especially Zungan ones.

«We'll be home in a couple hours, Blade,» said Horun.

«I haven't heard any orders on it yet, but if custom is any guide, the queen will be wanting to look you over.»

«Queen Roxala?»

Horun nodded. «Indeed. She's a collector of things rare and fine. Animals, birds, jewels-she's got enough firestones to fill a river barge. And men. Arena men particularly. She picks the best fighters from each new lot of slaves for her personal arena teams. And you'll be coming in with a reputation ru

«Are her teams treated well?»

«Oh, nothing but the best for them. Slaves they may be, but they live better than nine out of ten freemen in Rulam. The best meat and wine, girls any time they want them, baths and doctors waiting for them when they come in from the arena. And some of them get a real extra bonus.»

«What kind?» From what Blade had heard of Roxala and from what he could see in Horun's face, Blade had a fairly good idea. But he wanted to be certain.

Horun practically simpered, and dropped his voice to just above a whisper. «Oh, Roxala has a roving eye, and picks out the best of the stable for her bed. As long as they aren't Zungans, anyway. She'd die before she bedded with one of those smelly black savages. But the others, like you.» Horun licked his lips. «They say she's worth it just as a woman.»

«What does the king say about this?»

Horun dropped his voice still further. «King Meptor doesn't like it a bit. If the laws of Rulam allowed it, he'd have put Roxala away years ago. As it is, all he can do is poison or murder one of her favorites every so often. These days he doesn't even have much time for that. War preparations.» Horun's eyes showed that he suddenly realized he was saying too much to a mere slave. He swung back up to his formal pose, and was silent as the caravan began climbing the hill toward the city.

Meanwhile, Blade was turning what Horun had said over in his mind. So Queen Roxala had a taste for gladiators-including a bedroom taste? That was something he had put to good use in the past. Risky, but so far he had always come out on top. Anything within reason that could keep him alive and give him freedom of movement was worth grabbing.

And war preparations? War with whom, and for what? Rulam and Kanda were on bad terms, but that bad? He hoped so. Or was King Kleptor perhaps thinking of an all-out war against the Zungans? That was something to watch out for. But there was nothing he could do about it now. He turned his head as far as he could and stared at the approaching city.