The Temples Of Ayocan

Blade didn't wait for them to untangle. Again he plunged forward trying to avoid stepping on any of the fallen. He reached the far side of the tangle, knocked down two more men who rushed at him, snatched up one of their spears, and kept on going. Now people drew back from around him. He had stopped shouting curses. Now he shouted war cries from all the dimensions he had traveled in, waving the spear about as he did so. People continued to draw back from around him. They could have rushed him easily, but the first few to make the attempt certainly would have died. And for the moment no one wanted to be among those few. Blade had the traditional advantage of one man over a mob.

Before any could screw up their courage far enough, Blade broke through to the open. At the far end of the avenue on his right rose the great temple mound. Contemptuously hurling his spear down on the paving stones, he headed down that avenue. With equal contempt, he did not bother, looking back. Instead he raised his voice again in a shout.

«I go to the House of Ayocan in Dafar. There those who serve mighty Ayocan are honored. I will watch the god pass his judgment on you when the time comes. And I will laugh at your writhings and screamings and agony when he calls all you weak spirits. Weak, crawling, tiny spirits, that displease him. AND AYOCAN SHALL NOT BE DISPLEASED!» The last words came out in a roar that must have been heard halfway across the city. Then Blade threw back his head and laughed long and loud and harshly.

Curses and screams of rage rose from the mob. So did more stones and fruits. Then the people on the fringes surged forward, drawing swords, raising spears or their bare fists, mouth open wide. Blade did not wait around to observe more. Turning on his heels, he bolted for the temple.

If Blade had simply wanted to outrun the mob, he could have done so almost without working up a sweat. But he didn't want that. He wanted to bring the whole mob up to the temple of Ayocan hard on his heels. He wanted to make his arrival and his pleas for sanctuary in the temple mound as dramatic as possible.

So he reined himself in, throwing occasional glances back over his shoulder to see if the mob was falling too far behind. Some of the women and older men soon dropped out. On the other hand, a cluster of men in the pantaloons and sashes of warriors soon outstripped the rest and came pelting after Blade full tilt. Two of them hurled their spears as they ran. Both came disagreeably close to Blade. He began to weave from side to side as he ran, to make himself a more difficult target.

A couple of hundred people chasing one man through a major street of a major city in broad daylight was bound to attract attention. Blade began to see heads pop out of doors and windows and peer over the rails of balconies. Some threw pots and pieces of furniture at him, others came out to join the chase. Blade sprinted past a large cart drawn by four longhorned cattle. As the mob came up with the cart, the longhorns bolted, and the cart went clattering and banging away down a side street, the driver hanging on for dear life.

Now it was only a few hundred yards to the temple mound. Blade could see figures moving around on the slopes, and entering and leaving the little white but on top. And he could also see a cluster of white-pantalooned Gonsaran warriors standing at the base of the mound. Would they try to prevent him from taking sanctuary?

A hundred yards to go. The warriors had seen him and his pursuers. They were rising to their feet and spreading out in a line around the base of the temple mound. Damn it, they were going to bar his path! Or were they? Only one way to find out.

He neither stopped nor slowed as he raced up to the waiting line of warriors. He did not even bother looking at them. Instead he ran straight for a gap between two of them, ignoring the men as though they had been invisible. A sword flashed free and started toward him. But before it could complete the swing, he was through the line and scrambling up the slope of the mound.

As he climbed, he began to shout again, «Help me! Help me! I sought to spread the truth of the god Ayocan among the people of Dafar. Now they seek my life. I sought to serve the god; and I had to flee. Give me aid, give me shelter, have mercy on me!»

The priests had seen him now, and several of them were starting down the mound toward him. As they did so, a tremendous uproar rose from behind Blade, at the foot of the mound. He risked stopping for a moment, to turn and look.

The mob had also dashed up to the base of the temple mound without stopping or slowing. By sheer weight of numbers they were forcing the soldiers back. The soldiers all had their swords drawn. But it was obvious they were reluctant to shed the blood of their own people in defense of the cult of Ayocan. Blade wondered if they might not in fact turn and join the mob, regardless of what King Thambral expected them to do. He had mixed feelings about the idea. On the one hand, the mob and the soldiers might join forces, invade and sack the temple mound, drag Blade out, and hang him. This would certainly cause the needed break between King Thambral and the cult of Ayocan.

On the other hand, Blade would be too dead to take any advantage of the situation. And, other things being equal, he preferred to get out of this sort of affair alive. In the boiling mass of people at the base of the mound, he couldn't make out what was happening. He decided the safest thing was to get up the mound as fast as possible.

He was halfway up when the priests came down to meet him. He threw a quick but searching glance at the face of each one, to see if there were any he could recognize-and who might possibly recognize him. But they were all strangers. He knelt and raised his hands in the traditional suppliant's posture. But he didn't want to look or sound too abject. He wanted to impress them as a «strong spirit.» Otherwise they would never admit him, except as someone to be turned into one of their mindless slaves.

«Who are you?» said the first priest sharply.

«One who has sought to serve Ayocan, as I have said. I wrought a picture of the god upon a wall in the Square of the Goldsmiths, and sought to preach to the people. But they desecrated the picture, and all but slew me. I have come to you, that I may continue to serve the god.»

The priests were silent for a time that seemed endless to Blade. Behind him he heard the continued howls of the mob. Although the priests here would have no Holy Warriors to set on him, they could still get rid of him quite effectively. All they would need to do was send a message to the mob below-«We reject this false servant of our god. Come and punish him as you see fit.» That would mean a messy end for Blade.

«You drew a picture?» said the first priest. There was more incredulity in his voice than anything else.

«That is what he said,» put in a second priest.

«I heard him,» snapped the first priest.

Blade tried to look humble without looking abject. «Have I erred in some way, making a picture of mighty Ayocan?»

«No,» said the first priest. «No error. It is just-well, such courage I have heard of, but never seen. To do this in Dafar, the City of the Witless. . As I said, such courage. .» His voice trailed off.

«If he is telling the truth,» put in a third priest.

«Of course he's telling the truth!» snapped the first priest. «What else could have provoked a mob like that? A picture-a picture of mighty Ayocan. Such a brave man. Such a strong spirit.»

«Then will you accept me for the service of the god, the free service?» Blade asked. He managed to sound like a free man who knows his own worth. But his mouth was dry as he waited for an answer.

«How could we do otherwise?» said the first priest. «Ayocan will reward you himself in time. But for the moment we also can reward you by permitting you to enter Ayocan's service. You are welcome, oh, strong spirit.» He turned, and motioned toward the top of the mound.