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And women. They were the worst. Most of them were young, most of the young ones were at least pretty, but none of them showed any life in their eyes or in the way they sat. Naked and chained, they sat or lay slumped against the wall, eyes staring blankly at nothing. Unlike the men, most of whom were matted with grime and filth, the women were all as clean as new-laid eggs, their hair long and well kept. But their ankles showed the scars of their chains, and some of their backs showed deep, half-healed welts from savage beatings. Blade did not know why the priests of Ayocan saw fit to maintain this private inferno of theirs. But every bit of it that he saw worsened his impression of them.
Finally his bearers came to a portion of the corridor where the ceiling was so low that the damp stones were sailing past only a few inches above Blade's nose. Then they stopped abruptly. There was the sound of a wooden bar clinking against metal. The litter moved forward again a few feet. Finally the priests set it down. Blade managed to move his head enough to realize that he was in a cell, whitewashed floor and ceiling and walls all around him except at the entrance. That entrance was closed by a hinged grill of stout bronze bars.
Seven of the priests hastily backed away from the litter and out through the arched door of the cell. The eighth, obviously as nervous as a snake charmer trying to charm his first snake, bent over the litter. He held a long-bladed bronze knife in his left hand, and with it he attacked the bindings at Blade's wrists and ankles. Eventually the priest worked his way through those bindings. Then quickly he shoved the knife in his belt and sprang back through the door before Blade could move a muscle. The grill swung shut and a stout wooden cross-bar dropped into place with a solid slunk.
Blade could not have moved fast even if he had wanted to do anything as foolish as killing the priest. His hands and feet were numb and had begun to turn purple from the hours of being bound. For a few minutes there was nothing he could do except lie on the floor, and grit his teeth at the agony of blood flowing back into his hands and feet.
Then cautiously he rose and hobbled over to the door of his cell. No one was guarding it, but after testing the strength of the grill, Blade realized that no one needed to. The grill was strong enough to hold an elephant, let alone him in his present battered condition. Here he was, and here he was going to stay until they let him out-no doubt to be sacrificed to Ayocan. His best-in fact his only hope of escaping was to wait until he was back on the surface again. Unless they were going to carry out the sacrifice here, in the bowels of the temple mound? That was a thoroughly disagreeable thought, one he put out of his mind as quickly as possible.
Chapter 5
Blade's captivity in the temple mound was something of an anticlimax. He was not promptly rushed out and sacrificed to Ayocan. He was not even carried farther down into the depths of the temple mound and sacrificed to the bat-god. After a while he even stopped worrying about the prospect of being sacrificed, since it was obviously fairly remote. In fact, he was being treated more like an honored guest than an intended sacrificial victim. The process reminded Blade so much of fattening an animal for slaughter, though, that he could not enjoy it very much.
He could not have been in the bare cell for more than an hour or two when the grill opened and no less than twelve priests filed in. They brought with them a folding bed with a straw-filled mattress and several blankets, pillows, rugs for the floor, gilded bronze buckets for water and wastes, and one of the largest meals Blade had ever eaten in his life. A huge bowl of steaming gruel, that tasted like well-salted oatmeal, with bits of vegetables lurking in it. An enormous slab of meat dripping with a thick pungent sauce, more like underdone pork than any other flavor. A crisp loaf of white bread large enough and nearly tough enough to use for a shield. Purple, green, and red fruits that tasted like nothing Blade had ever encountered or imagined, and three different kinds of cheese. He was able to wash this down with both beer and wine offered in jeweled bronze cups so large he had to use both hands to lift them comfortably.
He was hungry enough to welcome this meal, with only a fleeting worry that the method of sacrifice to Ayocan might be poisoning the victim during his «last meal.» Since he could not detect with either nose or tongue any trace of the drug in the food, he did full justice to the meal.
That was just as well. All twelve of the priests stood around him as he ate, staring intently at him each time he showed signs of stopping. They seemed to be almost willing him to eat more and more and still more. Blade wondered after a while if they would try to put food in his mouth if he stopped feeding himself. perhaps Ayocan was a god of gluttony, and men were sacrificed to him by being forced to eat themselves to death? It was a whimsical thought, soon past. But it was obvious to Blade that he was in no danger of starving as long as he was in the hands of the priests of Ayocan.
After the meal, two priests who were obviously doctors examined him carefully. They were as thorough as their primitive instruments and techniques permitted. Allowing for that difference, their examination was almost as complete as the one Blade received each time he returned to Home Dimension.
After the examination, they tied pads of cloth steeped in hot water over his more serious braises and scrapes. Hot water, and something else-Blade caught a faint scent that reminded him a little of the narcotic sap, but which was obviously not it.
Finally, one of the doctors said, «You will go to the bed, and you will not leave it or touch the healing cloths until we come to see you again. Do you understand?»
Blade nodded.
«That is good. You are a magnificent specimen of a man. The Brothers in charge of the Death Vowed have had their eyes on you since you came, and with reason. One such as you would send many spirits to Ayocan before he died, more than any other Death Vowed the Brothers have had, more than any that any Brothers in all the history of the Houses of Ayocan on earth have ever had. «But the Supreme Brother has given his orders, and he must be obeyed. And no doubt it is his wisdom that speaks. To deny such a strong spirit as yours to the hunger of Ayocan would be displeasing to him. And Ayocan shall not be displeased.» The doctor-priest intoned the last sentence like part of a ritual. Then he turned about and led his companion and the rest of the priests out of Blade's cell. Blade watched them go, and barely managed to hold back a yawn until they were gone. Suddenly he felt terribly sleepy. His one desire was to get into the bed, wrap himself in the blankets, and slide down into a long dreamless sleep. This was exactly what he did.
When Blade awoke, he realized that there must have been a sleeping drug in those cloth pads, one absorbed through the skin. He drank deeply from the bucket of water. Then he realized with a start that the bruises and scrapes covered by the pads no longer hurt. This he wanted to check, no matter what the doctors had said about not touching the dressings.
Carefully he undid the bindings and pulled off the pads. The skin underneath each pad was as clear and whole as if it had never been touched. How long had he been asleep? He felt his chin. Less than twelve hours. Of course he tended to heal quickly. But this quickly? It was impossible. Or rather, it would have been impossible without whatever had been in those pads. Whatever it was, it speeded up healing to an almost miraculous degree. There was something in this dimension worth bringing back. Frankly, Blade had begun to wonder about that.