Master Of The Hashomi

With that kind of a lead, he knew he could stay ahead of nearly anyone, in any Dimension.

He tied the climbing rope and the axe to his belt, and pulled on the boots with the heavy nailed soles. He carefully stowed the rest of his gear, and adjusted the pack so that it rode snug and comfortable, pulling him neither forward nor backward. He didn't want to find himself being pulled off balance while he was hanging by his fingers and toes over hundreds of feet of empty air.

He took a final swig from his water bottle, then stepped forward, raising both hands and one foot. He felt the rock solid under his curving fingers, felt his spikes gripping the foothold. Peace flowed through him. This was no longer the weird battle against the Hashomi. This was the familiar battle against the strength of the rock and the weaknesses of his own body. Blade relaxed, and began to climb.

Chapter 11

Blade marched north for two days before turning east toward the desert. This would still further confuse his trail. It would also bring him out of the mountains as close as possible to the oasis of Habin D'er. The Hashomi maps he'd seen showed it no more than an easy day's march from the foot of the mountains. At the oasis he could wait until one of the trade caravans came by, then join it for the journey across the desert.

Three more days marching eastward brought Blade out of the mountains. If the Hashomi were on his trail, he saw and heard no sign of it. The mountains were vast and the Hashomi hardly numerous enough to comb them boulder by boulder for a single man skilled in both evading and fighting. As long as they didn't guess how many of their most vital secrets Blade was carrying off, they might not even think it worthwhile pursuing him.

Of course, the word would sooner or later be out, and the Hashomi in Dahaura would be on the lookout for him. He'd have to disguise himself and perhaps lie low, until he'd gained power and influence or the protection of someone who had them. That should not be impossible. Even if there were as many as a thousand Hashomi in Dahaura, there were also a million other people in the city, and Blade was an expert at being invisible to his enemies.

On the morning of the fourth day he came through the last narrow canyon on the fringes of the mountains and looked out across the desert. Here the peaks came down almost to the sand, with only a mile or so of boulder-strewn ground separating them. The sun blazed down so that even the reflected light from the sand half-dazzled Blade. He still could not miss a patch of lush gree

At last the chill darkness of a desert night came down on the land. Blade crossed the boulders and struck out into the desert. His sense of direction kept him on course as his legs carried him steadily up and down one dune after another. Every hour or so he stopped briefly to rest and look back at the mountains. Slowly they were fading away in the darkness. Blade made up his mind that if he ever entered those mountains again, it would be as an armed enemy of the Hashomi.

If that time ever came, it would help to have Mirna and her women on his side. He hoped she could keep her plans secret and her women alive until then.

Shortly after dawn Blade climbed a dune and from its crest saw a spot of green on the horizon. Two more dunes, and the spot was still there. Two more dunes after that, and he could make out individual trees. Now the ground leveled out, and Blade's pace increased almost to a trot as he covered the last mile to the fringes of the oasis.

As he passed the first trees, he heard from the opposite side of the oasis the bubbling cries of camels, the thud of many feet, and the rattle and jangle of harness. Blade stopped in mid-stride and swerved to the left, where a stand of squat trees with palm-like leaves and purple berries offered some cover. Before he could get out of sight, a dozen bearded men in white robes burst through the trees. Most of them had single-handed curved swords and those who didn't carried thick double-curved bows and filled quivers.

Again Blade stopped. He spread his arms and raised his empty hands. «I come in peace, my friends,» he said. «Are you of Dahaura?»

The answer was an arrow that missed Blade's ear by less than a foot and thunked into a tree well behind him. Blade darted to the left, trying for the cover of the trees. A second arrow whistled past his nose and plunged into the middle of the trees, while a third sank into the hard sand at his feet.

The precision with which those arrows were landing showed Blade that the men were missing him deliberately. If he tried to run or fight, they could easily make him look like a pincushion before he could give one of them a single scratch.

What wretched luck! If he'd waited until nightfall to approach the oasis, these people might have already come and gone. If they'd made camp, there would have been sentries and perhaps campfires to warn him. Even in the daylight, if they'd approached the oasis from any other direction but the exact opposite side-!

Blade swore mentally, as several of the men rushed forward to surround him and strip him of his weapons and gear. They also took his boots, leaving him standing barefoot on the uncomfortably hot sand.

The men examined the weapons they took from Blade, and a rapid babble of conversation rose as they recognized the handr flower of the Hashomi on the sword and the knife. One of the men jerked a thumb at Blade.

«Think he's one of them? This is damned close to their mountains. Maybe we should-«as he made the universal throat-slitting gesture.

The man who seemed to be in command pulled at his beard, then slowly shook his head. «No. A Hashom wouldn't have surrendered. His mistake, and our gain. He's got the look of a fighting man, and I'm not going to give up a hundred mahari because he might be a Hashom.»

«A hundred?» The first man sounded skeptical.

«At least. I've seen smaller men bring a hundred and twenty. Of course they might have to trim him, to keep him in hand, but that's not our problem.»

«All right, Shman. But if he tries to escape-«Again the throat-slitting gesture.

«Of course.»

The conversation died, as the men bound Blade's hands behind his back and led him after them. They came out on the other side of the trees, on the bank of a large pond of blue-green water. More than thirty camels were lined up on the other bank, their muzzles dipping into the water as they drank with furious gulping noises. A few of them carried heavy packs, but most of them bore riding saddles and harness.

More white-robed men were moving about among the camels, carrying waterskins and coarse woolen sacks. All of them were armed like the ones who'd taken Blade. There was also a ten-foot lance slung in a leather bucket on the flank of each camel.

Blade's feet were bound, and he was left in the shade of a tree by the pond. He spent the afternoon there, while the men watered their camels, filled their waterskins, ate, and trimmed their beards. Blade noted that four or five mounted men were always patrolling the fringes of the oasis, and the dismounted men always kept their weapons to hand. These were good soldiers. Blade would have thought twice about trying to escape from them, even if he hadn't known they would kill him if he tried.

Blade listened carefully to the conversation of the men, and was able to sort out most of what had happened to him. His captors were indeed soldiers of Dahaura, a patrol of the Baranate's elite Desert Riders. Under other circumstances Blade would probably not have encountered them until he reached the other side of the main desert.