Part 2 (1/2)

Moyna led the way. It said: ”I only know that this place was made long ago, in the time of the great wars, when the Pethcines broke into Tharn from the Gorge and ravaged the land. That much is instilled at fourth level. And a little more. It is in kronoswrite that the survivors, even the Queen G.o.ddess herself, with the High Priestess and some of the Lordsmen, hid in such a place as this for many kronos until a way could be found to defeat the Pethcines. That is all I know, Lordsman Blade. When your brain is well from the blow you will know all, of course.”

”Of course,” Blade agreed. And smiled inwardly. He was a pretty big boy to have to go back to school, to start from scratch, but that was exactly what he must do.

They walked on and on. The elusive light danced on ahead of them. For the first time Blade felt a little cold. Moyna did not seem to be affected.

”Where does this tunnel go, Moyna?”

”I do not know, Lordsman. When I was here before, the only time, I came only as far as a garrison room. It is just ahead now. Beyond that I did not venture. But I have some small capacity to guessthink, only a little, and it may be that this tunnel leads on to one of the Gorge Towers. It is from the Towers that the Pethcines are observed and kept in check, as the Lordsman will remember when he is well.”

”Of course,” agreed Blade.

The tunnel widened abruptly into a large chamber. The light that had been dancing on ahead of them now centered itself in the chamber and hung there, a glowing blob of effulgence. Blade approached the light and thrust his hand into the periphery of radiance. He felt a tingling, a mild shock, and drew back his hand. Electricity of some sort!

The neuter was watching him, its slender hands on almost nonexistent hips. Its features registered surprise as Blade thrust his hand into the light, but it said nothing.

In the exact center of the large chamber was a circular plaque, or pad, set into the floor. It was of the same opaque, plastic-like substance that Blade had seen before. It occurred to him that Tharnians did not know or understand metal, or had no use for it.

Blade pointed to the circular pad. It was about six feet in diameter. ”What is that, Moyna?”

The neuter fell to its knees and clasped its hand in an att.i.tude of prayer. ”No, Lordsman Blade! No! It is forbidden. I cannot speak of it.” It was cowering, averting its eyes now, refusing to look at Blade or the pad.

Blade shrugged and skirted the spot gingerly. Some sort of danger, but it need not concern him at the moment. He was much more interested in the various weapons and articles of clothing that hung on the walls or lay scattered about. Moyna must be right, Blade thought. At one time or another this must have been a guard room, a garrison of some sort.

Clothing! Blade was feeling the need of it. From a peg he selected what appeared to be a complete uniform. Everything was there, from high-thonged sandals to a plumed high-crested helmet. Again no metal. It was all made of the same dull opaque plastic material, light as a feather except for the helmet and breastplate. They were heavier and had a bronze tint.

Blade tapped the helmet with his finger. ”Of what is this made, Moyna? I have forgotten.”

The neuter, now that Blade no longer appeared interested in the frightening pad, came forward with a smile. ”Of the mani, Lordsman. What else? Everything is made of mani, though it has many different names.”

Blade tapped the helmet again. ”This? This heavy stuff?”

”Teks.h.i.+, Lordsman.”

Blade began to get dressed. Moyna watched with approval, nodding every now and then. As Blade drew on a pair of very short and feather-light breeches, the neuter clapped its hand and bowed several times. For some reason which Blade could not fathom at the moment it appeared proud and deliriously happy. A moment later he got an inkling.

Moyna had been staring at Blade's genitalia. As they disappeared beneath the breeches the neuter said, ”I am most happy, Lordsman, that you chose me to make slaveface for you. It was kind of you to let me see the Mystery. Perhaps my memspeak will forget how it was, for such is the nature of things, but even so I am grateful. I, Moyna, alone of all my level, have been shown the Mystery. Thank you. Thank you, Lordsman Blade.”

Blade filed it away for future reference. When there was time he would think about it. Obviously Moyna, a neuter, had never seen a man's s.e.xual equipment before and was awed by it. Just as obviously, going by inference, s.e.xual equipment such as Blade's own did exist in Tharn. That meant other men. Or did it? Blade kept dressing. He at least, with clothing and weapons, felt more like a man. He had never been entirely comfortable when naked.

Blade donned a kilt-like garment that fitted snugly about his waist and fell to his knees. Over his broad shoulders and deep chest he drew a light unders.h.i.+rt. Then a heavier s.h.i.+rt, woven of the teksin, which was very like chain mail. It was when he began to buckle on a breastplate, from the back, that he halted and gazed at the armor in puzzlement and slight dismay. The frontal armor had two large bulges. No mistaking their purpose. The armor had been made for a woman. A woman with large b.r.e.a.s.t.s!

Blade glanced at the neuter. It displayed no interest in Blade's puzzlement. In a moment Blade understood. Moyna had never seen a man's genital area before and it was quite unlikely that it knew what b.r.e.a.s.t.s were.

He threw the breastplate to the floor and stomped out the bulges with his foot The teksin yielded but did not break. He buckled on the plates, donned a plumed helmet, and began to examine the weapons available. These, like the armor, like everything in Tharn so far, were made of the inevitable opaque plastic, teksin, or whatever the h.e.l.l it was. Blade determined to think of it as plastic.

One of Blade's hobbies, before J and Lord Leighton, had been weaponry. One of his clubs was the Medieval Club - on fine summer afternoons in Kent they got together and had at each other with broadsword, mace, and lance - and Blade was also an expert on such arcana as wheel locks, miquelets, the snaphaunce, and right through to such weapons as the M-16. So it was that the weapons he examined now had a familiar look about them, though he had never seen anything exactly like them before.

They were all fas.h.i.+oned of the dull plastic. He was amazed to see that the stuff took a very fine edge. There were sabers, rapiers, cutla.s.ses, and one blade that was very like a trench knife. Blade selected a rapier and hung it from his shoulder in the baldric that came with it. He drew the long thin blade and feinted with it several times, stamping back and forth and whipping the blade in the air. He was an expert swordsman and it felt good to have a weapon in his hands again.

Moyna watched patiently. It did not appear to be frightened of, or even to understand, the rapier. Blade sheathed the rapier and turned his attention to the long row of tubes that stood upright in a case along one wall. Under the case was a chest filled with thin and very sharply pointed plastic darts. Blade took down one of the tubes. It took him only a few seconds to figure it out.

The tubes were air guns. Simple and effective. Blade found a small lever and pumped it, felt the pressure build within the tube. There was nothing resembling a stock or a b.u.t.t, just a circle with a trigger in it. Blade pulled the trigger and the tube emitted a hollow spang.

Blade found a rammer and pushed one of the darts down into the tube, then pumped it up again. He pointed the tube at a s.h.i.+eld on an opposite wall and pulled the trigger again. Spang.

The dart penetrated the plastic s.h.i.+eld to a depth of two inches. Blade pulled out the dart and looked at the barb. For the first time he noticed a dark coloration on the point. Poison? Drug? Probably a most effective weapon at short range. Nevertheless he had the impression that all this store of weapons was antique, long disused and obsolete, left here in this underground chamber to molder. But beggars could not be choosers, and they must suffice for the moment.

Moyna had been watching all this with disinterest. Weapons apparently meant nothing to him. Blade guessed that neuters never saw weapons, or came in contact with them, did not understand them and therefore had no fear of them. That meant, of course, that neuters were not killed with weapons. How then?

Blade glanced at the circular pad of plastic in the center of the chamber. Moyna was afraid of that! Blade was about to pursue the matter, for his curiosity was great, when he saw the mirror for the first time.

The mirror was of plastic, but had been polished to a high sheen. Blade stared at his image with a sense of shock. It was the same lean, handsome face, the same muscular and perfectly conditioned body, yet there was something about the eyes, the forehead, that he did not remember having seen before. The difference was vague, ephemeral, but it was there. It was, he thought, almost as though the intelligence behind the eyes had changed.

The plumed helmet and breastplate, the kilt-like skirt, gave him a familiar Roman-Graeco look. Blade smiled at himself in the mirror. He had seen pictures in the history books of ancient warriors that looked much as he did now. Blade nodded at his image and smiled again. He had always had his share of vanity. The outfit became him well.

Blade strode resolutely to the circular pad of plastic in the center of the chamber He watched the neuter closely as he did so. The pad intrigued Blade; he was determined to seek out its meaning.

Moyna fell to its knees again. It began to s.h.i.+ver and shake and moan, again clasping its hands in a prayerful att.i.tude.

Blade halted at the very edge of the circle. He whipped the rapier out of its scabbard and slashed it back and forth through the area over the pad. Nothing happened. Blade glanced back at Moyna. The neuter was on its knees still, keening and making the little whistling, sobbing sounds. It would not look at Blade nor at the pad, but Blade could catch the words.

”No, Lordsman! Do not. I have been good slaveface. I have obeyed. Do not. Do not!”

Blade began to lose his temper. ”What do you fear?” he shouted at the neuter. ”Look, Moyna. Look!”

Blade stepped into the center of the pad.

Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. Blade smiled at Moyna and stepped out of the circle. ”You see, Moyna. There is nothing to be afraid of in this place. Come. We'll be on our way.”

The neuter glanced from Blade to the circular pad. It shook its head. ”Even yet you do not understand, Lordsman. You who are of a high level and memspeaked for it. It is your head, of course. You have forgotten much. But it is not danger for you, Lordsman, it is danger for me. Come. Come! Let us leave this place. We will see if the other tunnel leads to the Gorge Tower. If it does not I cannot help us.”

Moyna got to its feet and, carefully avoiding the pad, started for the pa.s.sage that led out of the chamber on the far side. Blade stared at the pad, slowly shook his head, then followed the neuter. He had always hated leaving a mystery unsolved and...

Moyna reached the point where the tunnel began to narrow again. There was a sudden flash of blue flame. Moyna was hurled backward, landing flat at Blade's feet.

Blade stared down at the prostrate Moyna. The neuter made no attempt to rise. It looked at the big man and great tears rolled down the smooth cheeks.

”Honcho!” said the neuter. ”Honcho has seen us. We are trapped. The magveil!”

Blade stepped over the prostrate figure. He had already guessed that some sort of electro-magnetic screen had been thrown around the chamber. It had hurled the neuter back. Would it work on him?

He walked boldly into the tunnel. Flas.h.!.+ A blue sheet of flame. Blade was whirled off his feet and slammed backward. There was no pain, no sense of electrical shock or b.u.m, just a great invisible hand smas.h.i.+ng him back. He was as helpless as an insect in a typhoon.

Blade lay for a moment on the floor He cursed softly to himself. What now? What next?

The neuter made a high whining sound, a babble of wordless terror. It was pointing to the circular plastic pad.

Something was materializing on the pad. A whorl of gauzy vapor. Blade watched, too fascinated to feel fear.

As though some unseen hand had painted it, in broad clear strokes on thin air, a figure began to materialize on the pad. Slowly at first, then rapidly. Then it was there.