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  Before that happened, there was a sudden pop of changing air pressure, so sudden that Blade had to swallow to clear his ears. He felt chilly breezes on his face, and underfoot a sloping surface of loose stones.

  Then the stones started to slide, and he started to slide with them. He shouted a warning to Cheeky both with his mind and with his voice and threw himself backward, arms outflung to either side. His head struck the rocks with jarring force, but the downward slide stopped. The rattle and clunk of the sliding stones came to an abrupt end. An unpleasantly long time later, he heard the faint sound of those stones hitting the bottom of something a long way down.

  All this happened so fast that Blade hadn't opened his eyes while his trained reflexes were operating. Now he looked up to see cold blue sky overhead, and Cheeky's small face peering worriedly into his own. Since Cheeky's face was completely covered with feathers, it was rather hard to read his expressions. However, the mental message was clear-a picture of Cheeky sitting and mourning by Blade's corpse, with an implied question added. As clearly as if he'd been speaking English, Cheeky was asking, «Are you all right?»

  Blade sent a mental picture of himself running around in circles and beating his chest like Tarzan, the picture of health. Cheeky made relieved noises. Then Blade opened the mouth of the nylon carrying bag that held Cheeky snugly on his chest. The feather-monkey scrambled out, jumped up and down to stretch his limbs, then scrambled up the slope to level ground, squeaking in protest as sharp stones bruised his paws. Blade followed Cheeky on hands and knees until he was sure of his footing, then rushed the rest of the distance.

  Blade's rush sent more stones rattling down the slope to vanish into space. The slope lay on the edge of a canyon, the floor of which was about a mile wide, with a river running through it. In some places the wall of the canyon was climbable, but where Blade had landed it was more than a hundred feet straight down. If he and Cheeky had gone over the edge…

  Leighton and his researchers might someday solve all the problems of reaching Dimension X, but they still wouldn't solve most of the problems of staying alive once you got there. Blade hoped anyone who went with him in the future would know that, or at least learn it fast. Otherwise the search for a new Dimension X traveler might have to start all over again right away.

  The scenery was spectacular but monotonous-alternating stretches of rock, gray-brown hills, and dense blue forest. On the horizon he could make out high mountains, their lower slopes wrapped in more forest and their peaks white with snow.

  Blade decided to follow the canyon down to the river, then follow the river wherever it led him. Rivers usually led to human beings sooner or later, with fish to eat and water to drink on the way. He turned left, heading for the nearest place where the side of the canyon looked climbable.

  The movement dislodged more stones, and Blade climbed a little farther away from the edge before going on. Cheeky made approving noises, and sent a picture of Blade lying a bloody and twisted corpse among the boulders at the bottom of the canyon.

  A moment later, Cheeky's squeals and the rattle of falling stones were drowned out by a deep rumbling growl from the depths of the canyon. Before the echoes of the first growl died, another one came, and a whole chorus after that. Other cries followed, sounding more like steam whistles than anything made by a living throat. Blade and Cheeky both drew their knives and stepped back a few more yards from the canyon.

  Gradually the growls and cries died away. Blade listened carefully and sniffed the air. For the first time he noticed a faint miasma floating up from the canyon-the unmistakable odor of large quantities of well-rotted meat.

  Something-several somethings-had their lair down in the canyon. They were large, they were carnivorous, and they sounded hungry, angry, or maybe both. Blade decided to stay out of the canyon. He didn't want anything able to make a noise like that behind him while he was scrambling over boulders that would keep him from moving fast.

  Before he started off again, Blade unslung the light rucksack from his back and pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle. A few minutes' work, and a tangle of fiberglass, nylon, and plastic parts turned into a crossbow with a two-hundred pound pull. It had been decided by Leighton and Blade that an old-fashioned weapon like this wouldn't arouse many suspicions in the Dimensions, and though the crossbow wasn't enough for a battle, it was more than enough to give not-too-subtle hints to even the largest and hungriest carnivore or human hunting party.

  Blade slung the crossbow across his chest where Cheeky had been, and Cheeky climbed into the space in the rucksack where the crossbow had been. This kept Cheeky safe and Blade's hands free. He still didn't have quite the freedom of action he'd had before he teamed up with Cheeky, but Cheeky was not only a friend and companion, he was also an extra set of eyes and ears. He pulled his weight; if a human companion did as well, Blade would have no complaints.

  Secure with his weapon and companion, Blade almost felt like whistling as he set off toward the river.

  It took longer to get down to the riverbank than Blade expected. It had been around noon when he emerged in this Dimension. It was close to midafternoon when he finally knelt down by the cold, gurgling water. While Cheeky kept watch, Blade drank and refilled his collapsible plastic canteen, then watched while Cheeky drank. After that they picked a convenient boulder that gave them a good view in all directions, from the riverbank to the tree-covered hillsides on either bank. Blade unslung his rucksack and started sorting through the contents.

  It was pretty much the same amount he'd taken on his last trip-freeze-dried food, spare clothing, a sleeping bag, and a disposable cigarette lighter made entirely of plastic. There was also a plastic pocket compass, and aside from the magnetic compass needle, the only metal he was carrying was the blade of his knife. It was a U.S. Marine Kabar, not as elegant as his old commando knife but a lot more useful for chopping up kindling, gutting fish, and dressing game. Again, it was not a very incriminating piece of equipment.

  Everything was in the right place and in good condition. Blade would have been surprised if it hadn't been. The Project's Field Operations officer was a former Royal Marine Commando who knew how a leaky cigarette lighter could be a major disaster if you were a long way from home.

  Finally he took off his belt and wrist bracers, and inspected them. They looked like they were made of ordinary pliable plastic from Home Dimension, but it actually was a very special sort of plastic. It was Oltec from Kaldak, part of the harness of the uniform Blade wore back from that Dimension on his second trip.

  Normal plastic softened when heated and hardened when cooled. This plastic worked the other way around. Thrust into boiling water, the belt and wrist bracers hardened until they were nearly as tough as steel and much lighter. Laid on a block of ice or immersed in cold water, the plastic softened until Blade could shape it between thumb and forefinger and then put it back on. Most of the plastic was still in the laboratories of the Project's Complex Two, being analyzed. Blade had kept enough for the specially designed belt and cuffs, which, when straightened out and hardened, became a spear and two daggers with sharp points. He could be wearing nothing but his bare skin and the innocent-looking plastic, and still hold a dozen men's lives in his hands. Cheeky wore a harness and belt of the same material.

  Blade took off his wrist bracers, straightened them out, held each piece over the flame of a cigarette lighter, and watched them begin to harden. Suddenly Cheeky gave a soft yeeep of warning. Blade looked up, and saw that he and the feather-monkey were no longer alone.

  Chapter 3

  A number of dark-skinned men were climbing down the slope of the far bank of the river, moving sure-footedly from the cover of one boulder to another. They were closing in on both sides of the mouth of a canyon that opened on the riverbank. The canyon's floor was level but it twisted so sharply that Blade could see barely fifty yards into it. From somewhere up the canyon a cloud of dust rose.

  Blade counted at least twenty men. Fortunately all
their attention seemed to be on the mouth of the canyon. Blade's camouflage coveralls were also doing a good job of hiding him against the dark gravel of the riverbank. He easily found cover for himself and Cheeky before the men reached the bank of the river.

  The men's skins were brown with a tinge of bronze, and their hair long, dark, and glossy. Most of them wore nothing but sandals and leather loinguards; some were completely naked. The ones with loinguards seemed to have daggers thrust into their belts; all carried spears with wicked-looking barbed heads and tufts of feather at the butt ends. Some had their hair tied up with vividly colored headbands. More than anything else, they made Blade think of a hunting party of North American Indians before the white man came.

  The dust cloud in the canyon seemed to be getting closer and thicker. Now Blade could hear an occasional bellow and the echoing rumble of many hooves. The hunters hurried out onto the open ground along the bank and divided into two parties, one on each side of the canyon mouth. Each party formed a line that reached from the base of the slope to the water's edge. All raised their spears, and those with daggers drew them. The sound of hooves swelled to a roar.

  Then suddenly the canyon spewed out a solid mass of furious animal life. In the lead were a dozen shaggy animals, looking like oversized elk-except that no elk ever had a rack of antlers like these. The antlers were a deep red, at least seven feet from tip to tip, and so massive Blade wondered how the creatures ever managed to keep their heads up. He could have chinned himself on either side of such a rack! Finding themselves suddenly in the open, the elk slowed down and began to mill around, bellowing to one another.

  Five of the dark-skinned hunters rode out of the canyon after the elk. The hunters were mounted on creatures that obviously must have had lizards somewhere in their family trees. Their scaly bodies weren't much larger than a Shetland pony's, but their thick legs were a good five feet long and ended in splayed, clawed feet. Their eyes swiveled like a frog's, but when they opened their mouths they displayed a fine set of teeth. The hunters rode bareback, with only ropes for bridles, and carried ten-foot lances or spiked clubs. Blade wasn't sure if these, weapons were for their prey or to control the strange-looking members of the hunting party that were bringing up the rear.

  There were four of these creatures at the heel of the hunters. They were hairy humanoids that reminded Blade of the legendary Sasquatch or Bigfoot.

  The smallest was at least seven feet tall and four feet across the shoulders, with arms reaching almost to its knees. Both hands and feet were clawed, and their long muzzles were studded with teeth. Great clumps of matted brown hair sprouted all over them like weeds. Blade even caught a whiff of their rank odor, which made him perfectly happy to watch the end of the hunt from a distance.

  The lizard-riders slowed their mounts and urged the Bigfeet forward with high-pitched cries and prods from their lances. The Bigfeet threw back their heads and bellowed. Blade recognized the noise; he'd heard it from down in the first canyon. He realized he'd narrowly escaped meeting a den of these creatures in the wild. Then the Bigfeet shambled forward in a crouch that was almost a parody of a karate adept's stance.

  Now the elk panicked again. Some of them ran left or right, straight at the hunters waiting for them. Blade saw a hunter stand up, ignoring the lowered antlers coming at him until the last moment. Then he leaped aside, catching the antlers in one hand and swinging himself up on the elk's back. Before the elk could figure out what to do next, the hunter stabbed it at the base of the neck. The elk reared in one desperate twisting convulsion. The hunter flew off but landed on his feet as lightly as a gymnast, avoiding the elk as it crashed to the ground.

  The other elk were too confused to run. Or perhaps they thought the Bigfeet were less dangerous than the human hunters. They were wrong. Blade saw one Bigfoot leap on an elk's back and jerk its head back until the neck snapped. Another grabbed an elk by the antlers, threw it to the ground, then tore out its throat. A third waited until the elk in front of it reared. Then it struck with both hands, claws outstretched. The elk's belly opened in a wound six feet long, and steaming entrails poured out as it fell. The Bigfoot knelt down by its victim, feeding on the entrails even before the elk was dead. A lizard-rider rode up beside the Bigfoot and not too gently prodded it away with a lance.

  In a matter of minutes all the elk were dead or dying except two. One had the sense to run back up the canyon; two of the lizard-riders went after it. The other ran at the right-hand line of hunters, with one of the Bigfoot after it.

  A totally naked hunter stood between it and escape. He raised his spear and made a half-hearted thrust. The spear caught in the elk's thick hide and the animal's speed wrenched it out of his hands. He took a couple of steps after the elk, then jumped back as the Bigfoot headed toward him. For a moment it looked as if the Bigfoot thought the hunter was its prey, and the young man froze, staring at the Bigfoot. That moment was long enough to let the elk through. With open ground ahead, it broke into a run.

  Blade saw that its course was going to bring it right opposite him. He unslung the crossbow, dropped a bolt into place, and had it cocked and raised by the time the elk was in range. Sighting carefully for a head shot-he didn't trust anything else to bring down such a large animal-he counted to three, took a deep breath, and squeezed the trigger.

  The elk stopped as if it had run into a stone wall. Then it shook its head, and for a moment Blake feared he'd shot only a glancing blow. As he snatched another bolt from his belt he saw the elk stagger, then topple sideways so violently that part of its antler broke off. As he finished reloading, the elk gave a final twitch, then lay still.

  It was a minute or so before anyone on the far bank noticed either Blade or his work. They were all standing around the hunter who'd let the elk through, or else guarding the dead elk from the Bigfeet. Blade used this time to quickly disassemble his crossbow. He didn't want to take the chance of arousing anyone's suspicions. At last someone looked along the bank and saw the last elk lying dead for no apparent reason. He did a perfect double-take and started looking around frantically for his gods only knew what. It was then that he saw the tall man standing on the far bank of the river. He started waving his spear and let out a screech that sounded to Blade like a cat with its tail caught in a door.

  The others promptly did the same. Blade held out both hands, palms outward, in the standard gesture of peace. As long as the hunters were only waving their spears instead of throwing them, Blade was inclined to give them the benefit of the doubt. Even if they did start throwing, the closest man was a good fifty yards away.

  Eventually several of the hunters put down their spears and matched Blade's gesture. One who appeared to be in command pointed upstream, then pointed at himself and the men around him. Blade assumed he was indicating a way to cross the river, so he picked up his bow and told Cheeky to climb aboard.

  They reached a ford about half a mile downstream, clearly marked by water boiling white around half-submerged rocks. Blade was glad the river was no more than knee deep here, since the water was icy cold and flowing fast.

  Three of the hunters met him on the other bank, all with loinguards and daggers. Seen close up, they looked even more like American Indians. They didn't look too well fed-not exactly starved, but with no fat on their lean and sinewy frames. They also smelled as if they hadn't bathed since the day they were born.

  The hunters were silent and impassive all the way back to the main party. Blade began to wonder how he was going to be able to communicate in the local language if they didn't say anything!

  Normally the transition into Dimension X affected Blade's brain so that he understood the local language as English and the natives understood his English words as their tongue. This phenomenon probably had something to do with telepathy, and certainly Blade would have been dead a good many times over without it. He was good at learning languages, but not that good.

  By the time they got back to the main party, the two riders who'd
chased the elk up the canyon were back, triumphantly waving bloody lances. Everyone else was busily at work, skinning and cutting up the carcasses into manageable chunks. Off to one side, a pile of guts and bones grew steadily.

  The man who'd seemed in command came up to Blade, walked around him several times, then sniffed at him like a dog. He said nothing, but Blade could make out enough of the conversation among the hunters to know he'd be able to understand the local language as well as ever. That didn't mean he could understand what it was they were talking about, but that was always a separate problem.

  Finally the leader frowned. «Are you of the Idol Makers?»

  Blade shrugged. It was his habit in new Dimensions to go along with whatever story was suggested to him. «I have not seen your Idol, so I do not know if it is the work of my people or not. It would not be lawful for me to look upon your Idol without your leave.»

  This show of respect for their taboos went over well. The chief smiled and nodded. «This is so. Indeed, you would need more than my leave to look upon the Idol. The Wise One of the Rutari must look upon you first.»

  «Will you take me before the Wise One?»

  The chief laughed. «I think she would have me thrown to the Great Hunters if I did otherwise. There is great magic in you; your weapons-magic is powerful. The Wise One seeks to know all she can of magic, wherever it comes from or whatever its purpose, and she will want to know if your magic is good or evil.»

  «Then she deserves her name.»

  At this point the chief seemed to notice Cheeky for the first time, peering over Blade's shoulder. He raised a hand in an obvious gesture to ward off evil spirits, and several of the hunters raised their spears. Before anything more could happen, an earsplitting burst of squeals, roars, and, growls made conversation impossible.

  The Bigfeet-the Great Hunters-were feeding. Turned loose on the pile of bones and entrails, they were squabbling over the tidbits, punching each other, cracking bones for the marrow, and throwing away anything they didn't want. The chief led Blade away from the Great Hunters until they could talk without shouting or being hit by flying bits of elk gut.