Warlords Of Gaikon rb-18 Read online

  As it was, not even the priestess of Kunkoi sounded convinced when she declared the clearing of the sky to be a good omen for Lord Tsekuin's safe return. She sounded to Blade like someone trying to convince herself of this so that her voice wouldn't shake too much as she intoned the ritual blessings. She certainly didn't convince anyone else. Yezjaro and Doifuzan managed at least not to look openly gloomy, but not all the dabuni were as self-controlled. Most of the servants looked like men sentenced to death, and the women were openly weeping.

  Lady Oyasa once more threw etiquette to the winds and came out in a litter to watch the party depart. She did not risk saying anything to Blade. Instead she contented herself with kissing her departing Lord's gloved hand, in the formal manner of a heroine from one of the epic poems. Then she climbed back into her litter. But she left the curtains open, and Blade saw her eyes swing toward him and linger briefly as he spurred his horse toward the outer gate.

  The party kept up a good pace until they had reached the bottom of the castle's hill and were well out on the plains. The men on foot had to practically jog to keep up, but no one fell out, complained, or even seemed tired. It was as though they were all eager to get out of the castle and well on their way toward Deyun.

  Certainly Blade felt better for being out of the castle and on the way to the Hongshu's capital. Sun, fresh air, a good horse under him, a journey to someplace new-for the moment that was enough to keep him happy.

  But then this was not his home, and he had some hope of avoiding the fate of Lord Tsekuin and his clan, no matter what that might be. This set him apart from the others, and always would.

  Blade was reminded of just how far apart he and the others were when they reached the Simu River. On the far side of that river was a small hill. The top of the hill was the last place where a man could look back and see the castle.

  Each man did look back as he reached the top. Each man had the same expression on his face-even Yezjaro. It was the expression of a man looking back on a place he never expected to see again.

  Chapter 12

  The eight-day journey to Deyun was almost a vacation. The weather was good, the roads were straight, level, dry, and easy to ride on, the accommodations along the way surprisingly comfortable. The scenery mixed green fields of young grain, villages with pale yellow thatched roofs, and long stretches of dark forest.

  Nothing whatever happened during those eight days. The miles vanished one by one under the hooves of the horses and the sandals of the men on foot. On the seventh day they came in sight of the sea. In the afternoon they moved north along the coast road, passing carts and porters carrying seaweed, a dozen kinds of dried fish, and gear for the ships and boats whose red and brown sails dotted the sea. The crash of the waves on gravel beaches and the smell of salt water were around them. They camped that night in a thick grove of trees that looked like birches but smelled to Blade more like pines. Blade and Yezjaro sat around a campfire long after everyone except the assigned guards had gone to sleep, drinking quietly and thinking out loud about what tomorrow might bring.

  «If it brings anything,» said Yezjaro. «I suspect the Hongshu and his chancellors will do nothing small against us. They will wait until we thrust our own heads upon the block before they bring the sword down. Meanwhile they will take considerable pleasure in watching us walk with our hands at our sword hilts, waiting for the enemy to strike, fearing that each moment will be our last.»

  «Perhaps,» said Blade.

  «You hope that perhaps we have been concerned to no purpose?»

  «Yes.»

  Yezjaro laughed. «So do I, and without shame. I too hope to die in my bed with my concubines and servants lamenting my passing, if it can be done without dishonor. But I think we are hoping for what cannot be. We will be welcomed with open arms-but they will be open only to strike us down.»

  The «open arms» were very much on display when they rode into Deyun the next morning.

  Two magnificently armored horsemen with the badge of the Hongshu on their shields met the party at the edge of the city. They led the way through Deyun's miles of winding streets, uphill, downhill, across large canals and small rivers. The route took them past every sort of shop and booth imaginable, past garbage dumps that made Blade wrinkle up his nose in disgust, past parks with every blade of grass and leaf practically manicured into a perfect pattern. Blade guessed that Deyun might easily hold more than a million people.

  At the base of a hill they passed one entire quarter that was enclosed by a high stone wall painted glossy yellow. An entrance was marked by a gate twenty feet high, flanked on either side by masses of carved wooden reliefs extending for a hundred feet. Blade was about to ask Yezjaro what this quarter was, when he got a better look at the reliefs. After that, he didn't need to ask.

  The reliefs were the most magnificent erotic sculpture Blade had ever seen. They were not stylized either, unlike much of the art Blade had seen in Gaikon. They were totally explicit and remarkably comprehensive. Blade made a mental resolution to come back to the gates some time before he left Deyun and get a better look at the reliefs-if only to see if they left out anything that a man and a woman could possibly do with each other.

  He very much wished he had a good camera and a few rolls of color film.

  Yezjaro noticed where Blade's attention was wandering, and grinned. «Ah yes, the warm gates. They are famous throughout Gaikon. A city within a city, it is said, whose ladies are so powerful that they may pass through tunnels barred to all others to do their work even within the Hongshu's palace itself! But remember what I said about your strong appetites and what you must do about them.»

  «Oh, I will remember, Yezjaro,» said Blade. «You do the same. Nothing I have seen or heard of you suggests that you are a weak man in such matters.»

  Eventually they reached the wall around the Hongshu's palace. It made the wall of the warm gates quarter look like a barrier of toothpicks and sugar cubes. It rose forty feet high and was twenty feet thick, crowned with towers rising another thirty feet. From every slit in the railings and every window and balcony of the towers armed men peered out and down. The gates were thirty feet high and contained enough iron and timber to build a fair-sized ship. Nothing short of starvation-or home dimension heavy artillery-could bring down the Hongshu's fortress.

  «The official name for this area is the Jeshun Doi,» said Yezjaro.

  «That means-?» said Blade.

  «The House of the Mighty Warlike Power,» replied Yezjaro.

  «The Hongshus don't mince words; do they?»

  «Not unless it serves their purpose. Which it-wait, here comes our welcoming committee.» Blade heard the sound of trumpets from within the gates, then the gates themselves began to open with a rumble and a squeal.

  Just inside the palace wall was a level field, completely surrounded by more walls, towers, and the roofs of houses, but offering room enough to fight a good-sized battle. For a moment Blade thought they were going to have to do just that. A cordon of armed men-spearmen, archers, and dabuni with drawn swords-stretched across the field in front of them. Then he noticed a tall, thin, elderly man on a ridiculously small horse riding out toward them.

  «Lord Geron, the Hongshu's second chancellor,» whispered Yezjaro. «In theory it does us great honor, sending him out to greet us. But it is no secret that Geron's head is more full of schemes and plots than all the other five chancellors put together. They call him the Hongshu's pet wolf.»

  The pet wolf exchanged bows and all the appropriate phrases with Lord Tsekuin. Then he signaled to his guards. They ran forward, herding the servants of the party away from their horses and baggage toward the gate. Behind the guards came a horde of palace servants, as silent and efficient as well-oiled machinery, scooping up the fallen baggage and leading off the pack animals. When they were gone, Lord Geron turned his horse and led Lord Tsekuin's party toward the inner gate.

  Beyond that gate were the main stables, where they dismounted and empti
ed their saddlebags. Then Lord Geron and a dozen tough-looking dabuni led the way into the heart of the palace. The paths, corridors, and alleys within it seemed laid out to no plan or purpose.

  «Except that of confusing anybody who doesn't know his way around?» Blade asked Yezjaro.

  «Precisely,» said the instructor. «It is a maze that will drive any stranger without a guide mad. Assuming he lives that long, between the guards and the traps.»

  «The servants must know their way around.»

  «They do. But they are also sworn never to leave the palace and to die before revealing any of its secrets. Those who try to escape die by torture. No, the Hongshu's servants usually live and die within these walls. Many of them are the children of other servants, so they truly know nothing but this maze from birth to death.»

  Blade nodded. The Hongshu was obviously grimly determined to be as unassailable as possible. There would be no easy way of striking at him here, at the heart of his power. Unless those tunnels from the warm gates quarter could be made passages for something less welcome than courtesans? Perhaps, but it was not something to worry about now.

  The palace covered as much ground as a fair-sized city, but their wanderings nonetheless eventually came to an end. More silent attendants led the various dabuni of the party to the tiny cubicles reserved for them. Blade sat down on the mats that covered the floor with a sigh of relief. He was not particularly tired. But it was good to be out of that gloomy, bristling maze, and in a place with solid walls around him.

  On the morning of the seventeenth day in the palace, Blade was sitting in the same spot, in the same cubicle. Only the mats were different. They were changed every three days by those silent, swift-footed palace servants. For all that had happened otherwise, Blade might as well have spent the entire seventeen days sitting on the floor of his cubicle.

  It hadn't taken Blade more than a few of those days to realize what tactic the Hongshu had adopted for attacking Lord Tsekuin. He would have Lord Tsekuin and his men wait-and wait, and wait, and wait until somebody's patience snapped. Hopefully it would be Lord Tsekuin's patience, since that would give the Hongshu the best excuse for the deadliest action.

  For eight days Lord Tsekuin had gone out with Yezjaro and Doifuzan, hoping to set a time for his audience with the Hongshu. For eight days he came back, after hearing that no time could be set until he had been approved in the etiquette of the court.

  So for the next eight days Lord Tsekuin and the other two had gone out, seeking someone who might test and pass him in court etiquette. That turned out to be the search for the little man who wasn't there. Each time, Lord Tsekuin had returned with his face more and more flushed with barely suppressed rage.

  One of these mornings he wasn't going to be able to suppress that rage. Even if by some miracle Lord Tsekuin didn't fly into a rage, Blade daily expected one of the dabuni to blow up. Fortunately, that hadn't happened either. In fact, so little had happened that Blade was beginning to wonder if he wouldn't have seen more of Gaikon by staying in the castle.

  He stretched and stood up. He was doing his daily exercises when Yezjaro came in. The instructor was walking more briskly than usual, and his face was pale.

  «Blade, Lord Tsekuin has gone out to seek a meeting with Lord Geron. He has gone by himself. Neither Doifuzan nor I nor any of the other dabuni is with him. And he has taken both his swords.»

  That was bad news anyway you looked at it. There was no need to go armed in the palace. If the Hongshu was determined that you wouldn't leave the palace alive, that was that. A sword would do no good. In fact, to even draw a sword in the palace was a mortal offense to the Hongshu, an offense for which he could impose any penalties he saw fit. Blade did not turn pale himself, but he understood why Yezjaro had done so.

  Together they went out into the common room into which all the cubicles led. They sat down on the mats and, joined a dozen other early rising dabuni at a breakfast of porridge and boiled fish. Blade noticed that both Yezjaro and Doifuzan left their breakfasts practically untouched.

  The rest of the dabuni trickled out and ate breakfast. Many of them ate greedily, their appetites unaffected by the tension. But the palace servants never paused in refilling the bowls and plates. Blade tried to calculate how much this charade might be costing the Hongshu. Then he shrugged. It made no difference. If the Hongshu's plot succeeded, he would have control of the diamond mines. If he had control of the diamond mines, they would give him wealth enough to feed ten thousand men for ten thousand years.

  The morning plodded wearily on. One hour since Lord Tsekuin had gone out. Two hours. Three. It was getting on toward lunchtime, and Doifuzan and Yezjaro were getting on toward nervous breakdowns. They were both pacing up and down like caged animals. Their faces were the same dirty white as the breakfast porridge.

  Finally Yezjaro couldn't stand it any longer. He tightened his sash and pulled on his sandals. «I am going to see Lord Geron and try to find our own lord. Doifuzan, will you join me?»

  The older dabuno hesitated for a moment, then nodded. «I will.»

  «Good.» Both warriors strode out, wearing their swords and grim expressions. They made no move to invite anybody else to join them, Blade included. Behind them remained a tension that had suddenly frozen into something that could be almost cut in slices. No one moved or spoke, and for a while Blade would have sworn that nobody breathed.

  The minutes dragged on. They had added up to another half hour before anyone felt like speaking. Even then it was only casual words in low voices.

  Blade was just turning to a man sitting beside him when the sound of a gong came booming down the corridor outside. Several more joined in, making an echoing, painful din.

  Faintly over the roar Blade heard angry shouts. Then, unmistakably, he heard running feet approaching along the corridor. Blade sprang to his feet, but remembered just in time not to draw his sword. The running feet approached the door to the room and stopped. The door flew open with a grinding crash.

  One of the palace servants stood there, showing the first emotion Blade had ever seen in one of those silent men. Sweat was pouring off his face and his hands were shaking as he stepped forward.

  «Horrible! Horrible! Nothing like it was ever seen! Nothing!»

  «What is it, you fool?» snapped Blade. «What's happened?»

  «Lord Tsekuin-your Lord Tsekuin-quarreled with Lord Geron. Lord Tsekuin-he drew his sword. He drew his sword against Lord Geron and wounded him. Perhaps killed him. I don't know. I couldn't watch. I ran. Oh, Kunkoi have mercy on us!»

  Chapter 13

  By the time the servant had finished, everyone in the room was on his feet, staring at the man. The dabuni began to curse and growl with rage.

  «Treachery!»

  «That slimy son of six Warm Gates whores has-!»

  «Our lord is doomed. We must-!»

  «Kunkoi be my witness, I'll-!»

  Nobody would let anybody else finish a sentence. Half the men couldn't even talk coherently. The dabuni began to stalk about, raising their hands and swearing blood-curdling oaths. The palace servant watched from the door, frozen and wide-eyed with amazement and growing fear.

  From a corner of the room, Blade also watched his fellow dabuni working themselves up into a rage. He knew this uproar among Lord Tsekuin's men could explode at any second into a bloody shambles. He seemed to be the only man in the room who was keeping his head. If one of those idiots drew his sword…

  One of the younger dabuni headed toward the door. Blade stepped out of his corner to intercept the man. The warrior's hand flew to his sword. Blade smashed a foot like a battering ram into the dabuno's stomach. The man flew backward, hitting the wall with a sickening thud, and collapsed. Blade sprang backward until he stood between the open door and thirty-odd furious dabuni.

  Another man came at Blade, his sword already half-drawn as he came within Blade's striking range. No doubt he saw that Blade had not drawn his sword yet, but he expected he wou
ld soon. The stranger dabuno would be an easy victim. Then on to avenge his shamed lord!

  That was a mistake. Blade came in low, one hand driving up under the attacker's sword arm, the other up under his chin. The man's sword flew out of its scabbard and soared high into the air. It struck the ceiling with a clang, bounced off, and nearly skewered the gaping palace servant as it came down. He fell over backward in his frantic haste to get clear, scrambled to his feet, and dashed away down the corridor as though hungry tigers were at his heels.

  The dabuno also flew into the air. As he came down, Blade's whirling leg scythed into him. He flew across the room, hit the floor on his belly, and slid into one of the cubicles with his chin scraping the mats.

  For a long moment everyone in the room seemed paralyzed by Blade's explosion of action. Deadly skill in unarmed combat was well known in Gaikon-the jinais were notoriously expert at it. But for a dabuno to have such skill-well, it suggested that he had the soul of a skulker by night or an assassin, rather than that of a warrior who fought in bright day with bright steel. So Blade had kept the skill of his hands and feet a secret.

  Blade took advantage of his opponents' brief paralysis to unknot his sash. His two swords dropped to the mats. He kicked them aside and dropped back into karate stance. Now that he had disarmed himself, none of the other dabuni could come at him with a sword without disgracing themselves. Of course, if some of them were maddened beyond the point of worrying about honor, and did draw-well, Blade had no illusions that he could survive bare-handed against a swordsman of Gaikon who knew what to do and what to expect.

  Once again silence and tension in the room grew thick enough to slice like bread. The only noise was the faint whisper of quick, shallow breathing, the only movement the blinking of eyes. Blade felt that all those eyes were focused on him, trying to guess what he might do next. He found that he wasn't quite sure himself. As long as none of the dabuni were ready to be singled out, Blade suspected he could hold. But if they came in a rush, four or five of them ….