Read Online Mazirian the Magician by Jack Vance - Free Book Online Page A

not beauties, yet we will show you all the love you may wish.”
    T’sais crouched in a corner. “I know not what love is,” she panted. “In any event I want none of yours!”
    â€œIs it possible?” they crowed. “You are yet innocent?” And T’sais listened with eyes glazing as they proceeded to describe in evil detail their concept of love.
    T’sais sprang from her corner in a frenzy, kicking, beating her fists at the moor-men. And when she had been flung into her corner, bruised and half-dead, the men brought out a great cask of mead, to fortify themselves for their pleasure.
    Now they cast lots as to who should be the first to enjoy the girl. The issue was declared, and here an altercation arose, two claiming that he who won had cheated. Angry words evolved, and as T’sais watched, dazed in horror beyond the concept of a normal mind, they fought like bulls in a rut, with great curses, mighty blows. T’sais crept to her rapier, and as it felt her touch, it lofted into the air like a bird. It lunged itself into the fight, dragging T’sais behind. The three shouted hoarsely, the steel flickered — in, out, faster than the eye. Cries, groans — and three sprawled on the earthen floor, gaping-mouthed corpses. T’sais found the key, unlocked the door, fled madly through the night.
    She ran over the dark and windy moor, across the road, stumbled into the ditch, dragged herself up the cold muddy bank and sank on her knees … This was Earth! She remembered Embelyon, where the most evil things were flowers and butterflies. She remembered how these had aroused her hate.
    Embelyon was lost, renounced. And T’sais wept.
    A rustling in the heather aroused her. Aghast she lifted her head, listened. What new outrage to her mind? The sinister sounds again, as of cautious footfalls. She searched the darkness in terror.
    A black figure stole into her sight, creeping along the ditch. In the light of the fireflies she saw him — a Deodand, wandered from the forest, a hairless man-thing with charcoal-black skin, a handsome face, marred and made demoniac by two fangs gleaming long, sharp and white down his lip. It was clad in a leather harness, and its long slit eyes were fastened hungrily on T’sais. He sprang at her with an exulting cry.
    T’sais stumbled clear, fell, snatched herself up. Wailing, she fled across the moor, insensible to scratching furze, tearing thorn. The Deodand bounded after, venting eerie moans.
    Over moor, turf, hummock, briar and brook, across the dark wastes went the chase, the girl fleeing with eyes starting and staring into nothing, the pursuer uttering his wistful moans.
    A loom, a light ahead — a cottage. T’sais, breath coming in sobs, lurched to the threshold. The door mercifully gave. She fell in, slammed the door, dropped the bar. The weight of the Deodand thudded against the barrier.
    The door was stout, the windows small and crossed by iron. She was safe. She sank to her knees, the breath rasping in her throat, and slowly lapsed into unconsciousness …
    The man who dwelt in the cottage rose from his deep seat at the fire, tall, broad of shoulder, moving with a curiously slow step. He was perhaps a young man, but no one could know, for his face and head were draped in a black hood. Behind the eye-slits were steady blue eyes.
    The man came to stand over T’sais, who lay flung like a doll on the red brick floor. He stooped, lifted the limp form, and carried her to a wide padded bench beside the fire. He removed her sandals, her quivering rapier, her sodden cloak. He brought unguent and applied it to her scratches and bruises. He wrapped her in soft flannel blanketing, pillowed her head, and assured that she was comfortable, once more sat himself by the fire.
    The Deodand outside had lingered, and had been watching through the iron-barred window. Now it knocked at the door.
    â€œWho’s there?”