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Authors: Harry Harrison
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rusted
almost completely in two and that the break had been craftily covered
by clay. "That's all right," he called after the retreating slaver,
"just wait until your friend eats the
krenoj
."
*
The march continued, first back to the boundary cairn with the
suspicious Fasimba dogging their steps. Only after Jason and his band
had passed the border did the others return to their normal foraging.
Then began the long walk to the borders of the inland desert. Since
they had to search for
krenoj
as they went it took them the better
part of three days to reach their destination. Jason merely started
the line in the correct direction, but as soon as he was out of sight
of the sea he had only a rough idea of the correct course, however he
did not confide his ignorance to the slaves and they marched steadily
on, along what was obviously a well-known route to them. Along the way
they collected and consumed a good number of
krenoj
, found two wells
from which they refilled the skin bags, and pointed out a huddled
animal sitting by a hole that Jason, to their un-voiced disgust,
managed to miss completely with a bolt from the crossbow.
On the morning of the third day Jason saw a line of demarcation on the
flattened horizon and before the midday meal they came to a sea of
billowing, bluish-gray sand. The ending of what he had been accustomed
to thinking of as the desert was startling. Beneath their feet were
yellow sand and gravel, while occasional shrubs managed a sickly
existence as did some grass and the life-giving
krenoj
. Animals as
well as men lived here and, ruthless though survival was, they were at
least alive. In the wastes ahead no life was possible or visible,
though there seemed to be no doubt that the D'zertanoj lived there.
This must mean that though it looked unlimited—as Ijale believed it
to be—there were probably arable lands on the other side. Mountains
as well, if they weren't just clouds, since a line of gray peaks could
just be made out on the distant horizon.
"Where do we find the D'zertanoj?" he asked the nearest slave who
merely scowled and looked away. Jason was having a problem with
discipline. The slaves would not do a thing he asked unless he kicked
them. Their conditioning had been so thorough that an order
unaccompanied by a kick just wasn't an order and his continued
reluctance to impose the physical coercion with the spoken command was
just being taken as a sign of weakness. Already some of the burlier
slaves were licking their lips and sizing him up. His efforts to
improve the life of the slaves were being blocked completely by the
slaves themselves. With a mumbled curse at the continued obduracy of
the human race Jason sank the toe of his boot into the man.
"Find them there by big rock," was the immediate response.
There was a dark spot at the desert's edge in the indicated direction
and when they approached Jason saw that it was an outcropping of rock
that had been built up with a wall of bricks or boulders to a uniform
height. A good number of men could be concealed behind that wall and
he was not going to risk his precious slaves or even more precious
skin anywhere near it. At his shout the line halted and settled to the
sand while he stalked a few meters in front, settling his club in his
hand and suspiciously examined the structure.
That there were unseen watchers was proven when a man appeared from
around the corner and walked slowly towards Jason. He was dressed in
loose-fitting robes and carried a basket on one arm, and when he had
reached a point roughly halfway between Jason and the rock he had just
quitted he halted and sat crosslegged in the sand, the basket at his
side. Jason looked carefully in all directions and decided the
position was safe enough. There were no places of concealment where
armed men might have hidden and he had no fear of the single man. Club
ready he walked out and stopped a full three paces from the other.
*
"Welcome, Ch'aka," the man said. "I was afraid we
almost completely in two and that the break had been craftily covered
by clay. "That's all right," he called after the retreating slaver,
"just wait until your friend eats the
krenoj
."
*
The march continued, first back to the boundary cairn with the
suspicious Fasimba dogging their steps. Only after Jason and his band
had passed the border did the others return to their normal foraging.
Then began the long walk to the borders of the inland desert. Since
they had to search for
krenoj
as they went it took them the better
part of three days to reach their destination. Jason merely started
the line in the correct direction, but as soon as he was out of sight
of the sea he had only a rough idea of the correct course, however he
did not confide his ignorance to the slaves and they marched steadily
on, along what was obviously a well-known route to them. Along the way
they collected and consumed a good number of
krenoj
, found two wells
from which they refilled the skin bags, and pointed out a huddled
animal sitting by a hole that Jason, to their un-voiced disgust,
managed to miss completely with a bolt from the crossbow.
On the morning of the third day Jason saw a line of demarcation on the
flattened horizon and before the midday meal they came to a sea of
billowing, bluish-gray sand. The ending of what he had been accustomed
to thinking of as the desert was startling. Beneath their feet were
yellow sand and gravel, while occasional shrubs managed a sickly
existence as did some grass and the life-giving
krenoj
. Animals as
well as men lived here and, ruthless though survival was, they were at
least alive. In the wastes ahead no life was possible or visible,
though there seemed to be no doubt that the D'zertanoj lived there.
This must mean that though it looked unlimited—as Ijale believed it
to be—there were probably arable lands on the other side. Mountains
as well, if they weren't just clouds, since a line of gray peaks could
just be made out on the distant horizon.
"Where do we find the D'zertanoj?" he asked the nearest slave who
merely scowled and looked away. Jason was having a problem with
discipline. The slaves would not do a thing he asked unless he kicked
them. Their conditioning had been so thorough that an order
unaccompanied by a kick just wasn't an order and his continued
reluctance to impose the physical coercion with the spoken command was
just being taken as a sign of weakness. Already some of the burlier
slaves were licking their lips and sizing him up. His efforts to
improve the life of the slaves were being blocked completely by the
slaves themselves. With a mumbled curse at the continued obduracy of
the human race Jason sank the toe of his boot into the man.
"Find them there by big rock," was the immediate response.
There was a dark spot at the desert's edge in the indicated direction
and when they approached Jason saw that it was an outcropping of rock
that had been built up with a wall of bricks or boulders to a uniform
height. A good number of men could be concealed behind that wall and
he was not going to risk his precious slaves or even more precious
skin anywhere near it. At his shout the line halted and settled to the
sand while he stalked a few meters in front, settling his club in his
hand and suspiciously examined the structure.
That there were unseen watchers was proven when a man appeared from
around the corner and walked slowly towards Jason. He was dressed in
loose-fitting robes and carried a basket on one arm, and when he had
reached a point roughly halfway between Jason and the rock he had just
quitted he halted and sat crosslegged in the sand, the basket at his
side. Jason looked carefully in all directions and decided the
position was safe enough. There were no places of concealment where
armed men might have hidden and he had no fear of the single man. Club
ready he walked out and stopped a full three paces from the other.
*
"Welcome, Ch'aka," the man said. "I was afraid we
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