Read Online The Hostage of Zir by L. Sprague de Camp - Free Book Online
Authors: L. Sprague de Camp
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aya at the second hurdle. The animal refused the jump, spilling its rider into the dust. The aya turned and started back towards the stables, its empty stirrups swinging.
“I’ll show ’em!” shouted Considine. The young man climbed over the fence.
Reith yelled: “Hey, Maurice! Come back!”
Considine ran to the trotting aya and swung into the saddle with the adroitness of a cowboy. Cries arose from the crowd. Khorsh told Reith: “They are saying, ‘is he a clown disguised as an earthman?’ ”
It was one thing to mount the beast and another to control it thereafter. As if aware that it had been forked by no proper Krishnan, the aya spun round and round. Then it set off at a mad gallop, weaving among the hurdles and other obstacles. Considine clung to the saddle.
Turner pulled Reith’s sleeve. “Save him, Fearless! He’ll be killed!”
“How the hell do you expect me—” began Reith.
A general outcry drowned his voice. The aya, running past the judges, went into buck-jumps with all six legs. At the second jump, Considine flew off and came down on the lap of one of the judges, whose chair collapsed with a crash.
Officials and policemen ran towards the pair, who sprawled entangled on the wreckage of the chair. Before they reached the place, the judge got up and stood jumping up and down and shaking fists. John Turner’s high bleat sounded above the uproar: “Maurice!”
Turner climbed the fence and ran towards his fallen friend. When he got there, the crowd was thick around Considine. Turner disappeared into the throng.
Reith told his remaining tourists: “Stay where you are!” Then he, too, climbed the fence.
When he pushed his way into the crowd around Considine, Reith found himself in the midst of a furious dispute. The judge who had been sat on was still shouting. A pair of policemen held Considine, now on his feet with dirt on his face. Another pair held Turner. Other Krishnans yelled and shook fists. Some, gesticulating, turned towards Reith, who could not understand a word. At last, a Krishnan addressed Reith in broken Portuguese: “You boss these terrestres ?”
“Yes, sir. What—”
“Judge angry. Want take to jail. You come, quick.”
“But I have ten others—”
“Não importa! You no want head chop, you come.”
A gate was opened in the fence, and the crowd pushed through. The police pulled Turner and a limping Considine along.
The argument among the Krishnans, however, had now spread to the spectators. The policemen and their prisoners and the furious judge were blocked by the yammering crowd.
Standing tiptoe, Reith caught a glimpse of Khorsh. “Ohé, Father Khorsh!”
The priest pushed through to join him. Reith asked: “What in Hishkak are they hollering about now?”
“Some say, my son, that the earthman should be punished for disrupting the program. Others, on the contrary, say that your man furnished the most amusement of the show and should be rewarded. These are a passionate and disputatious—”
A nearby Krishnan struck another in the face. The victim reeled back and bumped into Khorsh, whom Reith caught and saved from a fall.
“I think, my son,” said Khorsh, “you had better gather your folk for a quick retreat.”
“But I can’t leave—” said Reith.
“Ah, but you can. By the grace of the gods, behold!”
A clash of steel resounded. In the grandstand, a pair of the gentry, caught up in the dispute over Considine, had drawn swords and were having at each other, clang-clang. The policemen holding Considine and Turner released their prisoners to run to the grandstand. While they and others seized and disarmed the fighters, Reith caught Considine and Turner by the arms and hauled them towards the exit gate.
“Stay there!” he commanded, and ran back to round up the rest. As he dodged through the crowd, a wild punch, which one Krishnan had thrown at another, caught him over the ear. He staggered and saw stars but kept on. By the time the forces
“I’ll show ’em!” shouted Considine. The young man climbed over the fence.
Reith yelled: “Hey, Maurice! Come back!”
Considine ran to the trotting aya and swung into the saddle with the adroitness of a cowboy. Cries arose from the crowd. Khorsh told Reith: “They are saying, ‘is he a clown disguised as an earthman?’ ”
It was one thing to mount the beast and another to control it thereafter. As if aware that it had been forked by no proper Krishnan, the aya spun round and round. Then it set off at a mad gallop, weaving among the hurdles and other obstacles. Considine clung to the saddle.
Turner pulled Reith’s sleeve. “Save him, Fearless! He’ll be killed!”
“How the hell do you expect me—” began Reith.
A general outcry drowned his voice. The aya, running past the judges, went into buck-jumps with all six legs. At the second jump, Considine flew off and came down on the lap of one of the judges, whose chair collapsed with a crash.
Officials and policemen ran towards the pair, who sprawled entangled on the wreckage of the chair. Before they reached the place, the judge got up and stood jumping up and down and shaking fists. John Turner’s high bleat sounded above the uproar: “Maurice!”
Turner climbed the fence and ran towards his fallen friend. When he got there, the crowd was thick around Considine. Turner disappeared into the throng.
Reith told his remaining tourists: “Stay where you are!” Then he, too, climbed the fence.
When he pushed his way into the crowd around Considine, Reith found himself in the midst of a furious dispute. The judge who had been sat on was still shouting. A pair of policemen held Considine, now on his feet with dirt on his face. Another pair held Turner. Other Krishnans yelled and shook fists. Some, gesticulating, turned towards Reith, who could not understand a word. At last, a Krishnan addressed Reith in broken Portuguese: “You boss these terrestres ?”
“Yes, sir. What—”
“Judge angry. Want take to jail. You come, quick.”
“But I have ten others—”
“Não importa! You no want head chop, you come.”
A gate was opened in the fence, and the crowd pushed through. The police pulled Turner and a limping Considine along.
The argument among the Krishnans, however, had now spread to the spectators. The policemen and their prisoners and the furious judge were blocked by the yammering crowd.
Standing tiptoe, Reith caught a glimpse of Khorsh. “Ohé, Father Khorsh!”
The priest pushed through to join him. Reith asked: “What in Hishkak are they hollering about now?”
“Some say, my son, that the earthman should be punished for disrupting the program. Others, on the contrary, say that your man furnished the most amusement of the show and should be rewarded. These are a passionate and disputatious—”
A nearby Krishnan struck another in the face. The victim reeled back and bumped into Khorsh, whom Reith caught and saved from a fall.
“I think, my son,” said Khorsh, “you had better gather your folk for a quick retreat.”
“But I can’t leave—” said Reith.
“Ah, but you can. By the grace of the gods, behold!”
A clash of steel resounded. In the grandstand, a pair of the gentry, caught up in the dispute over Considine, had drawn swords and were having at each other, clang-clang. The policemen holding Considine and Turner released their prisoners to run to the grandstand. While they and others seized and disarmed the fighters, Reith caught Considine and Turner by the arms and hauled them towards the exit gate.
“Stay there!” he commanded, and ran back to round up the rest. As he dodged through the crowd, a wild punch, which one Krishnan had thrown at another, caught him over the ear. He staggered and saw stars but kept on. By the time the forces
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