Mack Reynolds - The Space Barbarians

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2024-12-23 0 0 383.17KB 174 页 5.9玖币
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The Space Barbarians
by Mack Reynolds
PART ONE COUP!
Chapter One
JOHN OF THE HAWKS brought his steed to a sudden halt just short of
the top of the hill they had been ascending. Some instinctive alarm had
sounded. Something there is in the warrior born that warns of danger,
and if the warrior would live, he heeds it ever. Were this not so there
would be scarce a clannsman from Dumbarton to Stonehaven, for the
ambush is a way of life on the planet Caledonia.
He slid from his animal and snaked his carbine from its scabbard. He
tethered the animal lightly, so that no time would be wasted were it
necessary to beat quick retreat, and made his way quietly to the hill's
crest. The last few yards he went on hands and knees; the last few inches
he squirmed on his belly.
There were several bushes on the crest. He wiggled up behind one and
peered through its branches and leaves. John of the Hawks sucked in air.
Below was a stream, flanked by trees and other vegetation. By the
stream were standing four saddled horses and three draft animals. The
latter were burdened down with what were obviously butchered cattle
and, since this was Hawk preserve, obviously raided beef cattle.
Now he could make the men out. Three of them, and from their kilts,
they were of the Claim Thompson. The kilts they were in the process of
removing. The situation was obvious. They had butchered the animals and
were now about to take a swim to clean up. Being deep in Aberdeen
territory, they had not wanted to be slowed down by herding the beef back
to their town but had butchered them on the spot and packed the choice
portions of the carcasses on their extra animals.
Moving slowly, quietly, John flicked three cartridges from his
bandolier. He threw the breech of his carbine and inserted one of the
shells. The other two he stuck, point first, into the ground near his right
hand, instantly available for a quick reloading.
The others had left their saddle guns in their scabbards, but John had
no illusions about the fighting qualities of the Clann Thompson. Thieves
they might notoriously be, but also competent fighters. Once he opened
fire, the bets would all be down. There were three adult clannsmen down
there, and he was but a lad, not yet raised up to full phyletic level.
Three of them?
He hesitated at squeezing the trigger, though he already had the sights
trained on one who was just about to enter the water. There were four
saddle horses.
He let his eyes go over the scene again and immediately received his
answer. Slightly upstream, in a thicker clump of trees, was the other
member of the party. She had drawn away from the men for privacy. John
of the Hawks made a wry mouth. He had heard that the women of the
Thompsons were shameless, but it was unseemly and not meet that one
should accompany a raiding party.
He watched for a long moment. All were in the water now. The girl's
body gleamed white in the clearness of the stream. She was young,
probably having no more years than John's own seventeen.
He grunted his irritation. One does not fire upon men in the presence
of their feminine kyn, although in this particular case there was little, if
any, danger of his bullets going so far off aim that she would be
endangered. There was no stronger bann than that against injuring a
woman, even though vendetta was involved. The male of a species does not
destroy the female, not even man. At least, not on the planet Caledonia.
He thought about it. It was too far back to Aberdeen to expect to be
able to ride for assistance, enough assistance that the raiders, girl and all,
might be captured without bloodshed.
But even as he thought about it, he knew the answer. It was foolhardy,
without doubt, but it was the only thing lie could do, given the situation.
He took up the two extra cartridges, and returned them to his
bandolier and began squirming backward. Once off the rise, he came to
his feet and hurried to his animal. He put the carbine back into its
scabbard and then unbuckled his belt with its claidheammor and skean
and attached them to the saddle. He took his coup stick from its sheath
and tucked it temporarily in his belt and then ascended the hill again.
They were all swimming, and even at this distance he could hear their
shouts and jests as they made at their horseplay. He grinned wryly as he
began squirming his way down the hill toward them. They would sing a
different song, if John of the Hawks was successful in his scheme.
He took what advantage he could of trees, shrubs and bushes and
finally achieved his immediate goal, a place in the shrubbery along the
river, between the girl and the men. Now he had a slight advantage. If the
clannsmen heard him stirring in the brush, they would think it the girl; if
she heard a stirring, she would think it part of the noise the men were
making as they splashed, dived and swam.
On hands and knees he crawled toward the animals. This, now, was the
crucial point. It was all a matter of how soon they spotted him.
And there was a matter of sheer luck, too. There were four saddle
horses. If he made the mistake of attempting one that was so trained that
it would seat only its master, he was destroyed.
The answer to that, or so he hoped, came to him as he crept nearer.
One of the beasts had no carbine scabbard. The girl's, of course. And a
girl's horse- was less apt to be clannsman trained to accept no stranger on
its back. At least, so was his prayer to the Holy.
There was a shout from the riverbank.
He was on his feet and dashing.
The shouts tripled.
He flung himself on the back of the animal he had chosen, and even as
he mounted, he was tearing free the tether that had tied the horse to a
small bush. He sunk heels into the beast's side, screaming the battle halloo
of the Clann Hawk. He pulled the coup stick from his belt and slashed at
the other three mounts. He gripped their tethers one by one and pulled
them free. He slashed their haunches, driving them before him. From the
river's edge, the Thompson clannsmen were coming at the run, shouting
their anger in d threats.
He pulled hard on the reins of his mount, turning it, and headed back
for the raiders. Only now did they see what he held in his hand, and they
tried to take last-minute measures to avoid him.
The coup stick came up and down so fast as to be a blur.
He slashed them, one two three, calling in repetition so quickly that the
words came out all a jumble, "I-count-coup-I-count-coup-I-count-coup!"
Then he was around again and away, dashing after the horses he had
just stampeded. He looked over his shoulder in triumph and just in time,
even as he was shouting his halloo.
Two of the three were seated on the ground, heads in hands, wailing
their disgrace and frustration. But the other had turned and sped back to
the river's edge. And only now did John see the carbine leaning there
against a tree trunk.
He cut short his battle cry, in midsyllable, and flung down on the far
side of the horse, clinging to the saddle by but one heel, his left hand
grasping a handful of mane.
And just in time. The carbine barked its command. One of the horses
screamed. John came back full into the saddle now. The wounded horse
ran another twenty yards then stumbled and pitched suddenly and fell.
John considered, only momentarily, halting long enough to strip it of
its trappings but gave up the possibility. For all he knew, the rifleman had
additional rounds of ammunition, and John was still within range. He
scrambled up the hill, kicking his heels ever into the frightened animal In?
rode, herding the remaining two beasts before him.
There was another element. Undoubtedly, behind him the Thompsons
were already stripping the beef carcasses from the remaining animals and
would soon be in pursuit John doubted that the draft animals were as fast
as those lie now possessed, but one never knew. They had the carbine, and
give the Clann Thompson its due, they were as good marksmen as ever
participated at the annual shoots at the assembly of the Dail of the Loch
Confederation.
Up the hill, shouting again the halloo of the Clann Hawk, up and over
the crest. He galloped to his own steed and Hung himself from the saddle
of the girl's horse, into the one to which he was more accustomed, without
descending to the ground.
He took up the reins of the three remaining captured beasts and
started off, making a beeline for Aberdeen and the security of the town of
his birth. He was chuckling happily now. He had taken his risk, and all
had come off as though rehearsed.
He had counted coup on three of the redoubtable Clann Thompson
raiders and had stolen their horses and most of their weapons. How the
town would respond! How the criers would shout his name. Though he
was but of seventeen years, none would dare speak .against his being
raised up to full participation in the phylum. The sachem himself would
acclaim him, the caciques and sagamores. He would be a man among men
and free to participate in the muster.
He pushed hard, not sparing the horse.
When he had ridden out of Aberdeen, a single lad on a horse, though
warned by his uncles to take care, if he went beyond the lands of the clann
there were none to say him nay. A clann does not remain strong by
preventing its young men from learning to scout, to raid, to defend
themselves from the foe. But he had been in comparatively little danger
then. Had he run into a raiding party of Bruces, Davidsons or Thompsons,
for that matter, he could honorably have run for it, being one against
many. And it would have been unlikely the others would have taken after
him, there being small profit in chasing lads still not of full phyletic age.
But he was now in possession of worthy booty and fair game for any
clannsman, save the Hawks and the sister clanns, of course, did any spot
him returning to Aberdeen.
He rode through the night, the pace being awkward since he continued
to hold on to the reins of the captured beasts, rather than try to herd
them. They were unused to him and nervous, after all the excitement, and
he was afraid of losing one or more in the night.
He entered Aberdeen in the early afternoon of the following day, both
he and the animals exhausted. He had paused along the way only for
water. His luck had held, and he had seen no clannsmen, not even his own
kyn.
At the gate, the warder goggled at him. The other was a Fielding, not a
Hawk, but he knew John well, having stolen a Hawk girl as his bride.
"Where in the name of the Holy did you find those animals, John of the
Hawks?" he called.
"It was nothing," John grinned down at him. "I came out from ambush
upon three, nay four, if one counts women, of the Clann Thompson. I
confounded them and seized these, their horses, as well as two carbines
and these other trappings you see."
The other was still staring. "Did you kill any?" he demanded,
unbelievingly. He was fully aware that John was under no compulsion to
tell the truth to him, a Fielding and hence not a clannsman of John's even
though of the same phylum.
"Kill any?" John said loftily, still grinning. "I counted coup on all three!"
The other snorted. "As to that, I will wait to hear your declamation
before the muster." He snorted again. "No one exaggerates before the
assembly of the muster. That is the bann."
But John was a man now, before men, and he said coldly, "Do you
suggest that I would break a bann, before the muster or anywhere else,
warder of the gate?"
The other grunted but backtracked, being in the wrong and knowing it
and also being conscious that whether or nut John was exaggerating,
somehow he had acquired three priceless battle steeds, the proof being
there before him.
"No, I make no such suggestion, John of the Hawks. Enter, and
congratulations."
John was grinning again, even as he herded the loot before him. "There
will be shouting of my name by the criers tonight," he boasted.
The other had his petty revenge. "I doubt it," he said.
John halted his horses and scowled puzzlement. "How do you mean?"
he demanded. "How long has it been since either a Hawk or a Fielding
counted coup on three raiders in a single day and seized their possessions
as well?"
"A long time indeed, John of the Hawks, and your feat is praiseworthy.
But unfortunately for your moment of honor, the muster is to go into
session shortly."
It was John's turn to stare. "The muster! But this is only Apriltime."
"Yes, and ordinarily the sachems and caciques would not join in the
muster for three months; but they are gathering to discuss the travelers
from Beyond."
"Beyond? Beyond what?"
"You do not read the Holy books sufficiently, lad," the warder said
condescendingly. "Surely you have heard of Beyond."
"But that's legend! Myth!"
"You'd better not let any Keeper of the Faith hear you say that. Besides,
the proof is there before you. Two days before this, the ship from the sky
arrived, landing between Aberdeen and Dumbarton. The travelers from
Beyond sent out a group and now accept the hospitality of our town."
John gaped.
Chapter Two
FOR THE MOMENT, however, the sensational news could wait. John
was weary and hungered beyond the point where anything else mattered.
He rode toward his clann's long-house, somewhat miffed at the timing of
his moment of glory. Travelers from Beyond, indeed!
At the entrance to the longhouse, two of his closest friends duplicated
the goggling of the warder of the gate.
John of the Hawks dismounted with considerable dignity and tossed
his reins to one of the others.
"Don of the Clarks," he said loftily, "be a good lad and take my animals
to the pastures." He looked at the other young man, who wore kilts similar
to his own, those of the Clann Hawk. "And Dewey, would you mind, first,
stripping the animals of the weapons and harness and taking them to the
council hall, until I need them in my declamation before the muster, upon
being raised up to the phylum?"
The one addressed as Dewey stuttered, "Where… where… where… ?"
But John raised a hand, exaggerating his weariness. "Later, lads, later.
You'll hear it all when each clannsman recites his victories to the
assembly."
He turned and entered the community house and headed for his
family's quarters.
They called after him, something urgent, but he was too tired now to
chatter with them, no matter the glory. He wanted food, a bath and fresh
clothing. The aftereffects of the excitement and hard riding were upon
him.
In the small room that was his own, he began to strip but then paused,
scowling. He could hear voices in the next room, the family living
quarters, but they were not the voices he recognized, those of his mother,
younger brother and two sisters. They were adult male voices, and now he
realized they spoke with a strange accent.
He went to the door and pressed an ear against it, frowning still in
puzzlement. The voices were clearer now. One was saying, "Well, you're the
nearest thing to an ethnologist we've got. What do you think?"
There was a pause before another voice said hesitantly and dourly, "I'm
no ethnologist, and your guess is probably as good as mine. I'd say they're
the result of a crash of some pioneer group, Skipper. A very bad crash,
since they lost communication.'"
"Why pioneers? Why not some passenger ship?"
"For one thing, they've got horses and cattle. Even trees of Earthside
type, now adapted, of course, to this world's ecology. Besides, what would
a passenger ship be doing this far in?"
A third voice broke in. "What was a pioneer ship doing this far in, for
that matter? From what we've seen so far, they've been here a long time.
They're obviously originally an Earth culture, but they don't seem to have
much more than legends about their origins."
The first voice, heavier than the others and with a note of command in
it, said. "Well, it goes both ways. I've never heard of them either. They
must go so far back that you'd have to go deep into the archives to even
check on the possibilities."
The third voice said, "I just thought of something. They must go so far
back that they might have had trouble with the warp. One of the very
earliest colonizing ships, before the bugs were all ironed out. They must
have had trouble with the ship's warp, and the ship was thrown all the way
in here."
"Maybe," somebody else growled in disgust. "They're certainly
primitive. Look at this. Look at these plumbing fixtures over here."
A fourth voice spoke up for the first time. "What're you complaining
about? We're lucky they've got plumbing at all. Did you notice those
overgrown stickers all the men 'carry? Good grief, swords, in this day and
age."
"They also carry rifles," the second voice said. "We're lucky we weren't
assassinated before we ever got the chance to tell them who we were."
"Single shot rifles," the second voice said. "Krishna! Look at these
plumbing fixtures."
"What about them?"
John of the Hawks drew back from the door and stared at it. He was
tired to the point where his mind was half blank or the reality of the
situation would have come home to him quicker. He scowled his
puzzlement and put his ear back to the door.
A voice was saying, "They're platinum." "Platinum? Don't be
ridiculous."
"I think Harmon's right. Look at this, Skipper."
"Who'd ever use platinum for faucets?" Another voice, the second one
John had heard, broke in. "A people who have so much of it that it's
comparatively worthless, that's who." There was an element of awe in the
tone.
"Here, let me scratch it with this knifeblade." John had removed his
belt with its skean and claidheammor, but now he went over to his bed
and picked the harness up again and belted it about his waist, still
scowling. He went back to the door and pressed his ear against it once
more.
The voice that had disclaimed knowledge of ethnology, whatever that
was, was saying, "A really primitive culture. They must have an
unbelievable system of rituals and taboos."
He who was addressed as Skipper said, "Why do you say that?"
"Because their language has changed, over a period that must amount
to centuries, so little from Earth basic. And they still retain so many
customs of the original Earth. Only very strict adherence to taboos and
rituals would maintain such institutions so well. It's too bad we're not a
larger expedition with a few anthropologists and such along."
"Oh, no it isn't."
The skipper's voice said, "What do you mean, Harmon?"
"I mean platinum. Probably mountains of it. There are only eight of us.
Four back on the ship, and us. Good. Only that number to split it with."
There was a long pause.
John could stand it no longer. He opened the door and walked through,
staring.
There were four of them, and he'd never seen such dress in his life. It
was evidently some sort of uniform, and all were garbed almost identically,
so undoubtedly they were fellow clannsmen. The dress was colorless, drab
by any kilt standards, and each leg was completely sheathed. Above
everything in strangeness was that though all were obviously adult, none
wore claidheammor or even a skean.
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ScannedbyHighroller.ProofedmoreorlessbyHighroller.MadeprettierbyuseofEBookDesignGroupStylesheet.TheSpaceBarbariansbyMackReynoldsPARTONECOUP!ChapterOneJOHNOFTHEHAWKSbroughthissteedtoasuddenhaltjustshortofthetopofthehilltheyhadbeenascending.Someinstinctivealarmhadsounded.Somethingthereisinthewarriorbo...

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