Vance, Jack - Tschai 1 - City of the Chasch

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CITY OF THE CHASCH

TO ONE SIDE of the Explorator IV flared a dim and aging star, Carina 4269; to the other hung a

single planet, gray-brown under a heavy blanket of atmosphere. The star was distinguished only by

a curious amber cast to its light. The planet was somewhat larger than Earth, attended by a pair

of small moons with rapid periods of orbit. An almost typical K2 star, an unremarkable planet, but

for the men aboard the Explorator IV the system was a source of wonder and fascination.

In the forward control pod stood Commander Marin, Chief Officer Deale, Second Officer Walgrave:

three men similarly trim, erect, brisk of movement, wearing the same neat white uniforms, and so

much in each other's company that the wry, offhand intonations in which they spoke, the half-

sarcastic, half-facetious manner in which they phrased their thoughts, were almost identical. With

scanscopes-hand-held binocular photomultiphers, capable of enormous magnification and

amplification-they looked across to the planet.

Walgrave commented, "At casual observation, a habitable planet. Those clouds are surely water-

vapor."

"If signals emanate from a world," said Chief Officer Deale, "we almost automatically assume it to

be inhabited. Habitability follows as a natural consequence of habitation."

Commander Marin gave a dry chuckle. "Your logic, usually irrefutable, is at fault. We are

presently two hundred and twelve light-years from Earth. We received the signals twelve light-

years out; hence they were broadcast two hundred years ago. If you recall, they halted abruptly.

This world may be habitable; it may be inhabited; it may be both. But not necessarily either."

Deale gave his head a doleful shake. "On this basis, we can't even be sure that Earth is

inhabited. The tenuous evidence available to us-"

Beep beep went the communicator. "Speak!" called Commander Marin.

The voice of Dant, the communications engineer, came into the pod: "I'm picking up a fluctuating

field; I think it's artificial but I can't tune it in. It just might be some sort of radar."

Marin frowned, rubbed his nose with his knuckle. "I'll send down the scouts, then we'll back away,

out of range."

Marin spoke a code-word, gave orders to the scouts Adam Reith and Paul Waunder. "Fast as possible;

we're being detected. Rendezvous at System axis, up, Point D as in Deneb."

"Right, sir. System axis, up, Point D as in Deneb. Give us three minutes."

Commander Marin went to the macroscope and began an anxious search of the planet's surface,

clicking through a dozen wavelengths. "There's a window at about 3000 angstroms, nothing good. The

scouts will have to do all of it."

"I'm glad I never trained as a scout," remarked Second Officer Walgrave. "Otherwise I also might

be sent down upon strange and quite possibly horrid planets."

"A scout isn't trained," Deale told him. "He exists: half acrobat, half mad scientist, half cat

burglar, half-"

"That's several halves too many."

"Just barely adequate. A scout is a man who likes a change."

The scouts aboard the Explorator IV were Adam Reith and Paul Waunder. Both were men of resource

and stamina; each was master of many skills; there the resemblance ended. Reith was an inch or two

over average height, dark-haired, with a broad forehead, prominent cheekbones, rather gaunt cheeks

where showed an occasional twitch of muscle. Waunder was compact, balding, blond, with features

too ordinary for description. Waunder was older by a year or two; Reith however, held senior rank,

and was in nominal command of the scout-boat: a miniature spaceship thirty feet long, carried in a

clamp under the Explorator's stern.

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In something over two minutes they were aboard the scoutboat. Waunder went to the controls; Reith

sealed the hatch, pushed the detach-button. The scout-boat eased away from the great black hull.

Reith took his seat, and as he did so a flicker of movement registered at the corner of his

vision. He glimpsed a gray projectile darting up from the direction of the planet, then his eyes

were battered by a tremendous purple-white dazzle.

There was rending and wrenching, violent acceleration as Waunder clutched convulsively upon the

throttle, and the scout-boat went careening down toward the planet.

Where the Explorator IV had ridden space now drifted a curious object: the nose and stern of a

spaceship, joined by a few shreds of metal, with a great void between, through which burnt the old

yellow sun Carina 4269. Along with crew and technicians, Commander Marin, Chief Officer Deale,

Second Officer Walgrave had become fleeting atoms of carbon, oxygen and hydrogen, their

personalities, brisk mannerisms, and jocularity now only memories.

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CHAPTER ONE

THE SCOUT-BOAT, STRUCK rather than propelled by the shockwave, tumbled bow over stern down toward

the gray and brown planet, with Adam Reith and Paul Waunder bumping from bulkhead to bulkhead in

the control cabin.

Reith, only half-conscious, managed to seize a stanchion. Pulling himself to the panel, he struck

down the stabilization switch. Instead of a smooth hum there was hissing and thumping;

nevertheless the wild windmilling motion gradually was damped.

Reith and Waunder dragged themselves to their seats, made themselves fast. Reith asked, "Did you

see what I saw?"

"A torpedo."

Reith nodded. "The planet is inhabited."

"The inhabitants are far from cordial. That was a rough reception."

"We're a long way from home." Reith looked along the line of non-signifying dials and dead

indicator lights. "Nothing seems to be functioning. We're going to crash, unless I can make some

swift repairs." He limped aft to the engine room, to discover that a spare energy-cell, improperly

stowed, had crushed a connection box, creating a chaotic tangle of melted leads, broken crystals,

fused composites.

"I can fix it," Reith told Waunder, who had come aft to inspect the mess. "In about two months

with luck. Providing the spares are intact."

"Two months is somewhat too long," said Waunder. "I'd say we have two hours before we hit

atmosphere."

"Let's get to work."

An hour and a half later they stood back, eyeing the jury-rig with doubt and dissatisfaction.

"With luck we can land in one piece," said Reith gloomily. "You go forward, put some power into

the lifts; I'll see what happens."

A minute passed. The propulsors hummed; Reith felt the pressure of deceleration. Hoping that the

improvisations were at least temporarily sound, he went forward and resumed his seat. "What's it

look like?"

"Short range, not too bad. We'll hit atmosphere in about half an hour, somewhat under critical

velocity. We can come down to a soft landing-I hope. The long-range prognosis-not so good. Whoever

hit the ship with a torpedo can follow us down with radar. Then what?"

"Nothing good," said Reith.

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The planet below broadened under their view: a world dimmer and darker than Earth, bathed in tawny

golden light. They now could see continents and oceans, clouds, storms: the landscape of a mature

world.

The atmosphere whined around the car; the temperature gauge rose sharply toward the red mark.

Reith cautiously fed more power through the makeshift circuits. The boat slowed, the needle

quivered, sank back toward a comfortable level. There came a soft report from the engine room and

the boat began to fall free once more.

"Here we go again," said Reith. "Well, it's up to the airfoils now. Better get into ejection

harness." He swung out the sideflaps, extended the elevators and rudder and the boat hissed down

at a slant. He asked, "How does the atmosphere check out?"

Waunder read the various indices of the analyzer. "Breathable. Close to Earth normal."

"That's one small favor."

Looking through scanscopes, they could now observe detail. Below spread a wide plain or a steppe,

marked here and there with low relief and vegetation. "No sign of civilization," said Waunder.

"Not below, at any rate. Maybe up there, by the horizon-those gray spots ..."

"If we can land the boat, if no one disturbs us while we rebuild the control system, we'll be in

good shape ... But these airfoils aren't intended for a fast landing in the rough. We'd better try

to stall her down and eject at the last instant."

"Right," said Waunder. He pointed. "That looks like a forest-vegetation of some sort. The ideal

spot for a crash."

"Down we go."

The boat slanted down; the landscape expanded. The fronds of a dank black forest reached into the

air ahead of them.

"On the count of three: eject," said Reith. He pulled the boat up into a stall, braking its

motion. "One-two-three. Eject!"

The ejection ports opened; the seats thrust; out into the air snapped Reith. But where was

Waunder? His harness had fouled, or the seat had failed to eject properly; and he dangled

helplessly outside the boat. Reith's parachute opened, swung him up pendulum-wise. On the way down

he struck a glossy black limb of a tree. The blow dazed him; he swung at the end of his parachute

shrouds. The boat careened through the trees, plowed into a bog, Paul Waunder hung motionless in

his harness.

There was silence except for the creaking of hot metal, a faint hiss from somewhere under the

boat.

Reith stirred, kicked feebly. The motion sent pain tearing through his shoulders and chest; he

desisted and hung limp.

The ground was fifty feet below. The sunlight, as he had noted before, seemed rather more dim and

yellow than the sunlight of Earth, and the shadows held an amber overtone. The air was aromatic

with the scent of unfamiliar resins and oils; he was caught in a tree with glossy black limbs and

brittle black foliage which made a rattling sound when he moved. He could look along the broken

swath to the bog, where the boat sat almost on an even keel, Waunder hanging head-down from the

ejection hatch, his face only inches from the muck. If the boat should settle, he would smother-if

he was still alive even now. Reith struggled frantically to untangle himself from his harness. The

pain made him dizzy and sick; there was no strength in his hands, and when he raised his arms

there were clicking sounds in his shoulders. He was helpless to free himself, let alone assist

Waunder. Was he dead? Reith could not be sure. Waunder, he thought, had twitched feebly.

Reith watched intently. Waunder was slipping slowly into the mire. In the ejection seat was a

survival kit with weapons and tools. With his broken bones he could not raise his arms to reach

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the clasp. If he detached himself from the shrouds he would fall and kill himself... No help for

it. Broken shoulder, broken collarbone or not, he must open the ejection seat, bring forth the

knife and the coil of rope.

There was a sound, not too far distant, of wood striking wood. Reith desisted in his efforts, hung

quietly. A troop of men armed with fancifully long rapiers and heavy hand-catapults marched

quietly, almost furtively, below.

Reith stared dumbfounded, suspecting hallucination. The cosmos seemed partial to biped races, more

or less anthropoid; but these were true men: people with harsh, strong features, honey-colored

skin, blond, blond-brown, blond-gray hair and bushy drooping mustaches. They wore complicated

garments: loose trousers of striped brown and black cloth, dark blue or dark red shirts, vests of

woven metal strips, short black capes. Their hats were black leather, folded and creased with out-

turned earflaps, each with a silver emblem four inches across at the front of a tall crown. Reith

watched in amazement. Barbarian warriors, a wandering band of cutthroats: but true men,

nonetheless, here on this unknown world over two hundred light-years from Earth!

The warriors passed quietly below, stealthy and furtive. They paused in the shadows to survey the

boat, then the leader, a warrior younger than the rest, no more than a youth and lacking a

mustache, stepped out into the open and examined the sky. He was joined by three older men,

wearing globes of pink and blue glass on their helmets, who also searched the sky with great care.

Then the youth signaled to the others, and all approached the boat.

Paul Waunder raised his hand in the feeblest of salutes. One of the men with the glass globes

snatched up his catapult, but the youth yelled an angry order and the man sullenly turned away.

One of the warriors cut the parachute shrouds, let Waunder fall to the ground.

The youth gave other orders; Waunder was picked up and carried to a dry area.

The youth now turned to investigate the space-boat. Boldly he clambered up on the hull and looked

in through the ejection ports.

The older men with the pink and blue globes stood back in the shadows, muttering dourly through

their drooping whiskers and glowering toward Waunder. One of them clapped his hand to the emblem

on his hat as if the object had jerked or made a sound. Then, at once, as if stimulated by the

contact, he stalked upon Waunder, drew his rapier, brought it flickering down. To Reith's horror

Paul Waunder's head rolled free of his torso, and his blood gushed forth to soak into the black

soil.

The youth seemed to sense the act and swung about. He cried out in fury, leaped to the ground,

marched over to the murderer. The youth snatched forth his own rapier, flicked it and the flexible

end slashed in to cut away the emblem from the man's hat. The youth picked it up, and pulling a

knife from his boot hacked savagely at the soft silver, then cast it down at the murderer's feet

with a spate of bitter words. The murderer, cowed, picked up the emblem and moved sullenly off to

the side.

From a great distance came a throb of sound. The warriors set up a soft hooting, either as a

ceremonial response or in fear and mutual admonition, and quickly retreated into the forest.

Low in the sky appeared an aircraft, which first hovered, then settled: a sky-raft fifty feet

long, twenty feet wide, controlled from an ornate belvedere at the stern. Forward and aft great

lanterns dangled from convolute standards; the bulwarks were guarded by a squat balustrade.

Leaning over the balustrade, pushing and jostling, were two dozen passengers, in imminent danger,

so it seemed, of falling to the ground.

Reith watched in numb fascination as the craft landed beside the scout-boat. The passengers jumped

quickly off: individuals of two sorts, non-human and human, though this distinction was not

instantly obvious. The non-human creatures-Blue Chasch, as Reith was to learn-walked on short

heavy legs, moving with a stiff-legged strut. The typical individual was massive and powerful,

scaled like a pangolin with blue pointed tablets. The torso was wedge-shaped, with exoskeletal

epaulettes of chitin curving over into a dorsal carapace. The skull rose to a bony point; a heavy

brow jutted over the ocular holes, glittering metallic eyes and the complicated nasal orifice. The

men were as similar to the Blue Chasch as breeding, artifice and mannerism allowed. They were

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short, stocky, with bandy-legs; their faces were blunt and almost chinless, with the features

compressed. They wore what appeared to be false craniums which rose to a point and beetled over

their foreheads; and their jerkins and trousers were worked with scales.

Chasch and Chaschmen ran to the scout-boat, communicating in fluting glottal cries. Some clambered

up the hull, peered into the interior, others investigated the head and torso of Paul Waunder,

which they picked up and carried aboard the raft.

From the control belvedere came a bawled alarm. Blue Chasch and Chaschmen looked up into the sky,

then hurriedly pushed the raft under the trees and out of sight. Once again the little clearing

was deserted.

Minutes passed. Reith closed his eyes and considered the evil nightmare from which he hoped to

wake, secure aboard the Explorator.

&npsb: A thudding of engines aroused him from torpor. Down from the sky sank still another

vehicle: an airship which, like the raft, had been built with small regard for aerodynamic

efficiency. There were three decks, a central rotunda, balconies of black wood and copper, a

scrolled prow, observation cupolas, weapon ports, a vertical fin displaying a gold and black

insignia. The ship hovered while those on the decks gave the space-boat a fastidious inspection.

Some of these were not human, but tall attenuated creatures, hairless, pale as parchment, with

austere countenances, languid and elegant attitudes. Others, apparently subordinates, were men,

though they displayed the same attenuated arms, legs and torso, the sheep-like mannerisms. Both

races wore elaborate costumes of ribbons, flounces, sashes. Later Reith would know the non-human

folk as Dirdir and their human subordinates as Dirdirmen. At the moment, dazed by the immensity of

his disaster, he noted the splendid Dirdir airship only with disinterested wonder. The thought,

however, seeped into his mind that either these tall pale folk or their predecessors at the scene

had destroyed the Explorator IV, and both had evidently tracked the arrival of the scout-boat.

Dirdir and Dirdirmen scrutinized the space-boat with keen interest. One of them called attention

to the print left by the Chasch raft, and the discovery created an instant atmosphere of

emergency. Instantly from the forest came stabs of purple-white energy; Dirdir and Dirdirmen fell

writhing. Chasch and Chaschmen charged forth, Chasch firing hand-weapons, Chaschmen running to

throw grapples at the ship.

The Dirdir discharged their own hand-weapons, which exuded a violet flare and whorls of orange

plasma; Chasch and Chaschmen were consumed in a purple and orange blaze. The Dirdir ship lifted,

to be constrained by grapples. The Dirdirmen hacked with knives, burnt with energy pistols; the

ship broke free, to fluting cries of disappointment from the Chasch.

A hundred feet above the bog the Dirdir turned heavy plasma-beams upon the forest and burnt a

series of reeking avenues, but failed to destroy the raft, from which the Chasch were now aiming

their own great mortars. The first Chasch projectile missed. The second struck the ship under the

hull; it slewed around under the impact, then gave a great dart off into the sky, flitting,

lurching, jerking like a wounded insect, upside-down, then right-side up, with Dirdir and

Dirdirmen falling off, black specks drifting down the slate-colored sky. The ship veered south,

then east and presently was lost to sight.

Chasch and Chaschmen came forth to gaze after the Dirdir ship. The raft slid forth from the

forest, hovered over the scoutboat. Grapples were dropped; the boat was lifted from the mire.

Chasch and Chaschmen climbed aboard the raft; it slanted up into the air and moved off to the

northeast, with the space-boat slung below.

Time passed. Reith hung in his harness, barely conscious. The sun settled behind the trees;

dimness began to drift over the landscape.

The barbarians reappeared. They went to the clearing, made a desultory inspection, looked up into

the sky, then turned away.

Reith gave a hoarse call. The warriors snatched out their catapults, but the youth made a furious

gesture to restrain them. He gave orders; two men climbed the tree, cut the parachute shrouds to

leave the ejection seat and Reith's survival gear swinging in the branches.

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Reith was lowered to the ground, none too gently, and his senses went dim at the grating of bones

in his shoulder. Forms loomed above him, speaking in harsh consonants and broad vowels. he was

lifted, placed in a litter; he felt the thud and swing of footsteps; then he either fainted or

fell asleep.

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CHAPTER TWO

REITH AWOKE To the flicker of firelight, the murmur of voices. Above was a dark canopy, to either

side a sky full of strange stars. The nightmare was real. Aspect by aspect, sensation by

sensation, Reith took stock of himself and his condition. He lay on a pallet of woven reeds which

exuded a sourish odor, half-vegetable, half-human. His shirt had been removed; a harness of withe

constricted his shoulders and provided support for his broken bones. Painfully he raised his head

and looked around. He lay in an open-sided shelter of metal poles covered with fabric. Another

paradox, thought Reith. The metal poles indicated a high level of technology; the weapons and

manners of the people were purely barbaric. Reith tried to look toward the fire, but the effort

pained him and he lay back.

The camp was in the open country; the forest had been left behind; so much was evident from the

stars. He wondered about his ejection seat and the attached survival pack. Seat and pack had been

left dangling, so he recalled to his regret. He had only himself and his innate resources to

depend upon-a quality somewhat augmented by the training forced upon a scout, some of which Reith

had considered pedantic over-elaboration. He had assimilated vast quantities of basic science,

linguistic and communication theory, astronautics, space and energy technology, biometrics,

meteorology, geology, toxicology. So much was theory; additionally he had trained in practical

survival techniques of every description: weaponry, attack and defense, emergency nutrition,

rigging and hoisting, space-drive mechanics, electronic repair and improvisation. If he was not

killed out of hand, as had been Paul Waunder, he would live-but to what purpose? His chances of

returning to Earth must be considered infinitesimal, which made the intrinsic interest of the

planet less stimulating.

A shadow fell across his face; Reith saw the youth who had saved his life. After peering through

the dark the youth kneeled down, proffered a bowl of coarse gruel.

"Thanks very much," said Reith. "But I don't think I can eat; I'm constricted by the splints."

The youth leaned forward, speaking in a rather curt voice. Reith thought his face strangely stern

and intense for a boy who could not be more than sixteen years old.

With great exertion Reith pulled himself up on his elbow and took the gruel. The youth rose, moved

a few paces back, stood watching as Reith tried to feed himself. Then he turned and called a gruff

summons. A small girl came running forward. She bowed, took the bowl and began to feed Reith with

earnest care.

The boy watched a moment, evidently mystified by Reith, and Reith was perplexed no less. Men and

women, on a world two hundred and twelve light-years from Earth! Parallel evolution? Incredible!

Spoonful by spoonful the gruel was placed in his mouth. The girl, about eight years old, wore a

ragged pajama-like garment, not too clean. A half-dozen men of the tribe came to watch; there was

a growl of conversation which the youth ignored.

The bowl was empty; the girl held a mug of sour beer to Reith's mouth. Reith drank because it was

expected of him, though the brew puckered his lips. "Thank you," he told the girl, who returned a

diffident smile and quickly departed.

Reith lay back on the pallet. The youth spoke to him in a brusque voice: evidently a question.

"Sorry," said Reith. "I don't understand. But don't be irritated; I need every friend I can get."

The youth spoke no more and presently departed. Reith leaned back on his pallet and tried to

sleep. The firelight flickered low; activity in the camp dwindled.

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From far off came a faint call, half howl, half quavering hoot, which was presently answered by

another, and another, to become an almost identical chanting of hundreds of voices. Raising up on

his elbow once more, Reith saw that the two moons, of equal apparent diameter, one pink, the other

pale blue, had appeared in the east.

A moment later a new voice, nearer at hand, joined the far ululation. Reith listened in wonder;

surely this was the voice of a woman? Other voices joined the first, wailing a wordless dirge,

which, joined to the far hooting, produced a colloquy of vast woe.

The chant at last halted; the camp became quiet. Reith became drowsy and fell asleep.

In the morning Reith saw more of the camp. It lay in a swale between a pair of broad low hills,

among multitudes rolling off to the east. Here for reasons not immediately apparent to Reith the

tribesmen elected to sojourn. Each morning four young warriors wearing long brown cloaks mounted

small electric motorcycles and set off in different directions across the steppe. Each evening

they returned, to make detailed reports to Traz Onmale the boyruler. Every morning a great kite

was paid out, hoisting aloft a boy of eight or nine, whose function was evidently that of a

lookout. Late in the afternoon the wind tended to die, dropping the kite more or less easily. The

boy usually escaped with no more than a bump, though the men handling the lines seemed to worry

more for the safety of the kite; a four-winged contraption of black membrane stretched over wooden

splints.

Each morning, from beyond the hill to the east, sounded a fearful squealing, which persisted for

almost half an hour. The tumult, Reith presently learned, arose from the herd of multilegged

animals from which the tribe derived meat. Each morning the tribe butcher, a woman six feet tall

and brawny to match, went through the herd with a knife and a cleaver, to excise three or four

legs for the needs of the day. Occasionally she cut flesh from a beast's back, or reached through

a wound to carve chunks from an internal organ. The beasts made little protest at the excision of

their legs, which soon renewed themselves, but performed prodigies of complaint when their bodies

were entered.

While Reith's bones mended his only contacts were with women, a spiritless group, and with Traz

Onmale, who spent the greater part of each morning with Reith, talking, inspecting Reith's

habiliments, teaching the Kruthe language. This was syntactically regular but rendered difficult

by scores of tenses, moods and aspects. Long after Reith was able to express himself, Traz Onmale,

in the stern manner so much at odds with his years, would correct him and indicate still another

intricacy of usage.

The world was Tschai, so Reith learned; the moons were Az and Braz. The tribesmen were Kruthe or

"Emblem Men," after the devices of silver, copper, stone and wood which they wore on their hats. A

man's status was established by his emblem, which was reckoned a semidivine entity in itself, with

a name, detailed history, idiosyncrasies and rank. It was not too much to say that rather than the

man carrying the emblem, the emblem controlled the man, as it gave him his name and reputation,

and defined his tribal role. The most exalted emblem was Onmale, carried by Traz, who prior to

assuming the emblem had been an ordinary lad of the tribe. Onmale was the embodiment of wisdom,

craft, resolution and the indefinable Kruthe virtu. A man might inherit an emblem, take possession

after killing its owner, or fabricate a new emblem for himself. In the latter case, the new emblem

held no personality or virtu until it had participated in noteworthy feats and so acquired status.

When an emblem changed hands the new owner willy-nilly assumed the personality of the emblem.

Certain emblems were mutually antagonistic, and a man coming into possession of one of these at

once became the enemy of the holder of the other. Certain emblems were thousands of years old,

with complex histories; some were fey and carried a weight of doom; others impelled the wearer to

hardihood or some specific sort of berserker elan. Reith was sure that his perception of the

symbolic personalities was pale and gray compared to the intensity of the Kruthe's own

comprehensions. Without his emblem the tribesman was a man without a face, without prestige or

function. He was in fact what Reith presently learned himself to be; a helot, or a woman, the

words in the Kruthe language being the same.

Curiously, or so it seemed to Reith, the Emblem Men believed him to be a man from a remote region

of Tschai. Far from respecting him for his presence aboard the space-boat, they thought him a

subordinate to some non-human race unknown to them, as the Chaschmen were subordinate to the Blue

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Chasch, or the Dirdirmen to the Dirdir.

When Reith first heard Traz Onmale express this point of view, he refuted the idea indignantly. "I

am from Earth, a far planet; we are not ruled by anyone."

"Who built the space-boat then?" Traz Onmale asked in a skeptical voice.

"Men, naturally. Men of Earth."

Traz Onmale gave his head a dubious shake. "How could there be men so far from Tschai?"

Reith gave a laugh of bitter amusement. "I've been asking myself the same question: How did men

come to Tschai?"

"The origin of men is well-known," said Traz Onmale in a frigid voice. "We are taught this as soon

as we can speak. Did you not receive the same instruction?"

"On Earth we believe that men evolved from a protohominid, which in turn derived from an ancient

mammal; and so on back to the first cells."

Traz Onmale looked askance at the women who worked nearby. He gave them a brusque signal. "Be off,

we are discussing men's matters."

The women departed with clacking tongues, and Traz Onmale looked after them in disgust. "The

foolishness will be all over camp. The magicians will be annoyed. I must explain to you the true

source of men. You have seen the moons. The pink moon is Az, abode of the blessed. The blue moon

is Braz, a place of torment, where evil folk and kruthsh' geir* are sent after death. Long ago the

moons collided; thousands of folk were dislodged and fell to Tschai. All now seek to return to Az,

good and evil alike. But the Judgers, who derive wisdom from the globes they wear, separate good

men from the bad and send them to appropriate destinations.

"Interesting," said Reith. "What of the Chasch and the Dirdir?"

"They are not men. They came to Tschai from beyond the stars, as did the Wankh; Chaschmen and

Dirdirmen are unclean hybrids. Pnume and Phung are spew of the northern caves. We kill all with

zeal." He regarded Reith sidelong, brows knit severely. "If you derive from a world other than

Tschai, you cannot be a man, and I should order you killed."

"That seems overly harsh," said Reith. "After all, I have done you no harm."

Traz Onmale made a gesture to indicate that the argument had no relevance. "I will defer

judgment."

Reith exercised his stiff limbs, and diligently studied the language. The Kruthe, he learned, held

to no fixed range, but wandered the vast Aman Steppe, which spread across the south of the

continent known as Kotan. They had no great knowledge of conditions elsewhere on Tschai. There

were other continents--Kislovan to the south; Charchan, Kachan, Rakh on the other side of the

world. Other nomad tribes roamed the steppe; in the marshes and forests to the south lived ogres

and cannibals, with a variety of supernatural powers. The Blue Chasch were established to the far

west of Kotan; the Dirdir, who preferred a cold climate, lived on Haulk, a peninsula reached south

and west of Kislovan, and on the northeast coast of Charchan.

Another alien race, the Wankh, were also established on Tschai, but the Emblem Men knew little of

these folk. Native to Tschai was an eerie race known as the Pnume, also their mad relatives, the

Phung, regarding whom the Kruthe were reluctant to speak, lowering their voices and looking over

their shoulders when they did so.

Time passed: days of bizarre events, nights of despair and longing for Earth. Reith's bones began

to knit and he unobtrusively explored the camp.

About fifty sheds had been erected in the lee of the hill, the roofs butted end to end to form

what from the air would seem a fold or declivity on the hillside. Beyond the sheds was a cluster

of enormous six-wheeled motor drays, camouflaged under tarpaulins. Reith was awed by the bulk of

the vehicles and would have examined them more closely were it not for the band of sallow urchins

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which followed him about, attentive to his every move. Intuitively they sensed his strangeness and

were fascinated. The warriors, however, ignored him; a man without an emblem was little more than

a ghost.

At the far end of camp Reith found an enormous machine mounted on a truck: a giant catapult with a

thrust-arm fifty feet long. A siege engine? On one side was painted a pink disc, on the other a

blue disc: reference, so Reith assumed, to the moons Az and Braz.

Days passed, weeks, a month. Reith could not understand the inactivity of the tribe. They were

nomads; why did they keep so long to this particular camp? Every day the four scouts rode forth,

while overhead swung the black kite, veering and dipping while the rider's legs swung doll-like

back and forth. The warriors were clearly restive, and occupied themselves practicing the use of

their weapons. These were of three sorts: a long flexible rapier with a cutting and stabbing tip,

like the tail of a ray: a catapult, which used the energy of elastic cables to shoot short

feathered bolts; a triangular shield, a foot in length, nine inches across the base, with sharp

elongated corners and razor-sharp side-edges serving additionally as a thrusting and hacking

weapon.

Reith was tended first by the eight-year-old urchin, then by a small hunched crone with a face

like a raisin, then by a girl who, were it not for her joylessness, might have been attractive.

She was perhaps eighteen years old, with regular features, fine blonde hair typically tangled with

twigs and bits of fodder. She went barefoot, wearing only a smock of coarse gray homespun.

One day, as Reith sat on a bench, the girl came past. Reith caught her around the waist, pulled

her down upon his knee. She smelled of furze and bracken, and the moss of the steppes, and a

faintly sour scent of wool. She asked in a husky alarmed voice, "What do you want of me?" And she

tried half-heartedly to rise.

Reith found her warm weight comforting. "First, I'll comb the twigs from your hair ... Sit still

now." She relaxed, eyes turned sidelong at Reith; puzzled, submissive, uneasy. Reith combed her

hair, first with his fingers, then with a chip of broken wood. The girl sat quietly.

"There," said Reith presently. "You look nice."

The girl sat as in a dream. Presently she stirred, rose to her feet. "I must go," she said in a

hurried voice. "Someone might see." But she lingered. Reith started to pull her back, then thought

better of the impulse and let her hurry away.

The next day she chanced past again, and this time her hair was combed and clean. She paused to

look over her shoulder, and Reith could remember the same glance, the same attitude from a hundred

occasions on Earth; and the thought made him sick with melancholy. At home the girl would be

reckoned beautiful; here on Aman Steppe, she had no more than a dim awareness of such matters ...

He held out his hand to her; she approached, as if drawn against her will, which was undoubtedly

the case, for she knew the ways of her tribe. Reith put his hands on her shoulders, then around

her waist, kissed her. She seemed puzzled. Reith asked, smiling, "Hasn't anyone done that before?"

"No. But it's nice. Do it again."

Reith heaved a deep sigh. Well, why not? ... A step behind him: a buffet sent him sprawling to the

ground, accompanied by a spate of words too fast for his understanding. A booted foot struck into

his ribs, sending shivers of pain through his mending shoulder.

The man advanced on the cringing girl, who stood with fists pressed to her mouth. He struck her,

kicked her, pushed her out into the compound, cursing and bawling insults: "disgusting intimacy

with an outland slave; is this your regard for the purity of the race?"

"Slave?" Reith picked himself up from the floor of the shed. The word rang in his mind. Slave?

The girl ran off to huddle under one of the towering wagons. Traz Onmale came to look into the

uproar. The warrior, a stalwart buck of about Reith's own age, pointed a quivering finger toward

Reith. "He is a curse, a dark omen! Was not all this foretold? Intolerable that he should spawn

among our women! He must be killed, or gelded!"

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Traz Onmale looked dubiously toward Reith. "It seems that he did small damage."

"Small damage indeed! But only because I happened past! With so much energy for ardor, why is he

not put out to work? Must we pamper his belly while he sits on pillows? Geld him and set him to

toil with the women!"

Traz Onmale gave a reluctant assent, and Reith, with a sinking heart, thought of his survival kit

dangling from the tree, with its drugs, transcom, spanscope, energy pack, and, most especially,

weapons. For all their present benefit to him they might as well be with the Explorator IV.

Traz Onmale had summoned the butcher-woman. "Bring a sharp knife. The slave must be made placid."

"Wait!" gasped Reith. "Is this any way to treat a stranger? Have you no tradition of hospitality?"

"No," said Traz Onmale. "We do not. We are the Kruthe, driven by the force of our Emblems."

"This man struck me," protested Reith. "Is he a coward? Will he fight? What if I took his emblem

from him? Would I not then be entitled to his place in the tribe?"

"The emblem itself is the place," Traz Onmale admitted. "This man Osom is the vehicle for the

emblem Vaduz. Without Vaduz he would be no better than you. But if Vaduz is content with Osom, as

must be so, you could never take Vaduz."

"I can try."

"Conceivably. But you are too late; here is the butcherwoman. Be good enough to disrobe."

Reith turned a horrified glance upon the woman, whose shoulders were broader than his own and

inches thicker, and who advanced upon him wearing a face-splitting grin.

"There is still time," muttered Reith. "Ample time." He turned upon Osom Vaduz, who snatched forth

his rapier with a shrill whine of steel against hard leather. But Reith had stepped in close,

within the six-foot reach of the blade. Osom Vaduz tried to leap back; Reith caught his arm, which

was hard as steel; in his present condition Osom Vaduz was by far the stronger man. Osom Vaduz

gave his arm a mighty jerk to fling Reith to the ground. Reith pulled in the same direction, swung

around to drag Osom Vaduz reeling off-balance. Reith thrust up his shoulder, Osom Vaduz rolled

across his hip and crashed to the ground. Reith kicked him in the head, grounding his heel into

Osom Vaduz's throat, to crush the windpipe. As Osom Vaduz lay twitching and croaking his hat

rolled off; Reith reached for it but the Chief Magician snatched it away.

"No, by no means!" cried the magician in a passion. "This is not our law. You are a slave; a slave

you remain!"

"Must I kill you too?" asked Reith, edging ominously forward.

"Enough!" cried Traz Onmale peremptorily. "There has been enough killing. No more!"

"What of the emblem?" asked Reith. "Do you not agree it is mine?"

"I must consider," declared the youth. "In the meanwhile, no more. Butcher-woman, take the body to

the pyre. Where are the Judgers? Let them come forth and judge this Osom who carried Vaduz.

Emblems, bring forth the engine!"

Reith moved off to the side. A few minutes later he approached Traz Onmale. "If you wish, I will

leave the tribe and go off by myself."

"You will know my wishes when they are formulated," declared the lad, with the absolute

decisiveness conferred upon him by the Onmale. "Remember, you are my slave; I ordered back the

blades which would have killed you. If you try to escape, you will be tracked, taken, flogged.

Meanwhile you must gather fodder."

It seemed to Reith as if Traz Onmale were straining for severity, perhaps to divert attention-his

own as well as everyone else's-from the unpleasant order he had given to the butcherwoman and

which, by implication, he had rescinded.

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