VI

That evening they built a fire on the beach and Jason sat with his

back to the safety of the sea. He took his helmet off, the thing was

giving him a headache, and called Ijale over to him.

"I hear Ch'aka. I obey."

She ran hurriedly over to him and flopped onto the sand.

"I want to talk to you," Jason said. "And my name is Jason, not

Ch'aka."

"Yes, Ch'aka," she said, darting a quick glance at his exposed face,

then turning away. He grumbled and pushed the basket of _krenoj_ over

to her.

"I can see where it is not going to be an easy thing changing this

social setup. Tell me, do you or any of the others ever have any

desire to be free?"

"What is free?"

"Well ... I suppose that answers my question. Free is what you are

when you are not a slave, or a slave owner, free to go where you want

and do what you want."

"I wouldn't like that." She shivered. "Who would take care of me? How

could I find any _krenoj_? It takes many people together to find

_krenoj_, one alone would starve."

"If you are free, you can combine with other free people and look for

_krenoj_ together."

"That is stupid. Whoever found would eat and not share unless a master

made him. I like to eat."

Jason rasped his sprouting beard. "We all like to eat, but that

doesn't mean we have to be slaves. But I can see that unless there are

some radical changes in this environment I am not going to have much

luck in freeing anyone, and I had better take all the precautions of a

Ch'aka to see that I can stay alive."

He picked up his club and stalked off into the darkness, silently

circling the camp until he found a good-sized knoll with smooth sides.

Working by touch he pulled the little pegs from their bag and planted

them in rows, carefully laying the leather strings in their forked

tops. The ends of the strings were fastened to delicately balanced

steel bells that tinkled at the slightest touch. Thus protected he lay

down in the center of his warning spiderweb and spent a restless

night, half awake, waiting tensely for the bells to ring.

* * * * *

In the morning the march continued and they came to the barrier cairn,

and when the slaves stopped Jason urged them past it. They did this

happily, looking forward to witnessing a good fight for possession of

the violated territory. Their hopes were justified when later in the

day the other row of slaves was seen far off to the right, and a

figure detached itself and ran towards them.

"Hate you, Ch'aka!" Fasimba shouted as he ran up, only this time he

meant what he said. "Coming on my ground, I kill you!"

"Not yet," Jason called out. "And hate you, Fasimba, sorry I forgot

the formalities. I don't want any of your land and the old treaty or

whatever it is still holds. I just want to talk to you."

Fasimba stopped, but kept his stone hammer ready, very suspicious.

"You got new voice, Ch'aka."

"I got new Ch'aka, old Ch'aka now pushing up the daisies. I want to

trade back a slave from you and then we'll go."

"Ch'aka fight hard. You must be good fighter Ch'aka." He shook his

hammer angrily. "Not as good as me, Ch'aka!"

"You're the tops, Fasimba, nine slaves out of ten want you for a

master. Look, can't we get to the point, then I'll get my mob out of

here." He looked at the row of approaching slaves, trying to pick out

Mikah. "I want back the slave who had the hole in his head. I'll give

you two slaves in trade, your choice. What do you say to that?"

"Good trade, Ch'aka. You pick one of mine, take the best, I'll take

two of yours. But hole-in-head gone. Too much trouble. Talk all the

time. I got sore foot from kicking him. Got rid of him."

"Did you kill him?"

"Don't waste slave. Traded him to the D'zertanoj. Got arrows. You want

arrows?"

"Not this time, Fasimba, but thanks for the information." He rooted

around in a pouch and pulled out a _krenoj_. "Here, have something to

eat."

"Where you get poisoned _krenoj_?" Fasimba asked with interest. "I

could use a poisoned _krenoj_."

"This isn't poisoned, it's perfectly edible, or at least as edible as

these things ever are."

Fasimba laughed. "You pretty funny, Ch'aka. I give you one arrow for

poisoned _krenoj_."

"You're on," Jason said throwing the _krenoj_ to the ground between

them. "But I tell you it is perfectly good."

"That's what I tell man I give it to. I got good use for a poisoned

_krenoj_." He threw an arrow into the sand away from them and grabbed

up the vegetable as he left.

When Jason picked up the arrow it bent, and he saw that it was 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.

[Illustration: Edipon]

"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 wouldn't be seeing

you again after that little ... difficulty we had."

He remained seated while he talked, stroking the few strands of his

scraggly beard. His head was shaven smooth and as sunburned and

leathery brown as the rest of his face, the most prominent feature of

which was the magnificent prow of a nose that terminated in flaring

nostrils and was used as sturdy support for a pair of handmade

sunglasses. They appeared to be carved completely of bone and fit

tightly to the face, their flat, solid fronts were cut with thin

transverse slashes. This eye protection, the things could only have

been for weak eyes, and the network of wrinkles indicated the man was

quite old and would present no danger to Jason.

"I want something," Jason said, in straightforward, Ch'akaish manner.

"A new voice and a new Ch'aka--I bid you welcome. The old one was a

dog and I hope he died in great pain when you killed him. Now sit

friend Ch'aka and drink with me." He carefully opened the basket and

removed a stone crock and two crockery mugs.

"Where you get poison drink?" Jason asked, remembering his local

manners. This _D'zertano_ was a smart one and had been able to tell

instantly from Jason's voice that there had been a change in slaves.

"And what your name?"

"Edipon," the ancient said as, uninsulted, he put the drinking

apparatus back into the basket. "What is it that you want--within

reason that is? We always need slaves and we are always willing to

trade."

"I want slave you got. I trade you two for one."

The seated man smiled coldly from behind the shelter of his nose. "It

is not necessary to talk as ungrammatically as the coastal barbarians,

since I can tell by your accent that you are a man of education. What

slave is it that you want?"

"The one that you just received from Fasimba. He belongs to me." Jason

abandoned his linguistic ruse and put himself even more on guard,

taking a quick look around at the empty sands. This dried up old bird

was a lot brighter than he looked and he would have to stay on guard.

"Is that all you want?" Edipon asked.

"All I can think of at this moment. You produce this slave and perhaps

we can talk more business."

"I have an even better idea than that."

Edipon's laugh had very dirty overtones and Jason sprang back when the

oldster put two fingers into his mouth and whistled shrilly between

them. There was the rustle of shifting sand and Jason wheeled to see

men apparently climbing out of the empty desert, pushing back wooden

covers over which the sand had been smoothed. There were six of them,

with shields and clubs, and Jason cursed his stupidity at meeting

Edipon on a spot of the other's choosing. He swung his club behind him

but the oldster was already scampering for the safety of the rock.

Jason howled in anger and ran at the nearest man who was still only

halfway out of his hiding place. The man took Jason's blow on his

upraised shield and was toppled back into the pit by the force of it.

Jason ran on but another was ahead of him, swinging his own war club

in readiness. There was no way around so Jason ran into him at full

speed with all of his pendant teeth and horns gnashing and clattering.

The man fell back under the attack and Jason split his shield with his

club, and would have done further damage except that the other men

arrived at that moment and he had to face them.

It was a brief and wicked battle, with Jason giving just a little more

than he received. Two of the attackers were down and a third holding

his cracked head when the weight of numbers carried Jason to the

ground. He called to his slaves for aid, then cursed them when they

only remained seated, while his arms were pinioned with rope and his

weapons stripped from his body. One of the victors waved to the slaves

who now stood and docilely marched into the desert. Jason was dragged,

snarling with rage, in the same direction.

* * * * *

There was a wide opening in the desert-facing side of the wall and

once through it Jason's anger instantly vanished. Here was one of the

_caroj_ that Ijale had told him about: there could be no doubt of it.

He could now understand how, to her uneducated eye, there could exist

an uncertainty as to whether the thing was an animal or not. The

vehicle was a good ten meters long, shaped roughly like a boat, and

bore on the front a large and obviously false animal head covered with

fur and resplendent with rows of carved teeth and glistening crystal

eyes. There were hide coverings and not-too realistic legs hanging

about the thing, surely not enough camouflage to fool a sophisticated

six-year old.

[Illustration]

This sort of disguise might be good enough to take in the ignorant

savages, but the same civilized child would recognize this as a

vehicle as soon as he saw the six large wheels below. They were cut

with deep treads and made from some resilient looking substance. No

motive power was visible, but Jason almost hooted with joy at the

prominent stink of burnt fuel. This crude looking contrivance had some

artificial source of power, which might be the product of a local

industrial revolution or have been purchased from off-world traders.

Either possibility offered the chance of eventual escape from this

nameless planet.

The slaves, some of them cringing with terror of the unknown, were

kicked up the gangplank and into the _caroj_. Four of the huskies who

had subdued and bound Jason carried him up and dumped him onto the

deck where he lay quietly and examined what could be seen of the

desert-vehicle's mechanism. A post projected from the front of the

deck and one of the men fitted what could only have been a tiller

handle over the squared top of it. If this monolithic apparatus

steered with the front pair of wheels it must be driven with the rear,

so Jason flopped around on the deck until he could look towards the

stern. A cabin, the width of the deck, was situated here, windowless

and with a single inset door fitted with a grand selection of locks

and bolts. Any doubt that this was the engine room was displaced by

the black metal smokestack that rose up through the cabin roof.

"We are leaving," Edipon screeched and waved his thin arms in the air.

"Bring in the entranceway. Narsisi stand forward to indicate the way

to the _caroj_. Now--all pray as I go into the shrine to induce the

sacred powers to move us towards Putl'ko." He started towards the

cabin, then stopped to point to one of the club bearers. "Erebo you

lazy sod, did you remember to fill the watercup of the gods this time,

because they grow thirsty?"

"I filled it, I filled it," Erebo muttered, chewing on a looted

_krenoj_.

* * * * *

Preparations made, Edipon went into the recessed doorway and pulled a

concealing curtain over it. There was much clanking and rattling as

the locks and bolts were opened and he let himself inside. Within a

few minutes a black cloud of greasy smoke rolled out of the smokestack

and was whipped away by the wind. Almost an hour passed before the

sacred powers were ready to move, and they announced their willingness

to proceed by screaming and blowing their white breath up in the air.

Four of the slaves screamed counterpoint and fainted, while the rest

looked as if they would be happier off dead. Jason had had some

experience with primitive machines before so the safety valve on the

boiler came as no great surprise. He was also prepared when the

vehicle shuddered and began to move slowly out into the desert. From

the amount of smoke and the quantity of steam escaping from under the

stern he didn't think the engine was very efficient, but primitive as

it was it moved the _caroj_ and its load of passengers across the sand

at a creeping yet steady pace.

There were more screams from the slaves, and a few tried to leap over

the side but were clubbed down. The robe-wrapped D'zertanoj were

firmly working their way through the ranks of the captives, pouring

ladlefuls of dark liquid down their throats. The first ones to receive

it were already slumped unconscious or dead, though the chances were

better that they were unconscious since there was no reason for their

captors to kill them after going to such lengths to get them in the

first place. Jason believed this, but the terrified slaves did not

have the solace of his philosophy so struggled on, thinking that they

were fighting for their lives. When Jason's turn came he did not

submit meekly, in spite of his beliefs, and managed to bite some

fingers and kick one man in the stomach before they sat on him, held

his nose and poured a measure of the burning liquid down his throat.

It hurt and he was dizzy, and he tried to will himself to throw up,

but this was the last thing that he remembered.