The Virgin of Zesh & the Tower of Zanid (20 page)

XI

“What is?” asked Dr. Julian Fredro.

Fallon explained. “Everything’s ready for our invasion of the Safq. I’ve even got a plan of the ground floor. Here?”

He showed Fredro the plan that he had drawn from memory, as soon as he had bidden farewell to Kordaq and had acquired a pencil and a pad of paper at a shop in the Kharju.

“Good, good,” said Fredro. “When is this to be?”

“Tomorrow night. But you’ll have to come with me now to order your costume.”

Fredro looked doubtful. “I am writing important report for
Przeglad Archeologiczny
. . .”

Fallon held up a hand. “That’ll wait—this won’t. It’ll take my tailor the rest of the day to make the robes. Besides, tomorrow is the only Full Rite of Yesht for three ten-nights. Something to do with astrological conjunctions. And the Full Rite is the only one where they have such a crowd of priests that we could slip in among them unnoticed. So it’ll have to be tomorrow night.”

“Oh, very well. Wait till I get coat.”

They left the ’Avrud Terrao, or Terran Hotel, and walked to the shop of Ve’quir the Exclusive. Fallon got Ve’qir aside and asked, “You’re a Bákhite, aren’t you?”

“Aye, Master Antané. Wherefore ask you?”

“I wanted to be sure you wouldn’t have religious objections to filling my order.”

“By Qarar’s club, sir, ’tis an ominous note you sound! What order’s this?”

“Two robes of priests of Yesht, third grade . . .”

“Why, have you gentiles been admitted to that priesthood?”

“No, but we want them anyway.”

“Oh, sir! Should it become known, I have many customers among the Yeshtites . . .”

“It shan’t become known. But you’ll have to make them with your own hands, and we have to have them right away, too.”

The couturier grumped and fussed and squirmed, but Fallon finally talked him round.

Most of the morning was spent in the back room of the shop being measured and fitted. This proved not too difficult, as the loose, tentlike robes which the cult of Yesht decreed for its priesthood had to fit only approximately. Ve’qir promised the garments by the following noon, so Fallon and Fredro separated, the latter to return to the ’Avrud Terrao to resume work on his article.

Fallon said in parting, “You’ll have to get rid of those whiskers too, old man.”

“Shave my little beard? Never! Have worn this beard on five different planets! I have right to wear . . .”

Fallon shrugged. “Suit yourself, but you can’t pass as a Krishnan then. They’ve got hardly any hair on their faces.”

Fredro grumpily gave in, and they agreed to meet the following morning, pick up the robes, and go to Fallon’s house to rehearse the ritual.

Fallon went thoughtfully back to the Juru, had lunch, and returned home. As he neared his house he observed a little wooden arrow hanging by a string from the doorknob.

With a grunt of displeasure, Fallon lifted the object off its support. This meant that there would be a meeting of all members of the Juru Company at the armory that evening. No doubt this meeting was connected with the rising peril of Qaath.

###

Captain Kordaq faced the assembled Juru Company—two hundred and seventeen organisms. About half were Krishnans; the rest were Earthmen, Thothians, Osirians, and so on.

He cleared his throat and said, “You’ve no doubt heard the rumors that have been buzzing around the Qaathian question like chidebs about a ripe cadaver, and have surmised that you’ve been called hither on that account. I’ll not deceive you—you have. And though I’m but a rude and taciturn soldier, I’ll essay to set before you in three words the causes thereof.

“As you all know—and as some of you recall from personal and painsome experience—’twas but seven years ago than the Kamuran of Qaath (may Dupulán bury him in filth) smote us at Tajrosh and scattered our warriors to the winds. This battle bereft us of mastery of the Pandrate of Jo’ol, which theretofore had stood as a buffer ’twixt us and the wild men of the steppes. Ghuur’s mounted archers swarmed all over that land like a plague of zi’dams, and Ghuur himself received the homage of the Pandr of Jo’ol, who in sooth could do little else. Since then Jo’ol hath remained independent in name, but its Pardr looks to Ghuur of Uriq for protection ’stead of to our own government.”

“If we had a king in his right mind . . .” somebody said from the back, but the interrupter was quickly shushed.

“There shall be no disrespect for the royal house,” said Kordaq sternly. “While I, too, am aware of His Altitude’s tragic indisposition, yet the monarchy—and not the man—is what we owe allegiance to. To continue: Since then, mighty Ghurr hath spread his pestilent power, subduing Dhaukia and Suria and adding them to his ever-growing empire. His cavalry have borne their victorious arms to the stony Madhiq Mountains, to the marshes of Lake Khaast, and even to the unknown lands of Ghobbejd and Yeramis—hitherto little more to us than names on the edge of the map, tenanted by headless men and polymorphic monsters.

“Why, you may well ask, did he not smite Balhib before sending his banner into such distant territories? Because, though we may have degenerated from our greatest days, we’re still a martial race, tempered like steel betwixt the hammer of the Jungava and the anvil of the other Varasto nations, to whom we’ve served these many centuries as a shield against the inroads of the steppe folk. And though Ghuur vanquished us at Tajrosh, he was so mauled in the doing that he lacked force to push across the border into Balhib proper.

“Now, having bound many nations to his chariot, the barbarian hath at last collected force enough to try handstrokes with us again. His armies have swept into unresisting Jo’ol. Any hour we may hear that they have crossed our border. Scouts report that they are as grains of sand for multitude—that their shafts blacken the sun and their soldiery drink the rivers dry. Besides the dreaded mounted archery of Qaath, there are footmen from Suria, dragoons from Dhaukia, longbowmen from Madhiq, and men of far fantastic tribes in sunset lands never heard of among the Varastuma. And rumors speak of novel instruments of war, ne’er before seen upon this planet.

“Do I tell you this to affright you? Nay. For we, too, have our strength. I need not recite to you the past glories of Balhibou arms.” (Kordaq reeled off a long list of events unnecessary to mention.)

“But besides our own strong left arms we have something new. ’Tis a weapon of such fell puissance that a herd of wild bishtars could not stand before it! If all goes well ’twill be ready by Fiveday’s drill—three days hence. Prepare yourselves for stirring action!

“Now, another matter, my chicks. The Juru Company’s notorious in Zanid’s guard for lack of uniform—wherefore you’re not to be blamed. By your weird diversity of form you defeat the very purpose of a uniform. However, some measure must be taken, lest you find yourselves upon the field of furious battle without means of telling friend from foe, and so be swallowed in confusion and swept into ill-deserved oblivion by your own side’s ignorant arms, as happened to Sir Zidzuresh in the legend.

“I’ve searched the arsenal and found this pile of ancient helms. ’Tis true they be badly scarred by the subtle demon of rust, albeit the armorers have ground and scoured them to oust the worst corrosion. But at least they’re all of a pattern, and in want of other means of identification they’ll distinguish the heroes of the Juru as well as protect your skulls.

“In addition, the proper uniform of the Juru Company—as well you know—comprises a red jacket with one white band sewn to the right sleeve, and not these trifling brassards you wear on patrol. Therefore if any of you hath aught in his closet that could serve this vital turn, let him bring it forth. Its cut matters little, so that it be red. Then set you your sisters and jagainis to sewing white bands upon the sleeves. No petty foppery is this—your lives may hang upon your diligence in giving substance to this command!

“One more matter, also a thing of weight and moment. It hath come to the government’s keen and multitudinous ears that agents of the accursed Ghuur do slink like spooks about our sacred city. Guard, then, your tongues, and watch lest any fellow citizen display unwonted curiosity in manners of no just concern to him! If we catch one of these rascals in his slimy turpitudes, his fate shall make the historian’s pen to shake and the reader thereof to shudder in generations to come!

“Now form a line for the fitting and distribution of these antique sconces, and may you wear them like the heroes stout who bore them in the great days of yore!”

As he lined up to get his helmet, Fallon reflected that Kordaq had not been very discreet himself that morning. It also occurred to him what a fine joke it would be if he, Anthony Fallon, were killed because of some of the information that he had sold to the opposing side.

Fallon was lured into Savaich’s on his way home, and spent hours there talking and drinking with his cronies. Therefore he again slept late the following morning and hastened to cross the city to pick up Fredro at the Terrao.

It seemed to him that a subtle excitement ran through the city. On the omnibus, he caught snatches of conversation about the new events:

“. . . aye, sir, ’tis said the Jungava have a force of bishtars, twice the size of ours, which can be driven in wild stampede through the lines of their foes . . .” “Methinks our generals are fools, to send our boys off to the distant prairies to fight. ’Twere better to wait until the foe’s here, and meet them upon our own ground . . .” “All this stir and armament is but a provocation to Ghuur of Uriiq. Did we but remain tranquil, sir, he’d never bethink himself of us . . .” “Nay, ’tis a weak and degenerate age, sir. In our grandsires’ time we’d have spat in the barbarian’s face . . .”

Fallon found the archeologist typing on his little portable an article in his native language, which, as Fallon glanced over his shoulder, seemed to consist mainly of z’s, j’s, and w’s. Fredro’s chin and lip were still adorned with the mustache and goatee, which he had simply forgotten to remove.

Fallon nagged his man until the latter came out of his fog, and they walked to the shop of Ve’qir the Exclusive. After an hour’s wait they set out, with their robes in a bundle under Fredro’s arm, for Fallon’s home. The omnibus was clopping past Zanid’s main park, south of the House of Judgment between the Gabánj and the Bácha, when Fredro gripped Fallon’s arm and pointed.

“Look!” he cried. “Is zoological garden!”

“Well?” said Fallon. “I know it.”

“But I do not! Have not seen! Let us get off, yes? We can look at animals and have the lunch there.”

Without waiting for Fallon to argue, the Pole leaped up from his seat and plunged down the stairs to the rear of the vehicle. Fallon followed, dubiously.

Presently they were wandering past cages containing yekis, shaihans, kargans, bishtars, and other denizens of the Krishnan wilds. Fredro asked, “What is crowd? Must be a something unusual.”

A mass of Krishnans had collected in front of a cage. In the noon heat most of them had discarded shawls and tunics and were nude but for loincloths or skirts and footgear. The Earthmen walked toward them. They could not see what was in the cage for the mass of people, but over the heads of these an extra-large sign was fastened to the bars. Fallon, with effort, translated:

BLAK BER; URSO NEGRO

Habitat: Yunaisteits, Nortamcrika, Terra

“Oh,” said Fallon. “I remember
him.
I wrote the story in the
Rashm
when he arrived as a cub. He’s Kir’s pride and joy. Kir wanted to bring an elephant from Earth, but the freight on even a baby elephant was too much for the treasury.”

“But what
is?”

“An American black bear. If you want to elbow through this crowd to look at one fat, sleepy, and perfectly ordinary bear . . .”

“I see, I see. Let us look at the other things.”

They were hanging over the edge of the ’avval tank, and watching the ten-meter crocodile-snakes swimming back and forth in it—one end of a given ’avval would be swimming back while the other was swimming forth—when a skirling sound made itself evident.

Fallon looked around and said, “Oy! Watch out—here comes the king! Damn—I should have remembered he comes here almost daily to feed the animals!”

Fredro paid no attention, being absorbed in extracting from his right eye a speck of dust that the wind had wafted into it.