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"I will take the garments of one of these," Tambol said, waving a hand toward the two pongs who still crouched near the fallen tall brother, awed and fearful. "Female, if there are no pong garments for you, use a pong tunic from the other male there."

  "Master," Jai wailed.

  "One day you will have fine garments," Duwan said, taking the fur mantle from Jai's shoulder.

  Jai resigned herself. "Master, if you are to be Devourer, your hair must be trimmed."

  "This is so," Tambol said.

  "How will this be done?" Duwan asked.

  "I have some experience," Jai said. She disappeared into the hut once more, came back with cutting instruments, seated Duwan on the stump of a tall brother and, for the first time in his life, Duwan felt his hair being severed. There was no pain, but he felt oddly light when it was finished and Jai held up a mirror for him to see a face that looked odd and strange without its mantle of fronds.

  "Now you are a proper master," Tambol said. "All that is needed is this." He handed Duwan the dead enemy's lash. "It is, when not in use, worn coiled over the left shoulder."

  Duwan grimaced with distaste, but allowed Tambol to position the lash.

  "Master, we are ready," Jai said. She had dressed herself in an all-covering, robelike garment she'd found inside the hut. Tambol had taken the smock of one of the pong males and had, on Duwan's orders, sent the two pongs traveling toward the west, to join the free runners.

  "There is one thing more," Duwan said. He strode to the fallen Devourer, hoisted the body effortlessly and threw it into the hut. "That," he said, pointing toward the tiny, pathetic forearm that was being attacked by ground-crawling insects. Without hesitation, Tambol picked up the arm. "Toss it inside, too," Duwan ordered. Duwan forced himself to enter the stench of the hut once more. He took down a lamp, poured its oil over the heaped covers on the bed, drew a burning branch from the fireplace, threw it into the pooled oil, and stood there muttering a prayer for the dead young one as the flames leaped high and began to fill the hut with smoke.

  He stood in the yard for a long time as the flames ate their way upward and burst through the roof and then, as if in one giant explosion, began to consume the hut. Without looking back, without a word, he started toward the east.

  As the days passed, settlements became more frequent. Usually Duwan avoided them, but, to test his pose as a Devourer, he choose to pass through one two-hut settlement where he saw only four Enemy males. There was one problem. He did not speak the language of the Devourers.

  "That doesn't matter," Jai told him. "They will think nothing of your speaking your own language, although some of your words do sound odd. You must tell them you are from a far place. Actually, the masters mostly speak as we speak even when they are speaking among themselves."

  "You speak the Enemy's tongue, do you not?"

  "I do," she said.

  "Listen, then. If something is said in the Enemy's tongue that is threatening, warn me."

  As they walked into the settlement clearing, Jai felt new importance, and she walked, perhaps, with just a bit too much pride for a pong, but the enemy males driving slaves in the gathering of the grass nuts took no notice of her, past a glance. Their eyes were on the tall, impressive figure of Duwan.

  "Greetings," Duwan said. "I have traveled far."

  "Welcome," one of them said. "Cool yourself at our well. And be our guest at the evening meal."

  "You are kind," Duwan said. "I will accept your offer to cool myself at the well, but I beg understanding for we have far to go and must continue our travels to cover as much distance as possible before darkness."

  "You come from the west?" another of the enemy asked.

  "From the southwest," Duwan said, for both Tambol and Jai had told him that it was said that to the southwest were unknown lands leading to a great, waterless desert.

  "The unknown lands?" one of the enemy asked. "We would hear of these lands," another said.

  "There are mountains, and there the great farls roam," Duwan said.

  "And then the land where the sun bakes the earth into a dryness and there grow only sparse, dry things." He'd never seen a desert, so he was picturing in his mind the approaches to the land of fires.

  "Odd and terrible," said a Devourer, shaking his head. "Stay, friend, and tell us more as we celebrate the sacrifice. Our females are even now preparing it."

  At that moment Duwan heard a cry of terror and pain from one of the huts and his hand shot to his sword hilt. Tambol, seeing this reaction, came forward.

  "Forgive me, masters, may the female and myself have water?" Duwan forced his rage to die, to be swallowed.

  Another life had been taken, but he told himself that he, alone, could not stop the customs of the Enemy. He reminded himself of his mission.

  "I beg understanding," he said, bowing, and backing away. He saw Tambol and Jai drawing water. "Drink your fill quickly," he yelled, "or feel the bite of my lash."

  Now they began passing through small villages. Duwan was discovering that the Enemy was, indeed, many in number. And he was becoming more confident. He found that if he pressed on, moving with purpose, his head high and his gaze forward, he and his companions were not bothered as they made their way past more elaborate dwellings, through the dusty streets of the villages.

  And everywhere he saw the misery of the Drinkers, the pongs, the enslaved ones. Each village had its slave pen and there the pongs huddled when not working, barely sheltered from the elements with crude coverings, eating greedily of the meager ration of food allowed them by the masters. And in one village he saw the raw, obscenely naked body of a pong, peeled and hung on a post by lashed ropes that cut into the exposed, tender, bleeding flesh. He had to fight to hide his shock and disgust.

  "You," he said imperiously to Tambol, "ask some pong what this one did."

  Tambol talked with a cringing local pong and came to report. "He was caught stealing food, master."

  "Thus should he be served," Duwan said, for two Enemy males were within hearing. "Remember this example, pong, lest it be your carcass that hangs there."

  Away from the village, on the open road that led toward the city of Arutan, capital of the Devourer king, Farko, Duwan walked with his head high, his eyes closed to the brightness of Du, and prayed for guidance, for strength, for the ability to continue to control his desire to draw his weapons and slay the Enemy. For in his anger and anguish Duwan longed to make the dusty streets and roads run with blood until, at last, he, himself, overcome by numbers, lay there at peace, no longer tormented by the pain that came to him because of the waste of Drinker life. From a distance, the city of Arutan exploded into view like some unnatural growth on a plain of high, green grass. Roads radiated toward the city from all directions, and they were well traveled. Outward bound groups of pongs, laden with bales, packets, baskets, labored under the lashes of the Devourers. Groups traveling toward the city carried the produce of the forests and the fields.

  The city was gray. Around it a wall, built of the stones of that region, rose in dark threat. Behind the wall the gray, grim buildings reached into the sky like some supreme insult to Du, not of the earth, not for the earth, but ripped from the earth, dug from the earth to leave gaping holes, stones as gray as the inside of the caves of the free runners.

  Outside the walls peddlers hawked their wares. Food, drink, garments. It had been a long and thirsty walk across the plain surrounding the city.

  "How does one obtain something to drink?" Duwan asked Tambol.

  "Would my Master like the wine of Arutan, or some fruit juice?" Tambol asked.

  "I know neither."

  "Wait, Master," Tambol said, moving toward a vendor. He returned with a cup of something that, to Duwan, was sweet and delicious. "Fruit juice, Master," Tambol said.

  "Have you none for yourself?"

  "Water is good enough for pongs," Tambol said.

  "How did you obtain this fruit juice?"

  "With coins."

  "Coin
s?"

  Tambol reached into the folds of his garment and withdrew a purse of leather. He looked around, saw that no one was watching, and showed Duwan a handful of round, flat, metal objects. "The coin of Arutan," he said.

  "How did you come by this coin?"

  "Forgive me, Master," Tambol said. "I did not want to trouble you. It is not unusual for a pong to carry his master's coin purse, lest the master be soiled by trade."

  "Where did you get it?"

  Tambol hung his head. "From the hut in the forest where you killed the Devourer male and female."

  "You have done well. I know nothing of such things."

  "We are not rich, master, but we have enough to take decent lodgings within the city, and to purchase food and drink."

  "I am in your debt, my friend," Duwan said, putting his hand on Tambol's arm.

  Tambol sprang away, then leaned forward in a bow. "Never, never touch me, Master, when others can see. It is not done. Touch me only with the lash."

  Duwan nodded. "Both of you must watch me closely, and keep me from committing other errors."

  "We will, Master," they said together.

  "Now," Duwan said, "let us see this city of the Devourers, this city of Arutan."

  Chapter Nine

  Duwan's first impression of an Enemy city was as an assault on his senses. His nose quivered as rank odors rose from a gutter running with sewage. A chatter of voices, a clash of metal on metal from a worker's shop, the wail of a female slave as she was lashed in a casual, matter-of-fact way by a Devourer female, the scrape of horned feet on paving stones; a movement of masses unlike anything he had ever seen. The avenue leading from the gate was wide and it was crowded. Slaves carrying bundles of firewood, huge sacks of grain, and various other loads walked near the gutters, rank, full of human waste. The overlords walked in the center, many of them dressed in colorful garb. Here and there the backs of slaves were bent under the weight of a portable chair in which lolled a disdainful Devourer female.

  "Master," Jai said, "follow the street until it enters a large square. Turn to the right and you will see a building on the corner of the next street with a sign showing a picture of an eating bowl and a bed. Take lodgings there."

  Duwan walked in the center of the street, eyes looking past and through those that he met. He noted Jai and Tambol slinking along abreast of him, sometimes being pushed into the gutter by laden slaves.

  The stone-paved street opened into a square of impressive dimensions. It, too, was crowded. Across the square, rising stern and stark, was a stone building that reached higher into the sky than its neighbors. He noted that Enemy males in long, white robes stood in conversation on the steps, and went in and out of the high, wide entrance to the building. Elsewhere, blank-walled stone buildings lined the square. He turned to the right, looked back to see Jai and Tambol keeping pace with him, and soon saw the sign of the eating bowl and bed. Tambol came scurrying up to him, bowing, with Jai just behind him.

  Before Duwan could speak to Tambol, he heard the sound of rhythmic, marching feet, turned to see a group of about thirty Enemy males dressed in identical, tight, smart uniforms, come striding into the square. Each man was armed with a longsword and a curved dagger at his belt. They marched in perfect coordination. A voice rang out and the unit halted, slapping the hilts of their swords.

  "Who are these?" Duwan asked.

  "Members of the High Master's guard," Jai whispered. Duwan watched with interest. Orders were bawled and swords flew from their sheaths, gleaming in the sun. The guards, spacing themselves smartly and in perfect unison, went through an impressive exercise, swords whirling overhead, lunging, slashing. Duwan's eyes narrowed. He had killed Enemy, true, but he had not encountered any Enemy as skilled with a sword as these.

  "How many like these?" he asked.

  "I cannot say," Jai said. "At times there are more in this daily ceremony."

  Duwan watched with great interest. The weapons were well kept, gleaming, obviously well sharpened and well constructed. The guards were of a size, strong and young. He could tell by the exhibition exercises that the guards knew the capabilities of their weapons. When the ceremony was over and the guards had marched smartly away, he turned. Apparently the daily ceremony was old stuff to the residents of the city, for it had not attracted more than passing attention.

  "That building across the square," Duwan said.

  "The temple of the dus," Jai said. "The dus dwell within, high up, and they are fed and served by the priests."

  "Those in white robes?"

  "Yes," she said. She made a face. "Never cross the priests, master. They have the ear of Farko, and they are powerful. And the screams one can hear coming from the temple tell that they are not of kindly disposition toward those who dispute their power, or the sacrifices."

  "Do they, too, kill the young ones?"

  "The dus feed on pongs," Jai said. "Occasionally, for a meal of more quality, a Devourer is sacrificed, but he or she is always taken from the prisons."

  "Let us see more of this place," Duwan said.

  "Take lodgings first," Jai said, "before the rooms are all filled. Tambol, go to the Devourer behind the desk and tell him you want lodgings, lodgings of quality and cleanliness, for your master. He will ask you for five farks. You must, very respectfully, tell him that five farks is too much, and that your master will pay three."

  Tambol approached an aging Devourer male, not without some nervousness, and it happened as Jai had said, a room was assigned, and Duwan walked imperiously up the stairs, Tambol and Jai cringing behind. The room was small, the bed smelled strongly of unwashed bodies.

  "Tambol will sleep on the floor, guarding the door with his body," Jai said. "It is acceptable to have a female slave to warm the bed for a master, but I, too, can sleep on the floor."

  "We can sleep when we have returned to the earth," Duwan said. "We will now see more of this city."

  There was a sameness about the streets. Away from the main avenues and the square they were narrow, always shaded from the blessed rays of Du by the overhanging balconies of the crowding stone buildings. More than once Duwan had to move quickly to avoid being splashed as house pongs emptied slop pails from the balconies.

  "It is a bed of ground insects," he told himself, as he walked through the streets, having to step aside quite often to avoid colliding with an Enemy male. "Are all Devourers so rude?" he asked Jai, who was walking a step behind him.

  "I have hesitated to mention it, master," Jai said, "but it is the custom for Devourers to play a game of domination."

  "When I step aside I am showing that I have been intimidated?"

  "Yes, Master, but perhaps it is best. After all, you do not want to call attention to yourself."

  But Duwan was young enough to feel the injury to his pride. If it was a question of dominance, he had seen no one for whom he would step aside in willing admission that he was the lesser. The next time a Devourer male came striding toward him he looked the fellow in the eye, his orange eyes seeming to glow with fire, and, at the last second the Enemy stepped aside. No more did Duwan give way.

  On the south side of the city, beyond the great square, sprawling in squalor just under the defensive wall, were the slave pens. There the stench was greater, the air thick with it. Inside the wooden barrier Duwan saw ragged females cooking over open fires, children swaddled in all kinds of cast-off rags standing or sitting listlessly.

  "That was my home," Jai said, with a shudder. "My shelter was there, directly against the wall." She pointed and Duwan felt a great wave of compassion for her, and for all the Drinkers, so ignorant of their true nature, who were herded into the crowded, filthy pens each night after a day of slave labor in the city.

  Aside from the smartly uniformed guards who had paraded in the square, he saw no evidence of defensive capability, save for the stout walls. He was feeling optimistic. The well trained warriors of the valley Drinkers would each be a match for five of the enemy. All Enemy m
ales went armed, true, but he saw evidence of neglect of weapons in the form of rusted hilts and frayed sheaths.

  "I have seen enough," he said. "We will sleep, and then we will leave this place with the first light of Du."

  Jai knew the city well. She guided them back toward the inn through narrow streets where there were fewer encounters, and they were almost back to the central square when a tall, well-built Devourer in the uniform of the High Master's guard seemed to fill all available space in the narrow street. Duwan's first impulse was to give way and step aside, but he had seen the sword exercises of those smartly uniformed men and he was wondering if their skill would be effective in serious fighting instead of parade ground show. Then, too, he was Drinker, and he was in the land of his ancestors, and he was young and prideful. He narrowed his orange eyes and marched directly toward the oncoming guardsman.

  "Master, Master," Jai was whispering from one pace behind him, a bit of panic in her voice.

  Just as it appeared that the two males could walk directly into each other, when one more pace on the part of either would have resulted in a nose to nose collision, both halted, faces inches apart, eyes locked. The guardsman had pale green eyes.

  "You have the space of one breath to move aside," the guardsman said.

  "Does the law of this city give the High Master's guard the right of way?" Duwan asked, his voice low and polite.

  "This gives me the right of way," the guardsman said, patting the hilt of his longsword.

  "Then I will be breaking no law if I contest?" Duwan asked. "I am a stranger, and I do not, of course, want to break any laws." The green eyes of the guardsman narrowed. "I see that you are armed in the ancient manner, in the manner of our ancestors. I seldom find it necessary to use two swords, one being quite adequate."

  "I can understand that," Duwan said. "It is rare that one has the skill of hand to handle both long and short swords."

  "Since you have stated that you are a stranger and do not want to break any of the laws of Arutan, I will explain to you that dueling in the streets, while not unlawful, is frowned upon."