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No Plagiarism!fpKdnLHwIBi4fqNTGttVposted on PENANA On his 17th birthday, Ram-Gurgen Seppanen killed his 100th slave-gladiator in the family games. Visiting observers from the Imperial Court---a Count and Lady Pasternak---were on the Seppanen homeworld, G'ob' Prime for the event, invited to sit that afternoon with the immediate family in the golden box just above the triangular arena.
In honor of the na-Baron's nativity and to remind all Seppanens and subject that Ram-Gurgen was the heir designate, it was a holiday on G'ob' Prime. The old Baron had decreed a meridian-to-meridian rest from labors and much effort had been spent in the family city of Seppa to create the illusion of gaiety: banners flew from buildings; new paint had been splashed on the walls along the Court Prospect.
But off the main prospect, Count Pasternak and his lady noted the rubbish heaps, the scabrous brown walls reflected in the dark puddles of the streets, and furtive scurrying of the people.
In the Baron's blue-walled keep, there was fearful perfection, but the Count and his lady saw the price being---guards everywhere and weapons with a special sheen that told a trained eye they were in regular use. There were checkpoints for routine passage from area to area even inside the keep. The servants revealed their military training in the way they walked, in the set of their shoulders, in the way their eyes watched and watched and watched.
"The pressure's on," the Count hummed to his lady in their secret language. "The Baron is just starting to see the price he really paid to rid himself of the Duke Romanov."
"Someday I must recount you for the legend of the phoenix," she said.
They were in the reception hall of the keep waiting to go to the family games. It was not a large hall---maybe 40 meters long and half that in width---but false pillars along the sides had been shaped with an abrupt taper, and the ceiling had a subtle arch, all giving the illusion of much bigger space.
"Ah--h-h-h-h, here comes the Baron," the Count said.
The Baron moved down the length of the hall with that odd waddling-glide imparted by the necessities of guiding suspensor-hung weight. His jowls bobbed up and down; the suspensors jiggled and shifted beneath his orange robe. Rings glittered on his hands and opalfires shone where they'd been woven into the robe.
At the Baron's elbow walked Ram-Gurgen. His dark hair was dressed in close ringlets that seemed incongruously gay above sullen eyes. He wore tight-fitting black tunic and snug trousers with a suggestion of bell at the bottom. Soft-soled slippers covered his small feet.
Lady Pasternak, noting the young man's poise and the sure flow of muscles beneath the tunic thought: Here's one who won't let himself go to fat.
The Baron stopped in front of them, took Ram-Gurgen's arm in a possessive grip, said, "My nephew, the na-Baron, Ram-Gurgen Seppanen." And, turning his baby-fat face towards Ram- Gurgen, he said, "The Count and Lady Pasternak, of whom I've spoken."
Ram-Gurgen dipped his head with the mandatory courtesy. He stared at the Lady Pasternak. She was golden-haired and willowy, her perfection of figure clothed in a flowing gown of ecru---simple fitness of form without ornament. Gray-green eyes stared back at him. She had that Bala Garrasaid serene repose about her that the young man found subtly disturbing.
"Um-m-m-m-ah-hm-m-m-m," said the Count. He studied Ram-Gurgen. The hm-m-m-m, precise young man, ah, my -----hm-m-m-m----dear?" He glanced at the Baron. "My dear Baron, you say you've spoken of us to this precise young man. What have you said?"
"I told my nephew of the great esteem our Sultan holds for you, Count Pasternak," the Baron replied. He thought: Mark him well, Ram! A killer with the manners of a rabbit is the most dangerous kind there is.
"Naturally!" said the Count, and he smiled at his lady.
Ram-Gurgen found the man's actions and words nearly insulting. They halted just short of something overt that would demand notice. The young man focused his attention on the Count: a small man, weak-looking. The face was weaselish with overlarge dark eyes. There was gray at the temples. His movements (he moved a hand or turned his head one way, then he spoke another way) were difficult to follow.
"Um-mm-m-mm-m-m-ah-m-m-hm-m, you come upon such, m-m-, preciseness so rarely," the Count said, addressing the Baron's shoulder. "I----ah, congratulate you on the hm-m-m-mn perfection of your ah-h-h-heir. In the light of the hm-m-m elder, you might say."
"You're so kind," the Baron said. He bowed, but Ram-Gurgen noted that his uncle's eyes did not agree with the courtesy.
"When you're mm-mm-m ironic, that ah'-h'-h suggests you're hm-m-m-m thinking deep thoughts," the Count said.
There he goes again, Ram-Gurgen thought. It sounds like he's being insulting, but there's nothing you can call out for satisfaction.
Listening to the man gave Ram-Gurgen the feeling his head was being pushed through mush---um-m-m-m-ah-m-hm-m-m! Ram-Gurgen turned his attention back to the Lady Pasternak.
"We're ah-h-h taking up too much of this young man's time," she said. "Isn't he supposed to fight in the arena today.
By the houris of the Imperial harem, she's a lovely one! Ram-Gurgen thought. He said: "I will make a kill for you today, my Lady. I shall make the dedication in the arena, with your kind permission."
She returned his stare serenely, but her voice carried a venomous whiplash as she said: "Permission denied, sir!"
"Ram!" the Baron said. And he thought: That djinn! Does he want this deadly Count to call him out?
But the Count merely smiled and said: "Hm-m-m-m-m-mhm."
"You really must be getting ready for the arena, Ram," the Baron said. "You must be rested, and you must not take any foolish chances."
Ram-Gurgen bowed, his face dark with resentment. "I'm sure everything will be as you wish, Uncle." He nodded to Count Pasternak. "Sir." To the lady: "Milady." And he turned, strode out of the hall, barely glancing at the knot of Families Minor near the great double doors.
"He's so young," the Baron sighed.
"Uhm-m-m-m-mah, indeed hmmmmm," the Count said.
And the Lady Pasternak thought: Can that be the young man the Mother Baba meant? Is that a bloodline we must preserve?
"We've got more than an hour before going into the arena," the Baron said. "Maybe we could have our little talk now, Count Pasternak." He tipped his disgusting head to the right. "There's a considerable amount of progress we must discuss."125Please respect copyright.PENANAa7kM0q1vtA
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The Baron thought: Let us now see how the Sultan's errand boy gets across whatever message he carries without ever being so crass as to speak it right out.
The Count spoke to his lady: "Um-m-mum-m-mh--ah--hm-m-m-m-m----you---mmmm-m---will---ah-ah-h---excuse us, my dear?"
"Each day, some time each hour, brings change," she said. "Mm-m-mhm." And she smiled sweetly at the Baron before turning away. Her long skirts swished, and she walked with a straight-backed regal stride towards the double doors at the end of the hall.
The Baron noted how all conversation among the Houses Minor there stopped at her approach, how the eyes followed her. Bala Garrasaid! the Baron thought. The universe would be better off well rid of them!
"There's a cone of silence between two of the pillars over here on our left," the Baron said. "We can talk there without fear of being overheard." He led the way with his waddling gait into the sound-neutralizing field, feeling the noises of the keep become dull and distant.
The Count moved up beside the Baron, and they turned, facing the wall so their lips could not be read.
"We're displeased with the way you ordered the Sordoi off Dyuna," the Count said.
Straight talk! the Baron thought.
"They could not stay longer without risking that others would find out how the Sultan assisted me," the Baron said.
"But your nephew German does not appear to be pressing strongly enough toward a permanent solution to the Szgany problem125Please respect copyright.PENANADkYiBBGUQS
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"What does the Sultan wish?" the Baron asked.
"He wishes a reduction of the Szgany population on Dyuna to a mere handful. The southern desert is uninhabitable. The northern desert is swept regularly by our patrols."
"Who said the southern desert is uninhabitable?"
"Your own planetologist, my dear Count."
"But Doctor Holstein is dead."
"Ah, yes.... that is most unfortunate."
"We've received word from a flyover across the southern reaches," the Count said. "There's evidence of plant life."
"Has the Guild then agreed to a watch from space?"
"Now you no better than that, Baron. The Sultan cannot legally post such a watch on Dyuna."
"And I cannot afford it," the Baron said. "Who made this flyover?"
"A smuggler."
"Then you've been lied to, Count," the Baron said. "Smugglers cannot navigate the southern reaches any better than German's men. Storms, sand-static, and all that, you know. Navigation markers are knocked out faster than they can be installed."
"We'll discuss various kinds of static another time," the Count said.
Ah-h-h-h-h, the Baron thought. "Have you found some mistake in my accounting?" he demanded.
"When you imagine mistakes there can be no self-defense," the Count said.
He's deliberately trying to arouse my anger, the Baron thought. He took two deep breaths to calm himself. He could smell his own body odor, and the harness of the suspensor beneath his robe felt suddenly itchy and galling.
"The Sultan cannot be unhappy about the death of the concubine and the boy," the Baron said. "They fled into the desert. There was a storm."
"Yes, there were so many convenient accidents," the Count agreed.
"I do not like your tone, Count," the Baron said.
"Anger is one thing, violence is another," the Count said. "Let me caution you. Should an unfortunate accident occur to me here the Great Houses all would learn what you did on Dyuna. They've long suspected how you do business."
"The only recent business I have done," the Baron said, "was transportation of several legions of Sordoi to Dyuna."
"You think you could hold that over the Sultan's head?"
"I wouldn't think of it!"
The Count smiled. "Sordoi commanders could be found who'd confessed they acted without orders because they wanted a battle with your Szgany scum."
"Many might doubt such a confession," the Baron said, but the threat staggered him. Are the Sordoi truly that disciplined? he wondered.
"The Sultan does wish to audit your books," the Count said.
"Any time."
"You---ah---have no objections?"
"None. My CCOAM Company directorship will bear the closest scrutiny." And he thought: Let him bring a false accusation and have it exposed. I shall stand there, promethean, saying, "Behold me, I am wronged." Then let him bring any other accusation against me, even a true one. The Great Houses will not believe a second attack from an accuser once proved wrong.
"I have no doubt your books will bear the closest scrutiny," the Count muttered.
"Why is the Sultan so interested in exterminating the Szganys," the Baron asked.
"You dare change the subject?" The Count shrugged. "Very well. It is the Sordoi who wish it, not the Sultan. They need practice in killing---and they hate to see a task left incomplete."
Does he think to frighten me by reminding me that he is backed by bloodthirsty killers? the Baron wondered.
"A certain amount of killing has always been an arm of business," the Baron said, "but a line must be drawn somewhere. Someone must be left to work the spice."
The Count emitted a short, barking laugh. "You think you can harness the Szganys?"
"There were never enough of them for that," the Baron said. "But the killing has made the rest of my population uneasy. It's reaching the point where I'm considering another solution to the Dyuni problem, my dear Pasternak. And I must confess the Sultan deserves credit for the inspiration."
"Ah-h-h-h?"
"After all, Count, it is the Sultan's prison planet, Sa-Lu-Sa Sekund, that inspires me."
The Count stared at him with glittering intensity. "What possible connection is there between Dyuna and Sa-Lu-Sa Sekund?"
The Baron felt the alertness in Pasternak's eyes, said: "None---yet."
"Yet?"
"You must admit it'd be a good way to develop a substantial work force on Dyuna---use the place as a prison planet."
"Do you anticipate an increase in prisoners?"
"There has been unrest," the Baron admitted. "I've had to squeeze rather severely, Pasternak. After all, you know the price I paid that damnable Guild to transport our mutual force to Dyuna. That money has to come from somewhere."
"You cannot use Dyuna as a prison planet without the Sultan's permission, Baron."
"Of course not," the Baron said, and he wondered at the sudden chill in Pasternak's voice.
"Another matter," the Count said. "We learned that Duke Nicholas's Technopath, Eugene Botkin, is not dead but in your employ."
"I could not bring myself to destroy him," the Baron said.
"Why did lie to our Sordoi commander about Botkin's death?"
"I did so to avoid a long argument with the man."
"Was Botkin the real traitor?"
"Oh, goodness, no! It was the false doctor." The Baron wiped at perspiration on his neck. "You must understand, Pasternak, that I was without a Technopath. You know it. I've never been without a Technopath. It was most unsettling."
"How could you get Botkin to shift loyalties?"
"His Duke was dead." The Baron forced a smile. "There's nothing to fear from Botkin, my dear Count. The Technopath's flesh has been impregnated with a latent poison. We administer an antidote in his meals. Without the antidote, the poison is a trigger---he'd die in a few days."
"Withdraw the antidote," the Count said.
"But he's useful!"
"He knows too many things no living man should know."
"You said the Sultan doesn't fear exposure."
"I have no time for games, Baron!"
"Very well. I'll obey the order---when I see it above the Imperial seal and not before!" said the Baron. "Furthermore, I refuse to submit to your whim."
"My whim?"
"What else can it be? The Sultan has obligations to me, too, Pasternak. I rid him of the troublesome Duke."
"With the help of a few Sordoi."
"Where else would the Sultan have found a House to provide the disguising uniforms to hide his hand in this affair?"
"Without a doubt he's asked himself the same question, Baron, but with a slightly different emphasis."
The Baron studied Pasternak, noting the stiffness of jaw muscles, the careful control. "Ah-h-h-h, now," the Baron said. "I hope the Sultan doesn't believe he can move against me in total secrecy."
"He hopes it won't become necessary."
"The Sultan cannot believe me a threat to him!" the Baron allowed anger and grief to taint his voice, thinking: Let him wrong me on that! I could place myself on the throne while still beating my breast over how I'd been wronged.
The Count's voice went dry and distant as he said: "The Sultan believes what his senses tell him."
"Dare the Sultan charge me with treason before a Paarlament Council?" The Baron held his breath with the full hope of it.
"The Sultan need dare nothing."
The Baron whirled away in his suspensors to hide his expression. It could happen in my lifetime! he thought. The damn Sultan! Well, let him wrong me! Then---the bribes and coercion, the rallying cry of the Great Houses: they'd flock to my banner like peasants running for shelter. The thing they fear above all else is the Sultan's Sordoi loosed upon them one House at a time.
"It's the Sultan's sincere hope he'll never have to charge you with treason," the Count said.
The Baron found it hard to keep irony out of his voice and allow only for the expression of hurt, but he managed. "I've been a most loyal subject. These words wound me beyond words."
"Um-m-m-m-m-m-ah-hm-m-m," said the Count.
The Baron kept his back to the Count, nodding. Presently he said, "It's time to go to the arena."
"Indeed," said the Count.
They moved out of the cone of silence and, side by side, walked towards the clumps of Houses Minor at the end of the hall. A bell began a slow tolling somewhere in the keep---twenty-minute warning for the arena gathering.
"The Houses Minor wait for you to lead them," the Count said, nodding towards the people they approached.
Double meaning---double meaning, the Baron thought.
He looked up at the new talismans flanking the exit to his hall----the mounted bull's head and the oil painting of the old Duke Romanov, the late Duke Nicholas's father. They filled the Baron with an odd sense of foreboding, and he wondered what thoughts these talismans had inspired in the Duke Nicholas as they hung in the halls of Eser and then on Dyuna---the bravura father and the head of the bull that had slain him.
"Mankind has, ah, only one mmmmm-m-m science," the Count said as they picked up their parade of followers and emerged from the hall into the waiting room----a narrow space with high windows and floor of patterned white and purple tile.
"What is the science of which you speak?" the Baron asked.
"That of um-m-m-ah-h discontent," the Count replied.
The Houses Minor behind them, sheep-faced and responsive, laughed with just the right tone of appreciation, but the sound carried a note of discord as it collided with the sudden blast of motors that came to them when pages threw open the outer doors, revealing the line of ground cars, their guidon pennants whipping in a stiff breeze.
The Baron raised his voice to surmount the sudden noise, said, "I hope you'll not be discontented with the performance of my nephew today, Count Pasternak."
"I ah-h-ha am filled um-m-m only with a hm-m-m sense of anticipation, yes," the Count said. "Always in the ah-h-h process verbal, one um-m-m ah-h-h must consider the ah-h-h office of origin.
The Baron hid his sudden stiffening of surprise by stumbling on the first step down from the exit. Process verbal! That was a report of a crime against the Imperium!
But the Count chuckled to make it seem like a joke and patted the Baron's arm.
All the way to the arena, though, the Baron sat back among the armored cushions of his car, casting covert glances at the Count beside him, wondering why the Sultan's errand boy had thought it necessary to make that particular kind of joke in front of the Houses Minor. It was obvious that Pasternak rarely did anything he considered unnecessary, or used two words where one would do, or held himself to one meaning in one phrase.
They were seated in the golden box above the triangular arena---horns blaring, the tiers above and around them jammed with a hubbub of people and waving pennants----when the answer came to the Baron.
"My dear Baron," the Count said, leaning close to his ear, "you know, do you not, that the Sultan has not given official sanction to your choice of heir?"
The Baron felt himself to be within a sudden personal cone of silence produced by his own shock. He stared at Pasternak, just barely seeing the Count's lady come through the guards beyond to join the party in the golden box.
"That's really why I'm here today," the Count said. "The Sultan wishes me to report on whether you've chosen a worthy successor. There's nothing like the arena to expose the true person from beneath the mask, yes?"
"The Sultan promised me free choice of heir!" the Baron protested.
"He reserves the right to break his promises," Pasternak said, and turned away to greet his lady. She sat down, smiling at the Baron, then giving her attention to the sand floor beneath them where Ram-Gurgen was emerging in giles and tights----the black glove and the long knife in his right hand, the white glove and the short knife in his left hand.
"White for poison, black for purity," the Lady Pasternak said. "A curious custom, isn't it, my love?"
"Um-m-m-m," the Count said.
The greeting cheer lifted from the family galleries, and Ram-Gurgen paused to accept it, looking up and scanning the faces---seeing his cousines and cousins, the demibrothers, the concubines and out-freyn relations. There were so many pink trumpet mouths yammering amidst a flutter of colorful clothing and banners.
It came to Ram-Gurgen then that the packed ranks of faces would look just as avidly at his blood as that of the slave gladiator. There was not a doubt in the outcome in this fight, of course. Here was only the form of danger without its substance---yet.
Ram-Gurgen held up his knives to the sun, saluted the three corners of the arena in the ancient manner. The short knife in white-gloved hand (white, the sign of poison) went first into the sheath. Then the long blade in the black-gloved hand----the pure blade that was now unpure, his secret weapon to turn this day into a purely personal victory: poison on the black blade.
The adjustment of his body shield took only a moment, and he paused to sense the skin-tightening at his forehead assuring him he was correctly guarded.
This moment carried its own suspense, and Ram-Gurgen dragged it out with the deft hand of a showman, nodding to his handlers and distractors, checking their equipment with a measuring stare---gyves in pace with their prickles sharp and glistening, the barbs and hooks waving with their blue streamers.
Ram-Gurgen signaled the musicians.
The slow march began, sonorous with its ancient pomp, and Ram-Gurgen led his troupe across the arena for obeisance at the foot of his uncle's box. He caught the ceremonial key was as it was tossed.
The music came to a dead stop.
Into the impromptu silence, he stepped back two paces, raised the key and shouted: "I dedicate this truth to..." He paused, knowing his uncle would think: The young idiot's going to dedicate to Lady Pasternak after all and cause a ruckus!
And he was delighted to see his uncle sigh.
The music resumed at the quick-march, and Ram-Gurgen led his men scampering back across the arena to the prudence door that admitted only those wearing the right I.D. band. Ram-Gurgen prided himself that he never used the pru-door and seldom needed distractors. But it was good to know they were available this day---special plans sometimes asked for special troubles.
Again, silence settled over the arena.
Ram-Gurgen turned, faced the big red door across from him through which the gladiator would emerge.
The special gladiator, that is.
The plan Eugene Botkin had devised was admirably simple and direct, Ram-Gurgen thought. The slave would not be drugged---that was the danger. Instead, a key-word had been drummed into the man's unconscious to immobilize his muscles at a critical instant. Ram-Gurgen rolled the vital word in his mind, mouthing it without sound: "Scum!" To the audience, it would appear that an undrugged slave had been slipped into the arena to kill the na-Baron. And all the carefully arranged evidence would point to the slavemaster.
A low humming arose from the red door's servo-motors as they were armed for opening.
Ram-Gurgen focused all his awareness on the door. This first moment was the crucial one. The appearance of the gladiator as he emerged told the trained eye all it needed to know. All gladiators were supposed to be hyped on arocco drug to come out kill-ready in fighting stance----but you had to watch how they hefted the knife, which they turned in defense, whether or not they were truly aware of the audience in the stands. The way a slave cocked his head could give the most vital clue to counter and feint.
The red door slammed open.
Out charged a tall, muscular man with a shaven head and darkly-pitted eyes. His skin was carrot-colored just as one would expect it to be due the arocco drug, but Ram-Gurgen knew the color was body paint. The slave wore green leotards and the red-belt of a semibarrier---the belt's arrow pointing left to indicate the slave's left side was barriered. He held his knife sword-fashion, cocked slightly outward in the stance of a trained fighter. Slowly, he advanced into the arena, turning his barriered side towards Ram-Gurgen and the group at the pru-door.
"I like not the look of this one," said Ram-Gurgen's barb-men. "Are you sure he's drugged, milord?"
"He has the color," said Ram-Gurgen.
"Yet he stands like a fighter," said another helper.
Ram-Gurgen advanced two steps onto the sand, studied this slave.
"What's he done to his arm?" asked one of the distractors.
Ram-Gurgen's attention went to a bloody scratch on the man's left forearm, followed the arm down to the hand as it pointed to a design drawn in blood on the left hip of the green leotards----a wet shape there: the formalized outline of an eagle.
An Eagle!
Ram-Gurgen looked up into the darkly pitted eyes, saw them glaring at him with uncanny alertness.
It's one of Duke Romanov's fighting men we took on Dyuna! Ram-Gurgen thought. No simple gladiator, he! A chill ran through him, and he wondered if Botkin had another plan for this arena---a feint within a feint. And only the slavemaster prepared to take the blame!
Ram-Gurgen's chief handler spoke at his ear: "I like not the look of that one, milord. Let me set a barb or two in his knife arm to try him."
"I'll set my own barbs, if you don't mind," Ram-Gurgen said. He took a pair of the long, hooked shafts from the handler, hefted them, testing the balance. These barbs, too, were supposed to be drugged----but not this time, and the chief handler will die because of that. But it was all part of the plan.125Please respect copyright.PENANAX9MiLa5UV1
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"You'll come out of this a hero," Botkin had said. "Killed your gladiator man to man and in spite of treachery. The slavemaster will be executed and your man will step into his spot."
Ram-Gurgen advanced another 5 paces into the arena, playing out the moment, studying the slave. Already, he knew, the experts in the stands above him were aware that something was amiss. The gladiator had the correct skin color for a drugged man, but he stood his ground and did not tremble. The patrons would be whispering among themselves now: "See how he stands. He should be agitated----attacking or retreating. See how he conserves his strength, how he waits. He should not wait."125Please respect copyright.PENANAbmMEmOUQQ9
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Ram-Gurgen felt his own excitement kindle. Let there be treachery in Botkin's mind, he thought. I can handle this slave. It's my long knife that carries the poison now, not the short one. Even Botkin doesn't know that.
"Are you prepared to meet your doom, Sepannen pig?" the slave called.
Deathly stillness gripped the arena. Slaves did not issue the challenge!
Now, Ram-Gurgen had a clear view of the gladiator's eyes, saw the chilling ferocity of despair in them. He marked the way the man stood, loose and ready, muscles prepared for victory. The slave grapevine had carried Botkin's message to this one: "You'll get a true chance to kill the na-Baron." That much of the scheme was as they'd planned it, then.
A tight smile crossed Ram-Gurgen's mouth. He lifted the barbs, seeing success for his plans in the way the gladiator stood.8964 copyright protection121PENANAUxukaPfJz0 維尼
"Hai! Hai!" the slave challenged and crept forward two steps.8964 copyright protection121PENANA61yF45wfH2 維尼
No one in the galleries can mistake it now, Ram Gurgen thought.8964 copyright protection121PENANAsc8V8CIpAZ 維尼
This slave should've been partly crippled by drug-induced terror. Every movement should have betrayed his inner knowledge that there was no hope for him---he could not win. He should have been filled with the stories of the poisons the na-Baron chose for the blade in his white-gloved hand. The na-Baron never gave quick death; he delighted in demonstrating rare poisons, could stand in the arena pointing out interesting side effects on a writhing victim. There was fear in the slave, yes----but not terror.8964 copyright protection121PENANAApXgFBywDM 維尼
Ram-Gurgen lifted the barbs high, nodded in semi-greeting.8964 copyright protection121PENANACQV6yATvn7 維尼
The gladiator pounced.8964 copyright protection121PENANAr3Zuuh61jv 維尼
His feint and defensive counter were as good as any Ram-Gurgen had ever seen. A timed side blow missed by the barest fraction from severing the tendons of the na-Baron's left leg.8964 copyright protection121PENANAXd1XggIG0Z 維尼
Ram-Gurgen danced away, leaving a barbed shaft in the slave's right forearm, the hooks completely buried in flesh where the man could not withdraw them wihtout ripping tendons.8964 copyright protection121PENANAg5lt4I08hm 維尼
A concerted gasp lifted from the galleries.8964 copyright protection121PENANAucD2DW0K2G 維尼
The sound filled Ram-Gurgen with elation.8964 copyright protection121PENANADO6NvEBzNJ 維尼
He knew now what his uncle was experiencing, sitting up there with the Pasternaks, the observers from the Imperial Court, beside him. There could be no interference with this fight. The forms must be observed in front of witnesses. And the Baron would interpret the events in the arena only one way---threat to himself.8964 copyright protection121PENANA2VFSBlt8KV 維尼
The slave backed, holding knife in teeth and lashing the barbed shaft to his arm with the pennant. "I do not feel your needle!" he shouted. Again, he crept forward, knife ready, left side presented, his body bent backward to give it the greatest surface of protection from the half-shield.8964 copyright protection121PENANAO1de9QREEt 維尼
That action, too, didn't escape the galleries. Sharp cries came from the family boxes. Ram-Gurgen's handlers were calling out to ask if he needed them.8964 copyright protection121PENANAScCRvuKUoD 維尼
He waved them back to the pru-door.8964 copyright protection121PENANAUVirMQImGN 維尼
I'll give them a show such as they've never had before, Ram-Gurgen thought. No tame killing where they can sit back and admire the style. This'll be something to take them by the guts and twist them. When I'm Baron they'll remember this day and won't be a one of them can escape fear of me because of this day.8964 copyright protection121PENANAzShSwVwDBa 維尼
Ram-Gurgen gave ground slowly before the gladiator's crablike advance. Arena said grated underfoot. He heard the slave's panting, smelled his own sweat and a faint odor of blood on the air.8964 copyright protection121PENANAAn21X7Osue 維尼
Steadily, the na-Baron moved backward, turning to the right, his second barb ready. The slave danced sideways. Ram-Gurgen appeared to stumble, heard the scream from the galleries.8964 copyright protection121PENANAi6221hCGKY 維尼
Again, the slave pounced.8964 copyright protection121PENANA4JKidkXA8B 維尼
Gods, what a fighting man! Ram-Gurgen thought as he leaped aside. Only his youthful quickness saved him, but he left the second barb buried in the deltoid muscle of the slave's right arm.8964 copyright protection121PENANA3C8rxEHhNG 維尼
Shrill cheers rained from the galleries.8964 copyright protection121PENANAK6C8IEHzLA 維尼
They cheer me now, Ram-Gurgen thought. He heard the wildness in the voices just as Botkin had said he would. They'd never cheered a family fighter that way before. And he thought with an edge of grimness on something Botkin had told him: "It's easier to be terrified by an enemy that you admire."8964 copyright protection121PENANAoI0bQnQsJc 維尼
Swifty, Ram-Gurgen retreated to the middle of the arena where all could see clearly. He drew his long blade, crouched and waited for the advancing slave.8964 copyright protection121PENANADOMeQ7mewj 維尼
The man took only the time to lash the second barb tight to his arm, then sped in pursuit.8964 copyright protection121PENANALNgScekDhC 維尼
Let the family see me do this thing, Ram-Gurgen thought. I am their enemy: let them think of me as they see me now.8964 copyright protection121PENANAxvrejr755c 維尼
He drew his short blade.8964 copyright protection121PENANAGbvkKlEhwQ 維尼
"I do not fear you, Seppanen swine," the gladiator said. "Your tortures cannot harm a dead man. I can be dead on my own blade before a handler lays one finger to my flesh. And I'll have you dead beside me!"8964 copyright protection121PENANAtzelCMzzRU 維尼
Ram-Gurgen grinned, offered now the long blade, the one with the poison. "Try this one," he said, and feinted with the short blade in his other hand.8964 copyright protection121PENANAAv76QCOWHT 維尼
The slave shifted knife hands, turned inside both parry and feint to grapple the na-Baron's short blade---the one in the white-gloved hand that tradition should carry the poison.8964 copyright protection121PENANAH0JbWoWea4 維尼
"You will die, Seppanen," the gladiator gasped.8964 copyright protection121PENANAA8xGzvaAEY 維尼
They struggled sideways across the sand. Where Ram-Gurgen's barrier met the slave's halfbarrier, a blue glow marked the contact. The air around them filled with ozone from the field.8964 copyright protection121PENANAXZRsn0z1B9 維尼
"Die in your own poison!" the slave grated.8964 copyright protection121PENANAtgTNmBqo1r 維尼
He began forcing the white-gloved hand inward, turning the blade he assumed carried the poison.8964 copyright protection121PENANA3Nyb1HzLDX 維尼
Let them see this! Ram-Gurgen thought. He brought down the long blade, felt it clang uselessly against the barbed shaft lashed to the slave's arm.8964 copyright protection121PENANA7pEhedk2Bo 維尼
Ram-Gurgen felt a moment of desperation. He had not thought the barbed shafts would be an advantage for the slave. But they gave the man another barrier. And the strength of the gladiator! The short blade was being forced inexorably inward, and Ram-Gurgen focused on the fact that a man could also die on an unpoisoned blade.8964 copyright protection121PENANAFdg9WuMb5Y 維尼
"Bastard!" Ram-Gurgen gasped.8964 copyright protection121PENANAOqwWP4IywG 維尼
At the key word, the gladiator's muscles obeyed with momentary slackness. It was sufficient for Ram-Gurgen. He opened a space between them sufficient for the long blade. Its poisoned tip flicked out, drew a red line down the slave's chest. There was an instant agony in the poison. The man disengaged himself, staggered backwards.8964 copyright protection121PENANAXPe41aiuY3 維尼
Now, let my dear family watch, Ram-Gurgen thought. Let them think on this slave who tried to turn the knife he thought poisoned and use it against me. Let them wonder how a gladiator could come into this arena ready for such an attempt. And let them always be aware they cannot know for sure which of my hands carries the poison.8964 copyright protection121PENANAjSaBhbRHWz 維尼
Ram-Gurgen stood in silence, watching the slowed motions of the slave. The man moved within a hesitation-awareness. There was an orthographic thing on his face now for every watcher to recognize. The death was written there. The slave knew it had been done to him and he knew how it had been done. The wrong blade had carried the poison.8964 copyright protection121PENANALnVTvtf5tz 維尼
"You!" the man moaned.8964 copyright protection121PENANAdUbnscPtRq 維尼
Ram-Gurgen drew back to give death its space. The paralyzing drug in the poison had yet to take full effect, but the man's sluggishness told of its advance.8964 copyright protection121PENANAnjfJtIW9Jy 維尼
The slave staggered forward as if drawn by a string---one agonizing step at a time. Each step was the only step in his universe. He still clutched his knife, but its point wavered.8964 copyright protection121PENANAWQsiwGR8Un 維尼
"One day---one---of us---will---get---you," he gasped.8964 copyright protection121PENANAnJiNfwUWdn 維尼
A sad little moue contorted his mouth. He sat, sagged, then stiffened and rolled away from the Ram-Gurgen, face down.8964 copyright protection121PENANA3Hyi4q6yJY 維尼
Ram-Gurgen advanced on the silent arena, put a toe under the gladiator and rolled him onto his back to give the galleries a clear view of the face when the poison began its twisting, wrenching work on the muscles. But the gladiator came ove with his own knife, protruding from his breast.8964 copyright protection121PENANAT1AuIgCCAk 維尼
In spite of frustration, there was for Ram-Gurgen a measure of admiration for the effort this slave had managed in overcoming the paralysis to do this thing to himself. With the admiration came the realization that here was truly something to fear.8964 copyright protection121PENANApkXd0nrMcN 維尼
That which transforms a man into a superman is terrifying.8964 copyright protection121PENANAqqDIMbjmko 維尼
As he focused on this thought, Ram-Gurgen became conscious of the eruption of noise from the stands and galleries around him. They were cheering with utter abandon.8964 copyright protection121PENANAfW6pIlYI8g 維尼
Ram-Gurgen turned, looked up at them.8964 copyright protection121PENANAlSBo1ZYMW2 維尼
All were cheering, all except the Baron, who sat with hand to chin in deep contemplation----and the Count and his lady, both of whom were staring down at him, their faces masked by smiles.8964 copyright protection121PENANAiBlDBXpIG2 維尼
Count Pasternak turned to his lady and said: "Ah-h-h-h-um-m-m, a resourceful um-m-m-m young man. Eh, mm-m-m-ah, my dear."8964 copyright protection121PENANAfAXviWzqZq 維尼
"His ah--h-h synaptic responses are very swift," she said.8964 copyright protection121PENANAEnQd3giUkO 維尼
The Baron looked at her, at the Count, returned her attention to the arena, thinking: If someone could get that close to one of mine! Rage began to replace his fear. I'll have the slavemaster dead over a slow fire this night---and if this Count and his lady had a hand in it.... 8964 copyright protection121PENANA81CjYqrxqk 維尼
The conversation in the Baron's box was remote movement to Ram-Gurgen, the voices drowned in the foot-stamping chant that came now from all around:8964 copyright protection121PENANABoFIceG5OG 維尼
"Head! Head! Head! Head!"8964 copyright protection121PENANAeZtm4dxVrI 維尼
The Baron scowled, seeing the way Ram-Gurgen turned to him. Languidly, controlling his rage with difficulty, the Baron waved his hand toward the young man standing in the arena beside the sprawled body of the slave. Give the boy a head. He earned it by exposing the slavemaster.8964 copyright protection121PENANA7nn2ZDwsCa 維尼
Ram-Gurgen saw the signal of agreement, thought: They think they honor me. Let them see what I think!125Please respect copyright.PENANAU7h6GPfH1d
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He saw his handlers approaching with a saw-knife to do the honors, waved them back, repeated the gesture as they hesitated. They think they honor me with just a head! he thought. He bent and crossed the gladiator's hands around the protruding knife handle, then removed the knife and placed it in the limp hands.125Please respect copyright.PENANABzjR0yFNgQ
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It was done in an instant, and he straightened, beckoned the handlers. "Bury this slave intact with his knife in his hands," he said. "The man earned it."8964 copyright protection121PENANAFw88DHogOB 維尼
In the golden box, Count Paternak leaned close to the Baron, said: A grand gesture, that----true bravura. Your nephew has style as well as courage."8964 copyright protection121PENANAghvALSi5Qt 維尼
"He insults the crowd by refusing to take the head," the Baron muttered.8964 copyright protection121PENANAau8VP5SNU0 維尼
"Not at all," Lady Pasternak said. She turned, looking up at the tiers around them.8964 copyright protection121PENANApmtqEPsBaQ 維尼
And the Baron noted the line of her neck---a truly lovely flowering of muscles---just like a young boy's.8964 copyright protection121PENANANpMvI7t4eY 維尼
"They like what your nephew did," she said.8964 copyright protection121PENANAiHPyf1PMjc 維尼
As the import of Ram-Gurgen's gesture penetrated to the most distant seats, as the people saw the handlers carrying off the dead gladiator intact, the Baron watched them and realized she had interpreted the reaction correctly. The people were going wild, beating on each other, screaming and stamping.8964 copyright protection121PENANAez2Ip3EFpi 維尼
The Baron spoke wearily. "I shall have to order a fete. You cannot send people home like this, their energies unspent. They must see that I share their elation." He gave a hand signal to his guard, and a servant above them dipped the Seppanen orange pennant over the box----once, twice, three times---signal for a fete.8964 copyright protection121PENANA3a3SNKQDSs 維尼
Ram-Gurgen crossed the arena to stand beneath the golden box, his weapons sheathed, arms hanging at his sides. Above the undiminished frenzy of the crowd, he called: "A fete, Uncle?"8964 copyright protection121PENANAwbB6Zi7A1h 維尼
The noise began to subside as people saw the conversation and waited.8964 copyright protection121PENANAGoxTiedpMo 維尼
"In your honor, Ram!" the Baron called down. Again, he caused the pennant to be dipped in signal.8964 copyright protection121PENANATKXlBvOANR 維尼
Across the area, the pru-barriers had been dropped and young men were leaping down into the arena, racing toward Ram-Gurgen.8964 copyright protection121PENANAuTFBvjP5C0 維尼
"You ordered the pru-barriers dropped, Baron?" the Count asked.8964 copyright protection121PENANABCfTY2YLQ3 維尼
"No one will harm the lad," the Baron said. "He's a hero."8964 copyright protection121PENANA22BrykrKnO 維尼
The first of the charging mass reached Ram-Gurgen, lifted him on their shoulders, began parading around the arena.8964 copyright protection121PENANAbswGUi1wbq 維尼
"He could walk unarmed and unshielded through the poorest quarters of Seppa tonight," the Baron said. "They'd give him the last of their food and drink just for his company."8964 copyright protection121PENANA87Ofi8UQck 維尼
The Baron pushed himself from his chair, settled his weight into his suspensors. "You'll forgive me, please, as there are matters that require my immediate attention. The guard will see you to the keep."8964 copyright protection121PENANAtm5q5d9Gia 維尼
The Count arose, bowed. "Of course, Baron. We're looking forward to the fete. I've ah-h-h-mm-m-m never seen a Seppanen fete."8964 copyright protection121PENANAcbibalAWi1 維尼
"Yes," the Baron said. "The fete." He turned, was enveloped by guards as he stepped into the private exit from the box.8964 copyright protection121PENANA9S0l2HCkCq 維尼
A guard captain bowed to Count Pasternak. "Your orders, milord?"8964 copyright protection121PENANAsbI4H2yRDh 維尼
"We will ah-h-h wait for the worst mm-m-m crush to um-m-m pass," the Count said.8964 copyright protection121PENANAI8uIBKbroL 維尼
"Yes, milord." The man bowed himself back three paces.8964 copyright protection121PENANA54XZdKfyJ6 維尼
Count Pasternak faced his lady, spoke again in their personal humming-code tongue: "You saw it, did you not?"8964 copyright protection121PENANAbOe5mcDv4j 維尼
In the same humming tongue, she said: "The lady knew the gladiator wouldn't be drugged. There was a moment of fear, yes, but no surprise."8964 copyright protection121PENANAIxI2nHI0Qe 維尼
"It was planned," he said. "The whole performance."8964 copyright protection121PENANAsg0zQyI3UJ 維尼
"Undoubtedly."8964 copyright protection121PENANAAvcv7UwdFH 維尼
"It reeks of Botkin."8964 copyright protection121PENANAG1vKn0W2gm 維尼
"It does," she agreed.8964 copyright protection121PENANAXb4HMwxtwV 維尼
"I demanded earlier that the Baron eliminate Botkin."8964 copyright protection121PENANAfsgF0go4xx 維尼
"That was a mistake, my dear."8964 copyright protection121PENANAwJdaIzjyfZ 維尼
"I realize that now."8964 copyright protection121PENANAn6ENHUAecA 維尼
"The Seppanens may have a new Baron ere long."8964 copyright protection121PENANA5FpnZfEINN 維尼
"If that's Botkin's plan."8964 copyright protection121PENANA5MvEtyYniR 維尼
"That will bear examination, true," she said.8964 copyright protection121PENANApppI1F198A 維尼
"The young one will be more docile, easier to control."8964 copyright protection121PENANA2GOpMoYlrU 維尼
"For us......after tonight," she said.8964 copyright protection121PENANAM1SwJyxCK8 維尼
"You don't anticipate difficulty seducing him, my little brood-mother?"8964 copyright protection121PENANA2youe2ijKo 維尼
"No, my love. You saw how he looked at me."8964 copyright protection121PENANAXGKwwu00xx 維尼
"I did, and I can see now why we must have that bloodline."8964 copyright protection121PENANAEQ23ZoUCVT 維尼
"Indeed, which is why we must have a hold on him. I'll plant deep in his deepest self the necessary prana-bindu phrases to convert him."8964 copyright protection121PENANAWoWQfT7m1P 維尼
"We'll leave as soon as possible---as soon as you're sure," he said.8964 copyright protection121PENANArxwWuwKpdQ 維尼
She shuddered. "By all means! I would not want to bear a child in this dreadful place!"8964 copyright protection121PENANAQkHLX8gohd 維尼
"The things we do in humanity's name," he said.125Please respect copyright.PENANADxUCsUocsE
8964 copyright protection121PENANA7Oz0oG9FbV 維尼
"Yours is the easy part."8964 copyright protection121PENANA3kJm9GZF6L 維尼
"There are some ancient prejudices I overcome," he said. "They're quite primordial, you know."8964 copyright protection121PENANAS9OPLL1tk8 維尼
"My poor dear," she said and patted his cheek. "You know this is the only way to be sure of saving that bloodline."8964 copyright protection121PENANAPPcHvPvGAZ 維尼
He spoke in a dry voice. "I understand what we do quite well." 8964 copyright protection121PENANAd7CABcsOb0 維尼
"We won't fail," she said.8964 copyright protection121PENANARDhLF42r74 維尼
"Guilt begins as a feeling of failure," he reminded her.8964 copyright protection121PENANASiSoFNY0QO 維尼
"There'll be no guilt," she said. "Hypno-ligation on that Ram-Gurgen psyche and his child in my womb---then we go."125Please respect copyright.PENANAkyqb3ugqmI
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"That uncle," he said. "Have you ever seen such distortion?"8964 copyright protection121PENANAO8AcelZzrV 維尼
"He's a fierce one," she said, "but the nephew could well grow up to be worse."8964 copyright protection121PENANAEKntP0pfIr 維尼
"Thanks to that uncle. You know, when you think what this lad could've been with some other upbringing---with the Romanov code to guide him, for example."8964 copyright protection121PENANAkDYixdlq45 維尼
"It's said," she said.8964 copyright protection121PENANAHlvrKZ7UoM 維尼
"Would that we could've saved both the Romanov youth and this one. From what I heard of that young Alexei---a most admirable lad, good union of breeding and training." He shook his head. "But let us not waste our sorrows over the aristocracy of misfortune."8964 copyright protection121PENANA6FSGDlooNT 維尼
"There's a Bala Garrasaid saying," she said.8964 copyright protection121PENANAgyF0q4lCa1 維尼
"You have sayings for everything," he protested.125Please respect copyright.PENANAGOunFiYXNX
8964 copyright protection121PENANAHBcTE3DYnH 維尼
"Then pay heed to this one," she said. "It goes: 'Do not count a human dead 'til you've beheld his corpse. And even then, you could be mistaken.'"8964 copyright protection121PENANAVh0NBBfOq7 維尼
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