The Return of Tharn Part 26

After a brief discussion, the three warriors returned to their posts, the twin gates swung wide, Ekbar's command sounded and the column of fifty Ammadians, accompanied by the two prisoners, filed briskly through the opening.

Trakor, looking back over his shoulder, saw the twin gates move slowly, grindingly together, saw the reaches of distant jungle narrow, then disappear as those two sections of heavy planking ground firmly into place.

And in the dull, sodden thud of their meeting, the last flicker of hope was extinguished in Trakor's heart.

It was the hour of Jaltor's daily audience. The vast throne room was crowded with men and women from all walks of Ammadian life. Slaves, freedmen, merchants, traders, warriors and n.o.blemen crowded that two-thirds of the room set aside for their use.

At the far end of the hall-like chamber, set off from the heavily crowded section by a line of stalwart guards armed with spears, stood a pyramid-shaped dais, its sides serrated into wide steps. At the flattened apex stood a richly carved, high-backed chair of dark wood.

Here sat Jaltor, king of all Ammad, his tremendous, beautifully proportioned body seeming to dwarf not only the chair and its supporting dais but the entire room as well. He was bending forward slightly at the waist, his head turned slightly the better to hear the words a n.o.bleman was droning into his ear. The shuffling of many feet, the buzz of many muted voices from beyond the line of guards formed a backdrop of sound against the message he was receiving.

Because of the ever-present possibility of a.s.sa.s.sination at the hand of some disgruntled commoner or a hired killer, only the n.o.blemen of Ammad were allowed to pa.s.s that spear-bristling line of guards. As a result, the citizenry of the city was split into factions, each faction owing its allegiance to that n.o.bleman situated in its district. The n.o.bleman justified the loyalty of his faction by protecting its members against criminals and vandals both within and without his district and by pleading their side of any dispute that could be settled only by Jaltor, head of the State.

Rivalry between n.o.blemen was strong and usually bitter, although none of this ever appeared on the surface. A n.o.bleman whose influence and power showed signs of weakening found his territory subjected to raids, his followers won away from him by threats and promises. With the loss of influence and power his wealth would dwindle, his guards and warriors would desert to other n.o.blemen, until at last Jaltor must step in and elevate some favorite of his own, or some friend of another n.o.ble, into the victim's place.

Against a side wall of the teeming throne room, on this particular afternoon, stood Vokal, n.o.bleman of Ammad. On his smooth, finely featured face was his accustomed air of dreamy disinterest in his surrounds, his soft gray hair was carefully arranged to point up its natural wave, his slender shapely arms were carelessly folded across the chest of his plain white tunic. There was no purple edging on that tunic now; in the palace of Jaltor only the king himself could display that color.

Beneath that serene exterior, however, was no serenity. Vokal was badly worried. Eleven suns had pa.s.sed since the day word of Heglar's attempt to kill Jaltor had electrified all Ammad. Guards had hustled the old man roughly from the throne room--and from that moment on no one heard of him again.

But he should have been heard of! Four slaves of slaves--the lowest human element in Ammad--should have dragged his traitorous old body through Ammad's streets to be spat upon and reviled by loyal citizens.

And Garlud--what of Garlud? No one had seen him either since that day.

Not that his absence caused much speculation--almost none in fact. It was not unusual for Ammad's n.o.blemen to absent themselves from the city for days, even moons, on end. A hunting trip, a visit to friends in other of Ammad's cities--any of several explanations would have accounted for his disappearance.

The true reason should have been his involvement in Heglar's plot to do away with Jaltor. But only Vokal of all Ammad's thousands could know that--and he had no business knowing it. Garlud's affairs were going on smoothly in his absence, in charge of the captain of his guards. By this time, if Vokal's plans had not miscarried, the silvery haired n.o.bleman should have been summoned by Jaltor, told of Garlud's perfidy, and his holdings and position handed to him in view of Jotan's continued absence.

And then there was Rhoa--Heglar's young and beautiful wife ... and Vokal's mistress. He had not seen her since the day her husband had made the attempt on Jaltor's life. This was agreed upon between them for safety's sake; the understanding was that once Heglar's death was known, Vokal could court and win her in the usual manner.

But what had been foreseen as only two or three days of separation had lengthened into eleven and still no word of Heglar's fate. Long before this those thousand tals paid to Heglar should have come back into Vokal's hands, accompanied by Rhoa herself. Vokal was becoming increasingly uneasy about those missing tals; let enough time elapse before he could take Rhoa as mate and she might reconsider, refuse Vokal and keep the thousand tals for herself. There would be nothing he could do about it, either. To threaten her or use force could anger her into betraying him.... Vokal shuddered. Only this morning she had sent word to him that she was tired of this uncertainty, that something must be done to learn what had happened to her husband.

Another thing: Ekbar and his men should have returned before this--returned with word that Jotan, Garlud's son, was dead and no longer in a position to step into his father's sandals as first ranking n.o.bleman of Ammad. What was delaying the man?

Well, Vokal told himself doggedly, he could wait no longer. There were ways to get at the truth--ways that would not betray his interest in the matter. For instance, there was Sitab, an officer in Jaltor's own palace guard....

But first would come another plan at breaking that wall of silence. This same morning, Vokal had remembered a case involving a merchant whose shop was on the boundary line between Vokal's territory and the neighboring district belonging to Garlud. A moon or so before, one of Vokal's collectors had informed Ekbar that this merchant was claiming allegiance to Garlud, even though his shop was not in the latter's territory.

It was a minor matter and as a rule a n.o.bleman did not complain to Jaltor about these single isolated cases. It was only when there was evidence of some systematic raid by a neighboring n.o.bleman that a complaint was filed. Clearly Garlud had not ordered any such raid, but enough evidence was there at least to bring the matter to Jaltor's attention, thus making it necessary for Garlud to defend himself against the charge.

"Vokal--the n.o.ble Vokal." The cry of Jaltor's personal clerk rang out over the packed room. "Approach the Throne and present your plea."

With gentle courtesy Vokal pushed between the press of humanity, pa.s.sed through the line of armed guards and mounted the steps of Jaltor's dais.

He bowed low before the giant ruler of Ammad. "Greetings, Most-High.

Vokal, your loyal subject, begs permission to plead a grievance."

Jaltor gave him a warm and friendly smile. He had always liked Vokal; the n.o.bleman's quiet manner and gentle courtliness were always welcome.

"It is unusual for the n.o.ble Vokal to _have_ a grievance," he said.

"That in itself is in your favor. What is troubling you?"

"A matter of a boundary dispute involving a merchant in my territory. It seems he has been 'influenced' into transferring allegiance to another n.o.bleman."

Jaltor nodded his understanding. "Have you been bothered by many such cases involving the same n.o.bleman?"

"No, Most-High," Vokal said. "And I am quite sure Garlud knows nothing of this one. Perhaps one of his collectors is a bit--over zealous. By bringing the matter to Garlud's attention at this time, further incidents can be averted."

Nothing changed in Jaltor's expression at mention of Garlud's name; Vokal was sure of that. He said, neither too quickly nor too slowly:

"I agree, n.o.ble Vokal: this must have happened without Garlud's knowledge. Unfortunately the matter can not be brought to his attention just now, but I shall see to it that he hears about it at the earliest possible moment."

It was an opening Vokal could not resist. "The n.o.ble Garlud is not in Ammad at present?"

"I believe not." Jaltor's voice and manner remained unchanged, but something flickered in his eyes--something Vokal did not miss.

"My deepest thanks to you, Most-High," he said with that gracious and gentle air for which he was noted.

"It is always a pleasure to talk with you, Vokal."

It was a dismissal and Vokal, bowing low, withdrew. As he crossed the huge throne-room toward the exit, his thoughts were sharp and incisive.

Something had happened to Garlud. Jaltor's eyes and the brevity of his answer to Vokal's question confirmed that. But what? And why was the n.o.bleman's fate kept such a secret? Did Jaltor suspect Garlud of having accomplices other than old Heglar?

These were questions demanding quick and positive answers. First he must learn what had happened to the missing n.o.bleman. If his death could be verified--and, of course, Heglar's as well--there was a way to make the information open to the public. That done, and Vokal would be free to move up in rank to a place second only to Jaltor himself--as well as being able to marry Rhoa and recover his thousand tals.

A great deal of careful thought must go into his next move. And so Vokal left the palace and returned to his home, where, in the quiet of his private apartment, he would be able to concentrate on these pressing problems.

When the long hour of public audience was over, Jaltor returned to his quarters. His step was quick and purposeful and his dark eyes were alight with an inner excitement.

At the entrance to his apartment, the guard on duty there leaped to attention at his approach. To him Jaltor snapped, "Find Curzad at once and inform him I wish to see him immediately."

The guard saluted and went swiftly off along the corridor.

A clay jug of wine, cooling in a low basin of water on one of the tables of polished wood, caught the monarch's eye. Not bothering to use one of the several goblets standing nearby, Jaltor swung the jug to his lips and took a long, satisfying draught on the contents, wiped his lips on the back of a muscular forearm and began to pace the floor.

A light knock sounded at the door and Curzad, as iron-faced and reserved as ever, came into the room. He was in the act of closing the door behind him when Jaltor said, "Wait. Send the guard out there away. I don't want our conversation overheard, even by the most trustworthy of your men."

Curzad obeyed, then closed the door and came into the room, standing there stiff-backed, waiting further orders.

Jaltor jerked a thumb at a chair. "Sit down, my friend, and help yourself to the wine."

The captain of the palace guards let himself gingerly down into the luxurious depths of soft upholstery and reached for the wine jug and a goblet. Most of Ammad's n.o.blemen would have lifted outraged eyebrows at such familiarity between the world's most powerful monarch and a mere warrior. But Curzad and Jaltor had fought side by side in many a battle and through many a campaign, and each honored and respected the other.