The Strange City
Dylara was first aware of a dull pain centering at the juncture of cheek and jaw. Half conscious, she put her fingers to the aching spot—and opened her eyes.
"How do you feel?" asked a man's deep voice.
Dylara, blinking in the strong sunlight, sat up. In front of her, squatted on his haunches before a small grass-fed fire, was a slender, wirily built man of uncertain age, his narrow hawk-like face creased in a thin-lipped smile as he squinted at her.
"I don't.... What—" Dylara began in a dazed voice.
The man fished a bit of scorched meat from the flames and bit off a mouthful. "The next time," he said thickly, "be careful whose face you scratch. Trokar doesn't make a habit of hitting girls, but you turned on him like a panther when he tried to keep you from running away. He'll carry the marks for a while!"
Memories flooded in on her. She saw the sun-dappled trail; saw Tharn rise from the body of Bana, only to go down under the cruel impact of a heavy club; saw the horde of oddly dressed men spring from concealment and rush toward her. She had turned to run, but a grinning warrior had intercepted her. And when she had raked her nails across his cheek, his good-humored expression had darkened—she remembered no more.
"But—but Tharn?" she cried. "Where is he? Did you—Is he—"
The man shrugged. "If you mean the man who was with you ... well, we intended only to stun him. There is need in Sephar for strong slaves. But the club that brought him down was thrown too hard."
"Then he is—dead?"
The hawk-faced one nodded.
Dylara was too shocked to attempt analysis of her feelings. She knew only that an unbearable weight had come into her heart; beyond that her thoughts refused to go. Sudden tears stung her eyes.
The man rose and set about stamping out the fire. Watching him, the girl began to note how greatly this man differed from one of her own tribe. To begin with, he was smaller, both in build and in stature. His skin, under its heavy tan, was somewhat darker; his hair very black. He wore a tunic of some coarsely woven grayish white material; rude sandals of deerskin covered his feet. A quiver of arrows and a bow—both completely unfamiliar objects to the girl—swung from his shoulders, and a long thin knife of flint was thrust under a belt of skin at his waist.
His speech, too, had shown he was of another race. While it had been intelligible, his enunciation was puzzling at times; occasionally hardly understandable. The similarity to the Cro-Magnon tongue was far stronger than basic; still, there was considerable difference in subtle shadings of pronunciation and sentence structure.
He turned to her, finally. "Are you hungry?"
"No," she said dully.
"Good. We have delayed too long, as it is. Sephar is more than two suns away, and we are anxious to return."
He raised his voice in a half-shouted, "Ho!" In response a half-score of men rose from the tall grasses nearby.
"Trokar," called the hawk-faced one.
"Yes, Vulcar." A slender young man came forward.
"Here is the girl who improved your looks! It will be your duty to look after her on the way back to Sephar."
Trokar fingered three angry red welts along one cheek, and grinned without speaking.
In single file they set out toward the south. For several hours they pushed steadily ahead across gently rolling prairie land. The girl's spirits sagged lower and lower as she trudged on, going she knew not where. She thought of her father and the grief he must be suffering; of her friends and her people. She thought of Tharn once or twice; if he were alive, these men would not hold her for long. But he was dead, and the realization brought so strong a pang that she forced her thoughts away from him.
They camped that night at the edge of a great forest. All during the dark hours a heavy fire was kept going, while the men alternated, in pairs, at sentry duty. Several times during the night Dylara was awakened by hunting cries of roving meat-eaters but apparently none came near the camp.
All the following day the party of twelve skirted the edge of the forest, moving always due south. By evening the ground underfoot had become much more uneven, and hills began to appear frequently. The nearby jungle was thinning out, as well, and the air was noticeably cooler. Just at sunset they finished scaling a particularly steep incline and paused at the crest to camp for the night.
Not far to the south, Dylara saw a low range of mountains extending to the horizons. Narrow valleys cut between the peaks, none of the latter high enough to be snow-capped. Through one ravine tumbled the waters of a mountain stream. The fading sunlight, reflected from water and glistening rocks, gave the scene an aura of majestic magnificence, bringing an involuntary murmur of delight to the lips of the girl.
"Beyond those heights lies Sephar." It was Vulcar, he of the hawk face, who spoke from beside her.
Dylara glanced at him, seeing the great pride in his expression.
"Sephar?" she echoed questioningly.
"Home!" he said. "It is like nothing you have ever seen. We do not live in caves; we are beyond that. It is from tribes such as yours that we take our slaves. Long ago the people of Sephar and Ammad were such as you. But because they were greater and wiser, and learned many things which you of the caves do not know, we have come to think of your kind as little more than animals."
Early the following morning they were underway once more. Shortly before noon they scaled the last few yards to a great tableland among the peaks. And it was then that Dylara got her first glimpse of Sephar.
A little below where she stood was a wide, shallow valley, most of it filled with heavy forest and jungle. Directly in the center of this valley, a jewel in a setting of green, lay a city. A city of stone buildings, gray and box-like, erected in the most simple of architectural design. With a few exceptions, all buildings were of one story; none more than two. Broad, clean streets were much in evidence, the principal ones running spokewise to converge at the exact center of the wheel-like pattern. Encircling all this was a great wall of dull gray stone.
But the most arresting feature of the entire city was situated at the hub of it all. Here, rising four full stories above the carefully tended plot of ground surrounding it, stood a tremendous structure of pure white stone, its shining walls adding materially to the dazzling effect given the awe-struck Dylara.
A hand touched her shoulder. Vulcar was smiling at her expression. "That," he said proudly, "is Sephar."
The girl could find no words to answer him. Here was something that all the tales repeated around a hundred cave-fires, during the rainy seasons, had never approached. Here might dwell the gods; those who sent the rain and the flaming bolts from the skies....
"Come," Vulcar said at last, and the little party started down the grass-covered incline toward the valley floor—and Sephar.
The princess Alurna was angry. A few moments ago she had driven her slave woman from the room, hastening the girl's departure with a thrown vase. Raging, the princess paced the chamber's length, kicking the soft fur rugs from her path. Bed coverings were scattered about the floor, flung there during this—her latest—tantrum.
It is doubtful whether Alurna, herself, knew what brought on these savage fits of temper. Actually, it was boredom; life to the girl—still in her early twenties—went on in Sephar in the same uneventful fashion as it had since her great-great grandfather had led a host across the tremendous valley between the present site of Sephar and the northern slopes of Ammad.
Finally the princess threw herself face down on the disordered bed and burst into hysterical weeping. She had about cried herself out, when a hand touched her arm.
"Go away, Anela!" she snapped, without looking up. "I told you to stay out until I sent for you."
"It is I," said a deep voice, "Urim, your father."
The girl scrambled hastily from the bed, at the same time wiping away the traces of tears.
"I'm sorry, father. I thought it was Anela, come back to look after me."
The man chuckled. "If I know anything, she won't be back until you fetch her. She is huddled in one corner of the hall outside, shaking as though Sadu had chased her!"
Despite his fifty years, Urim, ruler of Sephar, was still an imposing figure. Larger than the average Sepharian, he had retained much of the splendid physique an active life had given him. Of late years, however, he had been content to lead a more sedentary life; this, and a growing fondness for foods and wine, had added inches to his middle and fullness to his face, while mellowing still further a kindly disposition.
Alurna sat down on the edge of her bed and sought to tidy the cloud of loosely bound dark curls framing her lovely head. She was taller, by an inch or two, than the average Sepharian girl, with a lithe, softly rounded figure, small firm breasts, rather delicate features and a clear olive skin. She was wearing a sleeveless tunic which fell from neck to knees, caught at the waist by a wide belt of the same material. Her shapely legs were bare, the feet encased in heelless sandals of leather.
Urim drew up a chair and sat down. He watched Alurna as she freshened her appearance, his face reflecting a father's pride.
"Come, child," he said at last. "It is time for the mid-day meal. And that brings out what I came to tell you."
Alurna glanced at him with quick interest. "I thought so! I can always tell when you've got some surprise for me. What is it this time?"
"Visitors," Urim replied. "Three noble-born young men have traveled from Ammad to pay their respects. They have brought gifts from your uncle—many of them for you!"
Visitors from the mother country were rare, since few elected to attempt the perilous journey to Sephar. Alurna's uncle was king in Ammad, and the two brothers were warm friends. Urim, himself, had been born in Ammad, having come to Sephar as ruler when the former king, old Pyron, had died childless. Alurna had never seen the city of her father's birth, having been born in Sephar.
When Alurna had completed her toilet, she joined her father, and together they descended the broad central staircase of the palace to the lower hall. After passing through several well-furnished rooms, they entered a crowded dining hall and took seats at the head of a long table. The other diners had risen at their entry; they remained standing until Urim motioned for them to sit again.
Another group entered the hall, now, and all, save Urim and his daughter, rose to greet them. These newcomers were the visitors from Ammad, and as they approached vacant benches near the table's head, Urim stood to welcome them, his arms folded to signify friendship, a broad smile on his lips.
He turned to Alurna. "My daughter, welcome the friends of my brother. This is Tamar; this, Javan; and Jotan—my daughter, Alurna."
The girl smiled dutifully to the three. Two were of the usual type about her—slight, small-boned, graceful men with little to distinguish them.
But the other—Jotan—caught her attention from the first. He was truly big—standing a full six feet, with heavy broad shoulders and muscular arms and legs. His eyes were a cold flinty blue, deep-set in a strong masculine face. His jaw was square and firm, the recently scraped skin ruddy and clear. He carried himself with no hint of self-consciousness at being in the presence of royalty; his bearing as regal as that of Urim, himself.
One after the other the three visitors touched the princess' hand. Jotan, the last, held her fingers a trifle longer than was necessary, while his eyes flashed a look of admiration that turned red the girl's cheeks. She withdrew her hand abruptly, hiding her confusion by hurried speech.
"My father and I are happy that you have come to Sephar," she said. "Food shall be brought to refresh you after so long and tiring a journey."
At a sign from Urim, slaves began to fetch in steaming platters, placing them at frequent intervals along the board. Baked-clay cups were put at the right hand of each diner and filled with the wine-like beverage common to Sephar and Ammad; an alcoholic drink fermented from a species of wild grape. Of utensils there was none, the hands serving to convey food to the mouth.
After spilling a few drops of wine to the floor as a tribute to the God-Whose-Name-May-Not-Be-Spoken-Aloud, each diner set about the business of eating.
At last the mounds of viands had disappeared; the cups, drained and refilled many times during the course of the feast, were replenished again, and the Sepharians settled back to talk.
"Scarcely five marches from here, we were beset by a great band of cave-dwellers." Javan was speaking. "We beat them back easily enough; our bows and arrows evidently were unknown to them and sent scores to their deaths.
"But I tell you it was exciting for a time! They were huge brutes and unbelievably strong. Their spears—crude, barbaric things—were thrown with such force that twice I saw them go entirely through two of our men.
"But, as I say, we repulsed them, losing only four of our party, while over forty of the cave people died. We were not able to take prisoners; they fought too stubbornly to be subdued alive."
Alurna leaned forward eagerly.
"We have many slaves who once were such as you have described," she broke in. "But they do not take kindly to slavery. They often are morose and hate us, and need beatings to be kept in place. Yet their men are strong and fearless—and usually quite handsome."
From his place at the table, Jotan watched the face of the princess as she spoke. She seemed vivid and forceful—much more so that any other woman he had ever met; and her beauty of face and figure was breath-taking. He resolved to become better acquainted with her.
The manner in which Tamar straightened at her last words, showed they had stung him—just why, was not altogether clear to Alurna.
"They are only brutes—animals!" he said heatedly. "They know nothing of such splendor—" he waved an arm to include the room's rich furnishings "—no tables or chairs, no soft covers on their cave floors. There are no walls to protect them from raids by their enemies; no ability in warfare beyond blind courage. They are half-naked savages—nothing more!"
A sudden commotion at the doorway caused the conversation to end here. A short, alert man with a hawk-like face and a distinct military bearing, strode into the room and bowed before Urim.
"Well, Vulcar," greeted the king, without rising, "what are you doing here?"
"I come," replied the warrior, "to report the capture of a young cave-woman. A hunting party slew her mate and captured her a few marches from Sephar."
"Bring her in to us," Urim commanded. "I should like our visitors to see for themselves what cave people are like."
Vulcar bowed again, then returned to the doorway and beckoned to someone outside.
Two Sepharian warriors entered, Dylara between them. She was disheveled and rumpled, the protecting skin of Jalok, the panther, was awry; but her head was unbowed, her shoulders erect, and her glance as haughty as that of the princess, Alurna, herself.
No one said anything for a long moment. The sheer beauty of the girl captive seemingly had struck them dumb.
Jotan broke the silence. "By the God!" he gasped. "Are you jesting? This is no half-wild savage!"
Alurna, her eyes flashing dangerously, turned toward the speaker. The first man ever to attract her, and already raving over some unwashed barbarian who soon was to be a common slave!
"Perhaps you would like to have her as your mate," she said sweetly, but with an ominous note in her tone.
Urim shot a startled glance at his daughter. He had heard that edge to her voice before this, and usually it meant trouble for someone.
Jotan kept his eyes on the prisoner. "She would grace the life of any man," he declared with enthusiasm, totally unaware of Alurna's mounting jealousy.
Tamar, seated next to Jotan, forced a loud laugh. "My friend loves to jest," he announced in a palpable attempt to break the sudden tension. "Pay no attention to him."
Although Dylara understood most of what was being said, she was too upset to follow the conversation itself. She was awed and a little frightened by the undreamed-of magnificence about her. As much as she had hated Tharn, being with him was far better than belonging to those who had her now. But Tharn was dead, stricken down by a slender stick and heavy club.
"Take her to the slave quarters," instructed Urim finally. "Later, I shall decide what is to be done with her."
Dylara was led up two broad flights of stairs and deep within the left wing of the palace, her escort halting at last before massive twin doors. Here, two armed guards raised a heavy timber from its sockets, the doors swung wide, and she was led down a long hall past several small doors on either side of the corridor.
The men stopped before one of these doors, unbarred it, and thrust Dylara into the room beyond. Then the door closed and she heard the bar drop into place.
At first, her eyes were hard put to distinguish objects in the faint light entering through a long narrow, stone-barred opening set high up close to the ceiling. Soon, however, she was able to make out the simple furnishings: a low bed, formed by hairy pelts on a wooden framework; a low bench; a stand, upon which were a large clay bowl and a length of clean, rough cloth; and, on the floor, a soft rug of some woven material unfamiliar to the cave-girl.
Utterly weary, the girl threw herself on the bed. Thoughts of Tharn came unbidden to her mind. How she longed for his confidence-instilling presence! Not that she cared for him in any way; of that she was very certain. It was only that he was one of her own kind; he spoke as she did, clothed himself as she was accustomed to seeing men clothed.
It was unthinkable that he was dead; impossible to believe that that mighty heart had ceased to beat! Yet she had heard the dull impact of wood against bone as the club had felled him, and he had not stirred when the strange men broke from the bushes to seize her.
Yes, he was dead; and Dylara's eyes suddenly brimmed with burning tears. She told herself that her sorrow was not so much from his death as the fact that, without him alive, she could never hope to leave this place.
The show of bravado, maintained before her captors, began to slip away. She was so lonely and afraid here in this grimly beautiful city. What would become of her? And that proud, lovely girl at the table with all those people—why had she looked at Dylara with such frank hatred?
She cried a little, there in the dim light, and still sobbing, fell asleep.