Renegade of Callisto
- Автор: Картер Лин Спрэг
- Серия: Callisto #8
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «Renegade of Callisto». Краткое содержание книги:
Far from his adopted home, the Golden City of Shondakor, Koja, self-exiled insectoid of the Yathoon Horde, has blundered into the savage land he had renounced, accompanied only by little Taran, ward of Prince Jandar. Lost in the treacherous scarlet plains, the two are hurled to separate, unnamable fates —Taran forsaken in shackles, along with the lovely Princess Xara, while the renegade Koja is locked on a perilous course of vengeance for the evils done to his clan. All destinies collide at the Great Yathoon Games in the hidden valley of Sargol — the impenetrable citadel girdled by a seething mote of flames.
In the spine-tingling tradition of Edgar Rice Burroughs, Lin Carter again transports us to a strange and sublime landscape pulsating with the flash of swords, secret splendors, and ever-lurking danger.
By the time Koja had deduced that he and Taran had been taken prisoner by a chieftain of the Garukh Clan, and that the Garukhs had broken away from the Kandar Clan, with whom they were at war, he began to rejoice grimly in the fact that during his years of residence in Shondakor in the retinue of Prince Jandar he had gotten out of the habit of painting his tribal signs across his thorax.
And he would have begun to sweat, if he could, for Koja had been a chieftain of the Kandars.
It was late at night when Uthak led his hunters into the main encampment of the Garukhs, and too late to display his captives to the akka-komor, the high chief of the Clan, since that personage had already retired after a feast at which he had taken aboard a considerable quantity of the thin, sour beer which the Yathoon habitually imbibe in place of the wines or brandies brewed by the more civilized races of the jungle Moon.
The high chief, Fanga, was as coldly emotionless as were all of his kind, but of a truculence unusual among the Yathoon and given to deadly outbursts of ferocity. Not at all, you will understand, the sort of individual who takes kindly to being awakened in the middle of the night to examine prisoners. Therefore Uthak ordered Koja and Taran chained for the night in the slave pens, together with the various other captives and possessions of the Clan, deciding to report to Fanga on the death of the chieftain Gothar and the capture of a clanless Yathoon renegade and what Uthak considered his human slave, the boy Taran.
Most of the slaves and prisoners were already asleep when Hoog and Uthak brought the two new captives in and chained them to one of the poles sunk in the earthen floor of the pen for precisely that purpose. The chains were attached to their ankles, and while they were being secured to the pole, Koja looked around him keenly in the light of the torch Hoog held, getting a look at the other captives.
He was surprised to see a young human female among the slaves, and he was even more surprised to discover himself being chained next to a stalwart and powerful Yathoon whom he recognized at a glance, although they had not seen each other for many years.
“Jaruga, O Borak,” he muttered in low tones, once the warriors had withdrawn and they were left alone. “Many moons have risen and set since last we feasted together at the Games of Sargol. Do you remember Koja, chieftain of the Kandars?”
“Jaruga, O Koja,” replied the other, repeating the simple word of greeting commonly used among the members of the Horde. “I remember well how you bested me with the spear during the Games, and how I bested you with the bow. You would be wise to desist from mention of the Kandars here, for so great is the hatred and the jealousy with which the high chief, Fanga, regards all members of your Clan that instant death would be the echo of that Clan’s name, were you so foolish as to utter it in the presence of one of his warriors.”
“I thank you for the warning,” said Koja noncommittally. “But tell me, how come you here, chained like an ordinary slave in Garukh irons, when to my best knowledge you have succeeded to the rank of high chief of your own nation since last we met?”
“Alas, the Haroob Clan now groans under the lash of a traitor and a usurper,” said Borak grimly.
“Whilst I, their true leader, have been driven into exile and outlawry by trickery and deceit. The tale, however, is a long and an unhappy one, and is best saved for another time, as dawn is not far off and we must be rested for the morrow.”
“Tell me, then, but one thing more,” urged Koja. “That human female tethered to the far wall of the tent: who is she, and what is her nation? For she seems royal in dress and demeanor, and her coloring reminds me of a comrade from distant Ganatol.”
“The female indeed harks from Ganatol, as I have been given to understand, although we have not had speech together since she was chained amongst us,” said Borak. “Her name is Xara, and she is of the royal house of that city, captured by Fanga’s scouts while on an official mission of some sort to one of the southern cities; I believe it was Shondakor the Golden.”
“Indeed?” muttered Koja, his curiosity aroused. “How long has she been among the slaves of Fanga?”
“Not long: a month, perhaps a bit more. And now let us find what poor rest we can in the harsh chains of captivity,” said Borak. And, with those words, he turned on his side and slept.
Koja, however, did not sleep. He was wondering what mission had brought Xara, Princess of Ganatol, into the slavery of the Yathoon Horde.
The following morning the komad Uthak made his report to Fanga, who was far from pleased to learn that one Yathoon warrior and a human boy had slain nine of his huntsmen, the chieftain Gothar among them. Koja and Taran were brought before him in chains to be interrogated.
Fanga looked Koja up and down, while Koja observed him in return. The high chief of the Garukhs was a powerful adult arthropod and was evidently a veteran warrior of great prowess, for his chitinous armor bore many scars from ancient wounds gotten in combat or in the duello. There was something about the cold, unwinking stare of his glittering eyes that made Koja distrust him, and something in the grim, threatening set of his features that he did not like.
But he did not recognize Fanga, which was one thing to be thankful for. Apparently they had never before met, even in Sargol. That meant that Fanga did not and could not recognise him as a former chieftain of the hated Kandars.
“As a warrior of the Yathoon Horde, you must belong to one Clan or another,” observed Fanga heavily. “To which Clan do you owe allegiance?”
“To none,” said Koja levelly. And it was no less than the truth he spoke, for he had long ago given up his allegiance to the Kandars to join the retinue of his friend, Jandar of Shondakor.
“Then you are aharj?” queried Fanga. The word meant, approximately, one who was an outcast or an outlaw, forever exiled from membership in his native Clan.
Koja twitched his brow-antennae in the Yathoon equivalent of an uncaring shrug. “You have said it,” he remarked tonelessly.
The comment could be interpreted as meaning either “so you say,” or “you have guessed the truth.” Fanga chose the second interpretation, which was fortunate for Koja.
The high chief said nothing, but continued to stare down at Koja from his dais. He was a fearsome figure, was this Fanga, for as if his ghastly scars did not make him hideous enough, he chose to adorn his person with a girdle and a necklace made of grinning skulls―the skulls of humans and of Yathoons. He was grim and terrible, and little Taran shuddered at the look of him.
Then he nodded, absorbing the information, and did not bother to inquire further into Koja’s Clan. The reason for this was, quite simply, that when a Yathoon goes aharj he has foresworn all Clan allegiance. In simple fact, then, Koja was no longer a Kandar, and had ceased to be one the very moment he had ridden out of the Kandar encampment, assisting Jandar the Earthling to escape. Therefore, it made no particular difference what Clan Koja had once belonged to: an outlaw was simply that, an outlaw, and fair game.
It never occurred to Fanga that Koja might have been a Kandar. “Uthak says you are a master swordsman,” growled Fanga. “Is that true?”
“It is,” acknowledged Koja expressionlessly. Being a Yathoon, it was neither in his nature to boast or to affect a modest disclaimer of his prowess. The Yathoon tend in general to be the most honest and straightforward of all of the races of Thanator, for so emotionless are they that they simply tell the absolute and literal truth, ungarnished by flattery, egotism, or modesty. Koja knew his own talent, and he acknowledged it.