The Quest of Kadji
- Автор: Картер Лин Спрэг
- Серия: Chronicles of Kylix #1
- Год: 1973
- Язык: английский
- Год: Five Star Paperback
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «The Quest of Kadji». Краткое содержание книги:
But once in each three years came that night when all seven of the moons of this world of Gulzund were gone from the night sky and left heaven vacant. During the coming hours of absolute darkness the dreaded Night Demon made his triennial assault on the unoccupied heavens, and only the prayers of the faithful sustained the weakened Moon Gods in their epic battle against the Demon of the Darkness.
Or such was the belief of the Chemed barbarians, at any rate.
On this night, then, it was up to the mortal men of the world to lend what illumination they could to alleviate the reign of the darkness. Ten thousand fat white candles blazed in the mighty palace that loomed like a man-made mountain amidst the colossal wreck of Chemedis. The splendour of this radiance gleamed and glistened on polished marble, agate, lapis, jade and malachite—flashed from golden helms, sparkling rubies, burnished shields of bronze, and naked swordblades of shimmering steel. Bedizened in gaudy silks, a mass of dazzling gems from head to foot, the fat little Ja Chan squatted like a bloated and obscene toad in his nest of cushions atop the broad dais, surrounded by squirming boys from his harem. Pots of incense smoked before him, spreading a cloud of pungent blue vapor through the candle-lit air.
Wine flowed like purple rivers. Smoking meats were laid before the plumed lords of the Chemed Horde in such numbers that the steam of their bubbling gravies thickened the air with succulent odors.
Dancing girls, their slim tawny bodies fully revealed save for a few beads and bangles, posed and postured lithely in the immemorial ceremonial dances. Capering dwarves in fantastic garments downed and waddled about comically. Jugglers filled the air with spinning balls, ate fire and breathed flames, while acrobats spun through hoops of blazing fire and twisted their bodies into weird positions to escape the glittering slash of naked blades.
All was noise, light, tumult, confusion. From where he stood in the shadow of one colossal pillar, Kadji felt stunned by the riot of sound and color and motion, dazzled by light—light everywhere—flashing, dancing, glittering, beaming from every polished surface and metal mirror.
To bribe those who selected warriors to serve as guards in the Sun Palace, and to make certain that he was one of the chosen, Kadji had squandered every last copper be had earned during all his weeks of service with the Horde.
But it was worth it, for—if all went according to plan—before the east reddened to the coming of dawn, the Quest of Kadji would have reached its end, and Shamad the Impostor would be dead.
From his post in the shadow of the pillar, Kadji stared hungrily upon the person of his adversary. For many months he had fought his way across half the world to bring down the doom of the gods on the beautiful head of Shamad the Impostor. He had suffered the hardships of travel, cold nights spent on the hard earth under star-strewn skies. He had come through battle and siege, treachery and delay, to this hour. His path had been long and wearisome, and it had taken him perilously near to the yawning gates of Death … but he had survived, and ere long, be would triumph.
The Masked Prophet sat drinking purple wine and turning his veiled and hidden eyes upon the slim golden bodies of the dancing girls. His tall, strongly built body, was robed in priceless silks of mystic green; gems flashed on his hands, which were gloved in black satin; expensive boots of scarlet leather showed beneath the hem of his silken gown. There was no slightest portion of his flesh bare to Kadji’s eyes. But the boy warrior knew beyond question that the tall figure in the shimmering robes, his face veiled in shadowy mystery, was Shamad, he who had earlier borne the proud name of Yakthodah. His identity could be seen in the arrogant posture of his body, in the kingly way his proud head was held erect, in the grace wherewith he disposed his limbs.
Silent, hidden among the shadows, the Red Hawk watched his deadly enemy, and beneath his tunic be fondled the handle of the Axe of Thom-Ra.
Now a deep gong rang out, thrilling the vibrant air. A magnificent chamberlain in silver cloth and ebon velvet raised his plumed staff and boomed out!
“The magicians are come before the glory of the Sun Throne, to perform their arts of mystery before the Ja Chan!”
And hidden in the shadows, Kadji caught his breath in sudden fear.
What if Akthoob had failed to persuade Arbalac to perform the ritual?
What if Arbalac had been unwilling, either to perform it himself, or to instruct Akthoob in the art?
If that were the case, then all Kadji’s plans had gone for nothing …
His heart in his mouth, the Red Hawk of the Chayyim Kozanga searched the file of robed magicians with eager, fearful, expectant eyes.
vi. The Spectre
THERE WERE plump, placid-faced sorcerers from Quarah and Dhesh who struck the paven floor with long staves and, lo! flames of emerald and ruby and gold sprang from cold stone to dance and coil and slither to the weird song of unseen flutes.
There were gaunt magicians from Shoth Am and the Mountain Countries, spirit beads wound about their bony brows and dangling in clanking chains from thin bare wrists. They sang complex spells and the rolling clouds of incense became fields of shimmering color whereon could be seen depicted the Ja Chan at the head of his tremendous Horde marching across the face of Gulzund in victory and triumph, his scarlet sword hidden, from hilt to point, in crowns, crowns and tiaras and coronets.
There were dwarfed wizards from Orome and the White River Kingdoms, small smiling men with agile glittering eyes, their, narrow beards stained blue, their mouths reddened with fayol. They set at the compass points sigils of the Planetary Metals, gold discs for Zao, iron plates for Thoorana, lead rondules for Olymbris, cirques of silver for Zephrondus. Then, brandishing talismans that flared in glimmering haloes of mystic fire, they raised spirits and summoned down demons from the stars to relate, in deep sepulchral voices, of the marvels of the universe.
Then stepped forth a tremendous man in robes of glorious scarlet. He was immense, taller than a Barbarian, and of more mighty girth than the fattest of men. He must have weighed three hundred stone or more. His round shaven face glistened with sweat and he wheezed and puffed at the exertion of moving his massive weight.
The chamberlain’s steelmace rang against the broken pave as he summoned attention for the next practitioner, of the magic arts.
“The Necromancer Arbalac from the isle of Thang in the Southern Seas will perform a rare and unusual feat of the art necromantic for the glory of the Ja Chan!” boomed the chamberlain. Kadji tensed in the shadow of the column, relief and new excitement surging through him.
From his girdle the huge Necromancer drew a black wand tipped with a strange grey gem. He uttered a pertentious syllable and the gem spluttered into blinding blue fire. With this blazing point Arbalac traced a great circle on the stony pave. The spluttering blue flame left a charred black mark clearly visible on the pave. This, Kadji knew, must be what Akthoob had named the Great Conjurational Circle.
In a deep base voice, the Necromancer spake.
“If the Glorious One will indulge this person for a moment, I shall attempt to summon from the shades of the Kingdom of the Dead the spectre of one who has lain among the shadows for a thousand years,” he announced, bowing ponderously in the direction of the Sun Throne. On the dais, the Ja Chan nodded absently, busily fondling one of his painted boys who squirmed and giggled lasciviously under the subtle movements of the jewelled hands.
The black circle lay on the stone floor. At one edge thereof stood the immense figure of the Necromancer, swathed in voluminous robes of arterial crimson. He folded his hands over the black wand. His lips moved without speech. His eyes sank into his head; his face paled and became wet with perspiration. He trembled throughout his ponderous body as if in the grip of some intense emotion. Kadji knew that the Necromancer was concentrating his will to such a degree that by the sheer power of mind alone he could summon into the land of the living an apparition from the Kingdom of Death.