The Dragon of the Ishtar Gate
- Автор: Де Камп Лайон Спрэг
- Год: 1968
- Язык: английский
- Год: Lancer Books
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «The Dragon of the Ishtar Gate». Краткое содержание книги:
Dragon is probably closest in mood to de Camp's fantasy novels, while Bronze God and Arrows are closer to his science fiction, with their description of engineering problems, and personality clashes among researchers and engineers. Dragon also reflects de Camp's then-recent acquaintance with the Conan stories and other works of Robert E. Howard. Bessas, the huge Persian nobleman, is not only a close match for Conan in physique, but his mood swings, fixation on his mother, and tendency to toss of verses, seems a reflection of Howard himself. (Fortunately, his poems reflect de Camp's verbal dexterity and wit, not Howard's melancholy.)
On and on they slopped, with the south wind blowing the rain in their faces. The beasts of burden sickened and died, one by one, until all the company were walking. Bessas wept bitterly when his charger, Vayu, perished like the others.
Their shoes rotted faster than Shimri could cobble them; their threadbare garments fell into holes faster than Phyllis and Salimat could patch and darn them. Soon they were tramping through the long grass in rags and tatters. They tried to make garments of antelope skins but, lacking means for properly tanning the hides, they found them slimy when wet and stiff as armor when dry. And the hides stank as they rotted.
They came to a river. While they disputed as to whether it was the Upper Nile, a hunting party of Shaikaru came upon them. The naked black giants proved friendly. They explained that this was but an eastern branch of the Astasobas; Boron, which they sought, lay on the larger, western branch. To reach it they had to cross the stream before them and ascend a smaller tributary to its source. The hunters not only pointed the way but went with them for several days to set them on the proper path.
On the last day of Ululu they were ascending this tributary. Rain came less often; new green grass sprouted vigorously among the brown stems of yesteryear, which often rose as high as a man. The land was less depressingly flat and featureless. Here and there from the higher ground arose a huge baobab tree, with a thick squat tublike elephant-colored trunk and long slender sparsely-leaved antlerlike branches. Sometimes, in rain or bad light, they were thrown into panic by mistaking a hillock for one of the elephant-eating serpents of which Yehosha had warned them.
They saw clumps of giraffes and great herds of antelopes. They passed a herd of elephants, moving slowly on vast columnar legs like rheumatic old men and stuffing themselves with everything green in reach of their trunks.
In the bright steamy sunshine the animals were mouse-colored on their backs and black on their lower parts. The elephants, a bowshot away, paid the travelers no heed until a puff of breeze carried human scent to their trunks and sent them lumbering off with squeals of alarm.
In beasts of burden, the company was now down to one horse, two mules, and three camels. Everybody walked and some carried loads on their backs as well. Much gear that Bessas judged not essential had been abandoned. Myron said:
"Puerma said something in Meroê about domestic animals' dying of a sickness in this region. We should have paid him closer attention at the time."
Kothar, brooding on supernatural influences, explained: "My familiars tell me that the gods of our homeland do not reign here. The gods of this land are dark, cruel, and dangerous. They are angry with us because we, not knowing their language and rites, do not worship them."
Bessas snorted: "If the local gods are any bloodthirstier than those Phoenician Baals, I want nought to do with them."
During a noon halt, a scream from behind a thicket made Myron whirl. For an instant he wondered if this were the cry of an animal, or of one of the party attacked by an animal. He dashed around the thicket.
Skhâ and an Arab were holding Phyllis down on her back, while another Arab was preparing to ravish her.
Myron tore out his sword and plunged towards the group. Sensing his approach, the two who held the girl released her and sprang to their feet. Skhâ drew his sword—a short blade like Myron's—and the Arabs their daggers.
"Abuse my slave, will you!" panted Myron, rushing at Skhâ.
"If you want trouble, grandpa, you shall have it!" said Skhâ, his round face red. Sidestepping Myron's rush, he spoke to the Arabs: "Slay him quickly, brothers, or he will have the big chief down upon us!"
Skhâ parried one slash from Myron while the Arabs closed in from side and rear. Myron realized that they could easily destroy him by attacking from different directions, unless he kept whirling and dancing to keep them off. He, who had attacked so boldly, was now on the defensive. Lacking his buckler, he drew his dagger with his left hand. Phyllis had disappeared.
"Old fool, making such a fuss over a mere slave!" panted Skhâ, lunging.
Myron, beginning to breathe hard, stumbled back against the thicket. Here, in the shelter of its thorny branches, they at least could not come at him from behind. None of the three was very aggressive in pushing home an attack, though they all kept urging one another on:
"Close in, Labid!" "Cut off his sword hand, Skhâ!" "Stab him in the leg to bring him down, Amr!" "Go on, fight, you two! He is old and weak!"
Amr got close enough to prick Myron in the left forearm, though Myron lightly wounded the Arab's shoulder as the latter jerked back.
It occurred to Myron that he had not shouted for help. Perhaps he had been too busy to think of it, or perhaps self-esteem had stilled his tongue. Now he raised his voice:
"Help! I am beset!"
Bessas' heavy footsteps sounded as the giant Bactrian rounded the thicket, sword in hand. Phyllis followed in her scanty rags. Taking a long stride, Bessas hit Labid on the side of the head with the Hat of his sword. The Arab fell sprawling into the grass, then scrambled up and fled with Amr.
Skhâ, whirling to face Bessas, whipped up his sword for a backhanded slash. "Von, too, eh?" he snarled, and swung, gripping the string of amulets round his neck with his left hand.
Bessas took a step back, out of the range of the short sword. As the force of Skhâ's swing spun him around, Bessas' long blade shot out like a striking serpent and slid between the Karian's ribs.
Skhâ fell to hands and knees, then flat, coughing bloody froth. He blinked, rolled his eyes, and tried to speak. But his last choked-out words were in his native Karian, which none understood.
Bessas stared briefly down at the body, wiped his blade, and turned to the panting Myron. "What in the name of Ahriman is all this?"
Myron explained; Bessas nodded, saying: "What shall we do with those rogues?" He pointed to the two fugitive Arabs, hovering on the horizon. "Shall we saddle up and ride them down? Had I a proper rope I could catch them for flogging, for I used to have some skill with the lariat."
Myron said: "Arabs are fierce feudists. If you flog one, the others will think it their tribal duty to stab you. Call upon Zayd to order them back and flog them instead."
"O subtle one! So shall it be."
When Amr and Labid were persuaded to return and take their punishment, they volubly explained that the whole attempted rape had been Skhâ's idea. The Karian had complained that his lusts were driving him mad, and nothing serious would befall them if they indulged their cravings on a slave.
"This," said Kothar darkly, "is but the first part of the serpent goddess' revenge, for our participation in the raid on Siptah's tomb. You shall see."
After Skhâ had been buried, Bessas walked somberly over the plain with Myron, slashing at weeds with a stick.
"As if my lusts were not doing the same to me," said the Bactrian, casting a burning glance back to where Salimat busied herself with camp chores. "But I have sense enough to know that my choice is either to seize her and break up the expedition in a brawl, or contain myself in patience. You need not worry; you can always have your cow-eyed Macedonian wench."
Myron tossed his head in a negative. "Middle age has its compensations, my boy. I have been so exhausted during the last month that I couldn't raise a stand if Aphrodite herself appeared before me. Perhaps it is just as well; a pregnant woman were no asset to our expedition."
"You have a point. Some folk in such a case would simply cut the woman's throat, but I think it wrong to use the poor little creatures so." Bessas slashed at a flower. "I blame myself for Skhâ's death. Had I taken time to think, I should have disarmed him and had him flogged with the others. Then he would still have been useful to us; for he was not a bad lad, despite his everlasting clack. But my lifelong habit has been, when a man assails me with steel, to slay him as expeditiously as I can."