Barry Sadler - God Of Death

Nor was the sight alone all. Then came the sound of drums and reed flutes. The group of Serpent soldiers to the west drew back to form a lane and the Vikings gawked in amazement. Here came a giant litter carried by fifty men, their faces black and each naked as the day he was born. They moved and chanted in step, carrying their enormous burden. The litter was protected by a canopy. Seated on a throne under the canopy was a monstrous figure in gleaming feathers, his face covered by a green stone mask, his hands holding a spear and one of the wooden clubs edged with razor-sharp obsidian.

People by the tens of thousands stood lining the thoroughfares as far as the eye could see. They were all quiet and well-behaved. When the palanquin approached, they would prostrate themselves to it.

The litter was definitely the center of attention. As it drew closer, the Vikings could see that it was covered with sheets of gold and decorated with blue and green stones. An ancient priest preceded it. His staff of office aided him to walk. His head was erect and proud beneath his coating of red and black paint. Closer the giant litter came. The drumming and the fluting reaching an ear-piercing crescendo as they neared. Ten feet from the Vikings they stopped. The sudden silence was impressive. It was broken for the Vikings only by the sound of their own breathing. Then a voice boomed out at them.

"Welcome!" it said in the language of the Norsemen. "Welcome to the lands and city of the Teotec."

Olaf stared in amazament. "Is it you, lord, behind the green mask? Aye. It must be. None of these people has eyes of your color. By Odin, lord, you look like some great green bird in all those feathers. Surely you sit in a strange nest. But we are glad to see you, lord, and, as you have ordered, we have come to do your bidding."

In the Roman manner taught them by Casca, the Vikings drew their swords at Olaf's command and with the wind whipping through the blond and red mustaches cried out as one man: "Hail, Casca, Lord of the Keep! Ave! Ave!"

Casca signaled, and the junior priests lowered their burden carefully to the ground. He stepped to the front of the litter.

His barbaric splendor was a sight to see. On his arms and wrists he wore bracelets of gold in the likeness of serpents eating their tails, while around his neck a massive pendant of beaten gold inlaid with jade pictured the history of the Teotec.

He removed the mask. It was beginning to cramp him anyway. His familiar scarred face, red and sweating, smiled at his men.

Sweeping Olaf up in his arms, Casca roared with obvious pleasure. He thumped Olaf on his back until the young Glamson thought his ribs would give way.

"Pray, lord," he pleaded, "if you would have me in any condition to fight later on, go easy now."

Casca's rolling laughter echoed around the square, and the sound of his mirth set the native people to smiling. All was well. The Tectli was pleased. Passing through the ranks of his men, Casca called each by name. He asked about the faces that were missing and frowned at their loss. But the life of a soldier is death, and they had died like men. When the living returned to their home fires even the dead would become immortal in the telling and retelling of great feats.

Returning to his litter, Casca called out to the city: "These are my men! They are to be your friends! They shall live among you! But, remember, they are not of your ways and customs. Be patient with them, and they will learn. If any offends, you tell me, and I will administer justice. These are my words. So let it be. I am the Quetza."

Turning to Olaf, he said, "You will be made welcome. Quarters are prepared. You and your men must rest after your journey. Come to me for the evening meal. Bring your officers, and we will talk of what must be done here."

Olaf was properly astounded. He bowed his head. "As you wish, my lord." Then he turned to his hairy band, and his voice boomed out in command very much like Casca:

"Let none here offend our hosts by bad manners. Though these people appear to be savage, I think we could learn much from them. The first one of you who gets his ass in trouble particularly over a woman will find himself singing his death song a helluva lot quicker than he thought. Understand? Good! Then follow these men." He indicated the priests who had stepped forward at Casca's bidding. "We will rest."

Once at their assigned quarters, the Vikings settled down to an excited chatter about their new surroundings and about what had happened to Casca. While this was going on a group of women slaves, heads bowed, demure, entered. Each went to one of the warriors and put a necklace of gold and turquoise about his neck, then a bracelet of gold set with jade on his wrist. Shy and fearful, they then withdrew. After getting a good look at the asses of the slave girls, several of the Vikings were immediately ready to trade their gifts for a quickie.

"All right, settle down." Olafs voice came through the excitement. "You men hit the sack. But before you go to sleep, make sure your weapons are clean and ready for use. Also, I want three men posted at the entrance at all times. We may be guests here, but we should be careful as always."

Totzin had watched the proceedings with the bile bitter in his mouth. Well enough, he thought. More of these paleskins for the altars. His eyes caught a glimpse of Metah as she joined Casca on his litter for the return to the palace. Totzin ran his tongue over his lips as he watched the rich sway of her hips and the bounce of her ripe breasts. When I am done with the Quetza, I shall take her for my own as long as she pleases me. When she no longer amuses me, I shall feed her to the Jaguar… except for those parts I take for myself…

Olaf followed his painted priest guide across the way to the palace of Casca. His quick gaze missed nothing. He was taken past guards in elaborate headdresses and with strange weapons. The walls were covered with murals depicting the life and culture of the people of Teotah. Behind Olaf his officers followed him in awe. Finally they came to a massive door of carved wood. Two Serpent soldiers opened it and ushered the Vikings into a more familiar presence.

Casca stood in the center of the huge room wearing only a loincloth. His arms and wrists were covered by massive gold bracelets. Casca welcomed the Vikings. They stood for a moment looking around the room. In the center were benches and a table covered with many foods even the flesh of the small dog that these people prized so much.

"Before we talk, eat and drink," Casca commanded. He indicated for them to take their places with a sweep of his muscled arms. The movement of his arms focused attention on the jagged scar on his chest, the raised red welt that had not yet had time to pale into the many other faded scars that limned his body. Olaf eyed the jagged wound but said nothing. Casca would tell of it when he was ready but now for the food. The Norsemen fell to with their normal vigor, though most of them carefully avoided the red peppers and spices. They had met those on their journey, and just looking at them they could remember how they had burned their mouths… and even later the burning was renewed when the chiles made their exit. The meat they favored most was that of a large bird resembling a giant chicken, but with drumsticks twice the size of that familiar domestic fowl.

The men showed a definite liking for the local wine, once they got used to the taste. Casca told them it was called octli. There was also the more pungent mezcal: A few of the Vikings even swore to its good effects. Both, Casca explained, came from a fleshy, long-leaved plant with sharp spines that was known as the magucy.

Olaf swallowed a long draw of pulque, wiped his blond mustache clean with the back of his hand, and said, "Well, Lord Casca, it may not be beer or mead, but it does set your head feeling as if all were well. Is it?"