Jeffrey Lord - Jewel of Tharn

Blade put his elbows on the balustrade and peered down. He knew, because he had tested it, that there was a magveil just six inches from the outer edge of the balustrade.

The Gorge rather frightened Blade, who was not afraid of much. The tower in which he was confined stood on the verge. By leaning over the balustrade and peering down, careful to avoid touching the magveil, he could see for miles down into nothingness. It was the same looking across the Gorge. Miles of vacancy. He could very nearly, not quite, believe what his eyes told him: that Tharn existed on a plateau surmounting an abyss of eternal space.

It could not, of course, be true. Not even in Tharn. Moyna had mentioned the Pethcines before it had been destructed. This tower, this whole rambling structure built of great blocks of the dull plastic, Blade had begun to think of it as a castle, was only one of a series of such structures built to watch the Gorge and guard against the Pethcines. Who, what, were the Pethcines? Blade, musing idly, wondered if they might be possible allies? Friends? Or new enemies?

He had been walking along the balustrade. Just ahead it curved in, fencing him, and he knew the magveil was beyond. This was as far as he was allowed to roam.

Blade gazed down. There was another terrace, very like the one on which he now stood, about a hundred feet below him. He had noted it before. It had always been deserted. In any case there was the magveil hemming him in. He had been giving some thought to circumventing the magveil, but as yet had come up with nothing. He did not yet know enough about magnetic fields, and flux, which he was sure the Tharnians were using with a high degree of sophistication. But Blade was reading and learning with each passing hour. And as an old intriguer he knew intrigue when he saw it; Honcho was up to something and Blade, somehow, figured large in the head neuter's plans. So Blade felt fairly secure and was content to wait and see. To bide his time.

Until this very moment. Now he saw the woman on the terrace below him and he caught his breath. Desire came instantly.

She was near a balustrade, gazing out across the Gorge, combing lustrous red hair that fell to her knees. Even in the colorless eternal twilight of Tharn the red hair glinted like a banner and, in the brooding silence that hung over the Gorge, he could hear the sibilant sound of the comb as she drew it slowly through the lustrous mass.

Blade's throat was constricted and his heart thudded. Only with difficulty could he draw the dense Tharnian air into his lungs. He had always been a well sexed man, and sexually overprivileged - J's words - but there was no accounting for the lust that raged in him now.

He leaned far over the railing and studied the woman, seeking for a flaw, for some indication of mutantcy. He found none. This was a woman. A real woman! As he had always known women.

Blade craned to see. Too far. He drew back, fearful of the magveil, it was not a pleasant experience, and suddenly he realized that there was no magveil. Not here! Here was a blank, a blind spot, in the invisible electric cage that imprisoned him.

Purposely done, of course. Honcho wanted him to see the woman. Blade thanked the neuter and did not question the miracle. He leaned far over the balustrade and feasted his eyes. He was having a massive physical reaction.

The woman glanced up. Their eyes met. His eyes were superb and even at that distance he saw that her beauty was classic. The face was oval, the brow high and the eyes wide set, the nose straight and short, finely chiseled, set over a scarlet mouth that was at once firm and sensuous.

She was wearing breastplates and a brief, tight-fitting garment over her genital area that reminded Blade of a bikini. Her legs were long and sum and, though his angle of view was foreshortened, Blade knew she must be tall.

They continued to gaze at each other. Blade felt himself drawn, wanting to leap the railing and fall to her, to immolate and drown himself in the pool of her. His flesh was heavy. It took a great effort to raise his hand and wave to her.

The movement released both of them. The woman fell to her knees, the long red hair cascading about her tawny bare shoulders. She spread her hands beside her on the terrace and began to tap her forehead gently on the blocks of teksin. She was kowtowing to him. In that instant it came to Blade, who was fighting to regain control of his senses and mind, that she thought he was Mazda. HE WHO COMES TO THEY.

That meant Honcho, the neuter. Honcho intended this thing!

Blade watched her. She was still kneeling, still making obeisance. He waited. She glanced up. Blade made a sign, pointing to himself and then to the terrace below. He smiled. Mazda was in a benevolent, even a loving mood. Blade smiled again.

He moved swiftly back into the apartment, went to the closet and began to rip the clothing into long strips. Teksin, made from the mani, had great tensile strength. Blade was not afraid of falling. Neither was he afraid of Honcho for the moment. He was curious. Honcho had willed this to happen, had allowed the magveil to fail at just that spot, and had very likely given the woman instructions. Why? Blade did not really give a damn at the moment. He was consumed with lust. Let Honcho watch and listen on the spiscreens.

Rapidly he knotted together his rope of teksin. He went back to the balustrade and tossed the rope over, secured it, and swung himself out over the void. The magveil was still inoperative.

Blade went down the fragile line like a sailor. He had to drop the last ten feet to the terrace. It was empty now. The woman had vanished. Blade strode to an open window. If the spying Honcho invoked magveil now Blade would be raging and frustrated.

Her apartment was a duplicate of Blade's. She was in the large central chamber, standing, watching the window. Her flaming hair was drawn down over each shoulder, covering her breasts. When Blade entered she again fell to her knees and began to tap her forehead against the floor.

He went to her and stood for a moment looking down at her nearly nude body. She was exquisitely formed. Her flesh glinted a tawny gold in the pale light. Blade touched her bowed head and she trembled.

Blade struggled to keep the desire and lust from his voice and very nearly succeeded. He said: "Do you know who I am?"

Without looking at him she answered. "I know. You are Mazda. You are the God. You are HE WHO COMES TO THEY."

Blade repressed a smile. He was prepared to play the role to the hilt. Perhaps this was what Honcho wanted: to see how Blade would play the role of Mazda.

He touched her shoulder again. The flesh was warm, live velvet, smooth and pneumatic and springing to his touch. He had never touched flesh like this before. He had never seen such golden tones of flesh before. And now he was aware of the odor of her. A delicate effluvium only barely sensed, like no woman smell he had ever known. A compound of flowers and flesh that beckoned and lured, a Lorelei scent that was stronger than chains.

"Stand up," said Blade. "I, Mazda, want to look at you."

She obeyed. She was as tall as Blade himself, well over six feet. She still would not look directly at him.

"Look at me," Blade commanded.

Her eyes were large, luminous, and a pure gentian violet. They stared into Blade's own with a mixture of awe, fear, and curiosity. And just a shade of invitation?

Blade kept his hand on her shoulder. "You acknowledge that I am Mazda? HE WHO COMES TO THEY?"

"I acknowledge it."

"You will do my bidding?"

"In all things, Lord Mazda."

Blade could wait no longer. He was perishing in his own flame. He pulled her against him and kissed her.

She obeyed. She was a column of gold-velvet marble. She did not move, nor close her eyes. She stared fixedly into his face as he kissed her again. Her lips were warm, and as unyielding, as unresponsive, as the teksin beneath their feet.