Jeffrey Lord - Jewel of Tharn

He flung the cup at her and seized the reins of the chariot horses, shouting to them. As he wheeled the chariot around the women leaped to escape the scythes. Isma and the Second Neuter stepped back to safety and watched him go, whipping the horses furiously across the plain.

Blade lashed the horses on. They had rested and were fresh enough. He made his way through a nightmare plain, littered with dead and still dying, toward the Pethcine tents. There were a few looters, dazed and maddened, and the walking wounded, but no one paid him any attention or tried to harm him. One Pethcine warrior, badly hurt, had dragged a Tharnian corpse back toward the tents and was methodically cutting it into small pieces. He stared without interest as Blade thundered past.

Zulekia and Honcho were gone. Blade was not surprised. He had been too long coming, and the neuter would have known the battle lost when he saw Org's head. He would not have tarried for the grim finale with Totha's chariots.

The stakes to which Zulekia had been bound were still in place. Blade contemplated them briefly, then whipped his horses around and headed north. There was only one place Honcho could go.

The old King of Neuters, Sutha, knelt beside the sarcophagus of Astar I. He had been kneeling for a long time and his bony knees were sore. His hands trembled as he put them on the edge of the sarcophagus and pulled himself up. It would not be long now before they came. Sutha had employed a staff of young neuters to keep him abreast of the news from the battlefield, and the last messenger had departed only a few minikronos before. No - it could not be long.

Sutha stood looking down at the dual face of Astar and Isma. Astar I had been the first. The Astar recently murdered by Isma would be the last Sutha was sure of it. Blade's coming had changed everything in Tharn. Had changed Tharn itself. For the better, Sutha prayed, when it was all over. It was not over yet.

As he gazed down at the dead and long mummified flesh he wondered why he bothered to pray at all. He did not really believe. Nor did any true homid, the intelligent Tharnians, the People. Belief had been lost for multikronos now, lost in the engulfing mists of cruel superstition and heartless technique.

On impulse Sutha reached and touched the cheek of Astar I. He had never dared before. He snatched his hand away. Cold. So cold!

He sighed and went back to the teksin ledge, glancing down into the Power Pool, at the glimmering box in the quiet depths. Blade was right, of course. Sutha understood, though Blade had never put it into so many words. The Power had been good at first. Now it was bad. The Power had taken over. It dominated them all, even to the last ignorant ceboid. With what Blade proposed to replace the Power Sutha did not know, nor care much. That was Blade's problem.

There was a stack of slates on the ledge beside Sutha. He had filled this time of waiting by writing a long missive that Blade might someday find. Or might not find. That did not matter much either. What did matter was that Sutha, through stylus and onto slate, had managed to transcribe thoughts, at last, that he had never dared admit before.

In that moment he found that he could feel deep pity, he thought he understood the word now, for Honcho. They were, after all, a great deal alike. Both aborts, both so nearly homid and still lacking in the ultimate manifestation of manhood. It was, had been, cruel. Had he not been better adjusted, deeper read, a step higher in intelligence, he might easily have chosen Honcho's path. Honcho had not studied the ancient mysteries as Sutha had, had not ruined his eyes with years of probing for an elusive thing called Truth. And now it was too late for both of them. Tharn must be destroyed before it could be rebuilt again.

Sutha picked up a fresh slate and poised his stylus. Then he put it down and reached for the first slate he had filed. He read it over with a grim little smile.

My Lord Blade: I write this so that you may understand. I do not know the why of your coming to Tharn, nor what it will mean, or even if you will ever see this. But I think, in spite of all my ignorance, that you have been sent to save Tharn. To rebuild it. For it must first be destroyed, the Tharn we now know, a cruel and decadent Tharn that is ignorant in its vast wisdom. So I - Sutha, a very old and ignorant neuter - am going to do what must be done. Perhaps, if you live and prevail, you will one day understand the how and why of all this. I do not know. I cannot guess. I can only act. And I am afraid, very much afraid...

They were coming now. Sutha put down the slate on the neat stack and prepared himself. He had never really understood pain, but now he would have the chance to find out about it. For him, now, there could be no easy and painless destruct. He only hoped he could go through with it. Neuters did not have much courage.

They were here.

Isma, tattered and stained with battle, strode into the Sacred Chamber. Behind her followed the Second Neuter, a smirk of anticipation on his long face, and half a dozen of the women who had been made privy to Isma's plans.

Isma did not bother to make obeisance to Astar I. She walked briskly past the sarcophagus and confronted Sutha. She had discarded her battle sword and now carried an ornamental and sacred phallus blade.

Sutha inclined his head. "My greetings, Isma. High Priestess of Tharn. I have heard that the news is good. The Pethcines are crushed?"

Isma glared at him. "That is so. No thanks to you, Sutha, who have sulked here in safety and, worse, denied us the Power. Denied me the Power. Me. Isma! How dare you do this?"

Sutha showed his long neuter's teeth in a smile that was meant to be gentle. "I dared, Isma, because Lord Blade thought it best. By so doing we denied the Power also to Honcho, Honcho the renegade, who would have destroyed us all. Has it not worked out for the best, Isma?"

Isma scowled at him. Her face worked in anger and she pointed the phallic sword at him. "I have lost over half my People, old fool! That is how well it has worked out. It was not necessary. AH my Lordsmen gone! Blade planned that. I know it. And you, Sutha, have served Blade too well and me not at all. I will not suffer this any longer. I do not need Blade now. I have tired of him. Nor do I need you. I depose you, Sutha. Second Neuter is now in your place, King of all Neuters."

Sutha looked past her at the Second Neuter. "That should please him. He has long plotted and coveted this moment."

Isma waved the sword at Sutha. "You are under arrest. Because you are old, and have served well, before Blade came, you shall be destructed painlessly instead of tortured."

There was a sudden coldness in the chamber that Isma did not like. She glanced around uneasily. She knew she had violated taboo by bringing the Second Neuter and the women warriors into the Sacred Chamber. But what matter? She, and she alone, would rule Tharn now. When the Power was restored it would be easy to hunt down Blade and destroy him, along with the Maiduke girl he had gone after and obviously preferred to herself. That was an insult never to be forgiven!

Isma beckoned to the Second Neuter. "Place him under arrest. Take the chain of office from him. It is yours now."

"I do not think so," said Sutha. At that moment he found that he was not afraid. Not afraid at all. He fell backward off the ledge into the Power Pool. He had taken the precaution to line his tunic with the very heaviest of teksin so he would sink rapidly. He did. The glimmering casket at the bottom of the Pool waited for his touch.

The Second Neuter did not even have time to scream.

Richard Blade, whipping the chariot horses to their limit, did not see the first explosion. His back was toward Urcit and he was following the faint moving dots across the wide plain; it could only be Honcho and Zulekia. Here and there, on his flanks, were scattered little groups of stragglers, sullen and unheeding, Pethcine warriors intent only on getting back to the Gorge.