Jeffrey Lord: Jewel of Tharn

The dart penetrated the plastic shield to a depth of two inches. Blade pulled out the dart and looked at the barb. For the first time he noticed a dark coloration on the point. Poison? Drug? Probably a most effective weapon at short range. Nevertheless he had the impression that all this store of weapons was antique, long disused and obsolete, left here in this underground chamber to molder. But beggars could not be choosers, and they must suffice for the moment.

Moyna had been watching all this with disinterest. Weapons apparently meant nothing to him. Blade guessed that neuters never saw weapons, or came in contact with them, did not understand them and therefore had no fear of them. That meant, of course, that neuters were not killed with weapons. How then?

Blade glanced at the circular pad of plastic in the center of the chamber. Moyna was afraid of that! Blade was about to pursue the matter, for his curiosity was great, when he saw the mirror for the first time.

The mirror was of plastic, but had been polished to a high sheen. Blade stared at his image with a sense of shock. It was the same lean, handsome face, the same muscular and perfectly conditioned body, yet there was something about the eyes, the forehead, that he did not remember having seen before. The difference was vague, ephemeral, but it was there. It was, he thought, almost as though the intelligence behind the eyes had changed.

The plumed helmet and breastplate, the kilt-like skirt, gave him a familiar Roman-Graeco look. Blade smiled at himself in the mirror. He had seen pictures in the history books of ancient warriors that looked much as he did now. Blade nodded at his image and smiled again. He had always had his share of vanity. The outfit became him well.

Blade strode resolutely to the circular pad of plastic in the center of the chamber He watched the neuter closely as he did so. The pad intrigued Blade; he was determined to seek out its meaning.

Moyna fell to its knees again. It began to shiver and shake and moan, again clasping its hands in a prayerful attitude.

Blade halted at the very edge of the circle. He whipped the rapier out of its scabbard and slashed it back and forth through the area over the pad. Nothing happened. Blade glanced back at Moyna. The neuter was on its knees still, keening and making the little whistling, sobbing sounds. It would not look at Blade nor at the pad, but Blade could catch the words.

"No, Lordsman! Do not. I have been good slaveface. I have obeyed. Do not. Do not!"

Blade began to lose his temper. "What do you fear?" he shouted at the neuter. "Look, Moyna. Look!"

Blade stepped into the center of the pad.

Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. Blade smiled at Moyna and stepped out of the circle. "You see, Moyna. There is nothing to be afraid of in this place. Come. We'll be on our way."

The neuter glanced from Blade to the circular pad. It shook its head. "Even yet you do not understand, Lordsman. You who are of a high level and memspeaked for it. It is your head, of course. You have forgotten much. But it is not danger for you, Lordsman, it is danger for me. Come. Come! Let us leave this place. We will see if the other tunnel leads to the Gorge Tower. If it does not I cannot help us."

Moyna got to its feet and, carefully avoiding the pad, started for the passage that led out of the chamber on the far side. Blade stared at the pad, slowly shook his head, then followed the neuter. He had always hated leaving a mystery unsolved and...

Moyna reached the point where the tunnel began to narrow again. There was a sudden flash of blue flame. Moyna was hurled backward, landing flat at Blade's feet.

Blade stared down at the prostrate Moyna. The neuter made no attempt to rise. It looked at the big man and great tears rolled down the smooth cheeks.

"Honcho!" said the neuter. "Honcho has seen us. We are trapped. The magveil!"

Blade stepped over the prostrate figure. He had already guessed that some sort of electro-magnetic screen had been thrown around the chamber. It had hurled the neuter back. Would it work on him?

He walked boldly into the tunnel. Flash! A blue sheet of flame. Blade was whirled off his feet and slammed backward. There was no pain, no sense of electrical shock or bum, just a great invisible hand smashing him back. He was as helpless as an insect in a typhoon.

Blade lay for a moment on the floor He cursed softly to himself. What now? What next?

The neuter made a high whining sound, a babble of wordless terror. It was pointing to the circular plastic pad.

Something was materializing on the pad. A whorl of gauzy vapor. Blade watched, too fascinated to feel fear.

As though some unseen hand had painted it, in broad clear strokes on thin air, a figure began to materialize on the pad. Slowly at first, then rapidly. Then it was there.

It was another neuter. It was as naked as Moyna, with the same smooth and hairless genital and chest areas, the same light covering of hair. But there the resemblance ended. This neuter was much larger than Moyna and its head was shaven. Its head was also much larger, the cranium well developed, and the green eyes were alive with an intelligence that was tinged with cunning.

Moyna began to knock its head against the floor in abjection. It wept. "Honcho! Forgive, Honcho! I only made slaveface, as is the law. I could do no other. You know that, Honcho. You know that!"

The neuter called Honcho stepped off the pad. It did not so much as glance at Blade, who watched with fascination and first faint beginnings of alarm. This neuter wore a chain about its neck that was obviously a badge of office. The stones, set into plastic strands, gleamed like diamonds in the pale light. Diamonds the size of ice cubes.

Honcho approached the sniveling Moyna and stood staring down at it. Honcho's face was impassive, the green eyes narrowed now. It reached out and tapped the cringing Moyna on the shoulder.

"How many kronos?"

"Not yet 200, Honcho! Not yet of mid-kronos. I beg, Honcho, I beg..."

Honcho put long tapering fingers to its chin and stood looking down at Moyna. It frowned. The watching Blade could detect no mercy, no sympathy, yet there was no sign of anger, of vindictiveness. Only thought. Deep thought.

At last Honcho said, "I am sorry, Moyna. It is not really your fault. That I admit. You made slaveface to the Lordsman here, as you must do by law. As I, also, must do."

The tall neuter turned to face Blade, as though seeing him for the first time, and said: "I make slaveface, Lordsman. I am Honcho. Kronos 4005 AG. Tier 1, Decantment 1. Destruct Kronos 800. It is here so written. I present it as required by law."

Honcho raised his arm and pointed to a medallion set into the skin below the armpit, just as Moyna had done. And yet not quite as Moyna had done. Blade did not miss the difference. There was an arrogance, a near contempt, about the gesture. Blade recognized it instantly. It was the way a subordinate salutes an officer whom he hates and distrusts.

Honcho spoke again. "I am 14th level, Lordsman. I am He of all neuters. If you will now excuse me I will attend to Moyna. I again make slaveface, Lordsman." The green eyes were narrowed and there was no mistaking the smirk on the mobile lips.

Blade knew, in that instant, that here was an enemy!

Honcho turned again to the cringing Moyna. It pointed to the circular pad. "Enter. I, who am He, command it!"

Moyna wept. It began to crawl on its hands and knees toward the pad. Just as it reached the edge it turned back to face Blade. Blade sensed the enormous effort this took. The creature was going against all its training, its conditioning, its built-in obedience.

Moyna held out its hands in pleading. "Lordsman! You promised...you promised to extend my kronos. Keep your promise. Save me!"