CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  They thought this very amusing because their laughter was all I could hear. When"l scrambled for the fallen blade one of them kicked it aside. Things were not looking too good. I couldn't fight them all. I had to get out.
  It was too late. Two of them knocked me to the ground from behind and another one kicked me in the side. Before I could get up my sword-wielding opponent was on top of me, kneeling on my chest and drawing an exceedingly ugly dagger with a wavery edge.
  "What is this creature, Capo Doccia," he called out, holding my chin with his free hand, the dagger close to my throat.
  "An ofiworlder," Capo Doccia said. "They threw him off the spacer." "Is it valuable, worth anything?"
  "I don't know," Capo Doccia said, looking down at me bemusedly. "Perhaps. But I don't like its fancy oflplanet tricks. They don't belong here. Oh, kill it and be done." I had not moved during this interesting exchange because I had some obvious interest in its outcome. I moved now.
 The knife-wielder screamed as I twisted his arm— breaking it I hope—and grabbed the dagger as his fingers flew open. I held on to him as I jumped to my feet, then pushed him into the midst of his companions. They were behind me as well, but they fell back as I swept the dagger about in a circle. Moving after it, running before they could get their own weapons out. Running for my life.
 The only direction I knew, back down the stairs. Bumping into Tars Tukas and rendering him unconscious as I passed.

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  Roars and shouts of anger sounded behind me and I wasted no time even glancing their way. Down the stairs, three at a time, towards the guards at the entrance. They

were still scrambling to their feet when I plowed into them and we all went down. I kneed one under the chin

as we fell, grabbing his gun by the barrel as I did this. The other was struggling to point his weapon at me when I caught him in the side of the head with the one I was holding.
 The running feet were right behind me as I charged through the door, right at the surprised guard. He drew his sword but before he could use it he was unconscious. I dropped the dagger and seSed his more lethal sword and

ran on. The gate we had entered by was ahead. Wide open.
 And well-guarded by armed men who were already raising their guns. I angled off towards the slave building as they fired. I don't know where their shots went but I was still alive as I turned the corner.
  pne knife, one gun, one very tired Jim diGriz. Who did not dare stop or even slow down. The outer wall was ahead—with scaffolding and a ladder leaning against it where masons were making repairs. I screeched and waved

my weapons and the workmen dived in all directions. I went up the ladders as fast as I could. Noticing that bullets were striking the wall on all sides of me, chips of stone flying.
  Then I was on top of the wall, fighting for breath, chancing a look behind me for the first time.
  Dropping to my lace as the massed gunmen below fired a volley that parted the air just above my head. Capo Doccia and his court had left the pursuit to the guards and were standing behind them cursing and waving their weapons. Very impressive. I pulled my head back as they fired again.
  Other guards were climbing up to the wall and moving towards me. Which really did limit my choices a bit. I looked over the outside of the wall at the brown surface of the water that lay at its base. Some choice!
  "Jim, you must learn to do something about your big mouth," I said.. then took a deep breath and jumped.
  Splashed—and stuck. The water was just up to my neck and I was stuck in the soft mud that had broken my fall. I

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struggled against it, pulling out one foot, then the other, struggling against its gluey embrace as I waded to the far bank. My pursuers weren't in sight yet—but they would surely be right behind me. All I could do was keep moving. Crawling up the grassy bank, still clutching my purloined weapons, then staggeriiig into the shelter of the trees ahead. And still no sign of the armed guards. They should be across the bridge and after me by this time. I couldn't believe my good luck.
  Until I fell headlong, screaming as the pain washed over

me. Pain unbelievable, blotting out sight, sound, senses.
  Then it stopped and I brushed the tears of agony from

my eyes. The paincuff—1 had forgotten all about it. Tars Tukas had regained consciousness and was thumbing the control button. What had he said? Leave it on long enough and it blocks all the nerves, kills. I grabbed at my shoe and the lockpick concealed there as the pain struck again.
  When it stopped .this time I was almost too weak to

move my fingers. As I fumbled with the pick I realized that they were sadists and I should be grateful for the fact. With the button held down I was good as dead. But

someone, undoubtedly Capo Doccia, wanted me both to suffer and know that there was no way out. The key was in the lock when pain consumed me one more time.
  When it stopped I was lying on my side, the lockpick fallen from my fingers, unable to move.
  But I had to move. Another wave of agony like that and it would be all over for me.  I would lie in these Woods until I died. My fingers trembled, moved. The pick crept towards the tiny opening of the lock, moved in, twisted feebly....
  It took a very long time for the red mists to clear from my vision, the agony to seep out of my body. I could not move, felt I would never stir again. I had to blink the tears away when I could see. See the most beautiful sight in the world.
The open paincuff lying on the moldy leaves.
  Only my captor's knowledge that the pain machine led to certain death had saved my life. The searchers were in

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DO hurry; I could hear them talking as they moved through the woods towards me.
  ". . .somewhere .in  here.  Why  don't  they Just  leave him?"
  "Leave a good blade and a shooter? No chance of that. And Capo Doccia wants to hang the body up in the courtyard until it rots. Never saw him that angry." Life slowly returned to my paralyzed body. I moved off the animal track I had been following and pulled myself into the shelter of the low shrubbery, reaching out to straighten out the grass. And not too soon.
  "Look—he came out of tfte water here. Went along this path."
  Heavy footsteps approached and went by. I clutched my weapons and did the only thing possible. Lay quiet and waited for my strength to return.
  This was, I must admit, a bit of a low point in my life. Friendless, alone, still throbbing with pain, exhausted, hunted by armed men just dying to kill me, thirsty. . . . It

was quite a list. About the only thing that hadn't happened so far was to get rained on. It started to rain.
  There are high and low points in emotion when there is

no room for excess. To love one so much it would be impossible to love any more. I think. Never having had

any personal experience in that. But I had plenty of experience in being in the pits. Where I was now. I could sink no lower or get no more depressed. It was the rain that did it.   I  began  to  chuckle—then  grabbed  my  mouth  so  I wouldn't laugh out loud. Then the laughter died away as

my anger grew. This was no way to treat a mean and nasty stainless steel rat! Now in danger of getting rusty.
  I moved my legs and had to stifle a groan. The pain was still there but the anger rode it down. I clutched the gun and stuck the sword into the ground, then pulled myself to my feet by grabbing the branches of the tree with my free hand. Grabbed up the sword again and stood there, swaying. But not falling. Until I was finally able to stagger

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off, one step at a time, away from the searchersand Capo Doccia's criminal establishment. •
  The forest was quite extensive and I moved along game paths for an unmeasurable length of time. I had left the searehers far behind, I was sure of that. So when the forest thinned and ended I leaned against a tree to catch

my breath and looked out at the tilled field. It was time to find my way back to the haunts of man. Where there were plows there were ploughboys. They shouldn't be too hard to find. When a certain measure of strength had returned I staggered off along the edge of the field, ready to fall into the forest at the sight of armed men. I was very pleased to

see the farmhouse first. It was low to the ground, thatched, and windowless—at least on this side. It had a chimney from which there rose a thin trickle of smoke. No need for heating in this balmy climate—so this must be a cooking fire. Food.
  At the thought of food my neglected stomach began to churn, rumble, and complain. I felt the same way. Food and drink were next in order. And what better place to find them than at this isolated farm? The question was the

answer. I stumbled across the furrows to the back of the house, worked my way around the side to the front. No one. But there were voices coming from the open doorway, laughter—and the smell of cooking. Yum! I sauntered into the open, along the front and through the front door. "Hi, folks. Look who has come to dinner." There were a half-dozen of them grouped around the scrubbed wood table. Young and old, thick and thin. All with the same expression on their faces. Jaw-dropped astonishment. Even the baby stopped crying and aped its elders. A grizzled oldster broke the spell, scrambling to his feet in such a hurry his three-legged stool tumbled over.
  "Welcome, your honor, welcome." He tugged his forelock as he bowed to show how grateftil he was for my

presence. "How may we aid you, honored sir?" "If you could spare a bit of food . . ."
  "Come! Sit! Dine! We have but humble fare but willingly share it. Here!"

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  He straightened his stool and waved me to it. The others scampered away from the table so I wouldn't be disturbed. Either they were discerning judges of human nature and knew what a sterling fellow I was—or they had seen the sword and gun. A wooden plate was filled from the pot hung over the fire and put before me. Life here

was a cut above the slavepens for I was also supplied with a wooden spoon. I tucked in with a great deal of pleasure. It was a vegetable stew, with the occasional shard of meat, garden fresh of course, and tasted wonderful. There was cool water to drink out of a clay cup and I could have asked for nothing more. While I shoveled it all into my fa.ce  I was  aware  of low whispering  from  the  farmers gathered at the far end of the room. I doubted if they

were planning anything violent. Nevertheless I kept one eye on them, and my hand not far from the hilt of the sword laid out on the table.
  When I had finished and belched loudly—they buzzed warmly at this gustatory approval—the old man detached himself from the group and shuffled forward. He pushed before him a shock-headed youth who looked to be about

my age.
  "Honored sir, may I speak with you?" I waved agreement and belched again. He smiled at this and nodded. "Ahh, you are kind enough to flatter the cook. Since you

are obviously a man of good wit and humor, intelligent and handsome, as well as being a noted warrior, permit

me to put a small matter to you." I nodded again; flattery will get you everywhere.
  "This is my third son, Dreng. He is strong and willing, a good worker. But our holding is small and there are many mouths to feed, as well as giving half of what we produce to the so-wonderful Capo Doccia for our protection." He had his head lowered when he said this, but there were both submission and hatred in his voice. I imagine the only one that Capo Doccia protected them from was Capo Doccia. He pushed Dreng forward and squeezed his bicep.
  "Like rock, sir, he is very strong. His ambition has

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always been to be a mercenary, like your kind self. A man of war, armed and secure, selling his services to the gentry. A noble calling. And one which would enable him to bring a few· groats home to his family." "I'm not in the recruiting business."
  "Obviously, honored sir! If he went as a pikeman with Capo Doccia, there would be no pay or honor, only an early death."
  "True, true," I agreed, although I had heard this fact for the first time. The old boy's train of thought wandered a bit, which was fine by me since I was getting an education into life on Spiovente. Didn't sound nice at all. I sipped some more water and tried to summon up another burp to please the cook, but could not. Old dad was still talking.
  "Every warrior, such as yourself, should have a knave to

serve him. Dare I ask—we have looked outside and you are alone—what happened to your knave?"
  "Killed in battle," I improvised. He looked dumbfounded at this and I realized that knaves weren't supposed to fight.  "When the enemy overran our camp." That was better, nodded agreement to this. "Of course I killed the blackguard who butchered poor Smelly. But that's what

war is about. A rough trade."
  All of my audience murmured understandingly, so I hadn't put a foot wrong so far. I signalled to the youth.
  "Step forward, Dreng, and speak for yourself. What is

your age?"
  He peered out from under his long hair and stammered an answer. "I'll be four, come next Wormfeast Day." I wanted no details of this repulsive holiday. He was sure big for his age. Or this planet had a very long year. I nodded and spoke.
  "A good age fora knave. Now tell me, do you know what the knavely duties are?" He better, because I certainly didn't. He nodded enthusiastically at my question.
  "That I do, sir, that I do. Old Kvetchy used to be a soldier, told me all about it many a time. Polish the sword and gun, fetch the food from the fire, fill the water bottle, crack the lice with stones . . . "

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  "Fine, great, I can see you know it all. Down to the last repulsive detail. Inexchange for your services you expect me to teach you the trade of war." He nodded quick agreement. The room was hushed as I pondered my decision.
"Right then, let us do it."
  A bucolic cry of joy echoed from the thatch and old dad produced a crock of what could only be home brew. Things were looking up for me, ever so slightly, but certainly looking up.