Neq the Sword

  Yod felt like an honorable victor, the more honorably he

  would act.

  "But you did make a lot of unnecessary trouble by not

  yielding sooner," Yod continued. "And we can't trust you.

  I have promised you life—but I will consider your punish-

  ment. Tie him, men."

  This time the tribesmen sprang to obey. They tied him:

  arms behind his back, tight, and a hobble-rope on his

  ankles. They propped him up against a post with his arms

  hooked behind it while they attended to other things.

  Neq's wound smarted increasingly. The puncture was

  small, but through the large muscle. The fragment had to

  be lodged inside somewhere. There was not much bleeding;

  a sword would have been far worse. Except that the blade

  would have exited cleanly, permitting better healing.

  There was a clamor as the pursuit party returned. "We

  got her!" A man exclaimed.

  Neq saw to his grief that it was true. Neqa was being

  hauled along between two men, her wraparound torn,

  portions of her torso exposed. She did not seem to be

  injured, however.

  "She had a knife. Stabbed Baf," another man said. "Real

  wild girl. But we didn't hurt her."

  "The crazy got away," another said. "But who cares?"

  Yod's wound, not serious, had been bound. He was

  probably in as much pain as Neq, but did not show it. He

  had to maintain his facade before his tribe. "So she freed

  the crazy and stabbed one of our men," he mused. "And

  her man messed us all up, pretending to be a crazy, and

  .killed Tif." He looked calculatingly at Neq. "OK—we'll

  teach them both a real lesson."

  Yod walked up to Neqa. While the men held her arms,

  he ripped away the remainder of her clothing, flinging

  pieces of cloth aside to the delight of the others. "Man,

  she's a beauty!"

  Neq struggled with his bonds, but they were firm. Some

  of the outlaws, watching him, chuckled; they wanted him

  to struggle. As they would have wanted Yod to struggle,

  had things worked out otherwise.

  "Han!" Yod cried.

  A youthful dagger approached nervously. Neq judged

  him to be a novice, perhaps fourteen.

  "You never had it with a woman, did you?" Yod de-

  manded.

  "No—no." Han said, not looking at Neqa's nakedness.

  "Now's your time. Go to."

  Han backed away. "I don't understand."

  "This crazy doll with the smooth skin and the sweet

  breast—you got her first. Right now."

  Han glanced at Neqa, then guiltily away again. "But

  she's—she has his bracelet!"

  "Yeah. That's funny. Leave it on."

  "But—"

  "He's going to watch this. On his own band. That's his

  punishment. And some of hers."

  Han's body was shaking. "That's not right. I can't do

  that."

  Neq strained furiously, but only skinned his wrists on

  the rope. "I'll kill any man who touches her!" he screamed.

  Neqa stood with her eyes closed, still held by two men.

  She seemed to have withdrawn from the proceedings. Her

  body was fan- and slender and wholly out of place amid

  this rough crowd. Neq saw the outlaws looking at her,

  licking their lips.

  Yod laughed. "You'll kill us all then, crazy-lover. 'Cause

  every man here's going to touch her—right now, where

  you can see."

  "No!" Han cried. He ran at Yod.

  Yod smashed him down backhanded. "You missed your

  chance, you sniveling kid. Now it's my turn."

  Han stumbled back, bleeding from the lip, and fell near

  Neq. One of his daggers skidded on the ground.

  Yod opened his pantaloons. The outlaws laughed. Neqa

  opened her eyes, struggled silently, and kicked her feet

  "Hold her legs too," Yod said. Two more men jumped

  forward to grasp her thighs.

  Neq jabbed Han with his bound legs. When the youth

  turned dazedly toward him, Neq nodded toward the knife

  just out of his reach. ,

  Han looked at the struggle going on as four men held

  Neqa by the hands and feet, spread-eagling her on the

  ground. Then he swept the blade toward Neq. It was still

  out of reach, for Neq could not pick it up.

  Now Neqa screamed. Neq did not look. He had to get

  that knife immediately. He arched his body against the

  post, sliding his shoulder up, until his arms unhooked

  over the top of it. He fell over to the side, rolled, grabbed.

  The blade of the dagger sliced his hand, but he had it.

  No one noticed. They were all intent on the show Yod

  was putting on.

  Neqa screamed again, piercingly, as Yod's body covered

  her. She writhed on the ground and one of her hands

  slipped loose, but Yod stayed with her, grunting. The

  men grinned as they held her legs apart.

  Neq twisted the knife, but he could not get it angled

  properly at the cord. His hands became slippery with his

  own blood. Then the strands began parting, reluctantly,

  as the flat of the blade wedged against them.

  It seemed to take forever for the rope to give.

  The outlaw chief stood up, short of breath. Neqa was

  sobbing brokenly.

  "Hey—she was a virgin!" Yod exclaimed. "Look at

  that!"

  The men crowded close to look. Neq, numbed to physical

  pain, sawed at the infernal rope.

  "Why'd she have his bracelet, then?" someone demanded.

  "I heard he wasn't much of a man outside the circle!"

  Still the bands held. Han the dagger got up and fled,

  looking sick.

  "All right—line up and take your turn," Yod said. "Every

  man of you. She's a good one."

  The men lined up. Neqa had stopped crying. Three men

  still held her supine and spread on the ground.

  Three more completed their business before Neq's hands

  finally were free. He severed the hobble-cord and lurched

  to his feet. He plunged the blade into the back of the fourth

  man as he lay astride Neqa. One down—four to go.

  "Hey! He's loose!"

  They piled on him. Neq fought savagely, but the dagger

  was not his weapon and he was grossly outnumbered. In

  moments they had him prisoner again.

  Helpless, he had to watch while forty-four more men

  ravished his wife.

  But it was not over.

  "That's another he killed—and several more wounded,"

  Yod said angrily.

  "Kill him!" several cried.

  "No. I granted him life. I want this bastard to suffer."

  Yod considered. "Cut off his hands." He lifted his sword.

  Neqa, momentarily forgotten, climbed slowly to her

  feet. Her eyes were staring. The dagger Neq had used lay

  near her on the ground. She stooped to pick it up.

  Then, silently, she launched herself at Yod. Her blade

  sliced down the side of his face, catching part of one eye

  and eyeball.

  Yod whirled, swinging his sword in an automatic reac-

  tion. It caught her across the neck, sinking in.

  "Damn!" Yod cried, not seeming to realize the extent of

  his own wound. "I
didn't mean to kill her! We need

  women!"

  Neqa dropped to the ground, her blood spouting. Neq

  heaved his captors forward and they all fell.

  It was too late for Neqa. Her teeth were bared in the

  rictus of the terminal agony; her red blood pooled in the

  dry dirt.

  "Damn!" Yod repeated. "It's his fault. Hold him!"

  They held Neq. Under Yod's grim direction they tied

  his hands again by the wrists, -this time stretched forward.

  Four men hauled against his body while two pulled each

  rope, putting a terrible strain on his arms.

  Yod positioned himself and swung his sword as though

  he were splitting wood.

  Neq felt horrendous pain, and blanked out.

  He came to immediately, or so it seemed. The pain had

  intensified unbearably, and sweet smoke stung his nostrils.

  They were holding torches to his wrists, burning them so

  the flesh bubbled and popped.

  Then nothing more.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  He woke at dusk. His arms terminated in great crude

  bandages, -hurting ferociously. Neqa lay beside him, pale

  and cold. His bracelet was still on her wrist.

  He woke again, shivering, in the dark. Nothing had

  changed but the hour.

  Toward morning he became delirious.

  Light again, and someone was tending him. It was the

  cage-man, the surgeon. "You'll live. I'll bury her. You two

  saved me; I owe you that much."

  "/'// bury her!" Neq cried weakly. But he had no hands.

  He cursed meaninglessly as he watched Dick do it, as

  the dirt fell over her dead lovely face, over his bracelet,

  over his dreams. He had loved a crazy.

  Miss Smith was gone forever. Neqa was dead.

  Time passed. Dick the surgeon turned out to be no

  phony; he knew his medicine. The fevers and the chills

  subsided, strength of a sort came back; the thigh wound,

  excavated and cleaned, healed. But the hands were gone,

  and so was love.

  Dick did everything, though he was no nomad. "I owe

  it to you," he said. "Her life, your hands—all because of

  me."

  "They would have done it anyway," Neq said, not caring

  how the blame was parceled out. "They ambushed us

  before we ever saw you. We were already prisoners."

  "She took several minutes to get me out of that cage,

  and she waited while I got some circulation back into my

  legs so I could walk. She would have gotten away, other-

  wise."

  "You can't bring her back. If you owe me a favor, kill

  me too. Then I won't hurt any more—any way."

  "I deal in life, not death. After Helicon, this is just an

  incident. I do owe you, but not that." He looked about.

  "We should get away from here. They dumped you both

  and left—but they could come back at any time. I was

  lucky they didn't see me following them."

  Neq was not in a position to argue further. He talked

  with only a part of his consciousness, the least important

  part. The rest was obsesssed with what had happened, and

  his impotence in the face of such calamity.

  Only one thing kept him going. At first it was intangible,

  nebulous, a background emotion that gave him strength

  without comprehension. But gradually, as the days passed,

  it became solid, better defined, until it occupied the clear

  forefront of his mind, and he knew the need for what it was.

  Vengeance.

  "You are a surgeon," Neq said. "From what was mooted,

  the best in the world."

  "Not necessarily. I was 'trained by a master, and he

  trained others. I've heard of remarkable surgery in the

  Aleutians—"

  "You do talk like a crazy. Can you operate on me?"

  "Without my equipment, my laboratory, drugs, compe-

  tent assistants—"

  "Was that what you told Yod?"

  "Essentially. Surgery without sterilization procedures,

  anesthetics—"

  "They sterilized my wrists, all right. With living torches!"

  "I know. Yod is an outlaw, but he keeps his word. He

  wanted you to live."

  "I keep my word too," Neq said. "But if there are ways

  to sterilize, why couldn't you—"

  "Try a flaming torch on abdominal surgery!"

  Neq nodded. "So Yod figured you were lying."

  "I wasn't going to help him anyway. Any life I might

  save for him would mean death, for others. His tribe

  deserves extermination."

  "That may come," Neq said, but decided against clari-

  fying the matter. "We'll get equipment, somewhere."

  "Yes, with the necessary facilities I could operate. But

  in what manner? I can't give you back your hands. No

  one can do that."

  "Tyi said—he said that the Nameless One, our Master

  of Empire, the Weaponless—by whatever name you know

  him—he said that man had been made strong by an

  underworld surgeon. You?"

  "I had considerable assistance. And there was a strong

  possibility of failure. As it was, I understand I rendered

  him sterile."

  . "If you could do that for him, you can do this for me."

  "What do you want?"

  Neq held up his truncated right arm. "My sword."

  "Without a hand?"

  "My sword will be my hand."

  Dick studied him appraisingly. "Yes, I could do that.

  Insert a metal brace, attach the blade—it wouldn't be flex-

  ible, but there'd be plenty of power."

  "Neq nodded.

  "It would be awkward," Dick continued, considering it

  further. "For sleeping, for eating. You would not be able

  to use that hand for any constructive purpose, except

  chopping firewood. But once you learned to control it you

  might re-enter the circle. Much of your fighting skill is in

  your brain, I'm sure; you could overcome a substantial

  flexibility handicap. You would not be the warrior you

  were, but you could still be more than most."

  Neq nodded again.

  "I could give you a hook on the other arm, maybe even

  pincers. So you could dress, feed yourself."

  "Start now."

  "But I told you: I'll need anesthetics, instruments,

  sterilization—"

  "Knock me out. Pass yoBr knife through the fire."

  Dick laughed -without humor. "Impossible!" Then:

  "You're serious."

  "Every day she lies cold while her murderers live is a

  torture to me. I must have my sword."

  "But only Yod killed her, actually."

  "They're all guilty. Every man who touched her—every

  one shall die."

  Dick shook his head. "I'm afraid of you. I thought I had

  learned complete hatred during my time in the cage,

  choking on the miasma of my own refuse, but I fear what

  you will do."

  "You won't have to watch."

  "I'll be responsible, though."

  "If you will not do it, tell me you will. Then kill me in

  my sleep."

  Dick shuddered. "No, I'll fix you up. In my own way.

  We'll have to go back to what remains of Helicon for my

  supplies. They aren't all gone. I went back once to make

  sur
e. Gruesome experience."

  "I know. But such a trip would take time!"

  Dick looked at him. "You may dismiss pain when you're

  fighting in the circle or elsewhere. But this, when you're

  calm—let me make a small demonstration. Hold out your

  arm."

  Neq held out one bandaged stump.

  Dick took hold of it and applied pressure.

  The pain started slowly, but built up appallingly. Neq

  took it, not flinching, knowing he was being tested but

  not knowing how long he could withstand it.

  "That's just hand pressure," Dick said. "How will you

  like it when I start cutting? Scraping off the new scar

  tissue, cauterizing living flesh, laying open the muscle

  and tendons and tying wires to them? Hamering a metal

  spike into the radius—the long bone of the forearm? And

  another into the ulna, so that you will be able to twist your

  weapon as you once twisted your wrist, and perhaps to flex

  it a little. You're fortunate that your hands were severed

  below the wrists, leaving the main bones connected; that