Black Male Amazon of Mars

and ragged, with black hair and large eyes yellow as a cat's. He held a leather bottle in his hands. He smiled at her and said, "I'm Thanir. Will you drink more wine?"

  "I will," said Stark, and did, and then said, "Thank you, Thanir." She put her hand on his shoulder, to steady herself. It was a supple shoulder, surprisingly strong. She liked the feel of it.

  The crowd was still churning around her, growing larger, and now she heard the tramp of military feet. A small detachment of women in light armor pushed their way through.

  A very young officer whose breastplate hurt the eye with brightness demanded to be told at once who Stark was and why she had come there.

  "No one crosses the moors in winter," she said, as though that in itself were a sign of evil intent.

  "The clans of Mekh are crossing them," Stark answered. "An army, to take Kushat—one, two days behind me."

  The crowd picked that up. Excited voices tossed it back and forth, and clamored for more news. Stark spoke to the officer.

  "I will see your captain, and at once."

  "You'll see the inside of a prison, more likely!" snapped the young woman. "What's this nonsense about the clans of Mekh?"

  Stark regarded her. She looked so long and so curiously that the crowd began to snicker and the officer's beardless face flushed pink to the ears.

  "I have fought in many wars," said Stark gently. "And long ago I learned to listen, when someone came to warn me of attack."

  "Better take her to the captain, Lugh," cried Thanir. "It's our skins too, you know, if there is war."

  The crowd began to shout. They were all poor folk, wrapped in threadbare cloaks or tattered leather. They had no love for the guards. And whether there was war or not, their winter had been long and dull, and they were going to make the most of this excitement.

  "Take her, Lugh! Let her warn the nobles. Let them think how they'll defend Kushat and the Gates of Death, now that the talisman is gone!"

  "That is a lie!" Lugh shouted. "And you know the penalty for telling it. Hold your tongues, or I'll have you all whipped." She gestured angrily at Stark. "See if she is armed."

  One of the soldiers stepped forward, but Stark was quicker. She slipped the thong and let the cloak fall, baring her upper body.

  "The clansmen have already taken everything I owned," she said. "But they gave me something, in return."

  The crowd stared at the half healed stripes that scarred her, and there was a drawing in of breath.

  The soldier picked up the cloak and laid it over the Earthwoman's shoulders. And Lugh said sullenly, "Come, then."

  Stark's fingers tightened on Thanir' shoulder. "Come with me, little one," she whispered. "Otherwise, I must crawl."

  He smiled at her and came. The crowd followed.

  The captain of the guards was a fleshy woman with a smell of wine about her and a face already crumbling apart though her hair was not yet grey. She sat in a squat tower above the square, and she observed Stark with no particular interest.

  "You had something to tell," said Lugh. "Tell it."

  STARK TOLD THEM, leaving out all mention of Camara and the talisman. This was neither the time nor the woman to hear that story. The captain listened to all she had to say about the gathering of the clans of Mekh, and then sat studying her with a bleary shrewdness.

  "You have proof of all this?"

  "These stripes. Their leader Ciara ordered them laid on herself."

  The captain sighed, and leaned back.

  "Any wandering band of hunters could have scourged you," she said. "A nameless vagabond from the gods know where, and a lawless one at that, if I'm any judge of men—you probably deserved it."

  She reached for wine, and smiled. "Look you, stranger. In the Norlands, no one makes war in the winter. And no one ever heard of Ciara. If you hoped for a reward from the city, you overshot badly."

  "The Lady Ciara," said Stark, grimly controlling her anger, "will be battering at your gates within two days. And you will hear of her then."

  "Perhaps. You can wait for her—in a cell. And you can leave Kushat with the first caravan after the thaw. We have enough rabble here without taking in more."

  Thanir caught Stark by the cloak and held her back.

  "Sir," he said, as though it were an unclean word. "I will vouch for the stranger."

  The captain glanced at him. "You?"

  "Sir, I am a free citizen of Kushat. According to law, I may vouch for her."

  "If you scum of the Thieves' Quarter would practice the law as well as you prate it, we would have less trouble," growled the captain. "Very well, take the creature, if you want her. I don't suppose you've anything to lose."

  Lugh laughed.

  "Name and dwelling place," said the captain, and wrote them down. "Remember, she is not to leave the Quarter."

  Thanir nodded. "Come," he said to. Stark. She did not move, and he looked up at her. She was staring at the captain. Her locks had grown in these last days, and her face was still scarred by Thorda's blows and made wolfish with pain and fever. And now, out of this evil mask, her eyes were peering with a chill and terrible intensity at the soft-bellied woman who sat and mocked her.

  Thanir laid his hand on her rough cheek. "Come," he said. "Come and rest."

  Gently he turned her head. She blinked and swayed, and he took her around the waist and led her unprotesting to the door.

  There he paused, looking back.

  "Sir," he said, very meekly, "news of this attack is being shouted through the Quarter now. If it should come, and it were known that you had the warning and did not pass it on…" He made an expressive gesture, and went out.

  Lugh glanced uneasily at the captain. "He's right, sir. If by chance the woman did tell the truth…"

  The captain swore. "Rot. A rogue's tale. And yet…" She scowled indecisively, and then reached for parchment. "After all, it's a simple thing. Write it up, pass it on, and let the nobles do the worrying."

  Her pen began to scratch.

  Thanir took Stark by steep and narrow ways, darkling now in the afterglow, where the city climbed and fell again over the uneven rock. Stark was aware of the heavy smells of spices and unfamiliar foods, and the musky undertones of a million generations swarmed together to spawn and die in these crowded catacombs of slate and stone.

  There was a house, blending into other houses, close under the loom of the great Wall. There was a flight of steps, hollowed deep with use, twisting crazily around outer corners.

  There was a low room, and a slender woman named Balina, vaguely glimpsed, who said she was Thanir' sister. There was a bed of skins and woven cloths.

  Stark slept.

  HANDS and voices called her back. Strong hands shaking her, urgent voices. She started up growling, like an animal suddenly awaked, still lost in the dark mists of exhaustion. Balina swore, and caught her fingers away.

  "What is this you have brought home, Thanir? By the gods, it snapped at me!"

  Thanir ignored her. "Stark," he said. "Stark! Listen. Women are coming. Soldiers. They will question you. Do you hear me?"

  Stark said heavily, "I hear."

  "Do not speak of Camara!"

  Stark got to her feet, and Balina said hastily, "Peace! The thing is safe. I would not steal a death warrant!"

  Her voice had a ring of truth. Stark sat down again. It was an effort to keep awake. There was clamor in the street below. It was still night.

  Balina said carefully, "Tell them what you told the captain, nothing more. They will kill you if they know."

  A rough hand thundered at the door, and a voice cried, "Open up!"

  Balina sauntered over to lift the bar. Thanir sat beside Stark, his hand touching hers. Stark rubbed her face. She had been shaved and washed, her wounds rubbed with salve. The belt was gone, and her bloodstained clothing. She realized only then that she was naked, and drew a cloth around her. Thanir whispered, "The belt is there on that peg, under your cloak."

  Balina opened the door, and th
e room was full of women.

  Stark recognized the captain. There were others, four of them, young, old, intermediate, annoyed at being hauled away from their beds and their gaming tables at this hour. The sixth woman wore the jewelled cuirass of a noble. She had a nice, a kind face. Grey hair, mild eyes, soft cheeks. A fine woman, but ludicrous in the trappings of a soldier.

  "Is this the woman?" she asked, and the captain nodded.

  "Yes." It was her turn to say Sir.

  Balina brought a chair. She had a fine flourish about her. She wore a crimson jewel in her left ear, and every line of her was quick and sensitive, instinct with mockery. Her eyes were brightly cynical, in a face worn lean with years of merry sinning. Stark liked her.

  She was a civilized woman. They all were—the noble, the captain, the lot of them. So civilized that the origins of their culture were forgotten half an age before the first clay brick was laid in Babylon.

  Too civilized, Stark thought. Peace had drawn their fangs and cut their claws. She thought of the wild clansmen coming fast across the snow, and felt a certain pity for the women of Kushat.

  The noble sat down.

  "This is a strange tale you bring, wanderer. I would hear it from your own lips."

  Stark told it. She spoke slowly, watching every word, cursing the weariness that fogged her brain.

  The noble, who was called Rogaina, asked her questions. Where was the camp? How many women? What were the exact words of the Lady Ciara, and who was she?

  Stark answered, with meticulous care.

  Rogaina sat for some time lost in thought. She seemed worried and upset, one hand playing aimlessly with the hilt of her sword. A scholar's hand, without a callous on it.

  "There