The Door Through Space

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Shainsa, first in the chain of Dry-towns that lie in the bed of along-dried ocean, is set at the center of a great alkali plain; a dusty,parched city bleached by a million years of sun. The houses are high,spreading buildings with many rooms and wide windows. The poorer sortwere made of sun-dried brick, the more imposing being cut from thebleached salt stone of the cliffs that rise behind the city.

  News travels fast in the Dry-towns. If Rakhal were in the city, he'dsoon know that I was here, and guess who I was or why I'd come. I mightdisguise myself so that my own sister, or the mother who bore me, wouldnot know me. But I had no illusions about my ability to disguise myselffrom Rakhal. He had created the disguise that was me.

  When the second sun set, red and burning, behind the salt cliffs, I knewhe was not in Shainsa, but I stayed on, waiting for something to happen.At night I slept in a cubbyhole behind a wineshop, paying an inordinateprice for that very dubious privilege. And every day in the sleepysilence of the blood-red noon I paced the public square of Shainsa.

  This went on for four days. No one took the slightest notice of anothernameless man in a shabby shirtcloak, without name or identity or knownbusiness. No one appeared to see me except the dusty children, with palefleecy hair, who played their patient games on the windswept curbing ofthe square. They surveyed my scarred face with neither curiosity orfear, and it occurred to me that Rindy might be such another as these.

  If I had still been thinking like an Earthman, I might have tried toquestion one of the children, or win their confidence. But I had adeeper game in hand.

  On the fifth day I was so much a fixture that my pacing went unnoticedeven by the children. On the gray moss of the square, a fewdried-looking old men, their faces as faded as their shirtcloaks andbearing the knife scars of a hundred forgotten fights, drowsed on thestone benches. And along the flagged walk at the edge of the square, assuddenly as an autumn storm in the salt flats, a woman came walking.

  She was tall, with a proud swinging walk, and a metallic clashing keptrhythm to her swift steps. Her arms were fettered, each wrist bound witha jeweled bracelet and the bracelets linked together by a long,silver-gilt chain passed through a silken loop at her waist. From theloop swung a tiny golden padlock, but in the lock stood an even tinierkey, signifying that she was a higher caste than her husband or consort,that her fettering was by choice and not command.

  She stopped directly before me and raised her arm in formal greetinglike a man. The chain made a tinkling sound in the hushed square as herother hand was pulled up tight against the silken loop at her waist. Shestood surveying me for some moments, and finally I raised my head andreturned her gaze. I don't know why I had expected her to have hair likespun black glass and eyes that burned with a red reflection of theburning star.

  This woman's eyes were darker than the poison-berries of the saltcliffs, and her mouth was a cut berry that looked just as dangerous. Shewas young, the slimness of her shoulders and the narrow steel-chainedwrists told me how very young she was, but her face had seen weather andstorms, and her dark eyes had weathered worse psychic storms than that.She did not flinch at the sight of my scars, and met my gaze withoutdropping her eyes.

  "You are a stranger. What is your business in Shainsa?"

  I met the direct question with the insolence it demanded, hardly movingmy lips. "I have come to buy women for the brothels of Ardcarran.Perhaps when washed you might be suitable. Who could arrange for yoursale?"

  She took the rebuke impassively, though the bitter crimson of her mouthtwitched a little in mischief or rage. But she made no sign. The battlewas joined between us, and I knew already that it would be fought to theend.

  From somewhere in her draperies, something fell to the ground with alittle tinkle. But I knew that trick too and I did not move. Finally shewent away without bending to retrieve it and when I looked around I sawthat all the fleece-haired children had stolen away, leaving theirplaythings lying on the curbing. But one or two of the gaffers on thestone benches, who were old enough to show curiosity without losingface, were watching me with impassive eyes.

  I could have asked the woman's name then, but I held back, knowing itcould only lessen the prestige I had gained from the encounter. Iglanced down, without seeming to do so, at the tiny mirror which hadfallen from the recesses of the fur robe. Her name might have beeninscribed on the reverse.

  But I left it lying there to be picked up by the children when theyreturned, and went back to the wineshop. I had accomplished my firstobjective; if you can't be inconspicuous, be so damned conspicuous thatnobody can miss you. And that in itself is a fair concealment. How manypeople can accurately describe a street riot?

  I was finishing off a bad meal with a stone bottle of worse wine whenthe _chak_ came in, disregarding the proprietor, and made straight forme. He was furred immaculately white. His velvet muzzle was contractedas if the very smells might soil it, and he kept a dainty pawoutstretched to ward off accidental contact with greasy counters ortables or tapestries. His fur was scented, and his throat circled with acollar of embroidered silk. This pampered minion surveyed me with theinnocent malice of an uninvolved nonhuman for merely human intrigues.

  "You are wanted in the Great House of Shanitha, thcarred man." He spokethe Shainsa dialect with an affected lisp. "Will it pleathe you, comewis' me?"

  I came, with no more than polite protest, but was startled. I had notexpected the encounter to reach the Great House so soon. Shainsa's GreatHouse had changed hands four times since I had last been in Shainsa. Iwasn't overly anxious to appear there.

  The white _chak_, as out of place in the rough Dry-town as a jewel inthe streets or a raindrop in the desert, led me along a windingboulevard to an outlying district. He made no attempt to engage me inconversation, and indeed I got the distinct impression that thiscockscomb of a nonhuman considered me well beneath his notice. He seemedmuch more aware of the blowing dust in the street, which ruffled andsmudged his carefully combed fur.

  The Great House was carved from blocks of rough pink basalt, the entryguarded by two great caryatids enwrapped in chains of carved metal, setsomehow into the surface of the basalt. The gilt had long ago worn awayfrom the chains so that it alternately gleamed gold or smudged basemetal. The caryatids were patient and blind, their jewel-eyes longvanished under a hotter sun than today's.

  The entrance hall was enormous. A Terran starship could have stoodupright inside it, was my first impression, but I dismissed that thoughtquickly; any Terran thought was apt to betray me. But the main hall wasbuilt on a scale even more huge, and it was even colder than thelegendary hell of the _chaks_. It was far too big for the people in it.

  There was a little solar heater in the ceiling, but it didn't help much.A dim glow came from a metal brazier but that didn't help much either.The _chak_ melted into the shadows, and I went down the steps into thehall by myself, feeling carefully for each step with my feet and tryingnot to seem to be doing so. My comparative night-blindness is the onlysignificant way in which I really differ from a native Wolfan.

  There were three men, two women and a child in the room. They were allDry-towners and had an obscure family likeness, and they all wore richgarments of fur dyed in many colors. One of the men, old and stooped andwithered, was doing something to the brazier. A slim boy of fourteen wassitting cross-legged on a pile of cushions in the corner. There wassomething wrong with his legs.

  A girl of ten in a too-short smock that showed long spider-thin legsabove her low leather boots was playing with some sort of shimmerycrystals, spilling them out into patterns and scooping them up againfrom the uneven stones of the floor. One of the women was a fat, creasedslattern, whose jewels and dyed furs did not disguise her greasyslovenliness.

  Her hands were unchained, and she was biting into a fruit which drippedred juice down the rich blue fur of her robe. The old man gave her alook like murder as I came in, and she straightened slightly but did notdiscard the fruit. The whole room had a curious
look of austere,dignified poverty, to which the fat woman was the only discordant note.

  But it was the remaining man and woman who drew my attention, so that Inoticed the others only peripherally, in their outermost orbit. One wasKyral, standing at the foot of the dais and glowering at me.

  The other was the dark-eyed woman I had rebuked today in the publicsquare.

  Kyral said, "So it's you." And his voice held nothing. Not rebuke, notfriendliness or a lack of it, not even hatred.

  Nothing.

  There was only one way to meet it. I faced the girl--she was sitting ona thronelike chair next to the fat woman, and looked like a doe next toa pig--and said boldly, "I assume this summons to mean that you informedyour kinsmen of my offer."

  She flushed, and that was triumph enough. I held back the triumph,however, wary of overconfidence. The gaffer laughed the high cackle ofage, and Kyral broke in with a sharp, angry monosyllable by which I knewthat my remark had indeed been repeated, and had lost nothing in thetelling. But only the line of his jaw betrayed the anger as he saidcalmly, "Be quiet, Dallisa. Where did you pick this up?"

  I said boldly, "The Great House has changed rulers since last I smelledthe salt cliffs. Newcomers do not know my name and theirs is unknown tome."

  The old gaffer said thinly to Kyral, "Our name has lost _kihar_. Onedaughter is lured away by the Toymaker and another babbles withstrangers in the square, and a homeless no-good of the streets does notknow our name."

  My eyes, growing accustomed to the dark blaze of the brazier, saw thatKyral was biting his lip and scowling. Then he gestured to a table wherean array of glassware was set, and at the gesture, the white _chak_ cameon noiseless feet and poured wine.

  "If you have no blood-feud with my family, will you drink with me?"

  "I will," I said, relaxing. Even if he had associated the trader withthe scarred Earthman of the spaceport, he seemed to have decided to dropthe matter. He seemed startled, but he waited until I had lifted theglass and taken a sip. Then, with a movement like lightning, he leapedfrom the dais and struck the glass from my lips.

  I staggered back, wiping my cut mouth, in a split-second jugglingpossibilities. The insult was terrible and deadly. I could do nothingnow but fight. Men had been murdered in Shainsa for far less. I had cometo settle one feud, not involve myself in another, but even while theselightning thoughts flickered in my mind, I had whipped out my skean andI was surprised at the shrillness of my own voice.

  "You contrive offense beneath your own roof--"

  "Spy and renegade!" Kyral thundered. He did not touch his skean. Fromthe table he caught a long four-thonged whip, making it whistle throughthe air. The long-legged child scuttled backward. I stepped back onepace, trying to conceal my desperate puzzlement. I could not guess whathad prompted Kyral's attack, but whatever it was, I must have made somebad mistake and could count myself lucky to get out of there alive.

  Kyral's voice perceptibly trembled with rage. "You dare to come into myown home after I have tracked you to the Kharsa and back, blind foolthat I was! But now you shall pay."

  The whip sang through the air, hissing past my shoulders. I dodged toone side, retreating step by step as Kyral swung the powerful thongs. Itcracked again, and a pain like the burning of red-hot irons seared myupper arm. My skean rattled down from numb fingers.

  The whip whacked the floor.

  "Pick up your skean," said Kyral. "Pick it up if you dare." He poisedthe lash again.

  The fat woman screamed.

  I stood rigid, gauging my chances of disarming him with a sudden leap.Suddenly the girl Dallisa leaped from her seat with a harsh musicalchiming of chains.

  "Kyral, no! No, Kyral!"

  He moved slightly, but did not take his eyes from me. "Get back,Dallisa."

  "No! Wait!" She ran to him and caught his whip-arm, dragging it down,and spoke to him hurriedly and urgently. Kyral's face changed as shespoke; he drew a long breath and threw the whip down beside my skean onthe floor.

  "Answer straight, on your life. What are you doing in Shainsa?"

  I could hardly take it in that for the moment I was reprieved fromsudden death, from being beaten into bloody death there at Kyral's feet.The girl went back to her thronelike chair. Now I must either tell thetruth or a convincing lie, and I was lost in a game where I didn't knowthe rules. The explanation I thought might get me out alive might be thevery one which would bring down instant and painful death. Suddenly,with a poignancy that was almost pain, I wished Rakhal were standinghere at my side.

  But I had to bluff it out alone.

  If they had recognized me for Race Cargill, the Terran spy who had oftenbeen in Shainsa, they might release me--it was possible, I supposed,that they were Terran sympathizers. On the other hand, Kyral's shouts of"Spy, renegade!" seemed to suggest the opposite.

  I stood trying to ignore the searing pain in my lashed arm, but I knewthat blood was running hot down my shoulder. Finally I said, "I came tosettle blood-feud."

  Kyral's lips thinned in what might have been meant for a smile. "Youshall, assuredly. But with whom, remains to be seen."

  Knowing I had nothing more to lose, I said, "With a renegade calledRakhal Sensar."

  Only the old man echoed my words dully, "Rakhal Sensar?"

  I felt heartened, seeing I wasn't dead yet.

  "I have sworn to kill him."

  Kyral suddenly clapped his hands and shouted to the white _chak_ toclean up the broken glass on the floor. He said huskily, "You are notyourself Rakhal Sensar?"

  "I _told_ you he wasn't," said Dallisa, high and hysterically. "I _told_you he wasn't."

  "A scarred man, tall--what was I to think?" Kyral sounded and lookedbadly shaken. He filled a glass himself and handed it to me, sayinghoarsely, "I did not believe even the renegade Rakhal would break thecode so far as to drink with me."

  "He would not." I could be positive about this. The codes of Terra hadmade some superficial impress on Rakhal, but down deep his own worldheld sway. If these men were at blood-feud with Rakhal and he stood herewhere I stood, he would have let himself be beaten into bloody ragsbefore tasting their wine.

  I took the glass, raised it and drained it. Then, holding it out beforeme, I said, "Rakhal's life is mine. But I swear by the red star and bythe unmoving mountains, by the black snow and by the Ghost Wind, I haveno quarrel with any beneath this roof." I cast the glass to the floor,where it shattered on the stones.

  Kyral hesitated, but under the blazing eyes of the girl he quicklypoured himself a glass of the wine and drank a few sips, then flung downthe glass. He stepped forward and laid his hands on my shoulders. Iwinced as he touched the welt of the lash and could not raise my own armto complete the ceremonial toast.

  Kyral stepped away and shrugged. "Shall I have one of the women see toyour hurt?" He looked at Dallisa, but she twisted her mouth. "Do ityourself!"

  "It is nothing," I said, not truthfully. "But I demand in requital thatsince we are bound by spilled blood under your roof, that you give mewhat news you have of Rakhal, the spy and renegade."

  Kyral said fiercely, "If I knew, would I be under my own roof?"

  The old gaffer on the dais broke into shrill whining laughter. "You havedrunk wi' him, Kyral, now he's bound you not to do him harm! I know thestory of Rakhal! He was spy for Terra twelve years. Twelve years, andthen he fought and flung their filthy money in their faces and left 'em.But his partner was some Dry-town halfbreed or Terran spy and theyfought wi' clawed gloves, and near killed one another except theTerrans, who have no honor, stopped 'em. See the marks of the _kifirgh_on his face!"

  "By Sharra the golden-chained," said Kyral, gazing at me with somethinglike a grin. "You are, if nothing else, a very clever man. What are you,spy, or half-caste of some Ardcarran slut?"

  "What I am doesn't matter to you," I said. "You have blood-feud withRakhal, but mine is older than yours and his life is mine. As you arebound in honor to kill"--the formal phrases came easily now to mytongue; the Earthman h
ad slipped away--"so you are bound in honor tohelp me kill. If anyone beneath your roof knows anything of Rakhal--"

  Kyral's smile bared his teeth.

  "Rakhal works against the Son of the Ape," he said, using the insultingWolf term for the Terrans. "If we help you to kill him, we remove a goadfrom their flanks. I prefer to let the filthy _Terranan_ spend theirstrength trying to remove it themselves. Moreover, I believe you areyourself an Earthman.

  "You have no right to the courtesy I extend to we, the People of theSky. Yet you have drunk wine with me and I have no quarrel with you." Heraised his hand in dismissal, outfencing me. "Leave my roof in safetyand my city with honor."

  I could not protest or plead. A man's _kihar_, his personal dignity, isa precious thing in Shainsa, and he had placed me so I could notcompromise mine further in words. Yet I lost _kihar_ equally if I leftat his bidding, like an inferior dismissed.

  One desperate gamble remained.

  "A word," I said, raising my hand, and while he half turned, startled,believing I was indeed about to compromise my dignity by a further plea,I flung it at him:

  "I will bet _shegri_ with you."

  His iron composure looked shaken. I had delivered a blow to his beliefthat I was an Earthman, for it is doubtful if there are six Earthmen onWolf who know about _shegri_, the dangerous game of the Dry-towns.

  It is no ordinary gamble, for what the bettor stakes is his life,possibly his reason. Rarely indeed will a man bet _shegri_ unless he hasnothing further to lose.

  It is a cruel, possibly decadent game, which has no parallel anywhere inthe known universe.

  But I had no choice. I had struck a cold trail in Shainsa. Rakhal mightbe anywhere on the planet and half of Magnusson's month was already up.Unless I could force Kyral to tell what he knew, I might as well quit.

  So I repeated: "I will bet _shegri_ with you."

  And Kyral stood unmoving.

  For what the _shegrin_ wagers is his courage and endurance in the faceof torture and an unknown fate. On his side, the stakes are clearlydetermined beforehand. But if he loses, his punishment or penalty is atthe whim of the one who has accepted him, and he may be put to whateverdoom the winner determines.

  And this is the contest:

  The _shegrin_ permits himself to be tortured from sunrise to sunset. Ifhe endures he wins. It is as simple as that. He can stop the torture atany moment by a word, but to do so is a concession of defeat.

  This is not as dangerous as it might, at first, seem. The other party tothe bet is bound by the ironclad codes of Wolf to inflict no permanentphysical damage (no injury that will not heal with three suncourses).But from sunrise to sunset, any torment or painful ingenuity which thehalf-human mentality of Wolf can devise must be endured.

  The man who can outthink the torture of the moment, the man who can holdin his mind the single thought of his goal--that man can claim thestakes he has set, as well as other concessions made traditional.

  The silence grew in the hall. Dallisa had straightened and was watchingme intently, her lips parted and the tip of a little red tongue visiblebetween her teeth. The only sound was the tiny crunching as the fatwoman nibbled at nuts and cast their shells into the brazier. Even thechild on the steps had abandoned her game with the crystal dice, and satlooking up at me with her mouth open. Finally Kyral demanded, "Yourstakes?"

  "Tell me all you know of Rakhal Sensar and keep silence about me inShainsa."

  "By the red shadow," Kyral burst out, "you have courage, Rascar!"

  "Say only yes or no!" I retorted.

  Rebuked, he fell silent. Dallisa leaned forward and again, for someunknown reason, I thought of a girl with hair like spun black glass.

  Kyral raised his hand. "I say no. I have blood-feud with Rakhal and Iwill not sell his death to another. Further, I believe you are Terranand I will not deal with you. And finally, you have twice saved my lifeand I would find small pleasure in torturing you. I say no. Drink againwith me and we part without a quarrel."

  Beaten, I turned to go.

  "Wait," said Dallisa.

  She stood up and came down from the dais, slowly this time, walking withdignity to the rhythm of her musically clashing chains. "I have aquarrel with this man."

  I started to say that I did not quarrel with women, and stopped myself.The Terran concept of chivalry has no equivalent on Wolf.

  She looked at me with her dark poison-berry eyes, icy and level andamused, and said, "I will bet _shegri_ with you, unless you fear me,Rascar."

  And I knew suddenly that if I lost, I might better have trusted myselfto Kyral and his whip, or to the wild beast-things of the mountains.