“As is this waste of time. Earl, I want-”
“To help me as I am sure,” interrupted Dumarest. “As you made so clear when last we met and spoke of mazes and prisons and freedom as I am certain you remember.”
“I remember.”
“And will grant my request as I am sure.” Dumarest added. “The promise you made. The offer you repeated. The one in which you stated that I was not being held against my will. That I was free to leave any time I wished.”
“So?”
“So I wish to leave,” said Dumarest. “As soon as possible. Now would be a good time.”
He fell silent, waiting, sensing the familiar tension always to be found around a poker table where bluffs were common and the ability to recognise them all-important if a player hoped to win.
“For an intelligent man you are displaying a peculiar stupidity.” Shandaha reached for a flagon and poured them both a quantity of emerald wine. It swirled in glasses touched with the hue of the bark of bushes, the solemn colours to be found at the heart of a hedgerow. The tint of darkness, of mystery, of doom and destruction. The shade of death. “Or of life, Earl. It depends on your point of view.”
“You were reading my mind?”
“Not your mind,” said Shandaha. “Your face and body. Strange how the inevitable always yields sombre thoughts and dire feeling. Yet what do we see when holding this?” He lifted his glass and turned it within his palm. “A shade of green, the colour of vegetation, of cleanliness, comfort and peace. The shade of brown, the hue of soil, of tree trunks, of wispy twigs. All good things, fine symbols offering promise of a fine future…” Pausing he added, “If we have the wisdom to face it.”
“And the intelligence to drink it.”
“Together with the patience to bide our time. You can leave here now if you insist, Earl. I will not detain or prevent you. You will leave and you will die and another book will close and another story of a man’s tribulations and joys will be lost as if it had never existed. But that is life.” Raising his glass Shandaha added, “Let us drink to life!”
They drank and glass splintered as Shandaha smashed his empty container against the edge of the table. A ceremony which Dumarest had seen before from mercenaries toasting their dead companions in wakes which would be remembered. A gesture he would never have expected from a cyber.
Which was probably why the man had done it. But if so he was more wily than Dumarest had suspected.
“Be honest with me, Earl. Do you really want to leave here? To abandon Nada and Delise, me and mine. The pleasures you have tasted. The pleasure yet to come.”
“Pleasures? You can describe them?”
“I can do more than that. I can illustrate them. I can give them life. Make them real. Make them last. Think about it, Earl. Nada is beautiful, lovely, but she can be even better. Let me look into your mind to discover the seed core of your desires.”
His voice fell a little as Shandaha emulated someone selling a rare and exotic device. A thing Dumarest had experienced often before from touts clustered at the edges of fields catering to the desires of those who had spent too long locked in the coffins of their vessels. Men too vulnerable to temptation. As the mercenaries he had fought with had been easy prey for similar harpies. As the unwitting at the card tables had followed the temptation to be too much too quickly and had lost each time.
As he would lose unless he was ultra careful. If he aroused suspicion. If he failed to grasp the other’s intention and method of gaining his objective. He could only do that while they remained in close contact. He knew a way of how it could be done but, before he could test his theory, Shandaha solved the problem for them both.
“You are a hard man, Earl, and a cautious one. I blame you for neither. A wise man dare be nothing else, but a man, to be truly wise, also needs to learn how to trust. I will make you an offer. I am intrigued by your early life. I freely admit it. Your youth was so different to mine that, to experience it, is much like having lived twice. And we have unfinished business-the end of your affair with the lovely Sardia. Nada resembles her a little, you have noticed that?”
“Now that you mention it, I have.”
“You approve?”
“There can never be too much beauty in the universe.”
“So you approve. Good. Let us drink to it.”
They drank, blue wine this time served in bloated goblets adorned with silver. A long toast to a woman long dead but neither mentioned that. Instead Dumarest said, “You mentioned an offer. Shall we discuss it?”
“I thought we had.”
“No. You told me what you want. I didn’t hear what I would get for agreeing with you.”
“You will agree with me?”
“I’ll think about it. After I hear your offer.”
He waited, silent, wanting to urge the man as he would a laggard punter at the card table. Telling him to put up or shut up. To bet or fold. To play or walk. He held his tongue. Shandaha was going against all his training, inclinations and indoctrination. He had yielded his pride, detachment and a measure of respect. He had acted the deviant. The tout. The conspirator. Pushed he could react in a way Dumarest would find far from pleasant.
He said, “I too would like to see Sardia again. To be young and the envy of others. I feel you would gain by it also. We could take the opportunity or throw it away. I would like to take it. It could well be my last chance.”
Shandaha poured himself more wine.
Watching him Dumarest said, “I cannot insist you make me an offer. Men in your position do not make it a habit to haggle or beg. They give orders and what they want is done. But others can be just as determined in following their own path. If two such people face each other it would seem a folly for neither to be willing to yield a little to gain their objective.”
“Food!” Shandaha was abrupt. “Provisions, as much as you can carry. Warm clothing.”
“A map,” said Dumarest. “Instruments of navigation. Transportation to a more amiable climate.”
“A map and compass,” agreed the other. “If our journey is a success then the matter of travel can be settled.”
“The rest remains? The food and clothing?”
“Yes.”
“Then we have an agreement,” said Dumarest. “When do we leave?”
CHAPTER NINE
The atmosphere was unique. A blend of sweat, blood, scented salves, sprays, sex, hysteria and frenzy. The exhalations of near-madness, of strained emotions, of released desires, the perfume of the arena which to Dumarest had become a familiar part of life.
As had the screams of adulation, the acid comments of the connoisseurs, the wanton displays of passion, the invitations to join in combat in the arena of the bedroom. To match other foes in the shape of jaded women, dissolute men, using the weapons of the body instead of ones of edged and pointed steel.
Things he dismissed as he did the piercing stare of the gamblers, the distracting shrieks and calculated movements of those wanting him to lose. To fall with blood streaming across his torso. Another wound to add to the rest. A scar to further enhance his status and to advertise his profession.
Dangers he avoided as he dodged the blade which, in this bout, had yet to touch him. Scarlet shone on the flesh of his opponent, a pair of ruby slashes marring his chest. The permitted area in this particular form of combat. The upper part of the body from the shoulders to the waist, the chest, back and sides. A hit on the arms would bring instant disqualification. The neck, face and legs the same. Those areas were reserved for the more lethal bouts ending in crippling injuries or death.
But though he had hit and scored twice the third cut, if his opponent could deliver it, would cost Dumarest the prize and maybe his life. Certainly it would not please Sardia who had bet heavily on his victory.
He moved, weaving, metal glinting in his right hand. Ten inches of steel, razor-edged and with a vicious point, a handle and a simple guard to protect the fingers. His opponent moved also, his knife blurred in a sudden slam, a feint Dumarest had anticipated and he backed, fast, metal ringing as the blades met. Music the crowd greeted with cheers and ribald comments.