Then the door flew open, and three more men sprang into the hallway. One carried a long shepherd's staff with a knife tied to the end of it, making a crude but wicked-looking spear. The other two carried crossbows. The spearman gave a wordless cry and slammed the butt of his weapon on the floor. A quiver ran through the men facing Blade, and they began to draw to either side.
In another second the archers would have a clear field of fire. With the flat of his sword Blade slapped Esseta across the back. «Get down!» he shouted, pointing to the chair. It was poor cover for her and the other women, but better than nothing. He himself dropped into a crouch, ready to spring forward, seeking cover among his enemies. If he could get into the middle of them, and even better, if he could knock down the lamp that was the only light in the hallway. Not much chance of that, though, and no chance of his surviving it. The women might be able to make their retreat, though, and-
A sudden explosion of sound from outside made the spearman and the archers stiffen. Hooves clattered on the cobblestones of the street, men shouted, horses neighed. Then crossbows began to go off, and men began to scream.
The spearman whirled around and thrust his head out the door. A second later he reeled back into the hallway, a spear rammed through him from chest to back. He threw up his hands and fell. As he did, he crashed against one of the archers and the man's crossbow fired. The bolt went into the back of one of the eight men facing Blade, flinging him so violently forward that he knocked down several of his comrades.
Whatever the cause, the enemy was falling into confusion. Blade snatched up the chair with his free hand, hurled it into the middle of the enemy, then followed up with his sword.
The confusion among the attackers promptly became total. Some tried to run forward to meet Blade others tried to retreat toward the door. Some just stood where they were, unable or unwilling to do anything. Blade's sword flashed and hissed in a deadly arc, and two men reeled toward the wall, trying to stop the blood from gaping wounds. He heard a gurgling cry, and saw Esseta cutting the throat of one of the men who'd been knocked down. The remaining archer fired, and the bolt thunked harmlessly into the wall.
Now the men in the hallway might have broken and run, but Blade and the women were pressing them too closely. They didn't have time to even turn around, let alone run. A man on the floor kicked out wildly, and Esseta tripped over him and went down. Another man tried to stamp on her, but as his foot came down so did Blade's sword. The man's leg came off just below the knee, and Esseta gasped and spluttered, drenched in a torrent of blood spraying from the stump. The man screamed and fell almost on top of her.
Then a sword was slicing the air toward Blade's head. He whirled to avoid it and his foot slipped on the blood now inches deep on the floor. He threw out his other leg for balance, and got it tangled up in the chair. He threw out both hands in a last desperate effort to keep himself upright. His free hand slammed into the wall, and then his head slammed into the heavy iron bracket holding the lamp. A roaring explosion of pain and fire threw him down into blackness.
Blade's last thought was that it was a bloody stupid way to die, tripping over a chair just when help had arrived.
Chapter 17
For the second time in this Dimension, Richard Blade found himself waking when he'd expected to be dead. At least this time it was no surprise to wake up in a bed. That he was alive at all could only mean the attackers had been driven off before they could kill him. No doubt Esseta or the horsemen who'd come to the rescue had then taken care of putting him to bed. At the moment his head hurt so much that it was an effort to think farther than that. Blade decided he could spare himself the effort for now and drifted off to sleep again.
He woke up with the feeling that the whole room around him was the color of blood. Then he saw the sky outside the one high arched window, and realized that it was simply the glow of sunset on the tiles of the walls and floor. His headache had subsided, and he felt ready to sit up in bed and look around him.
Wherever he was, it was not in the House of the Night's Tale. Nor was he in the hands of people who believed in any sort of asceticism. The room would not have been out of place in a royal palace. The walls and floor were covered with mosaics, floral patterns in green and silver and blue, with gilded highlights. A tapestry with a hunting scene hung over the bed. The bed itself was a massive affair, elaborately carved out of a dark red wood. The knobs at the head and foot of the bed were crystal serpents' heads, set in silver. The sheets under Blade were silk, and the quilt over him seemed to be silk filled with down.
Blade climbed out of the bed. There was a bandage around his head, and another on his left wrist. Other than that he hadn't picked up a single scratch in the fight in the hallway of the House of the Night's Tale. Not bad, even if he had ended the evening by tripping over a chair and knocking himself silly on a lamp!
He walked toward the window, and was just about to reach it when the door opened. Two elderly eunuchs came bustling in. When they saw Blade standing near the window, they frantically urged him back to bed. They even grabbed his arms and tried to drag him. Blade's temper flared at this. If the two eunuchs hadn't been so old and so obviously afraid of being punished if something happened to him, he would have been tempted to knock both of them down.
The two eunuchs led Blade back to the bed and then summoned a doctor to examine him, two more eunuchs to bathe him, and four maidservants with a meal. The food was excellent-lamb stew, bread, several kinds of fruit, and some really good beer-and served from silver vessels with enameled or gilded lids. Blade was more certain than ever that he was in the care of some high-ranking notable of the Baranate. He wished he could get to the window and look out, to orient himself, but every time he tried to get out of bed the two senior eunuchs seemed ready to throw a fit.
It was dark outside by the time Blade finished eating. The servants were clearing away the dishes when the door suddenly swung open and four huge dark-skinned men strode in. They wore the trousers and necklaces of the Baran's infantry, and also blue turbans and thigh-length tunics of chain mail. They positioned themselves two on either side of the door. As they did, all the servants prostrated themselves on the floor, hands outstretched toward the door.
Blade was suddenly tense. There was only one man in Dahaura who received this honor. Before he could even wonder what he ought to do, brisk footsteps sounded in the hall outside and the Baran of Dahaura strode through the door.
The Baran was not really tall enough to stride properly. He stood only about five-and-a-half feet tall and was slightly plump. Hair thinning on top and a long drooping mustache didn't improve his looks. But he carried himself so well and moved with such assurance and dignity that it was hard to be aware of his physical shortcomings. The way the Baran carried himself reminded Blade of the Master of the Hashomi. Both had the same air of knowing that no one would disobey them, stand in their path, or attack their dignity.
The Baran also reminded Blade of someone else he'd seen, but for a moment Blade couldn't think who. Then the certainty seemed to explode in his mind. The merchant who'd been attacked in the Street of the Perfumers! The surprisingly agile merchant, who'd worn mail under his robes and vanished like a puff of smoke while everyone else was busy with the fight! The merchant had been the Baran, disguised with a beard and perhaps padding under his robes.