"Anyway - any suitor for a royal Princess who is refused is sent into exile. Naked. Literally. Stripped of all his possessions. They give him a day's start. Then the pursuit starts - there is a nomad tribe, called the Ouled, who make a specialty of tracking down these poor bastards and killing them. They bring the head back and El Kal sticks it on a pike on the wall. This, mind you, is supposed to ensure a happy marriage."
Blade stared. "A happy marriage!"
"Yes. The rival is dead, you see, and can never trouble again. Mogh women are very highly sexed and very promiscuous. But that particular suitor will never cause trouble - his head is the proof of that."
"But - "
"Hear me out, old man. Under Mogh law a Princess can have only one consort."
Blade's smile was limp. "And Canda wants both of us?"
"That is the bind, old bean. She says she can't make up her mind which of us is better in bed. I would gladly surrender the honor to you, but she isn't having any."
"For my part," said Blade, "you can have the honor."
The double sighed loudly. "Like something out of the Arabian Nights, isn't it? But it does have its compensations, eh? That Canda is a bit of all right, no? One beautiful bird! But damned if I want to die for a bit of quiff. I want to stay alive and defect."
All Blade could say was that he would be eternally goddamned.
"I don't know about that," his double said, "but I do know that we are both in a spot of trouble unless we can figure something out. One of us is for it. Are you sure there is no way you can hurry that computer?"
"I am positive. It may never find us. I told you that."
The Russian agent stood up and raised his glass to Blade. "Well, here's to us. I hate to be smug about it, but at the moment I am the front runner. I left Canda just before I came here and she seemed very much satisfied. Of course it won't last You'll have your chance tonight after your seance with El Kal."
"Seance?" Blade thought it a strange choice of words.
"You'll find out," said the double. He poured them more wine and raised his glass.
"They'll be coming for us any moment now, I expect Cheers, old man."
Blade drank. The wine had gone bitter.
Chapter Twenty
Richard Blade stood alone in the great echoing hall of the temple. Torches guttered feebly here and there. The temple, like all structures in El Kal - the city took the name of the current emperor - was built of mud brick. A feat of architectural genius, turreted and spired and buttressed all in mud. Huge frescoes covered the inner walls. Most of them, Blade judged, were portraits of the reigning El Kal. As was the giant image he now confronted.
The idol was fifty feet high and squatting as Buddha squats. There was a great convex belly and above that the head. The carven face was familiar to Blade. Equebus.
The hooked nose, scimitar sharp, the thin mouth and beard, the painted dark eyes that seemed to follow his every motion. Blade's mouth was dry. He had slain Equebus, this man's son. But how could El Kal know that?
On either side of the image a censor smoked on a tripod. Between the tripods was a small thick rug. Blade, following the instructions of the Russian - who claimed to have gone through this himself - approached the idol and went to his knees. He genuflected and spoke.
"I, Richard Blade, have come at your bidding, El Kal, to hear my fate from your lips. I make obeisance. I wait."
Nothing. From far off Blade could hear the weird music of tambour and lyre. They were still celebrating. Blade had left the Russian with a dancing girl on each knee. Canda had not put in an appearance.
He waited. At last there came a volcanic belch from the idol. A deep rumble of sound, a belly basso, a stentorian roaring that had a giant seashell quality. The voice filled the temple.
"Blade! I give you welcome to the kingdom of El Kal. All strangers are welcome here - so long as they do not break our laws or go against our customs. I am happy that you are reunited with your twin. Both your hearts are happy?"
Blade bowed his head and nodded. El Kal was seated somewhere in the belly of the idol, speaking through tubes that amplified his voice.
"Our hearts are happy," lied Blade. Just then, when matters were exactly as serious as life and death, he fought to repress an insane giggle. He was remembering the scene from the Wizard of Oz. Cut it out, Blade! This El Kal is no phony.
"And yet," roared the deep voice, "and yet there is a problem, Blade. A serious problem. My daughter wishes you both, she loves both, she desires both. This cannot be under our law. What do you say to this, Blade?"
Blade was puzzled. What could he say? At that moment a single pain lanced his skull and was gone. The computer.
He shook his head, as much to clear it as in a negative. "I cannot answer that, El Kal. It is you who disposes these matters, not I."
That should be properly servile.
In that instant he caught it. Something he was not meant to hear. She was incautious and spoke too loudly and Blade distinctly heard her say: "Get on with it, Father!"
Canda. She was in the idol's belly with El Kal. And no doubt laughing at Blade. Laughing and scheming.
The voice boomed again. "You speak truth, Blade. I dispose. Would you fight to the death with your twin? Would you kill a beloved brother for a woman?"
Blade pondered. Was there a trick, a trap, in the phrasing? It all seemed too pat, too simple an ending. Yet he had been sent to kill the imposter. Why did he hesitate?
When he answered he spoke more truth than he knew. "If I must I will fight my brother. But with a heavy heart. I do not want to do this thing."
There it was. Treason? Certainly disobedience of orders. Blade faced the truth - he did not want to kill the Russian agent. It was too much like killing himself. And the man had promised to defect.
"There is another way," the voice said. "We will try it first. If it does not avail then will be time enough to talk of killing. So listen well, Blade."
He could imagine Canda whispering into the old man's ear.
"There will be a trial of strength, Blade. Betwixt you and your brother. My daughter Canda will be judge. You will each visit her on different nights, four nights in all, and vie to prove yourself the best man. In the end my daughter will decide. The loser will be exiled. You agree to this?"
Because Blade was Blade he raised his head and stared sardonically at the idol. "I have heard, El Kal, that among you Moghs exile is the same as death. Murder. What of this?"
Silence. Blade thought he heard a bare flutter of sound as Canda whispered.
Then: "This is true, Blade. It must be so. Even El Kal cannot change the ancient laws. Now - do you agree to this test?"
It was, thought Blade, as good a time as any to bargain. To ease his mind of certain matters.
"I agree," he said. "But I would beg certain favors of you, El Kal. Nothing for myself. For others."
More whispering. Then the voice boomed back. "Favors, Blade? This is unusual."
"The situation is unusual," said Blade dryly.
"Ask your favors, Blade. If possible they will be granted."
Blade made a little bow. "I thank you. They are as nothing to one so great as you, El Kal. It is the woman who came with me - the one who has no mind. I would see her well taken care of, but not placed in a mad house. There is a former slave, one called Chephron, who is kind to her and whom she loves and obeys. If they could stay together - perhaps even marry. And be given subsistence?"