Cassandra held tight to his arm as the bandits closed in on them—no escape possible, no fighting a crossbow aimed at the throat, not even if Mathayus had been in his full fighting form.
"I'm alive!" Arpid said, bursting up out of the water, capering like a child.
Then he saw the bandits and stopped splashing.
"For the moment," Arpid said, as water streamed down his face like tears.
Cave Men
M
athayus, Cassandra, Arpid and Philos—that unlikely quartet of desert travelers—were ushered from the oasis to the mountain range that rose from the idyllic water hole's edge. Here, massive rocks combined with the natural camouflage of hanging vines and the drapery of vegetation to shield a sizable entrance into a cavern. A caravan could spend the night at the oasis, and never suspect the nearness of the mountain lair of these bandits ... that is, the caravan lucky enough not to fall prey to their hidden hosts.
Their scruffy captors led the little party through a dark, dank passageway, lighted by torch, until— astonishingly—the cave opened into a natural open-air amphitheater, the late-afternoon sun dappling an incredible temple-size area playing home to a staggering network of tents and walkways, a sheltered world of bare timber, rope, twine, and canvas, encompassed by greenery climbing, then succumbing to, the cliffsides surrounding. Booty was stacked and stored here and there and everywhere—stolen, no doubt, from Memnon's caravans . . . which to the Akkadian seemed as noble a pursuit as any bandit might choose.
This shared enemy, however, made the assassin and his companions no less prisoners.
Mathayus and his improbable band were led by armed guards to a central place, around which scores of dwellers clustered ever nearer. The crowd consisted of warrior-bandits bearing shields and spears and wearing the war paint and leathers of numerous tribes, their women and children mixed in, swarming for a closer, openly suspicious look. Surprisingly, some of the faces—the females and the offspring particularly—were filled with fear; no warrior among this lot could compare in size and physique with the Akkadian ... and no woman could compare with the exotic beauty of Cassandra.
On the other hand, few were as puny as Arpid and Philos.
Nearby was the largest of the tents, a central canvas-timber structure, the door flap of which drew back, revealing a figure all too familiar to Mathayus ...
... the Nubian giant, Balthazar, with whom the Akkadian had traded barbed badinage—and potentially deadly tosses of the kama—at the late King Pheron's tribal council.
Balthazar remained the same formidable figure— ropy dreadlock braids on an otherwise bald skull, massive muscles carved from ebony, ritualistic decorative scars on a face dominated by slitted eyes and a broad flat nose, battle beads looped around a tree-trunk neck, shoulders so broad you had to look at them one at a time.
For a moment the Nubian king froze, as dark anger rose through him like smoke through a burning building. Then the man mountain's upper lip curled in a sneer.
"Assassin," he said, his voice deep, resonant. "The gods are good to me. When last we met, you were so kind as to offer to kill me..." The giant sat heavily on a timber-and-twine throne. "And now I have the chance to repay your kindness."
Cassandra glanced at Mathayus, expecting him to respond; but the Akkadian said nothing, keeping his eyes focused straight and unblinkingly ahead.
"My scouts," Balthazar said, leaning forward, a hand on one knee, "tell me you have failed in your mission. It is said the sorcerer lives."
Mathayus did not reply. And Cassandra began to wonder if she would be in danger, should the Nubian discover her identity....
"My scouts also say your two brothers were slain... and yet you took the same oath—that as long as blood ran in the veins of any one of you, the magician would die. . . . How is it you survived?"
"Give me a sword," Mathayus said, "and I will do my best to explain."
"Bold words!" The Nubian king shifted in his wooden throne. "Brazen boasts from one who trespasses."
"We do not trespass—your people brought us here."
"Silence!" Balthazar shook a thick finger at the Akkadian. "Our survival depends on keeping this location a secret. So you present a problem, Akkadian—as long as you're alive, at least."
The little thief stepped forward, tentatively. "Pardon me, sir—just so you know, since I'm sure you mean to be fair ... I have no idea how we got here. I just wasn't paying attention, and, besides, I'm nearly blind...."
Balthazar scowled at the little man, his expression as hard as the rock walls surrounding.
The scientist now stepped forward, smiling nervously. "What my awkward friend is attempting to express is our embarrassment and regret for stumbling into your sanctum. Kind sir, if you would spare our lives, we would be perfectly delighted to forget we ever saw any of your, uh, charming little enclave. So ... if we're agreed ... we'll be on our way."
"That," the king said, "is not a prospect open to you."
And Balthazar rose, his face firmly set, as if a decision had been made....
From a corner of his eye, Mathayus noticed someone was pushing through the crowd—no, not someone: a group, perhaps half a dozen knifing through the mob, parting them rudely.
"Balthazar!" a strong female voice cried.
Queen Isis emerged—that dark regal beauty, un-derclad in leather armor; and around her were what remained of her woman warriors, fierce beauties whose numbers had dwindled since the Ur tribal council.
She stood proudly, hands on her hips, gazing up at the looming Nubian king. "You violate your own laws, if you slaughter these visitors. You know full well this is a place of sanctuary for the enemies of Memnon."
Balthazar, trembling with a quiet rage, said nothing; but his gaze remained locked with hers.
"The winds have carried the stories," Isis said, "of the Akkadian's brave stand against the men of Memnon.... Now, I know that there are those among us .. . yourself included, Balthazar... who have no great love for my tribe. Some men fear strong women."
"Isis," Balthazar said, "you try my good na
ture__ "
She went on, as if he had not spoken, her words more for those congregated, than for the king. "I am not fond of the people of the western mountains. ..." And she gestured toward a face-painted group among the crowd. "Yet we accept them, as we accept all of those who come here, for shelter, in this time of Memnon's atrocities ... whatever our personal feelings might be."
Balthazar shook his head. "The Akkadian is different," he said. "He is an assassin, whose loyalty is within reach of the highest bidder.... As such, he is dangerous."
But Isis was shaking her head, now. "Your judgment on this matter is clouded...."
The Nubian king threw his head back and roared, "It is my judgment that keeps all of you alive!"
And now Balthazar strode over to the prisoners; he planted himself before them and said, 'Take the woman and the other two away."
The Akkadian stepped out in front of Cassandra and said, an ominous edge in his voice, "Fair warning, king—the first hand to touch her, I'm cutting off."
Cassandra looked at Mathayus anew: the caring, the passion, in his voice and eyes, were undeniable. Could this man . .. love her?