Others, as well, were not ready for sleep. From the tent wherein the two women had retired for the night, one came forth to stare at the starblaze. And from the inky shadows of another tent, Agila glided into the open, stopping short as he observed the woman come forth.
In the dim almost-dark of the Martian night, Agila could not at once be certain which of the two women had emerged from the tent to share the darkness with him. But he assumed it to be the soft, plump one whom he fancied.
Gliding on soundless steps to where she stood, staring up at the glory of the stars, the cowl of her robes concealing her features from him, he laid a cajoling arm about her shoulders and reached with the other hand for her breasts.
Startled, she turned in his embrace, and as she did so the hood of her robes fell back upon her shoulders, revealing the face of Zuarra.
Well, it was not the one he preferred, but it was all one to Agila. Grinning wolfishly, he insinuated one hand into the opening of her robes to capture a firm, pointed breast, while his other arm tightened about her so that she should not writhe free and his thin lips bent to seek her own in a hungry kiss—
A kiss that was never quite consummated.
A hand clamped his lean shoulder in a grip of iron; another closed about his throat, tearing him from the woman. Then a balled fist sank into his belly and he fell gagging to the sand, clutching for the long knife that slept in its dragonskin scabbard at his thigh, under his kilt.
But Brant kicked him in the face, knocking most of the fight out of the guide, who fell sprawling on his back and lay there gasping and spitting like a beached flounder.
Zuarra had fallen to her knees. Now Brant bent to help her to her feet, nor did she repulse his gesture.
For a moment, he held her against his chest as she clung to him, panting.
For a moment, her eyes, lustrous as wet dark jewels in the dim light, stared up into his own.
Then—
“This is the third time you have rescued me, O Brant,” she whispered. “First, when my own people had staked me out to die, and you, a stranger and a f’yagh, cut my bonds and gave me to drink of your own water. Then, when I swooned under the stare of the rock dragon, and my own ‘sister’ forbore to come to my aid. And now, when this hungry dog of the Outlands would have laid his hands and his mouth upon me against my will. Why do you do these things, O Brant?”
“Because I am a man, and you are a woman,” he said. To his own ears, the words sounded absurd and foolish, savoring of outmoded chivalry. But he could think of nothing else to say.
She stared at him.
“Am I truly a woman, then, O Brant?” she asked.
“Woman enough for me or any other man,” he said in thick tones.
She turned away without speaking and re-entered the tent she shared with the other woman. Brant looked around. While these few words had been exchanged, Agila had scuttled to the safety of his tent, avoiding further punishment.
Brant shrugged, and went to bed. But not to sleep. For the memory of huge eyes like lustrous, wet jewels haunted his restless thoughts almost till dawn… .
7 The Riders
After breakfast the next morning, Brant set Agila to digging a trench for their latrine.
He had briefly considered speaking to Will Harbin about the guide’s behavior, but dismissed the notion. He felt certain that Agila had learned his lesson and would leave the women alone. Nor did he exchange words with the guide, merely asking him to hand over the dirk the fellow wore, which the other did grudgingly and with a sullen look in his eyes. The long knife Brant gave to Zuarra for her own protection.
Then they sat beneath the awnings and watched as Agila, grumbling and spitting Martian curses under his breath, toiled for three hours at digging the latrine trench.
Brant and Harbin made a circuit of the encampment, studying the dust-soft sands. There were no markings to be seen about the limits of the protective fence, which suggested to them that the camp had been in no danger of beasts during the night. This relieved them of one worry, but another was not long in arising… .
In midmorning, Will Harbin, aided by Zuarra, went prowling up the ravine, searching for maritime fossils. About the same time, Brant, with Agila, went hunting for game. They rode out into the dustlands, and, finding naught, searched farther along the edges of the cliff, and brought down two fat reptiles whose meat would serve to replenish their larder.
Suoli was left alone to tend to the feeding of the lopers and the cleansing of the cookpots and utensils. These menial tasks she performed without complaint, but who could know what resentments smoldered within the depths of her being?
The day passed slowly, as the travelers rested from the exertions of their long journey. Brant and Agila returned at length to the camp with fat reptiles and fodder for the riding beasts; toward sunfall, Doc Harbin and Zuarra came back to the encampment, the Earthsider scientist jubilant over the discovery of rare fossils of marine life, the woman with little interest in such things, and relieved to be able to rest, after an afternoon of clambering about the rock-strata in search of lumps of stone whose import was incomprehensible to her.
Brant and Agila, during the hunt, had exchanged few words and had seldom looked at each other. As Brant had imagined would be the case, the Martian guide was subdued, saying little, never referring to the events of the previous night, and for his part, Brant had been equally reticent. They both knew about hunting, and simply did the job.
The evening meal that night was shared in silence, each busy with his or her own thoughts. Brant noticed that between Zuarra and Suoli was little converse and less interchange of looks than before. It would seem evident that between the two “sisters” loomed the failure of Suoli to come to Zuarra’s defense when the rock dragon had attacked.
Brant’s lips twisted in a private, bitter smile, but he said nothing.
Will Harbin, however, waxed voluble, after the meal, jubilant over the discovery of so many important fossils. This ancient ocean, he said, had been one of the largest and most important on all of Mars, and had served to link many significant and wealthy maritime nations eons ago. Among the fossil remains he had uncovered that afternoon were at least four previously unrecorded by Earthsider scientists.
Brant was not particularly impressed, and said little by way of comment. The rest of the meal was passed without further speech.
Once the beasts were seen to and the protective fence energized, the members of the party sought their rest.
Brant was just dozing off when he was roused to alertness
by the catlike scratching of long nails at the sealed flap of his tent. He spoke in inquiry, and the answer roused him in every sense of the word.
“It is Zuarra, O Brant—”
Loins tingling and blood surging high, the Earthsider sprang to his feet and covered his nakedness with a loose robe. He unseamed the tent and Zuarra slipped within.
Pulses drumming, Brant caught her in his arms, but she disengaged herself with agility.
“I am not come here for that purpose. Brant,” she said. Her voice was breathless and urgent, not seething with contempt, so he took no particular offense.
“What is it, then?” he demanded.
“Come outside,” she breathed.
He secured his garments, and buckled on the gun-belt, and followed her outside the tent. The starblaze lit the skies of Mars in scintillant glory, as ever, but the luminance thereof was dim, being moonless. He stared about.
“What is it, woman?”
She pointed wordlessly toward the ridgeline of the antique continent above where they camped.