They returned him to the shelf where he had been, depositing him rudely, slamming him down harshly on the cold stone. They left two guards to watch over him and gathered in the center of the floor to debate on what should be done with him. There seemed to be various factions strongly in favor of their method of punishment. Salsbury knew none of them were arguing for leniency, just for a crude and colorful form of death they preferred to administer.
In the end, they tied his hands behind his back with a length of thin but tough fibrous vine, looping and looping the stuff as insurance against a weak spot in its length. Next, they ran a heavier vine around his waist, knotted it, looped it under both his arms. A second heavy rope had been tied high above the floor, one end to a smooth projection of rock on the left, the other to an equally placed projection on the right. The rope that had been tied around his waist and looped under his armpits like a harness was thrown over the ceiling rope, and he was hoisted to his feet, then higher until his shoes dangled three feet off the floor. The pain as the vine drew tight around his waist and cinched his arms together was grueling. He gritted his teeth and spat at his tormentors. That only seemed to encourage them.
He hung there for another five minutes, wondering if they merely planned to let him hang until his arms were ripped off by the constant drag of his body. But they had more specific plans, ones that would give them some entertainment as well as revenge. A half-man came up to Salsbury, grasped him by the legs, drew him back as far as it could manage and shoved him forward. He began to swing like a pendulum, the vine cruelly chaffing his waist and arms. To make certain he did not lose momentum, the half-men formed groups at both ends of his swing and batted him back and forth. At the peak of each arc, he was slammed by a hard paw, sent back the other way. They took turns so as not to tire. He soon lost track of how many times he had been struck.
In time, after countless blows and countless arcs, he felt a sharp sting on his side, sensed the wet flow of blood. On the other peak of his arc, he understood what had happened. They had decided to use their rather blunt but, nonetheless, wicked claws. The second slice was deeper than the first and sent hot waves of pain coursing through him, even though he thought that by this time he should have been beyond feeling anything.
Back And forth Slash And slice
He thought about coming from the future (slice) into the past (slash), from there into another probability line (back and forth) where alien lizardmen ruled, from there (slash) across seventy-six probability lines to a totally different counter-Earth (rip), there to be murdered by a gang of ruthless, stupid apes. He thought it was a sorry end to what had promised to be a glorious epic adventure.
There was a red haze creeping over his vision, and bells ringing out a symphony in his head. He was about to slip into darkness, utter and complete when a new, shriller tone of gorilla talk split the air from the entrance to the chamber. The half-men playing with Salsbury missed a few swipes, and his momentum dropped. The shrill voice called again, louder and more insistent. Then, in good English, a husky gravel-toned voice said, Hold on. We'll get you down as fast as possible.
CHAPTER 18
Victor Salsbury fought against darkness and dizziness that grappled with him, and he won. He was conscious when they cut him down. He dropped into a puddle on the floor, more anxious about the condition of his mortal shell than about who had stepped in to save his life like a saint in a storybook miracle. He was aching all over from the pounding he had received. Both his hips were bleeding thick crimson fluid that seeped through his tattered jeans. When he was finished accounting for every wound, he decided that, despite how he might feel, he would survive. His accelerating healing processes would stop the bleeding at any moment and would begin to knit the torn skin. He hated to think what he would have looked like, how far beyond the scope of his healing powers he would have been if he had not been cut down when he was. A few more pendulum swings, and he would have slipped into an unconsciousness where the last dregs of his life forces would have been drained quietly away.
The worst of his worries about his body assuaged, he thought of his rescuer.
He looked up, somehow expecting to see either the vacii or a detachment of marines. Instead, there was another gorilla-like man standing over him. He was different from the other things, though. The amount of facial hair obscuring his features was considerably less, exposing tough, brown skin creased heavily like ancient, weathered leather. His scalp itself was still liberally furred and pointed up his relationship to the savages. The features of his face were not as harsh as those of the other half-men, the forehead jutted out only half an inch instead of two inches. His nose was more completely formed with heavier cartilage deposits that gave it a roughly human quality. The mouth was smaller, more evenly lipped, and the teeth were well-cared for, as if they had been regularly brushed.
You are from another probability? the newcomer asked, trying to look as pleasant as he could. Despite his gorilla resemblance, he was a welcome sight compared to the heavy, vicious masks of Salsbury's tormentors.
Victor wetted his lips, said, Yes.
Good! You speak English! English is a prime Tongue in this sector of worldlines, though not on this particular one. My other languages are decent, but not so polished as is my English. Do you think? Polished? English is spoken on your alternate world, then. Is it the only language?
No, Salsbury said with effort. French. Chinese. Russian. Too many of them to list.
Most likely. A diversity of tongues is more common. But English is dominant?
One of the few dominant tongues, yes. Look-
Oh, excuse me, the modified gorilla said apologetically, reaching out a hairy, long-fingered hand to help Salsbury up. I'd forgotten, in my excitement, that you've gone through a great deal.
Vic managed to struggle to his feet. He felt horrible. Like he had been drenched with kerosene, then lit with a torch; every square inch of him burned. That wasn't half so bad as the elephant that had been chained inside his body and was trying to kick its way out.
You see, this is the first time, his rescuer continued excitedly, that I have ever encountered anyone from an alternate probability. To speak with, at least.
Who- Salsbury began, his tongue a moth-eaten blanket rolled up inside his mouth.
No talk for the moment. The vacii will come in search of you. We must go to the lower levels which they do not know of.
Okay, Vic said, taking a few tentative steps.
Do you wish to be carried? the newcomer asked.
No. He could see that he was still smaller than the half-men perhaps only seven feet tall, but the half-men obeyed him. I'll make it on my own. You aren't as large as these brutes. Then he walked five feet and collapsed.
Much of their extra size is wasted in fat and bones, the newcomer said. He bent over Salsbury, picked him up as if he weighed in at slightly under three pounds, and started out of the room. We are simply more compact, but just as strong as they.