Ogier paid it no mind. Blade let nothing show on his face. This was X Dimension and at the moment he could afford neither sympathy nor conscience. But he marked the incident well and swore inwardly that when he came to real power, and was secure, such things would end. If he lived and prospered, and lingered long enough in Zir, he would free the slaves. That was far in the future and Blade had no guarantee that he would live out the day.
Work was at its busiest on the north and west facades. They rode around to the east facing, into comparative quiet, and found an arched entrance into the monolith guarded by two of the black priests. It was the first time that Blade had seen any of the «crows,» as Ogier called them, other than the single glance he had had of Casta before the High Priest denounced him and walked out of the Izmar's audience. He had a fuzzy memory of that occasion, for much had happened since.
Bidding the men remain behind, Blade and Ogier urged their mounts to the entrance and swung down from the saddle. Ogier, stout warrior that he was, was plainly uneasy with the priests. He took refuge in brusqueness.
«You there,» he called to the tall one, «here is the Prince Blade, son and heir to the Izmir, come to see Casta. You will conduct him at once.» And Ogier shifted his swordbelt and tapped his fingers on the hilt of his sword.
Blade studied the two priests. They were dressed all in black, robes and hose and shoes, and black hoods covered most of their faces. What he could see of flesh was fishbelly white, and the eyes of both had a fanatic gleam. They ignored Ogier and fixed those gimlet eyes on Blade. Both men wore girdles of twisted silver cord from which dangled curved daggers in ivory sheaths. Not, thought Blade, a gentle religious order. It was in their eyes and in the set of their features and in their voices. Harshness. Obedience. Fanaticism. Death.
The tall priest spoke at last. «You are Blade?» He took a step near the big man and a dirty, long-nailed hand fiddled with the dagger at his belt. Ogier muttered and moved in. Blade waved him back.
«Let be, Ogier. I am Blade, priest. I come to see the one called Casta. You will take me to him without delay.»
Ogier muttered again. «Do not do it, Blade. Do not go in there alone. Let me come with you.»
Blade laughed. «You are an old woman, Ogier. Stay here and wait for me.»
He strode into the entrance, beckoning to the tall priest. «I said we go. Or must I seek out Casta alone?»
Without speaking, and with downcast eyes, the priest slipped in front of Blade and crooked a finger. Blade followed. They went down a marble ramp into a central chamber from which a dozen corridors radiated like the spokes of a wheel. Torches, held by iron rings, flickered over each entrance. The tall priest plucked a torch from its sconce and, beckoning once again to Blade, led the way into a labyrinth of marbled halls that soon had the big man totally confused. Already he was lost. It would be possible, he thought, to wander for days in such a maze and never find his way out.
The priest went swiftly, never looking back, and Blade hurried to keep up. They came to a steep flight of narrow marble steps and descended. The air was hot and oppressive now and Blade began to sweat. They entered a chamber with a pit in the middle. The priest signed to Blade to step onto the platform. In all this time he had not spoken. He watched, sunken eyes glowering from the hood, as the platform sank with Blade on it.
Blade drew his sword and loosed the mace in his belt. He was not so sure of himself now. It might have been wise to have fetched Ogier along.
The platform halted and Blade gazed into a vast cavern. Somewhere a fire burned and cast lurid red shadows. Blade stepped off the platform, peered into the gloom and kept his sword ready. The silence made him uneasy.
The Princess Hirga appeared from the gloom. She was wearing the silver trousers, but this time her breasts were bare and Blade felt a spasm of desire as he gazed at those perfect cones. They would match his hands and they were as firm as the marble above him.
Hirga saw his glance and smiled in a secret way, beckoning to him. «You can put away your sword, Blade. Casta awaits you and he plans no treachery. Follow me.»
Blade sheathed his sword and followed. She led him back into the cavern, past grinning skeletons, some mounted and some dangling from the rafters. Hirga indicated them and said, «Casta is a great scholar. He opens bodies and examines them, and he knows and has names for every bone.»
They passed what seemed to be a smithy, where coke fires glowed and cast off a great deal of heat. Blade sweated harder.
«Casta works in iron,» explained Hirga. «When he needs a certain tool and does not have it, he makes it.»
Blade said nothing. This High Priest was certainly a man of parts. Blade mentally girded himself for the encounter. He began to get the feeling that he was going up against an equal, something that rarely happened in Dimension X.
Hirga stopped before a leather curtain, slit like a stage curtain. She motioned. «In there, Blade. Casta is waiting. He would speak to you alone first.»
As he stepped toward the curtain she moved to him and her jutting breasts touched his chest armor. Her green eyes were bold. She laid a hand on his heavily muscled arm. «And perhaps later, Blade, there will be time for us. I am curious about you. I would know more of you.»
Blade nodded curtly. «Perhaps, Hirga. We shall see» He parted the leather curtain and stepped through.
This chamber was small and at first glance crammed beyond capacity with specimens of all types-stuffed animals, skeletons, a great many skulls, books and bottles and casks and retorts. A small fire burned in an iron grate, and before the fire was a long table. Behind the table sat a man dressed in black.
«Come better into the light,» said the man at the table. «When I first, and last, saw you I saw a baby. Now let me behold the miracle for myself.»
Blade strode into the circle of firelight. «You are the High Priest Casta?»
«I am he. And you are Blade, the child full grown to manhood in one course of the moon. Yes, now I believe it. If it is trickery, and in some manner it must be, I would give all my present knowledge to know the trick.»
Blade steeled himself. It was not like him, in his X-Dimension persona, to feel so ill at ease. The man was nothing-a priest, a charlatan, a greedy power-grabber. Nothing more. Why did Blade's nerves tingle and his sweat turn cold and his knees feel unsteady?
Gloom shrouded the figure behind the table. Blade strode to the table and leaned over it, peering. «You have taken a good look at me, Casta. Now I demand the same. Turn your face to the fire, priest.»
The chuckle was low, throaty. «Yes. That is fair. Look, Blade!»
The eyes, huge and burning black, were torches in a skull. The face was a death's head, bone with saffron flesh drawn over it like a drum. A skull. Blade could see the veins writhing like blue worms. The nose was vulpine, sharp as a nail, and the lips a bloodless anus.
There was no hair. No hair at all. No lashes and no brows, and the pate as sleek as the skull near at hand on the table.
Blade had an odd thought for such a moment. If this was the lover of Hirga, as was said, then the times were indeed out of joint. Even for Zir. Even for Dimension X.
Casta picked up a black skullcap from the table and placed it on his glabrous head. He chuckled again and pointed to a cask nearby. «You have seen. And yet you have seen nothing, for what a man is is not carried on his face nor in his muscles or bones. Sit there, Blade, and we shall have our talk. But let us understand each other from the outset-I do not think you are a fool and I am not a fool. I hate waste of time. If we speak truth to each other, and only truth, and do not waste words in fencing or deceit, we shall get much further. Do you agree to this?»