"Do you think this is where the other trucks were lost?" she inquired as though it were an interesting footnote for her report.
"Most of them. This. is well organized." He studied the situation.. "Too many to fight. And if we try to back out now, those arrows will get us. See, they're aiming at the tires. We'll have to go along--as far as we can."
A sworder strode up to Neq's side. "You're a warrior. What are you doing in a crazy truck?"
Before Neq could reply, a man called from the other side: "Hey, this one's a woman!"
"What luck!" another exclaimed. "Is she young?"
" 'Bout nineteen."
"OK. Out, both of you!" the sworder said.
Neq was furious, but glanced again at the bows covering them and dismounted. No honest nomad would use the hunting bow against a man, but that didn't dimmish its effectiveness as a long-distance weapon. Neqa slid over to step down on his side. She stood close to him, but clear of his sword, so as not to obstruct his draw. He knew she was ready to snap her dagger into her hand: she was tense.
"Know what I think?" the sworder said. "I think they're crazies, both of them, pretending to be nomads. They want us to think they hijacked the truck themselves, so we'll leave 'em be. See, her hands are smooth, and he's too small to really handle a sword. And unmarked--no scars on him."
"Pretty smart," a staffer said.
"The crazies are awful smart--and awful stupid."
"All right, crazy," the sworder said. "We'll play this game. We got the time. Who do you claim to be?"
"Neq the Sword."
"Anybody hear of any Neq the Sword?" the man shouted.
There was a reaction. "Yeah," a dagger said.
"Me too," a clubber agreed. "In Sol's tribe. A top sworder--third or fourth of a hundred swords, I heard. And better against other weapons."
The sworder smiled. "Crazy, you picked the wrong name. Now you'll have to prove it--in the circle. With your doll watching. And if you can't--"
Neq didn't answer. The circle was exactly where he wanted to be--with Neqa in sight. These were certainly outlaws, but the tribe seemed to be large enough to require the discipline of the circle code. It was a matter of logistics: one tough man could control five or ten warriors by force of personality on an informal basis, and a few more by judicious intimidation; but when the number was thirty or forty, it had to be more formal. The circle code was not purely a matter of honor; it was a practical system for controlling large numbers of fighting men in an orderly fashion.
And where the circle code existed, even imperfectly, Neq could prevail. He had indeed been third or fourth sword of a hundred. But first sword had been Tyl, who had retired largely to managerial duties of empire. Second had been killed in a noncircle accident. Third had been Tor, now retired. And Neq had kept practicing. The result was that at the time of the breakup of the empire he had been unofficially conceded second sword--of three thousand. And he had had private doubts about Tyl's continuing proficiency in the circle.
It was true, too, that the empire training had brought particular competence in inter-weapon combat. There had been half a dozen staffers who could balk Neq in the circle, one or two stickers. Bog the Club who was now dead, and no daggers or stars. Against these men he would take his chances, sometimes prevailing in friendly matches, sometimes not.
Neq feared no man in the circle.
They were conducted to a camp similar to those of the empire. A large canvas tent was surrounded by a number of small tents, and there were separate latrine, mess, and practice sections. A good layout.
The chief of this tribe was a huge sworder, grizzled and scarred. Chiefs were generally sworders, for the weapon had a special quality that awed others into submission that an equally competent staff could not. When the man stood, he towered over Neq.
"Neq the Sword, eh? I am Yod the Sword. And she wears your band?"
"Yes."
"Now I know of Neq," Yod said. "Maybe the top sworder of the empire, a few years back. He never gave his bracelet to a woman. Isn't that strange?"
Neq shrugged. The chief thought he was toying with the captive.
"Well, all shall be known," Yod said. "I shall give you the tour."
And a tour it was. "I have fifty excellent warriors," Yod said, gesturing to the tent. "But for some reason we're short of young women, and that makes the young men restive. So the girl will have a place with us, regardless."
Neqa walked closer to Neq and let her bracelet show, defensively.
"I have supplies enough for many months," Yod boasted. "See."
Four crazy trucks were parked behind the main tent. There was no longer any doubt who was the main hijacker. But it made little difference, since Helicon was dead.
"And entertainment." Yod gestured to a hanging cage.
Neq looked at this curiously. There was a man inside, huddled within a filthy blanket. Metal cups lay on the wire floor, evidently for his eating, and ordure had cumulated underneath. Apparently they did not release him even for natural functions. He had room to move about some, making the cage rock and swing, which no doubt provided much of the tribe's "amusement." By the look and smell of it, he had been there some weeks.
"We caught this crazy using our hostel," Yod said. "He claimed to be a surgeon, so we're giving him a chance to carve his way out. We don't like fakes." He glanced at Neq.
"A surgeon?" Neqa asked. "We haven't--" She stopped, remembering her guise as a nomad woman. But it told Neq that this man was not a crazy, for she would have known of him. Perhaps he deserved his punishment.
The prisoner looked dully at them. He was a small man with graying hair, very old by nomad definition.
"He says he's literate!" Yod said, laughing. "Show our guests your writing, Dick." In an aside to Neq: "All crazies have funny names."
The man reached around and found a tattered piece of cardboard, probably salvaged from one of the rifled crates the trucks had carried. He held this up. There were lines on it that did resemble the crazy writing of Neqa's recent report.
"Mean anything to you?" Yod asked Neq.
"No."
"Because you can't read--or he can't write?"
"I can't read. I don't know about him. Maybe he can't write either."
"Maybe. We could use a literate man. Some crazy books we found, don't know what's in 'em. Maybe something good."
"Why not test them on the crazy in the cage?" Neq asked.
"He lied about being a surgeon. We brought him a wounded man and gave him a dagger and he wouldn't operate. Said it wasn't clean, or something. Lot of excuses. So he'd lie about the books, too. He could tell us anything--and how could we know the difference?"
Neq shrugged. "I can't help you." He knew Neqa could, but he had no intention of giving her away.
"You're still Neq the Sword?"
"I always was."
"Prove it and you can join my tribe. We'll have to take your girl away, of course, but you'll get your turn at her."
"The man who touches her is dead," Neq said, putting his hand to his sword.
Yod laughed. "Well spoken. You have your part down well--and you shall have your chance to enforce it. Here is the circle." He glanced around and made a sweeping signal with his hand. Ready for this summons, the men of the tribe gathered.
In the temporary confusion, Neqa touched his hand. "That man in the cage--he is literate," she murmured. "He's from Helicon--a survivor. He may not be their surgeon--they had the best surgeon in all the crazy demesnes--but he's worth questioning."
Neq considered. If there were Helicon survivors.... "When I fight, you cut him down. I'll put on a show to distract them. You take him to the truck and get out. Use your knife; this bunch is rough. I'll find you later."
"But how will you--"
"I can handle myself. I want you out of here before it starts." He brought her to him suddenly and kissed her. Stolen this fleetingly, the kiss was very sweet. "I love you."