“All right,” Thomas the Trap-Smasher went on. “You turn right as you go in—right, do you hear me, Eric?—you turn right, without looking up, and run along the wall, letting it brush your shoulder every couple of steps. You run forty, fifty paces, and you come to a great big thing, a structure, that’s almost touching the wall. You turn left along that, moving away from the wall, but still not.looking up, until you pass an entrance in the structure. You don’t go in that first entrance, Eric; you pass it by. About twenty, twenty-five paces further on, there’ll be a second entrance, a bigger one. You go in that one.”
“I go in that one,” Eric repeated carefully, memorizing his uncle’s words. He was receiving directions for his Theft, the most important act of his life! Every single thing his uncle told him must be listened to carefully, must not be forgotten.
“You’ll be in something that looks like a burrow again, but it’ll be darker, at first. The walls will soak up light from your glow lamp. After a while, the burrow will open out into a great big space, a real big and real dark space. You go on in a straight line, looking over your shoulder at the light from the entrance and making sure it’s always directly behind you. You’ll hit another burrow, a low one this time. Turn right at the first fork as soon as you go in, and there you are.”
“Where? Where will I be? What happens then?” Eric demanded eagerly. “How do I make my Theft? Where do I find the third category?”
Thomas the Trap-Smasher seemed to have trouble continuing. Incredible—he was actually nervous! “There’ll be a Stranger there. You tell him who you are, your name. He’ll do the rest.”
This time Eric came to a full stop. “A Stranger?” he asked in complete amazement. “Someone who’s not of Mankind?”
His uncle grabbed at his arm and pulled him along. “Well, you’ve seen Strangers before,” he said with a loud laugh. “You know there are others in the burrows besides Mankind. You know that, don’t you, boy?”
Eric certainly did.
From an early age he had accompanied his uncle and his uncle’s band on warfare and trading expeditions to the burrows a bit further back. He knew that the people in these burrows looked down on the people in his, that they were more plentiful than his people, and led richer, safer lives—but he still couldn’t help feeling sorry for them.
They were nothing but Strangers, after all. He was a member of Mankind.
It wasn’t just that Mankind lived in the front burrows, those closest to the Monster larder. This enormous convenience might be counterbalanced, he would readily admit, by the dangers associated with it although the constant exposure to dangers and death in every form were part of Mankind’s greatness. They were great despite their inferior technology. So what if they were primarily a source of raw materials to the more populous but less hardy burrows in the rear? How long would the weaponsmiths, the potters and tanners and artificers of these burrows be able to go on with their buzzing, noisy industries once Mankind ceased to bring them the basic substances—food, cloth, metal—it had so gloriously stolen from fear-filled Monster territory? No, Mankind was the bravest, greatest, most important people in all the burrows, but that still wasn’t the point.
The point was that you had nothing more to do with Strangers than was absolutely necessary. They were Strangers: you were Mankind. You stayed proudly aloof from them at all times.
Trading with them—well, you traded with them. Mankind needed spear points and sturdy spear shafts, knap-sacks and loin straps, canteens and cooking vessels: you needed these articles and got them in exchange for heavy backloads of shapeless, unprocessed stuff freshly stolen. Mating with them—well, of course you mated with them: one was always on the lookout for extra women who could add to the knowledge and technical abilities of Mankind. But these women became a well-adjusted part of Mankind once they were stolen, just as Mankind’s women were complete outsiders and Strangers the moment they had been carried off by a foreign raiding party. And fighting with them, warring with them—next to stealing from the Monsters, that was the sweetest, most exciting part of a warrior’s existence.
You traded with Strangers, coldly, suspiciously, always alert for a better bargain; you stole Stranger women whenever you could, gleefully, proudly, because that diminished them and increased the numbers and well-being of Mankind; and you fought Stranger men whenever there was more to be gained that way than by simple trading—and periodically they came upon you as you lay in your burrow unawares and fought you.
But otherwise, for all normal social purposes, they were taboo, almost as taboo and not-to-be-related-to as the Monsters on the other side of Mankind’s burrows. When you came upon an individual Stranger wandering apart from his people, you killed him quickly and casually.
You ce inly didn’t ask him for advice on your Theft.
Eric was still brooding on the unprecedented nature of his uncle’s instructions when they came to the end of their journey, a large, blind-alley burrow. There was a line cut deep into the blank wall here, a line that started at the floor, went up almost to the height of a man’s head, and then curved down to the floor again.
The door to Monster territory.
Thomas the Trap-Smasher waited for a moment, listening. When his experienced ears had detected no unusual noises in the neighborhood, no hint of danger on the other side, he cupped his hands around his mouth, faced back the way he had come, and softly gave the ululating recognition-call of the band. The four other warriors and the apprentice came up swiftly and grouped themselves about him. Then, at a signal from their leader, all squatted near the door.
They ate first, rapidly and silently, removing from their knapsacks handfuls of food that the women had prepared for them and stuffing their mouths full, the beams from the glow lamps above their eyes darting incessantly back and forth along the arched, empty corridor. This was the place of ultimate, awful danger. This was the place where anything might happen.
Eric ate most sparingly of all, as was correct for an initiate about to emerge upon his Theft. He knew he had to keep his springiness of body and watchfulness of mind at their highest possible pitch. He saw his uncle nodding approvingly as he returned the bulk of his food to the knapsack.
The floor vibrated slightly underfoot; there was a regular, rhythmic gurgling. Eric knew that meant they were in a holy place, directly over a length of Monster plumbing. Two immense pipes ran here side by side. One was the sewer pipe to which Mankind dragged their accumulations of garbage and in which they ceremoniously buried their dead. The other was a prime source of the fresh water without which life came to an end. Upon his return, before the band started homeward, Thomas the Trap-Smasher would make an opening in the plumbing and they would refill their canteens. The water here, close to Monster territory, was always the sweetest and best.
Now his uncle got to his feet and called Roy the Runner to him. While the other warriors watched, tense and still, the two men walked to the curved line and laid their ears against it. Satisfied, finally, they inserted spear points into the door’s outline on either side and carefully pried the slab back toward them. They laid it on the floor of the corridor, very gently.
A shimmering blur of pure whiteness appeared where the door had been.
Monster territory. The strange, alien light of Monster territory. Eric had seen many warriors disappear into it to fulfill their manhood tasks. Now it was his turn.
Holding his heavy spear at the ready, Eric’s uncle leaned forward into the whiteness. His body twisted as he looked up, down, around, on both sides. He withdrew and came back into the burrow.