At the waist the figure changed into that of a man - and a woman. The legs were sturdy and powerfully muscled. Both sexes were represented in the genitals - there was a mons veneris, a stone vulva, and below this dangled a penis and testicles.
This was Bek-Tor. Bek the woman - good. Tor the man - evil. Tor was never mentioned when it could be avoided. Sarmaians did not like to speak of evil. When they made the sign of the T it was to invoke Bek, but more to propitiate Tor. They warred, these gods sharing the same body, and sometimes Bek won, sometimes Tor. Bek looked upward, to good. Tor looked down, to the earth where evil reigned.
Blade had heard of the bestial sacrifices made to Bek-Tor. Girl babies cast into flames. Male children were not considered important enough to sacrifice.
He spat in disgust and was about to turn away when someone called his name. Mokanna stepped from behind the statue of Bek-Tor His grin was evil, his stumpy teeth stained black from chewing a tree gum the Sarmaians called chicso. He carried a whip and around his paunchy waist was belted a short sword.
Mokanna pointed with his whip to the stone image. "You have committed sacrilege, Blade. I saw it." He pointed to the gallows. "For that I can have you hanged and whipped."
It was a cruel punishment which Blade had witnessed once. For sacrilege, for disobeying an order, for failing to do your best in practice, for any number of things a man could be hanged. A slender but strong cord was looped around the penis and testicles and spliced into a longer and thicker rope. The man's hands and feet were bound and he was hauled up. The duration of punishment varied with the offense. Few men survived the ordeal and those who did, as the grim joke had it, would never marry and make children.
Blade stared back at the man. Ever since his arrival at Baracid he had been expecting trouble with Mokanna and here it was. Mokanna resented Blade's physique and skill with arms. While Blade lived he was a challenge, as yet unspoken, to Mokanna's authority. Blade knew well enough that were he not a protege of Zeena, sponsored by her, both he and Pelops would be dead by now.
He forced himself to speak calmly. "No sacrilege, Mokanna. I only spat. I have been running and my mouth is dry. What can you make of that?"
Mokanna showed his black teeth. He was shorter than Blade by a foot, but by Sarmaian standards he was an enormous man. His bowed legs were like tree trunks and over a round belly his chest and shoulders were massive and knotted with muscle.
"I make of it what I wish," said Mokanna. He snapped the whip idly in Blade's direction. "If I wish to make sacrilege of it I will do so. If I wish to string you to a gallows I will also do that. I do not like you, Blade. You are a stranger, such as we have never seen in Sarma, and I do not trust you. In short. Blade, I wish you evil. I invoke Tor to do you harm."
Blade was puzzled. What was the man getting at?
He crossed his arms on his chest and met Mokanna's glittering dark stare. He gazed beyond the man at the cluster of stone huts on the far horizon.
"You have come a long dusty way, Mokanna, to tell me that which I already knew! Come, man! You are a monster and I will not weep when you are killed; but you are no fool. Nor am I. What really brought you to spy on me?"
Mokanna laughed, a harsh sound, and drew the plaits of the whip through his fingers. "No, Blade, you are not a fool. I give you that. And you are right. I did not come to accuse you of sacrilege against Bek-Tor." He bowed to the image and made the T sign.
Blade waited patiently. He was curious - and alert. They were alone on the vast plain. Mokanna had the sword and whip. Was it murder?
Mokanna took a step toward him. Blade leaped backward in a defensive karate position. Lord Leighton's work on Blade's midbrain had been extensive. He forgot nothing. He brought all his skills into Dimension X.
Mokanna stopped, flicked the whip in the dust, and laughed again. "I do not seek to harm you, Blade. You have my word on that."
Blade barely kept the sneer from his voice. He did not really want to push the man too far at this time. His own position was not a strong one.
So he muted it. "I trust no man. Say what you must and leave me alone."
Mokanna shrugged his big shoulders, on which the black hair grew in profusion. He wore only a leather vest and short breeches of the same material. A chain of some silvery metal hung around his thick neck as a badge of office.
"I come here that we may speak in secret, Blade. There is a man called Equebus. You know of him?"
Blade's puzzlement increased. Equebus, the Captain of the Slave Patrol? The same who had made the pass at Zeena on the beach and been lashed with a riding crop for his pains? What had Equebus to do with him?
He nodded. "I know of the man. What matter?"
Mokanna prodded at his ugly mouth with the butt of the whip. "Much matter, Blade. Equebus came to me last night, after you battlemen were bedded down. We spoke of you, Blade. We wasted three torches in speaking of you. Equebus is also your enemy, Blade, as I am."
Blade smiled coldly. "So? In my land a man is known by his enemies."
Mokanna shook his head. "I do not understand that. Nor you. Nor this land you speak of. But I do understand Sarma - and Equebus. The man is ambitious. He wishes to be the first husband of the virgin Zeena."
"He comes a little late for that," said Blade. And could have kicked himself. It was a mistake.
Mokanna leered. "So that is how it is, eh? T had that thought myself, when the Princess was so concerned about you and that little man of yours, Pelops? Ah, I had that very thought. But it is not my place to think about such matters, so I forgot it. You are not just a stranger, a slave, who gave yourself up and begged mercy. You have known the Princess. You are married to her!"
Blade waited. He was still puzzled as to Mokanna's motives and could not see where all this was leading.
Suddenly the other man went into a gale of rough laughter. He slapped his hairy thigh with the whip. "Equebus is not going to like this when he knows - unless he already knows, or guesses, which is possible. But it still changes nothing, Blade. Equebus wants you dead. Last night he promised me money and promotion if I would see to it."
Blade retreated another step. Mokanna was fingering the hilt of his sword.
Blade said: "Are you, Mokanna? Going to see to it?"
The Captain frowned. He narrowed his eyes in thought. He half drew the sword, then thrust it back into the scabbard with a clang.
"I am tempted," he said at last. "Vastly tempted, Blade. I have no love for you. But if you are really married to Zeena it makes a difference. Are you?"
Having already made the mistake, Blade decided to gain what he could from it. He nodded. "Yes. I did not lie. By your Sarmaian law we are married."
"Hah!" Mokanna rubbed his chin. "So. Married. And you train here as a battleman while she goes to Sarmacid to sooth the Queen and prepare her for the news. That is about the truth of it?"
Blade nodded curtly. "In part. But I am to be a battleman and fight under Zeena's sponsorship. That is no trick. There will be no begging off. I must earn my way." He did not add that only by so doing would he achieve status and freedom enough to continue the search for his double.
Mokanna was silent for a long time, his brow creased in thought. Such deep thinking, Blade noted, was foreign to the man.
"A man must choose the winning side," Mokanna said at last.
Blade smiled and nodded. "If possible. It is not always so easy to know."
Mokanna grumblingly agreed. "But you are already half way to what Equebus aspires to. Position and preferment in Sarmacid. And you have known the Princess Zeena, married her, and she works for you in the city. You are far ahead in this matter, Blade. I will choose your side." He beamed at Blade as though he were bestowing an accolade.