The Arbiter then went to a side cabinet, and removed, from its satin sheathing, a Telnarian pistol. It was much like that which Julian bore, for both were imperial issue. It contained six charges. One would seldom consider firing such a weapon indoors, for the charge, as normally fired, its beam focused, might take out a wall. Iaachus, studying the weapon, for he was not familiar with its use, adjusted the beam lens, that effecting the distribution of the charge, that a broader, more fanlike emission might be produced. There is an inverse correlation involved in such things, a narrow beam providing a greater range and a more severe, more localized strike, and a wider beam, in which an impact is much reduced but a much larger area is affected. As the weapon was now set, there would be a sudden, flat oval of fire, some ten feet in width at close range, perhaps, say, across a desk, or, as the impact area expanded, some twenty or twenty-five feet in width, at a target some yards away, say, across a room.
Iaachus slipped the pistol into the center drawer of his desk, which he left partly open. He then seated himself in his chair, behind the desk.
38
Cornhair, hooded, her hands tied behind her, her upper left arm bruised in that powerful grip, was hurried along, half dragged.
Her feet burned from the hot ground. Her ankles had been cut by coarse grass.
She feared she was no longer within the city’s walls.
“This is a lonely, vacant place,” said the first man, he in whose grip was Cornhair.
“It is not far from the city,” said the second man.
“Where are you taking me, Masters?” she said. “Who has purchased me?”
She coughed within the hood, she felt sick, she feared she might vomit.
The sun was hot on her bared arms and legs.
The air was thick, still, oppressive. It reeked with filth and decay. There was an overwhelming atmosphere of spoilage and waste, of urine and excrement, of rotting organic debris, of fish, hide, and flesh. She heard a raucous cry of some form of birds.
“The stench,” said one of the men, half choking. “I cannot stand it. Let us go no further. Let it be done quickly.”
He, Cornhair surmised, was the second of the two men.
“Masters!” wept Cornhair. “Where are we?”
“They are all about,” said the other, he whom Cornhair took to be first, the leader of the two. “Beware of your step. A false step and you might sink within, and die, a most unpleasant demise.”
“And the gold would then be yours,” said the second.
“Yes,” said the first man.
“There is nothing here but snakes, birds, and filchen,” grumbled the second.
“They do not mind,” said the first, “why should you?”
“How can they exist here?” asked the second man.
“Men set tables,” said the first. “Guests invite themselves. They feast.”
“Let us be done with it,” urged the second man.
“After a century they cover them,” said the other man, “and excavate new ones. Some opened, even after a thousand years, cannot be approached. Few can stand them. Few will enter their vicinity. Who would do so willingly? Even animals balk. Men are overcome, and faint. They must be dragged away. These things poison the earth.”
Cornhair heard a wagon roll nearby, and stop.
“Release the load,” called someone, “quickly!”
Cornhair heard a heavy, sliding noise, and, a moment later, a sound, as of weights of debris plunging into mud or quicksand.
“See how it sinks,” said the first man, he in whose charge was Cornhair.
“This one, use this one!” said the second man.
“Further, further from the city,” said the first man. “You know the orders. There must be no trace.”
“He will not know,” said the other. “And there will be no trace.”
“Done, then!” said the first.
“Masters!” cried Cornhair.
One of the men, the second, then unbuckled Cornhair’s hood and drew it away, and Cornhair threw back her head and wailed in misery.
They stood at the edge of one of the giant, circular garbage pits of the city of Telnar, its diameter some twenty yards or so. From where she stood she could see more pits, others, stretching away. There were few men about, at least on foot, but there were some wagons about, one approaching a pit, and the other withdrawing, leaving the vicinity of another pit. She could also see another, far off, returning to the city, whose walls she could see in the distance, perhaps a mile away.
Cornhair looked down into the pit before her. She knew these pits were often a hundred or more feet deep. This pit might have been three-fourths full. She could see the surface below her. It seemed a sea of filth. It was primarily brown, with streaks of black, like oil. There was little that was clearly identifiable in that viscous, semisolid morass but she saw shards of pottery, still held on the surface, and the leg and paw of a horse.
Both men, she saw, had wrapped cloth, like bandages, about their mouth and nose.
The second man picked up a stone and tossed it into the pit and Cornhair, sick, watched it slowly disappear.
“Why have I been brought here, Masters?” she said, scarcely hearing herself speak.
“Why do you think, little slave?” asked the first man.
“I do not know, Master,” she said.
“These pits are noxious and noisome, even dangerous,” said the first man, “in spreading disease, in breeding parasites, but they have their purposes. For example, they provide a place in which to dispose of the refuse and garbage, the offal, of a city, rotted fruit, the entrails of butchered animals, dead horses, unwanted relatives, enemies, whom one wishes to have disappear, displeasing slaves, and such.”
“I would strive to be pleasing, Masters!” Cornhair cried.
“Of course, you are a slave,” said the first man.
“What if my Master learns of this?” said Cornhair.
“It is on his orders we act,” said the first man.
“Surely not!” said Cornhair.
“It is true,” said the first man.
“I do not understand,” said Cornhair. “I cost forty darins, only forty darins, and yet you have been paid in gold to discharge this commission?”
“Six gold darins,” said the first man.
“Three for each,” said the second man.
“And you will do so?” she asked.
“Throw her in, and be done with it,” said the second man.
“Who is my Master?” wept Cornhair.
“He gave no name,” said the first man.
“Is he of the Larial Farnichi?” said Cornhair.
It may be recalled that the Larial Calasalii and the Larial Farnichi were two great families ill disposed toward one another. Cornhair, when free, and before being disowned, had belonged to the Larial Calasalii. The altercation betwixt these two families had begun as a clash of private armies, but, later, given the intervention of the empire, it had ended with the outlawing and ruination of the Larial Calasalii.
“I do not know,” said the first man. “He gave no name, no account of his background or origin.”
“He had gold,” said the second man. “Who needed to know more?”
“I cost forty darins,” she said. “Surely that is a fair price for my face, my figure, the pleasure I would do my best to bring a Master. You would cast aside forty darins so lightly?”
“Not we,” said the first man, “he who bought you, for this.”
“Keep me,” she begged. “Keep me, for yourself!”
“We would have the gold, and the slave,” said the second man.
“Yes, yes, Masters!” said Cornhair.
“It is too dangerous,” said the first man.
“This place offends my nostrils, my eyes sting, the sun is hot, my flesh crawls, dispose of her, here, now,” said the second man.
“No, no, Masters!” wept Cornhair. She pulled away, wildly, from the first man’s grip, spun about, and tried to run, but, in a moment, was caught by the second man, who thrust her back, she struggling, weeping, to the edge of the pit.