But he comforted himself with the thought that he was Kirin of Tellus, and the greatest thief in the Near Stars. He had broken into many places just as well guarded. With the miniature implements of his thieving trade, which he wore ever concealed on his person, and his knowledge of doors and locks, he had often boasted that no fortress was impenetrable where he was concerned.
Of course, this would be the first time he had ever had to use his skills to break out of a fortress…
The sky sled skimmed above the palace grounds and came to a gentle landing atop one tier of the towering citadel. A steel phalanx of guards closed about Kirin and the doctor and guided them into the frowning bastion of a massive gate.
The steel doors closed behind them. There was a certain grim note of finality to the sound, as they clanged shut.
5. THE HALL OF SPHINXES
The cell into which the metal warriors thrust Kirin and Doctor Temujin was luxurious rather than merely comfortable. Walls of priceless winewood panelling from the Garden Worlds met their eyes. The floor was tiled with alternate squares of green and yellow marble, and glowing tapestry-carpets were scattered about it. Silken divans met their gaze, and low tabourets of rare woods bore bowls of bright flowers. From a brazen tripod a wavering spiral of pale green scented smoke perfumed the air. Kirin sniffed appreciatively. It was an exquisite blend of burnt cinnamon and white spikenard from Dolmentus.
“Now this is what I call a jail!” he grinned. Temujin looked about glumly.
“It may be comfortable, lad,” he wheezed dispiritedly, “but it is still a prison. Alas!” He sank wearily on one of the soft divans and clasped his fat red face in his hands. “I did not mention it before, but I am not particularly in favor with the Elder Brothers of my order back on Trevelon,” he groaned. “To expiate my sins I was given this important mission; if I performed it well, all would be forgiven. Alas, things could not have gone worse… and now the mission is ended and all is lost. Woe is me … woe … !”
Kirin laughed and clapped the little man on one bowed shoulder.
“Cheer up, Doc. Things are not as bad as that, and they may get better soon. After all, whoever rules this place could have chained us into a dark cold dungeon. Obviously, from this kind of treatment, he or they want us in good health, or they wouldn’t be treating us so well. Never give up, old fellow!”
A gleam shone in the magician’s eye.
“Why do you say things may get better soon?” he inquired. “Do you have a plan?”
“Maybe,” Kirin grinned.
“You think you can get us out of here, lad? But how? They took your gun—they even took my Rod of Power! We are unarmed and among enemies…”
He broke off as Kirin suddenly gestured for silence. The door was opening. Kirin tensed, expecting one of the towering metal colossi, instead it was a young girl who entered the room bearing a tray of food. He looked her over with appreciation. She was well worth looking at. Slim and blond, with hair like spun gold and wide bold eyes of emerald green. She had a lush figure and long sinuous legs and a ripe mouth made for kissing. Her abbreviated garment, breastplates of silver, silver slippers, and a silken loin-cloth, did little to hide her loveliness. She looked about eighteen.
“So they aren’t all made of metal in this place, eh?” Kirin grinned. She flashed him a bold look from tip-tilted green eyes as she set the tray down on a low table of candle-wood. Dishes of savory meat and hot pastries and a bowl of mixed fruits lay thereon, and a flagon of wine.
“We saw a few people in the streets as we entered the city,” Kirin said, “but they all looked pale and beaten. You look very different, girl. What’s your name?”
“Caola,” she said softly. “Caola of Nar. I am a palace slave, and hence better treated than the city folk,” she said. “But I am not supposed to talk to you, and she may be listening!”
“Who is ‘she’—the ruler of this city?” Kirin asked.
But the girl was gone swiftly, indicating that she dare not talk with them any longer.
“If that’s the sort of maids they have in this hotel,” Kirin mused appreciatively as he sat down to lunch, “I won’t mind staying here a while.”
Temujin only groaned and put his head in his hands.
“Have some wine and cheer up, Doc,” the thief advised. The old magician shook his head dolefully.
“Don’t remind me of the stuff!” he sighed. “It was because of my fondness for the fluid that my Order disciplined me in the first place… well, perhaps just a drop,” he wheezed. Kirin poured him a full goblet.
“Just for medicinal purposes, mind you,” the old magician said lamely, in answer to Kirin’s mocking grin.
It was many hours later when the metal men came for them. Kirin cautioned his companion against any rash words or hasty actions.
“Just look and listen,” he said tersely. “Leave the talking to me. But keep your eyes open. Everything we can learn about this setup could be valuable, you never know when an odd bit of information may come in handy later on.”
The old thaumaturge growled dubiously and whuffed through his bandit mustachios, but ambled along behind Kirin as the robot guards escorted them out of the room. They passed through corridors and chambers of surpassing beauty. Thousands of different kinds of stone were fitted together into a mosaic of contrasts. Lime-green Vegan marble and yellow Argionid granite and milky, lucent silkstone from the Ghost Moon. Sleek blue stone of Irian quarries and that blood-red alabaster the Tigermen mine from the desert hills of Bartosca, snarling under the lash of the Winged People who are their lords. The effect was exquisite and subtle.
At length they entered into a tremendous hall whose groined and vaulted ceiling was lost in murky shadows far over their heads. Mighty sphinxes of dark smooth stone were ranked the length of this hall, and green glowing jewelled eyes flashed in the dark enigma of their faces. A feast was in progress in the sphinx-lined hall; it hummed with soft conversation, which stilled upon their entrance. Kirin’s gaze flew past the silk-clad lords and their veiled ladies, to study the slim, languorous woman who sat enthroned above the throng. She was ravishing, the flawless beauty of her jade green arms and bare shoulders set off by a high-necked gown of glittering silver cloth. A jewelled tiara crusted with pale red diamonds blazed in her silken tresses, the hue of midnight. Fiery dark eyes like black stars caught and held his own.
Beside him, Kirin sensed the fat thaumaturge start suddenly.
“Gods of Space,” Temujin breathed, “I have heard of that woman! There cannot be two of them in this galaxy. She is Azeera, the Witch Queen!”
“So we are on Zangrimar, the lone planet of the star Solphis,” Kirin mused. But every eye was upon them and they had no time for further talk. The Witch Queen beckoned imperiously and guards led them to places set on the dais near her throne chair.
“Come, my honored guests, and join our festivities,” she called, and her voice was low, throaty, alluring. Kirin tried to make a jest out of the contrast between her words and the fact that they had been forced down and held under guard, but his usual wit deserted him and his tongue stumbled over the words. Azeera watched him with a mingling of amusement and cool appraisal. There was also a certain admiration in her eyes. Temujin felt inward qualms and sought to warn his young comrade to be on guard against the wiles of the woman, but Kirin acted rather like one in a daze and seemed not to hear.