"How can I form a decent tribe when no decent men will fight?" Sol demanded, growing heated again. "Do your books answer that?"
"I never sought mastery. But if I were building a tribe, or an empire especially, I would search out promising youths and bind them to myself, even though they were not proficient in the circle yet. Then I would take them to some private place and teach them all I knew about combat, and make them practice against each other and me until they were fully competent. Then I would have a respectable tribe, and I would take it out to meet and conquer established tribes."
"What if the other masters still refused to enter the circle?" Sol was quite interested in this turn of the discussion.
"I would find some way to persuade them. Strategy would be required-the terms would have to appear even, or slightly in favor of the other party. I would show them men that they wanted, and bargain with them until they were ashamed not to meet me."
"I am not good at bargaining," Sol said.
"You could have some bright tribesmen bargain for you, just as you would have others to fight for you. The master doesn't have to do everything himself; he delegates the chores to others, while he governs over all."
Sol was thoughtful. "That never occurred to me. Fighters with the weapons and fighters with the mind." He pondered some more. "How long would it take to train such a tribe, once the men were taken?"
"That depends upon how good you are at training, and how good the men are that you have to work with. How well they get along. There are many factors."
"If you were doing it, with the men you have met in your travels."
"A year."
"A year!" Sol was dismayed.
"There is no substitute for careful preparation. A mediocre tribe could perhaps be formed in a few months, but not an organization fit to conquer an empire. That would have to be prepared for every contingency, and that takes times. Time and constant effort and patience."
"I do not have patience."
The girl finished her work and returned to listen. There were no compartments within the cabin, but she had gone around the column to the shower stall and changed. She now wore an alluring gown that accentuated a fine cleavage and a narrow waist.
Sol remained thoughtful, not seeming to notice the girl though she drew her stool close to him. "Where would there be a suitable place for such training, where others would not spy and interfere?"
"In the badlands."
"The badlands! No one goes there!"
"Precisely. No one would come across you there, or suspect what you were doing. Can you think of a better situation?"
"But it is death!" the girl said, forgetting her place.
"Not necessarily. I have learned that the kill-spirits of the Blast are retreating. The old books call it 'radiation, and it fades in time. The intensity is measured in Roentgen and it is strongest in the center. It should be possible to tell by the plants and animals whether a given area within the markers has become safe. You would have to be very careful about penetrating too far inside, but near the edge-"
"I would not have you go to the mountain," Sol broke in. "I have need of a man like you."
"Nameless and weaponless?" He laughed bitterly. "Go your way, fashion your empire, Sol of all instruments. I was merely conjecturing."
Sol persisted. "Serve me for a year, and I will give you back a portion of your name. It is your mind I require, for it is better than mine."
"My mind!" But the black-haired one was intrigued. He had spoken of the mountain, but did not really want to die. There were many curious things remaining to be fathomed, many books to be studied, many thoughts to be thought. He had employed his weapon in the circle because it was the established method of manhood, but despite his erstwhile prowess and physique he was a scholar and experimenter at heart.
Sol was watching him. "I offer-Sos."
"Sos-the weaponless," he said, mulling it over. He did not like the sound of it, but it was a reasonable alternative, close to his original name. "What would you want me to do, in return for the name?"
"The training, the camp, the building of empire you described-I want you to do it for me. To be my fighter of the mind. My advisor."
"Sos the advisor." The notion grew on him, and The name sounded better. "The men would not listen to me. I would need complete authority, or it would come to nothing. If they argued, and I with no weapon-"
"Who argues, dies," Sol said with absolute conviction. "By my hand."
"For one year-and I keep the name?"
"Yes."
He thought of the challenge of it, the chance to test his theories in action. "I accept the offer."
They reached across the table and shook hands gravely. "Tomorrow we begin the empire," Sol said.
The girl looked up. "I would come with you," she said. Sol smiled, not looking at her. "She wants your bracelet again, Sos."
"No." She was troubled, seeing her hints come to nothing. "Not-without-"
"Girl," Sol reminded her sternly, "I want no woman. This man fought well; he is stronger than many who still bear weapons, and a scholar, which I am not. You would not be shamed to wear his emblem."
She thrust out her lip. "I would come-myself."
Sol shrugged. "As you wish. You will cook and wash for us, until you take a man. We will not be staying in a cabin always, though." He paused, thinking of something. "Sos, my advisor-is this wise?"
Sos studied the woman, now petulant but still lovely. He tried, not to be moved by her cleavage. "I do not think so. She is excellently proportioned and a talented cook, but headstrong. She would be a disruptive influence, unattached."
She glared at him. "I want a name, as you do!" she snapped. "An honorable name."
Sol crashed his first against the table so hard the vinyl surface flexed. "You anger me, girl! Do you claim the name I give lacks honor?"
She retreated hastily. "No, man of all weapons. But you do not offer it to me."
"Take it, then!" He flung his golden bracelet at her. "But I need no woman."
Baffled but exultant, she picked up the heavy piece am squeezed it together to fit her wrist. Sos looked on, ill at ease.
CHAPTER TWO
Two weeks later they struck the red markers of warning in the open country to the north. The foliage did not change, but they knew there would be few animals and no men beyond the sinister line of demarcation. Even those who chose to die preferred the mountain, for that was a quick, honorable leavetaking, while the badlands were reputed to bring torture and horror.
Sol stopped, discommoded by the markers. "If it is safe, why are they still here?" he demanded. Sola nodded heartily, unashamed of her fear,
"Because the crazies haven't updated their maps in fifty years," Sos replied. "This area is overdue for resurvey, and one of these months they'll get around to it and set the markers back ten or fifteen miles. I told you radiation isn't a permanent thing; it fades away slowly."
Sol was not convinced, now that commitment was imminent. "You say this 'radiation' is something you can't see or hear or smell or feel, but it kills you just the same? I know you studied the books, but that just doesn't make sense to me."
"Maybe the books are lying," Sola put in, sitting down. The days of forced marching had tightened the muscles of her legs but diminished none of her femaleness. She was a good-looking woman and knew it.
"I've had doubts myself," Sos admitted. "There are many things I don't understand, and many books I've never had the chance to read. One text says that half the men will die when exposed to 450 Roentgen, while mosquitoes can survive over a hundred thousand-but I don't know how much radiation one Roentgen is, or how to spot it. The crazies have boxes that click when they get near radiation; that's how they know."
"One click to a Roent, maybe," she said, simplifying it. "If the books are honest."
"I think they are. A lot of it makes no sense at all, at first, but I've never caught them in an error. This radiation-as nearly as I can make it, it was put here by the Blast, and it's like fungus-light. You can't see the fungus glow in the daytime, but you know that light is still there. You can box it with your hands to shut out the sun, and the green-"
"Fungus-light," Sol said solemnly.
"Just imagine that it is poisonous, that it will make you sick if it touches your skin. At night you can avoid it, but in the day you're in trouble. You can't see it or feel it... that's what radiation is, except that it fills up everything where it exists. The ground, the trees, the air."
"Then how do we know it's gone?' Sola demanded. There was an edge to her voice which Sos put down to fear and fatigue. She had gradually lost the air of sweet naïveté she had affected the first evening at the hostel.
"Because it affects the plants and animals, too. They get at the fringe, and everything is dead at the center. As long as they look all right, we should, be safe. There should be several miles clear of it beyond the markers now. It's a risk-but a worthwhile one, in the circumstances."
"And no cabins?" she asked a little forlornly.
"I doubt it. The crazies don't like radiation any better than we do, so they'd have no reason to build here until they survey it. We'll have to forage and sleep out."
"We'd better pick up bows and tents, then," Sol said.
They left Sola to watch Sol's barrow while they backtracked three miles to the last hostel. They entered its heatpump interior comfort and selected two sturdy bows and arrow-packs from its armory. They donned camping gear: light plastic leggings, helmets and traveling packs. Each man placed three swift shots in the standing target near the battle circle, feeling out the instruments, then shouldered them and returned to the trail.
Sola was asleep against a tree, hiking skirt hitched up indecorously. Sos looked away; the sight of her body stirred him in spite of what he knew of her bad temper. He had always taken his women as they came and formed no lasting relationships; this continued proximity to another man's wife acted upon him in a way he did not like.
Sol kicked her. "Is this the way you guard my weapons, woman?"
She jumped up, embarrassed and angry. "It's the same way you take care of mine!" she retorted. Then, afraid, she bit her lip.
Sol ignored her. "Let's find a place quickly," he said, glancing at the nearest marker. Sos gave the woman the leggings and helmet he had brought for her; Sol hadn't thought of it. Sos wondered why they stayed together, when they evidently didn't get along. Could sex mean so much?
He forced his eyes away from her again, afraid to answer that.
They stepped across the line and moved slowly into the badlands. Sos repressed the nervous twinge he felt at the action, knowing that if he felt it, the others were struck much more forcefully. He was supposed to know; he had, to prove he was right. Three lives depended on his alertness now.
Even so, the personal problem preoccupied him. Sol had said at the outset that he needed no woman. This had sounded like a courteous deferral to the other man, since no second woman was available. But then he had given the girl his bracelet, signifying their marriage. They had slept together two weeks, yet she now dared to express open dissatisfaction. Sos did not like the look of it
The leaves and underbrush of the forest and field seemed healthy, but the rustle of wildlife faded out as they penetrated deeper. There were birds and numerous flying insects, but no deer, groundhogs or bear. Sos watched for the traces and found none. They would have trouble locating game for their arrows if this were typical. At least the presence of the birds seemed to indicate that the area was safe, so far; he did not know their tolerance, but assumed that one warm-blooded creature should be able to stand about as much as another. The birds would have to stay put while nesting, and would certainly have developed sickness if they were going to.
The trees, gave way to a wide-open field leading down to a meandering stream. They stopped to drink. Sos hesitated until he saw small fish in the water, quick to flee his descending hand. What fish could thrive in, man could drink.
Two birds shot across the field in a silent dance. Up and around they spun, the large one following' the small. It was a hawk running down some kind of sparrow, and the chase was near its end. Obviously exhausted, the small bird barely avoided the outstretched claws and powerful beak. The men watched indifferently.
Suddenly the sparrow fluttered directly at them, as though imploring their protection. The hawk hovered uncertainly, then winged after it.
"Stop it!" Sola cried, moved by the fancied appeal. Surprised, Sol looked at her, then held up his hand to block off the hawk.
The predator sheered off, while the sparrow flopped to the ground almost at Sola's feet and hunched there, unable or afraid to rise again. Sos suspected that it was as much afraid of the people as the enemy. The hawk circled at a distance, then made up its mind. It was hungry.
Sot reached inside his barrow so quickly that his hand was a blur and whipped out a singlestick. As the hawk swooped low, intent on the grounded bird, he swung. Sos knew that the predator was out of reach and far too swift for such antics . . . but it gave a single sharp cry as the stick knocked it out of the air and hurled its broken body into the river.
Sos stared. It had been the quickest, most accurate motion with a weapon he had ever seen, yet the man had done it casually, in a fit of pique at a creature who disobeyed his warning. He had thought that it was merely the luck of the battle that had given Sol the 'victory in the circle, though the man was certainly able. Now he understood that there had been no luck about it; Sol had simply toyed with him until wounded, then finished it off quickly.