CHAPTER ELEVEN
Tyi's tribe was not as large as it had been in the heyday
of empire, for he had taken losses in the Helicon reduc-
tion and in the anarchy following. But its demesnes were
larger because of the general decimation of nomads in
recent years. Now it represented a kind of civilization
itself, for shelters had been built, fields cultivated, weapons
forged, and the circle code was enforced. There was now
a preponderance of staffs, clubs and sticks, mostly wooden
weapons, because metal was much cruder than Helicon's
product. The fine old weapons were increasingly precious
now. Neq knew that those who carried swords of the old
type were veterans, for today a man was challenged as
frequently for possession of a superior weapon as for
woman or service or life.
"You come to challenge me?" Tyi demanded incredu-
lously. "Have you forgotten the code of empire: the sub-
chiefs of the Weaponless may not war against each other?"
"They may not war for mastery," Neq answered. "No,
I have not forgotten. But the empire is dead, and so are
its conventions."
'"It is not dead until we know the Weaponless is dead—
and he is a difficult man to kill, as you would know had
you ever met him in the circle. And the circle code is not
dead where my tribe travels."
"It is dead wherever your tribe departs, however." But
Neq approved the fine order Tyi maintained. "I did not
say I came to challenge you with weapon, for I may not
use my sword on this mission. Were any man to question
my competence in the circle, I should be glad to show
him my blade—but not for mastery, not for death, only
for demonstration, no blood shed. I challenge you only to
do a service for me, and perhaps for the nomad society."
Tyi smiled. "I would do you a service without induce-
ment in the circle, however circumspectly hinted, for we
were comrades in better days. And I would aid the nomad
society if I only knew how. What is it you wish?"
"Go to the crazies."
Tyi laughed.
"Nevertheless," Neq said, remembering how Sol had
reacted to disbelief, so many years ago. More than half
Neq's life had passed since his conquest by Sol of All
Weapons.
Tyi lookeu at him more closely, responsive to the tone.
"I have heard—this is merely rumor—that you were injured
in a conflict with outlaws."
"Many times."
"The first time. That they overcame you by means of
the advantage of fifty men and a gun, and cut off your
hands."
Neq glanced down at his cloth-wrapped extremities,
nodding.
"And that you achieved some semblance of vengeance
. . . nevertheless."
"They slew my wife."
"And she was a crazy?"
"She was."
"Yet now you espouse another crazy cause?"
Neq's sword-arm twitched under the cloth. "Do you
slight my wife?"
"By no means," Tyi said quickly. "I merely remark that
you have had adventures I have not, and must have
strong motive for your mission."
Neq shrugged.
"I will go to the crazies," Tyi said. "If I do not find
reason to stay, I will return to my tribe."
"That suffices."
"Any other favor I can do you?" Tyi inquired dryly.
"If you can tell me where the Weaponless might be."
Tyi controlled his surprise. "He has been absent five
years. I doubt he resides within the crazy demesnes."
"His wife, then."
"She remains my guest. I will take you to her."
"I thank you."
Tyi stood, a fair, rather handsome man, a leader. "Now
that our business is done, come with me to the .circle. I
would show my men swordsmanship of the old style. No
blood, no terms."
It was Neq's turn to smile. On such basis he could
enter the circle. It had been long since he had sworded
for fun, following the rules of empire.
And it was a pleasure. Whether Tyi remained his supe-
rior no one could say, for Neq's technique had necessarily
changed, and they were not fighting in earnest. But Tyi's
art was beautiful, rivaling that of Sol of All Weapons in
the old days, and the display the two of them put on left
the more recent members of the tribe gaping. Feint and
counterfeint; thrust and parry; offense and defense, with
the sunlight flashing, flashing, flashing from living blades
and the melody of combat resounding to the welkin.
When they finished, panting, the tribesmen remained
seated around the circle, rows and rings of armed men,
silent. "I have told you of Sol," Tyi said to them. "And of
Tor, of Neq. Now you have seen Neq, though his hands
are gone. Such was our empire."
And Neq felt a glow he had not experienced in years,
for Tyi was giving him public compliment. Suddenly he
longed for the empire again, for the good things it had
brought. And his determination to complete his mission
despite the barriers the crazies were erecting was doubled.
Sola had aged. Neq remembered her as a rare beauty,
* truculent but gifted with phenomenal sex appeal, fit for a
single man to dream about. Now her face was lined, her
body bent. Her long dark hair no longer flowed, it strag-
gled. It was hard to believe that she was only two or three
years older than he.
"This is Neq the Sword," Tyi said to her, and departed.
"I would not have recognized you," Sola said. "You
look old. Yet you are younger than I. Where is the shy
young warrior with the magic sword and the golden voice?"
To each his own perspective! "Does the Weaponless
live?" .
"I fear he does not. But he would not return to me,
regardless."
Neq was surprised. "To whom, then?"
"His other wife. She of the underworld."
His interest intensified. "You know of Helicon?"
"I know my husband laid siege to the mountain, because
she was there. She has his bracelet and his name."
"She lives?"
"I do not know. Do any live—who were there when the
fire came?"
"Yes," he said. Then, quickly: "Or so it is rumored."
She was on the slip immediately. Sola had never been
stupid; she had taught the warriors counting and figuring.
"If any live, she lives. I know it. Seek her out, tell her I
would meet her. Ask her—ask her if my child—"
Neq waited, but she only cried silently.
"You must go to the crazies," he said finally.
"Why not? I have nothing to live for."
"This woman of the Weaponless—what name does she
bear?"
"His old name. Sos. The one I would have had, had I
not been a foolish girl blinded by power. By the time he
was mine, he was not mine, and he was nameless."
"So she would be Sosa. She would know if the Weapon-
less lives?"
"She is -with him if he lives. But my child—ask her—"
Neq made
a connection. "Your child by Sol? Who went
with him to the mountain?"
"More or less," she answered.
He thought of the skeletons he had swept from the
underground halls. A number had been small—children
and babies. Yet there had been several exit passages such
as the one Dick the Surgeon had used. There had been
some unburned caverns as well as the little wagon-tunnels
to scattered depots. Some adults had escaped, perhaps
many; no one knew how large Helicon's population had
been. Some children could have. . . .
"I have one more name for you," Sola said. "Var—Var
the Stick."
Neq had some vague recollection of such a warrior, a
helper to the Weaponless who had disappeared at the
same time. "He will know where to find the Weaponless?"
"He must know," she said fervently. "He was the
protege of my husband, and sterile like him."
Neq wondered how she could know such a thing. But
he remembered the rumors about this woman, and how
she had gone to Sos's tent in the badlands camp, and
wondered again. "I will seek Sosa," he said. "And Var
the Stick."
"And my child—Soli. She would be thirteen now, almost
fourteen. Dark-haired. And—" She hesitated. "You remem-
ber the way I used to be?"
"Yes." Her figure had stimulated him many times, fifteen
years ago.
"She favors me, I think."
Soli would be a beauty, then. Neq nodded. "I will send
them all to the crazies—if they live."
"I will wait there." And for some reason she was crying.
Perhaps it was the weakness of an old woman who knew
she would never see her husband or her daughter again;
who knew that their bones lay charred and buried near
the mountain of death.
Dick the Surgeon located several of the strangely-named
fugitives in the next few months. Men like John and Charles
and Robert, men old and feeble and obviously unused to
the way of the nomads despite their recent years among
them. Some were refugees from Helicon; others seemed
to be crazies, cut off by the breakdown of civilization.
Dick talked to them, and glimmers of hope brightened
their forlorn faces and they agreed to come with Neq—to
Neq's suppressed disgust. Now he had to forage for them,
and guard them against outlaws, for they were almost un-
able to do for themselves and could not make the trek to
Dr. Jones alone. A man with no hands taking care of men
with no gumption!
But these creatures had survived because they had talents
certain tribes wanted—literary, hand skills, knowledge of
guns. Most of the names on his list seemed not to have
survived; no doubt they belonged to bones he had swept in
Helicon.
When he could, he inquired about his other names:
Var, Sosa, Soli. But there was no memory of these among
the nomads—not since the destruction of Helicon.
Finally he brought his small group back to the crazy
building. Almost a year had passed.
"You are still determined to rebuild Helicon?" Dr.
Jones inquired.
"Yes." He did not add in spite of you.
"You did not locate all the persons listed."
"I have not finished. I merely deliver these to you, who
could not deliver themselves. Many of the rest are dead.
You saw Tyi and Sola?"
"They are here."
So Tyi had remained! What had the crazy said to him?
"I have not found the Weaponless—but now I search for
his underground wife, Sosa, and for Sola's child, and for
Var the Stick. These may help me to locate him—or his
caim."
"Interesting you should mention those names," Dr. Jones
murmured. "You are illiterate, as I recall."
"I am a warrior."
"The two abilities—reading and fighting—are not neces-
sarily mutually exclusive. Some warriors are literate. But
you have no notion of the content of the papers you deliv-
ered to us?"
"None."
"Let me read some excerpts to you, then." And the old
crazy brought a similar sheaf up from the bowels of his
desk.
AUGUST 4, B118—The siege has abated, but the
mood is ominous. Bob has arranged some kind of con-
test of champions, but has as yet selected no man to
represent Helicon. We are not geared for this nomad
circle-combat; it is folly. We have in Sol the Nomad
one of the most formidable primitive fighters of the
age, but I know he will not take up weapon against his
own kind. He hates it here; he really did come to die,
and he resents what we did to him: making him live
because we made his daughter live. Sosa has kept him
pacified somehow; I don't know how that marvelous
woman does it. Sol's daughter is his life.
But I ramble too much about other people's business,
as an old bookworm will. Surely I have concerns of
my own: this premonition that this is the terminus,
the extinction of the life we have known, and perhaps
of civilization itself....
"The mountain!" Neq exclaimed. "The siege of Heli-
con!"
"These notes are by Jim the Librarian—a literate and
sensitive man."
"He is on my list! A man of the underworld!"
"Yes, of course. But it will not be necessary to look for
him further."
"To rebuild!" Neq cried, comprehending what should
have been obvious all along. "The men who knowl"
"Certainly. Obviously nomads could not rebuild the
foreign technology of Helicon unassisted, however noble
their- motives. But a nucleus of such survivors, together
with the most capable nomads and, er, crazies, under a
strong, sincere leader—it can be done, we suspect."
Dr. Jones looked at him with compassion. "I hope you
' will not be disappointed that we do not deem you fit to
lead the actual restoration. What you are attempting is
noble, and you shall certainly receive due credit for your
dedication and effort; but the complexities of technology
and discipline—"
"No, you are right," Neq said with mixed emotions. He
was disappointed, but also relieved. "I never thought to
stay in Helicon myself. I saw the carnage—only crazies
could like it there, away from the sun, the trees—" As he
spoke he realized why Tyi had been on the list. They
needed strong and competent leadership, and Tyi was
that. He had been second in command to the Weaponless,
and before that to Sol of All Weapons. He had as much
experience in managing men as any nomad, and he was
a top warrior who never let discipline slide. The under-
world would be a kind of empire.
"I'm glad you understand. Training and temperament
are paramount. In a pressure situation where swords and
clubs are not the answer—"
"But the Weaponless—he destroyed Helicon! Why
should he help it now?" Yet obviously Dr. Jones wasn't
depending entirely on the Weaponless. H
e was grooming
Tyi as an alternate.
"Sos the Weaponless was of Helicon. Dr. Abraham
made him what he was, on the unfortunate directive of
their leader." Dr. Jones cogitated for a moment. "Dr.
Abraham was not aware of the polities leading to the
disaster. He was sleeping when the fire started, and dazed
when he escaped. He supposed the nomads had done it."
"Hadn't they?" Leading question!
"Not directly. Here is Jim's final entry."
AUGUST 8, B118—How can I express the horror
I feel? Soli was my child too, in the sense that I taught
her to read and I loved her as my own. Almost daily
she came to the library, an absolutely charming little
girl—indeed, I believe she divided her time almost
evenly between my books and her father's weapons.
Yet now—
I blame myself. She came to me in tears just three
days ago with a story I refused to credit: that Bob
intended to murder both Sol and Sosa, her Helicon
parents, if she did not go on a dangerous mission out-
side. She had been sworn to secrecy, she claimed, lest
they be slain regardless—but she had to tell someone,
and I agreed to keep her confidence, thinking it a
fantasy of a juvenile mind. I advised her that she had