Читаем Ultimate Collection полностью

“How many warriors?” asked Khossuth uncertainly.

“Twenty thousand.”

A groan rose from the listeners.

“What could our handful do against that horde?”

“I’ll show you!” I exclaimed. “I’ll lead you into the heart of their citadel!”

“Hai!” roared Ghor the Bear, brandishing his broadsword, always quick to take fire from my suggestions. “That’s the word! Come on, sir brothers! Follow Ironhand! He’ll show us the way!”

“But what of the men of Khor?” expostulated Khossuth. “They are marching to attack us. We must meet them.”

Ghor grunted explosively as the truth of this assertion came home to him and all eyes turned toward me.

“Leave them to me,” I proposed desperately. “Let me talk with them—”

“They’ll hack off your head before you can open your mouth,” grunted Khossuth.

“That’s right,” admitted Ghor. “We’ve been fighting the men of Khor for fifty thousand years. Don’t trust them, comrade.”

“I’ll take the chance,” I answered.

“The chance you shall have, then,” said Gutchluk grimly. “For there they come!” In the distance we saw a dark moving mass.

“Carbines ready!” barked old Khossuth, his cold eyes gleaming. “Loosen your blades, and follow me.”

“Will you join battle tonight?” I asked. He glanced at the sun. “No. We’ll march to meet them, and pitch camp just out of gunshot. Then with dawn we’ll rush them and cut their throats.”

“They’ll have the same idea,” explained Thab. “Oh, it will be great fun!”

“And while you revel in senseless bloodshed,” I answered bitterly, “your daughters and theirs will be screaming vainly under the tortures of the winged people over the river Yogh. Fools! Oh, you fools!”

“But what can we do?” expostulated Gutchluk.

“Follow me!” I yelled passionately. “We’ll march to meet them, and I’ll go on to them alone.”

I wheeled and strode across the plain, and the hairy men of Koth fell in behind me, with many headshakes and mutterings. I saw the oncoming mass, first as a mingled blur; then the details stood out— hairy bodies, fierce faces, gleaming weapons—but I swung on heedlessly. I knew neither fear nor caution; my whole being seemed on fire with the urgency of my need and desire.

Several hundred yards separated the two hosts when I dashed down my single weapon—the Yaga dagger—and shaking off Ghor’s protesting hands, advanced alone and unarmed, my hands in the air; palms toward the enemy.

These had halted, drawn up ready for action. The unusualness of my actions and appearance puzzled them. I momentarily expected the crack of a carbine, but nothing happened until I was within a few yards of the foremost group, the mightiest men clustered about a tall figure that was their chief—old Bragi, Khossuth had told me. I had heard of him, a hard, cruel man, moody and fanatical in his hatreds.

“Stand!” he shouted, lifting his sword. “What trick is this? Who are you who comes with empty hands in the teeth of war?”

“I am Esau Ironhand, of the tribe of Koth,” I answered. “I would parley with you.”

“What madman is this?” growled Bragi. “Than—a bullet through his head.”

But the man called Than, who had been staring eagerly at me, gave a shout instead and threw down his carbine.

“Not if I live!” he exclaimed, advancing toward me his arms outstretched. “By Thak, it is he! Do you not remember me, Than Swordswinger, whose life you saved in the hills?”

He lifted his chin to display a great scar on his corded neck.

“You are he who fought the sabertooth! I had not dreamed you survived those awful wounds.”

“We men of Khor are hard to kill!” he laughed joyously, throwing his arms about me in a bearlike embrace. “What are you doing among the dogs of Koth? You should be fighting with us!”

“If I have my way there will be no fighting,” I answered. “I wish only to talk with your chiefs and warriors. There is nothing out of the way about that.”

“True!” agreed Than Swordswinger. “Bragi, you will not refuse him this?”

Bragi growled in his beard, glaring at me.

“Let your warriors advance to that spot.” I indicated the place I meant. “Khossuth’s men will come up on the other side. There both hordes will listen to what I have to say. Then, if no agreement can be reached, each side shall withdraw five hundred yards and after that follow its own initiative.”

“You are mad!” Old Bragi jerked his beard with a shaking hand of rage. “It is treachery. Back to your kennel, dog!”

“I am your hostage,” I answered. “I am unarmed. I will not move out of your sword reach. If there is treachery, strike me down on the spot.”

“But why?”

“I have been captive among the Yagas!” I exclaimed. “I have come to tell the Guras what things occur in the land of Yagg!”

“The Yagas took my daughter!” exclaimed a warrior, pushing through the ranks. “Did you see her in Yagg?”

“They took my sister!”—“And my young bride”—“And my niece!” shouts rose in chorus, as men swarmed about me, forgetful of their enemies, shaking me in the intensity of their feeling.