The Sword Lord (6 page)

“Like an arrow that is shot without a bow? And it shoots all the way to the stars?” Kaseem tried to concentrate, fearing to say that her words were false and yet unable to believe her.

“Not to the stars,” Zela said. “The stars are like other suns. Our world is like your world, it circles this sun.”

Their faces were blank. Zela was momentarily at a loss, but then she broke off a twig of foliage and, began to draw a sketch of the solar system on a patch of smooth earth. “Here is the sun,” she pointed to the, small circle in the centre of her map. “There are ten worlds that circle the sun.” She drew in the ten orbits like rapidly widening ripples round a pebble. “Your world—this world—which you call Earth—is here. It is the third world from the sun. Our world, which we call Dooma, is here. It is the fifth planet from the sun.”

The old man and the youth both crouched to stare at what she had drawn but their faces showed no enlightenment. Then Kaseem reached tentatively for the twig. He drew his own map, in which there was just the central pebble and one orbiting ripple.

“Our world,” the priest insisted, pointing at the centre of his universe. The twig sketched the single orbit around it once again and then he pointed upward. “Our sun.”

“No,” Zela said, and again she went over the details of her own map. Kaseem scratched his head and then squinted his eyes against the glare of the sun. This new idea was an almost impossible one to accept.

Zela tried again, describing the solar system for the third time, and struggling to explain its relationship to the stars and galaxies. Kaseem shared the struggle with her, the old priest desperately wanted to understand. But Kananda was losing interest in these dry scratchings in the dust. The frontal zip on Zela's silver suit was almost imperceptibly sliding downward as she talked, and he could see again a tantalizing and gradually expanding view of her breasts. He began to wish fervently that Kaseem would shut up and go away.

The old man was oblivious to the desires of youth. He squatted with his robe clutched tight around him, listening intently with his gaze moving constantly from the drawings to the woman's face, but to his frustration he comprehended little. The woman was talking about the stars, but in among the Hindu words she had learned were strange words from her own language which had no meaning for him. In the end he gave up and changed the subject to one that was dearer to his own heart.

“You are from the gods,” he challenged her. “Do you know the gods? Are they in the stars?”

Zela sighed. “You ask difficult questions, friend Kaseem. No, we are not gods. Nor are we messengers from your gods. We are people like yourselves, from another planet in this solar system which is much like your own.”

“But you know the gods,” Kaseem insisted, almost fiercely. You know
Indra
, the god of war and thunder and storm. You know
Varuna
, the high god of heaven who is Lord over all.”

“We do not know the names
Indra
and
Varuna
,” Zela said carefully, knowing that this was an area where she might easily offend, or worse, turn the old priest into a deadly enemy. “But I think these are two different names for one god, and on Dooma we do believe in one God.”

Confusion registered on the old man's face. He frowned and scowled, and then dared to look her directly in the eyes. “If you do not know
Indra
and
Varuna
—then who is your God? Do you worship fire, or sky, or Earth? Or do you worship monkey totems like the primitive tribes of the forest?”

“Please, Kaseem, let me explain.” Zela tried to calm him with a gentle smile and by resting a light hand on his bare shoulder. “Our world is much older than your Earth. Because it is further from the sun the oceans cooled more quickly and intelligent life began to develop there long before it did here. Our recorded history on the continent of Alpha goes back for ten thousand years. During that time our ancestors fought endless battles and wars, most of them for power and conquest, but always with the followers of one saint or god fighting the followers of another. Religions and gods always divided our people, and those divisions always enabled the power-hungry to mobilize the masses for war.”

“Tell me about your gods.” Kaseem was not willing to be side-tracked into history.

“We had many gods,” Zela admitted wryly, “And many religions. But their names and doctrines are only of importance to the individual subscribers of that particular belief. What our philosophers gradually came to realize was that if any god existed then there could only be one God, and that this was a spiritual and not a physical reality. It became clear then that we fought only over names and definitions of that which could never be finally named or defined. From this it followed that all religions worshipped the same god, even though they did not realize this truth, and that if the god-names and the doctrines were not of prime importance, then it must be faith itself which leads all believers to the One God. Once we had reached this understanding—that all religious faiths must lead inevitably to the One God—then it became easier for the different religious groups to tolerate each other. They did not have to accept other doctrines or god-names in place of their own, but only to understand that other groups worshipped the same spiritual reality in a different way.”

Kaseem had only understood part of what she had said. The parts of each other's language they shared were not yet sufficient for a full exchange of such complex ideas. But he was trying hard. His ancient face was anguished as he asked, “But how can you worship a god who has no name or shape or form?”

“Most of our people still worship the old names and the old concepts in the traditional ways. There is a human need for religious faith to be expressed, and the old ways still serve those needs. What we now understand is that behind all those old names and concepts is the same reality and purpose of that which is divine. Our philosophers hold the conviction that the universe is a balanced structure of hidden order, and that the rise and fall of men, and kings and empires, is as ordained as the cycles of the seasons. It is all part of the balancing laws of nature. This underlying belief in one God, and the Divine Purpose of hidden order has led to the development of the First Enlightened Civilization of Alpha, where we have unity and harmony in place of all the old religious conflicts. Alphan civilization has at last reached its golden age of art, music, peace and prosperity for all.”

This ideal was again too difficult to comprehend. In Karakhor there were king and priests, lords and nobles, warriors, artisans and slaves. Beyond the city walls there were farmers and fishermen, hunters and serfs, and in the wild lands beyond the kingdom there were naked and near-naked savages. The Hindu social structure was a carefully tiered and guarded system of ranks and privileges and responsibilities, from the many-titled and jewel-bedecked glory of Kara-Rashna himself, right down to the untouchable misery of the lowest dung-collector. It was surrounded by a sea of rivals and enemies, and to imagine all of this necessary human diversity sharing in peace and prosperity and a belief in only one god was inconceivable.

“You say that
all
on your world share in these things, and that
all
believe in only one god?” Kaseem asked in astonishment.

It was Zela's turn to frown. “Not all,” she had to concede. “All the people of Alpha are now united in this way, but not all the people of our world. On Dooma there is another great continent, from which we are divided by a vast ocean. The continents of Alpha and Ghedda are on opposite sides of our planet, and for thousads of years they have developed separately. Now Gheddan philosophy, if you can call it such, is the antithesis of belief on Alpha. They deny the existence of any god and see the universe as formed by only chaos and chance effect. They acknowledge no concept of a spiritual realm, or of any ideas of design, purpose or morality. To the Gheddans “Might is Right
”
and there is no higher power or law than their own naked swords. Theirs is a harsh, barbaric continent, where the strong rule and indulge their own selfish pleasures. For them death is the end. Nothing exists beyond this moment. They hold no hope for any life beyond this one, and consequently they are untroubled by any fear of final retribution.”

She paused, and for the first time a note of bitterness and anger crept into her voice. “On Alpha we have triumphed over the foolishness of war
and diversity, but only to find ourselves facing a much more terrible foe in the form of the Gheddan Empire.”

She looked back into the uncertain face of the old priest and her fingers tightened painfully on his shoulder.

“When you pray, friend Kaseem, you would do well to pray that it will never be your misfortune to encounter a Sword Lord of Ghedda.”

Chapter Four

Golden Karakhor had earned its far-flung fame from the beaten gold leaf which adorned the roofs of its sumptuous palaces and the rich homes of its lords and nobles. The city gleamed in the dazzling sunshine, its silhouette of yellow domes, spires and cupolas all mirrored in the clear blue waters of the Mahanadi. Its thick outer walls and ramparts were of red sandstone and the streets of its shopkeepers and artisans were shaded with bright, multicoloured awnings of red and yellow, blue and green. The great palace of Kara-Rashna overlooked the green lawns and terraced flower gardens of the river bank, while on the north side it faced the central plaza that was flanked by the three great stone temples to
Indra
,
Varuna
and
Agni
. Each temple soared like a man-carved mountain into the vivid blue sky, in rampart upon rampart of ascending red sandstone climbing up toward heaven and the gods. The temples were not adorned with golden tile, marble screens and silken drapes as was the palace. They were bare and spartan inside, designed for worship and not for comfort, but the walls and ceilings of the buildings themselves were sculpted with a fantastic array of friezes, panels and figures. Here were all the gods and mythology of ancient India, mingling with men and beasts in war, sport and play. The building and carving of each temple had been in itself an act of worship. The ultimate spires of the temples to
Indra
and
Varuna
reached higher than the golden dome of Kara-Rashna's palace, while the temple dedicated to
Agni
was only slightly less magnificent. All around the city there were smaller temples to a score of lesser dieties, all piercing the skyline with their spires and pinnacles.

In a secluded corner of the royal gardens, protected from common eyes by high walls on three sides but with a clear view down the lawns to the river, two young girls played with bats and a coloured ball. Both were in the first flush of womanhood, and both were richly dressed and beautiful. Their saris were of the finest silks, the older girl in white and gold, the younger in white and blue. A diamond pendant graced each dusky forehead, and golden chains linked the jeweled rings and bracelets that adorned their hands and wrists. The princess, Maryam, first-born daughter of the first wife of Kara-Rashna, wore around her throat a necklace of eight strings of alternating emeralds, diamonds, rubies and pearls. Her half sister Namita, the first-born daughter of Kara-Rashna's second wife, wore around her throat a necklace only slightly less magnificent, of six strings instead of eight. The distinction of rank had to be observed.

At nineteen, Maryam was the older by two years, and normally she was the better player at the many sports and games at which they passed much of their time. Today her mind was preoccupied and she missed a fast return from Namita which sent the ball flying into the shrubbery behind her. Swearing crossly she hurried after it, but by the time she had pushed through the fragrant tangles of frangipani and bougainvillea the ball had bounced down onto the terrace below and was rolling down toward the river.

Both girls chased after it, but they were too late. The ball splashed into the river and was gently swirled away. Maryam stopped at the river's edge and reached for the clasp of her sari. Her intention was clear for she was a strong swimmer, but then Namita restrained her.

“'No, Maryam, not without a proper bathing suit. Look, there are young men on the far bank.”

Maryam looked across the water. A group of young warriors stood on the far side. The young men waved, and one hero quickly threw off his weapons and dived in after the ball. Reluctantly Maryam watched him as he splashed around the curve of the river and out of sight. He was swimming strongly but clumsily, and moving no faster than the ball he pursued. His companions lustily cheered him on.

“I could have caught it,” Marym complained. “And from that distance how could they tell whether I wear a bathing suit or just my underclothes.”

She turned away and walked gloomily back toward the palace. Her behaviour was out of character and Namita frowned. The younger girl cast a fleeting glance across the river, where at least one of the young warriors could be considered as almost handsome, but then she ran after Maryam once more.

“What is wrong?” Namita asked. “You do not usually play so badly.”

Maryam paused. “Don't you know? Haven't you heard the palace talk?”

Namita blushed. “It is unseemly to listen to other people's conversations.”

“Perhaps,” Maryam conceded. “But we are women, and if we do not we will never know what is going on. The men will not bother to tell us.”

“But what is going on?”

Maryam took her younger sister's arm and led her to a shaded bench where they could sit and talk. “Kanju is aligned to Maghalla,” she whispered fiercely. “That is what is going on.”

“But how do you know?”

“Old Jahan has many spies in the capitals of Kanju and Maghalla. And in the towns of all the other kingdoms I should imagine. Merchants and traders bring him information and news from innkeepers and prostitutes and others that they meet on their travels.”