Tower of Zanid Read Free

head.”
    “Rumors have come to us of strange things taking place in the Safq,” said Qais.
    “You mean the Yeshtites are doing as the Bakhites say?”
    “Nay, these rumors deal not with matters sacerdotal. What the Yeshtites do I know not. But ‘tis said that within that sinister structure, men—if they indeed be such—devise means to the scath and hurt of the Empire of Qaath.”
    Fallon shrugged again.
    “Well, if you’d truly make your fortune, find out!” ‘Tis worth a thousand karda, a true and complete report upon the Safq. And tell me not you’ll ne’er consider it. You’d do anything for gold enough.”
    “Not for a million karda,” said Fallon.
    “By the green eyes of Hoi, you shall! The Kamuran insists.”
    Fallon made an impractical suggestion as to what the mighty Ghuur of Urüq, Kamuran of Qaath, might do with his money.
    “Harken,” wheedled Qais. “A thousand buy you blades enough to set you back upon the throne of Zamba! Does that tempt you not?”
    “Not in the least. A moldy cadaver doesn’t care whether it’s on a throne or not.”
    “Be not that the goal for which for many years you’ve striven, like Qarar moiling at his nine labors?”
    “Yes, but hope deferred maketh one skeptical. I wouldn’t even consider such a project unless I knew in advance what I was getting into—say if I had a plan of the building, and a schedule of the activities in it.”
    “If I had all that, I’d have no need to hire a Terran creature to snoop for me.” Qais spat upon the floor in annoyance. “You’ve taken grimmer chances. You Earthmen baffle me betimes. Perchance I could raise the offer by a little…”
    “To Hishkak with it,” snapped Fallon, rising. “How shall I get in touch with you next time?”
    “I remain in Zanid for a day or twain. Come to see me at Tashin’s Inn.”
    “Where the players and mountebanks stay?”
    “For sure—do I not play the part of such a one?”
    “You do it so naturally, maestro!”
    “Hmph! But none knows who I really be, so guard your saucy tongue. Farewell!”
    Fallon said good-bye and sauntered out into the bright sunshine of Roquir. He mentally added his takings: forty-five karda—enough to support him and Gazi for a few ten-nights. But it was hardly enough to start him on the road back to his throne.
    Fallon knew his own weakness well enough to know that if he ever did make the killing for which he hoped, he would have to set about hiring his mercenaries and regaining his throne quickly, for he was one through whose fingers money ran like water. He would dearly love the thousand karda of which Qais had spoken, but asking him to invade the Safq was just too much. Others had tried it and had always come to mysterious ends.
    He stopped at a drink-shop and bought a bottle of kvad, Krishna‘s strongest liquor, something like diluted vodka as to taste. Like most Earthmen on Krishna, he preferred the plain stuff to the highly spiced varieties favored by most Krishnans. ***The taste mattered little to him; he drank to forget his disappointments.
    “Oh, Fallon!” said a sharp, incisive voice.
    Fallon turned. His first fear was justified. Behind him stood another Earthman: tall, lean, black-skinned, and frizz-haired. Instead of a Balhibo diaper, he wore a fresh Terran suit. In every way but stature he posed a sharp contrast to Fallon with his crisp voice, his precise gestures, and his alert manner. He bore the air of a natural leader fully aware of his. own superiority. He was Percy Mjipa, consul for the Terran World Federation at Zanid.
    Fallon composed his features into a noncommittal blank. For a number of reasons, he did not like Percy Mjipa and could not bend himself to smile hypocritically at the consul. He said: “Hello, Mr. Mjipa.”
    “What are you doing today?” Mjipa spoke English fluently but with the staccato, resonant accent of the cultured Bantu.
    “Eating a lotus, old man—just eating a lotus.”
    “Would you mind stepping over