The Phantom Pilot

"No."

"I take it back," he laughed, "That fall knocked all the sense out of you."

I touched the knot on the back of my head.

Namtor asked, "Why would you not want Danae when you can have her, and Jadda, too? You aren't the same Thwart I knew yesterday."

I chose my next words with care, "What do you think happened?"

"I don't know if it's because of the blow to the head you suffered or not, but if I was you I'd start acting like you're your old self again."

"Because my change in attitude could cause problems with the Sheikh?"

"Exactly. But I'll keep my thoughts to myself around others. What else do you want to know?"

Where to begin? I settled for asking him to elaborate about the Ring in the Silver Cities. "Is that some kind of gladiatorial arena?"

"Something like that. The Sheikh and I saw you fight some duels there, sometimes against more than one man at a time. You were a dangerous opponent. You still are, maybe moreso now. I never knew of any one man, including Thwart, I mean you, taking down four mutants single-handed. But then that's why the Sheikh bought you and freed you so you could swing that mean sword in his behalf. And besides, there isn't a slave girl born yet who can outrun you." He chuckled, "Or me."

"Is that why you and I are privileged members of the Sheikh's retinue?"

"You've captured probably half a hundred prime girls during your time with us. The Sheikh took Kyle out of the Ring too and his capture rate is nowhere near as high as yours. Or, in all modesty, mine. But he's a top hand."

"Is Kyle privileged too?"

"Absolutely, although I don't see what the Sheikh sees in him. But you, you've exceeded your potential. You have the grace of the seven gray gods watching over you."

I decided to forget the subject of Kyle for the time being. "Why do you say that?"

"You are very very lucky, man. Most men would've been killed pulling some of the crazy stunts you pull. Speaking of crazy stunts, why don't you tell me something now?"

"If I can."

"Did you jump off that cliff yesterday?"

"I should have died yesterday, Namtor."

"I believe that. But why did you do it?"

I shrugged. "I don't remember."

Namtor looked like he was debating with himself. "Kyle went out on that trail with the Askaar after you did. In the heat of battle he said he couldn't see what happened to you either. It wouldn't surprise me if he didn't crack your skull and push you off the cliff himself."

"Why would he?"

"There's bad blood between you, always has been. Guess it goes back to your days together in the Ring. Neither one of you has ever told the story."

"I wish I could remember it."

"Watch your back around that fool, hear?"

I said I would.

"Tell me something else. After the fight with the Askaar yesterday you insisted you weren't Thwart. Kept saying your name was Walker. I'm real curious about that."

There's a time for truth, but that wasn't the time. "I must have been out of my head after the fall."

He listened to the night for a while, neither of us speaking. I wondered if he thought I was lying to him.

To break the silence I asked, "What year is this?"

"Man, what in the world is a year?"

I had used the English word for year. I rephrased my question, "What day and age is it?"

That sounded lame, but he understood what I meant. "Day and age? It's the season of the witch."

Oh well.

I wanted to ask more questions, but Namtor said, "We'd best get back to camp now," and got to his feet. He stretched lazily like a jungle cat. Dawn was breaking. I followed him into the underbrush.

The camp lay quiet; nobody in sight except the patrolling guards with their scimitars. I looked around for Kyle, but didn't see him. I took off in the direction of the Sheikh's tent.

Namtor said, "Where you going?"

"I want to see Jadda."

A chuckle rumbled from him. "She's curled up asleep in the Sheikh's bed. You sure don't want to wake the Sheikh up, privileged man or not, the man likes his sleep. Jadda'll be around later."

"What about your clothing?"

"Got more back in our tent."

I already seemed to know Namtor and I shared lodgings, another one of Thwart's memories mingling with mine. "What about your sword?"

"It'll still be around," he grinned and lowered his voice, "Besides, you got yours, and I know my good friend Walker won't let no harm befall me."

"I'm Thwart, remember?"

Namtor just chuckled again. We entered one of the larger tents pitched in the camp, indigenous I supposed of our ranking in the camp hierarchy. One side of the tent pole was neat and tidy, the other half a disorganized mess, with clothing and bedding strewn everywhere.

"Do you remember which couch is yours?" he joked.

"Obviously it's the one that's made up," I said.

Namtor tumbled onto the couch I mentioned. He arranged the silks over him as he said, "Wrong, Thwart. You need to have Jadda, or Danae or Kalli, or somebody, clean up after you. You give new meaning to the word chaos."

He rolled over and I looked at the slovenly bed that belonged to Thwart on the other side of the tent. A wooden chest lay at the foot of the couch. I wanted to go through his possessions, but was too tired. I merely shook out a few sleeping silks, unbuckled the sword belt and crawled into bed. Sleep came quickly.

Almost immediately it seemed I was awakened by Namtor kicking the edge of my couch. "Get up, lazybones. Time to go to work."

I yawned. Namtor, clad in his striped trousers once more, leaned against his giant cleaver. More yawning: "I'm injured, remember? I'm not going to work today."

"That's not what the Sheikh says."

I cursed the Sheikh.

"He'll strike camp and leave you where you sleep if you don't get a move on, man."

I grumbled an obscenity in the new language I seemed to know so well.

From the angle of the sunlight streaming through the tent flap I guessed I'd gotten maybe three hours rest. Yet I felt fine when I got out of bed. The knot on the back of my head had subsided considerably. There's nothing like being a healthy twenty years old again! Why my fate to be young and alive on a faraway world instead of a cold corpse in a French grave still eluded me. I had no time to dwell on that mystery because when I stepped outside a new mystery waited. In the vast blue sky blazed not one, but two, suns! One was an enormous fiery ball that appeared much larger, and I guess closer, than the single sun above the planet Earth. The second sun hung below the first and to the left, perhaps only a fifth its size. I had not noticed yesterday, probably due to the deluge of phenomena bombarding me.

Again I had to ask myself the question: Where was I? Not Earth. I knew of no planet with two suns and five moons. Wherever I was certainly did not observe the same morals and mores of my former world.

Men scurried around me folding up tents and loading them into wagons. The wagons were uncovered, but I saw a dozen large coaches. I saw teams of horses being hitched to pull these conveyances. Men loaded pack animals with supplies. Naked slave girls with silk bundles clutched in their hands boarded the coaches. I realized that the slave girls carried their lotions and oils and perfumes wrapped in silk; The Sheikh wanted them to stay soft, alluring, feminine. They rode in coaches in order to protect their delicate skin from the cruel suns.

Hunger gnawed at me and I smelled the unmistakable smell of bacon in the air. Instead of finding a cooking fire for some breakfast I hoped to see Jadda. I strolled over to a coach where several slave girls idled. They knew my name and welcomed my presence. All of them had the same tattoo on their ankle as the one I saw on Jadda's last night in the Sheikh's tent. The slaves flocked around me. A girl with thin straight blonde hair, small supple breasts with a golden ring in each nipple and extraordinary long legs seemed particularly glad to see me.

"Hi, Thwart," she cooed. To my surprise she kissed me deeply with an exploratory tongue. That tongue and her navel were also pierced. Brazenly she rubbed her body against mine, cupping me through the silk of my red loincloth. "I want to fuck you tonight," she said loudly enough for the rest of the girls to hear.

"I'll fuck him right now, Danae," laughed a slender redhead with a large bosom.

Without looking away Danae replied between kisses, "I get him first, bitch."

"If you go first he won't have any juice left in him," quipped another girl to gales of laughter.

"Watch out, Danae," warned the redhead, "there's Jadda."

I soon learned how competitive the slave girl business is. I tried to pull away from Danae. She squeezed me tighter, kissed me more intimately and stroked me though my loincloth. My arousal made itself evident to anyone who cared to look. All the girls giggled when Jadda cursed. She grabbed a fistful of Danae's flaxen hair and slapped her face. The giggling turned to cheering as the two girls wrestled on the ground punching at each other. The rest of the slaves began yelling like men at a boxing match. When I tried to separate the two Jadda struck my jaw and kicked at my groin, causing me to jump back defensively.

I crashed into the side of a camel. The beast spat on me and attempted to stamp me with its big padded paws. I tripped on my scabbard and spent the next ignominious moments scrambling for safety. Several men witnessed my mad dodging, among them Kyle. Hoots of laughter filled the air. Jadda and Danae still fought and a crowd gathered around them. Men placed bets on the outcome. I hurled burly warriors aside like paper dolls trying to reach the girls and stop the fight.

Above the din came the ferocious crack of a bullwhip and silence fell. Even Jadda and Danae ceased struggling in the grass. The Sheikh strode onto the scene in his burnoose and the masses parted for him. He stood over the two girls with his whip. I reached for the haft of my sword and a strong black hand clamped my wrist before I could draw.

"Man, you better calm down!" Namtor hissed in my ear.

I wrenched my hand free. I was good and mad after what had happened. "I refuse to stand by and let him horsewhip those girls."

"You're a damned fool, Walker," he uttered under his breath.

"My name is Thwart," I snapped.

Steely-eyed stare: "That's not what you said yesterday."

No one paid him or me any attention while the tableau with the Sheikh unfolded. I saw him coiling his whip.

"See, my friend? He's not going to spoil his merchandise by flaying the hide off of them."

Namtor was right. The Sheikh kicked at them, cursing like a sailor, but he clearly had no intention of whipping them. He dispersed the crowd and did nothing more than chastise Jadda and Danae. "You two will be punished tonight after we set up camp. Now get into separate coaches and stop the bickering."

Without a word the slave girls rushed to obey.

I turned back to Namtor: "Why did you call me Walker just now?"

"Relax, I was joking with you, man. What's gotten into you?"

"I was just made a fool of!" I said, more harshly than I wanted to.

"Here comes the Sheikh; let's continue this discussion later," whispered Namtor.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .