"I think the old fool has ingested too much rhino horn," spat the Sheikh, "but do as he says."
I knew it foolish to object, any protest of the charade would be overruled.
Vananella climbed out of the saddle. She stripped off her bottoms and pulled the top over her head. Men voiced their approval on both sides of the temple walls. She hung her clothes from her saddle horn, stepped timidly forward, separating herself from the men on horseback. Picking her way through the grass, naked in the fog, elevated her beauty: the weight of her ripening breasts, the slope of her belly, her rounded pudenda, saucy bottom and long slender legs. Her buttocks quivered deliciously with every step she took. She stopped next to one of the rhinoceros statues in the garden. From there she and the man on the ramparts conducted a tense conversation. At times Vananella spoke sharply. Even in a foreign language I understood her to be arguing with him. So did the Sheikh. He acted like it was my fault.
"The little bitch is going to get us killed if she doesn't keep a civil tongue in her head."
"She's negotiating," I said.
"I'm warning you, Thwart, she better not ruin this parlay."
"Are you threatening me, Sheikh?"
He scowled at me. I expected words with him, but Vananella ran back to the statue and threw her arms around me.
Her entire body shivered nervously.
"Are you all right?" I asked.
"What were you saying to them?" the Sheikh asked angrily.
"They have agreed to meet with you."
Before the Sheikh said anything we heard the grating of metal and the big temple gate creaked open halfway. From the ramparts the men descended and filed through the opening. They walked through the garden to where Vananella had stood and stopped. The hoods of their robes were down, they had sleek black hair and bronzed skin. All had young faces except for the spokesman, a wizened old man. They held their scrolls and their bamboo tubes at their sides, their knives and swords sheathed. I counted eleven of them.
"They're meeting us in the middle," the Sheikh said. "Namtor, have a few men dismount and follow us out there. Thwart, bring the saddlebags from my horse." He took Vananella's hand. "Come with me, dear, we're going back to meet with them and talk."
The man in the burnoose led the naked girl forward, three warriors and Namtor right behind them. I unhitched the saddlebags, they weighed a lot. The Sheikh was willing to spend much gold to regain the vigor of his youth. Our delegation met their delegation. After introductions and an exchange of salutations Vananella was instructed to ask about a potency elixir.
"What is that?" she asked the Sheikh.
"Just tell them," he said.
"I have to know what you want, so I can make them understand."
The Sheikh had to get into more personal detail than he'd rather divulge. I tried not to smile while he patiently explained the problem for Vananella to translate, barely keeping a lid on his fury. Finally she conveyed the message and struck a deal. The Sheikh wanted ten liters of elixir; they wanted three kilos of gold. From the way they kept licking their chops I'm certain they wanted Vananella too, especially the old one. The saddlebags lay at my feet, my hand rested on the guard of my sword.
The simple deal had its complications. The Sheikh demanded proof that he wasn't buying rainwater. The old man offered to verify the effects of the elixir whereupon he removed his robe. A stoppered vial hung from a silver necklace. He displayed how limp and uninspired he was, manipulating his flaccidity to no avail.
The Sheikh barked, "Vananella, parade your nudity in front of the old man. Arouse him."
She protested, "I don't want to touch him!"
"By the seven gray gods you don't have to touch him. Try to excite him."
"But how?"
"Pose suggestively for him," the Sheikh said, "show him what he wants to see."
Vananella stretched and undulated like a slave girl attempting to entice a man to pick her to spend the night in his tent. Appreciative murmurs accompanied her performance and emboldened her to allow generous glimpses of the intimate slopes and valleys of her flesh. Her display had no effect on the limp old man although the same could not be said of me. Out of disappointment Vananella finally grasped and stroked his limpness as her finale.
"He's hopeless," she pronounced.
She released him, backed a few steps away. The old man spoke to her.
Vananella translated for the Sheikh: "He wants to know if you believe he is incapable of being excited."
"That almost got a rise out of me," the Sheikh complimented her. "Tell him I believe him."
The old man babbled at Vananella. Her interpretation was, "He will now drink the elixir to remedy his social embarrassment."
He uncorked the vial on the slender chain around his neck and swallowed half the clear liquid it contained. Within moments he appeared as potent as a young lad, without visual or tactile stimulation. The Sheikh was impressed and took the vial when the old man handed it to him. He downed it like a Brandy neat. Then he lifted his burnoose to bare his own flaccid malady.
"Take me in your hand, Vananella."
She formed the word no on her lips, but a look from his hypnotic eyes silenced her. Tentatively she reached toward him.
The situation deteriorated deplorably for me over the last ten minutes. I didn't care greatly for the way things were going, but now was not the time to let Thwart's rebellious passions take over in a maelstrom of bloodletting. While gritting my teeth I had a premonition of disaster. But I put down the thought to only being impetuous. With ten to one odds in our favor, what could go wrong? I fought the urge to snatch Vananella and flee. Then a lot happened at once. The old man dropped swiftly to his knees, got his blow-gun to his lips and a mist swam about the Sheik's head. Vananella ducked in time, but the distracted Sheikh had been caught with his pants down. Behind the old man four others stepped in close to our party and unleashed the mist from their bamboo weapons. The Sheikh toppled. I avoided the fumes, others did not. Namtor fell next, along with two more. The old man sprang to his feet and threw the cringing Vananella over one shoulder. Seven robed men advanced with their steel drawn. My sword struck twice before I knew it was out of its scabbard. I went headlong after the old man who retreated with surprising quickness. Maybe the elixir enhanced all kinds of strength. As I slammed against bodies and dodged sword jabs I saw the Sheikh being carried off through the garden. Fate, or maybe the seven gray gods, offered me a choice.
Vananella, or the Sheikh?
I sliced the top of a man's skull off and sprinted after the girl.
Where had the Sheikh's mercenary horsemen got to? Two dozen archers on the ramparts launched a thicket of arrows into our ranks. Then another volley. They probably decimated the Sheikh's riders, but I concentrated on Vananella. If they got her inside that temple she'd either come out dead, or never the same. Chaos erupted and no one paid me any mind after the hail of arrows. I overtook the old man easily, slashed murderously at the backs of his knees. He crashed down like a house of cards. I caught the girl under my left arm before he hit the dirt. I ran. I hoped to circle around various skirmishes among the statues, snare a few riderless ponies for our departure. My plan unraveled when two men in robes attacked us. Without the element of surprise they took more time to dispatch. The first one came in low, a knife in his hand. I kicked the sole of my foot into his face, crunching bone like eggshells. The second man whirled his sword. Our edges met three or four times. I left him with a nice incision across his stomach. He clawed to hold his entrails inside as I dashed for the horses.
Only two of the original eleven inhabitants of the temple escaped our steel, but those who survived had captured Namtor and the Sheikh. The gate shut behind them. They were prisoners inside the Temple of the Rhinoceros. Seven of our riders were dead, ten wounded. The others had moved out of arrowshot, but, with their leader gone, moped indecisively. They discussed their options. Should they drive the whole caravan onto the temple grounds and fight? Or had their terms of employment come to an end, releasing them from any trifling loyalties?
Keeping an eye out for archers, and the Sheikh's men, I recollected the saddlebags crammed with gold coins. They nestled forgotten in the tall grass where I'd left them, not many knew the contents of the bags anyway, but I was surreptitious as possible. Except for Namtor I might have ridden away with the gold and the girl. I got Vananella onto a pony, not the tame one she'd been accustomed to. We joined the discussion of the Sheikh's horsemen. In time of emergency they looked at me, not her.
I asked them, "Have you placed anybody in charge in the Sheikh's absence?"
They said no.
"I appoint myself," I said with authority. "Anyone wishing to desert is free to follow his own conscience. Those staying with the camp will follow me. Any arguments?"
There were none, no deserters either. I posted four riders at each corner of the temple so all sides could be watched. A minimum of two riders rode together at all times, if a matter needed tending to. Most of the wounded could still manage in the saddle, but some needed help. The rest of the riders I detailed to protect and aid the wounded on the way back to camp. They were to get the caravan headed this way, it would arrive this afternoon. An advance team of riders was promised in two or three hours with food and water. And reinforcements.
A few grumbled, but acquiesced.
No other alternatives presented themselves. I planned for the warriors to storm the temple although I didn't mention it then. I had other plans too, the best way to get Namtor and the Sheikh out alive was to get inside soon, very soon. They wouldn't be alive a few hours from now without outside help. And, what to do with Vananella? I couldn't take her into that deathtrap any more than I could just leave her to her own devices.
As the wounded rode away from the temple Vananella insisted upon interrupting my thinking, "You're in command now?"
"For the time being."
"Is the Sheikh dead? He fell right after inhaling the mist."
"I don't think they'd've bothered with him or Namtor if they were dead. More than likely they're just unconscious. They want them alive for some reason," I said, unsure if I believed it.
"They used sleeping powder in their blow-guns?"
"Sleeping powder or something like it."
"What are we going to do?"
"I'm going to have to get inside the Temple of the Rhinoceros."
"Pardon me," she smirked, "but have you taken leave of your senses?"
"I'm getting Namtor out of there."
