Rebel of Antares Read Online Free PDF

imagine the Empress Thyllis deposed and Prince Nedfar installed as king and emperor? The war would end then, instantly. Vallia and Hamal could shake the right hand of friendship and turn to the more pressing problems of the reivers from over the curve of the world, the dark cloud of horror that threatened all these bright lands of Paz on this side of Kregen.
    I harbored the suspicion that Tyfar’s sense of honor would prevent him from raising his hand against his empress.
    Feeling cautious, I said, “It is said in many of the old writings that a man’s allegiance to his country must outweigh any friendship for an individual.” Tyfar remained unresponsive. “Other wise men say that friendship overrides all other considerations. Does loyalty without friendship constitute reason enough?”
    “Loyalty—” Tyfar would have gone on, but Jaezila burst out passionately: “I hate this stupid war. Thyllis should have had her backside slapped when she was younger, been made to realize a few things.”
    “Now, Zila...” Tyfar was not so much outraged as amused. I perked up. For a high and mighty prince of Hamal that was a good sign. And Tyfar was no high and mighty prince in that petty and world-weary way; he was alive and eager and filled with the conviction that, as the gods had seen fit to make him a prince, he was obliged to honor that position of trust.
    We had talked up the east boulevard heading west, toward the somber bulk of the Arena. The outer courts of the Jikhorkdun would at this hour still be crammed with throngs seeking a continuation of the thrills of blood and death, catching a glimpse of their favorite kaidur, seeing an animal trainer, doing business with a slaver, organizing the eternal wagers, perhaps taking up swords and venturing into small practice rings to pit strength and skill against professionals.
    Now shouts lifted at our backs and we turned about, wary and alert to possible danger. It was just a miserable coffle of arena fodder, being prodded along toward their destinies.
    “Klactoils,” said Tyfar. His face expressed a distaste I knew to be for the institution of the Arena and which people who did not know him and reacted as the common run of folk react would have taken for disgust at these chalk-white Klactoils. A strange kind of diff, the Klactoil, parchment white, only around three feet tall, with a thick ridged array of spines down the backbone and a walloping great tail that could take your ankles off. There is a fishy look to a Klactoil’s face quite different from most of the faces of Paz. They keep themselves to themselves in out-of-the-way places, ruins like the Lily City Klana were infested with them. It was said — and at the time I was not aware any more than anyone else of the truth of the saying — that they were either a decadent remnant of a marooned band of marauding Shanks from over the curve of the world or else and more darkly a product of miscegenation of Shanks and some doomed race now long extinct.
    Whatever the truth of that, these Klactoils were whipped and prodded along the boulevard headed for the Arena. The guards did not spare their whips. Most of the time I noticed that the lashes fell relatively harmlessly across that barrier ridge of spines along the diffs’ backbones.
    “Let the bosks at them!” a fat man declaimed, licking his lips. “That’ll be rare sport!” He watched, safely away from them.
    “No,” disagreed his companion, nudging him. “Let the chavonths chew them up.”
    “If you ask me—” said a thin woman with a down-drawn mouth, one or other of the men being unfortunate enough to claim her for wife. “If you ask me, they should be tied two and two, and then tied two and two, until there is only one left.”
    “Yes?”
    “
Then
let your bosks or your chavonths at him.”
    Jaezila made a disgusted sound, and we walked on. No, the institution of the Jikhorkdun in Huringa, the capital of Hyrklana, was not a pretty affair at all.
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