The Scorpion God: Three Short Novels Read Online Free PDF Page A

turning to sheer desperation. As she went into each new figure of the dance, she prolonged it, as if to enforce the invitation by sheer strength. She gleamed with more than unguents.
    This was hard on the musicians. The harpist raked at the strings with the insistence of a woman rubbing out meal between two stones. The reed player’s eyes were crossed. Only the drummer beat easily, changing hands now and then, using two sometimes, sometimes only one. Along the tables, the talk was of checkers or hunting.
    “Your move, Head Man.”
    The Head Man shook his head and the dicing sticks at the same time. The Liar, greatly daring, was tugging at the God’s skirt for attention. The last shawl had come off Pretty Flower. She was naked and shining except for her jewels. Her mouth, drawn down at the corners in a stylized grimace of desire, had set round her gleaming teeth. She went into her last figure. This began at the other end of the hall, and brought her—the music commanding it and giving it power—in a series of convulsions down the whole length. Every few yards it threw her into display, arms out, knees apart, belly thrust forward. It brought her down the hall from a Now to a Now to a Now. Her thighs struck the God who struck the checker board and the ivory pieces flew in every direction. The God jerked back angrily and stared up.
    “Do you mind ?”
    Then there was silence along the tables, silence from the collapsed musicians, silence from the dais where the ivory pieces had ceased to roll, and the only things that moved were the breasts of Pretty Flower. She fell, collapsed on the floor of the hall, face downward.
    Great House moved, the anger dying out of his face. He passed the back of his hand across his forehead.
    “Oh yes. Of course. I forgot.”
    He swung his legs off the couch and sat on the edge.
    “You know, I——”
    “Yes, Great House?”
    Great House looked down at his daughter.
    “Very good, my dear. Most exciting.”
    The Head Man leaned close.
    “Well then——”
    The Liar was hopping and desperate, between Pretty Flower and the couch.
    “You must, Great House! You must!”
    Great House had either hand laid on the couch beside him. He braced his hands, stiffening the muscles of his arms. He drew himself up, drew his stomach in, so that some faint indication of a muscled torso appeared beneath the quivering thickness. He stayed so for a few moments.
    “Great House—please! Dear Great House!”
    The God let out his breath. His eyes unfocused. His body slumped between slackened arms and his insides bulged out slowly into a smooth and rounded belly. He spoke flatly.
    “I couldn’t.”
    The sound of indrawn breath was like the flyby hiss of a monstrous arrow. Not a face in the hall but stared down. Not a finger or an eye but was motionless.
    Suddenly Pretty Flower scrambled to her feet. She hid her face in her hands and fled shuddering and stumbling down the length of the hall and the curtains swung together behind her.
    A young man came hurrying from the shadows at the back of the dais. He bent and whispered in the God’s ear.
    “Oh yes. I’ll come now.”
    The God got to his feet and the hall rustled as everyone else got to their feet too; but all faces still stared down, all mouths were silent. Great House followed the young man through the shadows and out into the open. Over the courtyard night was growing heavy at the zenith, oozing down and uncovering a myriad skypeople as it came. Beneath the creeping night and nearer to the horizon the sky was lighter blue, fragile, hardly able to bear the impending weight. Great House paused only to glance round at the fragility, whistled softly, then hurried to one of the four corners. He muttered to the young men as he went.
    “I’ve cut it fine tonight, haven’t I?”
    In the corner was a low altar built against the wall. Great House cleaned himself with holy water as he gazed round him apprehensively at the darkening sky. He dropped a pinch of