Tower of Zanid Read Online Free PDF Page B

attention. But tonight, nothing illegal seemed to be in progress. One uproar was plainly that of a woman quarreling with her jagain; another racket was caused by a drunken party.
    At its east end, Ya’fal Street bent sharply before opening out into the Square of Qarar. As Fallon neared this bend, he became aware of a noise from the square. The squad increased its gait and burst around the corner to find a crowd of Krishnans about the Fountain of Qarar and others hurrying up.
    The Square of Qarar (or Garar to use the Balhibo form of the name) was not square at all, but an elongated irregular polygon. In one end lay the Fountain of Qarar, from the midst of which the statue of the Heracleian hero towered up in the moonlight over the heads of the crowd. The sculptor had portrayed Qarar as trampling on a monster, strangling another with one hand, and clutching one of his numerous lady-loves with his other arm. At the other end of the square rose the tomb of King Balade, surmounted by a statue of the great king himself seated in a pensive attitude.
    Steel rang from the crowd’s interior, and the moons glinted briefly on blades appearing over the heads of the mass. From the crowd, Fallon caught an occasional phrase:
    “Spit the dirty Yeshtite!” “Ware his riposte!” “Keep your guard up!”
    “Come on,” said Fallon, and the four guardsmen strode forward, bills ready.
    “The watch!” yelled a voice.
    With amazing celerity, the crowd disintegrated, the duelling-fans running off in all directions to disappear into side-streets and alleys.
    “Catch me some witnesses!” cried Fallon, and ran toward the focus of the disturbance.
    As the crowd opened out, he saw that two Krishnans were fighting with swords beside the fountain—the heavy, straight cut-and-thrust rapiers of the Varasto nations.
    Out of the corner of his eyes Fallon saw Qone, one of his Krishnans, catch one runaway around the ankle with the hook of his bill and pounce upon his sprawling victim. Fallon himself bored in with the intention of beating down the fighters weapons.
    Before he arrived, however, one of the two—distracted by the interruption—glanced around and away from his antagonist.
    The latter instantly struck the first man’s sword a terrific beat and sent it spinning away across the cobbles. Then he bounded forward and brought his blade down upon the head of his antagonist.
    There goes one skull , thought Fallon. The Krishnan who had been struck fell backwards on the cobbles. His assailant stepped forward to run him through; the fatal thrust had started on its way when Fallon knocked the blade up.
    With a wordless cry of rage, the duellist turned upon Fallon. The latter was being forced back by a murderously reckless attack when Cisasa, the Osirian guardsman, caught the duellist around the waist from behind with his scaly arms and tossed the fellow into the fountain. Splash!
    Qone appeared at this point, dragging his witness by a fetter which he had snapped around the Krishnan’s neck. As the dunked duellist rose like a sea-god from the waters of the fountain, Cisasa took hold of him again, hoisted him out of the water, and shook him until his belligerence subsided.
    “This one iss trunk,” hissed the Osirian.
    The remaining Krishnan guardsman appeared at this point, panting and displaying a jacket dangling from the hook of his bill. “Mine slipped from my grasp, I grieve to say.”
    Fallon was bending over the corpse on the cobbles, which presently groaned and sat up, clapping hands to its bloody head. Examination showed that the folds of the fellow’s stocking-turban had cushioned the blow and reduced its effect.
    Fallon hauled the wounded Krishnan to his feet, saying: “This one’s drunk, too. What does the witness say?”
    “I saw all!” cried the witness. “Why did you trip me? I’d have come willingly. Always on the side of the law am I!”
    “I know,” said Fallon. “It was just an optical illusion that you were running