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conditioned against it that the very thought of it paralyzed them. No hard
neural paths had been set up against the action of violence; it was just that,
philosophically speaking, they loathed the concept. Fortunately, there was a
philosophy of the body, too, a much older and deeper one. And while it was true
that man could no more live without philosophy of the mind than he could without
bread, it had no place in Green at present. The fiery breath that flooded his
body now and made him so sensitive to what a fine thing it was to be alive while
death was knocking at the door did not rise from any mental abstraction or
profound meditation.
Green rolled back the carpets that led from the room to the balcony, for he
wanted a firm footing if it became necessary to make a running broad jump from
the balcony in an effort to clear the walk below and drop into the moat. He'd
have to have very good timing and do everything just right the first time, like
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a parachute jump, otherwise he'd end up with broken bones on the hard stones
below.
Not that he was going to make that leap unless he just had to. But he was
leaving an avenue open if his other measures didn't work.
Again he ran to the bureau and drew out a large bag of gunpowder, weighing
at least five pounds. In the open end of this he inserted a fuse, and tied the
neck around it, While he was doing this, he heard shouts and cheers as the
soldiers returned to the door, picked up their ram and hurled themselves at the
thick planking. He did not bother shooting again but instead lit the fuse with a
candle. Then he walked to the large door, pushed out the small dog's door and
tossed the bag through it. He jumped back and ran, though there was little
chance that the resultant explosion would harm the door.
There was a silence as the soldiers were probably staring paralyzed at the
smoking fuse. Then--a roar! The room shook, the door fell in, blasted off its
hinges, and black smoke poured in. Green ran into the cloud, got down on all
fours, scuttled through the doorway, cursed desperately when the hilt of his
sword caught on the doorframe, tore loose and lunged through into the dense
smoke that filled the anteroom. His groping hands felt the ram where it had
dropped, and the wet warm face of a soldier who'd fallen. He coughed sharply
from the biting fumes but went on until his head butted into the wall. Then he
felt to his right, where he imagined the door was, came to it, passed through
and on into the next room, also filled with a cloud. After he'd scuttled like a
bug across its floor, he dared to open his eyes for a quick look. The smoke was
thinner and was pouring out the door to the hallway, just in front of him. He
saw no feet in the clearer area between the floor and the bottom of the clouds,
so he rose and walked through the door. To his left, he knew, the hall led to a
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stairway that was probably now jammed with soldiers. To his right would be
another stairway that went up to the Duke's apartments. That was the only way he
could go.
Luckily the smoke was still so dense in the corridor that those assembled
on the left staircase couldn't see him. They'd think he was in the Duchess's
rooms yet, and he hoped that when they did rush it and didn't find him there the
rolled-back carpets would give them the idea that he'd taken a running broad
jump from the balcony. In which case, they'd at once search the moat for him.
And if they didn't find him swimming there, as they wouldn't, then they might
presume he'd either drowned or else got to the shore and was now somewhere in
the darkness of the city.
He felt along the wall toward the staircase, his other hand gripping the
stiletto. When his fingers ran across the arm of a man leaning against the wall,
he withdrew them at once, bent his knees and in a crouching position ran in the
general direction of the stairs. The smoke got even thinner here so that he saw
the steps in time to avoid falling over them. Unfortunately the Duke and another
man were also there. Both saw his figure emerge into the torchlight from the
clouds, but he had the advantage of knowing who he was, so that he had plunged
the thin stiletto into the soldier's throat before he could act. The Duke tried
to leap past Green, but the Earth-man stuck a leg out and tripped him. Then he
grabbed the ruler's arm, twisted it behind his back, forced him up and on his
knees and, using the arm as a cruel lever, raised him. He enjoyed hearing the
Duke moan, though he'd never consciously taken pleasure in pain before. He had
time to think that perhaps he liked this because of the torture the Duke had
inflicted on his many helpless victims. Of course, he, Green, a highly civilized
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man, shouldn't be feeling this way. But the rightness or wrongness of an emotion
never kept anybody from experiencing it.
"Up you go!" he said in a low, harsh voice, directing the Duke toward his [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]