far better than they suited the name ‘horse,’ anyhow.
There were people in the fields, too—several areas were still being planted and others were being combed for weeds. The people were all distant, and mostly seemed to be dressed in simple tunics either white or yellow in color.
But my eye took all that in only for a few seconds. I scanned the scene from horizon to horizon, but the search for detail was cursory as my gaze was dragged back to the one impressive sight—the city.
It was built on a single hill, but like the one we had just climbed it was a large, rounded, shallow hill. It was, I think, too round. No natural hill grew with such geometrical precision. They had sculptured the landscape, moved the earth to create symmetry. Pure showmanship. They had obviously taken their flamboyant architectural gesture seriously. The outer wall seemed quite vast, curving away on either side and then back again, to disappear behind the main, upraised bulk of the city. It was white, and the chalky rock seemed to have been scrubbed clean very recently. It was forty feet high, and thick enough to carry a thoroughfare on its rim. We could see pedestrians, and even riders, making their way around the great perimeter.
We could see almost nothing of what went on behind the walls, but we could see each of the circles rising within one another, telescoped together like a set of cork borers.
Automatically, I counted.
There were seven.
The inmost and highest of all the circles may not have been a wall at all, but we could not see even from our position on top of the hill whether it was roofed over or not. It was too tall—we had to look up to it. It must have been the highest point for many miles. Protruding from somewhere within—or perhaps mounted on top of it—was a thin pylon. I assumed that it must be a lightning conductor.
“It’s not as big as Karen claimed,” commented Nathan.
“True,” I agreed. “She always did tend to overestimate the size of her thumbnail.”
“Five miles across,” he guessed.
“Maybe less by a few meters,” I said. “But you could pack a lot of people into it if you had a mind to. It’s built with quite a fair elevation.”
As I mentioned people I resumed my scan, picking out individuals in the fields. They were too far away for us to know whether they had seen us. Most of them appeared to be getting on with their work without so much as glancing in our direction.
But we had been seen in the city, at least. Through an arched gate facing us came a group of riders mounted on the “oxen” which seemed to serve every working purpose in the colony. They seemed slightly absurd—almost comical—but in all probability they would have found a horse equally strange, let alone a camel. The steeds did, in fact, cover the ground remarkably quickly. They were deer in the legs and shaggy yak mostly around the back. The males had horns that might have been borrowed from goats or sheep—coiled and ridged.
We continued on our way down the hill despite the fact that the welcoming committee was on its way. We reached the edge of the cultivated land and selected a pathway between the fields. By this time the approaching riders were much closer, and we could see them in more detail. What I saw didn’t exactly fill me with enthusiasm. The leader was dark-skinned, and wore a tunic that glittered somewhat in the sun—obviously not made from the same kind of material as the tunics worn by the other people in the fields. His companions seemed to me to be naked, though there was a peculiar black-striped effect visible around the upper parts of their bodies which put me in mind of war paint. This association was considerably helped by the fact that they were all—except the leader—carrying bows, with quivers of arrows slung across their backs.
“Looks like the prince and the palace guard,” I murmured. I had slowed down while observing this, and Nathan had to glance back to acknowledge it. By unspoken mutual consent we came to a halt, waiting.
The weird steeds continued their approach, and the black pattern that decorated the naked archers began to stand out even more clearly as a curious network, branching profusely from a center that was gathered about the neck and upper torso. Some of the branches extended out along the limbs to the hands and feet. It looked rather as if someone had drawn a map of the arterial circulatory system on the outside of each man’s skin. When they were closer still, I realized that the leader was similarly decorated, although the greater part of the decoration was, of course, concealed by his silvery tunic. His skin was very dark, but its apparent blackness was enhanced by the elaboration of the network around his head and over his skull. I realized that all the men were bald, and that the black pate which each of them boasted was in every case the contribution of the dendritic patina.
Briefly, I looked back over the fields, and even at the pedestrians on the city walls. They were too far away to make me certain, but I felt pretty sure that they, too, owed their dark heads to the same cause.
“I don’t think that’s paint,” said Nathan.
I didn’t, either.
Something was growing on their skins—something complex and ordered. The patterns were neatly drawn, the lines were precise. When they came even closer I could see the black stuff—where it was thickest—standing out from the skin in shallow ridges.
There were seven riders in all—six archers and the leader. The six reined in about fifty feet away, jostling for position slightly in the narrow lane. There was only room for two abreast, and they didn’t spread out to trample the green corn in the fields to either side. The leader came on alone, the whites of his eyes seeming strangely prominent in the black-capped, brown-skinned face. Two branches extended from the skullcap down between his eyes to run from either side of his prominent nose out into the cheeks, where they subdivided into tiny ramified webs. Thicker lines ran along his brow ridges, substituting for eyebrows. He seemed to have no bodily hair at all. When I glanced at the naked archers to seek confirmation of this impression I couldn’t see the slightest trace of pubic hair. But the distance was considerable, and I didn’t come to any immediate conclusion.
The dark man’s stare seemed distinctly hostile. I let my hands move away from my sides, and I held the palms open to emphasize their emptiness. Nathan did the same, rather more obtrusively.
As the dark man reined in his mount, he asked: “Do you understand me?” His English was slightly accented but otherwise quite clear. What surprised me, though, was the note of his voice. It was very high-pitched. I thought for one moment that I had jumped too soon to the conclusion that he was male.
There was nothing positive, now I came to look more closely, to identify either sex.
“I understand you,” said Nathan, in reply to his/her question.
“You are from Earth.” It was a statement rather than a question.
“Yes, we are,” said Nathan, slightly surprised.
“A bright meteor passed across the sky yesterday,” stated the high-pitched voice. “Visible even in daylight. It was your starship.”
“Yes,” said Nathan.
The man/woman kept the conversational initiative with consummate ease—Nathan never got a chance to develop his sophisticated and much-practiced opening patter. “You must not come to the city today,” he/she said. “The Self must be made aware of your coming. You must wait. How far away is your ship?”
“A few miles,” said Nathan, “but....”
Buts,
