The Rebel of Rhada Read Online Free Page B

that way, old one. I am Sarissa--a star king. How could what you say be true?”
    “Here, Tallan,” the old man said pleadingly. “Here in this workshop--”
    “No.”
    “Tallan?” A puzzled twist of the head.
    “I said that you imagined it, Grandfather. I let you imagine it because it amused me. But tonight it does not amuse me.”
    Kelber felt his old heart flutter. He suddenly realized his danger.
    Tallan said, “I warned Landro that you were an old fool. I told him that he would get no weapons from you.” He smiled grimly. “You know only the Book of Warls, and there are no weapons there.”
    “I never claimed it,” the warlock muttered. “The Warls tell of things that were. Men must find for themselves. I know--”
    “What, exactly, do you know?” Tallan said scornfully. “Landro asked for weapons, and you spent his money on this.” He pushed again at the racked, inert cyborg with a booted foot. “I should call the patrolmen.”
    The old man grew crafty. “That you’ll never do--king.” He came down hard on the last word, for he did remember now, he was sure that he remembered Tallan lying just there, on that same rack-- When, how long ago? He couldn’t recall, but it was so, and his voice filled with irony and emotion because Tallan, who wore the harness of a star king, who threatened his life, was not even a man.
    The warleader’s eyes narrowed speculatively.
    The old man’s arrogance increased, expanded dangerously. But he was too angry and confused to be prudent. “The people fear you,” he said. “They call you The Unknown. But I know you, Tallan, star king, great war-leader-- I know you.”
    Tallan said thoughtfully, “Perhaps you do, Grandfather. Perhaps, after all, you do--”
    The old warlock’s mind veered wildly back to his obsession. “Then help me,” he demanded heedlessly. “Tell Landro I need power--more equipment-- Tell him I want--” He stopped suddenly because Tallan had moved across the room and stood over him now, towering, darkly menacing.
    “The trouble with knowledge-seekers,” Tallan said quietly, “is their fanaticism. They can’t be controlled, and when that happens, old man, their usefulness is at an end. Sometimes they are even so unwise as to threaten their protectors.”
    The old warlock’s breath began to come in short, labored gasps. It had been years since he had known real fear, and he could scarcely recognize it now. But his mouth was dry, and his body trembled as he shrank back, back, until his shoulders touched the cold stones of the wall.
    “Every living thing,” Tallan said, “has the instinct of self-preservation, the need to destroy what threatens it. Every living thing, Grandfather. You taught me that yourself. Do you remember?”
    Kelber blinked. He could feel his ancient heart pounding and leaping within his chest like an imprisoned animal. Had he taught Tallan? Yes, of course he had. He could remember now the great naked shape stirring with first life, the first childlike weeks with a lifetime of knowledge to impart in six months, a year. He learned so quickly, so well, not like a human child at all. And there had been times when he had wished, with all his old man’s human heart, that the cyborg could learn to love, to be a son, to be a man. But, of course, it never came to that. And he could recall the great strength, the power, and the training for war, and the slashing climb through the shattered ranks of the bandit captains who tried to hold Sarissa then. What chance had they against Tallan? Gods of space, what chance had he, Kelber, now?
    Suddenly, the smell of the marshes was strong in his old nostrils, and life seemed very precious, even this doddering, failing life. “Tallan,” he said shrilly, “Tallan-- no-- no--”
    But the great warman had struck one strong blow with a fist of mail. The old man’s head was flung back against the stones of the wall with a sickening sound of crushing bone.
    For a time, Tallan stood