Warlord of Kor Read Online Free Page B

row.
    Rynason settled back into his chair. “Don't shout. I'm going to have a headache soon enough.”
    Malhomme took the chair which Manning had vacated and sat in it heavily. He set his hand-lettered placard against the edge of the table and leaned forward, waving a thick finger.
    “You consort with men who would enslave the pure in heart!” he rumbled, but Rynason didn't miss the laughter in his eye.
    “Manning?” he nodded. “He'd enslave every pure heart on this planet, if he could find one. As a matter of fact, I think he's already working on Mara here.”
    Malhomme turned to her and sat back, appraising her boldly. Mara met his gaze calmly, raising her eyebrows slightly as she waited for his verdict.
    Malhomme shook his head. “If she's pure, then it's a sin,” he said. “A thrice-damned sin, Lee. Have I ever expostulated to you upon the Janus-coin that is good and evil?”
    “Often,” Rynason said.
    Malhomme shrugged and turned again to the girl. “Nevertheless,” he said, “I greet you with pleasure.”
    “Mara, this is Rene Malhomme,” Rynason said wearily. “He imagines that we're friends, and I'm afraid he's right.”
    Malhomme dipped his shaggy head. “The name is from the Old French of Earth—badman. I have a long and dishonorable family history, but the earliest of my ancestors whom I've been able to trace had the same name. Apparently there were too many Smiths, Carpenters, Bakers and Priests on that world—the time was ripe for a Malhomme. My first name would have been pronounced Reh-
nay
before the language reform dropped all accent marks from Earth tongues.”
    “Considering your background,” Mara smiled, “you're in good company out here.”
    “Good company!” Malhomme cried. “I'm not looking for good company! My work, my mission calls me to where men's hearts are the blackest, where repentance and redemption are needed—and so I come to the Edge.”
    “You're religious?” she asked.
    “Who
is
religious in these days?” Malhomme asked, shrugging. “Religion is of the past; it is dead. It is nearly forgotten, and one hears God's name spoken now in anger. God damn you, cry the masses!
That
is our modern religion!”
    “Rene wanders around shouting about sin,” Rynason explained, “so that he can take up collections to buy himself more to drink.”
    Malhomme chuckled. “Ah, Lee, you're shortsighted. I'm an unbeliever, and a black rogue, but at least I have a mission. Our scientific advance has destroyed religion; we've penetrated to the heavens, and found no God. But science has not
dis
proved Him, either, and people forget that. I speak with the voice of the forgotten; I remind people of God, to even the scales.” He stopped talking long enough to grab the arm of a passing waiter and order a drink. Then he turned back to them. “Nothing says I have to
believe
in religion. If that were necessary, no one would preach it.”
    “Have you been preaching to the Hirlaji?” Rynason asked.
    “An admirable idea!” Malhomme said. “Do they have souls?”
    “They have a god, at least. Or used to, anyway. Fellow named Kor, who was god, essence, knowledge, and several other things all rolled into one.”
    “Return to Kor!” Malhomme said. “Perhaps it will be my next mission.”
    “What's your mission now?” Mara asked, smiling in spite of herself. “Besides your apparently lifelong study and participation in sin, I mean.”
    Malhomme sighed and sat back as his drink arrived. He dug into the pouch strung from his waist and flipped a coin to the waiter. “Believe it or not, I have one,” he said, and his voice was now low and serious. “I'm not just a lounger, a drifter.”
    “What are you?”
    “I am a spy,” he said, and raised his glass to drain half of it with one swallow.
    Mara smiled again, but he didn't return it. He sat forward and turned to Rynason. “Manning has been busily wrapping up the appointment for the governorship here,” he said. “You probably