Casca: The Assassin by Barry Sadler

Author:Barry Sadler
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Tags: Historical Fantasy
ISBN: 9780515099119
Publisher: eBooks
Published: 0101-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

13 The Assasin

CHAPTER TEN

“Hmm . . .”

The Emir of Apnea prided himself on his “creative” and “imaginative” approach to torture. Not for him the humdrum and obvious. For such a pleasant hobby one must think of a pleasant approach, must not one? So he studied the rather forlorn and obviously drunk Casca carefully with four of his soldiers holding him, two at each side. Symmetry, the Emir thought idly.

The parade had halted. And, though the street was filled with the procession and lined with the crowd, there was relative silence now that the Emir had dis­mounted from his horse and waddled over to the olive tree to personally inspect the stupid dog who had had the temerity to try to assassinate him. The Emir waddled because he was a short, fat, roly-poly little man with a big butt. He was wearing his ornate robes of state, and the net result was that he looked like a very, very fancy big duck. The crowd was quiet because they knew they’d damn well better be. Casca had his mouth shut because he didn’t have anything to say right now.

“Hmm . . .” Again the Emir grunted. He was con­sidering possibilities. Like most men of his race he let his mind work on several levels at the same time, delighting most in the devious passageways to his objective. This Assassin, now . . . why not use him to make a laughing stock out of old Eagle-Face Hassan? “Hmm . . .” Hassan’s minion had gotten drunk and bungled the job. Hardly a credit to an “invincible” Hassan. So why not — for the crowd’s sake (and Has­san’s reputation) — turn it into one big joke?

But how?

Inspiration came to the Emir, and he smiled, his small pig’s eyes glittering. He called one of his aides to him, pointed at the metalworker’s shop down the street, and whispered instructions in the man’s ear. The secrecy was not necessary, but the Emir thought it a nice theatrical touch for the crowd.

He turned his attention to Casca. This luckless one wore the five-day beard of the two-day drunk; he was pretty shaggy.

“So . . . Hassan al Sabah sends me a hairy dog. I must repay him in opposite fashion. It is symmetry. It is Allah’s law of opposites.” Then to the soldiers: “Strip him!”

They pulled the Sufi robes from him, and had Casca down to his loincloth.

“That, too.”

What the hell has the little bastard in mind? Casca thought. He was getting sober fast. He was also get­ting ready to try to get the hell away from here.

“Now, tie his right hand to that branch.”

That was when Casca started his kick. His legs were still free, so-

Unfortunately, while the captain of the Emir’s guard did not know the fighting methods Shiu Tze had taught Casca, he did know prisoners, and before Casca could get started, the broad shaft of a jirad was between his legs.

“Now, the other hand to that branch.” The Emir pointed. Then, “Left leg there.

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