The Diamond Bogo by Robert F. Jones

Author:Robert F. Jones
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: e9781634508872
Publisher: Skyhorse Publishing
Published: 2015-01-16T16:00:00+00:00

19

PRIAPIC PIPSQUEAK

Some shvantzes, thought Buck. So that’s where all the legends of Priapus come from. They’re an old, old people, sure enough, but they just as sure ain’t us. Bucky had regained consciousness halfway up the scarp, his head split with pain from the knobkerrie blow, gagging with the hurt of it, feeling the rawhide thongs cutting into his wrists and ankles with every lurching step of his bearers. One of the Tok had stuffed a wad of bitter herbs into his mouth and aped a chewing motion. Buck chewed—what the hell, he thought—and felt the pain ease quickly. Even the bonds no longer hurt.

Hanging head backward, he saw Dawn, trussed as he was, bouncing along just ahead of him, head uphill, her pert, pear-shaped butt swaying to the pole ride. At least she wasn’t screaming. At the top of the scarp, the Tok had unbound them, then resecured their wrists and ankles with loose hobbles that permitted a reasonable walking stride and hand movement, but precluded any attempt at escape or attack. With the herb still at work in him, Buck felt pretty good, back on his pins, headache gone, enjoying the cool beat of the rain, the sweeter, greener smell of the high plain. It was dark now, but the ground underfoot seemed smooth and well worn, a wide game trail no doubt. The Tok trudged along all around them, straight-walking little men, their huge heads wobbling, top-heavy, as they plugged along. The tallest of them only came to Dawn’s shoulder, yet they were all heavily muscled, deep of chest and broad of shoulder, with narrow hips and melonlike, protuberant buttocks. Most of them had leather slings wrapped around their foreheads and waists. Some wore animal hides—bushbuck, serval cat, what looked like lesser kudu—over their shoulders, but otherwise were stone naked. Yeah, Buck thought, stone naked—with those weird dinguses of theirs waving in the breeze. Strange damned phenomenon. But that’s the source of the legends, I’ll bet.

“Priapus,” he said aloud. Dawn, stumbling ahead of him, turned her head and stared back. He explained his theory, but she was beyond hearing. Her eyes were dull, her steps automatic.

“Did they give you any of that weed to eat?” Buck asked her. She shook her head, then tripped over her hobbles and almost fell. Bucky whistled and two of the Tok looked over at him. He mimicked eating and pointed to the skin pouches on their hip belts, then at Dawn. One of them nodded and took a handful of the weed from his pouch.

“Chew it up and swallow the juice,” Bucky told her. “It’s bitter, but it will take away the weariness. They gave me some on the way up the hill and I feel like I had twelve hours’ sleep. Come on, try it.”

She chewed as they walked, choking once on the bitter leaves and stems but getting most of it down. The Tok who had given her the weed smiled—a wide, thin-lipped, even-toothed smile, not a Dracula fang in the mouthful, Bucky thought—then patted her on the shoulder and clicked.

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