Free The Usurper by John Norman Page A

hypocrite; the lion who tries to be a lamb is a fool; the lion who thinks he is a lamb is insane.”
    Filene was silent.
    I am a free woman, she said to herself.
    â€œYou are to please the barbarian well,” said Nissimi. “If he is not pleased, and well pleased, you may expect to be punished.”
    â€œI understand,” said Filene. “Do I pass Mistress’ inspection?”
    â€œYou have the appearance of doing so,” said Nissimi.
    â€œThen,” said Filene, “that is all that is required.”
    â€œWhat a naive little fool you are,” said Nissimi.
    â€œMay I proceed?” asked Filene. “May I be on my way?”
    â€œYes,” had said Nissimi.
    â€œI will hope to do well,” had said Filene, rising.
    â€œAnd I,” had said Nissimi, “have a hope, as well, that you will survive.”
    It was with trepidation, indeed, that Filene entered the tent chamber of the barbarian, reached by means of closed, warmed tunnels from the main tent. It had, she noted, an opening, twice sealed, as she determined, to the outside, as well. That she did not doubt was to facilitate her withdrawal from the chamber, without again traversing the passages she had followed to reach the chamber. Corelius, or a confederate, she supposed, would be stationed outside that opening, to spirit her quickly to the waiting, warmed hoverer. She could grasp a fur about her, and make her way, barefoot, through the snow, the few yards to one of the hoverers. Then, wrapped in a fur, she would be on her way through the winter night, over the dark, leafless treetops, to Venitzia.
    At that point, she had no more than conjectured the likely location of the knife.
    Her heart was beating rapidly, and she fought to breathe normally.
    Was she, upon reflection, she wondered, the appropriate instrument of Iaachus, to accomplish this act?
    She must rely on his judgment, his astuteness and cunning.
    The barbarian, aware to some extent of the weight and danger of imperial matters, the hazards of intrigues, the possibilities of plots, the menaces likely to be found in the corridors of power, might well be on his guard against a male of the empire, or, perhaps, even another barbarian, particularly if not of his own tribe.
    Surely a man would be better suited to this business, thought Filene to herself. Why not Corelius, Lysis, or another?
    Could not a man, with one blow, sink even a long, broad blade to the hilt in a back or chest?
    She was not sure she could drive even so slim and fine a blade to the hilt in a man’s body, not that it would be necessary.
    The slightest scratch would suffice.
    But Iaachus would know best.
    Who could bring himself to suspect a naked, unarmed slave girl, introduced so naturally, as a furnished pleasure, a gesture of hospitality, into a guest’s bed chamber?
    Too, perhaps Corelius, Lysis, Phidias, and such, if all were fellow conspirators in this business, must avoid, to the extent possible, being implicated in the matter. Indeed, her pilot to Venitzia might not even be one of them. Another, a lesser fellow, would do, assigned to deliver her to Venitzia. In that way, Phidias, Corelius, and others, might pretend to dismay and consternation when, in the morning, the results of her work would be discovered. She could even be secreted on the Narcona , awaiting their return to the ship. She did not know how matters might proceed. She knew only her own part, what she must do. Perhaps all conspirators might flee the camp, disabling other vehicles, abandoning their fellows to Heruls or vengeful Otungs.
    She regarded the couch; it was broad, and deeply furred. Two furs, as well, were scattered on the floor, at its foot. Could the knife be hidden there? Surely not. It must reside beneath the furs on the surface of the couch, where the barbarian would doubtless expect to make use of her. Was she not extraordinarily beautiful? She was not the sort of slave, surely, who would be used