"lmaro, Charles Saunders' first novel, is not

a paste-up of previously published short sto·

ries, but a true novel. It covers lmaro's origins,
youth and early career, introduchig you to a
whole new flavor of heroic fantasy, created by
a man who has obviously made a thorough
study of African mythologies. He is still devel­
oping as a prose stylist, but he has a gift for
characterization, a happy knack of esehewing
the obvious, and a born storyteller's instincts.
If, like me, you have enjoyed some heroic fan­
tasy in the past, but have been waiting for _some­
thing new to happen in the genre, this is it. I
look forward to more of lmaro and more from
Charlie Saunders."

-Tom Easton, Analog

 IMARO

Charles R. Saunders ·

D A W B 0 0 K S, I N c:
DONALD A. WOLLHEIM, PUBLISHER

1633 Broadway, New YorK, N.Y. 10019

 CoPYRIGHT©, 1981, BY CHA RLES R. SAUNDERs

All Rights Reserved.

Co ver art by Ke n W. Kelly.

Portions of this novel appeared in altered fonn in the fol­

lowing publications: Night Voyages, Dragonbane, Phantasy
Digest, Dark Fantasy, and The Year's Best Fantasy Stories.

DEDICATION:
To the greatest mother in the world-mine!

RRST PRINTING, NOVEMBER 1981

PlliNTED IN U.S.A.
 PROLOGUE

Among them will come

The Child of Wonder

And they will

Know him not.

-Prophecy
 A wann misty rain washed down on the small boy standing
motionless in tall yellow grass. Although he enjoyed the sen­
sation of rain on his skin, the boy's expression remained sol­
emn-too solemn for a child who had seen only five rains
wash the Tamburure. His height and breadth would have been
envied by a boy of seven rains' passing.
His mother stood a short distance behind him. She was a
tall, slender woman with iron in her backbone and fire in her
eyes. She wore a brief gannent of tanned antelope hide draped
over one shoulder. A large leather sack stuffed with dried
journey-food was slung over the other. A long spear rested
lightly in her hands. It was an arem, the spear of the Ilyassai.
Half its length consisted of razor-edged iron. With such spears
the Ilyassai ruled the vast yellow reaches of the Tamburure
plain.
The woman's mahogany-brown skin reflected a sheen of
beaded raindrops. Her face bore an expression as solemn as
her son's. They both knew that before this day was done, they
would not see each other again. The woman, who was called
Katisa, allowed her mind to drift in memory ....
Once before, Katisa had departed the Tamburure. Darkness
had cloaked her passing then, eight long rains ago. Katisa was
fleeing a forced marriage to Chitendu, who was the oibonok­
sorcerer and shaman to Ajunge, Spear-God of the Ilyassai.
Three rains later, she had returned, bearing a boy-child in her
anns. Upon her return, she had exposed Chitendu for what he
was: a servant of the Mashataan, the Demon Gods. The Ilyassai
had nearly slain the oibonok before he finally fled. Only his
sorcerous skills had saved him from death; since his departure,
no trace of him had been uncovered in all the Tamburure.
Katisa's face clouded as her memories grew darker. The
Ilyassai had not hailed her as a heroine for her deed. Far from

7.
8 Cltaries R. Smotder$
that-the infant she nursed bore mute witness to Katisa's. vi- tc
olation of the strictest of Ilyassai taboos. She had given birth si
to a child by a man who was not Ilyassai, a man she consistently
refused to name. The Ilyassai were as proud as they were
fierce; death was the fate of a woman who yielded to the touch
of a man who was not of their tribe, and death to the child as rr

well. It
Katisa had known this well when she returned. But she a
knew her return was necessary nonetheless, for the evil intlo- I<
ence of Chitendu must be forestalled. She knew her deed could
balance her transgression of taboo. That she could still never e
dwell among her people again she was well aware. But her son
must. Only the Ilyassai could impart the warskills he would
one day need. . .
. h
She had offered the Ilyassai an alternative. For the first five h
years of their lives, Ilyassai boys were cared for by their moth- I
ers. In the fifth rain, they were taken from their mothers to 1'
begin mafuruiishu-ya-muran, the arduous training that made
Ilyassai warriors feared by man and beast alike across the l1
Tamburure. Katisa proposed to remain with her son for the d
five rains all Ilyassai mothers were allowed. When the fifth
rain came, she would again exile herself from her people-
this time, forever.
In return, she had asked that the Ilyassai allow her son to
undergo mafurulishu-ya-muran; and, when he came of age,
olmaiyo. Olmaiyo was the final rite of manhood, in which
warriors-to-be proved their courage and skill by single-hand-
·

edly slaying Ngatun the lion.

The elders of the Ilyassai had weighed her request. Her
violation of taboo could not be forgotten. Neither could her
courage in confronting Chitendu, who had subtly steered them
along a path contrary to the Way of Ajunge. The elders decided
in favor of Katisa. Not all the Ilyassai agreed with that deci­
sion.....
The faroff roar of Ngatun brought Katisa's mind back to
the present. She shook her head sadly, reflecting on how swiftly
the rains had passed since her return to the .Tamburure. She
shut off the memories. To pursue them further would be to
play the lioness chasing impala that bounded disdainfully just
beyond her claws.
She looked at her son. Already his young body was hard
and powerful beyond its years. She had seen to that. She had
 iMARO 9
told him what was to come. He had accepted it with sullen
stoicism.
It is time, she decided.
"Imaro. Come," she said.
Slowly Imaro turned. He tilted his head upward to meet his
mother's gaze. As always, Katisa interposed a barrier of love­
lessness like a shield between herself and the son she had
always known she must leave. Thus, there was no warmth in
Katisa's eyes.. ..
Then something changed in her gaze-a sudden flicker of
emotion swift as the beat of a bird's wing against the sky.
She held out her hand to her son.
lmaro hesitated. Gestures like this had been all too rare, for
his mother had deliberately withheld her affection to prepare
him-and herself-for this day. Still, young though he was,
Imaro understood why Katisa reached out to him now. Stepping
forward, he placed his small hand in hers.
She held his hand tightly, but did not look at him while she
led him from the site of the manyatta they shared. As the
dome-shaped leather dwelling dwindled slowly in the rain�
misted distance, Katisa reflected bitterly on how far the elders
had demanded she live from the clustered manyattas of the rest
of the Ilyassai. She seldom took part in the activities of the
tribe. Even rarer were the times she brought lmaro among
them. This would be the last time she would see any of them.
Her only regret at that inevitable turn of events was walking
beside her.
The whisper of the rain subsided as they came within sight
of the manyattas, gray-brown domes rising like the backs of
elephants resting in the grass. Even through the warm, rain­
damp air, the smell of ngombe-cattle-reached their nostrils
in a pungent caress. The woman and boy could see the great
herds of ngombe, the meaning of the lives of the Ilyassai,
grazing placidly in their endless yellow forage.
Coming closer, they heard the sounds of the manyattas: the
metallic rasp of spear points being sharpened by warriors; the
craclding hiss of cooking fires newly started now that the rain
had passed; the shrill sound of children's laughter; the subdued
murmur of men and women in close conversation ... .
Katisa knew why the people were keeping their voices low.
They were talking about her and lmaro. She released her son's
hand. His face became a set mask, as did hers.
lO Charles R. Saunders
Together they strode past the outlying manyattas toward the
open space of stamped-down grass at the center of the ragged,
concentric circles of leather dwellings. Tall, whip-lean men
and women of red-brown hue watched mother and son go by.
The faces and bodies of the men were daubed in crimson ocher,
and their hair hung in thick plaits plastered with orange clay.
The heads of the women were shaved bald.
Katisa's thatch of wooly black hair set her apart from the
others as little else could. The women turned their faces from
her in open disdain.
Standing alone in the center of the open space, a warrior
of middle years awaited the two outcasts. He held his lean,
corded arms folded forbiddingly across his chest. A tall head­
gear formed from the mane of the lion he had slain long ago
on his olmaiyo complemented a face set in a stem, stony expres­
sion. This was Mubaku, ol-arem or First Spear of Katisa's clan
of the llyassai.
Tall enough to overbear Katisa, Mubaku gave her a fierce
glare. Calmly, she met the scorn naked in the ol-arem' s eyes.
Not looking up, Imaro stood impassively at his mother's side.
The rest of the clan began to gather in the open area: warriors
and women, children and elders. The tension that gathered
with them was as palpable as the rainbeads gleaming on their
skin.
"You know why I've come," Katisa said, clear-voiced.
Mubaku nodded curtly, saying nothing.
"You will keep your word? My son will undergo mafun­
dishu-ya-muran and be given the same opportunity to reach
olmaiyo as any llyassai boy-child?"
"We will keep our word," the ol-arem replied. "Now, keep
yours. Go."
The rebuke stung. Katisa betrayed no reaction. Ignoring the
silent onlookers, she turned to Imaro. She gazed at him long
and intently, striving to convey a message beyond words; be­
yond touching; behind love held painfully in abeyance.
Finally, at the very moment lmaro feared he would lose
control and fling himself tearfully into his mother's arms, she
spoke, as much to the gathered Ilyassai as to him.
"I go ... but I leave a warrior behind."
Then she turned and strode stiff-backed from the central
area; walking away from the manyattas and the ngombes and
the arems and the uncompromising obstinacy of her people;
 IMARO ll
walking away from her son. Imaro watched her tall, straight
form dwindle in the distance....
A vicious blow cracked solidly against his back. Crying out
at the abrupt pain, Imaro sailed headlong through the air. Even
as he hurtled toward the ground, the long hours of lessons he
had absorbed from Katisa came to the fore. He rolled on impact
with the ground and sprang quickly to his feet.
The laughter of the onlookers burned his ears; tears stung
at the corners of his eyes. He carefully composed his face,
then looked up.
Masadu, the warrior who had struck him with the butt of
an arem, stood scowling beside Mubaku. The fearsomeness
of Masadu's appearance was heightened by the hideous row
of scars that disfigured the left side of his face-a legacy left
by Ngatun on Masadu's olmaiyo . He had slain Ngatun, but the
lion had exacted a price. It was Masadu who guided Ilyassai
youths along the demanding course of mafundishu-ya-muran.
"We'll soon learn what kind of 'warrior' that woman left
behind," Masadu sneered. "Follow me, son-of-no-father."
Imaro's young eyes turned hard. His face showed nothing
of his struggle to master the pain knifing through his back.
Holding his body stiffly erect-like Katisa-the boy hurried
after the scarred warrior. But his thoughts followed his mother.
Why, why, why couldn't you take me with you-this was his
silent cry, echoing silent sobs.
He was in the crucible. The forging had begun.
1
1
1
1
1

1
1
1
1

1
1
1
 BOOK ONE

'roRKHANA KNIVES

The language of the Ilyassai

Is the language of the spear.

- Tamburure saying
 Imaro scowled at the tall, lean figure approaching him
through the grass. He glanced quickly toward Kulu, the ngombe
entrusted to his care. The long-horned cow did not look up
from the sun-scorched fodder she grazed.
Far across the golden sweep of the Tamburure, the Ilyassai
herd-boys tended scattered clusters of ngombe. The size of the
youths' sub-herds varied according to their ages and their pro­
gress in mafundishu-ya-muran. A few, close to readiness for
olmaiyo, had twenty or more ngombe in their charge. The
youngest, thin brown sticks of boy-children who had just begun
warrior-training, were entrusted with no more than one of the
precious cows.
lmaro, now well beyond his fourteenth rain, still tended
only Kulu. Kanoko, the youth who was approaching him, was
of an age with Imaro, yet he bad eleven ngombe in his care.
He seldom allowed lmaro to forget that, or any other indication
of Imaro's low status among the llyassai.
Kanoko strode insolently across the unseen boundary that
marked the range past which only an Ilyassai could go. From
the beginning of mafundishu-ya-muran, Ilyassai youths were
taught that anything else-warrior, beast, or demon-that
came within a spear-cast of a ngombe must be slain.
Unconsciously, lmaro curled his fingers around the hilt of
his simi, the short iron sword sheathed at his side. He uncurled
his fingers and raised the tip of his arem skyward-reluctantly.
Often were the times he wished Kanoko were not Ilyassai. . . .
The two youths glared at each other in mutual enmity.
Already, Kanoko was approaching the height of a full-grown
warrior. Wiry, cat-like thews danced along his lean frame.
Red-brown skin, bare except for a single leather garment knot­
ted over one shoulder, gleamed slickly in the light of Jua the

15
16 Charles R . Saunders
sun. His hair, braided and plastered with red clay, clung like
a barbaric helmet to his narrow skull.
Yet tall as Kanoko was, Imaro was half a head taller, His
physique boasted a brawn that was still only a promise of what
were bound to be massive adult proportions. His sheer physical
impact overshadowed the tattered state of his goathide garment
and the sullen expression on his face. The dark, earth-colored
undertone of his complexion and the broadness of his nose,
cheekbones, and mouth suggested a parentage different from
that of Kanoko and the rest of the Ilyassai-a parentage for
which Imaro had been made to suffer more times than he could
count.
"Kulu looks hungry, Imaro," Kanoko observed. "That is
strange. She has so much grass to herself here."
There was no· mistaking the condescending curve of the
youth's lips of the derision glinting in his eyes. Imaro did not
reply to the gibe. He had long since learned not to allow himself
to be goaded by Kanoko's sharp tongue.
Once, several rains past, .he had responded to the other
youth's taunts. In the ensuing battle, he had come close to
beating the life from his tormentor. Kanoko had told Masadu
that Imaro had started the fight, and the dour warrior-trainer
had taken Kanoko's words for truth. It was Imaro who had
endured the ensuing beating with sticks thick as spearshafts.
He had borne the punishment in silence-the day Katisa de­
parted was the last time he had cried out in the presence of an
llyassai-and thereafter, he had fought hard to suppress the
anger Kanoko all too often succeeded in provoking.
In mock seriousness, Kanoko said, "Silence in the presence
of a gift, Imaro?"
"I see no gift," Imaro replied shortly.
Kanoko reached inside his garment and produced a bundle
of sweet grass wrapped in a leaf of the plant called elephant's
ear. It was a kutendea, a gift llyassai herders often presented
to the cattle of their friends. lmaro's eyes narrowed in suspi­
cion, for in no way was Kanoko a friend of his.
"Why do you do this?" he demanded. His bluntness con­
cealed the sudden hope that the regard in which the Ilyassai
held him had suddenly changed....
For reply, Kanoko thrust the kutendea into the snout of
lmaro's ngombe. Kulu's teeth tore eagerly into the green bun­
dle; to a ngombe elephant's ear was a rare delight. Kulu
 IMARO 17

chewed-them bellowed in pain as scores of red, six-legged

dots burst from their leafy prison IUld swarmed into her nose,
eyes, and mouth. Whipping her homed head from side to side,
Kulu spat the false gift to the ground and bolted. She dashed
past the startled ngombe of the other herd-boys and stampeded
beyond grazing-range the Ilyassai claimed from the beast of
the Tamburure.
Driver ants, Imaro realized the moment he saw them. Driver
ants-insects with a bite of flame! Somehow, Kanoko had
contrived to capture enough of them to drive any beast mad
with pain. Furiously, he turned on Kanoko.
"Why did you do that to Kulu? Why?"
"Why?" Kanoko mocked. "You know why! You are the
son-of-no-father. Your mother was driven from the clan be­
cause she brought you back from her wanderings. You have
no father and your mother's kin won't even let you know who
they are. You are not fit to be an Ilyassai! Wait till Masadu
finds out you lost your miserable ngombe! You know what
happens when you lose your ngombe , don't you, you-"
Kanoko said no more. Swift as lightning, Imaro's balled fist
hammered into Kanoko's sneering face. The other youth's re­
flexes were cat-quick, but he could not pull his jaw away in time
to avoid the full force of lmaro's blow. The impact lifted him off
his feet and left him sprawled semi-conscious in the grass.
Murderous rage glaring in his eyes, Imaro stood over Ka­
noko, arem upraised in his hand. Then, realizing that Kulu
was fleeing further into the wild part of the Tamburure, he
turned and raced through the grass after his stricken charge.
Ignoring the pain spreading through his jaw, Kanoko threw
back his head and laughed as only a malicious boy on the brink
of manhood can. Of all the youths in mafundishu-ya-muran,
only lmaro surpassed him in the skills of hunting and war.
Now-Imaro was finished. When the time came to pen the
ngombe herd in its thombush boma for the night, Imaro and
Kulu would not be there. For that, Masadu would surely kill
the son-of-no-father. And Kanoko's prowess would stand alone
among the warriors-to-be....
Kanoko laughed louder, sending a scornful echo racing in
pursuit of Imaro's dwindling form.

Freedom. The conception held little meaning for Imaro,

except during times such as this, when he ran alone in the
18 Charles R. Saunders
Tamburure, dry grass swishing against his bare legs. It was
then that he felt that he belonged in the Tamburure, at one with
the vast herds of impala, zebra, kudu, gazelle, and countless
other creatures that roamed where their will guided them. Even
more did the youth identify with the predators: Ngatun the lion,
Chui the leopard, Matisho the hunting-hyena. These creatures
hunted the grass eaters as it pleased them, without regard to
the strictures of man. If he were Ngatun or Chui or Matisho,
Imaro sometimes supposed, he might then be free.
But now there was no time for such musings. The longer
it took to reach Kulu, lmaro knew, the less chance he would
have to return his ngombe to the boma before nightfall. He
applied himself to the chase, running at a steady, loping pace.
He strove to remain at least within earshot of Kulu, whose
bellowing cries of torment stabbed at his heart.
Imaro knew that when he finally caught up with his ngombe,
be would have to immobilize her. then scrape the driver ants
out of her snout and eyes. The task would not be easy, for in
her pain, Kulu would be dangerous; she might not even know
who Imaro was.
When he had first seen Kulu, the ngombe had been only
a sickly calf, not expected to survive more than a single rain.
This, perhaps, was why Masadu had chosen lmaro to care for
her. With painstaking effort, the boy had nurtured the ngombe
to health. He remembered the naming-day, when he drank
blood tapped from the ngombe' s veins and they had become
part of each other, as were all Ilyassai with their cattle. He
had given her the name "Kulu," meaning "friend."
And Kulu was indeed his friend, the only one he had in all
the huge reach of the Tamburure, the plain that seemed the
entire world to him. But that bond would be tested before the
day was done. He had once seen a ngombe bull outduel Mboa
the buffalo for a spot at a waterhole during the dry season.
Maddened by the ants, Kulu would be no less formidable.
Thinking sorrowfully of the pain his friend was enduring,
lmaro allowed the resulting hatred for Kanoko to seethe like
a fire-coal in his mind. Momentarily, he lost his kufahuma­
the attunement of his senses·, the melding of all his faculties
into one, making his awareness at one with the Tamburure.
This awareness was one of the first skills Masadu had taught
him. Now he was allowing his rage to rob him of that skill.
 IMARO 19

Thus, he was unaware of the menace hidden in the yellow

grass, pacing him easily, stride for stride. .. .
The leopard had but recently wandered into the Tamburure.
Man had driven him there; he knew the hated smell of hu­
mankind only too .well. But they were easy prey when they
were alone. The leopard had not yet learned to fear the smell
of Ilyassai iron. It knew only that the rasp of grass-stems
against the moving legs of the human was loud enough to mask
its stealthy approach. Baring its fangs, Chui moved closer to
the running youth.
A ground-squirrel, panicked by the. scent of Chui so close
to its burrow, darted in a brown blur across Imaro's path. A
warning-screeching in frustration, the leopard sprang toward
Imaro, raking its deadly claws like curved knives through the
·

air, striking-nothing!
Imaro had reacted instantly to the ground-squirrel's flight.
With a twist of his body, he sidestepped the leopard's claws.
Then he crouched, gripping his arem tightly, facing the baffled
and enraged leopard.
"Chui," Imaro called to the spotted cat. "Go your way,
Chui. Ilyassai meat is not for you."
Without warning the leopard sprang forward. Its paws
moved faster than the eye could follow- yet the shaft of
Imaro's arem was there to deflect Chui's raking talons.
Snarling in fury, the leopard half-reared on its hind legs and
struck at Imaro with its forepaws, blows flickering like black­
flecked lightning. Imaro, wielding his arem like a wand, par­
ried Chui's paws. The sharp impact of wood against cat-flesh
resounded across the plain.
Not once had Imaro used the point of his weapon. Not once
had Chui's talons touched his flesh. Even though the great cat
retreated now, half-limping on bruised forepaws, Imaro knew
that Chui would not abandon the fight. The leopard was feign­
ing retreat; the lashing of its tail revealed its true intentions... .
Again, Chui sprang. Again, lmaro evaded its claws. But
this time, when the leopard landed on the ground, Imaro lunged
forward with his arem. The iron point of the spear plunged'
through Chui's spotted hide; deeper, ever deeper; not halting
its momentum until the leopard was pinned to the soil of the
Tamburure.
Impaled by the awesome force of Imaro's thrust, Chui
shrieked a death-cry. Its limbs thrashed in a paroxysm of re-
20 Charles R: Sounders

flexes out of control. Releasing his grip on the spearshaft,

lmaro jumped out of reach of slashes which, undirected though
they were, could still wound him seriously if they chanced to
land.
Finally Chui's spasms ceased, and the great cat fell silent,
its blood dyeing the yellow grass. lmaro's heart soared in
triumph. If only Masadu were here, he thought. Even he could
find no fault with this kill!
Concealed in the grass, keen eyes had witnessed the young
warrior's feat. Those eyes did not belong to Masadu, or any
other Ilyassai ....

The watchers crouched like shadows in the cover of the

grass. They numbered a dozen: warriors all, armed with long
spears, short swords, and knob-ended throwing-clubs. On their
left wrists, they wore bracelets with raised, sharpened edges
of iron. Circular sleeves of leather sheathed the edges to prevent
the blades from accidentally damaging their wielders when the
weapons were not in use.
Coils of woven grass circled the waists of some of the
strange warriors. To a man, their heads were shaved except
for a topknot thick with feathers. Attracted by the noise of the
conflict between lmaro and the leopard, the intruders had seen
lmaro transfix the beast to the plain.
Hand signs denoting excitement and purpose passed swiftly s
among them while lmaro set his foot to the carcass and bent <
to wrench his arem free. Alive, the hand signals said. We must t
capture this one alive. The intruders crept closer, unslinging t
the knobbed clubs from their belts....
lmaro was thinking of Kulu when a whir of wood through �

the air alerted him to new danger. He jerked his head aside, �

averting the full impact of the throwing-club. Still, the knobbed s

end glanced from his temple. Pain jolted through his skull. e
He staggered three steps away from his arem. His hand 11
reached toward the hilt of his simi. But he was stuMed; his t'
motion was a fraction of a second too slow, giving his attackers
time to swarm like a pack of Mbwa the wild <log through the v

grass. t
Hands clutched at Imaro's limbs. Bodies pressed heavily S
upon his, bearing him to the ground. The intruders kept their tl
wrist-knives sheathed; they sought not to slay but to restrain c
 IMARO 21

the Ilyassai youth long enough t o loop their grass ropes around
him.
Imaro's head cleared, and he reacted to the assault with as
much fury as would the leopard he had just slain. Bellowing
the Ilyassai war cry, he uncoiled his body and surged to his
feet, hurling his surprised attackers from him as if they were
children.
The intruders looked at each other in confusion. This was
only a youth, but he had the strength of a man-how?
For their moment of uncertainty, they paid dearly. Again
lmaro's hand sought his simi. This time the hilt smacked solidly
into his palm. The iron blade sang from its sheath and buried
itself in the abdomen of Imaro's nearest foe. The warrior
shrieked once, then sank to the ground.
Imaro knew who his attackers were now. A quick glance
had taken in the topknots and the wrist-knives. These warriors
were Turkhana, the only tribe that dared to dispute the domi­
nance of the Ilyassai on the Tamburure. They had come from
the same direction in which Kulu had fled. Imaro no longer
heard her cries....
He knew then that the Turkhana had taken his gnombe. He
snarled a curse at the Turkhana. If they wanted Kulu, they
would have to pay in blood....
The Turkhana surrounded him warily. They had seen him
slay Chui; they had seen the swiftness with which he had cut
one of their own down; they had felt the strength in his youthful
thews. But the Turkhana were brave men: warriors. And they
had a mission they dared not fail. As one, they leaped at Imaro.
The first Turkhana to reach him was spitted on the young
warrior's blade. The simi caught in the Turkhana's ribcage;
while Imaro struggled to tear his blade free, a knob-club
smashed viciously into the side of his skull. He fought the
explosion of pain, but his fingers still loosened. The Turkhana
he had stuck threw himself backward in a dying act of defiance,
tearing the hilt out of lmaro's hand as he fell.
Imaro was now weaponless, and the Turkhana lashed at him
with their knob-clubs. Red arems lanced through the youth's
brain and a black curtain folded over the yellow glare of Jua.
Still, in a phenomenal display of tenacity, lmaro's hands found
the throat of one of the Turkhana. Only when he felt the bones
of the Turkhana's neck snap in his grip did Imaro finally sue-
 22 Charles R. Saunders
cumb to the red hammers that pounded consciousness from
him.

When he awakened, lmaro was walking. It was an unusual

. transition-from blank oblivion to instant awareness, with no
gray state of semi-consciousness intervening.
Pain was a drummer, beating a steady rhythm behind his
eyes. None of the beatings Masadu had given him had been
as severe as this one, but Masadu had, unknowingly, prepared
him well for the Turkhanas' assault.
He blinked eyes already open. The lowering of Jua toward
the flat Tamburure horizon told him that many hours had passed
since the Turkhana had ambushed him. He flicked his gaze
from left to right. Two Turkhana flanked him, gripping his
arms tightly just beneath his shoulders. His forearms were
bound with so many coils of grass he couldn't see his own
skin. Dried blood-not his own-caked his hands and feet.
His ankles were hobbled with a length of rope that allowed
him to walk only with an awkward, shortened stride.
He heard the sound of hooves shuffling in the grass. Kulu!
he thought. He turned his head to the sound and saw his
ngombe. Like lmaro, Kulu was hobbled; she walked with an
ungainly, hopping gait. A hood of tanned leather enveloped
her head. Only such blinding could render an Ilyassai ngombe
tractable to an outsider.
What the Turkhana had done to relieve Kulu of the pain of
the driver ants, lmaro did not know. But whatever it was, they
had paid a price to subdue her. Blood reddened her horns and
a Turkhana walked with one arm hanging uselessly at his side.
For a moment, pride surged through Imaro's breast. He knew
what other tribes said of the llyassai: Even their cattle are
warriors ... .
Then Imaro's thoughts clouded over with confusion. For
the second time that day, the word "why" whirled through his
mind. Why was he still alive?
That Kulu still lived, lmaro readily understood. The Turk­
hana stole Ilyassai cattle whenever they could; on the Tam­
burure, stealing the cattle of another tribe was a form of war­
fare. But from the Ilyassai themselves, the Turkhana valued
only their clay-caked braids of hair, flayed fresh from the scalp.
The wrist-knives of the Turkhana had equal value for the war­
riors of the Ilyassai.
 IMARO· • · 23
Rarely did the Turkhana dare to venture so deeply into
Ilyassai territory. And never had the Turkhana taken captives
in their conflicts with the llyassai; a practice the Ilyassai re­
ciprocated. Why now?
Imaro knew he would learn little from his captors, who
exchanged but few words in their dialect of the root-tongue of
the Tamburure. Though he understood their words, the Turk­
hanas' sparse conversation told him little. He knew better than
to attempt to question them; only with weapons and curses did
the two tribes speak to each other.
Bitterness festered in the youth's dark eyes. Ajunge, Spear
God of the Ilyassai, had truly turned his back on him now­
as, in any case, Imaro had ample reason to suspect the god
had done long ago. However harsh his existence among the
Ilyassai had been, he could expect only worse-far worse­
from the Turkhana.
Despair, an emotion against which he had always struggled
fiercely, whispered subtly in his soul. Masadu, Kanoko, and
all the others ...perhaps they had not been mistaken in their
scorn for him. He had failed Kulu; failed Katisa....
Then, before the youth's morose broodings claimed him
entirely, a scene born of memory long-suppressed suddenly
appeared, superimposing itself with sharp clarity over the vista
of the Tamburure. Again he was a boy of five rains; again he
stood in the midst of the manyattas, gazing upward into the
proud face of Katisa. Again he heard his mother's final words
to him: I go- but I leave a warrior behind.
Those words had sustained Imaro as memories of lost love
never could have done through rain after cheerless rain of
striving to earn the respect of a people who despised him.
I leave a warrior behind ...the vision faded with the last
echo of Katisa's wotds. Imaro shook himself, like a lion bes­
triding a new kill. Startled, his captors tightened their grip on
his arms. One Turkhana unslung his knob-club and shook it
menacingly under Imaro's nose.
The youth smiled. It was a smile totally devoid of anything
resembling human mirth, frightening on the face of one who
had seen so few rains.
Imaro could not guess the fate the Turkhana planned for
Kulu and him. But he knew that whatever the outcome, the
Turkhana would learn the truth of Katisa's promise.
* * *
24 Charles R. Saunder5

Sunset spread like a bloodstain across the sky as Imaro's

captors reached their destination. Thick herds of grass-eaters
huddled nervously, knowing that when Jua finally disappeared
from the sky, the night would belong to the predators. Already
Ngatun's roar and Chui's cough and the laughing bark of Ma­
tisho rolled across the plain.
Imaro knew he was now in the Land of No One, an unin­
habited stretch of territory that served as a border between the
lands of the Turkhana and the Ilyassai. It was not ininhabited
now. A band of Turkhana had set up a small encampment,
consisting of a fresh-dug firepit and a circular barrier of spiky
thornbush. It was the encampment of a hunting-party or a war­
·

band, quickly erected and easy to dismantle.

Warriors, numbering perhaps twice those who had captured.
lmaro and Kulu, rushed out to greet their returning comrades.
Fierce joy lit their faces at the sight of the Ilyassai youth and
the ngombe. lmaro paid scant heed to the warriors' hot-eyed
glares, though. Something else had claimed his attention.
Outside the thornbush barrier stood a cage fashioned from
heavy poles lashed together with resilient vines. A lion was
imprisoned within the cage, which was really a trap into which
live bait had been placed to lure Ngatun into tripping a rope
mechanism that dropped the door of the trap behind him.
Aroused by the smell of Kulu, Ngatun rose and lunged at
the bars of his prison. The construction of the trap seemed so
fragile that the lion's roar would shatter it. But the poles held
firm as the lion strove to break through to attack the ngombe .
Though she was blinded by the hood and her nose deadened
by the bites of the ants, Kulu heard Ngatun's roar and bellowed
a challenge of her own, tossing her homed head from side to
side. Several Turkhana held on to her head, struggling to pre­
vent her from bolting.
The leader of Imaro's captors pointed to a thick stake driven
deep into the ground on the far side of the encampment.
"Tie the ngombe to that and let N'tu-mwaa know we've
returned with what he wants," he said.
lmaro stood freely now, with Turlchana stationed close by
with spears poised to strike instantly if need be. As the young
Ilyassai was hobbled, they reasoned that he would not attempt
to escape. But they also remembered what his capture had cost
them, and they remained alert.
As Kulu was led away to the pole, Imaro's mind was oc-
 IMARO 25
cupied by more than his dim prospects for escape. The sight
of Ngatun caged angered him; the Ilyassai believed that the
souls of their dead occupied the bodies of lions before returning
to animate a human of a succeeding generation. Thus was
Ngatun the most honored of foes; only by slaying a lion and
freeing an Ilyassai soul to become human again could an Il­
yassai youth gain full status as a man and a warrior. To cage
Ngatun ... this was as strange to Imaro as his own capture.
A figure emerged from an opening in the thornbush. The
warriors stepped aside deferentially, almost fearfully, as the
man approached.
To lmaro, the man was obviously a n'tu-mchawi-a magic­
man, like the oibonok of his own tribe. Warriors did not don
such elaborate accouterments as the buffalo-skull that fitted the
newcomer's head like a helmet, or the long streamers of mon-.
key-hair that hung from copper bands encircling his arms and
legs, or the the mantle made from the spotted skins of hyenas
that swathed his shoulders.
Besides the ubiquitous wrist-knife, the n ' tu-mchawi had a
heavy, curved blade hanging from a thong looped around his
neck. The dagger was stained brown with old blood. Nearly
a giant in height, the Turkhana was nonetheless so lank in
build that the youthful Imaro easily outweighed him. When the
Turkhana came very close to Imaro, the Ilyassai suddenly saw
the thing that distinguished this man from all others. Most of
his flesh was revealed by the open mantle: from head to foot
he was splotched with patches of a pale, almost white hue, as
though his body had been spattered with paint. But even in the
muted light of sunset, lmaro saw clearly that the Turkhana's
markings were not decoration-they were as real as the color
of his own skin.
And he realized this was the "N'tu-mwaa" the Turkhana
leader had mentioned earlier, for in the language of the Tam­
burure, those words meant "Blemished Man."
A sorcerer had been the cause of his mother's exile from
the Ilyassai, Imaro reflected. For that reason, he hated sor­
cerers, even Mu�uri, the oibonok who had taken the place of
the one his mother had defeated rains ago. His eyes hardened
in response to the intense stare he now received from N'tu­
mwaa.
"A lion, a ngombe, and an Ilyassai," the Turkhana crooned,
breaking the silence. His voice was high, singsong, as though
26 Charles R. Saunders
he were speaking to children rather than an assembly of war­
riors.
"And 1 ," he continued. "1-a man apart from all others. I,
who will become all three. Ilyassai, hear my words: through
you and your ngombe and the lion in the cage, our god Ku­
pigana will triumph over your Spear God, and the Turkhana
will become the masters of the Tamburure!"
Imaro did not reply. He glared at the n'tu-mchawi with eyes
that mirrored the frustrated fury of those of the caged lion.
N'tu-mwaa bent to peer more closely at Imaro. He gazed
searchingly, then his face twisted with wrath. Turning on the
startled Turkhana war-leader, he cried: "Fool! I thought I told
you to capture an Ilyassai. This is no Ilyassai!"
Dismay and disbelief swept through the band that had am­
bushed lmaro.
"Not an Ilyassai?" the leader protested. "If this is not an
Ilyassai, why are three of my best warriors now food for
Mbweha the jackal?"
"He broke Wagulembe's neck even as we broke our clubs
on his skull," cried another.
"We saw him play with Chui the leopard before slaying him
with one thrust of his spear," added a third.
"And he was chasing an Ilyassai ngombe, " said the warrior
whose arm still bled from Kulu's goring.
"He fights like a lion, and that's what makes an Ilyassai," i
the leader said flatly. "He has Ilyassai hair; he wears Ilyassai
clothes; he bore Ilyassai weapons. How can you say he's not
Ilyassai, N'tu-mwaa?"
The magic-man had remained unperturbed during these pro­
testations. At his insistence, the warriors inspected lmaro with
eyes more appraising than they had been in the heat of battle.
Now the disparities between their captive and the other Ilyassai
they had known were unmistakable: the broader features, the
bulkier physique, the darker skin-all marks of a legacy alien
to the Tamburure ....
"N'tu-mwaa, you are right," the war-leader finally agreed.
"Whatever this young one is, he is not Ilyassai."
"Whatever he is, this whelp is of no use to me," N'tu-mwaa
said venomously. "Kupigana demands three hearts. The three
hearts of the Ilyassai: the ngombe that are their life; the lions
that give them their manhood; the men themselves who rule
the Tamburure and use the best grazing land for their cattle.
 IMARO 27
Kupigana wants a heart from each. And I a man apart from
any other ... only these things can bring forth the power of our
god to rest in me. Then, I will make us the masters of the
Tamburure, not the llyassai. But thfs one you have brought
me-he is useless! He must have stolen the ngombe you say
he was chasing-"
Imaro leaped without warning. Though the hobble prevented
him from running, the muscles in his thighs possessed more
than enough spring to propel him toward the n'tu-mchawi .
N o longer did Imaro seek to learn the reason for his mys­
terious captivity. Rage broke the restraints of caution. He had
not spent years absorbing the abuse of the Ilyassai, only to
hear the same insults spill from the mouth of a Turkhana.
His arms strained against their bonds even as he crashed
full into the startled N'tu-mwaa. The impact hurled them both
to the ground. lmaro landed on top of the n'tu-mchawi. He
clutched at the dagger bouncing against the Turkhana' s bare
chest.
N'tu-mwaa's body was supple as a serpent's; he twisted and
writhed while Imaro fought to get a grip on the dagger. Before
lmaro's hands could find purchase on the hilt of the dagger,
N'tu-mwaa twisted from beneath him.
The initial surprise of Imaro's unexpected attack was gone.
Now other Turkhana leaped into the fray. Somehow, Imaro
managed to find firm footing while five warriors dragged him
from N'tu-mwaa. With a violent wrenching motion, he shook
off the Turkhanas' grasp.
But his freedom was only momentary. His arms and legs
were still tied; he was almost helpless. Two warriors rushed
him from the front. Others dove at his back and sides. lmaro
levered his bound arms upward. His fists landed solidly against
the chin of an onrushing Turkhana. The warrior spun backward,
crashing onto the ground.
Imaro's bound arms clubbed against the side of another
Turkhana's head. He pivoted to strike at another assailant­
had the hobble betrayed him. Jerked off-balance by the rope
connecting his ankles, Imaro sprawled headlong onto the grass.
Half a dozen Turkhana buried him beneath a pile of heaving
human flesh.
Had they removed the sheaths of their wrist-knives, the
warriors would have slashed Imaro to ribbons. But they re­
membered N'tu-mwaa's admonition even though they no
28 Charles R. Sounders
longer believed their foe was a true Ilyassai, and they kept
their weapons sheathed-all except one, whose knife-point
drove downward toward Imaro's snarling face.
Before the blade struck, a white-blotched hand fastened
about the wrist of its wielder. The descent of the blade was
abruptly halted. With strength surprising in one of his gaunt
appearance, N'tu-mwaa tightened his grip until the warrior
cried out in pain and dropped his weapon. The disarmed warrior
trembled as N'tu-mwaa fixed him with a baleful stare.
"This whelp is for me to slay as I will, in the way I wish,"
the n' tu-mchawi grated. "And my wish is that he be left outside
the encampment tonight, for the jackals to devour, even as
they devour the warriors you say he killed. "
"Then we must return to the Ilyassai country to capture
another warrior?" the war-leader asked. His lack of enthusiasm
for such a venture was clear.
"No. They will come to us. Some of them are bound to be
on the trail of the missing ngombe. We will wait for them; then
I will have a true llyassai to join lion and ngombe. Now, don't
stand gaping like children. Do as I say-now!"
The warriors hastened to haul lmaro to his feet. Then the
young warrior spoke for the first time since he had been cap­
tured.
"Spotted man . ..your life is mine," he said quietly.
N'tu-mwaa looked at him. The temptation to laugh at those
futile words passed before he could act on it. For there was
something disconcerting in the stubborn set of the strange
youth's features, the defiance smoldering in his night-dark
eyes... .
N'tu-mwaa turned away. Half a dozen Turkhana moved to
carry out the n'tu-mchawi's command. They expected fierce
resistance, but it did not come. As they knotted grass cords
around his legs and carried him from the enclosure, the warriors
reasoned that the false Ilyassai had resigned himself to his fate.
Their reasoning was wrong.

The pale light of Mwesu the moon picked out the diverse
shapes of the Tamburure night: moving shapes of nocturnal
prowlers and their terrified prey; immobile clumps of flat­
topped acacia trees scattered across the plain; and a lone figure,
human, struggling mightily to free itself from tenacious bonds.
Hours had passed since the Turkhana had unceremoniously
 ···JMARO 29
discarded Imaro in the grass. Despite the hunger that was
beginning to gnaw deep in his stomach, Imaro strained con­
tinuously against his bonds. His efforts seemed of little avail:
not only was the grass fiber of the ropes much more resistant
than it looked; the Turkhana had bound him with such cunning
that he could not raise his arms high enough to reach his teeth
and chew through them.
In time, Imaro knew, he could slacken the ropes sufficiently
to wriggle free of them. But he knew he would have little time
once the predators and scavengers became aware of his help­
lessness.
Only moments before, a pair of jackals had skulked cau­
tiously toward him. Imaro bellowed at them with all the fury
of Ngatun himself; the display had frightened the carrion-eaters
from him. But he knew that before the night was done, braver
beasts than Mbweha the jackal would confront him.
He suppressed the desire to scream in frustration. His limbs
were bound in a way that prevented the full use of his strength.
If the Turkhana had only thrown him near some protrusion of
rock-surface against which he could abrade the ropes ... there
were many such outcrops on the floor of the plain, but Imaro
knew that the rustling in the grass he would cause by searching
for one of them would surely attract a lion or leopard.
lmaro continued to apply pressure against the ropes. A core
of determination burned within him. He must break his bonds;
he must free Kulu before it was too late for her; there must be
a reckoning with N'tu-mwaa....
A wild uproar broke out in the direction of the Turkhana
encampment. Though the warriors had deposited him some
distance from the barrier, he heard a keening wail of feline
agony. A shudder passed involuntarily through the youth's
frame. Never before had he heard such a cry tom from the
throat of a lion. Uneasily, he wondered what N'tu-mwaa had
done to the captive Ngatun.
Then he heard the bellow of a mortally wounded ngombe.
Kulu--anguish was a knife-point twisting in his heart. lmaro
barely heard the howls of human horror that followed the death
cry of his ngombe. Nor did he heed the awful, shrill laughter
that rose from the throat of N'tu-mwaa.
uKulu! Kulu! Kulu!" lmaro screamed as he rolled through
the grass, searching frantically for a hard surface to rub against
his bonds. No longer did he concern himself with attracting
30 Clulrles R. Saunders
predators; the chaos from the encampment would claim the
attention of every beast in this part of the Tamburure. And it
would obscure whatever noise he made in his efforts to free
himself.
Desperately, he rolled and twisted in the grass. A cry of
exultation escaped his lips when something hard and rough
scraped against the small of his back.
Turning onto his stomach , lmaro ground the ropes binding
his arms against the low surface of rock pushing through the
soil. The grass fibers that had resisted the force of his muscles
for so long shredded easily against the stone. lmaro could feel
the ropes beginning to part . . . .
Then the tumult from the encampment ceased. Behind him,
lmaro heard a rumbling growl . He turned- and stared into the
face of Matisho , the hunting hyena.
Matisho was twice the size of its carrion-eating cousin , Fisi,
and possessed nothing of Fisi' s well-deserved reputation for
cowardice. Teeth capable of crushing elephant bones lined
Matisho's gaping jaws, and its eyes were twin lamps of ma­
lignance reflecting Mwesu ' s light.
Another youth might have been frightened into near-paral­
ysis at the sight of Matisho so near. lmaro, drawing upon
strength he never before knew he possessed , wrenched his arms
in a final effort to break his bonds. Matisho leaped onto his
chest. Lethal jaws darted for the Ilyassai youth ' s face just as
the ropes on Imaro ' s arms snapped and fell away.
Before Matisho' s bone-crushing teeth could reach him, lm­
aro stabbed stiffened fingers into the beast 's eyes. Matisho
yelped in agony; its jaws veered away from Imaro's head.
With a lightning-quick twist, lmaro levered his body onto
Matisho' s back. For a moment, his weight, equal to that of
the beast, pinned Matisho to the earth . He clamped his arms
around the hairy throat. His legs were still bound; they dangled
uselessly across the hunting hyena's spine while lmaro exerted
all the power in his arms against the beast's throat, blocking
the flow of air into its lungs.
The youth' s advantage lasted only a moment. Uttering stran­
gled, wheezing howls, Matisho hurled its body in lunge after
frenzied lunge, seeking to dislodge the death riding its back .
It flung lmaro about as though the youth weighed nothing .
Imaro clung persistently , the pressure exerted by his arms
inexorably constricting the windpipe of the beast.
 IMARO 31
Had Matisho possessed the agile, taloned forefeet of the
great cats , it could have reached back and slashed Imaro's arms
and shoulders to red ribbons . Instead, the hyena's limbs were
doglike, adapted for chasing rather than seizing. It could only
struggle to fling Imaro from his back, then grasp a limb in its
jaws . . . its struggles grew weaker.
Abruptly , Matisho fell . Its breath came in ragged, choking
gasps; its paws waved feebly, uselessly. Only when even these
movements stopped did Imaro release his dogged hold. Matisho
lay lifeless, its throat crushed by Imaro's unfettered strength .
Imaro dragged himself away from the carcass. In the ex­
tremity of his effort to strangle Matisho, he had closed his
eyes , and he was reluctant to open them again . His muscles
were beginning to protest the demands he was placing on them,
and the gnaw of hunger was becoming more difficult to ignore .
Ignore it he must- that was another lesson of mafundishu-ya­
muran .
His triumph over Matisho gave him no joy. Kulu was in
his thoughts .
Kulu is dead, he lamented silently . There was a stinging
behind his closed eyelids. Then he stiffened . His kufahuma,
distracted during the battle with Matisho, was screaming a
warning. His eyes snapped open- and a gout of flame swept
directly toward his face !
lmaro hurled himself backward, just barely eluding the sear­
ing fire . Legs still bound, he sprawled awkwardly in the grass.
Half-blinded by the glare of the flame, he was as vulnerable
now as he had ever been in his life . . . .
N'tu-mwaa did not press his advantage . He plunged the
unlit end of the spear-tall torch he carried into the earth. He
gl ared down at the prostrate lmaro .
The n' tu-mchawi had dispensed with his cloak; his gaunt,
blemished body was naked save for a strip of hide around his
loins . Imaro blinked in the flickering orange firelight. Surely
his eyes were still dazzled by the flames that had nearly blinded
him. Surely the hideous apparition that the Turkhana had be­
come was not real . . . his face had not really become the face
of Ngatun the lion, and it could not be the horns of a ngombe
that sprouted from the thick-maned skull . . . the horns of Kulu,
still crusted with the blood of the warrior she had wounded !
lmaro tore his eyes from the hideous sight. He looked dow n ,
only t o look upon a vision even more grotesque . O n N 'tu-
32 Charles R. Saunders

mwaa's chest, where his sacrificial dagger had dangled from

a thong, blood rilled in sickening scarlet streams from the
raggedly severed valves of two hearts suspended from a string
of beast-gut.
Bile rose in Imaro's throat as he was forced to realize that
the thing looming over him was no more an illusion than the
flame sputtering atop the Turkhana's torch.
Heart of lion, heart of ngombe, N ' tu-mwaa had ranted.
And now . . . .
As if reading Imaro's thoughts, N ' tu-mwaa spoke, whis­
pering eerily from his lion's mouth:
"I have come to claim my final bounty, boy-child. Kupigana
showed me what the others did not see. They are blind; I have
Kupigana's sight, and I would not let them know what I know .
You are not Ilyassai; you are more . More! You killed Matisho
with your hands. What youth of your rains could have done
the same? It does not matter that you are not Ilyassai."
He tossed his homed, maned head. Beast-madness shone
in his eyes. He waved the dagger he had removed from his
neck. It still dripped with the blood of Ngatun and Kulu.
"I' ll have your heart, boy-child. Kupigana says you are one
who will become the greatest of all warriors . Heart of the lion,
heart of ngombe, heart of the one who is to be mightiest of
all--/ will be mightiest of all , not you. I will lead the Turkhana
to victory over the Ilyassai ! The Tamburure will be mine ! Give
me your heart, _boy-child! Give it to me, now!"
N ' tu-mwaa's voice had risen to an inhuman screech. His
curved dagger drove toward Imaro's breast. The point bit deep
into flesh-but not the flesh of Imaro.
It was the flesh of Matisho, whose body lmaro had inter­
posed between himself and N'tu-mwaa's blade. Snarling like
a maddened cat, the Turkhana struggled to pull his blade free
from Matisho's carcass . At the same time, his unsheathed
wrist-knife struck at Imaro's face . The youth shifted aside;
N 'tu-mwaa' s deadly forearm whipped harmlessly past Imaro's
head .
With one hand, lmaro caught the Turkhana's arm just above
the rim of the wrist-knife . And he dragged N ' tu-mwaa to his
knees.
For all the horror of his altered appearance, the Turkhana
had not completed his spell. He was still N ' tu-mwaa, and
maddened though he was, he could not match Imaro ' s strength .
 IMARO 33
He looked upon the youthful features of the not-Ilyassai. Those
features were twisted into a terrifying mask of vengeance and
hatred. For a moment, the derangement that drove him passed.
And he knew, then, that he faced his doom.
The lion-mouth bellowed an inarticulate cry, and the
ngombe horns tossed wildly as N ' tu-mwaa fought to free him­
self from Imaro's grasp. B lood from the beast-hearts splashed
across the youth ' s face. lmaro fastened his free hand around
the wrist of the hand that bore the curved dagger. He forced
the blade out of the body of Matisho, even as N ' tu-mwaa
maintained a desperate grip on the hilt. Then the dagger
dropped to the ground . N'tu-mwaa shrieked in pain; the bones
in his wrists were beginning to splinter. lmaro was unconscious
of the power he was exerting; with the killer of Kulu in his
hands , he was implacable, inhuman . . . .
"It's not over yet , " N ' tu-mwaa snarled. Jerking his head
forward , the Turkhana seized Imaro 's shoulder in his lion-jaws.
Fangs tore through the young warrior' s flesh . Biting back a
cry of pain, Imaro snatched N ' tu-mwaa ' s dagger from the
ground and plunged it into the Turkhana's chest. Instantly the
jaws relaxed and fell away.
N'tu-mwaa shuddered, then sank backward onto the grass.
He gurgled, blood bubbling from his gaping mouth . He seemed
to be trying to speak.
For a reason he could not name, Imaro leaned across N'tu­
mwaa' s chest to hear his dying words . The lion-eyes were
dimming, but the Turkhana's voice was still clear.
"I . . . cannot die now . . . " he choked. "I still have to show
them . . . I am better than they . . . I am better, though they say
I am not . . . .
"

'N'tu-mwaa said no more.

Two corpses lay in the blood-dewed grass. Their slayer used

a curved dagger to cut the ropes away from his legs. Imaro
sprang to his feet, free for the first time in many hours from
Turkhana restraints .
He glared down at N 'tu-mwaa. The lion-eyes were still
open, reflecting the glare of the torch . Imaro shook his head
angrily, as if to rid himself of the inexplicable feeling of­
kinship--he felt with the dead n ' tu-mchawi. They were, each
of them, different from the others in their tribes. Each, in his
own way, had striven to gain the acceptance and respect of
34 Charles R. Sounders
those who despised them for their differentness . N'tu-mwaa's
weapon was sorcery; Imaro's, strength.
His strength-long had he known that he was far stronger
than other boys of his rains , as well as many who were older.
But it had never been tested as it had this day . He recalled
N ' tu-mwaa's words: The one Kupigana says will be the greatest
warrior of all.
Imaro spat into the grass. He would not be duped by the
lies of another tribe's god. He was who he was-Imaro, the
son-of-no-father.
Yet the words lingered, despite the harsh inner voice that
reminded him that he had done nothing more than slay one
who meant to slay him. It was the same voice that told him
he had lost Kulu . . . .
"I told you, Turkhana , your life is mine," Imaro murmured.
I

As he chewed on the rank flesh of Matisho, Imaro looked

toward the encampment of the Turkhana. Its night-fire blazed
like a beacon against the night sky. Despite the slaying of N 'tu­
mwaa, Imaro still had business with the Turkhana who re­
mained . Kulu's death demanded more than one life irr re­
turn . . . .
Imaro was well aware that death was the fate of the Ilyassai
who lost a ngombe. Yet he also knew he could turn his back
on the Ilyassai . In this vast, uninhabited stretch of the Tam­
burure, he could live alone and free , a predator among preda­
tors, battling Ngatun and Chui and Matisho for better meat
than the charred hyena-flesh he now forced down his throat.
Freedom from the onus of life among the Ilyassai-it could
be his, once he exacted final retribution from the Turkhana.
He thrust the thought from his mind. Kulu was dead, yet
in the code of the Ilyassai , there was a way to balance that
death, even to the satisfaction of Masadu. He would still face
a flogging at the scarred warrior's hands for having allowed
Kulu to die. He had endured floggings before, though, and he
knew the pain would pass. And he knew why he would bear
this and any other torments the Ilyassai could inflict.
I leave a warrior behind, Katisa had said. But only by the
slaying of Ngatun on olmaiyo could the llyassai be forced to
accept the truth of those words. And only then would lmaro
himself believe it.
The promise of fulfilling Katisa's prophecy was the only
 IMARO 35
link that remained between lmaro and the fading memories that
were all that he had left of his long-departed mother. No longer
could those memories sustain him. His own determination
would. When he slew Ngatun-that would be when he would
say he was free.
He swallowed another chunk of the meat he had roasted in
the flame of N ' tu-mwaa's torch. Then he rose to his feet.
Gripping the torch in one hand and N ' tu-mwaa's dagger in the
other, he stalked toward the encampment l ike a bloodspattered
harbinger of destruction.

Turkhana sentries, spotting a bobbing point of ftre ap­

proaching in the night, assumed at once that N'tu-mwaa was
returning to them. Unnerved, as were all the war band follow­
ing N 'tu-mwaa 's frenzied s laughter of the lion and the ngombe,
the sentries were slow to notice that the silhouette of the figure
bearing the brand was not the homed , maned apparition N ' tu­
mwaa had become . . . .
The figure halted; the fire-point drew back - then streaked
like a comet toward the thombush barrier!
Caught completely off guard , the sentries could only stare
blankly while the flaming missile struck the dry thombush,
scattering sparks like drops of fiery rain . Immediately , the
barrier ignited. Shrill cries of alarm rose from the throats of
the sentries . Rushing from the interior of the thombush circle,
the other warriors helped the sentries beat madly at the flames
with long strips of cured leather. If the flatnes spread to the
grass surrounding them, the entire plain could become a burn­
ing holocaust, cutting them off from their own country .
Then the dreaded war cry of the Ilyassai smote their .ears .
And a fear even greater than that caused by what N ' tu-mwaa
had done was realized.
"It's an attack ! " the war leader cried. "The Ilyassai have
found us . See to your weapon s ! And get that fire out!"
Brave men were the Turkhana: warriors second only to the
Ilyassai . But this night they had witnessed horrors that had
shaken the souls of the most fearless among them . When N ' tu­
mwaa had changed, strong men had wept like infants . . . .
Imaro hurdled the flaming thombush and drove his blade
into the throat of the war leader. As blood spewed from the
Turkhana's neck, the iron hand of panic crushed the courage
from the rest of the warriors. To their terror-stricken minds,
36 Charles R. SaJUiders
lmaro was a ghost returned for vengeance, for they could not
believe a bound man or boy could have survived the Tamburure
at night. Shrieking prayers to their gods and ancestors, the
Turkhana broke and fled . And lmaro ravened among them.
In the crimson glare of the blazing thombush, the dagger
of N'tu-mwaa flashed again and again in Imaro 's hand. It was
as if the blade were still thirsty for sacrificial blood. Had the
Turkhana retained sufficient presence of mind to retaliate, their
sheer advantage in numbers would have allowed them to cut
Imaro down. But they believed he was but the first of a vengeful
horde of llyassai demons, and they fled like a herd of impala,
leaving weapons , . mortally wounded comrades , and burning
encampment behind them. Five Turkhana lay motionless in
widening pools of gore.
Blood-madness still lit lmaro's eyes as he watched the sur­
viving Turkhana disappear into the darlmess. He did not pursue
them. His arms were becoming heavy, and his breath seemed
to bum inside his aching chest . His body was beginning to beg
for relief from the demands he had placed on it.
Yet he lifted his arms high, threw back his head, and shouted
in exultation . That shout had nothing of Ilyassai in it-it was
a cry of personal triumph .
The flush of victory was short-lived. For in the glow of the
fire, Imaro saw the butchered carcass of Kulu. And he knew
his tasks were not yet completed.

The morning sun painted the Tamburure in tints of saffron

and gold . Ten Ilyassai , fully armed, marched across the plain.
At dawn , they had left the manyattas to search for Imaro and
his ngombe. The Ilyassai always allowed a herd-boy the op­
portunity to recover a lost ngombe himself-or to slay what­
ever had caused the ngombe' s death and return with evidence
of the deed.
Kanoko was among the searchers. So was Masadu . The trail
left by the fleeing Kulu was still easy to follow; the story told
by broken grass , easily read. They came to the site of Imaro's
first encounter with the invaders. A fallen feather resting be­
tween stems of grass ca111ht their attention. Turkhana! it
seemed to shout.
Dark hands tightened on ,spearshafts; simis were loosened
in their sheaths . Masadu sent a runner back to the manyattas
to summon more fighting-men. The warriors seethed with in-
 IMARO 37
dignation, Imaro and Kulu momentarily forgotten. Turkhana
had dared to venture past the Land of No One. For that, they
must be punished . . . .
Kanoko's spirits soared. His ploy had turned out better than
he had ever hoped. He fought to suppress outward expression
of the glee the prospect of lmaro's having fallen into Turkhana
hands roused in his soul.
Then he saw lmaro, striding toward them through the grass.
He came to them like a conqueror, in appearance still a boy
but in reality much more than that.
Not even Kanoko could deny that lmaro had done what
tradition demanded. That Kulu was dead, they would soon
learn . But the loss was well-atoned. For with him, Imaro car­
ried half a dozen Turkhana wrist-knives-still attached to the
stumps of hands skewered on the blade of a captured spear.
On the topmost hand, pale blotches showed through the blood­
smears .
 BOOK TWO

THE PLACE OF STONES

Where the Ilyassai walk,

Ngatun roars softly .

-Tamburure Proverb
 Jua's light danced on the points of twenty Ilyassai arems .
Twenty warriors stalked soundlessly through the yellow grass.
Besides their spears, they carried painted oval shields made
from the thick hide of Kifaru the rhinoceros. Their faces were
grim, yet alert-the faces of men who knew they were masters
of the Tamburure.
With the bright ocher that bedaubed their limbs, the warriors
looked like crimson spectres of death. Zebra, gazelle, even
Kifaru himself raised their heads sharply at the scent of llyassai
iron reaching their nostrils. For the llyassai were pre­
dators no less fearful than Chui or Ngatun or Matisho. The
grass-eaters observed the warriors closely as they passed. Their
bodies were tensed for instant flight should the Ilyassai come
too near.
But the warriors paid the grass-eaters no heed , for this day
they were not hunting for food . This was the day of olmaiyo,
the end of mafundishu-ya-muran for an llyassai youth about
to enter manhood. For olmaiyo, the prey was Ngatun.
A sudden break in the flatness of the plain signaled the end
of the warriors' march. Fanning out in a long, straight rank,
the llyassai gazed down into a shallow , cuplike depression: the
bed of an ancient lake long ago dried out by the heat of Jua.
• While the rest of the warriors stood still as statues carved
from mahogany , two broke the rank and strode down the grassy
slope to the bottom of the lake-bed. Along with his weapons,
one carried the long, spiraled horn of an oryx. This was Mu­
buri , the oibonok who had succeeded Chitendu. The other, the
only one who wore no shingona-headgear made from Nga­
tun' s mane-was Imaro. The olmaiyo was his; this day he
would earn a shingona of his own-or die.
In the four rains that had passed since the death of Kulu,
Imaro had fulfilled his promise of physical splendor. There
were other llyassai who equaled his height of six and a
41
42 Charles R. Saunders
feet, but none of them could match the formidable thews that
rolled across his lion-like frame . Yet for all his massive mus­
culature, the young warrior moved with a loose, feline lithe­
ness .
Fearless determination was stamped in his heavy features ,
and a sullen defiance stoked b y a lifetime o f mistreatment
burned in his eyes. Still, a flicker of hope half hid beneath the
interplay of suppressed resentment and mounting anticipation
of the battle to come.
Imaro knew his deeds over the past few rains had earned
him a measure of respect among the Ilyassai , for all that they
continued to look askance at his ambiguous parentage and scorn
the memory of his mother. Imaro ' s was the arem that had
brought down the maddened bush-pig that had threatened the
wife of the ol-arem of a neighboring clan . And he had washed
his simi in the blood of warfare against the Zamburu, an eastern
tribe that had dared to hunt in Ilyassai territory.
Deep into the land of the Zamburu the Ilyassai had raided:
burning; killing; stealing cattle, iron, and women. Imaro gained
five new cattle for his small herd on that raid, as well as a
young Zamburu woman named Keteke . Although his mother's
mating with a man who was not Ilyassai was the cause of
Imaro's persecution , Ilyassai men were free to mate with
women they stole in their raids and wars . The irony of the
inconsistent standard was not lost on lmaro. But he did not
vent his anger on Keteke. To her, he had finally opened a heart
that had remained inviolate since the slaying of Kulu . And
Keteke had responded in kind.
But, since Imaro had not yet fulfilled the obligation of
olmaiyo, Keteke was still a captive, belonging to the clan as
a whole. Once he slew Ngatun, Keteke would be his alone.
Imaro and Muburi reached the bottom of the depression.
The unpleasant smile on Muburi' s lips reminded Imaro that for
all the grudging acceptance some of the Ilyassai now accorded
him, there were others who still spurned him. Muburi was one.
Masadu, who stood with the others high up on the slope, was
another. Kanoko was there, too , staring spitefully from beneath
the shingona he had recently won.
"You are prepared?" Muburi demanded.
Imaro replied with a curt nod. His opinion of sorcerers had
not changed; he spoke to the oibonok only as necessity dictated.
Muburi raised the oryx horn to his lips and puffed into a
 IMARO 43
small mouth-opening. A startling sound resulted: more like the
growl of a beast than a musical tone. Its challenge echoed
across the lake-bottom-and was answered by a deep, rum­
bling roar. And Muburi climbed back up the slope, leaving
lmaro alone to face his ultimate trial.
From the opposite side of the depression, the roars rumbled
like wet-season thunder. Imaro could feel their vibrations rising
in the shaft of his arem. He remembered the elders , stories
about how Ajunge himself had placed the oryx horn in the
hands of the first oibonok of the Dyassai , to summon Ngatun
to test the valor of his warriors. He knew that if he slew Ngatun,
he would be freeing an ancestor's soul to be human again. He
wondered if this ancestor disdained him as much as his con­
temporaries did . . . .
The roaring grew louder. A huge, tawny, black-maned
shape appeared on the lip of the far side of the lake-bed. With
an easy bound, Ngatun entered the natural arena. As much a
giant of its kind as Imaro was of his, Ngatun padded pur­
posefully toward the waiting warrior. Its thick, tufted tail lashed
in anticipation of the bloodshed to come.
lmaro relaxed into a fighting stance: arem-point outthrust,
shield held closely to his body, protecting him from neck to
ankle . He knew Ngatun could cover the distance remaining
between them swifter than the eye could follow.
The long years in mafundishu-ya-muran has drilled into him
the things he must do to meet that deadly charge. When Ngatun
made his final leap, Imaro must hurl his arem into the beast's
breast. At no other time would the heart be so vulnerable. Then
Imaro would fall under his shield even as Ngatun's weight
pressed onto him. Beneath the shield's protection, he must
draw his simi and stab it into Ngatun's body until the lion died.
If Ngatun survived long enough to rip through the thick rhi­
noceros hide . . . at that moment in his lessons, Masadu would
point silently at his scarred face . . . .
Suddenly there was no time for reflection on Masadu ' s
teachings . With an earth-shaking roar, Ngatun sprang at Imaro .
The young warrior's reaction was instantaneous. His arem
shot with arrow-like speed from his hand. Its point and half
the long blade burrowed deep into Ngatun 's chest. Imaro
crouched, then fell backward beneath his shield.
Ngatun crashed full against the barrier of rhinoceros hide.
Squalling in pain, the spear still in its body, Ngatun still tore
44 Charles R. Saunders
strips of hide from the shield that was Imaro's only defense.
Blood pumped from a mortal wound, but Ngatun was always
slow to die.
Now was the time for Imaro to draw his simi. But he had
something d ifferent in mind . . . something he had practiced by
himself, away from the watchful eyes of Masadu.
For a single, terrifying instant, with Ngatun's tremendous
weight crushing down on him, doubt penetrated his mind. Then
he saw the white gloom of a claw punching through the hide
of the shield, and he acted.
With all the power of his massive arms and legs, Imaro
heaved upward against Ngatun's weight. To the amazement
of the watchers on the rim, lion and shield were hurled away
from Imaro. The lion fell onto its back, claws embedded in
the shield . For one brief moment, Ngatun lay helpless .
With a speed rivaling that of a great cat, Imaro was on his
feet, simi drawn and gripped tightly in both hands. Before the
lion could tear its talons free from the shield, Imaro swung his
simi downward . A lifetime 's frustrations powered that stroke;
through Ngatun's shaggy mane and thick-muscled throat it
sheared, not halting until the bones of the lion's spine were
severed.
Blood gushed from Ngatun's gaping throat. A strangled
wail; a pumping of clawed limbs in a final fury; then Ngatun
lay still.
Straddling the huge carcass, lmaro hacked viciously at Nga­
tun's neck. Triumph coursed fiercely through his veins, though
he knew he had only narrowly escaped death himself. An
eyeblink slower without the protection of his shield, and his
would have been the gore that leaked onto the Tamburure .
But he had won his gamble, and he had triumphed over
Ngatun in a way no Ilyassai had ever done before. /lyassai­
so many times had he cursed the very syllables of that name.
Yet he was proud now, for he had won his olmaiyo, and they
would have to accept him now, like it or not. And accept him
they would, for although the Ilyassai were merciless, they were
also honorable.
Finally the simi cut completely through Ngatun's neck. Im­
aro dropped the weapon and hooked strong, dark fingers into
the lion ' s mane. Effortlessly he raised the huge, heavy head
high above his own. Blood from the severed neck showered
 IMARO 45
like hot, salty rain on his shoulders and upraised face . The
taste of Ngatun's blood was the taste of vindication .
Then he heard a rustle in the grass.
lmaro Iowei-ed his head and saw that the warriors had de­
scended the slope . He was surrounded. The cry of joy with ·

which he had meant to greet them curdled in his throat .

The warriors remained silent, their red-daubed faces set like
stone. lmaro's euphoria faded like dawn mist at the touch of
the sun.
Where were the shouts , the chants , the leaps of ecstasy that
marked the victorious end of a warrior's olmaiyo? Why weren' t
the others cutting Ngatun's heart out an d slicing it into portions
to be eaten raw by all the warriors , marking the final freeing
of the soul the lion 's body had housed?
There was no celebration . Masadu , Kanoko , and the others
tightened their circle around lmaro. Stiffly they moved for­
ward, as if they were no longer in control of their own bodies.
Only one was not affected by the mysterious torpor: Muburi .
The oibonok smiled, malice plain in his narrowed eyes.
With a sudden, sick sensation, lmaro realized he'd been
betrayed.
In his mind, his life had been a kind of contest, him against
the llyassai . They had set the conditions; he had fulfilled them.
Now-they had reneged .
With a strangled sound that was half sob, half scream of
hatred, lmaro hurled the head of Ngatun toward the advancing
warriors. Trailing blood , the grisly missile crashed full into the
nearest man 's shield, sending him sprawling backward. Then
lmaro lunged for his simi, which was still lying in the grass
by the carcass of his kill . He no longer thought; he desired
ohly to repay the llyassais' deceit in blood.
He never reached his simi. Before his fingers could touch
the hilt of the weapon , half a dozen speart>Utts smashed against
his skull . Bolts of pain exploded in his brain; he sank to the
bloodspattered grass. Unconsciousness awaited; but before the
world blinked out, a single thought whirled in the chaotic
confusion enveloping his mind-why had the llyassai waited
until now to destroy him, if they had meant to do so all along?

He awakened hanging from a pole supported by the shoul­

ders of two warriors . His wrist.s and ankles were lashed securely
to its ends. Despite the jolts of pain each step of the warriors '
 Charles R. Saunders
quick pace sent through his skull , Imaro instantly realized the
significance of the manner in which he was bound.
Warriors who were victorious in olmaiyo marched proudly
back to the manyattas, the head of the lion they had slain in
their hands and the tuft of its tail decorating their spears. Those
who suffered serious wounds in their victory - l ike Masadu­
were carried with honor on the remnants of their shields. Those
who died beneath Ngatun's fangs were left on the plain for the
scavengers to devour, as were all Ilyassai dead. Only an il­
monek-an un-man, one who fled in terror before Ngatun 's
charge- was returned to the manyattas trussed to a pole like
the victim of a hunt for game. And when an ilmonek came
within sight of the people of the manyattas . . .
Only then did the true depth of his betrayal become clear
to Imaro. He struggled against his bonds , nearly toppling the
pole from the warriors' shoulders.
"Why are you disgracing yourselves with this lie?" Imaro
demanded. "Do you hate me more than you love your honor?"
"Who are you, ilmonek, to speak of honor to men?" Masadu
replied scathingly . The scarred warrior spat on Imaro ' s
shadow .
The others had glared at him, contemptuous curses pouring
from their mouths . The glazed , unseeing expressions they had
worn when they struck Imaro down were gone now. Imaro
understood then that the warriors truly believed that he had
fled from Ngatun . But why?
His gaze turned to Muburi. The oibonok' s features were
composed into a mask of scorn . Yet in Muburi ' s eyes , lmaro
recognized the same cold amusement he had seen just before
the warriors ' spearbutts had collided with his head.
In a sudden insight, the answer came clearly: Somehow ,
Muburi had induced the warriors to believe they had seen lmaro
throw down his weapons and run from Ngatun. They had slain
the lion themselves, they thought, to spare Imaro for the Sham­
ing.
The warriors marched in forbidding silence. Imaro knew
there was no use in further conversation. Despair and a sense
of futility threatened to overcome the young warrior as no
weapons ever could. Muburi had used mchawi- sorcery of the
foulest kind; the same sorcery N ' tu-mwaa of the Turkhana had
practiced; the same kind that had caused the downfall of Chi­
tendu , the oibonok before Muburi .
 IMARO 47
But Chitendu had long since vanished. And Muburi had no
reason to wish Imaro this kind if harm-at least, none of which
the warrior was aware . And why the elaborate deception? If
Muburi desired Imaro's death, an arem in the back would have
been much simpler. It was not, lmaro realized then, his death
Muburi wanted. It was his disgrace . . . .

When the cheerless procession reached the manyattas at

last, Jua was touching the western horizon. Men, women, and
children gathered in the open space at the center of the con­
centric circles of dwellings . From afar, they had seen the man­
ner of Imaro's retum-ilmonek.
The warriors carrying Imaro shrugged the pole from their
shoulders. Imaro landed with a jarring thud. Before he could
catch the breath driven from his body, the jeering began.
It was through others' fear of llyassai courage and prowess
that the warrior-herdsmen dominated the Tamburure. Only ·

those who were themselves valiant could use fear as a

weapon- this the Ilyassai well knew. The mafundishu-ya­
muran and olmaiyo were the ways the Ilyassai utilized to ex­
punge fear from the hearts of their warriors. For ilmonek.s,
those who failed to conquer their fears in the face of Ngatun' s
charge, the Shaming awaited. The abuse the Ilyassai now
shouted into Imaro's ears was but the beginning of his
Shaming-a lie, he cried, without opening his mouth.
A harsh shout rose over the din of taunts and curses . Mu­
baku, the ol-arem, had arrived. The tumult subsided, and the
people stepped aside to allow Mubaku to pass.
Nearly sixty rains had washed through Mubaku' s life now.
The lines their passage had left were clearly visible even be­
neath the ocher daubed on his face. His limbs were leaner than
they had been the day Katisa left the manyattas. Still, the ol­
arem stood straight as the spearshaft from which his title had
been taken. In battle his skill and ferocity were equal to that
of warriors a score and more rains younger.
Mubaku looked down at the bound Imaro. Imaro thought
he saw a shadow of disappointment pass briefly through the
ol-arem's eyes-but only briefly .
''Cut him free , " Mubaku said abruptly.
The two warriors who had borne Imaro from the plain bent
and severed the thongs binding lmaro to the pole. Imaro rose
to his feet. He refused to allow the effects of the clubbing or
48 Charles R. Saunders
the uncomfortable trek back from the olmaiyo to show. Erect,
unwavering, he faced the ol-arem . The warriors who had cut
him free stood close by, their simis still drawn.
"This is a lie," lmaro said quietly.
"Silence, son-of-no-father, " growled Mubaku .
Inwardly, lmaro winced. Rains had passed since Mubak.u
last called him that.
"Let Muburi and Masadu speak first, " Mubaku said. "Then
the son-of-no-father. Then we will decide who speaks the truth.
Such is the Way of Ajunge ."
"Such is the Way , " the others intoned ritualistically.
The oibonok and the master of mafundishu-ya-muran re­
counted the tale of lmaro's supposed cowardice. To lmaro,
their words were like venom from the fangs of a serpent . Lies,
all lies, he thought. Why can' t they see that they' re lying?
But the warriors who had witnessed the olmaiyo nodded
their agreement. Kanoko had cut in, stating that his was the
spear that had slain Ngatun just as the cat had been about to
drag Imaro down from behind. The warriors' eyes mirrored
their scorn. ,
And the judgment of the others who had not participated
in the olmaiyo was plain. For many rains, they had resented
lmaro's strength , speed, and skill; hated the reality that he, not
fully Ilyassai, could surpass the best the full-blooded llyassai
could boast. Now, with the evidence of the warriors of the
olmaiyo that the son-of-no-father had fled from Ngatun; had
failed the final test of a warrior, their grudging respect for
lmaro ' s prowess disappeared.
The swift erosion of the acceptance he had striven so long
to gain was clear to Imaro; he could see it falling from their
faces like the cast-off skin of a shedding lizard. He knew that
none of them would believe the truth about his olmaiyo.
Yet when Mubaku bade him to speak, Imaro told the tale
with quiet dignity, ignoring the open disbelief that greeted the
telling. Before they spoke , he knew what they would say when
Mubak.u asked them which story they believed. He never men­
tioned Muburi, for he had no way of proving the oibonok had
used sorcery.
"The son-of-no-father lies," they screamed. "No one has
the strength to throw Ngatun off his shield! Not only is the
son-of-no-father ilmonek; he is a liar as well ! Shame him!
Shame him ! "
 IMARO 49
"The Ilyassai have judged," Mubaku said solemnly. "You,
son-of-no-father, are ilmonek- un-man. You must suffer the
Shaming . You will be stripped of weapons and clothing, and
driven from the land of the Ilyassai. Every tribe in the Tam­
burure will know you for what you are, for your head will be
shaved bald as a woman's."
The words beat against lmaro's ears like the measured ca­
dence of a funeral drum. His life-long aim -to attain full
warrior status among his mother's people-was dead . It lay
at his feet like the scattered yellow bones of an old kill.
"It is a lie," Imaro murmured, referring to more than the
fabricated story Masadu and the others told.
Kanoko leaped in front of lmaro then . "An ilmonek dares
to call warriors liars!" he shouted before bringing the butt of
his arem full into Imaro's mouth.
Blood starting from his lips, Imaro's head snapped back
and a fresh jolt of pain lanced through his skull. And madness
swept through him in a burning, crimson wave.
Before the sneering Kanoko could move, Imaro was upon
him. A tremendous blow of his balled fist lifted Kanoko from
his feet, sending him crashing into the leather wall of a nearby
manyatta . Blood flying from his smashed lips, lmaro leaped
toward the sprawled body of his childhood tormentor.
His path was quickly blocked by a horde of lean, strong
warriors. He charged into them like a buffalo charging a pride
of lions . With mace-like blows of his fists, he struck his tribes­
men sprawling. Closer he surged toward the dazed Kanoko,
murder blazing in his eyes.
But even Imaro could not prevail long against so many
Ilyassai. Despite the punishment the maddened warrior dealt,
the llyassai swarmed over him, striking heavy blows of their
own. They used only their hands, for they knew Imaro must
be kept alive for the Shaming. Yet Imaro refused to fall until
Mubaku tripped him with a spearshaft. He fell, and for the­
second time that day, his head was the target of shower of
spearbutts.
Before blackness enveloped him, lmaro saw the warriors
who had downed him gaze at each other in wonderment.
Through clouding eyes, he saw the doubt in their minds re­
flected on their faces: How could such strength and ferocity
be housed in the body of an ilmonek?
50 Charles R . Saunders
Then he heard Muburi's voice. "That's enough, damn you !
Would you have him die before the Shaming ends?"
Even as he sank into unconsciousness, lmaro saw the doubt
fade from the warriors' eyes. It was as though he could hear
their thoughts: He's not llyassai . . his courage is that of the
.

cornered rat ...nineteen llyassai warriors would not lie ... .

Oblivion claimed him.

A foul smell hung almost palpably in the dark manyatta .

From the round entrance to the leather dwelling, a circle of
dim light vied vainly against the deep shadows of the i-nterior
of the manyatta . The wan flickering of the Ilyassai night-fires
meant little to the figure lying bound on the bare dirt floor.
Imaro savored the darkness, for night signaled surcease from
the ordeal of his days.
Though he seemed only a motionless shadow in the black
confines of the manyatta, the warrior was far from quiescent.
He strained with dogged persistence against the grass ropes
binding his limbs. At times, it seemed that he was back in the
Land of No One, held captive by the Turkhana. He had been
bound in the open plain then, he thought bitterly; but it was
·
still all the same.
He continued to extend his arms and legs outward, pushing
against the fibrous bonds. The ropes had been tied in a way
that caused them to grip him tighter the more he fought them .
Yet he continued to fight them.
For the two days and three nights that had passed since his
olmaiyo, Imaro had pitted his strength against ropes normally
used to restrain ngombe bulls gone unruly during mating time .
There was nothing to grind these fibers against, as there had
been in the Tamburure that faroff night when he had thought
the worst had already happened to him. Still, resistant as the
grass fibers were, he knew they would eventually yield to his
pressure. They must ....
The toll exacted by his lack of food was a high one . But
the molten core of hatred deep within him sustained him as no
food could. The final humiliation of the three days of Shaming
would greet him with the morning rise of Jua unless he over­
came his bonds this night. And if the pain of the ropes cutting
deep into his skin hindered him, he had only to allow his
memory to dwell on the events of the past days to goad him
to greater effort . . . .
 IMARO 51

He had remained motionless and silent when Masadu tore

away his clothing and cut the clay-caked braids from his head .
He had not resisted when Muburi bound him . In seeming in­
difference , he endured the days of Shaming .
When Jua rose, two warriors would drag him from the
manyatta set aside for him and prop him against its leather
wal l . Then the people would gather: warriors, women , chil­
dren -everyone who was not obligated to graze the ngombes
or guard the borders of the site of the village.
They reviled him with bitter words; they pelted him with
dirt and offal . Most vicious of all were the youths who were
almost of age for olmaiyo. There were few among them who
did not secretly fear that they themselves might one day occupy
Imaro's place. And there were few who did not silently resolve
to die beneath the talons of Ngatun rather than face the Sham­
ing . . . .
Only once did Imaro allow the emotions roiling beneath the
expressionless mask of his face to betray him . It happened the
first day, when one face had stood out indelibly from the others:
the face of Keteke, the Zamburu captive meant to be his mate
when he returned from his olmaiyo. Surely she, who loved
him , would believe in him . . . .
But when Keteke looked at him, her face was twisted in an
expression of deep loathing. Behind her stood Kanoko, who
had scathingly proclaimed that Keteke and lmaro ' s small herd
of ngombe now belonged to him. Imaro lowered his head until
the sorrow departed. After that, he had nothing left but
hatred . . . .
The ropes were cutting so deeply into his muscles that he
was beginning to lose feeling. But his hatred felt no pain. Still ,
he- knew that if he lost much more of his strength, he would
not be able to burst free before dawn. He must tear the grass
serpent-coils from him -now!
And the ropes surrendered , ripping apart under the tremen­
dous force of lmaro' s final surge of power. He shook the limp
bonds from him and sat up, ignoring the tingling pain of re­
turned circulation. The pain was nothing, for he was free ! Free
to escape , for he knew the Ilyassai had not deigned to post
guards at his manyatta. There would be others around the
village, he knew, for the ngombes must be protected from two
and four�legged marauders . But lmaro was confident he could
evade them.
54 Charles R. Saunders
A short stretch of open ground separated the boma from the
manyattas. Torches positioned at regular intervals cast a flick­
ering glare across the gap. The ten youths designated to guard
the ngombes shifted the arems in their hands. Alerted by the
clamor rising from the manyattas, they were prepared to use
their spears in defense of the ngombes in their charge .
Nothing, however, could have prepared them for Imaro's
headlong rush into their midst. One moment the herd-boys saw
him leaping from between two manyattas; then he was upon
them, striking down the first youth he encountered with a blow
of his fist.
Another young warrior challenged him with a thrust of his
arem. Dodging the deadly point, Imaro lashed out with his
simi. The youth fell back, blood welling from a deep slash
across his chest. The cut was not lethal; other than Kanoko,
Imaro was reluctant to kill his mother's people now that the
first onslaught of hopeless rage had passed.
Shouting in consternation, the remaining herd-boys con­
verged on lmaro . At any moment now , his other pursuers
would be upon him. Already the swiftest of them was racing
toward the boma .
With his weaponless hand, Imaro tore the torch nearest him
from the ground and thrust the lit end into the wall of thornbush.
The flame caught quickly in the dry wood. It spread with
frightening rapidity. Another lesson learned from the battle
against N'tu-mwaa, Imaro reflected ironically.
On the other side of the boma, the soft, musical lowing of
the ngombes quickly changed to bellows of panic, for of the
few things that frightened them, fire was foremost.
As the blaze engulfed the thombush, the warriors, man and
youth alike, stopped short, shock graven on their faces. If
lmaro had shoved a simi into his own heart, they would have
been scarcely less astounded. To set fire to the boma of the
ngombes was an act so unthinkable that for an interminable
moment they could do nothing more than stand agape while
their minds attempted to absorb the reality of lmaro's profan­
ation.
His opportunity clear, Imaro bent and snatched up an arem
dropped by one of the herd-boys. As he straightened, he heard
a rending crash rise above the frantic bawling of the ngombes.
Maddened by the sight of the flames, the long-homed cattle
were smashing through the sections of the boma still untouched
 IMARO 55
by the flames. The thorns that ripped painfully into their hides
and pierced the flesh between their cloven hooves were nothing
in the face of primordial urge to escape the bright, destroying
flames . . . .
In a vast tide of hooves and horns, the ngombe herd swept
toward the open plain, stampeding away from the flames, the
warriors , and the manyanas. Alone and free , Imaro fled in
another direction, also headed for the open Tamburure. His
desperate gamble had succeeded . He knew the llyassai would
spend days if necessary to recapture their scattered ngombes,
for the cattle comprised wealth, food , shelter-life itself.
The Ilyassai would not rest until the last ngombe was re­
covered. And once the cattle were recovered, the warriors
would hunt Imaro as they would a beast that was a threat to
the herds. Imaro had committed in reality an act of far greater
blasphemy than that for which he had been exiled. The knowl­
edge that some of the ngombes would fall to predators before
they were recaptured caused a twinge of remorse in Imaro's
heart.
Then he remembered his own ngombes, unfairly claimed
by the hated Kanoko. He remembered Kulu, slain by a user
of mchawi-sorcery , the same kind of sorcery that planted lies
in the minds of the warriors who had accompanied him on his
olmaiyo.
He scowled, a harsh, unyielding expression . Visions of
vengeance swirled in red whirlpools through his mind as the
Tamburure swallowed him. He was naked and shaven woman­
bald, but he had a simi and an arem . He would be hunted; but
he, too, would hunt. . . .

Amid a flurry of purposeful activity , the ol-arem and the

oibonok of lmaro ' s former clan sat in conclave . Around them,
manyanas were being dismantled and loaded onto the backs
of ngombes. Likewise, cooking pots, wooden bowls, and other
womens' utensils were bundled and strapped onto broad bovine
backs. Warriors gathered their weapons and garments , and
directed their children to take their places in the long , snakelike
concourse of humans and ngombes preparing to migrate to
other pastures.
The llyassai were nomadic, but their wanderings followed
a pattern that had been fixed in ancient times. When the season
52 Charles R. Sounders
For the first time since he had slain Ngatun, joy suffused
lmaro's sou l . First, freedom, he vowed. Then- vengeance!
It was then that he heard a slight, furtive noise at the entrance
to the manyatta . He saw a dim bulk pass through the circular
opening . Moonlight glittered on a metal blade . . . .

Imaro moved swiftly , soundlessly. One brawny ann hooked

across the throat of the intruder to stifle any outcry . His free
hand clamped onto the wrist that bore the blade that had flashed
in Mwesu's light. A simi dropped from fingers rendered sud­
denly useless . With a soft thump, the weapon hit the floor of
the manyatta . Imaro felt the tightening of throat-muscles
against the forearm, and he heard a strangled cry of agony.
Fiercely the intruder struggled, but Imaro inexorably forced
his captive toward the light at the entrance of the manyatta .
The faint firelight illuminated features contorted with pain and
fury . Astonished, lmaro slackened his grasp, allowing the in­
truder to twist loose.
"You . . . you 're free," Kanoko gasped in a choked whisper.
Cobra-swift, the warrior's hand darted toward his fallen
weapon . Imaro' s foot was faster. His heel crunched down on
Kanoko' s wrist just as the warrior' s fingers touched the hilt
of his simi. Although Kanoko's face writhed in a grimace of
pain, he refused to cry out.
"Did you come here to kill me, Kanoko?" Imaro asked, his
voice deceptively soft.
"I came to make you beg for death," Kanoko replied.
For a long, tense moment, the young warriors glared at each
other, as they had the day Kanoko had given a false kutendea
to lmaro' s ngombe. Then a shadow obscured the light at the
manyatta' s entrance.
As one, lmaro and Kanoko turned their heads to the en­
trance . A slim figure stood there, bent as though about to enter
the low , circular opening. It was Keteke , eyes wide and mouth
agape in astonishment.
Before either warrior could move , Ketek.e screamed. Ka­
noko, with a desperate effort, wrenched his hand from beneath
Imaro ' s foot, nearly toppling him. While Imaro struggled to
keep his balance , Kanok.o again dove for his simi. But lmaro
recovered too quickly. By the time K.anoko reached the hilt,
lmaro ' s full weight crashed heavily onto the smaller man ' s
back, driving the breath from h i s lungs.
 /MARO 53

Even as Kanoko struggled feebly beneath him , Imaro

snatched the fallen simi and rose to his feet. Not only was he
free ; now he had a weapon. He looked down at Kanoko. One
slash of the simi would forever still his tormentor' s sharp
tongue . . . .
Then Imaro remembered Keteke and her cry-a cry - that
must have been heard by half the Ilyassai . He had time only
for flight now . Vengeance must wait.
He whirled toward the entrance of the manyatta. Keteke
was no longer there. Betrayer, lmaro reflected bitterly as he
moved toward the opening- and nearly fell when something
clutched hard at his ankles.
It was Kanoko, driven beyond pain by a hatred that equalled
Imaro' s own. With a roaring curse , Imaro kicked free , his foot
smashing against Kanoko's face . A crack of breaking bone,
and Kanoko's hands fell away from lmaro's legs. lmaro bent
and wriggled through the opening in the leather.
Already the warriors of the night-guard were racing toward
the source of the cry that had aroused them . Others, alert even
in sleep, poured from their manyattas. The weapons that never
left their sides sprouted like iron thorns in their hands. When
they spotted lmaro, the cry went out:
"The ilmonek is loose! Get him ! Take him alive!"
lmaro knew he was trapped. He could outrun any Ilyassai ,
but he could not outrun an arem . They would aim at his
legs . . . .
His muscles bunched like those of a lion about to spring.
He would not allow them to banish him under the terms of the
Shaming; he would slay them until they were forced to slay
him. He cursed himself for failing to kill Kanoko when he had
the chance . . . .
It was when the warri ors were almost upon him that an
alternative occurred to him-an act that more than any other
would express his final repudiation of the Ilyassai . Snarling
defiance, he turned and fled from the manyatta that had housed
him during the Shaming.
"The ilmonek flees!" the warriors shouted. "Get him!"
Keeping to the shadows , Imaro wove his way through the
manyattas. Caught up in the frenzy of their chase, the warriors
failed to notice that Imaro was running not toward the open
plain, but toward the great thombush boma in which the
ngombes were penned for the night.
56 Charles R . Saunders
changed, they marched to the extreme northern boundary of
their realm to wait out the wet season in the south.
Shouts and admonitions filled the humid air while final
preparations for the journey progressed, but Mubaku and Mu­
buri paid scant heed to the tunnoil around them.
"I stilJ say it's bad to move onward while the ilmonek still
lives ," Muburi said, his mouth set in stubborn lines. "A person
who is at once ilmonek and abuser of ngombes should not be
allowed to live . "
Muburi frowned i n recollection of how long it had taken
his warriors to recover the ngombes after Imaro had stampeded
them-the better part of a week. Some of the cattle had fallen
to Ngatun and Chui and Matisho, as well as packs of wild
dogs . One group of blindly fleeing ngombes had blundered
into a small family of rhinoceros; the ensuing battle had left
the Tamburure littered with gored bodies of ngombe and Kifaru
alike. It was a badly depleted herd that the Ilyassai finally
�

gathered into a new boma .

Every missing ngombe was a blood-debt owed by lmaro.
The bands of warriors that stalked him through the grass were
at once hunters and executioners.
Yet as the days passed, no trace of the fugitive had been
found. And the time of migration had drawn inexorably closer.
Mubak:u could not delay his clan' s departure too long. Ten
clans comprised the llyassai, and the north-to-south , south-to­
north cycle of roving they followed had been planned long ago
to allow each clan ample pasturage all year long for its herds.
When one clan's area was sufficiently grazed, the clan moved
on , and the area was left undisturbed until the grass had grown
tall enough to provide pasturage for the use of the next clan
in the cycle.
The success of the pattern depended on intricate timing. If
one clan lingered overlong in its area, there would be less
pasture for the one that followed them. In past rains, blood­
feuds had resulted from incidents of neglect, and the rival tribes
that coveted the land of the llyassai had gathered like packs
of jackals at a conflict among lions.
As ol-arem, it was Mubak:u 's responsibility to ensure that
the old cycle of migration be continued. The most vehement
arguments Muburi could muster failed to forestall Mubaku's
final decision to take down the manyattas and begin the long
trek northward.
 IMARO 57
''The ilmonek is as good as dead," Mubaku said flatly . No
one among the Ilyassai referred to lmaro by name anymore .
"If the beasts don 't get him, the next clan will. I have sent
runners to the ol-arems of all the clans, telling them that an
· ilmonek and a harmer-of-cattle runs free -much to our dis­
honor. "
"He should be killed as an example to the young warriors
who have not gone on olmaiyo, " Muburi persisted .
''But you 've already explained to them that his cowardice
maddened him," Mubaku said. "The young men spit whenever
he is mentioned . Why , then, should he still be of concern to
us?"
"I have seen the messages in the clouds and studied the
omens in the blood of hyenas ," the oibonok replied darkly.
"Ajunge may turn his back on us if we allow the ilmonek to
live . "
"Nonetheless, we move ," Mubaku said with finality .
Realizing that further dispute was useless, Muburi rose and
walked away , muttering a curse under his breath .
The preparations for departure continued. The heat of Jua
pressed like a great, heavy hand on the backs of the toiling
Ilyassai. Like countless generations before them, they wel­
comed Jua's touch; and they soon completed their tasks. They
began the march northward , stretched in a long line across the
Tamburure.
Huge herds of grass-eaters made way for the Ilyassai and
their cattle . Predators resisted the smell of meat and remained
hidden in the grass until the last of the Ilyassai went by; then
they resumed their pursuit of easier prey .
There was one who followed them, though. This predator
stalked on two legs. In his hands were stolen weapons . And
there was hatred in his heart . . . .

The Tamburure was less open in the northern part of the

llyassai range. Trees grew thicker here , and small lakes lay
scattered like the teardrops of a giant across the edges of the
yellow plain. Pasture was good and game plentiful . Distracted
by the tasks involved in settling into their new area, the Ilyassai
spoke less and less of the curious circumstances of lmaro' s
olmaiyo . The erecting of manyattas and the parceling of grazing
land were matters of far more importance than the fate of an
outlaw.
 58 Charles R. Saunders
But there were others who did not forget.
. Five young warriors, only two of them wearers of the shin­
gona, sat in a circle around a waning fire. They had hunted
• well this day, as the well-gnawed remnants of the buffalo they
had speared attested. When the drums of war were silent, it
was in hunts like this one that Ilyassai warriors slaked their
thirst for conflict.
The youths had put up a small boma to keep scavengers
away from their kill. They did not fear the packs of jackals,
hyenas , and long-billed marabou storks that the smell of dead
meat drew; the barrier saved them the trouble of chasing off
the more adventurous among the carrion-eaters. The hoots and
barks of the scavengers furnished a background against which
· the boasts and jests of the hunters sounded even louder.
Suddenly the cries of the carrion-eaters changed, and the
grass rustled to their sudden departure. Immediately the war­
riors sprang to their feet, arenzs poised to strike swiftly. Over
the ragged edge of the thornbush, they spotted a lone, armed
. figure passing close by.
The tension broke as they recognized the solitary warrior.
"Easy , brothers, it' s only old Bent-nose out hunting the
ilmonek again ," said one of the wearers of the shingona . The
others joined him in laughter.
"Kanoko ! " another one gibed. "Why don't you go look in
the Place of Stones for the ilmonek? Maybe you'll find him
hiding under one of the rocks !"
The laughter increased. Kanoko glared at the hunters, spat
in the grass , and moved on. Unconsciously he raised his hand
to touch his flattened nose, which had not healed properly after
Imaro's foot had broken it on the night of his escape. He
scowled at the memory of that night. ...
Mubaku and the other elders had questioned Kanoko closely
concerning his presence in the manyatta from which Imaro had
escaped. Kanoko told them the truth: his purpose had been to
torment lmaro one last time; to offer him a clean death as an
alternative to the final degradation of the Shaming. He had
hoped to bring Imaro to the point of begging for the touch of
Kanoko's simi before withdrawing his offer in a last gesture
of contempt. But by the time he had arrived at the manyatta,
Imaro had already burst his bonds , and what followed was
known by everybody in the clan. The elders had been far
harsher with him than with Keteke, whose scream had alerted
 IMARO 59

the night guards. She said she had awakened to relieve herself,
spied Kanoko on his way to Imaro' s manyatta, and followed
him there for no reason other than curiosity . The elders had
accepted that explanation without question.
When the elders had inspected Imaro' s tom bonds , they
knew Kanoko was telling the truth. But because he had failed
to prevent Imaro's escape and thus had an indirect role in the
stampeding of the ngombes, Kanoko had been stripped of all
but one of the ngombes in his herd. And his resolve to seek
vengeance against Imaro had hardened . . . .
Kanoko had Imaro's woman, but he found to his dismay
that he was now an object of derision among the younger
warriors. Long after the others had lost their fervor for the
fruitless search for Imaro; Kanoko persisted. He could not
explain how he knew, but he was certain that lmaro still lived,
hidden in the trackless reaches of the Tamburure. And as long
as Imaro lived, Kanoko would hunt him.
He scanned the grass, his eyes searching for even a slight
sign of human passage. Finding nothing, he moved on, shutting
his ears to the laughter that followed him from the boma of
the hunters.

Cautiously, Muburi threaded his way through a thin clump

of trees. Although he bore his arem and shield and simi, the
oibonok still moved furtively , as if to hide his progress even
from the blind eye of Mwesu.
Fully secluded by the trees now, Muburi laid down his
shield and arem, then gathered a pile of fallen branches for
firewood. The firebow he drew froril his garment twirled rap­
idly; soon the tinder was ablaze. From a pouch belted at his
waist, the oibonok extracted a handful of powder that glinted
in the firelight. He tossed the powder into the dancing flames.
The moment the crystalline grains touched the fire, the
orange blaze was transformed into an inferno of emerald in­
candescence. Muburi sat cross-legged before the green flames,
eyes unblinking in the brilliance. He sat unmoving, and at­
tempted to control his rising dread while a shape began to form
in the center of the conflagration.
Rapidly the shape assumed the outlines of a face: human
yet eerily inhuman; a face of Ilyassai configuration , dominated
by eyes that burned with an amber sheen that surpassed even
the green glare of the flames that surrounded it.
60 Charles R. Sounders
Suddenly the spectral visage swelled outward from the
flames and hovered over the upturned face of Muburi. Sweat
unrelated to the heat of the fire beaded on the oibonok's brow.
Yet Muburi neither moved nor blinked. He waited for the
glowing apparition to speak.
"You are a flawed tool, Muburi," it said at last, its voice
deep yet alien: unpleasant to the ear. "Yet I, too, am flawed,
and a tool. Tell me, tool of a tool,what you have accomplished
for me since I spoke to you last."
Muburi, knowing that the other was already aware that he
had accomplished nothing, spoke nonetheless. It was as though
words were being dragged from his unwilling tongue.
"The ilmonek has not been found. I do not know whether
he still lives or not. I cannot find him with the mchawi you
taught me, and the warriors have tired of hunting him-all
except Kanoko. There is no more to say."
The flames swept outward like expanding emerald wings,
stopping short of Muburi's face. The oibonok shut his eyes
against the glare. Perspiration trickled into the corners of his
mouth.
"Why did it fail; my plan, my vengeance? " the face howled.
"The deception on the olmaiyo, the Shaming-you had no
difficulty carrying out that much. After he was driven in dis­
grace from the manyattas, it would have been so simple for
you to cast a spell that would have sent him to me for my final
vengeance. So s imple yet he escaped! Escaped, and remains
-

alive!"
In a country that had never known the breath of frost, Muburi
shivered. The fiendish rage that twisted the features of the face
hovering before him engendered a fear in the oibonok even his
warrior's pride could not quell. Still, Muburi summoned the
courage to ask, "But how can you know the ilmonek lives? The
warriors have spent weeks searching for him, and have found
nothing. How could one man evade the warriors of the Ilyassai
so long?"
"Fool, " the apparition roared. "He is more than any Ilyas­
sai! He's-by all the Mashataan! He's here!"
The face in the flame shifted its eyes past Muburi, focusing
on the brush behind the oibonok. Muburi half-turned to follow
the apparition's gaze-then he hurled himself backward to
avoid the point of an arem flashing toward him from the fo­
liage.
 IMARO 61
The cast had not been meant for the oibonok. Unerringly,
the iron point drove straight into the face that writhed in the
green flames ! The moment metal touched flame , the entire
spearshaft burst into blinding incandescence. It did not pass
through the fire; it hung in midair, transfixing the face as
though the weapon had pierced flesh rather than flame. Shrieks
of inhuman agony poured from the mouth of the apparition.
Then, with a final flare of brilliance, the green fire vanished,
leaving behind only a charred , smoking remains of the arem.
Nearly blinded by the final discharge of the flames , Muburi
barely made out the huge , dark shape that hurtled toward him.
Rising to his feet, the oibonok dragged his simi from its scab­
bard. His assailant ' s reaction was swifter- far swifter. One
sweep of a polished iron blade, and Muburi ' s weapon flew
from his hand. Then Muburi stood very still, the point of
Imaro' s simi indenting the flesh at the base of his throat.
For the second time that night, the oibonok knew fear as
he stared at the figure looming before him. Imaro' s head ,
woman-bald weeks ago, was now covered with a short mat of
woolly, unbraided hair. Gone were the llyassai face-daubs and
Ilyassai garments. Broad bands of muscle rippled catlike be­
neath his bare , dark hide. In their own way, Imaro' s eyes were
as merciless as those of the face in the flame, and those eyes
burned unwaveringly into Muburi ' s .
This was not the lmaro Muburi had known. This was an
lmaro unrestrained even by the bloody code of the Ilyassai ; an
Imaro as feral as the wild things that stalked the Tamburure
night. Agai n , Muburi shuddered. The movement shifted the
simi's point deeper against his throat. . . .
Hidden near the manyanas, Imaro had observed Muburi 's
departure and stealthy progress toward the copse of trees . He
had planned to slay Muburi as soon as the oibonok had passed
beyond earshot of the people in the manyattas. Muburi 's de­
ception had given the others their cause to name him oibonok;
M uburi would be the first to die.
But curiosity had stayed lmaro's hand. Muburi ' s furtive
movements and odd preparations once he had reached the trees
had puzzled Imaro. Crouching undetected in the brush , he had
watched the malevolent face fonn in the green flame . He had
listened with increasing interest to the colloquy between Mu­
buri and the disembodied thing that appeared to be the oi­
bonok' s master. The words the face had spoken beat at his ears
 62 Charles R . Saunders
like a h ammer of truth-the truth about his olmaiyo, and the
deceit and betrayal that followed his slaying of Ngatun . . . .
Then the apparition had seen him, despite the darkness and
the concealing foliage . And the amber eyes had launched a
spear of force, of eldritch energy that seemed to bum directly
into his mind . In an action purely reflexive, Imaro had hurled
his own physical spear at his spectral attacker.
Now, the effects of the thing in the flame's attack gone,
lmaro held Muburi at bay. Now he wanted more than the
' oibonok's death . He wanted answers. He pressed his simi even
farther against Muburi' s throat, drawing blood.
"What was the face in the fire , " he demanded, his voice
hoarse as though he bad not used it for a long period of time.
"Why did you and that-thing-betray my olmaiyo? Speak!"
Abruptly the oibonok . . . changed. Instead of Muburi, lmaro
beheld a gigantic, writhing serpent, long and thick as a python
but with unpattemed, human-colored scales. Cold ophidian
eyes met Imaro' s startled gaze , and a black tongue flicked
whiplike from a lipless mouth.
Before Imaro could react, the serpent plunged its fangs into
the warrior' s sword-hand. Imaro ' s hand opened involuntarily;
the blade fell. The fangs sank deep, but lmaro tore his hand
from the serpent's jaw , blood starting from the puncture-marks.
lmaro reached for his simi, but coil after coil of sinuous
muscle whipped about his body and constricted in a deadly
embrace. But before the coils could wrap completely around
him, lmaro seized the serpent's throat in a grip of iron . Whether
Muburi had actually transfomfed himself into a thigh-thick
reptile, or had only cast an illusion like the one that had con­
vinced the llyassai of his cowardice, the serpent was a deadly,
all-too-real foe; a foe that was inexorably forcing the breath
from his lungs and bending his ribs like green twigs . . . .
Glaring hatred into the serpent' s lidless eyes, lmaro swayed
but did not fall, despite the weight of the loops enveloping
him. His breathing grew labored and pain splintered through
his upper body . The pain was a prelude to a death that would
leave him limp and broken in the clutch of those awful coils.
Yet the rage that fueled lmaro' s strength was endless . He
redoubled his efforts to crush the serpent's neck, and he began
to feel scaly flesh yielding beneath his hands.
Suddenly the coils relaxed. The serpent twisted and jerked
in spasmodic convulsions, and Imaro felt the pressure on his
 IMARO 63

ribcage subside. The cold glare in the serpent's eyes faded,

and a faint hiss that sounded like a strangled human scream
wheezed from slack, gaping jaws. When Imaro finally released
his hold on the serpent's neck, the thick coils fell from him
like discarded rope.
Closing his eyes, the warrior sank to his knees. He breathed
heavily, welcoming the humid night air into- his aching breast.
His face was like a snarling mask of triumph.
Berating his own weakness, Imaro opened his eyes-and
his skin crawled as he stared wide-eyed at the sprawled corpse
of Muburi . Lit eerily by Mwesu 's glow , the oibonok's limbs
seemed almost boneless , and his neck was bent at an unnatural
angle, attesting to the force of Imaro's final surge of power.
Glancing quickly at his wounded hand, Imaro saw that the
blood-rimmed teeth-marks on his wrist were human . There had
been no serpent; Muburi's mchawi had decieved him as effec­
tively as it had the warriors on his olmaiyo. Illusion or not ,
Imaro's ribs still felt the effects of the serpent's embrace . . . .
Rising to his feet, the young warrior looked down at the
carcass of the oibonok. He snarled a bitter curse; he had just
killed the man who could have answered all the questions that
had plagued him since the day of his olmaiyo. Yet there was
still the enigmatic face in the green flames.
Now Imaro realized that this being-he wasn 't sure it was
human enough to be called "man"- was his true nemesis, more
than the Ilyassai who hunted him. With dreadful clarity , the
demonic visage was graven in his mind. He knew little of the
workings of mchawi, but he still realized that the sorcery of
Muburi was as nothing compared to that of a being that could
project its image and voice into a fire. And he remembered
the spearlike bolt of power that the thing had driven into his
brain.
Still , Imaro had defeated the mchawi with a cast of his
arem. Despite the shriek of agony the apparition had uttered
when the iron point pierced it, Imaro sensed that he had not
slain it.
He looked to the north. He knew that beyond the horizon ,
the Place of Stones lay. The Place of Stones was an ancient
ruin beyond the borders of the Ilyassai range. Even when the
First Ancestors of the Ilyassai came to the Tamburure hundreds
of rains ago, the Place of Stones had been long-dead.
In the tales handed down from generation to generation of
 64 Charles R. Saunders
elders, the First Ancestors had felt an aura of archaic, slum­
bering evil about the moldering pile. The beasts of the Tam­
burure avoided it as they did quicksand and poisoned water­
holes. The First Ancestors had acknowledged the wisdom of
the beasts, and forbade their people to approach the tumbled
stones. This long-held taboo was as close as the Ilyassai had
ever come to an acknowledgement of fear.
lmaro would go to the Place of Stones. But there was one
more blood-debt to be collected; one more draught to be sipped
from the cup of vengeance. . . .
He continued to stare northward. Then he bent to relieve
Muburi's body of weapons and clothing. He pitied the lion
whose body Muburi's soul would inhabit. Then he turned his
gaze back to the south, to the Ilyassai. His hands clenched
convulsively around the shaft of Muburi's arem .

Keteke stood waist-deep in a warm Tamburure pool. Jua's

light burnished her sleek mahogany skin and flashed diamond­
bright in droplets of water clinging to her slender body. Her
fine-boned face held an enigmatic expression as a stream of
water rilled from her cupped hands to her high, pointed breasts.
Earlier in the day, she had come to the pool ; which was
located in a small patch of woodland not far from where the
· ngombes grazed. She knew Kanoko would follow her here.
The pool, with its screen of trees and brush, was a favored
spot for couples seeking privacy for their lovemaking. The
others in the manyattas had noticed her departure, she was
sure; as well as Kanoko's soon after. Even now they would
be enjoying crude jests concerning the pairing of the former
lover and greatest rival of the ilmonek. Her lips curved in a
mirthless smile. /

A rustle from the brush brought her shaved head up sharply .

She knew that few dangerous beasts dared to come close to
an Ilyassai settlement, but sometimes Chui the leopard was
bolder even than Ngatun. Still , Chui did not like water, and
Kanoko was near, although it was taking him longer to reach
the pool than she had expected. The rustling seemed too se­
cretive to be Kanoko . . . yet it was he who stepped from the
screen of brush.
Weapons in hand, Kanoko stared wordlessly at the woman
in the pool, absorbing every facet of her from the clean-shaven
head to the slim, boyish hips half-hidden beneath the surface.
 IMARO 65

She is beautiful, even though she is Zamburu, Kanoko thought.

And she was lmaro's . . . .

"It took you so long to get here," Keteke said. "Why?"

"Before I left, Mubaku stopped me and asked if I had seen
Muburi ," Kanoko replied. "Muburi has not been seen for two
days now. Mubaku thought I might have come across some
sign of him while I was hunting for the ilmonek. "
He touched his broken nose. Then he laid his oval shield
aside.
"Why don 't you give it up , Kanoko? Imaro must be dead
by now , or gone far from the land of the Ilyassai . "
"Don't say his name ! " Kanoko barked . " I know he's still
out there . I can smell him in the grass. I will find him, kill
him, and bring his head to Mubaku ! "
"Want to try i t now?"
Kanoko spun toward the brush behind him. Keteke stiffened
and her hands shot to her mouth to stifle a cry of terror.
Soundlessly, Imaro had slipped through the brush after trail­
ing Kanoko to the tree-girt pool . Easily, very easily, he could
have cut Kanoko down from behind. But that was not his way;
he wanted vengeance, not slaughter. .
In a single, swift motion , Kanoko hurled his arem straight
at Imaro' s throat. Imaro raised the shield he had taken from
Muburi and deflected the hurtling spear, sending it spinning
into the brush.
Then Imaro flung his own arem at Kanoko' s feet.
"Try again," he said contemptuously.
Goaded by his obsessive animosity, Kanoko erupted into
frenzied action . Snatching up the proffered arem, be charged
toward lmaro. Lunging forward, he thrust the iron point at
Imaro ' s abdomen . Again, Imaro deflected the thrust. While
Kanoko pulled his arm back to strike again, Imaro drew his
simi .
Three more times, Kanoko attempted to slide his spear past
the rim of Imaro's shield. The first two times , Imaro blocked
the thrusts by shifting the position of his shield. The third time,
Kanoko' s point penetrated the thick hide covering.
Imaro jerked his shield-arm back. Still holding on to his
arem, Kanoko was dragged within range of a vicious sweep
of Imaro ' s simi-the first blow Imaro had struck in the fight.
Only cat-quick reflexes saved Kanoko then . Releasing his
grip in the spearshaft, he hurled himself backward, evading
66 Charles R . Saunders
Imaro' s blade by only a hairsbreadth . Off-balance , Kanoko fell
heavily onto his back and lay momentarily vulnerable to a fatal
thrust by Imaro.
But Imaro used the brief moment to discard his shield. With
Kanoko ' s arem still lodged in its covering, the shield was only
an encumbrance now:
Scrambling quickly to his feet, Kanoko drew his simi from
its scabbard . His own shield lay nearby. On a desperate ven­
ture, he leaped toward it and shoved his arm through its inside
loops. Then he faced Imaro, who had simply stood and watched
hlm. ,
It was then that Imaro decided the time had come for him
to stop toying with his foe . With the speed that time and again
belied his massive bulk, he leaped to the attack . An assault
like a whirlwind of iron drove Kanoko back. Large chunks of
leather flew from Kanoko' s shield. The smaller man ' s blade
rang against Imaro ' s , but his fighting was strictly defensive.
He knew he had to do something to change the tide of the
battle . . . .
With a quick snap of his arm, Kanoko flung the ragged
remnants of his shield into Imaro' s face. Stunned by the un­
expected move, lmaro stumbled, nearly dropping his simi.
Kanoko' s blade darted toward lmaro's heart , only to be parried
by lmaro' s lightning reflexes .
Now they silently circled each other, shifting, feinting, each
hoping to draw the other into making an impulsive mistake .
Only the shuffle of their bare feet across the ground broke the
deadly quiet of this, the culmination of their lifelong antago­
nism.
Tiring of the cat-game, lmaro renewed his assault . Kanoko
countered well , using all his superlative skill. But quick as he
was, Imaro was quicker, and he could not offset Imaro's su­
perior strength . It was as though Imaro were wielding a hammer
instead of a simi, crashing blows in a steady, unstoppable
rhythm against Kanoko's notched iron blade . B lood seeped
from a dozen small wounds on Kanoko' s body. He was weary­
ing- and not once had his blade penetrated Imaro' s guard .
Suddenly Kanoko faltered as though he had momentarily
lost his footing . As he flailed his arms to recover his balance,
Kanoko' s simi dipped low, leaving a broad expanse of his body
exposed for a killing stroke.
lmaro lunged forward, aiming at Kanoko' s ribs . Then he
 IMARO 67
twisted his body sideways, nearly wrenching his back in a
desperate effort to elude Kanoko's counterthrust. Had he
moved an instant slower, Imaro ' s hand would have been sev­
ered at the wrist. As it was, Kanoko' s simi clanged against the
exile ' s and sent it flying from Imaro ' s hand. Suddenly weap­
onless, Imaro was doomed unless he moved faster than he ever
had before .
They were still at close quarters; before Kanoko could draw
his simi back for the final stroke, Imaro reached out and fas­
tened his hand on the wrist of Kanoko 's sword-ann. He
squeezed , exerting the strength that had burst his bonds in the
manyatta from which he had escaped weeks ago. Bone cracked
and Kanoko bit back a cry of agony as his simi fel l to the
ground.
True to the mafundisho-ya-muran, Kanoko did not falter.
He crashed his free fist against the side of Imaro ' s head . An­
other man would have been staggered by the impact, but Imaro
only curled his lips in disdain and landed a bludgeoning blow
of his own full into Kanoko ' s mouth. Jaw fractured and teeth
sheared off at the roots , Kanoko sank to the ground.
Beaten , Kanoko was still an Ilyassai . He groped for the hilt
of his simi on the blood-speckled ground, found it, and lurched
painfully to his feet. Imaro awaited him , armed with the simi
he had retrieved at the same time.
Kanoko stumbled toward lmaro . With both hands , he raised
his simi high over his head , then brought it down. His target
was lmaro ' s face . Imaro easily parried the feeble stroke. Then
he buried his own blade deep into Kanoko 's body , transfixing
him just below the breastbone. With a gurgling groan , Kanoko
fell backward while Imaro tore his blade free . B lood cascaded
in a crimson sheet down his abdomen .
Incredibly, Kanoko clung to life . Glaring up at Imaro, he
choked out words barely intelligible in the red froth bubbling
from his mouth .
"Why . . . did you . . run from Ngatun . . . at the olmaiyo?
.

Why?"
The last was almost a scream.
"I did not run," Imaro replied quietly. "Muburi used mchawi
to let you see what you wanted to see . . . .
"

Those were the last words that passed between the two bitter
foes. Imaro never knew whether Kanoko had heard him . When
he finished speaking, Kanoko's eyes were already glazed in
 68 Charles R . Saunders
death . And lmaro knew that the lion that housed Kanoko's
soul would be a challenge to any young warrior seeking to earn
his shingona . . . .

A rippling splash from the pool caught Imaro's attention.

He raised his eyes from the corpse of Kanoko and looked at
Keteke . She was standing breast-deep in the water. Imaro ' s
eyes frightened her . They were killer's eyes, hard and merciless
as the eyes of Ngatun.
"Why didn 't you run back to the manyattas while we were
fighting?" he asked.
"Are you going to kill me?" she countered .
"You betrayed me . You were no better than the others who
-abused me during the Shaming. You went to Kanoko as will­
ingly as my ngombes did . "
"And what else would you expect me to do?" Keteke flared .
Her face was suddenly contorted with a resentment fully as
deep as Imaro' s .
" You carried m e away from my people a s a prize o f battle.
You brought me to the manyattas of the Ilyassai, the Feared
Ones, the ravagers of the Tamburure . Oh , I hated you then,
lmaro. But you were a warrior unlike any other I had ever
seen. I could not understand why your people treated you as
they did .
"But you treated me well - better than any of the other
Ilyassai would have done . You were going to mate with me
honorably, without using me. I never cared what the others
called you. You are a better man than any of them.
"Then they brought you back from the lion-hunt. I could
not believe what Muburi and Kanoko said; I know you are no
coward . But the Il yassai believed it, and I had to pretend to
believe it too, if I wanted to live. And I wanted to live, even
if it meant hating myself for turning against you. What else
could I do? I wanted to live . . . .
"I went to the manyatta they kept you i n to give you what
comfort I could before they sent you away. I told Mubaku a
different story later. I couldn ' t believe my eyes when I saw
you free, and Kanoko at your mercy. I screamed-just as I
screamed when you first carried me away from my people.
"Yes, lmaro, Kanoko took me for his own . I allowed him
to. With you gone, I was alone, a captive among the people
whose name we Zamburu use to frighten children into obeying
 IMARO 69
us . Now Kanoko is dead, and you stand there like a demon
come to take my soul . I have nothing now. If you mean to kill
me, Imaro, then do it quickly ! "
She gazed u p a t lrparo through eyes blurred with tears . Her
bare, water-beaded shoulders trembled with anger and fear.
The murderous blaze in Imaro' s eyes was banked now . For
the first time since he had stepped from the brush to battle
Kanoko, he seemed human again .
"I will not kill you, Keteke, " he said softly .
"Then take me back to the Zamburu , " Keteke said quickly,
the words tumbling over one another in her haste to speak
them. "There is nothing left for you among the Ilyassai. I think
you are the reason Muburi has not been seen lately . . . if you've
slain him, too, then you have had your revenge. But if you
still hate the Ilyassai , then join my people ! They will forgive
you your part in the last raid against them if you lead them in
battle against the Ilyassai . You know all the Ilyassai secrets
of war. You could teach the Zamburu to fight as the Ilyassai
fight. With you at their head, the warriors of Zamburu could
drive the Ilyassai out of the Tamburure ! "
lmaro shook h i s head slowly. Then h e told Keteke of the
face Muburi had conjured in green flame , and of his intention
to go to the Place of Stones to confront his unknown enemy.
"Fool!" Keteke cried shrilly . "You are a fool , lmaro; and
I no longer want to live !"
She kicked herself backward into the deeper part of the pool.
Water closed smoothly over her bald pate . She did not resur­
face .
Snarling in anger, Imaro cast aside his simi and plunged
after Keteke. He spotted her floating limply only a few inches
from the bottom of the pool . Imaro ' s huge hands closed roughly
on her limbs. Gathering her in his arms, he planted his feet
on the bottom, then propelled himself and his burden to the
surface.
The moment Keteke ' s face broke water, she sputtered and
spat out cries of protest. The water around them churned as
she stf!Iggled wildly in lmaro's iron embrace. When she finally
spat out the water she had swallowed, she began to sob bitterly .
Acrid tears trickled trails of accusation down lmaro' s broad
chest while he held her.
Then he astonished her by gently covering her mouth with
his own. His arms pressed hard against her wet back, and her
70 Charles R. Saunders
own arms circled his shoulders . After a time , the waters of the
pool began once again to churn . . . .

Imaro awoke with a start, still caught in the grip of the

nightmares that had haunted his sleep. The details of the dreams
were fading rapidly; he could recall little other than huge
amorphous figures with blood-rimmed holes for eyes, and the
sinister echo of inhuman laughter. He stirred sluggishly at the
memory of that laughter, then snapped into full alertness.
Quickly he gained his feet and scanned the small encampment
he had raised far from the pool where Kanoko 's body still lay.
Mwesu hung like a round, cataracted eye in the black shroud
of the sky. The fire Imaro had built to discourage predators
was now only a pile of dimming embers . And the shelter of
sticks and grass he had erected for Keteke was . . . empty .
A quick, thorough search revealed the unsettling truth : while
Imaro slept, the Zamburu had left the encampment. Angrily ,
Imaro berated himself for having fallen asleep. H e had intended
to remain awake all night, keeping watch over Keteke.
After the hot ardor of their lovemaking in the pool, Keteke
had slipped into a state of resigned apathy . Unable to dissuade
Imaro from his intention to go to the Place of Stones, she
became convinced that her life would soon end. She would not
go near the forbidden ruin , and without Imaro's protection,
she could not survive long in the Tamburure .
Refusing to look at Imaro , she had begun to chant a Zamburu
death-song. Exasperated, lmaro had shouted her into silence.
In his own past , thoughts of ending his own seemingly unen­
durable existence had sometimes crept into his mind. They
were snake-thoughts ; with the iron edge of his determination ,
he had slain them. Yet, snakelike, those thoughts continued
to writhe long after they had been slain . . . he had not wanted
to be reminded of them . . . .
Thus he had decided to forgo sleep for fear that Keteke
might again attempt to take her own life . He could not re­
member dozing: one moment he was gazing past the flames
at the shadowy forms of the beasts slinking beyond the circle
of l ight cast by the fire; then he was groping his way back from
uneasy slumber.
Impatiently , he shook himself out of his abstracted mood
and peered intently at the grass. The pale light of Mwesu
 IMARO 71

illuminated the story told by the patterns of bent blades and

broken stems.
The beasts that should have sought to attack him once the
fire had died had approached the encampment, but their spoor
ended only a few strides from where Imaro had lain. Once
halted, the predators had wheeled and fled, as if sheer terror
spurred them.
Then Imaro found Keteke's trail . The track led north­
ward . . . toward the Place of Stones . . . .
Even in Mwesu ' s pallid light, Imaro could see that Keteke ' s
spoor was strange . Normally, a person ' s strides varied in
length. Such variations were slight, but discernible to an eye
trained in mafundishu-ya-muran. But Keteke ' s tracks were
spaced evenly, indicating a stiff, unnatural gait-the gait of
one whose will had been usurped by mchawi.
His face set in resolute lines, Imaro swiftly donned his single
garment and gathered his weapons: the simi of Muburi and the
arem of Kanoko. His great thews tensed in anticipation of the
advent of what he sensed would be a final battle against the
enigmatic face in the emerald flame. It was as though he were
about to face Ngatun again . . . but this foe was far more dan­
gerous than any lion.
Imaro snarled soundlessly. There was no need for his enemy
to have utilized Keteke as bait to lure him to the Place of
Stones . That was where he had intended to go ever since he
had seen the face in the flame. If Keteke had been harmed on
his account . . .
Without further deliberation, Imaro began to follow the
tenuous path to the Place of Stones . The force impelling him
was as insistent as that which had ensnared Keteke. But lmaro ' s
was b y far the more dangerous compulsion, for its origin lay
not in mchawi, but in the hatred that sustained his soul . . . .

Night still cloaked the sky when Imaro came within sight
of the Place of Stones. The land surrounding the ruin was
denoted by a queer change in vegetation: the few trees present
were stunted and warped, and the grass grew scraggly and
sere , unlike the thick growth that carpeted the rest of the Tam­
burure .
In the distmce, the warrior could see a pale green glimmer
emanating from what at first glance appeared to be a small hil l .
Hills were a rarity i n the flat Tamburure plain.
72 Charles R. Saunders
Green, Imaro thought. The color of the fire when the face
first appeared. There was an offensive quality to that glow:
a quality suggestive of a presence that h ad no place in the
Tamburure.
But when Imaro , suddenly repelled by the alien sensation
the glow emanated, attempted to shift his eyes from the weird
luminescence , he found that he could not do it. The glow was
beginning to pull him. It beckoned him as fire attracts the
helpless moth . . . .
Imaro was not helpless . Even as his feet involuntarily carried
him to the glowing protrusion in the Tamburure , he fought
against the force that seemed to be slithering into his mind.
All the way to the base of the looming mass of stone he fought
it, yet it still drew him to the Place of Stones.
Long ago, the misshapen pile of crumbling masonry was
a building, an edifice of colossal proportions . Long ago, the
gigantic stone blocks from which it had been built fitted to­
gether with immaculate precision. But that was thousands of
rains ago, as man measures time. Now the structure was only
a mound of aging stone , futilely defying time in the forgotten
name of its long-dead builders. It hulked in the middle of the
Tamburure like a monument to a lost age.
Yet the ruin was not entirely dead . . . Keteke was there,
although Imaro was beginning to doubt that she still lived.
Whatever it was that caused the ensorcelling green· glare that
was controlling Imaro ' s movements like invisible strings tug­
ging a puppet's limbs - this was the inhabitant of the Place
of Stones .
Sweat bathed lmaro' s brow while he battled against the
power that had invaded his mind. His struggles were to no
avail; he began to clamber up an incline of jagged stone that
had once been a stairway. At the top of the incline, an opening
gaped like the mouth of a titanic lion, flanked by stumps of
pillars that had survived the long-vanished gates they were
built to support.
Imaro stopped-was stopped-at the summit of the old
stairway. He stared out into the roofless , time-ravaged interior
of the Place of Stones. Unwilling legs carried him into a scene
that had no counterpart in previous experience. Never before
had he encountered such decrepitude; never before had he
walked enclosed by walls of stone .
The interior stretched like a Tamburure with broken stone
 IMARO 73
for grass. Shapeless heaps o f stone from the fallen roof o f the
building lay in clusters larger than an Ilyassai manyatta. The
entire eerie vista was lit by a lurid green glow that had no
discernible source .
A shudder shook Imaro 's massive frame . Unfamiliar though
he was with structures beyond the manyattas of the Tamburure ,
he still sensed an alienness about this ruin. In the glare of the
sourceless illumination , he could see faint outlines of grotesque
reliefs graven on the scattered stones . And he remembered
what the elders said on nights when the stars were hidden
behind cloaks of cloud . . . whispers that the hands that had
raised the Place of Stones were not hwnan . . . .
Again Imaro felt the tug of an unseen tether. The presence
that had wormed its way into his mind had gained full control
of his movements now . Against his will, he paced toward a
mass of stone larger and less affected by time than any of the
others. Though there remained only a vague hint of its original
contours , its shape suggested a vast chamber that somehow
escaped the full effect of the collapse of the building's roof
ages ago .
When Imaro drew nearer to the half-fallen chamber, he saw
a singular form become visible among the shadows cast by
broken walls . It was manlike , of prodigious height, towering
over Imaro . A voluminous, cowled cloak swathed the figure
so completely that not a single feature was left unconcealed.
But Imaro was certain that the face hidden in the folds of the
cowl was the same visage that had appeared in Muburi ' s fire .
It was the face of his enemy , the enemy whose volition was
forcing his legs to carry him closer . . . closer . . . .
It was only when he advanced to within three strides of the
cloaked figure that Imaro came to an abrupt halt. The same
mchawi that had dragged him through the broken portal now
held him fast, entrapped in sorcerous shackles that sapped him
of strength and will .
A new enemy rose against him now. It was an enemy Imaro
thought he had long since conquered. Its name was fear.
Then the figure stepped out of the shadows . Its cloak shim­
mered iridescently in the green glare. The figure jerked its head
backward , and the cowl fell away, revealing a face . As Imaro
anticipated, it was the same face he had pierced with his arem
days ago. No longer d istorted by the wavering of green flames ,
it was clearly the face of an llyassai man. Only the golden eyes
74 Charles R . Saunders
were incongruous-no human being on the Tamburure had
ever possessed eyes that were not dark .
The head , though of normal dimensions, still seemed far
too small for the outsized body bulking beneath it. Uneasily,
Imaro wondered what kind of form was hidden beneath the
folds of the glittering cloak . . . .
Then the face opened its mouth and spoke, breaking the
silence that reigned in the Place of Stones.
"Do you know me, son of Katisa?" it grated. "Do you
know . . . Chitendu ? "

Chitendu! The name burned like a white-hot iron through

Imaro's memory . Had his tongue not been rendered as helpless
as his limbs, he would have bellowed like Ngatun challenging
an intruder.
Chitendu! One of the few facets of her past that his mother
had shared with Imaro had been the story of Chitendu, the
former oibonok of her clan. Imaro knew Katisa had fled south­
ward to avoid a forced marriage to Chitendu . Then she had
returned to the Ilyassai to expose the ultimate evil of Chitendu' s
mchawi. The spears of the warriors had driven Chitendu from
the manyattas. When he was spoken of at all, Chitendu was
considered a dead man, and the lion whose body his soul
inhabited was considered defiled .
"The Ilyassai were fools to think I could not survive ," Chi­
tendu said, as if he had read Imaro's thoughts. The former
oibonok's head tilted back . His laughter was like the bark of
a hunting-hyena.
"Oh, I ' m hard , hard to kill," Chitendu continued. "Even
the Masters cannot kill me, though they confine me in this pile
of fallen stone as punishment . . . punishment for my all-too­
human desire for Katisa . . . . "

Then Chitendu' s face contorted into a mask of terrifying

malevolence. His amber eyes blazed brighter; a renewed mystic
force assailed Imaro's mind. Pain unlike anything he had ex­
perienced in mafundisho-ya-muran lashed at him like a whip
of thorn. Yet he neither moved nor cried out, for the paralytic
bonds of mchawi still held him in a relentless grip.
Stil l , the white-hot core of hatred had not been diminished
by the experience of helplessnes s . The core burned more
fiercely than ever, for he was facing the man responsible for
 IMARO 75
creating the events that had led to the wretchedness of his life
among the Ilyassai . And he still had his weapons .
Abruptly Chitendu ceased his attack . Imaro gasped; breath-
. ing was the only function he could still control. His muscles
·
felt as though they had been wrenched from their moorings.
But he continued to glare defiantly at his enemy , ignoring the
irony of his arem and simi clutched uselessly in his hands.
Chitendu laughed again .
"So much like Katisa you are . I will tell you a tale , son-of­
no-father. Once I was a caster of spells and a feeder of blood
to a god who offers nothing. Then I was called- summoned
by an emissary of the Chosen of the Mashataan: the Sorcerers
of Naama. Somehow , they had . . . detected my secret wan­
derings into mchawi, the way of the Demon Gods.
"The man from Naama offered me power; a place in their
plan of conquest and domination . Even the Naamans knew of
the ferocity of the Ilyassai . Long had they desired to use the
Ilyassai as a weapon to spread destruction in the countries of
the east.
"Time and again, the Naamans failed to gain contact of any
kind with the Ilyassai , until they discovered my delvings into
mchawi. I desired the power they offered me . . . but I desired
Katisa more . She despised me- called me a 'devil-man . ' She
had a lover who was about to go on olmaiyo. I caused him to
be slain by Ngatun , and the elders had no choice other than
to give her to me in marriage .
"But she escaped me, and not all the power of the Mashataan
could return her to me. So I carried out the Naamans' plan,
and wove a web of mchawi around the Ilyassai , causing them
to think they were serving Ajunge when they were truly ful­
ftlling the purposes of the Mashataan. My control over them
was nearly complete-then Katisa returned!
"She bore you with her . . . and something else: an amulet
forged by the Sky Striders themselves. The amulet broke my
power; it caused the llyassai to see me as I truly was . . . am .
They attacked me, drove me from the manyattas, though they
could not slay me. With the power I had gained , not even the
Naamans could slay me.
"But they could punish me. For had I not caused Katisa to
flee from me , she would never have come into possession of
the amulet that destroyed the designs of the Mashataan.
"The Naamans imprisoned me here with mystic bonds . I
76 Charles R. Saunders
need no food or drink; I live by the mchawi that made me what
I am. And I have lived for a purpose-one that you would
understand well. Katisa is far beyond my reach. But you are
not . . . .
"Muburi was the one I needed. My mchawi can reach be­
yond the Place of Stones even though my body is confined
here , and a greater oibonok can always bend the will of a lesser
one. Through him, I caused you to be declared ilmonek, to
endure the Shaming. Then you escaped, and you slew. Yet
you are here, and in your own desire for vengeance, you have
gained a more complete retribution for me!"
Chitendu's voice had risen to a keening shriek. Throughout
the long diatribe , Imaro had striven vainly against the power
holding him maddeningly inert. Chitendu's rantings were in­
sane, yet tantalizing as well. They answered some of the ques­
tions L'lat had plagued Imaro, but there were more that remained
mysteries. And there was one the answer to which he was
beginning to dread: Was Keteke still alive?
Again Chitendu seemed aware of the warrior's thoughts.
"Your Zamburu is here, son of Katisa," he mocked. "She
is a guest of my friends . . . the original builders of the Place
of Stones. I restored them to life to provide me companionship.
She has entertained my friends well. They will return her to
you now . . . .
"

Raising a shrouded arm, Chitendu uttered syllables in a

language that jarred unpleasantly against Imaro's ear. From
the shadows of the ruined chamber behind Chitendu , a horde
of repellent shapes moved in a shambling gait. Swiftly they
moved between the warrior and the wizard. The builders of
the Place of Stones were short, squat, manlike in shape . . . and
thoroughly nightmarish.
Narrow , elongated eyes glittered balefully in the green light
suffusing the ruin. Bestial fangs filled their mouths. Colorless
hair sprouted in thin patches across bare, scabrous hides.
Curved cat-claws emerged from the fingers of hands otherwise
human in form.
These were the nameless people of the Place of Stones.
Dead long ages ago, the remnants of their life-essence had
been locked by arcane necromancy into the eroded stone of
their fallen edifice. Now they walked again, summoned to a
macabre mockery of life by the mchawi of Chitendu. Of their
 IMARO 77
former culture and intellect nothing remained. They were Chi­
tendu ' s dogs . . . .
But it was not the sight of these creatures that smote Imaro
with sick horror. It was the thing the largest of them held
upraised in its paws-a skeleton, human , with blood still drip­
ping from glistening white bones . The flesh had only recently
been stripped away.
The head , however, remained intact above the naked ver­
tebrae of the skeleton ' s neck. The face-hideously distorted
by an expression of inconceivable terror-was Keteke' s .
A hoarse cry o f despair tore from lmaro' s throat. He re­
membered Kulu , the ngombe, the only thing besides Keteke
he had ever allowed himself to care for. He remembered Kulu,
dead, heart ripped from her body by the N ' tu-mwaa. And now
Keteke was dead , tom apart by demons in the thrall of another
man of mchawi. Both deaths , his fault, for all his mighty
prowess and strength. . . .
A scarlet haze burned in front of Imaro' s eyes now , blotting
out the emerald emanations of Chitendu ' s power. His hatred
surged within him as though it had suddenly acquired its own
life. The bonds of mchawi that held him motionless melted in
the face of Imaro ' s incandescent rage. Abruptly he was free ,
his thews again his own to command. His action was instan­
taneous .
With one hand he hurled his arem into the body of Chitendu .
With the other, he swung his simi in a sweeping, deadly semi­
circle.
The arem struck squarely in the center of Chitendu 's cloak.
And the simi slashed through the neck of the creature that bore
Keteke' s remains. The beastlike head flew from the thing ' s
shoulders and bounced toward the feet o f Chitendu . There was
no blood . . . .
As the dead thing collapsed to the ground, its stiff hands
loosed their burden . The blood-smeared skeleton of Keteke
clattered loudly against broken rock. The bones of one arm
detached on impact. Her face stared sightlessly skyward.
Chitendu , showing no sign of pain despite the iron spear­
point l<><:fged in his body, rapped orders to his inhuman minions
in a series of croaks and chitters never meant for a human
tongue. As one , they shuffled forward , driving lrnaro back by
sheer weight of numbers . They bore no weapons , but their
fangs and talons were as deadly as any beast ' s . Like a pack
78 Clulrles R. Saunders
of wild dogs attacking a buffalo, they leaped and tore at their
towering foe .
No longer retreating, Imaro lashed left and right with all
the weapons he had at his disposal: his simi, his balled left fist,
and his bare, calloused feet. Like a scythe through grain, he
sheared through the demonic horde . His foes' bodies were
animated by mchawi and they could not be slain by mortal
means. But their ancient flesh was so brittle that a solid blow
could inflict severe damage.
Imaro bled from wounds tom by the creatures' teeth and
claws when they first swarmed over him, but now he was
beginning to wade through them, leaving a trail of shattered
heads, limbs, and bodies strewn behind him.
Battle-madness claimed him now. The blood-blaze that had
frightened Keteke lit his eyes and snarling curses spilled from
his lips as he fought his way closer to Chitendu. His eyes
locked with those of the former oibonok. It was then that
Chitendu realized that he could never again regain control of
the mind of the son of Katisa. But there were other ways to
slay Katisa's spawn . . . .
Again Chitendu spoke to his minions. Those who had not
been smashed asunder by lmaro's blows halted in mid-motion,
then stepped aside , leaving Imaro a clear path to their master.
Teeth bared in a brutal snarl , the warrior charged forward,
raising his simi for a slash that would have separated the oi­
bonok' s head from his shoulders- had it landed.
It did not land. For, when Chitendu abruptly shrugged his
cloak from his shoulders, Imaro halted his headlong rush as
though he had run into an unseen, adamantine wall . He stared
in gaping disbelief, his simi nearly dropping from fingers ren­
dered suddenly numb by the sight of what lay beneath the
cloak . . . .

Chitendu was even more inhuman than his resurrected min­

ions . Elephantine legs rose like wrinkled tree trunks from the
ground. Long, bony arms hung like sticks from a pair of nar­
row , knobby shoulders. The hands were incongruously delicate
and gracefu l . Other than his head , those hands were the only
remotely human features Chitendu had left . . . .
His torso was worst of all : a mass of writhing tendril s that
seemed imbued with a life independent from that of the rest
of his hide�us form . Like a swarm of maggots infesting a rotted
 IMARO 79

carcass, the tendrils writhed , expanding and contracting in their

anchors of grotesque, alien flesh. They glowed green , like
tomb-fungus; some of them curling around the shaft of lmaro ' s
arem .
"Now you see the price I paid for my power," Chitendu
crooned. "No wielder of the mchawi of the Mashataan may
long retain human form. Only the very shape of the Demon
Gods may contain the true source of their magic . The Chosen
of Naama know - and I quickly learned-that with each suc­
cessive invocation of the power of the Mashataan, the wielder
becomes less human and more Mashataan . I paid the price­
gladly! But not for thi s ! Not for this!"
The tentacles thrashed in wild agitation, as if animated by
Chitendu' s burst of bitterness and self-pity . Imaro struck!
Of the horrendous consequences of the use of Mashataan
magic, Imaro cared nothing. He knew only that beyond the
wrong Chitendu had done him and his mother, there was a
deeper, more insidious evil that clung to the oibonok like the
cloak he had just discarded. This evil had to be obliterated . . . .
In the red tide of rage bursting through Imaro's mind , the
apprehension engendered by Chitendu 's appearance was washed
away . Roaring out a battle cry, the warrior leaped across the
few yards separating him from his enemy. With both hands ,
he plunged his simi deep into Chitendu 's bulbous torso. Then,
with a savage burst of strength, he ripped the blade upward,
seeking to disembowel his monstrous foe.
Laughter was Chitendu's only response-laughter as in­
human as the form he wore; laughter that continued even as
the serpentine coils of his intestines spilled to the ground.
An elongated arm lashed out, catching lmaro across the
face. Despite its emaciation, there was disproportionate strength
in that arm; Imaro fell as though he had been struck by a
Turkhana throwing-club . Before he could regain his feet, a
blinding beam of emerald shot from a cluster of tentacles stiff­
ened like pointing fingers .
Enveloping the iron blade of the simi, the green ray lanced
down the hilt and into Imaro's hand. Biting back a scream of
agony, lmaro dropped the weapon . Its blade was a melted,
smoking ruin before it hit the ground. lmaro' s hand felt as
though he had just pulled it from a fire.
Imaro stared in disbelief as the shaft of the arem embedded
in Chitendu' s body burst into flame before crumbling into fine
80 Charles R. Saunders
ash. Again the tentacles brightened , aimed , and launched a
coruscating bolt of destruction , this time straight at lmaro .
But there was no target for the blast. Reacting with pan­
therish speed , the warrior had hurled himself behind a block
of fallen stone. Unfeeling rock bore the brunt of Chitendu 's
green fire.
No longer did Chitendu laugh. His demonfire spoke for
him . Bolt after bolt of emerald destruction seared into the
stone . The rock began to glow with heat: heat that forced Imaro
to abandon a shelter that proved only too temporary .
Keeping his body low, the warrior raced across the broken
stone , casting his gaze left and right in search of something
he could use as a weapon . His face betrayed no fear , only
frustration at the thwarting of his vengeance . . . .
Triumph imminent, Chitendu laughed again . He turned pon­
derously on his thick legs, stepped forward . . . and crashed
heavily to the ground , feet entangled in his own spilled intes­
tines !
A bolt of demonfire , trapped between the ground and Chi­
tendu ' s own bulky body , consumed Chitendu ' s flesh as mortal
flame or weapons never could. An unearthly shriek escaped
the oibonok's lips.
Even as Chitendu strove clumsily to rise, Imaro sprang into
action . Bending quickly, he caught a heavy slab of stone in
an iron grasp. Muscles cracking and straining beneath his dark
skin , he raised the slab high over his head . Teeth clenched in
exertion, he staggered toward Chitendu .
Head half-turned toward Imaro, Chitendu thrashed in a fren­
zied effort to rise. But the ungainly Mashataan body hindered
his efforts . Imaro towered above him, the stone slab's weight
cording his arms. Chitendu shuddered; his long-delayed doom
was upon him at last. Unless-!
"Wait !" he screamed to Imaro. "I can tell you who your
father i s ! "
lmaro hesitated. I n that brief moment, Chitendu heaved his
body over onto its bac k . The waving tendrils brightened . . . .
Imaro threw the heavy slab downward. It smashed Chi­
tendu ' s skull like an eggshell . lmaro had correctly reasoned
that the human parts of Chitendu ' s hybrid form were vulner­
able.
A grayish paste oozed from beneath the broken stone . The
green-glowing tendrils writhed; then faded; then hung limply,
 IMARO 81
whatever life they possessed fled with Chitendu' s . The green
glare in the Place of Stones faded , to be replaced by the clean
light of Mwesu.
But Imaro ' s battle was not yet won. . . .

Strength ebbed abruptly from Imaro's limbs. It was not so

much the brief battle that had drained him of energy; it was
the unceasing struggle to free his will from the shackles of
Chitendu ' s mchawi. Any sense of personal triumph he felt at
having slain Chitendu was canceled by the sight of Keteke's
face fixed in an eternal spasm of horror, echoing an endless,
soundless scream .
Leaning against the remnant of a pillar, lmaro looked at the
piteous remains of Keteke . She had prophesied her own death;
Imaro felt responsible for it . . . .
A slight noise brought his attention back to the Place of
Stones . And he saw that Chitendu ' s mchawi had not died with
him. The remaining denizens of the Place of Stones were ad­
vancing toward him. Imaro counted more than a score of them.
In the blankness that had once been their minds, only Chi­
tendu ' s command remained . . . kill.
Weakened and weaponless , Imaro knew he could not prevail
against the undead horde . He would fight them, but sooner or
later their teeth and talons would overcome him, and he would
join Chitendu and Keteke in death .
He gathered the last of his strength , pulled himself upright,
and knotted his hands into maul-like fists . If he were to die,
his end would not be an easy one . . . .
The creatures drew closer. Imaro crouched, ready to spring
recklessly into their midst. Before he could move , the creatures
were raked by a volley of Ilyassai arems launched from the
darkness!
Blinking in disbelief, Imaro saw a score of Ilyassai warriors
emerge from the shadows of the Place of Stones. They fell
upon the undead things like hungry lions, hacking them to
pieces with their simis. The direction of Chitendu ' s will gone,
the mindless things went down. When the last of them fell ,
they lay scattered across the barren stone , once again as one
with their dead city.
The slaughter done, the warriors approached Imaro . He
glared at them like a cornered beast. The Ilyassai had broken
the long tradition forbidding them entry to the Place of Stones.
82 Charles R . Saunders
To Imaro , their only possible purpose was to kill him for
stampeding the ngombes. They had slain the creatures men­
acing him only to save the satisfaction of slaying him for
themselves . . . .
Mubaku, the ol-arem, was there . So was Masadu . Many
of the warriors in this band had also accompanied Imaro on
his ill-fated olmaiyo. Mubaku and Masadu advanced after the
others halted a few paces from Imaro. He tensed himself, as
if about to hurl himself on their arems. Sensing the young
warrior' s mood, the ol-arem spoke.
"We missed Kanoko and Keteke . Kanoko's body we found
at the pool , for everyone in the manyattas knew that was where
they were going. Your track was not difficult to follow . . . . "
"So you came here to kill me ! " Imaro snarled. "Do it
quickly, then, for I ' ve done what I had to. "
"You have slain llyassai , " Mubaku said sternly . "You
loosed the ngombes from the boma, causing the deaths of some
before we could recover them. You have wronged the Ilyassai . "
"And have the llyassai not wronged me? " h e shouted, and
for a fleeting instant the Ilyassai saw what lay beneath Imaro's
impregnable exterior: a hurt child.
"Yes ," Mubaku replied. Astounded, lmaro ·leaned back
against the pillar that was suddenly all that was keeping him
on his feet.
"How long do you think we 've been here , Imaro?" the ol­
arem asked. "We followed your trail quickly . Chitendu 's
mchawi was weaker than he thought, or he must have been so
intent on you that he failed to realize we were here . We heard
everything: all his boasts and claims of the evils he had done
to us-to you. We were not under his mchawi; we would have
slain him if you hadn 't. But it was your fight, and you won
it. We would not allow those-demon-things-to slay you.
Nor would we slay you ourselves . "
Masadu , the master o f mafundishu-ya-muran, stepped for­
ward then and lay his arem, simi, and shield at Imaro ' s feet.
"When Chitendu died, his lies died with him," the scarred
warrior said. "In our minds, we saw the truth of what happened
on your olmaiyo, not the lie Muburi made us think we saw.
Never before has a man of the Ilyassai slain Ngatun as you
did. Warrior-my weapons are yours . "
"Take them, Imaro ," Mubaku urged. His next words came
haltingly, as if at great cost. "The wrongs we Ilyassai have
 IMARO 83
done you are greater than any you did us. If killing Muburi
and Kanoko, and stampeding the ngombes were part of what .
you had to do to destroy the evil that was Chitendu, we accept
it. You are a man and a warrior, Imaro . You have done deeds
greater than any Ilyassai since the First Ancestors . Return to
the manyattas with us. We will do you honor-and we will
honor the memory of Katisa, who brought you among us . No
longer will you be called ' son-of-no-father . ' I will make you
my own son , for your mother' s blood is mine . "
Imaro looked at him. Mubaku , father of Katisa. Mubaku ­
his grandsire. He recalled a day long past when he unwittingly
called Mubaku "mkale-ya-mzazi" -"father-of-my-mother. "
Mubaku had beaten him senseless . . . .
He bent and took up Masadu' s arem and simi. As he held
the llyassai weapons in his hands, new strength seemed to flow
into his weary limbs . It was the strength of vindication . His
lifelong goal- acceptance as a warrior among his mother's
people-was his at last. For one painful moment, his heart
sang in triumph.
Then the memories came, crowding like ants in an over�
turned hill . The Ilyassai were a harsh people, but they were
just. So, too, were Imaro's memories . Bitter memories, hated
memories, each one a brick in a soaring wall of acrimony that
would forever stand between him and the people who had
belatedly embraced him. He could not forget. . . .
His hands opened. Masadu 's weapons fell with a clang to
the rubble-strewn ground. His heart hardened. The hurt child
spoke.
"You did not accept me before," he said tonelessly. "I do
not accept you now . "
H e turned and strode past the silent warriors . H e descended
the broken stairway he had climbed under Chitendu 's spell .
He left it to the others to see to Keteke's remains, though her
terror-stricken face would accuse him for the rest of his life .
Dawn spread wings o f pink through the sky as Imaro left
the Place of Stones . Imaro headed northward, deliberately tak­
ing the opposite direction from the one his mother had long
rains ago. Chitendu had lied -lmaro knew that only Katisa
could tell him who his father was. But she had refused to tell
him during the five rains he had known her. And now-he
had no desire to know , nor to seek her out for any other reason.
He desired only solitude.
84 Charles R. Saunders
He was beginning his· northward trek when he heard the
singing. It came from behind him; from the Place of Stones .
He recognized the words of the song, punctuated by the rhyth­
mic clash of spearbutts against stone . The deep-voiced words
wrenched at his emotions. Almost . . . almost he turned; almost
he yielded to Mubaku ' s promise of honor and fellowship among
the only people he had ever known.
But the wall of rancor was too strong. Without looking
back, he strode onward, the echoes of the Ilyassai song fading
as he resolutely shut his ears to it. It was the song sung to
warriors when they returned triumphant from olmaiyo . . . .
He was out of the crucible. Now the tempering would begin.
 BOOK THREE

SLAVES OF THE GIANT-KINGS

To the Country of the Giants,

Came a giant greater still .

- from The Wanderings of lmaro

 From the slope of a grass-clad hill , Imaro squinted against
the glare of the midday sun. Three cycles of Mwesu the moon
had passed since he had left the llyassai. His dark body , almost
naked , had the sleek suppleness of a wild thing. His hair had
grown into an unruly tangle of black wool . He frowned as he
surveyed the sunswept scene before him.
At the foot of the hill lay a meadowlike expanse of ver­
dure- green grass, not the sere yellow growth of the Tam­
burure . Indeed , Imaro reflected, nothing in the land beyond
the Place of Stones resembled the great flat plain . . . least of
all the rampart of forest that rose a short distance beyond the
grassland.
Imaro shifted the spear in his hands. It was not an arem;
weaponless , he had turned his back on the llyassai . Now he
lived the life of a beast of prey, armed only with long shafts
of wood, the points of which he had hardened in fire . The
speed and strength of his giant thews enabled him to feed well
on the game that inhabited the hill country . His fighting prow­
ess had prevailed against predators he had never before en­
countered: black panthers larger than Chui and spotted lions
as fierce as Ngatun.
He shunned all spoor of humans . Nomad tribesmen inhab­
ited the hills; he made certain they never saw him. Fear was
not the cause of his avoidance of man. After the shattering
events of his night in the Place of Stones, there was little left
of that-or any other-emotion in him. For lmaro, solitude
meant freedom. He had no desire for contact with others of
his kind.
No sign of crouching carnivore or hidden human foe met
Imaro 's penetrating gaze. Still, his frown deepened. He did
not care for forests; he had the instinctive suspicion of the
savannah-dweller for the crowded confines of woodlands . Still,
87
88 Charles R . Sounders

the trees could not be much worse than the hills that poked
like giant warts from land Ajunge had surely intended to be
flat and smooth . Though he would never have admitted it
aloud, the dearth of human companionship was beginning to
fray his nerves. Yet he had chosen exile . . . .
Again Imaro shifted his makeshift spear in an outward in­
dication of his indecision. It was curiosity that finally impelled
him to begin his descent of the slope, curiosity and a certainty
that whatever lay before him could not be worse than what he
had left behind.
Warily, keen senses blending into the state called kufahuma,
the warrior crossed the meadow, enjoying the tickle of grass
blades against his ankles. But the scowl was still set on his
broad, heavy features-the scowl that mirrored bitter and
brooding reminiscences that never went away . . . .
He hesitated a moment before entering the forest. Even to
his plainsman ' s eye, there seemed something not quite natural
about the alignment of the trees . From north to south they rose
sheer from the grass in straight ranks, like warriors of wood
and leaf.
Imaro' s suspicions heightened. He listened closely-and
heard nothing. No screaming and chattering of monkeys; no
varied calls of birds; not even the droning buzz of insects-it
was as though only the towering rows of trees were alive.
Imaro muttered a curse. Sinister as the silent forest seemed
now, it was still an obstacle in his path. There was no way
around it, and he had never before drawn back from any im­
pediment. He was Imaro, slayer of Ngatun and Chitendu; slayer
of Kanoko and N'tu-mwaa.
He was also still very young.
With a final glance back at the hills, the warrior strode
between two giant boles bedecked with vines. Inside the forest,
the trees continued to grow in orderly ranks, widely spaced
with scant undergrowth between them. With no brush to
impede his passage, lmaro's movements were as silent as the
wood itself. The soaring treetops obstructed Imaro ' s view of
the broad blue sky, and he experienced a sense of foreboding.
Impatiently, he shook the unwanted fe_eling out of his mind
and tried to attune humself to this world of trees as he had to
the world of grass.
And he heard a slight rustle above him that told him that
he was not alone in the forest. . . .
 IMARO 89
As he whirled in the direction the small sound had come
from , Imaro detected a tiny whooshing sound in the air. Before
he could react further, he felt a prick like the sting of a bee
in his shoulder. Immediately weakness assailed his limbs, and
his vision wavered and blurred.
Staggering drunkenly, he forced his head upward , scanning
the high branches of the trees. At first, he found nothing­
then he saw it: the dim figure of a man crouching on a thick
limb; a man raising a long wooden tube to his lips. This was
the first fellow human being Imaro had seen in three moon­
cycles.
Snarling a war cry, Imaro hurled his crude spear at the
shadowy form of his assailant. But the weakness rushing
through his bloodstream spoiled his aim; the pointed shaft
shattered against wood only inches from the stranger' s head.
A second whoosh presaged another pinprick , this one sting­
ing lmaro in the chest. Looking down, the warrior saw a sliver
of a dart half-buried in the thick muscles banding his breast.
Imaro reached up and tore the dart from his flesh-too late.
A second, stronger wave of dizziness swept swiftly through
his limbs. Blackness unraveled the edges of his vision.
Stil l , he refused to fall . Wooden-legged , he reeled away
from the tree that was his attacker's perch. But his legs were
growing too heavy to move, and he could no longer see. Then
a third dart struck him in the neck, and he dropped to his knees.
As the black folds of unconsciousness enveloped him, lmaro
pitched forward , oblivious to the sound of . half a dozen men
scurrying down from the trees .

They were small men, these blowers-of�darts. Though they

were not pygmies, the tallest among them stood only one inch
above five feet . Their skin was dun-colored, and their kinky
hair clung in short caps to their long, narrow skull s . Ragged,
sleeveless garments of bark-colored c loth covered their wiry
bodies from neck to thigh. The muted brown of their clothing
and skin provided a natural camouflage in the silent forest.
In their hands they held long tubes of lacquered bamboo.
Quivers of darts were belted to their waists, as well as curved
daggers . Peculiar tribal markings were incised on their faces:
single, straight lines of raised scar-tissue stretching from nose
to hairline. The markings heightened the furtiveness of their
90 Charles R. Saunders
beady, dark eyes. Those eyes now reflected awe and incredulity
as they stared downward at their huge victim.
"A big one this is , larger than most," one of them finally
commented.
"The Giant-Kings are taller," scoffed another. "Even the
smallest among them could look down on this one 's head as
if he were a child . "
"But look at the muscles on him !" the first speaker persisted .
"When has it ever taken three sleep-darts to bring one man
down? Even a Giant-King would fall to one dart . With one
dart in him, this one almost speared me . "
"Enough talk!" snapped an older man, whose bisected brow
was furrowed by a nervous frown. "Best to make certain he
is still alive . Three darts could bring down a buffalo; three
might kill a man- even this one . "
"You are right, Njuko," the others deferred. I t took three
of them to roll Imaro onto his back for, even in deep uncon­
sciousness , his body had the solidity of iron . The older man
bent down and laid his ear against the warrior' s chest. The
stranger breathed deeply and steadily, as if in a sound sleep.
His heartbeat was strong .
"He is alive," Njuko declared flatly. "Let us bind him
quickly. He could well awaken before we can get him to the
Giant-Kings . "
While the dart-blowers hastily bound Imaro with Iianas torn
from the trunks of trees , one of them said sardonically, "The
Giant-Kings repay us B 'twi so generously for bringing to them
all strangers who wander into the Silent Forest. . . . "
"Yes," Njuko agreed . "They allow us to live - in land that
belonged to our ancestors , not theirs . "
Working swiftly , the B ' twi completed _their task. Labori­
ously, they levered Imaro onto a litter made from stout poles
lashed together with lianas. It took all six of them to raise the
litter from the forest floor. Grunting and sweating, they bore
their sleeping captive through the rest of the forest. From time
to time, they cast nervous glances across their shoulders , for
they knew that other dangers lurked in their unsurped home­
land . . . .
Relief washed visibly across the faces of the B 'twi when
they broke through the other side of the forest. Ahead of them
lay a meadow similar to the one Imaro had crossed. Beyond
 IMARO 91

that, bulking huge and ominous on the horizon , sheer walls

of black basalt rose sharply from the grass-clad slopes.
The stretch of level ground between the forest and the rocky
elevation teemed with life: herds of slender, short-homed cat­
tle . Their coats were white as clouds and their horns , painted
with gilt enamel , glinted metallically in the sunlight . Collars
of gold encircled the throats of the cattle, and bracelets of the
same metal were affixed to all four legs of each one, just above
the cloven hoofs . Herdsmen of the same people as lmaro' s
captors waved greetings as the party emerged from the forest
and made its way through the scattered cattle .
"Got a big one this time, didn 't you , Njuko?" a herdsman
called .
"Yes," the leader of the dart-blowers agreed . "The Giant­
Kings will be pleased . This one looks as though he could do
the work of five men in the mines . It took three sleep�darts to
bring him down . "
"Three darts !" the other scoffed.
But when he came closer and observed the mighty propor­
tions of the unconscious prisoner, his skepticism vanished.
"Better get him to Kigesi quickly before he wakes up," the
herdsman muttered , unknowingly echoing Njuko' s apprehen­
sions.
By the time the B ' twi reached their destination , Jua hung
low in the sky; and the towering eminence of basalt cast a
stark , inky shadow across the pasture below. Breathing heavily
from the haste with which they had borne their huge burden ,
the B ' twi labored u p a steep, ramplike incline smoothed from
the rugged slope by the effort of human hands . At the summit
of the ramp , the basalt bluff split into a pair of fang-like crags.
A wall fashioned from giant stone blocks filled the gap between
the crags, and a gate of iron-bound wood was set precisely in
its center. Along the top of the wal l , a row of polished spear­
points caught the dying sunlight in shifting, scintillant gleams .
When the B 'twi reached the end of the incline, the gate
swung open, iron h inges creaking faintl y . Two men emerged.
These men were much taller than the B 'twi , but nowhere near
the stature of Imaro. They were ebony-black in hue, with
flaring noses and fully everted lips. Their sturdy bodies were
clad in leather breechclouts and thick bands of buffalo hide
that encased them from chest to groin. Leather skullcaps crested
with feathers protected their heads . Along with the short,
92 Charles R . Saunders
straight swords scabbarded at their sides, they carried spears .
designed for stabbing rather than throwing. The points of those
spears were aimed at the chest of Njuko .
"Brought us another slave, forest scum," one of the guards
sneered.
"Not for you , " Njuko replied impassively . "For the Mwam­
bututssi -the Giant-Kings . "
The guard growled a curse and jabbed his spearpoint only
inches from the B 'twi' s eyes. Then he lowered his hand, for
he knew Njuko spoke only the truth . The Mwambututssi were
the masters of all in Kigesi: B 'twi and his own people-who
were called Kahutu - alike.
Njuko sighed in relief while he and his men lowered their
burden to the ground. Imaro had been difficult to carry; the
B ' tw i were happy to be rid of him. Little did it matter to them
that their captive was destined to slave in the gold mines of
Kigesi. Except for the Giant-Kings, everyone in Kigesi was
a slave . . . .
Other Kahutu guards gathered at the gate as the B 'twi cut
lmaro free from the litter-poles. The small men refused to react
to the jeers of the Kahutu , for they knew the Kahutu were
using them as scapegoats for their own deep resentment of
Mwambututssi rule.
The guards noted the two tiny wounds in the stranger's chest
and neck.
"Two darts," one of them murmured.
"Three ," Njuko corrected, straining to raise Imaro' s shoul­
der to show the Kahutu the third wound in the warrior ' s back.
"Three," the gate-guard repeated pensively. He looked
down on the sleeping form of the latest victim of the B 'twi,
who were quietly departing now that their task was done. Their
village was nestled near the base of Kigesi; they had little to
do with the activities of those who dwelt within its natural
walls.
The guards dragged Imaro through the wide portal . The
wooden gate closed. Kigesi's doom had come . . . .

A deluge of dirty water shocked Imaro out of his drugged

slumber. His eyes blinked open , and he made out several
blurred shapes standing over him. A half-familiar sound as- .
sailed his ears . With a sudden start, he recognized that sound -
 IMARO 93
laughter. His vision clearing, Imaro saw several dark faces
looming above his own, faces reflecting derision and mirth .
His mind still confused by the lingering effects of the drug
the B ' twi smeared on the tips of their darts , lmaro struggled
to regain control of his senses. Men had attacked him in the
strange forest; men were here now , laughing-at him, just as
the Ilyassai had once done. The realization enraged him, for
he hated laughter.
With a swift surge of motion, Imaro attempted to rise . Too
late, he realized that although his legs were unhindered, his
arms were bound securely to his sides. He fell backward ,
measuring his full length along the hard ground. The laughter
redoubled.
The Kahutu who had doused Imaro awake decided to further
his amusement by giving his captive a kick in the ribs. The
moment the guard 's sandaled foot met lmaro 's unprotected
body , the warrior rolled onto his side, flexed his legs, then
drove his feet into the shins of the unsuspecting Kahutu .
Bone bruised; the guard screamed in agony and crumpled
to the ground. The laughter of the others was abruptly stilled
when Imaro climbed to his feet despite the handicap of se­
curely bound arms. Gaping in disbelief, they watched while
Imaro savagely wrenched his upper body from side to side,
straining to tear free from the B 'twi bonds. His iron muscles
stood out in bold relief as he pitted his strength against the
lianas looped around him .
But the wily B ' twi had bound his arms straight to his sides .
He was thus unable to apply sufficient leverage to snap the
resilient vines. Realizing the futility of his efforts, the young
warrior crouched like a lion, his eyes searching for even the
smallest possible avenue for escape. He found none .
Behind him, a wide stone stairway led to the wall between
the twin peaks. A line of armed men stood between Imaro and
the closed gate. Rugged slopes pocked with wide, dark holes
rose precipitously from both sides of the stair. More guardsmen
stood in front of him. Beyond them, he could see more people
coming quickly to the scene of the sudden disturbance. He
caught only a brief glimpse of the dwellings that lay in the
distance before the guardsmen regained sufficient presence of
mind to leap upon him and attempt to wrestle him to the ground .
Imaro braced his� feet and held himself rigid. The guards
heaved and cursed, but it was as though they were grappling
 94 Charles R. Saunders
with an iron statue instead of a man. Finally they succeeded
in bending his knees . They were still straining to topple him
when a deep, imperious voice cut like a dagger through the
din of excited voices .
"This foolishness will cease at once. "
The effect o f the command was immediate. The guardsmen
tumbled away from Imaro like clods of dirt from the back of
a burrowing badger. As he stood erect once again, Imaro no­
ticed that the guards were assuming a peculiar posture. They
bent their heads backward at a painful angle , as if staring at
·

some object in the sky .

· His curiosity piqued, Imaro raised his own head-and
blinked in amazement. He had straightened himself to his ful l
height, yet h e found himself looking directly into the lower
part of a man ' s chest!
lmaro' s gaze traveled upward, unintentionally emulating the
pose of the Kahutu surrounding him. The man the warrior
faced towered as many inches over seven feet as Imaro stood
above six. A twin-tufted crest of hair added to the giant' s
height. Yet lofty as the Giant-King was, he weighed far less
than lmaro did. Where Imaro was muscled like Ngatun the
lion, the Mwambututssi ' s body was attenuated to the point of
emaciation, with a slender torso and long, thin arms and legs.
From the waist down, the gaunt giant was clad in a multi­
layered swath of red-and-white cloth. A belt holding a number
of small skin bags cinctured his sapling-slim waist. Save for
two bands of intricate beadwork crisscrossing his bony chest,
his upper body was unclad, revealing skin as dark as the Ka­
hutus' .
From its position high above Imaro's, the Mwambututssi's
· head appeared disproportionately small . His face, like his
body , was narrow and fine-boned. Over a straight nose and
half-smiling lips, intense dark eyes peered thoughtfully down
at the suddenly dwarfed warrior. Returning the Giant-King's
stare, lmaro barely noticed the others accompanying him.
Many rains had passed since Imaro had felt so smal l . Before
he attained ful l growth, the Ilyassai had towered over him like
this . . . more often than not with their hands upraised. The
expression on the Giant-King ' s face-haughty , condescend­
ing-recalled memories of similar expressions on the faces of
the Ilyassai .
lmaro' s vindication at the Place of Stones had not erased
 IMARO 95

those memories; neither had his feral, solitary existence in the

hill country . Now the memories were back full force. Again
Imaro bore the weight of hatred and humiliation he thought he
had left behind . . . .
It was then that the guardsman whose legs lmaro had struck
realized that the outlander had not tilted his head at the angle
proper for obeisance to the Giant-Kings. Gripping Imaro ' s hair
from behind , the Kahutu jerked the warrior's head sharply
backward.
"Look up in the presence of the Master, outland dog !" he
rasped into lmaro' s ear.
The language was strange, yet tangentially similar to the
tongue of the Tamburure . Though he could not understand all
the words , their import was clear. lmaro stiffened his neck
muscles into a column of iron. The raging Kahutu pulled
harder, but lmaro ' s head did not move . Then , with the guards­
man straining futilely against rigid thews, Imaro suddenly
snapped his head backward , smashing his skull full into the
face of the startled Kahutu . Howling in pain , the guardsman
dropped to his knees . B lood trickled between the fingers he
clutched to his face.
The other guardsmen immediately hemmed lmaro in , im­
mobilizing him through the sheer press of numbers . Were his
hands free and weaponed , lmaro might yet have won free . But
he was bound; helpless. His frustration was reflected on his
snarling face.
Bemused, the Giant-King regarded the captive 's bared' teeth
and blazing eyes . Then he reached down and touched lmaro's
face . Long , bony fingers crept like spiders' legs along the
tightly clenched jaw of the warrior. lmaro strove mightily to
conceal the shudder of disgust the touch of the Mwambututssi
aroused. The Giant-King removed his hand , then smiled.
"A lion , " he murmured . "We have tamed lions before . . . . "
The guardsman lmaro had struck lurched painfully to his
feet, drew his sword, and advanced toward lmaro . Murder
shone in his eyes. But when the Giant-King spoke , the Kahutu
halted in mid-motion.
"What do you intend to do?'' he asked, his voice deceptively
calm .
" I . . . I was going to kill him, Exalted One, " th e guardsman
stammered .
96 CharLes R. Saunders
" 'Kill him? ' " the Giant-King repeated . "When did such as
you gain the prerogative to make such decisions?"
The Kahutu, trembling now , made no reply . Nor was he
expected to. _

"Of course we shall not kill this one ," the Giant-King said.
"Can you not see what a valuable worker he will be? See how
strong he is- stronger than any five of the pitiful wretches we
now have in our mines. I'm sure this one could haul ten times
his weight in gold from the mines each day. Still, I think he
needs a-lesson- in what it means to be a slave of the Giant­
Kings. Is that not so?"
The last was directed as much to the two Mwambututssi
behind the speaker as it was to the petrified Kahutu. They
nodded their tufted heads in quick agreement. Their fear of
their fellow Giant-King seemed only slightly less intense than
that of the Kahutu .
"Come here ," the Mwambututssi said softly to the guards­
man.
Imaro heard the sharp intake of the man ' s breath. He
watched the Kahutu walk stiff-legged toward the Giant-King.
Sweat beaded the guardsman 's ebony face . Fear glazed his
distended eyes. Imaro saw the sun glint from the Kahutu ' s
sword , still drawn . He wondered how an armed man could be
so easily rendered powerless by one who bore no weapons.
Then he remembered the spell of immobility Chitendu had cast
in the Place of Stones . . . .
The Kahutu stood in front of the Giant-King, head still tilted
painfully upward .
"Please ," he whimpered hopelessly. "Please . . . . "
Not deignipg to reply , the Mwambututssi deftly unbelted
one of the skin bags belted to his waist. Carefully he fitted his
palm to the bottom of the bag. Then he flung the bag's contents
toward the face of the hapless guardsman.
To Imaro , the cloud of tiny particles the Giant-King released
seemed nothing more than a handful of dust- but dust never
hovered in midair like a swarm of insects . Now crystalline
wings flashed in the dying sunlight, and a droning hum filled
the air while the cloud enveloped the face of the Kahutu.
Shrieking in agony , the guardsman dropped his sword and
clawed frantisally at the things chewing voraciously at his
flesh. Still screaming, he pitched forward , landing face-down
 IMARO 97
at the feet of the M wambututssi . He jerked and twitched in
violent spasms , his cries muffled by the hard-packed earth .
Finally- mercifully - the Kahutu' s screams ceased , and
he lay still. The Giant-King, extending a narrow, sandaled
foot , prodded the prone body until it lay faceup. The sight
thus revealed raised the gorge of everyone who saw it -in­
cluding lmaro.
The face and fingers of the luckless guardsman were nothing
more than bare , white bone covered with a dark, disintegrating
powder . A sudden puff of breeze blew the powder away, leav­
ing the skull staring from empty eyesockets .
For a long, tense moment, silence prevailed . lmaro had just
been given his first demonstration of the absolute power and
cruelty of the Lord of Kigesi . To the others who witnessed the
deed, it was only one more in a vile and lengthy procession
of reminders.
"Dispose of this," the Giant-King said absently, as though
ordering the removal of the carcass of a dog. While two guards­
men scurried to obey him , the M waml')ututssi continued to
speak. Though much of the language was incomprehensible,
Imaro clearly understood the Giant-King's meaning.
"An interesting bit of magic , this unga-ya-kufa . . . death­
powder," he mused. "Take the life-force of a swarm of simple
carrion-flies, compress it into the span of a moment , multiply
it a thousand-fold, and one gains an effective weapon. With
three bags of unga-ya-kufa, I could strip an elephant of its
bones. Muscular as you are , outlander, you are hardly an el­
ephant. For you, one bag would do . . . . "
His eyes locked with lmaro ' s . His voice turned hard while
his fingers toyed with the drawstring of a second bag.
"Outlander: hear me wel l . I am Kalamungu, lndashyikuwa
of Kigesi . I will say this only once. You have a choice: submit
yourself to our will and work as a slave in the gold mines, or
feel the bite of the unga-ya-kufa. Choose - now ! "
The words "slave , " "mine , " and "gold" meant nothing to
Imaro . While Kalamungu was speaking, Imaro was remem­
bering; remembering a face once alive and beautiful twisted
in terror, surmounting a bloodstained skeleton once clothed
with warm , loving flesh . In his mind, a link formed between
the lost Keteke and the dead Kahutu guardsman. Keteke had
meant everything to him; the Kahutu, nothing. Yet they were
 98 Charles R. Saunders

both vtctlms of mchawi-evil, unnatural sorcery . And he

blamed himself for both deaths . . . .
He glared at Kalamungu. For a moment, the Giant-King's
face seemed to take on the aspect of Chitendu ' s . Kalamungu
tugged at the drawstring of the pouch.
"I will do your work ," lmaro said. Those were the first
words he had spoken to another human being since he had left
the Place of Stones.
Had he known the meaning of the word " slave ," lmaro
might have chosen death . But he didn 't know, and Kalamungu
was satisfied at the warrior's words despite the strangeness of
Imaro ' s accent . The Giant-King rapped out orders concerning
the orientation of his new slave . He did not look at Imaro again
as the guardsmen led him away .
Well that he didn't; what he would have seen in Imaro's
eyes might have frightened even him. Once again, hatred and
vengeance coursed through lmaro ' s blood. Once again , his life
had purpose.

Compared to the other cities of Ruanda, the realm of the

Giant-Kings, Kigesi was a small place. It rested in the cuplike
crater of a vast, extinct volcano. The slopes that formed the
inner walls of the ancient crater were terraced into three distinct
levels.
) The uppermost terrace held the sumptuous dwellings of the
., Mwambututssi . Their circular houses were carved partially
from the dark rock-face. The brightly painted walls and tall ,
conical roofs were decorated with geometric designs inlaid
with gold glinting proudly in the sunlight, garishly proclaiming
the wealth of the Giant-Kings . The Mwambututssi dwellings
spread across the terrace like a monarch's diadem, its crowning
jewel the palace of Kalamungu . As a biru-elder-Kalamungu
held secular authority in Kigesi; as /ndashyikuwa; or Priest of
Virunga, God of the Hidden Fire , he was also the arbiter of
matters spiritual . Thus, in Kigesi Kalamungu ' s power was
supreme. The middle terrace was occupied by the Kahutu .
Their homes were a hodgepodge of dome-shaped hovels con­
structed from wood , stone , and thatch . Lacking paint or dec­
oration, the dwellings of the Kahutu clung to the slopes like
clusters of wasps' nests .
Mean as the Kahutu district was, it still surpassed by far
the conditions of the bottom tier, where the shelters that housed
 IMARO 99

the mine slaves lay scattered like shards of broken pottery .

These shelters were little more than flimsy lean-tos with ragged
cloth hangings serving the dual purpose of wall and doorway .
Each shelter had room for but one slave , for the Mwambututssi
and Kahutu alike were wary of clandestine plots whispered
nocturnally by their unwilling laborers .
There were other, uninhabited terraces in Kigesi, some de·
voted to shambas-elevated garden plots watered by natural
springs, one of which cascaded in a feathery plume to a small
lake that provided most of Kigesi ' s water. Kahutu women
worked the shambas, the only source of food in Kigesi . The
cattle grazed outside the crater were never eateQ, for the
Mwambututssi considered them sacred to Virunga.
It was the caves that pockmarked the other levels of the
crater that accounted for the true significance of Kigesi . Long
ago, the god Virunga had traced veins of gold beneath hardened
lava flows. To Rudahugwa , first of the Indashyikuwas, the
God of the Hidden Fire had revealed the location of the vast
deposits of yellow metal. Through the ensuing centuries , the
Mwambututssi had utilized slave labor to hew caverns , and
within them , shafts to reach the precious metal . The supply
seemed inexhaustible: the Mwambututssi used gold as others
used copper and iron ; yet there was still enough to export at
high prices to the East Coast kingdoms .
However, for all its stratified social structure and incredible
wealth , Kigesi ' s circumstances were far from stable.
In Nkore , the Mwambututssi capital far to the south , the
biru were filling the ears of Ruanda' s monarch , Mwami Ki­
galisi, with their misgivings about the power Kalamungu was
steadily accumulating. And in the hills surrounding Kigesi, a
horde of haramia- bandits - had arisen . Fearless, contemp­
tuous of the sovereignty of the Giant-Kings, the haramia struck
repeatedly at the caravans of Kahutu bearers who carried gold
southward to the craftsmen and refiners. One man had forged
the lawless haramia into a spear pointed at the heart of Kigesi:
Rumanzila, a wanderer and warrior also called the Ravager.
And into thse volatile conditions, a new, even more violent
element had been added-lmaro.

When the next day dawned, Imaro began to understand the

meaning of the word "slave. " After a restless night spent bound
in the shelter to which the Kahutu guards had confined him,
1 00 Charles R . Sounders
the wanior had been unbound and led into the manmade hol­
lows of the mines . He attracted the immediate attention of
slaves and overseers alike , for they. had never seen anyone like
him before.
Although most of the mine slaves were Kahutu miscreants,
more than a few others were hill tribesmen who had wandered
into the Silent Forest and fallen victim to the sleep-darts of the
B'twi. There were also men from the East Coast kingdoms­
mostly traders who had fallen afoul of some obscure component
of the rigid Mwambututssi code of behavior and been con­
demned to mine slavery as punishment for their indiscretions.
But Imaro was neither Kahutu nor hillman nor East Coast
adventurer; his race and dialect were unidentifiable. He was
alien- a wild thing set loose among beasts .of burden. Uneas­
ily , Imaro's fellow slaves eyed his massive frame and smol­
dering frown. Yet they were still determined to have their sport
with the newcomer.
The moment he entered the cavern in which he was to labor,
lmaro was confronted by Njonjo, the Kahutu who was chief
of the overseers, second in authority only to the Mwambu­
tutssi - any Mwambututssi .
Njonjo's face bore the officious sneer o f a man who reveled
in the misuse of limited authority. Armed and clad in the same
manner as the gate-guards, the overseer also earned a whip
coiled at his side . His fingers touched those coils meaningfully
while he told lmaro what was expected of him.
The gold of the Giant-Kings was hacked out of ill-lit shafts
sunk deep in volcanic rock. Huge wooden hoppers attached
to a system of pulleys were used to haul ore-bearing rock to
ground level. The hoppers were emptied at the edges of the
shafts , where the ore was sorted according to its value . Thus
classified, the ore was loaded into smaller containers and taken
to heavily guarded storage areas located in other caverns.
Eventually , the gold would be shipped southward to be refined
and exported.
"You look strong enough," Njonjo comme nted, casting a
practiced gaze over lmaro's thews . "Come with me . "
The overseer led Imaro to a pit where three half-naked
Kahutu stood impassively by a pulley . A fourth man- lean,
rakishly handsome, garbed in ragged cotton trousers and an
embroidered vest- leaned nonchalantly against a row of con­
tainers half-filled with ore. A black mustache stood out against
 IMARO 101
the tobacco-brown of his skin. Imaro paid less attention to him
and the others than to the muffled sound of chisels biting into
the rock far below .
With a wave of his hand, Njonjo dismissed the three Kahutu.
He bid the fourth man remain .
"You'll haul b y yourself," Njonjo told Imaro. "The diggers
below will jerk the rope when the hopper is filled. Then you
pull it up . You work until you are told to stop. And if you fail
to do your job, it will be the whips for you ."
Turning on his heel, the chief overseer called one of his
subordinates to supervise the two slaves. Then Njonjo stalked
away . The lesser overseer grinned nastily at lmaro and his
companion while they awaited the signal from the shaft.
The mustachioed slave, who was too short for a Giant-King
but not stocky enough for a Kahutu, peered closely at Imaro.
The man was from Zanj , one of the East Coast kingdoms , and
never in all his far-flung travels had he seen a man of such
sheer physical presence as Imaro. In his own way, he dwarfed
even the Giant-Kings . . . .
Yet even this one will be broken, he reflected cynically.
"My name is Bomunu, stranger," he said , breaking the
silence, "I hail from Zanj , and I'm in here two years for looking
the wrong way at a Mwambututssi woman in Nkore . What
about you?"
"I am Imaro," the warrior replied. He still found the lan­
guage difficult, but since all the many tongues from the Eastern
Ocean to the Tamburure had sprung from a single root-speech,
it was not difficult for a speaker of one to learn any of the
others. The more Imaro listened to the speech of these people,
the closer it seemed to Ilyassai .
"Why does he smile?" Imaro asked, indicating the grinning
overseer.
·
Bomunu also smiled, his mustache heightening the impres­
sion of amusement.
"Take a look at the other shafts ," the Zanjian said. "How
many men do you see working there?"
Imaro looked.
"Four," he said.
"Right! It takes three men to haul up a ,fully loaded hopper,
and one to sort the ore. This is one of Njonjo's little tricks.
He knows one man cannot haul up a fully loaded hopper. He
sees how hard-looking you are, so he's looking for an excuse
102 Charles R . Saunders
to whip you into line right away . By Mungu , he might even
let Tembo himself take a crack at you . . . . "
" 'Tembo? ' " Imaro repeated. "An . . . elephant?"
"No, just a man who's almost as big as one, and almost as
bright. Tembo the Punisher, we call him. He ' s so terrible the
Giant-Kings won ' t allow him in the mines; he'd frighten the
workers . Tembo probably could haul up a loaded hopper­
and you with it."
Imaro remained unmoved by this revelation.
"Where did you say you were from?" Bomunu asked, hoping
to gain more information before the signal came . This one is
indeed a hard man, he reflected. But other hard men had been
broken , mostly beneath the whip of Tembo.
"I did not say , " Imaro grunted. For a moment, he was not
certain how he would reply. He had renounced the Ilyassai .
Yet in the end, they had accepted him . Regardless of the
wrongs his mother's people had done him, he had earned the
right to call himself a warrior of the Ilyassai. The choice of
self-exile had been his; so, now, was the choice of whether
or not to identify himself with the masters of the Tamburure.
All at once , he felt an overwhelming yearning for his home,
a land where hills did not rear up to block out the· sky . . . .
"I was Ilyassai ," Imaro said.
" ' Ilyassai , "' Bomunu repeated thoughtfully, noting that
Imaro had used the past tense in his identification. "I heard a
tale, once, of a people by that name. Tell me, do the Ilyassai
really eat lions and drink the blood of their enemies?"
lmaro drew himself up proudly. "We would never eat the
flesh of Ngatun!" he thundered. "We drink Ngatun's blood
when we slay him to prove our manhood. The blood of our
enemies washes our spears, not our tongues ! "
Taken aback by the violence o f Imaro ' s response, Bomunu
was about to warn the Ilyassai to keep his voice down ; but a
tug from below suddenly shook the rope that led from the
pulley to the hopper.
"There it is," Bomunu said quickly. "Give it a real effort;
show that you 're really trying. Then it might not go so badly
for you when Njonjo learns you couldn 't do it. "
Wordlessly, Imaro grasped the thick rope in both hands. He
gave it an experimental tug, testing the weight of the hopper.
"Pull , slave !" the overseer shouted, eager for his moment
of sadistic amusement.
 IMARO 103
Imaro looked at the overseer: the Kahutu's scornful expres­
sion faded. He stared at the outlander's lion-like thews and
realized that although Imaro did not have the bulky mass of
Tembo, he might indeed prove capable of performing the im­
possible task set by Njonjo . . . .
Only the tensing and relaxing of the muscles beneath his
dark hide betrayed the effort Imaro put into hauling the hopper
upward. His legs were braced like pillars of iron and his chest
rose and fell deeply with his regular, unhurried breathing. His
arms pumped tirelessly , and rope piled in snakelike coils at his
feet.
Bomunu, the overseer, and all the others who had been
surreptitiously observing what was intended as a cruel jest now
gaped in goggle-eyed disbelief as the top of the hopper came
into view . Imaro' s expression did not change while he held the
hopper suspended in- the air, level with the clamps set at the
rim of the shaft.
The overseer was the first to regain his composure.
"Clamp it!" he snapped to Bomunu . A flick of the whip
punctuated the Kahutu' s command.
Stung, the Zanjian jumped to obey . The overseer accom­
panied him to the hopper, wanting to assure himself that the
iron-bound wooden box had been properly filled. It had.
While Bomunu kicked the clamps into place and began his
task of separating high-grade ore from low, the overseer, re­
membering what Njonjo had told him to do and well aware
that he was not immune to Njonjo's wrath, shouted down the
shaft: "Load more ore into this cursed thing or I won't lower
the ladders for you tonight!"
Mutterings of fear drifted up from the workers below. The
ladders, which were knotted lengths of rope flung down at
sunset by the overseers , were the slaves' only means of exit
from the dark depths of the shafts. If the overseers did not
bring the ladders, the slaves would be forced to spend the night
underground, long after their torches sputtered out. They knew
that Virunga, God of the Hidden Fire, slept in those depths.
And sometimes Virunga stirred in his sleep . . . .
Imaro re-lowered the empty hopper and waited patiently for
the next load. Swiftly, Bomunu completed his chore of sorting
and classification. In the meantime, the overseer had dis­
patched a runner to fetch Njonjo. By the time the chief of the
overseers arrived, Bomunu had completed his sorting.
1 04 Charles R . Saunders
Njonjo glared balefully at his subordinate.
"You're telling me he did haul this thing up by himself?"
he demanded.
"There's the hopper; there' s the gold," the other replied
sullenly.
For a moment it seemed Njonjo would strike the other ov­
erseer. Then, noting the expressions on the faces of the slaves
and overseers who were regarding the tableau, he thought better
of it. It was obvious even to him that the outlander had indeed
raised the hopper, and he knew his authority would be under­
mined if he struck his subordinate for telling the truth.
Two things dominated Njonjo's life: deference to the Giant­
Kings and the preservation of his own authority. It was toward
the fulfillment of the latter that he strode to the edge of the
shaft and shouted:
"You down there: this is Njonjo, and I'm telling you you'd
better. make certain this hopper doesn't go up next time you
pull the rope. You know what will happen to you if you fail
to do as I tell you . . . .
"

Turning to lmaro, Njonjo said, "Remember, outlander, if

you don't do your job, it' s the whips for you." .
Their eyes locked. lmaro returned the overseer's glare im­
perturbably while he awaited the next tug of the rope. Tension
hung like a charge of lightning in the dank atmosphere of the
mine.
At the bottom of the shaft, the diggers murmured nervously .
Because they knew nothing of what had happened above,
Njonjo's command seemed totally irrational . Still, they knew
the penalty for questioning an overseer. By the feeble light of
their torches, they piled ore well above the brim of the hopper.
Satisfied that no three men could lift such a load, they yanked
on the rope.
Their eyes bulged in amazement when the hopper began
slowly to rise . They remembered what Njonjo had told them.
Fear and desperation spurred the diggers' next action . . . .
lmaro pulled slowly , steadily. This time, his effort was plain
to see; the muscles of his arms, back, and legs stood out in
ridges hard as the rock surrounding him. His hands worked
tirelessly, end over end as the rope coils again accumulated
at his feet.
Cries of consternation rose from the pit as Imaro hauled the
immense weight upward. For a moment, it appeared the load
 IMARO 1 05

had suddenly become too heavy for him, despite the aid of the
pulley mechanism. Then it continued to rise.
When the hopper finally hove into sight, the reason for the
greater difficulty of Imaro' s second load became evident. Three
of the diggers , mindful of Njonjo's command and dreading the
consequences of failure, had attempted to hold the hopper down
with their own hands when they saw it rising. Despite their
added weight, lmaro had hauled the hopper upward with the
three stunned slaves still clinging to its edges!
Not daring to let go now, the three slaves hung on to the
hopper by their fingers . Their eyes rolled white with fear when
they saw that Njonjo was watching them. And they knew what
tile madman 's glitter in the overseer's eyes meant . . . .
Bomunu bent to clamp the hopper. Njonjo's whip cracked
in front of the Zanjian's face; Bomunu drew back sharply.
"Don't touch it . " Njonjo's tone was dangerously quiet.
"Hold the hopper where it is," Njonjo said to Imaro. "Your
life , if you let it drop. "
Though i t was taking the Ilyassai even more effort t o hold
the hopper unsupported than it had to raise it, Imaro complied .
Pain now pierced his muscles like spearpoints, and perspiration
bathed his dark brown skin. Still, he held the load in place.
He was his strength , and he would not allow himself to fail
any test, no matter who set it . . . .
Drawing his sword , Njonjo strode to the hopper. Method­
ically, the blade rose and fell, each slash severing fingers curled
desperately over the edge of the hopper. The diggers shrieked
futile pleas for mercy as their fingers fel l away , and they
screamed still louder when they plunged fingerless down the
dark shaft. The cries of the last slave were especially terrible
to hear, for he had been forced to watch helplessly, knowing
that his comrades' fate would soon be his. Finally he , too, fel l ,
his screams ending i n a sickening smack far below. And the
dead silence of those who still lived was even more frightening
than the screams of the dying . . . .
"Unload this," Njonjo curtly ordered a trembling Bomunu.
"And do not clamp the hopper."
Wiping the blood from his blade, Njonjo departed without
another word , leaving his underling to see that his commands
were carried out -especially the one warning against clamping
the hopper before Bomunu finished sorting through it.
lmaro shut his eyes. His teeth ground together in effort. His
106 Charles R . Saunders
anns felt as though they were being pulled from their sockets
by the strain of keeping the hopper aloft. Bomunu attempted
to aid him by unloading and sorting as rapidly as he could .
But the Zanjian slowed momentarily when he found himself
sorting severed, bleeding fingers from chunks of ore . . . .
When the unloading was complete, and he was able to lower
the empty hopper, Imaro was hard pressed to beat back his
urge to seek out Njonjo and hurl him down the mine shaft.
Yet suppress it he did, for he was beset by a more pervasive
and powerful emotion: guilt.
It was through his actions that the wretched mine slaves had
died, even though his had not been the hand that slew them.
Again , he was indirectly responsible for another's death, as
he had been for Keteke's and that of the nameless Kahutu gate
guard. The three slaves meant nothing to him, yet the guilt
their deaths now aroused in him was wrenching. For he knew
that if he had not been so intent upon proving his strength, the
three diggers would not have died. He had no need to avoid a
whipping: he doubted that the feared "Tembo" could inflict
anything worse than he had endured in mafundishu-ya-muran .
The guilt was his; he would have to atone for it.
A plan began to form in lmaro' s mind . A plan, and a
purpose . As always , his motivation was vengeance. This time,
however, the vengeance he sought was not for himself, but for
others .
As they awaited the signal to raise the next load (it never
occurred to the diggers to cease their labor to mourn their
dead), Bomunu eyed Imaro speculatively, as though he were
weighing the warrior' s worth . Wrapped in his own dark brood­
ings, the warrior paid the Zanjian no heed.
He should have . . . .

Hanging low in a welter' of cannine clouds , Juan bore fiery

witness to the end of the mine slaves' day. There were some
who did not trudge wearily down the slopes to their shelters ­
the diggers in the shaft from which Imaro had done his hauling.
By Njonjo's command, the rope ladders had not been lowered
for them , and the slaves were forced to spend the night with
their dead, fingerless companions in the soon-to-be pitch-black
shaft.
As he squatted with his fellow slaves in front of a long
wooden trough , Imaro imagined he could still hear the diggers'
 IMARO [07
pleas for mercy echoing from the unfeeling walls of the cavern .
He watched impassively while Kahutu women dumped the
slaves ' evening meal into the troughs as though they were
feeding animal s . During the day, the slaves had been allowed
a single meal of millet cakes and water-just enough to sustain
their efforts until sundown. Now they quietly awaited their
portion of a tepid stew made of vegetables from the shambas.
Imaro wondered if the warriors and women of the Ilyassai
would ever have allowed themselves to be "enslaved"- his
mind still grappled with the implications of the word - so
thoroughly as the Kahutu . He himself had submitted-but for
his own reasons.
He was dwelling upon an image of Njonjo and Kalamungu
with a single throat across which he was slicing a simi when
Bomunu interrupted his thoughts.
"That was an impressive feat you performed in the mine
today ," the Zanjian commented while he sidled into the space
next to Imaro . "Tell me, what is the secret of your strength?"
A taunt Kanoko had hurled at him when he was younger
sprang suddenly into Imaro ' s mind.
"My father was a buffalo," he said dryly .
Bomunu chuckled.
"You surprise me, Imaro. You know , I think you are about ·
the strongest man I ' ve seen-not including Tembo, of course.
But you are not necessarily the brightest."
Imaro looked at him. The Zanjian cursed his own glib
tongue .
"I didn 't mean any offense, my friend , " he backtracked .
"What did you mean , then?"
"Simply this: you shouldn't have drawn attention to yourself
with those strongman heroics . If you had simply taken your
whipping, those men wouldn't have been killed by Njonjo."
"I know that," Imaro growled.
"Then why did you do it? If you're strong enough to lift
that load by yourself, you 're more than strong enough to endure
a beating from Tembo. I wouldn 't expect you to be afraid of
that. "
Imaro' s expression turned ugly. He glared at Bornunu; the
Zanjian looked away.
"The only thing that ever caused me fear, I killed," lrnaro
said. His mind was on his encounter with Chitendu in the Place
of Stones . . . .
108 Charles R. Saunders
"Fear ;• Bomunu mused aloud. "This place is infested with
it. We slaves fear Njonjo and Tembo. The Kahutu fear the
Giant-Kings . And even the Mwambututssi fear Kalamungu,
for he will not hesitate to turn his sorcery against them if they
oppose him. And all in Kigesi-even Kalamungu , though he'd
never admit it - fear Rumanzila."
"Rumanzila?" lmaro repeated . "Who is Rumanzila?"
"He is a leader of haramia-bandits. It is said he means
to relieve the Giant-Kings of the gold of Kigesi . And there are
those among us who wouldn 't mind helping him take it . . . . "
"Shut up , you Zanjian fool ! " hissed a slave sitting near
Bomunu . "You know what will happen to us if Njonjo catches
wind of that kind of talk ! "
Before Bomunu could retort , the woman bearing the food
for their section of the trough arrived. lmaro looked up -and
his interest in the nuances of Kigesi politics evaporated .
The women of the Tamburure were lithe and slender as
gazelles . The few Mwambututssi women Imaro had seen were
as tal l , awkward , and angular as giraffes . But the Kahutu
woman now pouring the contents of a large clay pot into the
trough was like no woman lmaro had seen before .
She wore only a rectangle of bark-cloth wrapped loosely
around her waist. Her hips flared outward beneath a waist
lmaro could have circled with both his hands . Her large , round
breasts bobbed as she raised the empty jar.
A lifetime of toiling in the sun had darkened her skin to the
color of polished jet. Her body was soft and feminine, yet there
was strength beneath the softness. Women of similar aspect
wended through the press at the troughs , but lmaro ' s attention
was claimed completely by the one who lingered before him.
He failed to notice that the slaves sitting near him had lapsed
into strained silence. No one so much as glanced at the lush
beauty of the Kahutu woman . They seemed afraid to look at
her.
Her eyes met lmaro' s . Her face was framed by a thick bush
of kinky black hair- the sight of hair on the head of a woman
was at once shocking and intriguing to lmaro . Full lips parted
slightly beneath her wide Kahutu nose; midnight eyes gazed
deeply into those of the warrior who was now a slave. A flame
kindled in the eyes of both . . . . .
Then lmaro saw a sudden widening of the Kahutu woman's
eyes, and his moment of distraction ended .
 IMARO 1 09
Well that i t did. A slight sound behind him was his only
warning. Imaro moved instantaneously, but a moment too late.
Before he could get to his feet, something hard and heavy
smashed into his side, catapulting him over the trough . Only
narrowly did he miss colliding with the object of his late fas­
cination.
Heedless of the pain that shot through muscles already ach­
ing from his labor in the mines, lmaro twisted, rolled, and
sprang lightly to his feet to face his attacker.
A quick glance took in both weapon and wielder. The
weapon was a misbegotten combination of whip and club: a
python-thick cylinder of leather stuffed with .sand. The wielder
was a man whose height was close to Imaro ' s . His body ,
however, was far bulkier, at once paunchy and powerful. Long
arms knotted with muscle and a shaven, loaf-shaped head added
an apish aspect to his appearance.
One eye stared dully from a vapid, coarse-featured face. A
patch fashioned from leopard skin covered his other orb. Except
for a ragged strip of bark-cloth girding his loins, the whip­
wielder's mountaineous body was naked.
lmaro knew this could only be one person: Tembo the Pun­
isher. Next to Tembo stood Njonjo. Hatred blazed in the nar­
rowed eyes of the overseer.
"That's my woman , outlander, " he growled, indicating the
one who had poured lmaro' s stew . "I'll teach you not to look
at my woman like that. Tembo -hit him !"
Mindlessly, the huge man obeyed . The heavy whip snaked
out with frigthening speed toward Imaro-and hit air. Imaro
had shifted his body just far enough to avoid the caress of the
whip. To the onlookers , it seemed the Ilyassai had not moved
at all.
"Hit him, you half-witted gorilla!" Njonjo shouted, nearly
incoherent with rage . From the corner of his eyes , l maro cast
a glance at the woman Njonjo claimed . Her face bore an expres­
sion of abject fear; she clutched the pottery jar close to her as
though the vessel had protective qualities of some kind.
Once, twice, three times did Tembo swing his whip at
lmaro. In mafundishu-ya-muran, he had learned to dodge
thrown spears; Tembo' s whip was not difficult to evade. A
murmur of disbelief rose from the watching slaves.
Imaro gauged the distance between himself and Tembo.
One sudden leap over the trough before the Punisher could
1 10 Charles R. Saunders
draw back his whip would be sufficient to learn how well
Tembo fought without his whip . . . .
"Stop ," a new voice commanded . Immediately, attention
turned to the towering figure of a Mwambututssi . This one was
not Kalamungu, but he was still a Giant-King, and in Kigesi ,
obedience to the Giant-Kings was automatic.
- Heads snapped upward in deference to the Mwambututssi,
whose lanky frame was swathed in patterned cloth of red and
white. Even Tembo unlimbered his bull-neck sufficiently to
elevate his face the prescribed distance.
lmaro kept his gaze resolutely level . The Mwambututssi did
not notice him.
"Njonjo ! " he barked. "Why has this feeding been inter­
rupted?"
"This dog was looking at Tanisha," the overseer explained
sulkily. "Tanisha is mine . . . .
"

With surprising force, the bony hand of the Mwambututssi

struck the side of Njonjo's face. The Kahutu staggered, but
managed to maintain his raised-head posture .
"On the contrary ," the Giant-King stated flatly. "Tanisha
belongs to the Giant-Kings- as do you, and everyone else in
Kigesi who is not of the Mwambututssi. You are beginning
to exceed yourself, Njonjo. You forget that outside the mines,
you have no authority to order whippings . And there were
slaves lost in the mines today, Njonjo. You say it was an
accident, but I tell you this: another demonstration of ineffi­
ciency on your part, and it will be you who will feel Tembo's
lash. Now , continue the feeding. In the meantime, you may
be sure Kalamungu will hear of this . "
The Giant-King turned abruptly on his heel and departed,
twitching his nose as though he could no longer bear the odor
of hundreds of people he considered human cattle. Although
the Mwambututssi had affected not to notice Imaro 's refusal
to rai_se his head, the act of defiance had not escaped his eye.
Kalamungu would hear of that, too . . . .
"You heard him," Njonjo shouted, exercising his second­
hand authority . The relief he felt at the M wambututssi' s having
accepted his lie concerning the death of the diggers in the shaft
was muted by the sting of the Giant-King 's slap.
"Get the rest of this slop in the troughs," he commanded .
"And you , Tanisha-get out of here. I will deal with you
later. "
 IMARO 111
Already dreading what Njonjo might do, Tanisha scurried
off toward the second tier of dwellings. Imaro watched the
play of sunlight across her smooth, naked back. Then he turned
his attention to Tembo and Njonjo.
Tembo's face remained empty of expression. But Njonjo
fixed Imaro with a hard , hateful glare. Imaro met the challenge
of the Kahutu' s eyes; it was the overseer who dropped his
gaze. Njonjo turned and stalked after Tanisha, Tembo follow­
ing faithfully at his heels.
Imaro resumed his squatting posture , dipped his hands into
the trough, and poured the greasy mixture of vegetables down
his throat as the others did. Between mouthfuls, Bomunu re­
garded him intently.
"lmaro, you have made a very dangerous enemy," the Zan­
jian said at last. "And don 't think the Giant-Kings themselves
won't be watching you from now on."
Imaro did not reply. Bomunu had called him "friend ," but
the Ilyassai was not certain he wanted the friendship of the
Zanjian. Somehow, the man reminded him of Hila the fox­
cunning and treacherous, as any small predator must be.
"It seems , my friend, that there is now something· new to
fear in Kigesi," Bomunu murmured.
"What?" Imaro asked.
"You."

Time passed slowly in the mines of the Giant-Kings. The

days crept by like a procession of slugs across a tree root, each
one leaving behind its dull slime of memories: aching muscles,
senseless beatings, and, above all, unmitigated drudgery.
Yet there was now a new element in the dreary , predictable
pattern of the slaves of the Mwambututssi . Thoughts and
emotions long-suppressed were beginning to resurface, for Im­
aro was among them.
At first, the Ilyassai had felt only contempt for the passivity
with which his fellow slaves accepted their fate. Then he re­
membered Kalamungu ' s death-powder and the naked bone that
was all that remained of the face of the unfortunate gate guard.
He remembered the terror and despair on the faces of the
diggers when Njonjo severed their fingers and sent the slaves
plummeting to their doom. . . .
Thus he realized that the slaves had reason for their fear.
He realized it in an Ilyassai way: the masters of the Tamburure
 1 12 Charles R. Sounders
were pitiless, but just. There was no justice in the casual cruelty
of the Giant-Kings and their minions.
Although the Ilyassai had not enslaved him, lmaro saw an
undei"Jying similiarity between the way his mother's people had
treated him and the way the -Giant-Kings regarded their slaves.
In both cases, there was an unstated assumption of intrinsic
superiority-an assumption Imaro detested. And the iron re­
solve that had become lmaro' s purpose was formed .
H e would leave Kigesi . But h e would not leave alone. Nor
would he depart while those who deserved slaying still
lived . . . .
While he continued to haul loads of ore that would have
broken the backs of other men, lmaro talked with the other
slaves. He spoke of freedom . Most remained fearfully silent;
others crept away from him as though he were carrying some
virulent plague . These last were the ones who blamed lmaro
for the deaths of the men Njonjo had hacked from the hopper.
Those who had been forced to spend the dark night in the shaft
with their dead comrades had themselves been discovered dead
the following morning, their faces masks of horror. For those
deaths, too, some held lmaro responsible.
Yet lmaro had expressed his remorse for those deaths. He
told his comrades that he would never have performed his feat
of strength had he known of its consequences. And because
of that acknowledgment of guilt, a growing number of slaves
listened closely to Imaro ' s words. And the rebellion that had
· been no more than dormant ash in their souls began to smolder
into sullen flame.
There were some who remained noncommittal, such as
Bomunu the Zanjian. Once, at a feeding, Bomunu had offered
a warning to the Ilyassai .
"lmaro, you are a fool to keep spreading talk of an uprising.
Don 't you realize some of the loyal dogs here have been going
to Njonjo and telling him what you ' ve been saying?"
"Let them ," lmaro replied calmly. He had achieved fluency
in the tongue of Kigesi , though his foreign accent still set his
speech apart.
"Njonjo knows there is nothing he or his pet, Tembo, can
do to stop me besides putting me to death . And Njonjo knows
he can't kill me. If he does , then the slaves and the Giant­
Kings will know Njonjo was afraid to let me live . And that
would be the end of Njonjo."
 IMARO 1 13
Bomunu had fallen silent , realizing that there was more to
this strange young barbarian than simple brute strength . Imaro
had analyzed the current balance of power in Kigesi as adroitly
as any courtier of Zanj or Azania might hav� done. Though
the slaves' fear of Njonjo and the G iant-Kings had not dimin­
ished, they regarded the Ilyassai with undisguised awe. His
quiet defiance- never did he raise his head to the Giant­
Kings- and his phenomenal strength had secured that esteem.
Njonjo 's borrowed authority was eroding, and the Kahutu
seemed powerless to halt Imaro ' s gradual undermining of his
position . As Imaro had reasoned , Njonjo was well aware that
slaying Imaro out of hand could lead to open mutiny among
his restive charges . Njonjo was equall y well aware of the fate
that would befall him should he lose control of the slaves . . . .
The Giant-Kings themselves had become increasingly agi­
tated and irritable. The haramia of Rumanzila were growing
ever bolder in their incursions , and Kalamungu had sent runners
to Mwami Kagalisi to request soldiers to bolster Kigesi 's de­
fenses. Tense as his masters were, Njonjo knew that further
signs of unrest among the slaves would be attributed to him,
and the consequences would be his alone to suffer.
Scowling, snapping his whip at the slightest provocation,
Njonjo strove desperately to divine a way to rid himself of
Imaro without destroying his own future as well.
Had he known of the one resource he did possess, Njonjo
would not have used it . . . .

Tanisha made scant secret of her attraction to Imaro. Each

sunset at feeding time, it was she who poured the stew into .
Imaro 's trough . While he ate, she would linger and smile
alluringly at him before she left the troughs. lmaro watched
the gentle sway of her hips beneath her bark-cloth garment as
she walked, but he remained indifferent to her unspoken ad­
vances .
It was not that he found her undesirable - far from that.
Nor did he fear the jealousy of Njonjo. He did, however,
suspect that the overseer was responsible for Tanisha 's undis­
guised interest in him. He knew that Tanisha was a gift from
the Giant-Kings to Njonjo, and to . become involved with her
would be to run directly afoul of the overseer. Imaro did not
fear Njonjo's wrath , but he would confront the overseer at a
l l4 Charles R.'Saunders
time of his own choosing. Thus, only glances passed between
him and Tanisha.
Even so , the image of Tanisha pervaded his dreams ­
dreams of which he never spoke . For Tanisha shared his dreams
with lost Keteke, murdered Keteke. Keteke, whose terror-dis­
torted face would blot out his visions of a seductively smiling
Tanisha.
Sometimes he would dream that he was in the Tamburure
again, standing triumphant over Kanoko and looking toward
the pool where a woman waited, water beading on her bare
skin . The woman was Tanisha, not Keteke . . . while she
smiled, she sank beneath the surface of the pool , and Imaro
could not move to save her. . . .
Worst of all were the nightmares in which he was once
again in the Place of Stones, facing the undead creatures that
served Chitendu . The foremost of the creatures held up a grisly
remnant of a human body: a blood-smeared skeleton beneath
a face twisted into a mask of abysmal horror. And in those
dreams , the face atop the bare bones was Tanisha ' s , not Ke­
teke' s . . . .
The dreams were an enemy Imaro was powerless to fight.
All his physical prowess could not hold them at bay once his
eyes closed in sleep. During those dreams he thrashed and
bellowed wildly, awakening the slaves in the shelters beside his
and causing them to speculate fearfully concerning what it was
that could cause such distress at night to one who was so
imperturbable during the day.
It was during such a nightmare that Tanisha slipped quietly
into Imaro ' s shelter and lay next to him on the straw mat that
served as his bed.
At once , she perceived his anguis h . She ran cool , soothing
hands across his sweat-slicked body; she showered kisses onto
his upturned face . At another time , the Ilyassai would have
awakened instantly, his hands snaking toward the throat of the
intruder. This time, his agitation ceased, and for a moment he
held Tanisha cradled in his massive arms. Then he awakened.
He felt the smooth , yielding flesh of the body that lay atop
his. Though Tanisha was only a dark silhouette outlined in the
dim light filtering in through the gaps in the thatched walls of
his shelter, he knew who she was. Who else could it be?
A rough shove sent Tanisha tumbling from the mat.
"Why did you come here ?" he demanded.
 IMARO 1 15
Stung by Imaro's rejection , Tanisha blurted the first thought
that came to her mind: "To learn whether or not you are a
man. "
Now it was Imaro's turn to be stung. Catching Tanisha by
the arms, he pulled her toward him. She gasped; his grip was
like iron , and even the slight pressure he was applying against
her arms brought a small cry of pain to her lips.
"You mean to learn whether or not I am a fool , don't you?
I know Njonjo sent you here to-"
"Njonjo?" Tanisha broke in incredulously. "You think
Njonjo told me to come here? Imaro , you are a fool. Njonjo
knows nothing of this ! He doesn 't even know I'm gone from
our sleeping-mat. I put a herb in his food -the same one the
B 'twi use on their sleep-darts. Why would you think Njonjo
would send me here?
The Ilyassai released her. She sat on her haunches and
rubbed the pain from her arms. She peered curiously at the
unreadable outline of Imaro's face.
"Njonjo knows I will destroy him," Imaro replied. "So he
would try to destroy me first, using you . "
After a short silence , Tanisha's hands touched Imaro 's face .
The warrior's hands closed over hers. For a moment, she was
afraid he would thrust her hands away from him. He didn 't.
"I see you are far from a fool ," she murmured. "And you
are a man . . . I lied before . You are more of a man than anyone

in Kigesi, even the Giant-Kings. Yet you do not look upon me

as a man should . And in your sleep, you cry out l ike a child.
I came to you to learn why . "
Imaro was tempted then-tempted to pour out the grimness
of his past: the horror of the Place of Stones; the evil of the
oibonok Chitendu; the final , indelible image of Keteke that
appeared in dreams that would not cease . . . .
He came very close to telling her of these things . But he
could not. He believed the burden of his past was his alone
to bear.
He removed his hands from Tanisha' s and clasped her warm,
bare shoulders . She was immediate, real , not a hideous phan­
tasm of memory . His need for her shook him as Ngatun shakes
the carcass of a new kil l . He thought of the bones beneath the
flesh he now touched -No ! He would not dwell on the past,
he told himself savagely . Not this night . . . .
Imaro drew Tanisha closer, and their mouths met. They
1 16 Charles R. Saunders
clung together in a hungry embrace; their few gannents soon
littered the dirt floor of the shelter. As they made ardent, almost
desperate love , Imaro' s haunting memories were washed away
in a wave of passion. And Tanisha's questions remained un­
answered.

In the mines the next day , all eyes focused on Imaro . Though
Njonjo had passed the night in drugged , insensate slumber,
others hadn 't. Despite Tanisha's stealth and craft, Imaro was
certain that by morning it would be no secret that Njonjo's
woman had spent most of the preceding night in lmaro's shel­
ter. Njonjo would strike soon -but when?
Imaro maintained a wary vigilance while he hauled his hop­
pers of ore . Tension crackled in. the dank air of the cavern,
and the other slaves cast continual sidelong glances toward the
shaft worked by Imaro and Bomunu.
As he clamped Imaro's latest hopper-load into place, Bo­
munu smiled enigmatically.
"How was she?" he said in a voice loud enough for the
slaves at the next shaft to hear.
Astonished, lmaro could only reply, "What?"
"You don 't need to play the dim-wit with me; Imaro ," the
Zanjian said , even more loudly . "Everyone in Kigesi knows
you had Njonjo's woman last night. How was she?"
lmaro' s anger rose . He had never trusted the smooth-talking
Zanjian, but he had never suspected that Bomunu was capable
of treachery of this kind.
Before Imaro could react further, he heard a deadly whine
in the air behind him. Like a snake of flame , the long black
lash of Njonjo curled about the waist of the Ilyassai . Then
Njonjo pulled with all his strength , spinning Imaro off-balance
with the unwinding of the whip's coils.
. Imaro stumbled, struggling to retain his footing. Njonjo
struck quickly , this time looping the whip around the left ankle
of the Ilyassai . Njonjo pulled again , and Imaro tumbled to the
floor of the cave . When he looked into Njonjo' s face , Imaro
realized that the mindless hatred branded on the features of the
overseer was genuine , and his last doubts concerning the truth
of Tanisha's motives in coming to his shelter were gone . Now
the thought of what Njonjo might have done to Tanisha before
coming to the mines to punish Imaro inflamed the warrior as
little else could.
 IMAiW 1 17
Before Njonjo could jerk the whip free from lmaro's ankle,
the Ilyassai bent forward and grasped the leather cylinder in
his hands. Then he pulled the whip toward him, huge hands
working end-over-end, exactly as · they did when he pulled
hoppers up from the mineshaft . But Njonjo was not nearly so
heavy as a hopper ful l of ore; despite Njonjo's frantic efforts
to tear the whip from Imaro's grasp, the outlander was dragging
him inexorabl y within reach of his hands .
Suddenly , Njonjo released his hold on the whip, scooped
up a handful of cave-dust, and hurled it into Imaro ' s eyes.
Snarling i n surprise, lmaro clawed at his blinded eyes with one
hand and ripped the lash from his ankles with the other. But
he was still down - and vulnerable.
Njonjo drove his heel into lmaro's groin . The Ilyassai dou­
bled over in agony . His breath hissed between teeth ground
tightly together against the pain that stabbed through his ab­
domen and bowels . Then Njonjo' s sandaled foot smashed
against the side of Imaro's skull , sending bolts of bright crim­
son flashing through his brain .
In a mad frenzy, Njonjo continued t o kick at lmaro ' s prone
form. But lmaro did not remain still. Desperately he rolled
across the cave floor, avoiding some - but not all - of the
Kahutu 's blows. Beasts and warriors Imaro had battled before;
and terrifying demons as wel l . But never before had the Uyassai
encountered a man who fought without honor, and now lmaro
lay sprawling in the dust, the pain in his groin threatening to
unman him.
By no outcry did lmaro betray that pain . . . .
Njonjo drew his sword from its scabbard. Through the throb­
bing roar in his skul l , Imaro heard the rasp of iron against
leather. As the. overseer began the downward sweep of his
blade that would end in Imaro 's decapitation , the Il yassai
lurched violently against Njonjo ' s legs.
Caught unaware by lmaro's move, Njonjo fell heavily, his
sword slipping out of his grasp. Though his vision was still
blurred by the dust in his eyes, Imaro could see well enough
to make out the shape of Njonjo' s body . Even as the overseer
lunged toward his fallen sword, Imaro fell upon him.
The warrior's hands closed like vises on Njonjo's wrists .
A choking cry of fear escaped Njonjo's throat when he looked
into the mask of feral fury that was Imaro ' s face . Tfi'e llyassai ' s
1 20 Charles R. Sounders
plead piteously for his life . Three Unsurpassables strode to the
Kahutu's side and drove their spears through his body. Njonjo
died instantly , his final entreaties cut off in a gurgle of blood.
The lndashyikuwa cast a cold gaze toward lmaro. Despite
the Ilyassai's battered condition, he was the more impressive
of the two. His embodiment of indomitable will overshadowed
the condescending aloofness of Kalamungu . . . .
Kalamungu's hand strayed negligently toward the draw­
string of the pouches at his waist . The gesture underscored
Imaro's vulnerability. Njonjo's fallen sword lay too far away
for lmaro to reach before the lndashyikuwa showered him with
the unga-ya-kufa .
"You have caused a valuable piece of property to be de­
stroyed, outlander," Kalamungu said . "Njonjo will not be easy
to replace . You must be punished- severly . You will receive
thirty lashes from the arm of Tembo. It will be an excellent
lesson in the consequences of disobedience- if you survive
it."
A muttering of dismay rippled through the massed slaves.
Tembo had broken men' s backs with fewer than twenty strokes
of the sand-filled lash. And Imaro would receive thirty . . . many
among them doubted that even the Ilyassai could withstand so
many bludgeoning blows delivered by an arm of Tembo's
strength. And Njonjo's treacherous attack had to have taken
its toll on the young warrior. . . .
It had. But the mine slaves knew nothing of what it meant
to be a son-of-no-father among the Ilyassai. That life, which
was yet only four moons gone, had imbued Imaro with an
immense capacity to withstand pain. Without having developed
that attribute, he would never have survived mafundishu-ya­
muran.
"Take him," Kalamungu ordered.
Spears lowered warily, the Unsurpassables stepped forward.
lmaro did not resist them. The llyassai glanced quickly about
the cavern, hoping to catch sight of Bomunu, whose ill-con­
sidered remarks had distracted him and provoked Njonjo. But
the Zanjian was nowhere to be seen.
Surrounded by elongated armsmen, lmaro departed the cav­
ern, and prepared himself for the ordeal to come.

U nder heavy guard, the slaves of the Giant-Kings picked

their way down the steep, rocky pathways that descended from
 IMARO 121
the caverns . Kalamungu had decreed an end to an work s o that
everyone in Kigesi could witness the punishment of Imaro.
The mood of the slaves was sullen. This was a development
the commander of the Unsurpassables noted with concern while
a blank-faced slave sharpened his kukata for him. Even with
the recent reinforcements , the Mwambututssi were badly out­
numbered by the slaves and the Kahutu. And the loyalty of
the Kahutu who were not mine slaves was suspect, for it was
not a loyalty given freely . . . .
The Mwambututssi commander dismissed the slave and
reattached the kukata to his bootheels. Then he dispatched a
runner to Nkore . The message the runner bore was couched
in subtle, courtly phrases , but its import was clear: in the
commander' s opinion, Kalamungu 's control of Kigesi was slip­
ping dangerously.
Kalamungu had the runner slain in the Silent Forest.
The lndashyikuwa knew Imaro had to be broken -reduced
in the eyes of his fellow slaves. Slaying the warrior outright
would not quell the slaves' unrest. For all his unquestioned
supremacy in Kigesi, Kalamungu was well aware that for now ,
he must depend upon the mighty arm of Tembo to enforce his
own authority.
While the populace of all three tiers of Kigesi assembled
in the open area where Tembo plied his trade, two burly Kahutu
cautiously secured Imaro to a large cube of black basalt. The
warrior' s arms were spread wide and manacled to iron rings
sunk deep into the sides of the cube. He faced the stone , his
broad back fully exposed to offer the best target for Tembo's
ponderous swings.
The Punisher, stolid and inert as the stone of the whipping­
block, showed scant interest in these proceedings. To the peo­
ple of Kigesi, Tembo was a figure of mystery as well as dread.
He had been found wandering aimlessly in the pasture outside
the walls of Kigesi . Inexplicably , he had escaped the attention
of the sharp-eyed B 'twi in the Silent Forest.
The hulking stranger had made no move to resist the gate
guards who captured him. Quickly they had discovered that
he could not speak , though he seemed able to understand and
carry out simple commands.
"A human ox," was the way the chief of the gate guards
had appraised his captive. "Send him to Njonjo . "
The late overseer had shrewdly made use of the new slave ' s
1 22 Charles R. Sounders
potential as an enforcer. It was Njonjo who had given him the
name "Tembo"-"Elephant. "
Though Tembo had served Njonjo with doglike devotion,
he exhibited no sign of distress at the death of his master.
There were some who believed the Punisher was masking his
rage , and that Imaro would suffer Tembo ' s vengeance for the
death of Njonjo. But there were others who doubted Tembo
possessed sufficient intelligence to think that purposefully.
A curt gesture from Kalamungu quieted the crowd ' s spec­
ulations.
"Begi n , " he ordered Tembo.
The Punisher's arm rose high . The thick lash wriggled like
a living thing in the glare of Jua. With deceptive speed, the
whip fell , cracking loudly against Imaro 's back and rebounding
as though it had struck the trunk of an ironwood tree . Imaro
neither moved nor cried out . . . but this was only the first blow.
B y the tenth stroke , the crowd was murmuring in disbelief.
No one had ever endured that many of Tembo 's blows without
crying aloud . Yet Imaro remained silent and motionless. For
the first time, a readable expression appeared on the face of
Tembo - a frown . With redoubled vigor, he applied his lash.
When the twentieth blow landed without an outcry, Kala­
mungu spoke sharply to the onlookers. The undertone of ap­
proval in their mutterings annoyed him . . . .
Imaro ' s rigid thews seemed to deflect Tembo' s blows rather
than absorb them. His dark skin remained unbroken , for
Tembo 's whip was not meant to cut. But thick weals were
beginning to stripe Imaro ' s back, and the smash of the whip
against those swellings had to be agonizing . Yet the llyassai
did not cry out; the only sound the crowd heard was the repeated
smack of leather against flesh .
S weat dripped copiously from Tembo ' s skin as he neared
the thirtieth blow . By now , lmaro should have been a writhing,
shrieking travesty of a man . . . or dead. But when the thirtieth
blow did land, the Ilyassai was still silent-and alive.
The crowd gaped in awe - as did the Punisher. . . .
Two Kahutu had remained near Imaro to restrain him if he
attempted to break free during the beating. lmaro 's endurance
had eliminated that duty . Kalamungu ' s voice cut through their
thunderstruck stupor.
"Free his arms . " The Jndashyikuwa ' s voice was devoid of
tone.
 IMARO 1 23
The two Kahutu loosed the manacles that confmed Imaro's
wrists and grasped his arms in an attempt to haul him to his
feet. But Imaro surged to his feet under his own power and
thrust the Kahutu violently aside .
He turned to the blank-faced Tembo. He remembered the
beating he had endured after he lost Kulu, his ngombe, to the
Turkhana. He remembered the punishments meted out by
Masadu during mafundishu-ya-muran. He remembered the
Shaming . And he uttered a harsh, barking sound that might
have been laughter, but wasn ' t .
"Among the Ilyassai , there are old women who hit harder
than you , " he growled contemptuously. And he turned his
welted back on the Punisher .
Now he faced Kalamungu. He looked up at the Giant-King,
but Imaro ' s was not the neck-straining posture of the suppliant.
Apprehension flickered across the features of the lndashyiJ
kuwa, but it was gone before anyone other than Imaro could
detect it.
"Confine the slaves to their shelters," Kalamungu ordered
abruptly . "There will be no more work in the mines today ­
and no feeding . "
The Unsurpassables and their Kahutu underlings lowered
their spearpoints and moved toward the restive slaves . Again,
at a sign from Imaro , they would have attacked the armed men.
But the punishment Imaro had taken from both Tembo and
Njonjo had weakened lmaro more than he showed. His body
throbbed to an internal drumbeat of pain. He knew that if he
attempted to lead an uprising now, he would fall at the first
exchange of blows. When he died, so would the newly stirred
spirit of the slaves. Their doom would not be swift . . . .
Imaro needed rest-badly . He also knew that while he
recovered from his ordeal , Kalamungu might well decide that
the time had come for him to die, despite the risks that action
would involve.
The warrior cast a final glance at Kalamungu, much as
Ngatun eyes a rival seconds before leaping at his throat . Then
he allowed himself to be prodded toward the slave shelters by
the soldiers' spears . Tonight he would risk his life on the
assumption that the lndashyikuwa would not have him slain
until he regained the stature he and the other Mwambututssi
had lost this day . . . .
* * *
1 24 Charles R . Saunders
Armed men infested the lowest level of Kigesi like ants in
the depths of their hill. Under orders to slay any who left their
shelters during the night, the Kahutu guarded the slaves. With
equal dedication , the Unsurpassables guarded the Kahutu .
The attention of all was often distracted by lurid bursts of
light and reverberations that sounded like the drumming of a
giant, all emanating from the palace of the Indashyikuwa.
"He is talking with the God of the Hidden Fire , " the soldiers
and guardsmen muttered nervously to each other.
Aided by this diversion of the armed men's vigilance, Tan­
isha stealthily wended her way through the shadows. She
clutched a straw pouch filled with healing-herbs to her breasts.
A moving shadow in the darkness, she slipped unnoticed into
lmaro ' s shelter. No one guarded it; those who had been ordered
to do so had departed at the first opportunity . As Bomunu had
correctly surmised, lmaro was a figure of fear in Kigesi . . . .
Few words passed between Imaro and Tanisha while the
Kahutu woman spread her poultices across the welts that scored
Imaro ' s back from shoulders to waist. The herbs eased Imaro's
pain, and, more importantly, they reduced the swelling of the
weals and restored mobility to his bruised muscles .
Hot, bitter tears streamed down Tanisha's . face as she
worked on lmaro ' s injuries . They were tears of despair and
self-recrimination. She blamed herself for the events that had
happened that day; had she not come to lmaro' s shelter the
night before , Njonjo's jealousy would not have consumed his
reason .
Now , she was certain lmaro would not remain alive much
longer. And with Njonjo dead, her own future was uncertain.
As mistress to the hated chief of the overseers, she had never
enjoyed much popularity in Kiges i . With Njonjo gone , her
status was doubtfu l . . . .
"lmaro , you must get away ," she urged. "Kalarnungu will
surely have you killed before the sun sets tomorrow. Even
now, they say he is talking with Virunga. Those bags ofdeath­
dust are not all there is to his sorcery. You must go-now-­
and take me with you. Bomunu of Zanj has already escaped;
no one has seen him since this morning. If he can escape from
Kigesi , surely you can . "
Again , corrosive memories assailed Imaro ' s mind. Another
time; another woman . . . .
He heard Keteke ' s voice, begging him not to go to the Place
 IMARO 1 25
of Stones to confront his enemy. Now Tanisha was begging
him, in almost the same words , to forgo the retribution he
planned for Kalamungu . . . .
She appealed to his love . He knew vengeance; knew it well.
He did not know love.
"No," he muttered in the darkness. "I am not yet done with
Kalamungu. But when I do go from Kigesi, you will be at my
side . "
Without further words, Tanisha gathered u p her straw pouch
and departed Imaro ' s shelter as stealthily as she had come.
What gratitude could she express for Imaro ' s vague promise?
None, she answered herself.
Again , she successfully eluded the soldiers. As she hurried
toward the tier of the Kahutu , premonitions of doom scudded
through her mind like thunderclouds darkening the sky. At
best , her future in Kigesi was tenuous . Yet a future with Imaro
seemed impossible. She had been willing to risk the wrath of
Njonjo to be in Imaro's arms, for the outlander inflamed her
passion as no man in slave-ridden Kigesi ever had . She knew
she had given lmaro something he needed . . . but she sensed
that there was something inside the Ilyassai that was forever
closed to her, something she could never touch . . . .
Just as she was about to enter the dwelling she had once
shared with Njonjo, Tanisha was seized by the men who had
been awaiting her in the dark . A callused palm clapped over
her mouth , stifling her screams as she was borne off toward
the upper tier.

The painful jab of a spearshaft into his bruised back jolted

lmaro from a torpid, dreamless slumber. With a snarl of an­
noyance, he opened his eyes, turned over- and batted the
offending spear out of its wielder's hands with a sudden sweep
of his arm.
Quickly the Kahutu crouched in the entrance retrieved his
weapon . He regarded lmaro warily, as if he were face-to-face
with an uncaged lion.
"Come out , " the Kahutu said. "You are wanted by the
Masters . "
H e withdrew from the entrance, the cloth flap dropping
behind him.
Imaro stretched his limbs. Tanisha's poultices had done
their work well; both the size and the pain of his welts had
1 26 Charles R. Saunders
diminished. But a dull , deep ache still throbbed persistently
in his thews as he crawled out of the shelter. When he rose
again, he faced a score of Kahutu , spears leveled and swords
drawn.
Relieved that the outlander made no move to resist them,
the guardsmen marched him along the same path he had trod
the day before - the way to the whipping-stone , where once
again a crowd gathered from the three tiers of Kigesi.
Seen from a distance , the Mwambututssi descending from
the upper tier looked like stick insects bedecked in bright cloth.
The Kahutu and the slaves swarmed l ike ants from the squalor
of their own levels. Mines and shambas were empty of workers ,
for Kalamungu had decreed that this morning the destination
of all in Kigesi would be the same as that of Imaro .
They will try to beat me until ! submit or die , Imaro thought.
He would not submit . . . and he would not die alone . . . .
The crowd was so thick that Imaro's escort was forced to
shove and prod its way through until they reached the site of
the grim drama of the day before . Three Giant-Kings- none
of them Kalamung u - awaited them. The other Mwambututssi
in the crowd stood apart , protected by a cordon of Unsur­
passables.
The absence of the lndashyikuwa had not passed unnoticed
by the crow d . But Tembo the Punisher was not there, either.
One of the Giant-Kings raised his long , bony arm in a signal
for silence. Then he spoke, directing his words to lmaro but
speaking loudly enough for all to hear.
"Outlander, I am instructed to inform you that by command
of the lndashyikuwa Kalamungu, you are to take the place of
Njonjo as chief of the overseers . "
Exclamations o f astonishment rustled through the crowd like
a gust of wind through tall grass. Of all possible turns of events,
this was one of the least expected. The next words of the Giant­
King were , however, even more startling.
"You will also take the place of Tembo the Punisher, who
can no longer be found. He must have fled in shame when he
was unable to make you cry .out yesterday. Whatever the reason
for Tembo ' s disappearance, his whip is yours now . "
A t a word from the Mwambututssi, a Kahutu attendant
handed lmaro the thick, sand-filled length of leather that, until
yesterday , had been an object of fear. lmaro took it. Nearly
a moon had passed since he had last held a weapon in his
 JMARO 1 27
hands . Loathsome though Tembo' s whip was , for a moment
lmaro savored the feel of it.
"There is work for you, outlander," the Giant-King said .
The crowd murmured anew when two Kahutu dragged forth
a struggling captive. It was Tanisha. Bruises showed like

smudges of soot on her dark face. Despite her frenzied efforts

to break free , the Kahutu had little difficulty in manacling her
to the basalt cube.
"Kalamungu commands that you give this woman ten
strokes for plotting rebellion against the Mwambututssi . Fail
to carry out the will of the lndashyikuwa, and you die . "
lmaro looked stolidly down at Tanisha's bare , quivering
flesh . He took a practice swing with the unfamiliar weapon,
carefully avoiding Tanisha's skin.
Then he brought the whip up in a backhand stroke. Its heavy
end landed full in the face of the Mwambututssi who had
commanded him to flog Tanisha. The Giant-King screamed ,
clutched at a face spurting blood from a broken nose , and fel l
backward i n a tangle o f bony arms and legs.
Imaro seethed with frustration . Kalamungu had outwitted
him, forced him to act sooner than he wished. Imaro had
planned to lead by example until his fellow slaves lost enough
of their fear to follow him when the time was right. Now , he
knew he had to lead by action - and he would be battling two
foes this day: the followers of Kalamungu , and the lingering
ache from the flogging he had taken from Tembo . . . .
"See how easily he falls!" lmaro shouted, pointing to the
writhing Giant-King. "Would you be free of these storks who
call themselves your masters? Then strike . . . strike to kil l ! "
Bellowing the war cry of the Ilyassai, h e swung the lash
at one of the Kahutu standing gape-mouthed, shocked by lm­
aro' s unthinkable act of defiance. The Kahutu went down;
lmaro snatched up the man ' s fallen sword. Another sweep of
the lash routed the Kahutu guarding Tanisha. Two clanging
blows of lmaro's sword shattered the manacles that secured
her wrists to the block .
"Find cover," he told her. "I will come for you as soon as
I can."
She had time only to give him a quick smile o f thanks be fore
he plunged back into what had quickly become a raging battle .
The Ilyassai 's action had finally awakened all the hatred that
had always simmered far below the cowed servility of the
1 28 Charles R. Saunders
Giant-Kings' slaves. Now they were turning on their masters
like packs of mbwa, the wild dogs who tear the entrails out
of their still-living prey . . . .
In the first few moments of sheer surprise, slave after slave
tore weapons from the slack hands of shocked guardsmen . The
men from whom the swords and spears were taken died in­
stantly , blood spilled by their own blades. More Kahutu fell;
more weapons filled the hands of mad-eyed slaves bent on
avenging their sufferings with blood.
As women and children of both the Kahutu and the Giant­
Kings fled screaming toward whatever shelter they could find,
the Unsurpassables struck back . The towering soldiers cut their
crazed foes down with wide, deadly sweeps of glittering iron.
For all their frail appearance , the Mwambututssi were lithe and
agile. They wheeled and spun with dancers' grace , their kukata
gouging red furrows in the bodies of their foes . It was as though
the Unsurpassables had four weaponed arms instead of two.
Arrogant even in battle, the Unsurpassables shouted com­
mands to their Kahutu minions. But there were some who did
not heed the words of the Giant-Kings and turned their spears
on their masters . Many Unsurpassables went down, Kahutu
spearpoints plowing upward through their abdomens .
I n the space o f a few moments, Kigesi had become a howling
chaos. The slaves swept like a black tide through the bottom
tier, ripping their shelters apart and making weapons from the
broken support poles. Some, still weaponless, sprang like
panthers at the throats of their former masters , clamping hands
strengthened by unleashed frenzy around the throats of M wam­
butussi and Kahutu alike despite the pain of swordpoints stab­
bing repeatedly into their sides.
Yet for all the reckless ferocity of the rebelling slaves, the
forces of the Giant-Kings were better-armed, better-disci­
plined. If they could organize quickly enough , they could still
turn the battle ' s momentum to their advantage .
It was then that Imaro spearheaded an assault against the
main body of Unsurpassables and Kahutu . The lion in lmaro
was free now; with Kahutu sword in one hand and Tembo 's
lash in the other. he left a trail of dead and maimed foes in his
wake . The others followed him without hesitation , for each
devastating blow lmaro struc� seemed to strengthen their own
arms .
The spurred heel of an Unsurpassable came within a fraction
 IMARO 1 29
of an inch from Imaro's eyes. Save for a warning glint of
sunlight on the metal of the kukata, lmaro might not have
pulled his head back in time. With a single mighty slash , Imaro
severed the Mwambututssi's leg at the knee . Shrieking in pain,
the Unsurpassable fel l , blood spouting from the ·stump of his
leg.
Immediately a Kahutu fighting beside lmaro knelt and
chopped at the other, whole leg of the fallen Mwambututssi .
"Cut their damned legs off ! " the rebel cried as his red sword
rose and fel l . "Then we ' l l see how tall they stand ! "
Others took u p the vengeful cry . Soon any Giant-King who
fell was swarmed over by blood-mad slaves intent on short­
ening their embattled masters by a leg . . . .
The fighting surged to the middle tier. Bloodshed raged
through the hovels of the Kahutu . Terrified women and children
fled toward what they thought to be the safety of the upper
tier. But the women of the Mwambututssi had reached their
tier first , and with whatev�r weapons they could find , they
battled to keep the Kahutu out. Gore painted the gold-chased
walls of Giant-King dwellings.
Though the Unsurpassables fought valiantly, the battle was
turning against them. Years of resentment buried beneath an
exterior of subservience had burst to the surface , and nearly
all of the previously loyal Kahutu had turned on their tall
masters . Only one chance did the Giant-Kings have of quelling
the uprising: the sorcery of the /ndashyikuwa Kalamungu .
But Kalamungu was nowhere to be seen , while Imaro
seemed to be everywhere at once . Sword scarlet to the hilt ;
body streaked with sweat and gore , the Ilyassai fought like
Ngatun himself, striking swiftly and with overwhelming force.
Though he battled at the forefront of the rebels' ranks , he did
not really lead them. Rather, they followed where lmaro chose
to fight.
With a small vanguard of bloodstained fighters , lmaro broke
away from the main battle and ascended toward the tier of the
Mwambututssi . Picking his way through the bodies left behind
in the conflict among the women , Imaro headed straight toward
the palace of Kalamungu . The others followed close behind
him, vengeance flaming in their hearts .

Just . as lmaro reached the stair leading into the palace, a

loud, eerie cry echoed above the clash of arms and the screams
1 30 Charles R. Saunders
of the dying. Twice the strange cry was repeated . . . then a
horde of fully anned Unsurpassables charged down the stair­
way. In an endless stream they came , falling upon Imaro's
dumbfounded band . And , yet again, the tide of battle
changed . . . .
For, although the rebels struck as ferociously against these
newcomers as they had against the Giant-Kings on the lower
tiers, the soldiers from Kalamungu ' s palace did not fall. Yet
when the blades of the Mwambututssi bit into the flesh of the
renegades, they went down like slaughtered steers .
Superstitious fear banked the blazing bloodlust that had
driven Imaro' s comrades thus far. These new, invulnerable
adversaries had to be manifestations of Kalamungu' s sorcerous
powers . Dread leached the slaves' newfound courage; they
began a disordered retreat, some throwing aside their weapons
in headlong flight from the onslaught of the invincible giants
still pouring from the doors of Kalamungu' s palace.
At the sight of the rebels fleeing down from the Mwam­
bututssi terrace, and pursued by Kalamungu' s reinforcements,
a great shout arose from the Giant-Kings and loyal Kahutu still
fighting in the lower tiers. Heartened, the Mwambututssi began
a fierce counterattack against the faltering rebels . .
Cursing violently , Imaro strove to rally the few men who
remained with him in front of Kalamungu ' s palace.
"Look there , you son of Fisi," he shouted , grasping one
would-be deserter by the arm . "Can 't you see that when these
warriors strike, their weapons don 't draw blood? These are
nothing but shadows, man !"
"Then they ' re shadows that kill," the rebel retorted. He tore
loose, leaving only a scrap of cloth in Imaro ' s hand.
Imaro knew he had but one recourse . He must enter the
palace and slay Kalamungu . Without the lndashyikuwa' s sor­
cery to inspire fear in the rebels , the uprising could still suc­
ceed.
Run if you will, then, he thought as the last of his band fled
down the terrace. They had never faced a Chitendu or a N ' tu­
mwaa. And Kalamungu had never faced an Ilyassai . . . .
Gambling his life on the assumption that he faced only
phantoms, lmaro rushed recklessly into the open, whip and
sword poised to strike and slay. His next action appeared to
border on the foolhardy-or insane. Quickly ascertaining the
direction in which the entrance to Kalamungu' s palace lay,
 IMARO 131
Imaro lowered his head and plunged directly through the press
of Unsurpassables . And his eyes were shut tightly as he ran !
The warrior's nape hairs prickled while he raced blindly
toward the doorway. But he encountered nothing-no jarring
collision against thin, armored bodies; no ripping sensation of
blades piercing his flesh. Kalamungu ' s reinforcements were
only an illusion.
lmaro chanced opening his eyes. A rapid scan told him he
had reached the entrance, which debouched into a high-ceil­
inged corridor leading to yet another portal . And he also saw
five Unsurpassables bearing down upon him, weapons darting
toward his chest and abdomen .
At once, lmaro flung his forearm across his eyes-and felt
nothing. His attackers ' weapons were as substanceless as their
flesh . Shaking off his uncharacteristic wariness, the llyassai
lowered his head again and bounded down the corridor like a
great cat pursuing its prey .
He was repeatedly menaced by the shadow-soldiers, who
continued to advance in unceasing numbers . He passed through
them as though they were air, no longer even bothering to avert
his eyes. He reached the second portal , passed through
it . . . then stood stock-stil l , mouth dropping open in disbelief
at what he saw . . . .
The entrance led into a huge, high-vaulted chamber deco­
rated in gold. Like a huge black mantis , Kalamungu crouched
on a dais carved from onyx . The lndashyikuwa's arms wove
an invisible pattern in the air and his lips formed syl lables in
an eldritch tongue . His eyes were open but glazed, unseeing.
His attention was fixed upon a pair of shimmering vortices
suspended only a few paces from the dais .
One vortex pulsated in a sunlike shade of gold, almost
blinding to behold . From it , the shadow-soldiers emerged . As
each lanky figure stepped into the chamber, a nimbus of pale
amber surrounded it, only to dissolve while the phantoms pro­
ceeded to march down the corridor.
The other vortex was a dull, fading saffron . In it , a single,
writhing form was imprisoned: Tanisha! She struggled wildly,
her mouth open in what must have been a continual scream
of horror. But there wa� no sound. The guttering vortex held
her fast while her body slowly . . . disappeared!
As each phantom Unsurpassable materialized in the other
vorte x , Tanisha's body lost substance . Before lmaro ' s horrified
1 32 Charles R. Saunders
eyes , she was becoming translucent as smoke . Her eyes were
like stars dimming in a clouded night sky . . . .
Images flared like brands in Imaro' s brain. Kulu . . . butchered
by the Turkhana N 'tu-mwaa. Keteke . . . fed to the creatures
of the Place of Stones by Chitendu . Both had trusted him. Both
had met grisly fates .
Now Tanisha, who had also given him her trust, was being
divested not only of her flesh but her very substance by Ka­
lamungu 's mchawi.
"No !" lmaro roared. "Not this time!"
The sound of the Ilyassai's voice shattered Kalamungu's
trance-like concentration. The glaze over his eyes faded. Spell­
drained, his movements were groping, sluggish. Imaro's were
not.
With deadly accuracy , the warrior hurled Tembo's whip
across the chamber. It struck the Indashyikuwa at the waistline.
Three skin bags of unga-ya-kufa broke open. And a buzzing
cloud of voracious insects settled on Kalamungu's flesh.
Shrieking like a madman, Kalamungu pitched backward , tum­
bling from the dais onto the polished stone floor. His arms
flailed spasmodically; his body twisted into fantastic contor­
tions; all to no avai l .
Within seconds, the work o f the death-powder was done.
Kalamungu' s cries ended, and the husks of the tiny killers
swathed the Indashyikuwa's corpse in a dusty shroud.
At the moment of Kalamungu 's death, both vortices winked
out of existence. So did the shadow soldiers. To those events,
Imaro paid no heed . After hurling the whip, he had rushed to
the vortex that held Tanisha, hoping with all his soul that he
had stopped Kalamungu before his mchawi destroyed her . . . .
With a muffled cry , she fell into Imaro' s waiting arms.
Warm, solid flesh touched his; Tanisha's body was whole
again. _

"Not this time," he murmured softly.

"I was hiding, as you told me to," she blurted in broken
gasps. "But Kalamungu called me, inside my head . I couldn't
resist him . . . . "
"It's all right. It's over now ," lmaro said with a gentleness
rare for him. He was recalling how irresistible Chitendu 's sum­
moning had been, not so many days ago . . . .
Tanisha did not hear him. Exhaustion overcame her; con­
sciousness slipped quietly away.
 IMARO 1 33
Easily hoisting Tanisha across one shoulder, the warrior
departed the palace of Kalamungu , its vast splendor having
left little impression on him.
Outside the palace , Imaro 's view of the rest of Kigesi was
panoramic. He saw the dead littering all three tiers . Baying
packs of Kahutu were hunting down the few remaining Giant­
Kings, butchering their lower limbs and leaving them to bleed
to death . With the abrupt disappearance of their phantom allies,
the Mwambututssi had lost their last advantage. The small
number of Kahutu who remained loyal to them were dead.
What had begun as a battle had now become a slaughter, a
mass murder of the hated Giant-Kings .
Imaro also saw that there were new ingredients in the caul­
dron of bloodshed. A horde of small, wiry figures wreaked
havoc with spears and daggers of Giant-King and Kahutu alike.
These were the B 'twi, the guardians of the Silent Forest and
the keepers of the Mwambututssi cattle , finally glutting their
age-old hatred of the invaders of their land . . . .
"How did they get in here?" Imaro wondered aloud. Then
he looked toward the huge entrance gate and saw that it had
been flung wide open. Dead gate guards lay strewn along the
steps .
And there were other intruders. A heavily armed body of
men who were not B 'twi had entered Kigesi and were fighting
a pitched battle with the rebel slaves near the gold mines . Imaro
did not know who the newcomers were . . . but he was certain
his guess was correct .
lmaro lowered Tanisha to her feet and gave her a slight
shake. Her eyes opened, focused; then she stood on her feet.
"Stay close to me," Imaro instructed. "I've got to go to the
mines . "
"The mines?" she repeated i n confusion. "Why?"
"The slaves there are in trouble . I led them into this fight;
now I must lead them out of it . "
H e started down the steep slopes leading to the bottom tier.
Tanisha clung to him like a child .

When Imaro and Tanisha reached the area of the mines,

their feet were stained crimson from the puddles of blood
through which they had waded. At the mines, they found the
ex-slaves locked in ferocious combat with outsiders who were
not Kahutu, though they shared the broad features and ebony
134 Charles R. Saunders

skin of that people. The invaders were clad in ill-sorted garb,

mostly breeches of white cotton and iron-studded leather har­
nesses . Some even wore vests of Azanian chain mail. The
battleground was near the caverns the Mwambututssi had set
aside for the storage of ore dug from the mines. Imaro ' s com­
rades were defending this site against the onslaught of the
outsiders .
The leader of the invaders was a huge, shaven-skulled man
garbed in loose-fitting silken trousers and an open, embroidered
vest that bared much of his thick, paunchy torso. Even with
the leopard-skin eyepatch gone and the features alight with
sardonic shrewdness , lmaro recognized the man as Tembo,
erstwhile Punisher of the Giant-Kings. And the lean, musta­
chioed rogue who fought at his side was none other than the
smooth-talking Zanjian, Bomunu.
"Stay back ," l maro told Tanisha. "The Giant-Kings are
finished , but it seems there ' s still some fighting to do. "
Without further words, lmaro joined the battle . At the sight
of his mighty form, the ex-slaves raised a huge shout of wel­
come and approval . Even on a battlefield, word travels quickly,
and most of the rebels knew that lmaro had gone to the palace
to confront Kalamungu . When the shadow-soldiers suddenly
vanished, they knew lmaro had triumphed. Some thought the
Ilyassai had perished with the lndashyikuwa; thus, his arrival
encouraged them greatly . For the invaders had come to the
battle fresh , while the rebels were weary from having wreaked
"
their vengeance on the Giant-Kings.
A strange prickling raced beneath lmaro' s skin when he
heard his comrades' cries of joy at his coming. Never before
had he received such open approval. He was not sure how to
react. . . .
Finally he gave an abrupt nod and moved quickly to the
forefront of the fighting. To either side, the rebels gave way,
opening a clear path to their van for the Ilyassai.
But when the leader of the intruders caught sight of Imaro,
he immediately ordered his men to stop fighting. At that point,
the ex-slaves would have rushed forward in berserk fury. How­
ever, a shout from lmaro brought them to a reluctant halt. If
lmaro had been their leader only by implication before, his
ascendancy was openly acknowledged now. Former slaves and
renegade Kahutu alike deferred to Imaro's authority. Standing
 IMARO 1 35
in front of his blood-spattered comrades, Imaro awaited the
approach of the man he had known as Tembo.
"lmaro ! " the big man boomed. The blankness that had
masked his face was gone now, replaced by a mixture of
cunning, humor, and greed .
"I'm glad to see you're still alive, Imaro ."
"Thank you, 'Tembo' ," lmaro responded . "Or should I say
'Rumanzila ' ?"
Only for a moment was the chieftain of the haramia taken
aback .
"That shouldn 't have surprised me," he said, quickly re­
covering his poise. "As Bomunu , here, has said many times,
you are wil'"r than you look. "
H e smiku, recalling the ease with which he had deceived
the Giant-Kings with his "Tembo" guise. "So am 1."
Bomunu approached Imaro.
"I am sorry I had to stir up Njonjo against you yesterday,"
he said. "But you surely must see now that it was necessary
to do so, for our mutual advantage . . . . "
Imaro ' s only reply was a stony-eyed stare.
"Bomunu and I came to Kigesi to seek a way to disrupt the
Giant-Kings' control and relieve them of their gold ," Ruman­
zila continued. "We felt the best thing to do would be to stir
the mine slaves into revolt. Sooner or later, between my bru­
tality as ' Tembo' and Bomunu 's goading and agitation, the
slaves would have erupted. Because of you, Imaro, the revolt
came sooner than we thought. Now the Mwambututssis' day
is done here. We haramia can make good use of the gold they
no longer need . . . . "
"No!" shouted an ex-slave, nearly frothing at the mouth.
"We were the ones who broke our backs digging that gold out
of the pits ! It's our gold ! Ours ! We won't allow you thieves
to take it from us!"
"Especially not you, 'Tembo' or 'Rumanzila' or whatever
you call yourself," another rebel cried . "I felt your whip on
my back and I ' l l send you to your ancestors before I allow you
to get your hands on that gold !"
Others roared out agreement, shaking their blood-dripping
weapons. They had conquered the Giant-Kings , and with Imaro
once again at their head , they felt invincible. At a word from
the Ilyassai, they would have hurled themselves recklessly at
1 36 Charles R . Saunders

Rumanzila's haramia, fresher and better armed though the

invaders were .
But before Imaro could give that word, another voice slashed
through the uproar.
"None of you subhuman vermin will ever have the gold of
the Mwambututssi . . . . "

Heads turned abruptly toward the source of the interrup­

tion-turned, then jerked quickly away. Men who had waded
in Giant-King blood gagged at the sight of the hideous figure
confronting them .
It was Kalamungu . . . or what was left of Kalamungu . Only
the Mashataan themselves could have known how the lndash­
yikuwa had survived the effects of his own death-powder and
picked his way through the piles of corpses that lay between
the mines and his palace. He swayed unsteadily , hardly able
to stand , half-devoured flesh sliding sickeningly from his
bones . His face was a fleshless horror: blood and dormant
death-dust mingled in a dripping mass of grue.
"None of you will touch the gold ," Kalamungu repeated in
a nauseatingly garbled voice . "I have spoken with Virunga,
god of the Hidden Fire. And Virunga sleeps no longer. . . . "
Imaro snatched a spear from the hands of a gape-mouthed
rebel . With tremendous force , he hurled the weapon at Kala­
mungu. The point ripped through the ruin of the sorcerer's
breast and flung him to the ground. Kalamungu neither moved
nor spoke again, dead at last.
"An empty threat from a dead man , " Rumanzila scoffed,
breaking the uneasy silence. "Listen: these caverns contain
more gold than all of us can carry . Why don 't we all take what
we want, instead of fighting over it like a pack of hyenas over
carrion?"
Grudgingly , the rebels realized the logic of Rumanzila' s
words . They lowered their weapons. The haramia did the
same.
Imaro felt a tug at his hand. He turned and saw Tanisha
standing at his side. The survivors of the long, deadly struggle
congregated around the bandits and rebels . They were Kahutu
and B 'twi , their weapons ted to the hilt; their feud finally done .
Kahutu women and children straggled down from the terraces.
If any Mwambututssi survived, they had long since fled Kigesi.
It was lmaro who sensed the first hint of disaster: a faint,
 IMARO 1 37
rumbling sound and a tremor in the ground that sent a tingle
through the soles of his feet . Then the earth began to move . . . .
Haramia and rebels who were already scaling the paths that
led to the storage caverns retreated in fear and confusion when
the slopes began to buckle and sway . The rumbling grew
louder. Thunderous crashes of falling stone reverberated deep
in the earth ; clouds of rock dust spurted from the mouths of
the mines and the storage caverns .
"Damball ah ! " swore Rumanzila. "Those cursed cave-ins are
sealing off the mines !"
"And there ' s no gold outside the caves," Bomunu raged .
"The last caravan south left two days ago . All the gold of
Kigesi is in those damned caves ! "
Ignoring the ominous quickening o f the tremors beneath his
feet , one of the bandits said, "We've got men , tools- there
are enough of us here to dig through that rock and get to the
gold. "
Even as others seconded that suggestion, the ground be­
tween them and the slopes suddenly split apart , as if a giant
had slashed the earth with a monstrous sword. The rumbling
grew louder . . . .
Kufahuma, the all-encompassing sensory attunement that
had served lmaro well in the Tamburure , served him now.
"Get back !" he shouted , pulling Tanisha away from the
widening fissure . Catching the Ilyassai ' s mood, Rumanzila
added his own voice to lmaro ' s . Prodded by the shouts of their
leaders , the mass of battle-weary survivors retreated from the
crack in the ground.
Bomunu stopped suddenl y .
"Why are w e running from a hole in the ground?" the Zan­
jian demanded. "We can jump over it, or bridge it with planks
and poles. Are we really going to leave all that gold behind?"
Before the echoes of Bomunu' s words died, a sheet of flame
erupted from the fissure. Heat hammered at the bodies of the
people closest to the flame; had they not retreated when they
did, the heat would have seared their lungs , dropping them
like moths flown too close to a night fire.
The survivors of the battle needed no command to flee now.
In a howling , terrified mass, they raced toward the open gate­
way out of Kiges i . New fractures opened in the ground as they
ran; some stumbled into the cracks that seemed to open beneath
their very feet and others were engulfed by gouts of crimson
1 38 Charles R. Sounders

flame shooting up from the fissures . Rebels , Kahutu, haramia ,

and B ' twi alike streamed through the gateway like ants fleeing
the destruction of their hill in a brush fire .
Before all the survivors passed through the gateway, the
huge, iron-bound gate began to tear free from its hinge s . The
ominous creaking and tearing sounds of the gate ' s imminent
collapse lent wings of terror to the feet of the last of the
fugitives; they won free only moments before the giant gate
finally fel l . Boulders shaken loose crashed down in a deluge
of rock, sealing the ruin of Kigesi as a cairn of stones seals
a grave . . . .

A huge cloud of smoke and ash billowed high above Kigesi .

Long before humankind had arisen in Nyumbani, Kigesi was
a gigantic crater of molten rock, and the god V irunga had been
at the height of his flaming might. The Lord of Hidden Fire
was weak now; never again would lava flow from Kigesi's
dormant fire pits . Yet still there was a remnant of the old
power- a remnant sufficient to carry out Kalamungu ' s dying
curse .
The bedraggled survivors of the fall of Kigesi stood just
outside the Silent Forest, where they had ended their flight
across the intervening stretch of pasture . The gray cloud dark­
ened the sky and veiled the face of Jua the sun .
Although the fulfillment of Kalamungu 's curse had left them
badly shaken , the few hundred people who still lived had un­
consciously separated into their respective factions -haramia,
rebel slaves, Kahutu , and B ' twi . Warily the four groups eyed
each other, alert for signs of treachery even in the absence of
Mwambututssi gold.
"It seems this is one curse that will long outlive its maker,"
Rumanzila said, breaking a silence that was becoming strained.
"No one will ever get to that gold now . "
For a brigand , Rumanzila was accepting the loss o f im­
measurable wealth with an equanimity his more avaricious
comrades did not share. But Rumanzila was not a greedy man.
It was the thrill of the act rather than the value of the spoils
that motivated his thievery .
"We can ' t stay here , that' s for certain , " the bandit chieftain
continued. "Even if none of the Giant-Kings escaped from
Kigesi, the rest of them in Nkore will learn of this soon enough.
 IMARO 1 39
Then all of Ruanda will be up in anns against us. So- wh at
do we do now?''
Njuko, leader of the B 'twi , spoke first . The cringing def­
erence in his and the other B ' twi ' s manner was gone now; they
stood taller than they ever had before . The vertical marks on
their faces seemed symbols of determination . . . .
"Our ancestors came from the lturi Kubwa forest, far to the
west of here , " he said. "We will return there, where the trees
do not grow in straight lines and the forest harbors life , not
deat h . " .
Without further words , the forest people turned away and
headed for their villages , soon to be abandoned .
"We, too , have kindred beyond the lands of the Mwam­
bututssi ," a Kahutu said. "There are places in the hills and
forests where the Giant-Kings do not go, and people are free
to plant their shambas for themselves, not others . Only our
fear prevented us from leaving here long ago. With Kalamungu
dead , there is nothing left to fear . "
Most of the Kahutu then gathered what women and children
had survived the holocaust, and took inventory of the belong­
ings they had salvaged during the final frantic flight from the
doomed city. Their possessions were few , but one thing they
had was worth more than anything else: the drying blood of
the Giant-Kings forming a crimson crust on their sword blades.
In a single body, the Kahutu departed in a d irection opposite
that taken by the B 'tw i .
N o w only the bandits and the liberated slaves remained.
Some of the Kahutu had chosen to remain with the slaves along
whose side they had fought. The two groups glared at each
other l ike scavengers over clean-picked bones.
"There ' s no reason to fight now, is there?" Rumanzila said
placatingly . "Why .don 't we join forces? With our combined
numbers, we could raid into Azania itself ! "
I t was a sensible suggestion. Many o f the ex-slaves were
landless, homeless, lacking the tribal ties of the Kahutu or the
B 'twi . The haramia were outlaws, but at least they offered the
·

security of numbers .
But to many of the ex-slaves, Rumanzila was still Tembo.
Voices rose against the thought of any alliance with the hated
Punisher.
Finally a voice louder than the rest shouted, "Imaro is our
leader. Let Imaro speak for us!"
140 CJUJrles R. Saunders
"Yes! Let lmaro decide !" others agreed enthusiastically .
"Fair enough," Rumanzila responded. Turning to the 11-
yassai , the haramia said, "Well , Imaro, what do you say?"
During the previous discussion , Imaro had stood apart from
the others . Only Tanisha stood at his side. His silence denoted
deep thought, for he was looking at himself in a way he had
never done before.
For all his less-than-twenty rains, Imaro had been an outcast,
a loner. Now , othe� were looking to him for guidance and
leadership. Him. These were not Ilyassai , and the way of the
Tamburure was not the way of this strange land of too many
hills and too many trees. Still, he had led them to freedom.
They were his people . . . .

Imaro looked at Rumanzila. The bandit chieftain was as

cunning as Chui the leopard-and less trustworthy. Still , Ru­
manzila offered Imaro's rebels the security of increased num­
bers , numbers they would need against the vengeful attacks
from the Mwambututssi of the south . Imaro would learn the
way of this hill country and its people, as he had the way of
the Tamburure.
"We will join you," Imaro said to Rumanzila.
Tanisha squeezed his arm in silent approval . Imaro had kept
his promise to leave Kigesi with her at his side. Never again
would she doubt the Ilyassai.
"Good decision! " Rumanzila approved. Then he reached
over and slapped Imaro sharply across his welted back.
Only then did Imaro become aware of the toll the events
of the last two days had exacted. Sharp pain shot through his
bruised back; expelled breath hissed between clenched teeth
and he almost fell to his knees.
But his knees did not touch the ground . He pivoted on the
balls of his feet and sank his fist deep into Rumanzila' s paunchy
midsection. Rumanzila's breath escaped in a single whooshing
gasp, then he sat down heavily .
At that moment, it seemed that the truce between the rebels
and the haramia would be violated before it had truly been
sealed . Men from both factions fingered their weapons, waiting
to see what Rumanzila would do next. But the bandit chieftain
only chuckled ruefully as he hauled himself .to his feet.
"I suppose I deserved that for the lashes I gave you as
'Tembo' ," he allowed while he gingerly massaged the spot
 IMARO 141
where lmaro's fist had landed. "But see that i t doesn't happen
again . . . . "
His eyes locked with lmaro's in a long, hard stare . It was
Rumanzila who looked away first.
"We'd better get away from here," he said. "That devil
Kalamungu may have unleashed other dooms with his dying
words . And there may already be Mwambututssi soldiers on
our trai l . "
Imaro nodded agreement . As the haramia and th e rebels
prepared to depart , Imaro suddenly said, "Wait. Didn't the
Giant-Kings have cattle on this plain?"
"Yes, this was their pasture ," Rumanzila replied. "We drove
them off on the way into Kigesi . . . Damballah curse me for
a fool ! The cattle were wearing gold ornaments ! We could

have stripped a Sha'a's ransom from those beasts, but we were

so intent on getting to the gold inside Kigesi that we forgot
about the gold that was right in front of our faces ! Now it's
too late to chase the cursed beasts down . "
"Ajunge ! " Imaro exploded. "Why d o men fight like starving
lions over yellow metal and let valuable cattle go?''
For a moment, Rumanzila, Bomunu, and the others stared
speechlessly at the Ilyassai . Then they all burst into uproarious
laughter.
"lmaro , " Rumanzila sputtered at last, "you are a strong man
and a brave warrior. But you have a great deal to learn about
being a haramia . "
"And you have a great deal to learn about me , " lmaro
returned . He did not smile.
Rumanzila's laughter ceased. This will be an uneasy alli­
ance, he thought.
The forging continued . . . .
 BOOK FOU R

HORROR IN THE BLACK HILLS .

Mightier than all ,

Mightier than all

Is lmaro, Imaro!
-Haramia Chant
 In the pale light of Mwesu the moon, the Black Hills loomed
like a horde of gigantic crouching beasts-waiting. On another
night, only the calls of the night birds and the irascible chatter
of baboons would have broken the somber silence of the thickly
wooded slopes. Now, though , the hills reverberated to the
chanting of hundreds of human voices and the thunder of scores
of drums.
The chant was part praise , part challenge; flung with pride
and defiance from the throats of nearly a thousand men. To
the animals that dwelt in the hills, the chant meant nothing
beyond the indication that mankind had invaded their shadowy
realm. Where there were men, there were spears; where there
were spears, there was death . The night birds roosted motion­
lessly in the uppermost branches of the trees, and the baboons
move4 on to safer surroundings.
But in the depths of a still, stagnant pond sunk into the
summit of the highest of the Black Hills, there slumbered a
thing that was neither bird nor baboon nor human . . . something
now awakened by the disturbance caused by the shout of far­
away voices; something that comprehended the words of chants
of praise and prowess as no beast ever could .
Projecting its thoughts beyond the slimy surface of the pond,
this thing that should never have been aroused pursued the
drifting vibrations of the chants to their source. There, it
listened . . . probed . . . and learned . . . .

The raucous celebration of the haramia overflowed the con­

fines of their newly erected encampment. They had ample
reason to celebrate: not only had they pillaged Tanga, an im­
portant Azanian border town; they had also decimated the de­
tachment of troops the Sha'a-monarch of the Azanian king­
dom-had sent to protect Tanga from just such an attack .
1 45
 1 46 Charles R . Saunders

After drawing the Sha'a's soldiers into a carefully laid ambush,

the bandits had cut the Azanians to pieces , then easily overran
the defenseless city. Laden with their plunder of ivory , precious
metal , and captives, the haramia had left Tanga in flaming
ruins, streets strewn with Azanian dead.
And now they reveled . By the time word of the sacking of
Tanga reached the Sha'a in his distant capital of Malindi, the
bandits would long since have departed their present encamp­
ment. Thus far, the soldiers had never dared to pursue the
haramia into the wooded hills that rose between Azania and
the country of the Giant-Kings, for in that trackless terrain the
outlaws held the advantage.
The haramia danced . The glare of the night fires glinted
in crimson flashes from sweat-slicked bodies cavorting to the
rhythmic pulse of the drums . The dancers swayed in a huge
circle around the drummers and the crackling fires . While they
chanted , they clapped hands still crusted with Azanian blood.
Most of the races and tribes of the eastern part of Nyumbani
were represented in the haphazard collection of criminals, dis­
sidents, adventurers, and escaped slaves that leaped and
whirled in gyrations made capricious by the pombe- maize­
beer-and palm wine they swilled. There were tall , lean, cof­
fee-colored men of the seacoast kingdoms; stocky, jet-black
folk who inhabited the hills and woodlands of the interior;
squat, scar-faced, bowlegged people who inhabited the deep
recesses of the rain forest, and countless combinations of these
three bloodlines.
Their garb was equally diverse . Some wore only loincloths
of hide or bark cloth; others, elaborate iron-studded harnesses
made from the hides Of pachyderms; still others link-mail corse­
lets and loose-fitting trousers-suruali- !ooted from fallen
Azanian soldiers.
Among the dancers were women who undulated their lithe
- bodies in nuances of motion that fed the flames of the warriors '
passions . Some had joined the men willing! y, accepting a life of
lawless peril. Others had been seized in raids like the one just
completed against Tanga, and had subsequently become willing
members of the outlaw horde. They danced just beyond the reach
of the men, who for now were engaged in the praising of their
prowess- and that of their leader.
One woman danced apart from the others. Smooth skin the
color of midnight, half-naked body at once lush and lithe, face
 IMARO 1 47
sensuously full-featured beneath a corona ofwooly black hair­
this was Tanisha, queen of the haramia. For one man only did
Tanisha dance: the man whose iron will welded the diverse ele­
ments of the bandit horde into a formidable fighting force; the
man whose name was shouted to the skies by haramia and cursed
to the Mashataan by kings -Imaro .
Watching the dance like a sated lion, the llyassai reclined
against a glittering pile of gold ingots , elephant tusks, and bolts
of cloth of Azanian weave. Even in repose, his thews rolled i n
magnificent symmetry beneath an iron-studded harness stretched
across his massive torso. S ilken suruali swathed his legs. Weap­
ons - sword and dagger- were his only ornaments . In contrast
to the wild gaiety that surrounded him, Imaro 's mood was pen­
sive, introspective.
The haramia were his now. His alliance with Rumanzila had
been as volatile as it was brief. A quarrel over the distribution
of loot after their first foray had swiftly escalated into a duel to
the death between the rival leaders . Rumanzila was a wily , ex­
perienced, powerful fighter with deceptive quickness . But Imaro
was younger, stronger, faster. Rumanzila ' s life ended with Im­
aro' s sword driven deep into his capacious abdomen , the point
scraping his backbone . No one dared question lmaro's leader­
ship after that, for until then, Rumanzila had been invincible in
battle . Now that reputation mantled lmaro .
Imaro ' s lieutenants flanked him while he abstractedly
watched the dancers. To the Ilyassai ' s right sat Makopo, a Ka­
hutu who had joined the revolt against the Giant-Kings. Makopo,
a brawny man of medium height and middle age, had risen high
in the ranks of the haramia through a rare combination of courage
and prudence. He bore the scar gouged on his forehead by a
Mwambututssi kukata like a badge of honor. He was clad in
muslin suruali and a vest made from the hide of a leopard he had
slain himself. Like all the rebels who had cast off the yoke of the
Giant-Kings, Makopo' s devotion to lmaro bordered on worship.
Imaro ' s other lieutenant sat to his left. This was Bomunu ,
resplendent in the silken suruali and overshirt he had donned in
place of his bloodstained b.attle garb . Previously, the Zanjian had
stood high in the counsel of Rumanzila. Upon the death of the
former haramia chieftain , Bomunu had effortlessly shifted his
loyalty to Imaro. The Zanjian was ambitious . . . and shrewd . He
realized his chances for wrestiti"g the leadership from lmaro
148 Charles R . Saunders
were negligible. So he accepted his continued role of underling.
And he waited . . . .
Sipping from a gourd of pombe, Imaro paid little heed to his
lieutenants . Even Tanisha, dancing provocatively before him,
could not divert him from his contemplative mood. Lowering the
gourd , the warrior stared thoughtfully at the liquid pooled at its
bottom. His reflection was dim, wavering . . . as inconstant as
his own perception of his new status as opposed to what he had
been only a single rain ago.
No longer was he an outcast, a son-of-no-father. No longer
was he a lone wanderer or a slave. The haramia he led cared
nothing for his uncertain heritage. They respected his strength
and battle prowess and asked no questions concerning his an­
cestry , for all his scant resemblance to the races of the east.
Never before had Imaro known true companionship or rec­
ognition for his deeds. The pulsing drums and the voices chant­
ing his praises-these were his due, yet the adulation he received
now left him as uncomfortable as the belated tribute the Ilyassai
had rendered when he left the Place of Stones.
That he was an outlaw , hunted by the armies of two nations,
had little to do with lmaro' s current state of unease. He knew
only the law of the Ilyassai : the Jaw of courage, of conquering
fear. And even that primal code had, until it was too late, been
denied him. Here , among the haramia, Imaro ' s word was law.
He liked that- yet he could never acknowledge the esteem in
which his comrades held him. The part of him that would never
allow him to forget the pain of his early life cut with a double
edge, for it would also never allow him to believe he truly de­
served the admiration of others . . . .
Imaro ' s bitter musings were suddenly interrupted by the soft
slap of bare breasts against his face . He looked up to see Tanisha
standing before him.
"What do you have in that gourd that looks better to you than
I do?'' she taunted, her hands smoothing the cloth of her single
garment across the sweet arc of her hips.
"That kind of gourd hasn' t been made yet," lmaro replied, a
slight smile curving his lips.
Setting the gourd aside , he reached up and drew Tanisha down
to him. She pressed her body against his as they embraced -then
she cried out in pain when the studs projecting from lmaro ' s war­
harness poked painfully into her flesh.
 IMARO 1 49
"Take that thing off, Imaro," she demanded. "It's hurting
me. "
Disdaining buckles and thongs, the warrior ripped the harness
from his chest and tossed it aside. The haramia had stripped the
armor from many dead Azanians; he could always find another
harness.
But there was only one Tanisha. No longer did she share lm­
aro with the ghost of Keteke; her place in his heart was hers alone .
Her arms circled lmaro's neck while she covered his mouth with
her own. They remained oblivious to the gradual diminishing of
the drumming and chanting, and they did not hear the laughter
of the bandit warriors as they emulated their leader, sweeping
dancing women into their arms and bearing them off to shelters,
bushes, and other trysting places. Only those women recently
stolen from Tanga showed signs of fear when the reveling bandits
descended upon them .
Makopo and Bomunu both rose, leaving their chieftain to his
own amatory pursuits. All evening, Makopo had been keeping
his eye on a lissome Tanga captive who continually darted him
shy glances that were a mixture of invitation and apprehension.
She stood waiting in the firelight; no other haramia had ap­
proached her once Makopo had passed the word that he wanted
her for himself.
·
As he started toward her, the Kahutu noticed that Bomunu
was walking away from the rapidly diminishing crowd of
women.
"Not going to try your luck, Zanjian?" Makopo called jovi­
ally.
Muttering a curse over his silk-clad shoulder, Bomunu
walked on.
"Suit yourself, then," Makopo said to Bomunu's departing
back. He took the arm of the captive, who was only a few rains
past girlhood, and led her to the privacy of his makeshift shelter.
Bomunu cast a single backward glare at the embracing forms
of lmaro and Tanisha. The words he dared not utter aloud clat­
tered like loose stones in his mind. He, Bomunu, should be the
one enjoying the caresses of Tanisha. He was a son of the clan
of Kariunge, one of the noblest and most influential families in
the Kingdom of Zanj. An inopportune series of mischances and
indiscretions had caused Bomunu to be banished from his home­
land, but within a short time, he had risen high in the ranks of
1 50 Charles R. Saunders
the haramia . It had been his idea to infiltrate Kigesi , not the late
Rumanzila ' s . . . .
Were it not for Imaro, Bomunu was certain that he, not the
Ilyassai , would be leader of the outlaw army . And Tanisha,
whose beauty overshadowed even that of the Three Princesses
of Zanj , would be lying at his side, not that of the hulking out­
lander.
Someday, Bomunu vowed silently. Someday . . . .

The thing in the pool completed its probings. Tendrils of

thought had touched the minds of all the inhabitants of the bandit
encampment . Most were dismissed with a flick of psychic dis­
dain . In others , the tendrils scanned with momentary curiosity
before withdrawing. And in one, they lingered , gripped by a sud­
den agitation of emotions previously as stagnant as the liquid
immersing the body of the prober.
Abruptly the undetected perusal ended . It was time to act.

The sound struck without warning, l ike a Jeopard dropping

from a tree. It was a sound like the shrieking of a thousand tor­
tured souls united as one. It was a doom-laden orison cried out
by the worshippers of a dying god; it was the wail of a woman
who had given birth to a stillborn child.
Lovers tore free from entwining embraces and thrashed spas­
modically on the ground, their hands clutched at the sides of their
heads. Others stood frozen in place, clawing their hands to their
ears in a vain attempt to shut out the excruciating pain the awful
sound produced . Even Imaro Jay prostrate, rendered helpless by
the assault that inexorably threatened to destroy his hearing.
As suddenly as it had begun, the sound ceased. Numbly , as
if recovering from shock, the haramia pawed gingerly at their
ears to ease the ache the mysterious noise had left behind. Noth­
ing in their experience could explain the experience they had just
undergone . Yet somehow, perhaps through a long-dormant trace
of memory , many of the haramia were aware that what they had
heard was a song- a song sung by something neither human,
nor bird , nor animal . . . .
Although his Tamburure-honed senses had suffered more
than most from the effects of the sound, lmaro was the first har­
amia to rise.
"What in Motoni was that?" he muttered , borrowing an East
Coast curse.
 IMARO 151
Though lmaro was merely wondering aloud and not expecting
an answer to his question , Tanisha said, "Why don 't you ask
Ochinga? Bomunu once told me Ochinga's tribe herded goats
in these hills long ago. "
Imaro looked down at Tanisha, who was wiping tears o f pain
from her eyes. Bomunu is spending too much time with her, he
reflected darkly. He would speak to the Zanjian about that soon,
but that confrontation would have to wait. For now, he needed
information so he could act.
"Bring Ochinga to me," Imaro said.
The mood of the haramia had altered starkly in the space of
only a few moments. Gone was their riotous gaiety . A pall of
fear had settled over them like the morning mist of a swampland.
Low voices mumbled supplications to obscure gods and half-for­
gotten ancestors. Trembling fingers fondled amulets previously
valued only as trinkets or ornamentation . The tree-clad slopes
girding the valley of the encampment seemed suddenly men­
acing, like gigantic jaws about to snap shut. . . .
Finally, Ochinga came forward . He was a lean , short, bandy­
legged Ndorobo who was given to taciturnity in speech and reck­
less courage in battle. Now he sweated , and the sweat bespoke
terror, not heat. The Ndorobo refused to meet Imaro 's eyes.
"Your people once lived in these hills, Ochinga," Imaro
stated. "Can you tell us anything of that . . . sound?"
"My people call this place 'WeusiMilima' -the Black Hills ,"
Ochinga replied, still not meeting the Ilyassai' s gaze. "We
herded goats near here many rains ago, but the elders say our
ancestors fled because of a thing that dwells in the woods . "
"Dog!" cried Bomunu, who had slipped quietly to lmaro' s
side. Before Ochinga could turn to face him, Bomunu dealt him
a treacherous blow to the side of his head . Ochinga went down
heavily.
"If you knew these hills were cursed, why in Motoni didn't
you tell us before now?" the Zanjian raged, aiming a kick at
Ochinga's midsection. Curling into a ball, the Ndorobo awaited
a second kick from Bomunu 's booted foot. It never came .
A heavy hand clamped onto Bomunu' s shoulder. Then the
Zanjian was hurled violently to the ground. He landed on his
handsome face.
"Do you forget who is leader here, Bomunu?" lmaro said
quietly .
Bqmunu could not reply. Rolling onto his back, the Zanjian
1 52 Charles R. Saunders

used his elbows to lever himself into a sitting position . Blood

seeped from his nostrils into his thin black moustache. He glared
sullenly at Imaro, who had helped Ochinga to his feet.
"This ' thing' you mention ," Imaro pressed. "What is it?"
Ochinga was shaking like a sick man. It was not the wrath of
lmaro he feared; he knew the Ilyassai was nothing if not fair. It
was the menace rampant in the tales the elders of Ndorobo told
that constricted his throat, making speech difficult. Yet speak
he did, each word costing him considerable effort.
"The dweller in the forest is called ' Isikukumadevu' . The
elders say it is a thing of the Mashataan , imprisoned in these hills
long rains ago when the Cloud Striders drove the Demon Gods
from Nyumbani. Isikukumadevu has never died . . . and it sings
the doom of those who come too close to where it is imprisoned ,
so the elders say . . . . "
"So why didn' t you tell us before about this lsi . . .
Isi . . . this damned creature?" demanded Bomunu, who had
regained both his feet and a measure of composure.
Ochinga looked at Imaro.
"Tell us," the Ilyassai said. The significance of the Ndorobo's
deference to Imaro rather than him was far from lost on Bomunu.
Resentment seethed in the soul of the Zanj ian.
"Many rains have passed since Isikukumadevu last sang ,"
Ochinga continued . "That is why l said nothing when we came
into the Black Hills . You would have laughed at me, called me
a superstitious tribal man . Even I had come to believe that lsi­
kukumadevu was only a tale told by old men. But we all heard
that sound . . . . "

"Was that sound some kind of call?" Imaro asked.

"No. That was lsikukumadevu ' s song. She calls the one she
wants by name . "
"She ?" This was from an incredulous Tanisha, who had long
since risen to be at lmaro 's side .
"Yes, she, " Ochinga said sharply , reacting to the disbelief
clear in Tanisha's tone . "The elders have always said lsikuku­
madevu was - is - a female thing . "
"Whatever it i s , we 're going to have to break camp and get
out of here fast , " Imaro decided . "There are other places in these
hills that the soldiers can't reach . "
"Is our bold leader frightened of this she-demon?" Bomum.i
sneered.
 IMARO 153

Imaro gazed levelly and dispassionately at h i s lieutenant.

"You, of all people, should know better than that," he said.
"Now, we' 11 need torches if we expect to walk through these hills
at night. . . . "
At that moment a new sound susurrated through the encamp­
ment. It was a hiss , yet there was nothing of the serpent about
it. Unlike the previous spear of sound that had brought the har­
amia to their knees, this time there was no direct attack on the
senses . It was a message , spoken softly , caressingly , rustling
again and again like a sinister wind sighing through the minds
of the haramia:
imaroimaroimaroimaroimaroimaroimaroimaroimaroimaro
Abruptly the whisper was gone. As before, the echo it left
behind died quickly .
Ochinga fel l to the ground and tore at h i s short, kinky hair.
"We are lost ! " he wailed . "The elders spoke truly. Isikuku­
madevu has not died, and now she claims Imaro for her own.
Imaro is lost, and so are we!"
"For Mungu ' s sake , be quiet, " snarled Makopo, who had tom
himself away from his Tanga captive when Isikukumadevu first
struck . "Do you believe Imaro is one to be struck down by a
whisper?"
"Isikukumadevu is more than a whisper . . . fool , " the Ndo­
robo replied.
A low , agitated murmur rose from the mass of the haramia.
Fear quavered in their voices as it never had before under the
leadership of Imaro . Eagerly they would have followed him
headlong against all the forces of the East Coast kingdoms , for
they knew the llyassai would hurl himself so ferociously into the
forefront of their enemies that it sometimes seemed that he won
all their battles by himself. But an unseen enemy that crippled
with sound and called its victims to their doom . . . this , they
feared greatly, even with lmaro to lead them.
lmaro knew that one more manifestation from lsikukumad­
evu would send the haramia fleeing senselessly through the
wooded hills. Once they emerged from the hills' protection, they
would be easy prey for the soldiers waiting below the slopes. The
time to act was now . . . .
"Ochinga !" he barked. "Where will I find lsi-ku-ku-mad­
evu?"
"Imaro, no!" cried Tanisha, grinding her fingers into the
154 Charles R. Saunders
warrior's arm. "Even you could not stand up to that sound. I don't
want you to die."
Imaro looked into her pleading eyes. He knew she spoke sin­
cerely . . . but the two-edged sword of the past of which he had
never spoken cut again, and he shook his head, denying her plea.
"Ochinga?" he said expectantly.
"The elders say Isikukumadevu guides in her own way," the
Ndorobo replied.
Before lmaro could ask Ochinga what he meant by that cryptic
response, a streak of pale light materialized on the ground at the
feet of the Ilyassai . The light twisted in a trail of living lumi­
nescence across the ravine, leading into a thick tangle of dark
hill-forest. Isikukumadevu had answered lmaro's challenge . . . .
For many of the haramia , the eerie pathway of light proved
the final strain for minds already burdened with apprehension.
One voice-strident, unidentifiable-triggered the incipient
panic of the bandits.
"Run, before the demon claims us, too!"
At that outcry, a number of haramia threw down their weap­
ons and pombe-gourds and began to flee in a direction opposite
that taken by lsikukumadevu's silver trail.
"Stop!" Imaro roared. "Anyone who runs, dies·. "
Startled by Imaro's harsh words, the would-be deserters
halted abruptly , as though they had collided with an unseen wall .
Never before had Imaro threatened the haramia; the Ilyassai had
always led by example. Shamefaced, they hung their heads . But
their braver comrades were too preoccupied to chide them for
their moment of weakness.
"Now, listen well," lmaro said. "lsi-ku-ku-madevu called
only me. I will answer the call-alone. If I am not back here by
sunrise, you will have a new chieftain: Makopo. Follow him and
continue to win yellow metal and slay Azanians, or fall apart and
let the Azanians slay you. If I fall to Isi-ku-ku-madevu , it will
not matter to me . "
The haramia gazed uneasily at the towering figure o f the 11-
yassai . Firelight splashed his lion-thewed frame with daubs of
crimson and orange. Often they forgot that Imaro had seen fewer
rains than most of them, chieftain though he was. He looked
more than a match for any demon ever spawned . . . yet the har­
amia had seen him writhing on the ground like the rest of them,
brought down by Isikukumadevu's deadly song. In the very lair
 IMARO 1 55
of the immortal demon, how could lmaro withstand another such
attack?
Without further words , Imaro turned and began to fol low ls­
ikukumadevu's beckoning pathway. Apprehensively, the har­
amia watched him disappear into the woodland .
Tanisha longed to rush after him and envelop him in an em­
brace of farewell . But she knew him-knew him well enough
to realize that the bleak, unfeeling part of him she could never
reach was at the fore now . When he was like that , it was as though
he had never known a tender moment in his life . S adly , she sat
by the entrance of the shelter she would have shared with Imaro
this night, her vigil begun.
Makopo stood immersed in thought even as his Kahutu co­
horts noisily reveled in the knowledge that Imaro had passed his
leadership on to one of their own .
"Shut up ! " Makopo finally exploded . "You talk as though lm­
aro is already dead . What are you , men or jackals?"
Abashed, the Kahutu hnramia subsided .
Of Bomunu, who had l i stened incredulously to the man he
hated most explicitly denying him the position he desired above
aU else, there was no sign . . . .

Isikukumadevu 's pathway led Imaro on a twisted, random

course through the Black Hills. In the pale beams of Mwesu the
moon , dark trees loomed like sentinels of nightmare. Creepers
and lianas clung leechlike to his skin as he forged along the tor­
tuous track of the shimmering streak of light.
Dark bitter broodings crowded Imaro ' s mind even as his ku­
fahuma-attuned now to the hills and trees-told him no beasts
of prey lurked behind the screens of fol iage flanking his path .
Whatever danger there was, he would find it at the end of the
winding course l sikukumadevu set.
Mashntaan. The name conjured memories of his encounter
with the oibonok Chitendu at the Place of Stones. Well did he
remember the mchawi that had nearly destroyed him then . He
recalled the helplessness he had felt when Chitendu had held him
motionless by ·sheer force of wil l . He felt a similar helplessness
when lsikukumadevu's song felled him at the encampment .
Such feelings came closer than anything else to unraveling the
resolute fabric of Imaro ' s courage .
Yet whatever unease was awakened by this new intrusion of
the Mashataan into Imaro's life remained no more than a gut-
1 56 Charles R. Sounders
tering candle next to the inferno of his rage . For he hated the
Mashataan and their creatures more than anything else in exis­
tence . It was their interference through the machinations of Chi­
tendu that had caused his early life to be such endless misery .
Memories of that life were at the forefront of lmaro ' s mind now.
Hate lit wrathful flres in his dark eyes and transformed his fea­
tures into something very similar to the face of a stalking lion.
He was unaware of the passage of time.
Suddenly , he halted. At a point near a particularly thick
growth of hill-foliage , the path of light separated into four
branches, each trailing off in a different direction .
Eyes narrowed in thought, Imaro considered lsikukumad­
evu ' s latest ploy . Was one of the paths genuine and the others
mirages? Would all four eventually lead to the lair of the Mash­
ataan-spawned demon , each in its own capricious way? Or was
lsikukumadevu now . . behind him?
.

A faint rustle in the brush had reached Imaro 's kufahuma­

honed ears . He whirled , sword at the ready , Mwesu ' s light flash­
ing along its sharp steel edges . Muscles tensed rock-hard beneath
the dark skin of the Ilyassai. But he saw nothing . . . no eldritch
shape shambling out of the darkness; no treacherous spearthrust
from behind . Yet he had heard something. He was certai� of it.
He turned again to the four-fold fork in the path- and nearly
dropped his sword in astonishment.
While before the branches of light had led only into more fo­
liage, they were now bestridden by a human flgure . None of the
four, lmaro knew, could be Isikukumadevu . For he recognized
each one . . . and he knew they were all dead, slain by his own
hand. But if they were slain , why were they moving toward him,
weapons upraised and grim purpose glittering in their eyes?
Rumanzila was there. Mwesu ' s light picked out every detail
of garish ornamentation on the haramia leader's costume. For
all his excess flesh, Rumanzila danced lightly toward lmaro,
scimitar sliding soundlessly out of its scabbard . . . .
Kalamungu, Indashyikuwa of Kigesi, was there . The Mwam­
bututssi 's spidery hand caressed the drawstring of a skin pouch
suspended from a belt circling his narrow waist. The pouch
opened , slowly . . . .
Chitendu was there . Towering even higher than the seven­
and-a-half-foot Giant-King, the oibonok's body was swathed in
a voluminous, iridescent cloak. Chitendu 's head seemed dispro-
 IMARO 157
portionately small; h i s body oddly asymmetrical . The outlawed
oibonok was beginning to open the front of his cloak . . . .
N ' tu-mwaa, n' tu-mchawi of the Turkhana, was there. He was
naked; pale patches of skin splotched across his mahogany skin
glowed like phosphorescent fungus in M wesu' s light. His head
was an unholy amalgam of the face of Ngatun the lion and the
horns of an Ilyassai ngombe. Two dripping beast-hearts hung
from an intestine looped around the Turkhana's neck. In his
upraised hand, N ' tu-mwaa bore a curved blade, a blade
splotched with blood . . . .
In silent, deadly unison, the specters from Imaro ' s past
struck .
Rumanzila' s scimitar clove the air in a deadly crescent aimed
at lmaro ' s head .
Kalamungu emptied his pouch of unga-ya-kufa, and the
death-dust became a living, voracious cloud drifting toward lm­
aro' s face .
Chitendu's cloak gaped wide , exposing a brightly glowing
mass of wriggling, maggot-like tendrils . The tendrils flamed; a
bolt of demon-fire lanced unerringly toward Imaro ' s body.
N ' tu-mwaa hurled his dagger of sacrifice straight at Imaro's
heart.
The attack devastated the spot where lmaro had stood
stunned , disbelieving . His mind was staggered by the sheer im­
possibility of what he was seeing. Still , the moment his former
foes launched their onslaught, Imaro had flung himself to the
ground, rolled, then sprang to his feet behind the thick trunk of
an ironwood tree .
A huge chunk of the bole had been tom loose by Chitendu's
blast of demon-fire . The concussion of its impact rang in lmaro' s
ears . Kalamungu ' s cloud of death-dust hung buzzing in the air.
N'tu-mwaa' s dagger was buried deep in the scorched , smoking
wood of the tree. Rumanzila' s scimitar rested lightly in his hand.
Imaro crouched warily behind the fire-seared trunk. The irony
of lsikukumadevu ' s choice of weapons was not lost on him, but
thought and action were as one with him now . He would lure his
dead enemies deeper into the brush and kill them as many times
as he had to, until they rose no more.
Then the memory came . . . a memory he had long sought to
expel from his consciousness. He was back in the manyattas of
the llyassai , and it was the day of his ill-fated olmaiyo . He was
listening in disbelief to the lies that spewed from the lips of Ma-
158 Charles R. Saunders
sadu, Kanoko , and the other warriors who were branding him
ilmonek. To the warriors , the lies had been truth . Muburi , the
oibonok, the tool of Chitendu , had used mchawi to cause the
warriors to see what he wanted them to see . . . what they secretly
wanted to see . But what they had seen had not been real . . . .
Imaro ' s dead foes stared at the spot where he had stood just
before they struck. "Not real," the Ilyassai whispered between
clenched teeth . "Not real . . . .
"

Suddenly the outlines of the four figures blurred , then broke

apart like a reflection on the surface of water disturbed by a care­
lessly cast stone. Then they snapped back into clear focus , ap­
pearing as they had the moment each met death.
Rumanzila, blood gushing from the deep wound Imaro had
carved in his belly, toppled forward . His eyes stared directly into
Imaro's: vengeful , hating . . . .
Kalamungu , tottering crazily , body ravaged by his own
death-dust, collapsed in a heap of bone covered by rapidly dis­
integrating flesh . Only Kalamungu' s eyes remained intact , glar­
ing into Imaro 's: vengeful, hating.
Chitendu , writhing like a dying serpent, his skull crushed , his
alien intestines spilled and seared by his own demon-fire , raised
his ruined head in a final supreme effort. His eyes daggered into
Imaro ' s : vengeful , hating . . . .
N ' tu-mwaa, his beast-face twisted in agony , his sacrificial
blade buried in his heart , lay unmoving on the ground. Yellow
lion-eyes burned into Imaro's: vengeful, hating . . . .
The figures began to blur. Imaro stepped from behind the tree
and watched them vanish. His eyes were vengeful, hating.
Then Imaro turned his gaze to the silver path of lsikukumad­
evu. Its four branches were gone. Once again, it was a single
strip of shining brilliance, leading directly into the thick screen
of foliage. The path seemed to beckon and mock at the same
time.
Imaro looked at the ironwood tree. And, despite his resolute
courage , his skin crawled when he saw that even though the
phantoms from his past had disappeared , there was still a gaping,
smoking wound in the great tree' s bole. And the hilt of N ' tu­
mwaa's dagger still jutted from the wood.
lmaro forced himself to reach out and touch the part of the
tree burned by Chitendu ' s demon-fire. Heat flared on his fin­
gertips; he quickly drew his hand back and glared at it angrily'
as though it had played traitor to the rest of his body.
 /MARO 159
Then he turned back to Isikukmadevu ' s glimmering path and
slashed savagely at the undergrowth. While he hacked and
shoved his way through bushes and vines, he did not waste his
thoughts speculating on what he might find at the end of the silver­
trail . Whatever awaited him there , he vowed, would die.

After a seeming eternity of chopping through entangling un­

dergrowth that may or may not have been real , the Iiyassai finally
broke through to a small glade resting cuplike in the summit of
the hill . In the center of the glade lay an oval pool of . . . something
that was not water. Gnarled, stunted trees growing in eye­
wrenching loops and whorls lined the banks of the pool, but the
area closest to lmaro was bare of foliage . A narrow stretch of
foul-smelling muck rimmed the shore he faced.
The shining trail of lsikukumadevu led directly into the
viscid pool . lmaro tightened his grip on his swordhilt and
planted his feet in a fighting stance, for he had decided that
he would follow the silver path no longer. If the fetid pool
were indeed the lair of Isikukumadevu, the demon would have
to emerge to meet lmaro. He was not so foolish as to attempt
to meet the creature on its own ground. He tensed himself for
a renewed onslaught of Isikukumadevu's song. When it came,
his only chance would be to leap once , slash once; and even
that chance would only come if the Mashataan-spawn showed
itself. . . .
A sound burst in lmltfo's ears . lmaro did not go down with
his hands clapped against his skull , for the sound was not the
song of lsikukumadevu. It was a sound lmaro knew well. He
had shouted it himself countless times in the past. He was
hearing the war cry of the Ilyassai.
A rustle from the distorted trees at the edge of the pool
alerted him. He turned and saw a huge, lithe figure appear as
if by magic from the twisted foliage. In graceful , catlike
bounds, the figure leaped toward lmaro. Then it sprang into
the full glare of Mwesu's eye. lmaro prepared himself for
imminent attack . . . then he uttered a half-strangled gasp of
disbelief.
For the newest foe lsikukumadevu had sent him was--him­
self!
A single incredulous glance told Imaro this was no mirror­
image, no obvious trick of the senses. It was Imaro . . . but the
Imaro of little more than a single rain past. It was the Imaro
1 60 Clwrles R. Saunders

who had embarked so hopefully on olmaiyo. His hair was

plaited, plastered with red ocher; his body was daubed w ith
crimson clay; his simi gleamed in his massive hand.
Imaro had just slain Ngatun the lion. He had won the right
to manhood among a people who despised him . The hot scent
of Ngatun 's spilled blood filled his nostrils, and Imaro cried
out in joy and vindication . . . .
Yet in his moment of triumph , the other llyassai were en­
circling him, their faces set grimly , their eyes hard. Imaro
knew then that betrayal was at hand . Roaring like the lion he
had just slain, Imaro swung his simi in a vicious arc . . . .
Jolted by some primal urge for survival from the conscious­
ness of his earlier self, lmaro raised his sword barely in time
to parry the death-stroke . The two blades clanged together with
an impact that numbed lmaro' s arm .

The other lmaro struck again. lmaro leaped backward . Only

by a hairsbreadth did he avoid evisceration. The other lmaro
pressed the attack , blade flickering like an iron wand.
Bewildered, lmaro fell back , fighting defensively . The ring
of llyassai iron clashing against haramia steel echoed with a
metallic clang in his ears. The other Imaro moved quickly , so
quickly that lmaro could hardly follow the pattern Of its darting
blade. His own movements seemed sluggish in comparison .
"Not real , " lmaro whispered softly . "Not real . . . . "
The other lmaro had backed him into the slime that bordered
lsikukumadevu ' s pool . The other Imaro' s red-daubed face
snarled and battle lust blazed in dark, narrowed eyes. Imaro 's
defense was lethargic, almost desultory . It was as though he
were spellbound by the sight of his own mighty arm rising and
falling, beating out a ringing cadence of death against his own
faltering blade . Only an unconscious evocation of his fighting
skills had prevented him from falling long ago. Even so, he
felt the sting of half a dozen wounds, while the other lmaro
fought unscathed .
Suddenly lmaro's feet came into contact with the foul fluid
of the ,pool. The viscid liquid sucked at his heels . For a vital
split-second, lmaro 's attention wavered . The other lmaro 's
simi flashed, twisted , and l maro's blade pinwheeled into the
muck . But the iron llyassai sword shattered against the steel
of lmaro's weapon , and the other lmaro held only a hilt spiked
with slivers of jagged metal .
lmaro ducked under the other Imaro ' s lunging swing, and
 IMARO 161

the hilt sailed harmlessly over h i s head. Contemptuousl y , as

lmaro had done on many occasions , the other lmaro hurled the
useless hilt aside and smashed a heavy fist against Imaro' s jaw .
Caught unaware , as he had caught so many others before ,
lmaro 's head snapped back , and he pitched backward into the
poo l .
lmaro struggled to raise his face above the fou l , choking
liquid. Before he could reach the surface , an iron hand clamped
onto his head and shoved him deeper into the pool . Another
hand closed viselike about Imaro's wrist and began to force
his ann behind his back. Feet slipping in the ooze at the bottom
of the pool , lmaro strained his gigantic thews to their utmost.
But the other Imaro seemed immovable as a mountain . Imaro ' s
head remained beneath the surface o f the pool and h i s ann felt
as though it was about to be wrenched out of its socket.
Not since childhood had Imaro bee n rendered so helpless
by any foe . Slowly , inexorably , he was drowning . . . dying in
a futile battle against his own strength , the strength that was
the thing that set him apart from all others -except himself.
Why? lmaro ' s mind cried as air emptied from his lungs.
Why could he do nothing against an other self that was younger,
less experienced , and ever-so-slightly less strong than he?
Then answer came to him with all the intensity of the pain
stitching through his starved lungs: hate! It was a core of hatred
and resentment that fed his strength , fired it to levels beyond
the limits of other men. Hate had sustained him through the
bleak years of mafundishu-ya-muran, when the hands of all
the I lyassai were raised against the son-of-no-father.
Now . . . now, he had to redirect his hatred, to aim it against
this earlier self, this fool who believed that he could be one
with his mother's people , and win the approval of those who
hated him .
Direct his hatred against himself . . . yes . . . he had done it
before . . .
Strained lungs about to explode, Imaro gathered his legs
beneath him , found purchase on the slippery bottom of the
pool , and shoved upward . All the strength remaining in lmaro's
thews powered that single mighty surge . He burst in a shower
of viscid spray from the surface. The hands clamped against
his face and wrist were gone; he had flung the other lmaro
aside with the ease of a lion overcoming a presumptuous leop­
ard .
162 Charles R. Saunders

Shaking the slimy liquid from his eyes and gratefully gulping
air back into his lungs, Imaro awaited the rising of his other
self. He waited as certainly as he would have had he not
believed the other. lmaro to be illusion. This was nothing like
Kalamungu ' s phantom Unsurpassables. No longer did Imaro
mutter, Not real . . . .
lsikukumadevu rose from the pool .
A s Ochinga had said, lsikukumadevu was a female thing.
But she was far from human-as far from it as Chitendu had
become before his death .
This was Isikukumadevu: an enormous , squatting thing
with a swollen, melon-like head that bore jaws like those of
Kiboko the hippopotamus. Pale, fishlike eyes glared chillingly
from beneath a tangled, mossy mane of filaments that bore
only a scant resemblance to hair. Her naked , bloated body was
covered with grayish, mottled skin . Breasts that were enormous
sacs of flesh spilled slackly over a grossly distended abdomen.
Huge arms tapered into incongruously delicate hands that
flexed rhythmically while lsikukumadevu scrutinized her latest
prey . . . .
Then lsikukumadevu spoke . The syllables pricked in lm­
aro's mind like a handful of nettles drawn across ·naked skin.
She spoke in the same seductive whisper that had called Imaro
away from the encampment of the haramia .
"lmaro," she said, her voice seeming to caress the name .
"The chants praising your name, the chants that disturbed my
slumber, were true ones. Not since the conflict between the
Cloud Striders and the Mashataan have I encountered a human
such as you . The Cloud Striders made your kind; the Mashataan
made mine . For the sake of your kind , the Cloud Striders
imprisoned me in this pool , where humans seldom come . But
when humans stray within the range of my song, I call the one
who most deserves to taste my . . . love . I will love you, lmaro .
With my love, you will die as all your kind must. Come to
me, human . . . now!"
With unbelievable speed , lsikukumadevu hurled her bloated
bulk toward Imaro. A gigantic maw studed with peglike grind­
ing teeth yawned impossibly wide above the head of the 1 1-
yassai . A single snap of those awesome jaws would have
crushed lmaro ' s upper body into a crimson pulp- had Imaro
stood still .
lsikukumadevu had read lmaro well, but not well enough.
 IMARO . 1 63
She had plucked images from his mind, given them a semblance
of life , and directed them against the Ilyassai . She had read
him, yet she did not know him.
Isikukumadevu was the focal point of lmaro' s hatred now ,
for her manipulations of his mind had undone all the forgetting
he had forced himself to do over the past year. With a pan­
therish speed all his own, the Ilyassai evaded the huge jaws
a split second before they snapped shut. Then he jammed his
right forearm beneath the lower jaw of the demon. Bracing his
left hand beneath that forearm , Imaro began to lever lsiku­
kumadevu ' s head upward .
Isikukumadevu croaked in pain . . the first such sound she
.

had uttered in many hundreds of rains . Wrapping her obese

arms around Imaro' s back, Isikukumadevu pressed him against
the pendulous folds of her body. It was as though she meant
to swallow him into the repugnant substance of her gray
flesh . . . .
His face a mask of fury, Imaro shoved his forearm harder
against the point where Isikukumadevu's undetjaw met her
throat. Like a bar of black iron , Imaro' s arm sank deep into
flabby flesh. Isikukumadevu ' s head tilted further upward .
Strength undiminished by his struggle against his earlier self,
the Ilyassai redoubled his efforts to break lsikukumadevu' s
neck.
For an endles s , frozen span of moments, man and monster
strained against one another in a grotesque parody of two lovers
embracing. Then Imaro lost his balance on the silty bottom of
the pool . Instantly, Isikukumadevu seized her opportunity and
lifted Imaro off his feet, robbing him of his leverage. lsiku­
kumadevu slid deeper into the pool; like her illusion of Imaro's
earlier self, she would attempt to drown the Ilyassai . . . .
Back and shoulder muscles knotting beneath Isikukumad­
evu ' s arms, Imaro forced the she-demon ' s head so far upward
that her eyes stared straight into the face of Mwesu the moon.
The viscid fluid of the pool closed over Imaro' s head . Only
the upward-bent head of lsikukumadevu remained above the
surface .
Frightened at the pain racing through her creaking neck,
Isikukumadevu finally unleashed her agonizing song . The sur­
face roiled in sudden agitation. Then lsikukumadevu sank from
sight.
And the surface grew still and smooth . . . .
164 Charles R. Saunders
* * *

Bomunu rose slowly from his hiding place in the foliage

through which Imaro had hacked. The Zanjian rubbed cau­
tiously at his ears , as if that action could erase the remnants
of the pain still throbbing in his skull . Bomunu thanked his
ancestors that lsikukumadevu's song had finally ceased.
The Zanjian had followed Imaro from the encampment,
keeping to the shadows , hiding behind bushes and trees each
time the llyassai turned his head in Bomunu' s direction. And
Bomunu had watched lmaro go mad . . . or so he had thought
once the Ilyassai had reached the pool at the top of ihe hil l .
Eyes wide i n disbelief, Bomunu had seen lmaro dodge and
dance and swing his sword as if he were in deadly combat.
Yet Bomunu had seen no foe . Then his mouth had dropped
open when lmaro threw away his sword and plunged backward
into the pool as though he had been struck by an unseen blow.
For a few elated moments , the Zanj ian had thought lmaro
meant to drown himself. Then he saw lmaro resurface . . . and
he saw lsikukumadevu . A paralysis of terror had rooted the
Zanjian where he crouched while he watched the struggle be­
tween the llyassai and lsikukumadevu. When the spawn of the
Mashataan succeeded in dragging Imaro beneath ·the surface ,
Bomunu's heart leaped in unholy joy. When lsikukumadevu
sang her wordless song, Bomunu crumpled to the ground and
writhed and whimpered like a whipped child.
The surface of the pool lay placid and serene when Bomunu
finally recovered his poise and pride . A dark gratification suf­
fused his soul as he realized the full meaning of what he had
witnessed. lmaro was dead ! Now he, Bomunu , could lay claim
to the chieftainship of the haramia. And he could claim Tan­
isha . . . .
Without another glance at the pool , Bomunu turned and
raced back down the ragged trail lmaro had cleared . To his
horror, the Zanjian saw that lsikukumadevu ' s pathway of light
was beginning to fade. Stumbling , cursing, tearing his silken
garments on protruding twigs and thorns , Bomunu ran fran­
tically down the wooded hillside. To the ancestors who had
disowned him , Bomunu prayed that he reach the encampment
before lsikukumadevu ' s pathway disappeared completely.
The final glimmer of th� pathway died when Bomunu finally
burst into the encampment. The haramia, who had been main­
taining a silent, sleepless vigil, rushed toward him , shouting
 IMARO 1 65
questions about where he had gone and whether he had seen
Imaro.
"He's dead ! " the Zanjian shouted. ''lmaro is dead ! Isiku­
kumadevu has taken him. I saw it with my own eyes ! "
Tanisha broke loose from the haramia crowded around her.
Like an enraged lioness, she leaped at Bomunu and slapped
him viciously across his face.
"You lie , " she hissed. "lmaro cannot be dead. He cannot!
I would kndw it if he died ."
The Zanjian caught Tanisha's wrist in a grip that caused her
to cry out in pain.
"I tell you I saw him die," he insisted. "And with him gone,
you belong to me."
"No !" Tanisha shouted, struggling fiercely to free herself.
"Let her go," a new voice said. It was Makopo, who had
swiftly grasped the import of Bomunu's actions as well as his
words .
"Let her go," Makop<) repeated. ":fanisha is Kahutu , and
she must mourn as a Kahutu mourns . . . if what you say is
true . "
While Makopo was speaking, several Kahutu bandits had
gathered behind him. The Kahutus' hands rested meaningfully
on the hilts of their weapons.
"Who are you to be giving me orders?" Bomunu growled .
"And why do you doubt the truth of my words?"
"Remember what lmaro told us before he left," Makopo
rejoined calmly . "He said if he did not return here before dawn,
I was to become chieftain of the haramia. That's who I am .
As for your truthfulness . . . if Imaro is dead, why are you still
alive? Why didn't you help him if he was being attacked by
Isikukumadevu? Who are you, Zanjian?"
An angry rumble arose from the gathered haramia . Many
of them preferred to believe that they would have aided Imaro
against Isikukumadevu , however fearsome the demon might
be . Bomunu was becoming uneasy; this was not going at all
as he had expected . . . .
"Didn't you hear Isikukumadevu 's sound?" Bomunu cried.
"I was helpless, paralyzed. The creature killed Imaro and van­
ished with him before I could do anything . "
"We heard n o sound," Makopo said. "Who are you, Bo­
munu?"
"No . . . sound?" Bomunu repeated numbly . There was no
1 66 Charles R . Saunders
way he could have known that lsikukumadevu had concentrated
her song in a single area, the summit of her hill . Badly shaken,
Bomunu decided that only a desperate gamble could save his
ambitions . now.
"I will show you who I am," he said. He made a sudden,
swift gesture with his left hand.
At that sign, many of the renegades who had been with
Rumanzila's original horde stepped to Bomunu' s side. But al­
most as many of the men who had been Rumanzila's joined
the group clustered around Makopo. As well, all the Kahutu
and liberated slaves who had followed Imaro from Kigesi
joined Makopo. Tanisha had wrenched her arm free from Bo­
munu's grasp and now stood proudly with her fellow Kahutu.
With the factions finally sorted , Bomunu quickly discovered
that he and his followers were outnumbered by a factor of five
to one.
"You see, Bomunu , it would be foolish for us to fight among
ourselves , even as lmaro said," Makopo observed . "Besides,
the odds are clearly against you . "
"No !" Bomunu screamed. This ignoble end to what he
imagined to be his greatest opportunity emaged him. "What
if lsikukumadevu summons more of us? What would you do
then, you brainless son of an ape? I ' ve seen lsikukumadevu.
Only I can protect you from her. Are you all fools, to gamble
your lives out of loyalty to a dead man? How many times must
I tell you that Imaro is-"
"Here ," a deep voice said quietly .
All heads wheeled to the sound of that voice. A chorus of
gasps, screams, and muffled curses marked their greeting to
their returned chieftain . Slimy liquid from Isikukumadevu's
pool dripped from lmaro' s massive frame. His eyes burned
with a light they had never seen before, not even in the heat
of combat. His face was set in a rictus denoting supreme effort
as he staggered painfully toward the haramia.
In one hand, lmaro held his sword, its blade coated from
hilt to point with a greasy , gray ichor.
In his other hand , lmaro carri ed something that caused even
the most hardened of the haramia to turn away, hot gorge
surging to their throats. For the Ilyassai ' s fingers were twined
in the filamentous mane of the head of lsikukumadevu. There
was no body . Her open, silver eyes glowed lambently in
 IMARO 1 67
Mwesu's light. Imaro's arm swung the huge , severed head like
a pendulum.
While he swung the head, Imaro walked painfully toward
Bomunu . Slack-jawed and white-eyed in terror, the Zanjian
retreated , strangled sounds escaping from his throat.
"You think I did not hear you following me, Bomunu?"
lmaro grated between clenched teeth . "You city-born are even
more clumsy in the woods than us plainsmen. Here . . . take
this gift!"
With an effort that nearly pulled the muscles of his arm
from the bone, Imaro swung Isikukumadevu's head in a com­
plete circle, releasing his grip on the mane at the end of the
arc . The head shot straight at Bomunu, who uttered a single,
piercing cry before falling at the heavy impact of the macabre
missile against his body.
The Zanjian lay motionless, the gaping jaws of Isikuku­
madevu cradling his head . Yet Bomunu was not dead. He had
lost consciousness due to the shock of seeing his hated rival
alive . . . and vengeful. Whatever prestige Bomunu had enjoyed
among the haramia was gone now, vanished like an impala
at the scent of lion.
The haramia who had sided with the Zanjian now fell to
their knees , begging Imaro's mercy for their defection.
"We thought you were dead," one of them protested. "Please
spare us, lmaro. Please . . . . "
Ochinga the Ndorobo stared in morbid fascination at the
head of the demon his people had feared for more rains than
he could count. He prostrated himself at Imaro's feet and
chanted over and over, "Greatest of all, greatest of all is Imaro,
Imaro . . . . "
"Get up," lmaro snapped. "All of you, get up and be quiet.
Never kneel to me again."
Uncertainly, the defectors and Ochinga arose , the Ndorobo
doing so with clear reluctance. Without another word, Imaro
turned his back on them and went to Tanisha.
"I knew you could not be dead," she said simply.
He did not speak. But she could read his eyes . They told
her that Imaro needed her now. And she knew he would never
say that aloud. Tears trickling down her cheeks, Tanisha took
Imaro's hand and led him to their shelter. The haramia watched
him follow her with stiff, weary strides, as though he had
approached the limit of his endurance.
1 68 Charles R . Saunders

Their reactions were many. There was, however, one feeling

that underlay all others. Before they had come to the B lack
··Hills, the haramia had respected and admired their young chief­
tain. Some even worshipped him as they would a war god
come to earth to lead them to victory after victory . Those who
envied him did so without jealousy .
And now . . . they all feared him.
And there was one whose fear would vie with hatred.
And there were flaws in the forging . . . .
 BOOK FIVE

THE CITY OF MADNESS

In the midst of the forgotten forest

Does the City of Madness loom,

To those who venture near it

The Mashataan send doom . . . .

-Cushite Proverb
 The forest lay green, brooding, quiescent under the heat of
Jua the sun. It was an isolated stretch of woodland, far from
the realms of the East Coast kingdoms , the land of the Giant­
Kings, or other haunts of humankind. Now the tranquility of
this forgotten forest was shattered . Earlier, two humans had
entered its confines. These two fled fearfully, and the reek of
that fear had assured the forest creatures that the intruders
presented no danger.
But now a new intruder had come, one who stank not of
fear but of blood, steel and hatred. It was the scent of the latter
that sent flocks of brightly colored birds fleeing through the
upper levels of leaves and long-tailed monkeys scampering
madly from tree to tree , scolding and chattering in terror only
vaguely comprehended. Even predators paused uncertainly in
their stalking of prey as the crashing noises the intruder made
drew near.
The trees in this forest did not grow densely, but the foliage
at their tops was knit into a canopy that filtered Jua's rays into
a golden-green haze . Numerous clearings dotted the woodland
floor. Into one of these clearings strode the interloper-Imaro .
The I lyassai was a fearsome sight. His dark skin glistened
sweat-slick through garments that hung in skimpy tatters from
his massive frame . Crimson-crusted wounds scored his body
like glyphs inscribed by devils. Dried blood matted his wooly
black hair. His face was hardened into an implacable mask of
hatred. Unrequited vengeance flickered like a torch in his eyes,
yet beneath the lamina of that emotion Jay a core of grief so
bitter it threatened to consume him entirely . . . .
Betrayed Imaro: The forces of the Slw' a of Azania and the
Mwami of the Mwambututssi had combined to rid themselves
of the troublesome threat of lmaro and his hararnia. Never
before had the Giant-Kings deigned to ally themselves with
171
 172 Charles R . Saunders
any other kingdom , but the bandit army was becoming so
troublesome to their lucrative trade that cooperation, however
distasteful it may have been to the haughty Mwambututssi,
seemed a necessary evil. The combined army-the Unsur­
passables of the Giant-Kings and the mail-clad troops of Aza­
nia - had stalked /maro' s bandits through the hilly wilderness
bordering the two kingdoms. But the Ilyassai was not prey; he
was a hunter. Like a leopard harassing a buffalo, he gouged
at the- soldiers' flanks. only to dart out of reach before his foes
could retaliate. It took a traitor for the soldiers to achieve
victory over the haramia--a traitor named Bomunu . . . .
Defeated lmaro: Bomunu, his hatred of Jmaro spreading
like a cancer through his soul, had made furtive contact with
the leaders of the beleaguered punitive expedition of the Mwami
and the Sha ' a . By the light of secrt!t night fires, the Zanjian
conspired to sell the lives of his comrades to slake his thirst
for vengeance against the man who repeatedly humiliatt!d him.
Bomunu' s standing among the haramia had diminished
greatly since the events in the Black Hills. Still, lmaro had use
for the Zanjian 's shrewdness and knowledge of the ways of the
people of the East Coast kingdoms. Making full use of his
access to Imaro' s ear, Bomunu had cunningly" contrived a
pretext through which lmaro had led the haramia into a blind
valley near the Kakassa River. It was a trap . . . waiting in the
valley were the superior forces of the Azanians and the Giant­
Kings .
lmaro' s men and women had fought valiantly, but with
- superior numbt!rs and tht! element of surprise in their favor,
the soldiers had cut the haramia to pieces. ln the thick of battle,
lmaro had spotted Bomunu fleeing from the valley, a sack of
Azanian gold in one hand and the wrist of Jmaro' s woman,
Tanisha, in the other. Even over a horde offigures locked in
mortal combat, the Zanjian' s eyes linked with lmaro' s. and
his laughter rang over the clash of blades and the screams of
the dying . . . .
Forsaken lmaro: The Ilyassai was not the only survivor of
the uneven battle. With a bare handful of the hundreds who
had followed him into the valley, lmaro had slashed his way
out of the death trap . Away from the Kakassa ht! led the pitiful
remnants of a once-mighty horde . The hesitance of the soldiers
to pursue them and the eagerness of those sons of civilization
to wreak torture and desecration upon- the fallen haramia had
 IMARO 173
gained the fugitives time to put distance between themselves
and the hounding that was sure to come.
It was while the remaining outlaws were discussing strat­
egies for meeting the threat offurther pursuit that they turned
on Imaro. Only he knew of the treachery ofBomunu; the others
thought the Zanjian hadfallen in the massacre, as hadMakopo,
Ochinga, and so many others. Pride prevented Imaro from
revealing the truth: that he had been duped by a man he should
have banished or killed. The same men who had knelt to him
in homage he never wanted now reviled him for having led
them to their doom. For they knew that weakened as they were,
they would prove easy prey when the soldiers finally caught
up with them . In the end, they had raised their weapons against
Imaro and driven him from their midst. . . .
Again the outcast, again the seeker of retribution, Imaro
stood in the forest glade. Suppressing the inner pain the har­
amia ' s rejection had caused him, he had set out on the trail
of Bomunu and Tanisha. He had followed their spoor across
the wooded hills of western Ruanda, then tracked them into
this tlatland forest.
lmaro did not like forests. For a man raised in the vast,
golden sweep of the Tamburure , a forest was an abomination,
for Ajunge had surely not meant for trees to grow as thickly
as grass . Imaro ' s woodcraft was elementary , but still superior
to that of Bomunu. The spoor the Zanjian and Tanisha left was
easy to follow. He knew he was not far behind them now .
So intent was the Ilyassai upon the signs of the passage of
those he pursued that he remained oblivious to the death that
lurked above him, using a leaf-shrouded limb to mask its silent
approach .

Only a sudden stirring o f his kufahuma i n a premonition of

danger saved lmaro from the talons of the beast that sprang
down from the trees . Despite lmaro's lightning-swift leap to
one side, those claws raked across one naked shoulder, adding
to the scarlet wounds decorating his dark skin. Thrown off­
balance by the glancing blow , lmaro stumbled to the ground .
Quickly he leaped to his feet and whirled to meet his attacker.
His eyes widened in surprise then , for the beast facing him
was like none he had seen before , on the Tamburure or else­
where . It was a great cat, leanly built, halfway between a
leopard and a lioness in size. Its fur was scarlet in hue, spotted
1 74 Charles R. Saunders

like a leopard's with rosettes of a deeper crimson shade. Its

glittering claws were fearsome weapons , but more dangerous
still were the dagger-like fangs that curved an inch below the
eat's tufted chin. The long tail lashed in frustration. Not often
did the red panther miss its prey .
"Chui Nyekundu, " Imaro said, giving the feline an Ilyassai
name meaning "red leopard . " He held his curved sword before
him in a two-handed grip. If this feline behaved similarly to
the ones he knew, it would spring again-now!
In a crimson blur, the cat hurtled through the air, mouth
agape to drive its deadly fangs into Imaro ' s throat. Again the
Ilyassai eluded lethal talons and fangs. As the red panther's
momentum carried its body past him, Imaro pivoted and swung
his sword downward with terrific force . The keen steel edge
bit through spotted russet fur, through the thick muscles in the
great eat's back , through the vertebrae of its spine , and through
the cord of nerves the backbone sheathed before Imaro released
his grip on the weapon ' s hilt.
The red panther completed its leap, falling limply, dead
before it collided with the forest floor. Imaro walked over to
the corpse , bent , and pulled his sword from the red panther's
back. Despite the ease with which he had slain the predator,
the Ilyassai grimaced ruefully while he wiped the beast's blood
from his blade . Had he not avoided the red panther' s attack
his would be the blood soaking into the forest floor.
Close as he was to Bomunu and Tanisha, he chided himself,
he would have to pay more attention to the dangers of the
forest, which he now knew were as deadly as those that hid
in the grass of the Tamburure .
Warier and wiser, Imaro continued his grim quest.

An hour later, Imaro ' s ears caught a faint noise . . . faint,

but unmistakably the sound of human voices. His blood began
to pulse in fierce, deadly joy . Soon he would overtake Tanisha
and Bomunu . . . soon . . . .
But when he drew closer to the source of the sounds, the
Ilyassai ' s brow furrowed in puzzlement. He was close enough
now to make out individual voices , but those voices were
speaking a language unfamiliar to him. Moreover, their speech
was punctuated by sharp yelps of pain followed by bursts of
harsh laughter.
Observing that the source of the (:Oinmotion lay in the same
 IMARO 1 1S
direction as the trail of Tanisha and Bomunu , Imaro stalked
forward as stealthily as the red panther he had slain. Reaching
the last barrier of foliage between him and the next clearing ,
he drew aside the intervening growth . . . and s tarted i n aston­
ishment at the sight thus revealed .
Four men occupied the clearing, clustered around the re­
mains of a cook-fire . One was a pygmy , smaller even than the
B ' twi of the land of the Mwambututssi . His features were an
odd combination of the mature and the child-like, with a bulg­
ing forehead, snub nose, and large, expressive eyes. His skin
was the . color of cocoa.
The other three resembled none of the races and tribes with
which Imaro had become familiar since he had left the Tam­
burure . They were men of medium height, clad in armor of
worn leather sewn with plates of rusty metal . But it was their
complexion that made them so anomalous: their skin was pale
as the belly of a fish, in contrast to the black of their hair. That
hair spilled in strange, snakelike locks beneath their metal
helmets. Even more unusual than their complexion and hair
were the ornaments at their waists: human skulls, painted black,
dangling from chains of tarnished gold.
The pale men were torturing the pygmy . His were the cries
of pain Imaro had heard; theirs , the laughter. The white linen
garments of the pygmy were slashed and tom , and his dark
skin was marked with red wounds where the pale men had
pricked him with their long, slim swords. When he attempted
to dodge the jabbing blades , his assailants kicked at him with
boots of rotting leather. The pygmy showed amazing agility,
but he was tiring, and more and more sword jabs were finding
their mark.
As Imaro watched the pygmy twist desperately to evade a
swordpoint aimed at his groin, memory struck lmaro with
almost physical force.
He was a child again. It was the day after his mother had
departed the manyattas of the Ilyassai . Masadu , the trainer of
warriors , had contemptuously tossed Imaro among a group of
older boys for his first lesson in mafundishu-ya-muran . The
bigger boys surrounded him , each one brandishing a bladeless
spearshaft . The circle closed in on him.
·

I will not cry, Imaro had told himself grimly, fearfully. I

will not cry . . . .
The memory passed . The llyassai war cry resounded through
1 76 Charles R. Saunders

the clearing, and lmaro charged like Ngatun the lion toward
the pale, armored men. They stood stunned into momentary
inaction by the abruptness of lmaro's attack.
lmaro's blade sang death as it whipped through the air in
a-gleaming, silvery arc . The edge sheared cleanly through the
unannored neck of the man closest to him. The severed head
flew across the clearing while the body, blood spurting from
the stump of its neck, toppled forward.
With catlike speed, the llyassai whirled and drove his blade
deep into the belly of a second adversary, punching his point
effortlessly through leather and iron. A vicious wrench of lm­
aro's ann brought his sword out again in a shower of blood.
The pale man shrieked once, then his mouth gushed crimson
while he crumpled to the ground.
In the frighteningly brief time it had taken lmaro to slay his
companions, the third man attacked, raining blow after blow
on the Ilyassai's blade. But his movements were slow, slug­
gish, as if his muscles were unaccustomed to such great effort.
lmaro struck once, and the pale man's sword spun to the
ground. Jmaro struck again, and the last of the pale men went
down, his heart sundered by the point of lmaro's blade. All
three foemen lay lifeless in widening pools of gore.
Imaro wiped his sword on the gannent of one of the pale
men. The pygmy he had rescued gazed at him warily. The
giant warrior looked like an apparition of doom: old blood was
caked on his body and something very close to madness burned
in his obsidian eyes. Then the pygmy realized that the light
in the warrior's eyes was fading. Still, he wondered if he had
been spared from the jaws of jackals only to face the might
of the lion ....
The warrior was staring at him in impassive silence now,
the cleaning of his blade completed.
I'd better say something before he decides he wants to kill
me, too, the pygmy thought. He decided to use Kiswah, the

root-tongue from which all the languages of the east of Nyum­

bani were derived.
"Yambo-- peace-warrior," the pygmy said. For all his
diminutive stature, his voice was deep and resonant. "I thank
you for happening by at such an opportune moment. It seems
I owe you my life."
"It's nothing," the giant grunted. The pygmy's ear detected
variations in the root-tongue he couldn't quite place. The war-
 IMARO 177
rior said nothing more . He was scanning the clearing, searching
for something that apparently had nothing to do with the three
corpses sprawled on the ground.
"My name is Pomphis ," the pygmy continued. "May I have
the honor of knowing the name of the man who has saved my
life?" .
The warrior looked at him .
"lmaro," he said.
Pomphis took an involuntary step backward.
"lmaro? The Bandit King? The one they call the ' Scourge
of the Sha 'a?' You're that lmaro?" The pygmy's tone was one
of excitement . Keen interest gleamed in his eyes.
"I am ," lmaro replied shortly. His suspicions were suddenly
aroused . He was aware that his name was known in Azania
and Ruanda and- perhaps still -the Tamburure . But to be
known of by a chance acquaintance, here in this isolated stretch
of forest. . . .
Noting the distrust building in the warrior's eyes , Pomphis
spoke quickly . "By Aspelta' s golden claws, Imaro, any man
who pulls the tail of the Sha'a of Azania is a friend of mine.
Listen: I was having a meal before being set upon by those
jackals , and I would be more than honored to share what
remains of it with you . "
"No," lmaro sai d . " I have no time for that. The trail
of . . . the ones I seek leads into this clearing , and I can see
that it leads out agai n . I know I ' m close to them now, and I
cannot delay . "
"Would you be talking about the man and woman I saw
captured by men l ike the ones you just killed?" the pygmy
volunteered.
lmaro lunged at Pomphis so quickly that the pygmy had no
time to react. The Ilyassai 's fingers dug deep into the flesh of
the pygmy ' s shoulders; then Pomphis felt himself being lifted
from the ground with frightening ease.
When he had raised Pomphis the ful l two feet that separated
his face from the pygmy ' s , lmaro growled, "You've seen them?
Tell me where they are . Tell me ! "
Looking much calmer than h e felt, Pomphis wriggled
slightly, almost imperceptibly. A moment later, he was stand­
ing on the ground, and Imaro was clutching empty air.
"Warrior, have a care ," the pygmy said in a tone that belied
the pounding of his heart and the sweat dewing his palms .
 1 78 CluJrles R. Saunders
"I will tell you what you want to know. But there's no need
for you to put your hands on me . "
This is it, Pomphis said silently . Either I live or die now.
That trick won ' t work twice-not with this one . . . .
Imaro stared at his huge hands still clenched in front of him.
It was as though he were looking at those hands for the first
time. The memory from his past that had impelled him to come
to the pygmy ' s aid was still with him. Suddenly, Imaro felt
the sting of shame.
"I am . . . sorry," he muttered, eyes downcast. "I will not
harm you . But I must know what happened to the man and
woman you saw . "
"It was deeper i n the forest that I saw them," Pomphis
related, feeling somewhat reassured . "I heard them crashing
through the brush . Not knowing whether they were friend or
foe , I hid. I saw them come into a clearing similar to this one.
They looked very tired and very frightened. I was about to
make my presence known to them when men like these three
emerged from the side of the clearing opposite me and captured
them . "
"Did you s ee where they took them?" Imaro broke i n im­
patiently .
"Yes . I followed them. They went to the west, and I tracked
them to their destination. It was a half-ruined city built of
stone . I saw the pale men lead their captives through a broken
gate, then I doubled back on my trail , for I did not wish to be
captured as well. I did not think there would be more of the
pale men away from their city . I was wrong. These three took
me by surprise while I was cooking a meal . I had intended to
return to the city by night, to see what I could do for the
. captives . Until you came along, it looked as though I would
be going back there a captive myself. "
"Why were you going to try to rescue them?" Imaro de­
manded.
"Well , aren't you trying to do the same thing?" Pomphis
expostulated. "Don 't you know who these pale people are?
They're Mizungus!"
" 'Mizungus' ?" lmaro repeated. He shook his head, indi­
cating his unfamiliarity with the name.
"Sit down , Imaro, sit down," Pomphis urged. "You have
a great deal to learn , it seems. "
Imaro made a n impatient noise deep i n his throat. Then he
 IMARO 1 79
realized that he, too, would be obliged to wait Until night fell
before he ventured into the city of the "Mizungus" in pursuit
of Bomunu and Tanisha.
"All right. I will wait with you ," Imaro agreed. "But not
in this clearing. Other . . . 'Mizungus' might even now be
searching for the ones I slew . "
Nodding assent, Pomphis gathered u p his food-a hare,
brought down by the sling belted to his side-and his other
belongings, including a beaded skullcap he placed firmly upon
his pate. Then the two men, giant and pygmy , departed the
clearing, leaving three corpses as mute witnesses to their pass­
ing.

As he sat in the waning sunlight and chewed on a roasted

haunch of hare , lmaro quickly learned the one word that most
readily described his newfound companion. That word was
"garrulous ." Even as he tore strips from his linen suruali and
overtunic to bind the wounds inflicted by the swords of the
Mizungus, the pygmy talked incessantly.
Yet lmaro found himself becoming interested in what Pom­
phis had to say about the Mizungus . A thousand rains ago,
Pomphis said, the continent of Nyumbani had been invaded
by hordes of pale men from Atlan, an island continent in the
Bahari Magharibi-the Western Ocean. The people of Atlan
worshipped the Mashataan , the Demon Gods the peoples of
Nyumbani had banished with the aid of the Cloud Striders
uncounted rains before.
With the sorcery of the Mashataan at their command, the
Atlanteans-named by their victims the "Mizungu ," or "those­
without-mercy"- laid waste to the West Coast kingdoms and
crossed the Ataissan Mountains to ravage the nations and em­
pires of the Soudan . Though the sons and daughters of Nyum­
bani fought mightily, the sorcery of the Mashataan had given
the Mizungus a seemingly insurmountable advantage. King­
doms were crushed beneath the pale men's heels; many were
the men and women that were sent across the Bahari Magharibi
in slave ships . For the Mashataan, their memory still long and
lusting for vengeance for the defeat they had suffered in Nyum­
bani millennia past, had sown 11 malignant suggestion in the
minds of the Mizungus: the belief that the people of Nyumbani
were subhuman, fit only for slavery or the sacrificial altars of
1 80 Charles R. Saunders

the gods of Atlan. For half a century of rains, the Mizungus

had ravaged the western half of Nyumbani .
Then the people of Cush, an ancient land in the far north
of the continent, had discovered a means by which the Cloud
Striders could be summoned back to the land from which they
had driven the Mashataan ages ago. And the Cloud Striders,
the gods-who-were-not-gods, had come. In the skies, Cloud
Strider had battled Mashataan . The sorcerous power the Mash­
ataan had bestowed upon their Mizungu acolytes was now
reclaimed for their conflict with the Cloud Striders .
Bereft of their magic , the Mizungus became vulnerable to
the vengeful fury of the people of Nyumbani. The broken
kingdoms of the west had arisen; with the aid of Cush and the
other kingdoms of the north and east, the Mizungus had been
driven into the sea, while the Mashataan were once again
defeated on the cosmic plane. Their task done the Cloud Stri­
ders departed. The victorious armies of the west had scoured
their land of all signs of the presence of the pale men . . . .
"Yet certain obscure traditions say that some of the Mizun­
gus escaped the slaughter and built a city hidden in some
inaccessible corner of Nyumbani," Pomphis concluded. " 'M'ji
ya Wazimu, ' the legends call it . . . the City of Madness. The
Mizungu probably have their own name for it. That doesn't
matter, though. What's important is that the City of Madness
is here , and the two you seek are being held in it. "
lmaro had listened intently to Pomphis's story . Anger rose
within him when he heard of the atrocities the Mizungu had
committed upon the people of Nyumbani, no matter that the
deeds had been done many rains in the past. He felt scant
concern that the traitor Bomunu had fallen into the pale men's
hands . But Tanisha . . !
.

"I am surprised that your people have no legends concerning

the Mizungu war, lmaro," Pomphis observed. "By the way,
you never said who your people are . "
For a long moment, Imaro said nothing . Then, with reluc­
tance, he said, "They were the llyassai."
"Ilyassai ," Pomphis repeated thoughtfully. His gaze grew
distant, as though his mind were sifting through vast stores-of
detailed knowledge.
Then he gave lmaro an appraising look. "Ilyassai . . . a no­
madic tribe of cattle-herders who roam the plain called the
Tamburure," he said, as though reciting from an unseen text.
 IMARO 181
"Tall, lean , red-brown offshoots of the Bahima race. Noted
for their ferocity in warfare. " .
Pomphis looked more closely at lmaro. "You don't quite
match the prevailing description of the typical Ilyassai , Imaro.
Are you of mixed blood?"
The expression that crossed Imaro's face then was one Pom­
phis hoped never again to see as long as he Jived. He gathered
his legs beneath him, preparing to dash headlong into the forest
should Imaro do what the mask his face had become seemed
to foreshadow.
"I don't want to talk about it, " Imaro finally said, spitting
the words out as if they were poisonous .
This man is in pain, Pomphis reflected. Yes. he has been
in pain all his life. Then Imaro surpri� him. Pomphis could
see that the warrior was waging ftil internal struggle to master
something he had never attempted to control before. He won
the struggle, and Pomphis sighed with relief.
"You said that any enemy of the Sha'a is a friend of yours,"
Imaro said. "Why is that?"
Gazing upward , Pomphis noted that Jua still shone brightly
through the treetops.
"I think we stjll have enough daylight left for me to tell that
tale," Pomphis said with a grin.

Pomphis was a Bambuti , born of the ancient, half-mythical

race of pygmies who dwelt in the Ituri Kubwa, the vast rain
forest that covered much of the central part of Nyumbani.
When Pomphis was little more than an infant, his band had
ventured too close to the fringes of their forest realm and were
captured by Komeh slavers .
One by one , the pygmies died on the long trek eastward
from the Ituri Kubwa. Yet young Pomphis had survived­
possibly because he had not been old enough to have developed
the inextricable attachment to the forest that undid his elders.
In the great slave market of Malindi , capital of Azania, a
child of the Bambuti was a rare commodity, and Pomphis was
sold for an exorbitant sum of gold mizquals-a price paid by
the Sha'a himself.
By the Sha'a's command, the young pygmy was trained as
a mjimja- a jester and acrobat. For years , the Bambuti had
entertained the amirs of Azania in their glittering court. In
many ways, it had been a degrading existence for the young
1 82 Charles R. Saunders
Bambuti . Still, he managed to provide amusement for himself
from time to time.
The life of the pygmy , who by then had acquired his full
growth of six inches over four feet, had fallen into grave peril
when the Sha'a discover him sleeping with one of the Royal
Daughters . The wrath of the monarch was awesome. He or­
dered the execution of the youthful mjimja by impalement on
a rusty spike.
At the moment the imminent and highly sadistic execution
was about to begin, the pygmy' s life had been saved. His
salvation came from an unexpected source . . . .
One of the Sha' a's guests at that time had been a Cushite
scholar named Khabatekh. And Khabatekh had expressed a
strong interest in purchasing the Bambuti for purposes of study.
Grudgingly, the monarch had agreed. Consuming though his
ire against the mjimja was , the Sha'a was reluctant to offend
a visitor from Cush. For, mighty as Azania was among the
East Coast kingdoms, Cush was still the most powerful nation
· ·

in all of Nyumbani.
Thus did the Bambuti depart the spired city of Malindi, his
involuntary home for almost a score of rains. His last memory
of the Sha'a was the illlllge of the monarch grinding his teeth
in frustrated rage when the Bambuti commented that he hoped
he had sired the first of a long dynasty of four-foot-tall
Sha'as . . . .
When Khabatekh's seacraft had sailed northward to Cush,
the scholar was greatly disappointed to discover that the former
mjimja had forgotten nearly all of his early existence in the
Ituri Kubwa, for he had seen the . passing of only two rains
when the Komeh had captured his band. He recalled nothing
of the language of the Bambuti, not even the name his long­
dead parents had given him.
Still, one Bambuti legacy re�ned to him. As the pygmies
knew every leaf of every tree in all the vastness of the Ituri
Kubwa, so could Pomphis recall the full text of anything he
had ever read. S ince the time the Sha'a's own tutor had taught
him to read, the Bambuti had devoured the entire contents of
the Royal Azanian Library-twice.
This ability interested Khabatekh, though he knew the griots
of the Soudanic kingdoms had developed their own recall to
a similar, if not superior, degree . It was the pygmy' s agile wit
that impressed the scholar more, a wit honed by long years of
 IMARO 183
'

entertaining the amirs of the Sha'a's court. By the time Kha­

batekh's seacraft docked in the harbor of Meroe, chief city of
Cush, the scholar had adopted the Bambuti as his assistant and
protege, in the process freeing him from slavery and bestowing
him with the name "Pomphis , " which in the Cushite tongue
meant "know-all."
Pomphis's time in Cush was the happiest of his life. The
wonders of the ancient land seemed endless: buildings that
looked as though they had been constructed by giants; do­
mesticated lions, baboons and elephants; an entire city devoted
to the smelting of iron and steel; libraries and archives filled
with more information than-even he could absorb in a lifetime .
And the Cushites themselves were more fascinating still . They
had night-black skin and bushy black hair-not a� all unusual
in N y umbani . It w a s their eyes that marked them
different . . . amber yellow instead of the usual black or brown
iris common to Nyumbani . Those eyes, the Cushites claimed ,
were emblems of their descent from the Cloud Striders, who
were always depicted as titanic black giants with eyes that
shone like the sun.
Yet Pomphis had found Cushite women human enough.
And they, attracted by his unusual size and ready wit, seemed
to find him irresistible. Life in Cush was indeed idyllic for the
former mjimja of the Sha' a of Azania, for Khabatekh had taken
Pomphis into his household the better to instruct his young
charge in the ways of the scholar. Pomphis had proved an apt
pupil , attracting the notice and approval of his mentor's fellow
savants .
Then the idyll ended. One day Khabatekh was summoned
to the palace of the Kandiss, the Sky Queen of Cush. The
Kandiss had charged the scholar with a mission of grave import
in the East Coast kingdoms. Of the nature of that mission,
Khabatekh had said little to Pomphis. But the young pygmy
was still eager to accompany his mentor southward, and Kha­
batekh had reluctantly agreed.
It was during the pair's travels in the kingdoms neighboring
Azania that they had learned of Imaro' s haramia and the dis­
comfiture the bandit horde had caused Pomphis ' s former mas­
ter. Shortly thereafter, tragedy stru�k.
In a remote section of Kundwa, a kingdom just north of
Azania, the two scholars were beset by attackers-not hara­
mia, but assassins of unknown origin . Though Khabatekh knew
1 84 Charles R . Saunders

sorcery, he was cut down before he could unleash any spells

of defense. Grief-stricken, for he had come to regard the solemn
Cushite as a father, Pomphis had still managed to evade the
assassin , who could not cope with the acrobatic skills he had
learned as a mjimja. After a long, panicky flight, the pygmy
bad stumbled into the forest in which he and Imaro were now
resting. By now , he was satisfied that the assassins had lost
his trail . Until he had seen a man and womQil hastening through
the trees earlier this day , he had assumed the forest was un­
inhabited save for himself . . . .
Jua was beginning to set when Pomphis finished his nar­
ration . While he talked , the pygmy noticed that he was main­
taining Imaro' s interest. But something puzzled Pomphis . In
all the times he had regaled anyone who would listen with the
story of his life, his audience invariably laughed until their
sides ached. The Ilyassai, however, had not so much as smiled.
Not even once .
Grim, Pomphis reflected uneasily . This is about the grim­
mest human being I've ever encountered . . . .
"And now , my large friend, you have some talking to do
of your own ," Pomphis said with forced heartiness.
"What do you mean?'' Imaro growled . His mind was still
attempting to cope with the glimpse of the world outside his
own narrow confines of conflict and vengeance Pomphis's
words had revealed . So much of it he hadn 't understood . . . had
never heard of before . There was so much more he wanted to
know . . . yet the pygmy was now asking him questions .
"You are chieftain of th e haramia, lmaro; yet here you are,
alone , looking as if you've been in several battles more de­
manding than the one those Mizungus put up. You are pursuing
a pair of people who look as though they are being chased by
a pack of lions. I'd just like to know why, that 's all . "
Long seconds of silence passed . Never had i t been Imaro's
way to confide in others . But the burden of the betrayal of his
haramia and their subsequent repudiation of him weighed heav­
ily. If he spoke of it, perhaps the burden would lighten. Of the
haramia's rejection of him, though, he would say nothing.
That bitter memory was his alone , as was the memory of his
departure from the Ilyassai . Slowly , the warrior began to speak.
Pomphis listened with growing unease as Imaro told his tale
of deceit and disaster. As much as he despised the renegade
Bomunu for his perfidy , Pomphis found himself fearing for the
 /MARO 185
Zanjian should lmaro discover him alive in the City of Mad­
ness . And the woman, Tanisha . . .
Almost timidly , Pomphis asked the Ilyassai what fate he
intended for her.
"She ' s with him, isn't she?" lmaro snarled. The sheer fe­
rocity of the warrior' s tone sent a shudder through the Bam­
buti ' s frame.
Abruptly , the warrior stood. "Jua is setting. We must go
now , or we'll never be able to find our way through the trees
in the darkness. You will lead me to this 'M'ji ya Wazimu' ?"
Pomphis also stood. "I gave you my word I would," he
replied stiffly . "And you ' ll find I ' m not so useless when it
comes to a fight. Not as long as I have my sling . . . and this . "
Reaching into his linen tunic , the pygmy withdrew a long,
sharp dagger of gleaming Cushite steel .
"Those Mizungus never &ave me a chance to use this," he
said .
lmaro nodded appreciatively. Steel· was one of the more
welcome discoveries he had made since leaving the Tamburure .
Then Pomphis spotted the row of parallel red lines scoring
Imaro' s left shoulder.
"Where did those marks on your shoulder come from?" the
Bambuti inquired.
"I was attacked by a Chui Nyekundu," Imaro replied shortly.
"A . . . 'red panther' ?" Pomphis repeated, knitting his brow
in thought. Then his eyes widened. "A kisujini-daggertooth!
By Aspelta's mane, man, how did you ever escape a kisujini?"
"I didn 't escape it. I killed it. Now, let's go . "
Pomphis, Pomphis, what have you gotten yourself into this
time, the pygmy moaned to himself as he preceded lmaro into
the forest. The journey to the City of Madness had begun . . . a
journey that would end in vengeance or death .

Peering from the trees that fringed the City of Madness,

Imaro saw-the Place of Stones! lmaro blinked, shook his
head , and the illusion vanished. A great , crumbling pile of
rock, the City of Madness was far larger than the single edifice
that had been the Place of Stones. Mwesu ' s pale light painted
the city ' s walls the color of bone. Like the ruin in the north
of the Tamburure , this was a dead place . Cracks scarred the
stone of the walls; vines shrouded it like the cerements of a
corpse . The gate-portal yawned open, empty .
1 86 Charles R. Saunders ·

"Keep to the shadows , " Imaro whispered to Pomphis.

The pygmy nodded. On the way to their destination , the
two of them had formulated a plan by which they might, with
luck, slip unobserved into the ruin. Pomphis was mildly sur­
prised by the practicality of the Ilyassai ' s suggestions . The
wild man who had slaughtered the Mizungus earlier in the day
might have attempted to storm the city single-handed . But now
the pygmy could readily understand how the man (still not
much more than a youth; younger than I am, Pomphis had
concluded after observing Imaro more closely) crouching at
his side had welded th� haramia into a force that had shaken
the Sha'a's throne .
Without further words , the two men crept toward the gaping
portal . Trees grew so closely to the wall that there was scant
chance a watcher posted above could have spotted the intruders.
lmaro ' s keen senses detected no watchers . . . .
Yet it was Pomphis who ftrst saw the body lying in a gro­
tesque sprawl several strides from the gate. The head was gone.
In its place, the bloodstained point of the iron spit on which
the body had been skewered protruded like a macabre substitute
for the missing head .
Imaro cursed under his breath. By the garments that still
clad the mutilated corpse , he knew that he was looking upon
all that was left of the traitor Bomunu . The vengeance Imaro
had so tenaciously sought seemed only a hollow mockery now.
·

But there was still Tanisha. . . .

Turning to Pomphis , lmaro discovered that the pygmy was

trembling. His eyes were glazed and seemed to look inward.
When he could speak again, the B ambuti' s voice was half
strangled with fear and disgust.
"lmaro . . . remember those skulls the Mizungus wore around
their waists? It all comes back to me now. The Kitabu Mizungu
Ma vita- the Book of the Mizungu War-tells of how the
Mizungus imprisoned the souls of the people they killed in
their own skulls. The n ' kaa- the soul-force-of the victims
prolonged the lives of the Mizungus. That is why these people
took the head of your Zanjian. That's why there are no shambas
here , or pens for cattle or goats . lmaro ! What these people did
to Bomunu , they are going to do to-"
"-Tanisha ! " the warrior exploded . He had no idea what
Pomphis meant by the word "book," but the conclusion he
drew from the rest of the pygmy ' s words was frightfully clear.
 IMARO 1 87
A sound like the growl of Ngatun rose in lmaro's throat.
Ripping his curved sword from its scabbard , he plunged
through the dark portal that led into the City of Madness.
Horror-struck, Pomphis cried, "lmaro, no! Our plan, re­
member our plan . . . ."

When he received no answer from the llyassai , the pygmy ,

still trembling, followed him through the leering portal . . . . .

Inside the walls, broken remnants of buildings staggered

along both sides of a paved boulevard. Wide cracks webbed
the flat stones of the pave; weeds sprouted in rank profusion.
At the end of the ancient avenue a huge . structure sat like a
truculent giant squatting on a granite throne. There were no
signs of life in either the street or the silent buildings. Yet a
sickish-sweet charnel scent hung heavily in the air.
Rushing in a desperate attempt to catch up with Imaro,
Pomphis let out a sigh of relief when he saw the Ilyassai waiting
for him, a dark shadow among the many others cast by
Mwesu ' s light.
"Thank Aspelta you waited," Pomphis gasped gratefully.
"You could have been killed rushing in here like that. "
"No," Imaro said . "There's nobody out here. All the Mi­
zungus must be in that stone shelter, as you thought they
would."
"That's right. They need their entire population in the temple
for the ceremony to be effective . . . . "
"Listen ," Imaro interrupted. A low, droning hum wafted
from the structure Pomphis had called a "temple . " Faint, clang­
ing sounds interrupted the strange rhythm of the low-pitched
drone .
"Come on," Pomphis urged. "We don't have much time . "
N o longer concerned about the echoes their racing feet raised
from the pavement, the Ilyassai and the Bambuti ran toward
the Mizungu temple. As they drew nearer, the details of the
building became clearer in the stark moonlight.
Cubic in shape, the temple was a windowless edifice, seem­
ingly untouched by the breath of time. Its entrance was cut in
the form of a huge, open mouth, with square stone protrusions
for fangs . Friezes sculpted in low relief covered every inch of
the stone surface. The carvings depicted scenes of unimagin­
able cruelty , with tall, noble figures invariably triumphing over
apish things only vaguely identifiable as human. Though its
1 88 Charles R. Saunders

brightness had faded with the passage of time, the paint that
colored the figures was clearly visible. The noble, victorious
ones were painted white; their cringing victims , black.
lmaro rumbled low in his throat, rage building against the
Mizungus . Those pictures in the stone - was that what these
pale ones thought of him and his kind? No matter how many
Mizungus he found in the temple, Imaro vowed , he would
show them how one who had survived mafundishu-ya-muran
and olmaiyo fought. . . .
For his part, Pomphis looked at the carvings and reflected
· sadly upon the fate of this remnant of the Mizungu invaders ,
still deluded by the false tenets taught by the Mashataan . . . .
The droning hum rose and fel l , flowing forth from the stone­
fanged entrance. The sound seemed to beckon , to dare the
warrior and the scholar to venture into its gaping jaws.
Swiftly , lmaro and Pomphis satisfied themselves that the
entrance was unguarded. Then they penetrated the dense black­
ness of the temple' s interior, each feeling a crawling sensation
on the skin between his shoulders upon passing beneath the
stone teeth hanging high above them .
As they made their way further into the gloom. lmaro and
Pomphis quickly realized that they were in a long, narrow
corridor cut from solid stone . At the corridor' s end, a square
of lurid emerald light gliinmered. Their objective clear, the
scholar and the warrior stalked purposefully down the shad­
owed corridor. Even the erudite Bambuti did not fully antic­
ipate what they found at the end of their path . . . .

The single inner chamber of the temple was a hu e cavityg

hewn from the heart of the titanic granite cube from which the
structure had been shaped. Its space easily accommodated the
last of the Mizungus: less than three-score people in al l . Most
were men , some clad in decaying armor like that worn by the
three lmaro had slain in the forest. Others wore dark , hooded
robes of mildewed cloth. The few Mizungu women wore floor­
length wraps of gauzy , frayed fabric . From golden chains about
the waists of all , black-painted skulls swayed, their shiny enam­
el covering reflecting the emerald light of a glowing sphere
suspended from the high , vaulted ceiling .
The Mizungus were chanting , intoning a low , droning ca­
dence like the hum of Nyubi the bee . Some of the women
 IMARO 1 89
tapped brass discs with small metal hammers, beating out a
harsh background to the sepulchral drone of their voices.
Leading the Mizungus in their chant was a man obviously
in authority over the rest-a king , or priest, perhaps a com­
bination of the two. Taller than the others he stood, and his
black robe was festooned with eight golden chains . From each
of the chains a grinning, black-painted skull dangled forlornly.
In his hands , the Mizungu leader cradled a ninth skull .
Obscured by the deep shadows outside the chamber, Pom­
phis and Imaro stared in horrified fascination; not at the Mi­
zungu chieftain or his chanting votaries , but at the thing to
which they were directing their homage . . . and the altar po­
sitioned beneath it.
A blocky , thronelike dais sat in the center of the chamber.
Upon the dais hunched a bi zarre image sculpted from pitted,
gray-green stone. From the waist up, the creature the sculpture
depicted resembled Ngai the gorilla, although its skin was
hairless and its wide mouth bore fangs even longer than those
of the red panther Imaro had slain. It was the lower extremities
of the unknown beast's body that marked it as something alien
to the world of natural things. Its legs were the hindquarters
of Mboa the buffalo: thick, muscular haunches tapering to
sharp, lethal hooves.
"Azuth, " Pomphis whispered nervously. "A creature made
by the Mashataan at the beginning of time. They were killed
off ages ago by the Cushites and their lions . . . and these Mi­
zungus worship such a thing . . . .
"

Imaro said nothing . His eyes were fixed on the altar that
lay beneath the hooves of the Azuth. The altar was made of
the same gray-green stone as the statue. In the stone surround­
ing the altar, a five-pointed star was incised. The outline of
the star gleamed like tracings of fire in the green-lit chamber.
Green, Imaro remembered. The color of the mchawi of the
Mashataan. . . .
At each point of the star, a Mizungu stood: four women and
one man. Except for the skulls hanging from chains around
their waists, they were naked. Saw-edged knives gleamed in
the hands of the women. The man bore a straight-bladed sword.
Their nude bodies showed signs of advancing dissipation:
loose, blotchy skin , slack muscles, webworks of wrinkles scor­
ing their faces and limbs, and streaks of silver in their long,
black hair.
1 90 Charles R. Saunders

"Age overtakes them," Pomphis munnured. "They can pro­

long their lives, but the process does not renew their flesh.
They can only . . . stretch what is already there . . . . "
Abruptly, the chieftain's chant ceased. Silence fell like a
soft curtain in the temple. Swinging the skull in his hands in
a slow circle , he turned to the altar.
On the pitted stone lay Tanisha, her arms and legs chained
in a spread-eagled position. She was as naked as the votaries
who also turned toward her. The ebony globes of her breasts
trembled as she breathed in Iabored gasps. Fatigue marked her
midnight face: her dark eyes stared dully upward. Exhaustion
and horror had left her in a state of apathetic resignation.
In the stone beneath Tanisha's neck, a deep groove had
been cut.
At a word from the robed chieftain, the five naked Mizungus
moved toward the altar, the man's sword raised for chopping;
the women's serrated blades whetted for the flaying soon to
come . . . .
lmaro knew there was no more time to lose. The Mizungus
in the chamber were too many for even him to face alone; only
Pomphis's part in their plan could reduce the odds against him.
·

He looked down at the pygmy.

Pomphis seemed rooted in place. His eyes were white with
terror and his body seemed to be shrinking in its clothes.
Imaro gave the Bambuti an impatient shove. As if propelled
from a catapult, Pomphis hurtled into the chamber. For a mo­
ment, he stumbled, glaring about in near-panic . Then he
straightened , cupped his hands to his mouth, and bellowed a
series of phrases in a language alien to any tongue with which
the Ilyassai was familiar.
Pomphis's words had an instantaneous effect. Almost as
one , the Mizungus whirled and stared wide-eyed at the entrance
to the chamber, where Pomphis stood clearly outlined . A
wicked grin replacing his previously terror-stricken expression,
the B ambuti repeated the string of harsh , guttural syllables.
And the Mizungus burst into a paroxysm of hysterical
frenzy ! Roaring and shrieking as if they had suddenly surren•
dered to madness, they hurled themselves headlong at the di­
minutive form of the pygmy, who turned on his heel and fled
down the dark corridor through which he and Imaro had come .
Despite the loud imprecations of their chieftain, the Mi­
zungus pelted after the pygmy; bypassing Imaro, who had
 IMARO 191

flattened himself against a wall. His earth-colored body was

hidden in the darkness; the entire screaming mob of Mizungus
passed by without noticing him.
lmaro waited until the last echoes of their footsteps died.
Then, sword in hand, he entered the chamber.

Vorstos , Grand Hierophant of the Lost/Found City of Ya­

hannis, boiled with rage . The Ceremony of Translocation had
reached its most crucial point when that chittering chimpanzee
of a pygmy had suddenly appeared, mouthing obscenities Vor­
stos and his people had not heard for centuries . . . .
Now the rite was undone; even he could not complete it
alone. Only those who had been purified in the Pentacle could
remove the black woman' s head from her body , strip it of flesh
and sinew , scoop out the brain , and prepare the remaining
receptacle of bone to imprison the raw essence of life-force his
people needed to survive.
So enraged was Vorstos that he could have driven his dagger
straight into the belly of the woman still lying supine on the
altar. But his friend , Bothas , was dying; the woman' s soul was
needed. As was the one that rested in his hands . Already sealed
with the Lacquer of Circumscription, it would go to Gerdis,
Vorstos 's lover of ten centuries' standing .
Many of his people were dying now, for the supply of souls
needed to continue the unnatural extension of their lives had
dwindled to a point far below the Atlanteans' demand . Rarely,
so rarely did the blacks venture into the forest of Yahanni s .
. and
.

the city was falling into ruin, for his people lacked the energy
to maintain it. _

Yet the soldiers had captured two of them today. And the
foul-mouthed pygmy . . . small though he was , his skull could
still adorn the waist of an Atlantean , his puny soul feeding
outworn vitality for another few decades. Soon his people
would return with the pygmy-hopefully alive, not torn to
pieces in punishment for his vile rnouthings. And the three
soldiers who had not yet returned may well be delivering an­
other captive to Yahannis . . . .
Vorstos shifted his gaze from the woman on the altar to the
pale green sphere above him. A wave of melancholy washed
over him, an occurrence of increasing frequency in recent
years . Memories of a millennium's duration crowded his mind
like vultures settling on a fresh carcass.
 192 Clwrles R. Saunders

He recalled the early glories: the sea voyage eastward from

fair Atlan; the initial victories over the unwitting blacks; the
thousands upon thousands of shrieking captives dragged to the
, altars of Yugg-Thuggathoth and the other Elder Gods; the thou­
sands more shipped off to labor as slaves in Atlan . . . .
Vorstos s graying brows drew together in a frown as other
•

memories washed in a bitter tide through his mind. In the

pulsating depths of the green sphere . he could almost see again
the sky-shaking conflict between the Elder Gods and the de­
mons of the blacks . This was the battle that marked the be­
ginning of the end of the Atlantean conquest. Yugg-Thug­
gathoth and the others had fled the earthly plane, leaving the
Atlanteans alone to face the hordes of vengeful blacks inflamed
by the triumph of their demon-gods . The nations not yet sub­
dued by Atlan had joined forces with rebels in the conquered
lands to drive the Atlanteans inexorably westward to the sea.
Vorstos and his forces had been forced to flee to the east,
for the way westward was blocked by thousands of black horse­
men. Many Atlanteans died before Vorstos had found refuge
in this remote jungle area. Here , he and his people had built
Yahannis; here they would await rescue from Atlan once suf.
ficient forces had been sent to crush the resistance of the blacks .
But no one came . Months of anxious waiting lengthened
into years; the years into decades , and the decades into cen­
turies . Only three magics remained to the followers of the
Hierophant: the Ceremony of Translocation that prolonged their
lives once it was discovered that the Atlantean women could
no longer bear children; the Sphere of Yugg-Thuggathoth ,
which freed them from the need for food and water; and the
image of Azuth the Ape-Bull, the secret of which was known
only to Vorstos . As the centuries dragged on , the people weak­
ened , grew apathetic , watching passively as their city fel l into
ruin . Soon , Vorstos knew , not even the soul-essences impris­
oned in the lacquered skulls would be able to avert the relentless
march of decay . . . .
No! Vorstos shouted silently . As long as I live, Yahannis
will not die. Yahannis will live until the power of Atlan rises ·

again in the land of the blacks!

Then Vorstos heard a footstep behind him. Whirling to face
the entrance to the chamber, he cried out in dismay at the sight
of the huge black warrior advancing toward him.
Here was no pygmy , no woman , no craven pleading pit-
 IMARO 193

eously for mercy as was the one whose skull Vorstos still
clutched in his hands. Here was a warrior like those who had
slaughtered his people a millennium past. Vorstos read the hatred
on the black man's face. It more than matched his own. For the
first time in hundreds of years, V orstos of Atlan knew fear . . . .
From the tensing of the thews in the warrior's chest and arms,
Vorstos knew the curved blade in the black man's hands was
about to swing in an arc that would end in death . Only one chance
did the Hierophant have-the Azuth .
With a swiftness sired by desperation, the Atlantean hurled
the black-painted skull toward the gray-green statue of the Ape­
Bull.

The moment the Mizungu chieftain threw his grisly burden

at the monstrous statue, Imaro raised his sword and lunged for­
ward, intending to cut the pale man down where he stood. Then
the black skull exploded on impact with the pitted stone , and
Imaro stopped in his tracks. Bits of splintered bone flew in all
directions. Imaro flung an arm across his eyes in a protective
movement. Vorstos crept into the shadows, his thin lips curved
in a leering grin .
Imaro lowered his arm from his eyes . . . and gaped in disbe­
lief. A filmy , necrotic substance was billowing from the black
blotch that marked the skull's impact on the stone. Then the
smoky substance coalesced into a form unpleasantly quasi-hu­
man in aspect, with slits·of crimson flame for eyes. For a mo­
ment, those burning slits stared directly at Imaro, radiating
hatred.
Then the phantom spectral shape turned to the effigy of the
Azuth . And its unstable substance began to spread itself across
the surface of the stone. At the moment it covered the statue like
a film of swamp scum, the ghost substance began to merge with
the stone. When the absorption was complete, suddenly, im­
possibly , the inanimate stone transmuted itself into livingflesh!
Knots of solid muscle writhed across the gigantic , anthro­
poid anns and shoulders of the Ape-Bull . As if reveling in its
vast strength, the Azuth stretched and stood on its granite dais.
Its fanged mouth gaped open; only Ngatun the lion could have
equalled the volume of the bellow that issued from its throat.
Leaping off the dais, the Azuth landed with a clatter of sharp
hooves against the stony floor of the chamber.
With iron determination, Imaro beat back the disquiet that
 194 Clttlrla R. Sawrders
was beginning to arise within him. The echoes of the Ape-Bull's
roar spurred him into action. Shouting the Ilyassai battle cry, he
rushed toward his demonic foe.
A hideous, manlike grin split the face of the Azuth as it sprang
to meet lmaro's attack. Its eyes glinted with an intelligence that
had never belonged to any beast but man. With a start, Imaro
realized that he knew those eyes . They were the eyes ofBomunu,
whose headless corpse lay outside the walls of the Mizungu city
and whose skull the Mizungu chieftain had just shattered.
The moment of recognition jarred Imaro's timing. The
swordstroke he had meant to swing at the creature 's abdomen
came too late. With a blur of motion so swift Imaro' s eye could
hardly follow it, the Azuth 's hoof lashed out, snapping into Im­
aro's sword-hand. Sailing through the air, the weapon clanged
several strides across the floor.
A second kick cracked sharply against Imaro' s side. Grunting
in pain, the Ilyassai doubled over. Only the thick muscles band­
ing his ribs had averted broken bones. He knew another such
blow could disable him . . . if it landed.
The Azuth kicked a third time. lmaro's hand halted the hoof
in midair. The ankle of the Ape-Bull 's leg was relatively thin,
thin enough for Imaro to grasp and hold immobile. Acting with
a swiftness all his own, the Ilyassai kicked at the Azuth's other
ankle. The Ape-Bull teetered, then crashed heavily to the floor.
Leaping astride the fallen beast, Imaro brought his fist down
in a hammering blow to the Azuth 's mouth . One of the Ape­
Hull' s fangs splintered into yellow-white fragments. Screeching
in unexpected pain, the Ape-Bull struck back. One sweep of a
huge arm sent Imaro spinning through the air as though he were
weightless . Imaro landed painfully ten strides away .
Quickly, both combatants regained their feet, each now more
wary of the other. To his dismay, lmaro realized that the Ape­
Bull stood between him and his sword. He had no other weapon;
the curved blade was all he had salvaged from the debacle of the
Kakassa . . . .
A debacle caused by the traitor whose soul now animated this
. beast-thing ! Hatred coursed like fire through lmaro' s blood even
as the Azuth uttered an ear-splitting roar and charged toward
him. lmaro waited until the Ape-Bull was almost upon him. Then
he ducked under its flailing arms and darted toward his sword.
If he moved swiftly enough , he would reach the weapon before
the Azuth reached him. It was his only chance; he had felt the
 IMARO 1 95

Ape-Bull's strength, and he knew the beast could overwhelm

him if he fought it bare-handed . . . .
But the Azuth possessed deceptive speed. A tree-thick ann
struck Imaro across one shoulder. The Ilyassai staggered, caught
his balance-too late. Giant anthropoid arms wrapped around
Imaro' s body and constricted painfully, squeezing the breath
from Imaro's lungs even as the serpent into which the oibonok
Muburi had transformed himself into had done on the Tambu­
rure .
This time, though, lmaro's arms were pinioned firmly to his
sides. Face-to-face with the Ape-Bull, Imaro struggled fu­
riously, wrenching himself from side to side. But now he was
in the grip of a foe whose strength far surpassed his own. The
Azuth increased its crushing pressure on lmaro' s torso, all the
while glaring at the Ilyassai through burning, vindictive, trium­
phant eyes . . . the eyes of Bomunu .
lmaro fought on. He knew it was futile to attempt to break the
Ape-Bull's grip. But the Azoth's skin was hairless, sweating
against his own naked hide. If he could slide his arms across the
slick surface of the Azuth's skin before his ribs were torn from
their moorings and his breath squeezed from-his body , lmaro had
a chance.
Suddenly the cunning wit of Bomunu realized what lmaro was
attempting to do. Carrying the huge warrior as though he were
a child, the Ape-Bull clattered to the nearest wall and slammed
lmaro's body against the unyielding stone .
Pain racked through the Ilyassai, nearly smashing his senses
loose from his skull. White-hot bursts of light exploded before
his eyes. Yet he continued to lever his arms upward against the
slippery skin of the Ape-Bull.
Growling in rage, the Azuth/Bomunu pounded Imaro re­
peatedly against the wall . Bolts of blackness shot across the
edges of lmaro's consciousness. One more collision against the
stone would leave him dead or, worse, helpless. He had to break
free . . . now!
Plumbing a well of endurance that had never before come so
close to depletion, Imaro strained his arms a final few inches
upward- and slid them loose. Raising his freed arms high above
his head, lmaro crashed his balled fists simultaneously against
the Azuth's ears.
With a shrill howl of agony, the Azuth fell back, clapping its
hands to the sides of its head. Suddenly released from the crush-
196 Charles R. Saunders

ing grasp, Imaro slid precipitously to the floor. With no time to

break. his fall, the llyassai landed painfully . Slowly , lmaro
dragged himself to his feet. His head was spinning; his entire
body throbbed with agony . He looked up, hearing the sound of
hoof against stone . The Azuth was approaching again.
Blood rilled from the Ape-Bull ' s ears. But lmaro knew his
own pain surpassed that of his adversary. Another assault like
the one he had just endured would shatter his body-if not his
spirit. Still . . . however invincible the Azuth might be, the trans­
formed body yet held the soul of Bomunu. And in Bomunu' s
eyes, Imaro detected a wavering: a glimmer o f doubt, a n inti­
mation of fear . . . .
"Bomunu ! " lmaro shouted; his voice ringing through the
Mizungus' chamber.
The Azuth halted with a start at the sound of its name.
"Bomunu !" Imaro repeated. "I know you, Zanjian. No matter
what flesh you wear, you are still Bomunu . Coward! Traitor!
Woman-stealer! Come, match your stolen strength with a war­
rior's-if you dare!"
Goaded to near-madness by Imaro's taunts, the Azuth/Bo­
munu lowered its head, bellowed inarticulately, and rushed to­
ward Imaro, intent on obliterating the hated Ilyassai in an ava­
lanche of trampling hooves and bludgeoning fists.
This time, Imaro did not underestimate the speed of the on­
coming behemoth. At the last possible moment, he sidestepped
the Ape-Bull's charge and grasped one thick wrist in both his
hands . Pivoting on his heel, he swung the Azuth' s body into the
wall behind him . With a thunderous impact, the creature collided
with solid stone.
Rebounding violently from the wall , the Azuth staggered a
few steps, then tumbled to the floor. As Imaro' s eyes widened
in dismay, the stunned beast proceeded to reel to its feet. Imaro' s
eyes searched desperately for his sword. It lay halfway across
the chamber. In his weakened condition, Imaro knew the Azuth
would be upon him before he could reach the weapon. Again,
there was only one chance . . . .
Before his foe could fully regain its footing, Imaro sprang like
a panther onto its broad back. Immediately he locked both legs
about its waist. Then, recalling a trick Rumanzila had shown him
before their fatal falling-out, the llyassai clamped one arm across
the Azuth 's throat and shoved the Ape-Bull' s head forward with
 IMARO 1 97

the other. The Azuth ' s throat was suddenly constricted , as Im­
aro ' s ribs had been only a few moments earlier.
A cry of anguish welled in the Azuth 's throat , only to end in
a strangled croak as Imaro applied more pressure to its windpipe.
Incredibly, the Ape-Bull remained erect, despite the burden of
lmaro ' s weight. Two long arms snaked backward; thick ape-fin­
gers gripped Imaro's head and began to pull.
lmaro bit back a scream as the Azuth ' s strength threatened to
separate his head from his shoulders. The muscles of the llyas­
sai 's back stood out like slabs of rock while he applied more force
to his hold on the Azuth ' s neck. Bone creaked , the sound rising
above the panting gasps of man and beast.
Then, at the moment it seemed the bones of Imaro' s own neck
would pop apart, a gurgling moan issued deep in the Azuth ' s
body . Its hands fell away from lmaro ' s head. Bomunu moaned
again, the dirge of a dying, frightened man allowing victory to
slip from his grasp . . . .
With a final surge of preterhuman might, Imaro broke the
neck of the Azuth. The Ape-Bull shuddered , toppled . . . and
suddenly Imaro was lying atop a heap of shattered gray-green
stone.
Bomunu ' s soul was gone; the Mizungu magic was nullified.
Imaro strove to rise to his feet. He remembered the Mizungu
chieftain. He remembered his own fallen sword . But the long
miles he had traveled, the incredible battle he had fought . . . all
those tremendous exertions had combined to sap the strength
from Imaro ' s thews . He sprawled limply over the broken re­
mains of the Azuth, his breath coming in slow gasps . Tanisha,
he thought dimly . Must get to Tanisha . . . .
Then he heard a sound behind him. Painfully turning his
pounding head , Imaro saw the chieftain of the Mizungus stand­
ing above him. In his hands, the Mizungu clutched lmaro ' s
curved sword.

Vorstos raised the weapon high above his head . His pale eyes
glared balefully at the black interloper. Close, very close did the
Hierophant come to admiring the nameless warri or. Not even
Herkal, hero of a dozen Atlantean sword-sagas , could have bat­
tled so bravely and well against the fearsome Ape-Bul l .
But the black had destroyed one of the three magics of Ya­
hannis. For that, the warrior must die . . . .
The Atlantean' s muscles tensed. The warrior's face twisted
198 Charles R. Saunders

in defiance; slowly, painfully, the black man began to move. His

hand closed around a fragment of jagged green stone.
Vorstos began his downward swing . . . then gasped as he felt
a ripping pain in his back . He tried to turn, but before he could,
the death he had eluded for ten centuries captured him at last. He
sank forward , his back pierced by a dagger of Cushite steel .
Bile rising in his tliroat, Pomphis stood over the corpse of the
first man he had ever slain . . . .

Apprehension marked the Bambuti's features as he labori­

ously assisted Imaro to his feet.
"Haven 't you managed to free that woman yet?" he demanded
peevishly. "We've got to get out of here before that mob catches
up to me . What in Aspelta's name happened to you?"
Too exhausted to speak, Imaro gestured first to the empty
dais , then to the fragments of the Azuth piled at his feet. Un­
derstanding flashed immediately through the pygmy ' s mind. In
the libraries of Meroe , he had delved deeply into the magic of
the Mizungus. There were half a dozen methods the dead priest­
king could have employed to impart life to the inanimate statue
of the Azuth .
Brushing aside Pomphis ' s attempts to assist him, Imaro bent
down and pried his sword from the dead fingers of the Mizungu .
Then he staggered toward the altar upon which Tanisha lay.
Already he was beginning to feel energy flowing sluggishly back
into his battered limbs. For the first time in many rains , he felt
gratitude for the rigors of majundishu-ya-muran . Without hav­
ing known it, old Masadu had trained him to survive ordeals far
greater than olmaiyo . . . .
Tanisha was only a breath away from unconsciousness. The
enforced flight from the Kakassa with Bomunu; the abuse she
had endured nightly at the traitor 's hands; the capture by the
strange, pale-skinned warriors ; the swift march to their crum­
bling city; the nauseous fumes the pale ones had forced her to
inhale; the dimly heard shrieks of pain and horror from a voice
still recognizable as Bomunu ' s; the sounds of a titanic struggle
penetrating the dreamlike clouds obscuring her senses . . . it was
a dream, she was certain. A horrible dream from which she
would soon awaken, Imaro's tron arms cradling her protec-
tively. . . . .
Tanisha's eyes fluttered open when she heard a loud clang
 IMARO 1 99

near her head . She saw Imaro, hacking through the chains that
bound her.
No! Imaro was dead, cut down with the rest of the haramia.
This grim-faced apparition was a phantom, a trick of Bomunu,
of the pale ones . . . .
With a small moan, Tanisha lQst consciousness.
Pomphis, who had followed Imaro to the altar, snorted in
disgust.
"Now we'll have to carry her, curse the luck . Hurry , man , we
don't have all night!"
Imaro was about to growl a reply to'the pygmy when they both
heard the sounds of the Mizungus returning down the corridor,
cutting off the only route to escape.
"We've run out of time," Pomphis murmured, resignation
dulling his tone .

Imaro stepped in front of Pomphis and Tanisha.

"You are right," he agreed . "I'll hold them off as long as I
can . If they get past me and you are unable to escape them, kill
her before you die."
Pomphis was shocked at the seeming callousness of the D­
yassai . Then he realized the warrior's wisdom. A quick slash
across the throat would be far more merciful than the end the
Mizungus planned.
The first of the Mizungus shouldered out of the dark entrance
to the chamber. The glare of madness in their eyes flared to a
new level of fury when they saw the still form of Vorstos and the
scattered fragments of the Azuth. Voices hoarse with rage, they
screamed dire imprecations at the three black intruders .
More Mizungus crowded into the chamber. They were pre­
paring for a single, massive charge. Neither Pomphis nor Imaro
doubted the outcome of the imminent attack. Pomphis fingered
the dagger he had tom from the priest-king's body. He had killed
once; could he do it again?
Imaro crouched like a beast at bay, sword poised to deal death
before he inevitably went down. If only there weren' t so many
of them, he reflected . If only he weren't so tired. . . .
Then the Mizungus stormed across the chamber. Calmly, Im­
aro watched the black-painted skulls bobbing from their golden
chains as the Mizungus rushed forward.
THE SKUUS!
With an almost palpable impact, memory of what had hap-
 200 Charles R. Sounders

pened when the Mizungu chieftain hurled Bomunu ' s skull

against the image of the Azuth struck Imaro's mind. With all the
. speed remaining to him, the Ilyassai wheeled and bounded across
the distance between him and the body of the Mizungu.
Imaro ' s blade rose and fell . One of the skulls adorning the
Mizungu' s waist shattered in .a burst of light and sound . lmaro
paid scant heed to the small explosion. But the Mizungus did.
Halting their rush as though they had suddenly collided with
a wall, the Mizungus' faces shed their manic fury . Their com­
plexions paled to a chalky white as Imaro systematically
smashed each of the skulls their Hierophant wore . When the last
skull was broken, Vorstos's body collapsed into a pile of dust,
the soul-force that had sustained it even in death suddenly gone.
Eight flame-eyed, filmy wraiths hovered over the shards of
their black-painted prisons. These were the n' kaa, the enslaved
souls , freed at last from their hateful servitude . The vengeance
for which the n ' kaa lusted was far more terrible than anything
lmaro could have conceived.
Like that of Bomunu, the eight n ' kaa turned their fiery gaze
upon Imaro. But there was no hatred in their crimson eyes. With­
out words , their message reached Imaro , and he understood their
gratitude.
Then the freed souls extended across the chamber toward the
cowering Mizungus . Like leaves shaken from a tree of ghosts,
the n ' kaa fell upon their former masters . And their wispy sub­
stance merged with the Mizungus' flesh much more easily than
Bomunu 's n ' kaa had penetrated the stone form of the Azuth.
The moment each n' kaa was-fully absorbed into a Mizungu' s
body , a grotesque , frantic dance began , as if the Mizungus were
fighting a desperate battle . . . within themselves . At the end of
the dance , the Mizungus possessed by the n ' kaa tore the skulls
from their own waists and hurled them to the floor. Brittle cranial
bone smashed; eight more n' kaa s were released . The newly
freed n' kaas immediately attached themselves to new hosts . The
bodies of the Mizungus bereft of their skulls collapsed inte pow­
der, surrendering at last to centuries of deferred decay . And the
'
n kaa animating those bodies found the freedom of oblivion . . . .

As the number of freed , avenging n ' kaa increased, the re­

maining Mizungus crashed into one another in their frenzy to
escape the chamber. Explosions echoed against the stone walls
as more and more painted skulls shattered . Human-shaped piles
of dust were kicked asunder by stampeding Mizungu feet. The
 IMARO 201
three blacks all but forgotten, the Mizungus fled shrieking
down their dark corridor, pursued by demons of their own crea­
tion.
Sensing that the battle was no longer his to fight, lmaro had
skirted the chaotic confrontation of the Mizungus and the n' kaas
and made his way back to Pomphis and Tanisha. Pomphis looked
up at lmaro with something akin to awe in his eyes. The warrior
had seen something that had escaped his own wit and erudi­
tion - the freeing of the n ' kaa by shattering their prisons. Tan­
isha was still unconscious.
Speaking hurriedly, Pomphis said, "It isn't safe to remain
here , Imaro. I'm certain the n' kaa you released have no desire
to harm us. But powers beyond our control have also been re­
leased. Look !"
The Bambuti pointed to the emerald sphere hanging ov,er­
head . Its green luminescence was dimming. Cracks were begin­
ning to mar its smooth surface . Green vapor hissed through those
cracks .
Without further conversation , Imaro hoisted Tanisha across
one broad shoulder and followed Pomphis down the empty cor­
ridor. Behind them, the hissing of escaping vapor intensified. . . .
Outside the Mizungu temple , the madness from which the
Mizungu city had derived its name was rampant. The few Mi­
zungus left alive ignored the three fugitives as they desperately
attempted to evade the n ' kaa swooping down on them like hawks
riding spectral winds: Beneath their feet, Imaro and Pomphis felt
the City of Madness begin to shudder on its crumbling founda­
tions.
Up the weed-choked avenue they sped, Imaro bearing Tan­
isha easily despite his fatigue. They raced through the gateway
and into the trees that surrounded the ancient walls. They crashed
through the brush , impelled by an urgency as instinctual as that
of animals fleeing the threat of fire.
A deafening concussion rocked the ground beneath their feet.
Huge trees shook as if they were besieged by the high winds of
the wet season . Turning back to the City of Madness, Pomphis
and Imaro saw an emerald ball of blinding brilliance rise like an
early sun in the black sky . Then the sphere dissolved into fading,
gaseous tendrils.
The forest reverberated to the sound of tumbling walls and
collapsing buildings. And the City of Madness was no more . . . .
202 Charles R. Saunders

Mwesu shone through a high latticework of treetops in a clear­

ing far from the site of the City of Madness. Imaro, Pomphis,
and Tanisha rested quietly by a crackling fire.
Tanisha stirred, gradually regaining consciousness through
Pomphis ' s skillful ministrations. Strangely, Imaro had not gone
near her since he deposited her on the forest floor.
She opened her eyes. They quickly focused into lustrous clar­
ity. Glancing over to where Imaro sat, she let out a small , glad
cry, rose to her feet, and rushed toward the silent warrior. So
intent was she upon reaching Imaro that she failed even to see
Pomphis.
Throwing her anns around Imaro's neck, Tanisha sobbed,
"Imaro, Imaro, you are really alive. I thought I was only dream­
ing . . . . "
With one ann , Imaro thrust her from him. She landed heavily
on her back. With wide, wounded eyes , she stared at him.
"Why did you go with Bomunu?" he demanded sullenly.
So that's it! Pomphis thought with sudden insight. He decided
to say nothing, however, realizing that there was no place for
him in this argument.
Anger replaced the hurt on Tanisha's face. She rose to con­
front Imaro, hands braced on her bare hips. Of her· state of un­
dress she was either unconscious or unconcerned.
"I went with him because he forced me to!" she flared. "He
had his sword at my throat. What else was I to do? The way the
battle was going, it looked as though you and all the others were
doomed. I had no choice but to follow him if I wanted to live.
But I see you survived. Were you the only one?"
"No. There were others . They . . . did not want me to lead
them anymore. There was nothing left to do but hunt you and
Bomunu down. I saw the story of your spoor . . . why didn't you
at least try to escape him? You could have at least made an ef­
fort . . . . "
" You would have made an effort!" Tanisha said hotly . "I am
not you. He kept his sword at my throat duringlthe day and he
tied me up at night. There was nothing I could do. I was afraid.
I am not like you, Imaro; I have feelings. You have none . . . only
hate. You hate better than you love, Imaro !"
With that, she turned her back on the Ilyassai and walked
away . Then she saw Pomphis for the first time and uttered a small
shriek of surprise.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
 IMARO 203
"A friend ," the Bambuti replied. Taking in her magnificent
nude form, Pomphis decided that no woman he had seen in all
the splendid surroundings of Cush and Azania could surpass the
one standing before him now . He could easily understand why
both Imaro and Bomunu had desired her to the point of death .
As for his own desires, he decided it was best to ignore them.
You Jwte better than you love . . . the phrase echoed hollowly
through Imaro's mind. Here was Tanisha, who had cast away
her position as Njonjo's woman to risk a night in his arms. Here
was Pomphis, who had just saved his life in the City of Mad­
ness. One was a lover; the other, a friend. Yet his past was a two­
edged blade. In his past there lingered the hate that wounded
love . . . .
When Imaro began to speak, both Pomphis and Tanisha lis­
tened intently . Clearly, each word was being forced from a re­
luctant tongue. As lmaro talked, the two-edged blade cut deeper,
deeper . . . and he bled.
"My mother was an llyassai . I do not know who my father is.
Long before I was born, my mother fled the Tamburure to avoid
marriage to an oibonok named Chitendu . . . . "

He told the entire tale , from the departure of Katisa when he

began mafundishu-ya-muran to his own repudiation of the 11-
yassai at the Place of Stones. He spared nothing, not even the
death of lost Keteke . When it was done , he seemed even more
drained of energy than he had been after he defeated the Azuth .
Eyes downcast, he sat quietly.
Tears streaming down her cheeks , Tanisha went to him and
put her arms around his shoulders . This time , he did not push her
away.
"Why didn't you tell me before , Imaro ," she sobbed . "You
never had to bear this alone . . . . "
Then their attention was claimed by the sudden, inexplicable
actions of the pygmy .
Hopping from one foot to the other in excitement , Pomphis
cried, "You're the one! You're the one ! By Aspelta ' s mane, Im­
aro, I'm certain you've the one !"
"What do you mean?" Imaro asked suspiciously.
"You are the one the Kandiss of Cush sent Khabatekh and me
to seek," Pomphis explained, words tumbling over one another
in his agitation . "I can tell you now what I didn 't say back when
you first saved me from those Mizungus . Know , Imaro-and
Tanisha-that there is a new menace in Nyumbani . . . the great-
204 Charles R. Saunders
est manace since the Mizungus invaded our shores a thousand
rains ago."
" Are they going to attack us again?" Imaro asked truculently .
He remembered the carvings on the sides o f the Mizungti tem­
ple . . . .
·

"No. The Mizungus' land sinks; they are no longer a danger.

Now the Mashataan seek! once again to corrupt Nyumbani itself.
They are using the sorcerers of Naama, far to the south. Until I
heard your story , lmaro, I could not believe, as the Kandiss and
her advisors do, that the reach of Naama could have extended
itself so far. There could be other Chitendus, Imaro. Many oth­
ers."
"What has this to do with me?'' Imaro demanded . He felt a
tremor pass through Tanisha. She was afraid . . . afraid of what
the pygmy might say next.
"Only this ," Pomphis replied. "Cush is aware of what the
Naamans are attempting to do. Naama must be stopped, before
the poison of the Mashataan spreads throughout all Nyumbani.
You saw what it almost did to your people. Weapons are needed
to halt the Naamans. You, lmaro are one of those weapons . This
is what the Kandiss charged Khabatekh and me to d9: 'Seek you
the one who is the mightiest warrior ofall. Seekyou the one who
wasforsaken . ' And I have found that one . When Khabatekh and
I first heard of your exploits with the haramia, we thought you
might be the one . Now, after having heard about your earlier life,
I am certain it is you the Kandiss meant."
lmaro remained silent. Pomphis 's words-the mightiest war­
rior ofal/-eerily echoed those spoken by N 'tu-mwaa in earlier
rains. Then something else suddenly crossed his mind.
"The ones who killed yout" companion ," he said. "Were they
from Naama?"
"No, but I do not doubt they were sent by Naamans," the
pygmy replied. The astuteness hidden beneath Imaro's brawn
still surprised the pgymy. "If Cush knows of your importance,
then so does Naama. Even now, your life is in danger. That is
why you must return with me to Cush. You have a role to play
in the conflict to come . Only the Kandiss can tell you what that
role will be ."
Imaro stood , raising Tanisha to her feet with him. A stray
beam of Mwesu's light illuminated his face, softening the grim,
hard set of his features and imparting an impression of deter­
mination and purpose.
 IMARO 205
All his life , he had battled to blot out in blood what the Ilyassai
had told him he was: a son-of-no-father , a person to be despised
and rejected. Now, Pomphis' s words offered him an alternative,
a purpose beyond his gainless quest to whet the blood-lust of the
two-edged blade in his soul.
A cloud scudded across the face of Mwesu; the moment
passed. Still , Imaro was not the same man , and never would be.
"I will go to Cush," he said to Pomphis.
Turning to Tanisha, he spoke more softly than she had ever ·

heard him speak before. "Pomphis speaks of danger. If you stay ·

with me, you may face death. Others have . . . died because of
me. Knowing that, will you come with me to Cush?"
Tanisha smiled up at him. "With you, there is always danger.
Before, I would not have gone with you. I will now . "
She covered his mouth with hers .
Pomphis , turning discreetly away, murmured half-audibly,
thinking aloud: "We ' ll have to travel overland across the king­
dom of Kundwa, then set sail northward from the port of
Mwenni . So �any days . . . Aspelta grant that time has not grown
too short . . . .
Suddenly Irnaro broke his embrace with Tanisha.
"Those three Mizungus I killed when I met you . . . we have
to return to them."
"Why?" Pomphis asked.
"The skulls they wear are unbroken. They must be smashed,
to free the n' kaa they hold . "
Pomphis gazed at his friend with a new respect. The Imaro
of only a few moments past would never have shown such con­
cern.
"You are right," was all the pygmy said .
"One more thing, Pomphis," Irnaro said. "Those words you
yelled at the Mizungus to drive them mad , . . what did they
mean?''
"Oh, that. " Pomphis chuckled. "I told you I read extensively
about the Mizungu War. The Mizungus were fanatically devoted
to the Mashataan , and the highest amon g the Demon Gods was .
named Yugg-Thuggathoth . So our ancestors used the false god ' s
name i n one o f their battle cries, shouted i n the Mizungus' own
tongue. I merely repeated that cry: ' Yugg-Thuggathoth eats gi­
raffe dung ! ' It worked as well then as it did a thousand rains
ago . . . . "
Pomphis chuckled again. Tanisha giggled, then snorted with
206 Charles R . Saunders

laughter. Neither of them expected Imaro to let out the whoop­

ing burst of mirth that seemed to explode from his mouth ,
followed by another , and yet another . Loosing his hold on
Tanisha, Imaro laughed louder, holding his sides and slowly
sitting down. There was a look of baffled wonder in his eyes
as he continued to send long, raucous peals of laughter to the
face of Mwesu the moon .
Tanisha and Pomphis e xchanged a glance .
"By Aspelta's claws," the B ambuti half-whispered . "I don't
believe this man has ever laughed before . "
H e was right.
Once again, the forging was true . . . .
 GLOSSARY

arem: A spear used by the Ilyassai for war and ritual lion hunts.
Length - six to seven feet, half of which is edged iron.

biru :
An elder, a person of high political and social standing
among the Mwambututssi.

boma: A thombush enclosure erected to pen cattle or protect

temporary encampments among the tribes of the Tarnburure .

Chui: Leopard .

Fisi: Carrion-eating hyena.

haramia: Bandits who roamed the hills bordering the country·

of the Giant-Kings.

Hila: Fox.
ilmonek: An Ilyassai youth who exhibits cowardice during the
ritual lion hunt of manhood . Literally, "un-man . "

lndashyikuwa: Title ascribed to the Priest o f Virunga, a god

high in the pantheon of the Mwarnbututssi .

Kifaru: Rhinoceros.

kisujini: Red panther.

kufahuma: A sensory attunement or rapport between an Ilyassai

warrior and the wilderness of the Tamburure Plains.

kukata: A sharpened , spurlike weapon favored by the Giant­

Kings.
kutendea: A gift of succulent grass given by Ilyassai herders
to the cattle of a friend.

mafundishu-ya-muran: A period of warrior�training lasting

from the fifth year to late adolescence of the Ilyassai male.
During this period , the youths are isolated from the rest of the
tribe.
manyatta: The basic Ilyassai dwelling, constructed from hides
stretched across poles. To facilitate transport, the manyatta is
collapsible .

207
208 Glossary
Matisho: Hunting-hyena.
Mboa: Buffalo.
Mbwa: Wild Dog.
Mbwelw : Jackal .
mclwwi: Malign magic; witchcraft. Derivative: n'tu-mclwwi,
"man of witchcraft. " ·

mjimja : A professional jester and acrobat, commonly attached

to the courts of the East Coast monarchs.
Ngatun: Lion.
ngombe: The cattle of the Ilyassai; a long-horned, powerfully
built stock bred by the tribes of the Tamburure .
n
'
kaa : Animate soul-essences enslaved by the Mizungus of
Y ahannis for the purpose of artificial life extension.
oibonok: A shaman who interprets the will of Ajunge , highest
god of the Ilyassai . Sorcery is an important adjunct to the role.
ol-arem: A clan chieftain of the Ilyassai . Literally, "first
spear . "
olmaiyo: The ritual lion hunt that marks the finaf test o f man­
hood for Ilyassai youth . The lion must be slain single-handed.
pombe: A thick, potent beer fermented from maize and con­
sumed throughout the East Coast kingdoms.
slwmba: Generic term for agricultural land, ranging from gar­
den plots to large farms. SlwrKbas are found in the lands east
of the Tamburure .
shingona: Ilyassai ceremonial headgear made from the mane
of the lion a youth slays on olmaiyo.
simi: A short, hilted sword favored by the'bibes of the Tam­
burure.
suruali: Loose-fitting trousers of cotton or silk favored by men
of the East Coast kingdoms.

Tembo: Elephant.
unga-ya-kufa: A sorcerous death-dust employed by Kala­
mungu of the Giant-Kings.