raised there and points south before being selected for the Academy in Colorado Springs. Zar-tu-Kan reminded him of Sedona, down in Arizona—if you could imagine the colored buttes and cliffs as made by hands and minds, rather than by eroding wind and sand. Thoseforces had smoothed and rounded here too, until every sharp edge had blurred; the streets of Zar-tu-Kan felt like random alleyways laid out by the wanderings of ancient Martian burros through a maze of low cliffs stippled in a faded rainbow of colors.
They weren’t; computer analysis had shown subtle planning, something like the deep patterns you got in a fractal . . . or it might be the result of constant minor adjustments over inconceivable lengths of time. The tall, blank walls of melted-looking stone on either side were mostly close, but they waved and curved like frozen water, usually giving you a place to step aside when a caravan of tall, spindly, hairy beasts laden with huge packsaddles went by, or a rider mounted on a rakza , an animal that might have been a big ostrich, except for the thick neck and massive hooked beak.
The rakza screeched and shook its head as a wagon blocked its path for a moment, flicking up the crest of green-gold feathers on its long skull, until the rider gave a sharp tug on the reins. A pair of patrollers paused at the sound; they rode on self-propelled unicycles, with dart-rifles slung over their backs and helmets with eyes on stalks peering rearward, ready to warn their masters of attack. When they saw the incident would die of its own accord, they leaned forward, swaying and turning to weave through the traffic.
Now and then they passed a doorway, which might be blank or elaborately carved wood with the sinuous glyphs the Crimson Dynasty had made the planet’s standard script, or cast with designs in imperishable frosted crystal, sometimes in styles so old that the Martians themselves had forgotten what they meant. Zar-tu-Kan had been a city before the Kings Beneath the Mountains began their rise half a world away. Fine lines showed against the sky, where anti-bird nets strung between the upper stories made sure no migrating predators would drop in for a snack.
Most of the passers-by were natives of the city or its dependent territories, with their hair in elaborate coils to denote occupation and status, and vertical stripes on their robes—farmer, smith, artisan, soldier, clerk, or occupations that had no precise Terran equivalent.
A scattering were from much farther away: Highlanders even more eerily elongated than the standard Martians and barrel-chested, goggles over their eyes, Wai Zang mercenaries in glittering black armor and visors with the faceted eyes of insects, and students incarved masks abstract or whimsical or bestial, come to study at the Scholarium.
Sometimes the alleys opened out into an oblong space surrounded by shops and service trades, their clear glassine windows showing their wares. Atanj players looked up from their boards and spheres of essence as the Terrans walked by—and it wasn’t easy to pry a Martian loose from their equivalent of chess. Shoppers looked up, too.
And I wouldn’t mind shopping here , Jeremy thought. Usually he was bored stiff by it, but that was in the hypermarkets back home.
Flaps of artfully arranged rooz meat looked a little like beef; red-purple canal shrimp swam in globular bowls and huddled back in tight knots when a storekeeper dipped a net in their tank; there were piles of mysterious vegetables and others of breads like fluffy pancakes. And there were other merchants with fabrics, weapons, tools, jewelry, animals of scores of specialized uses, the Martian books with their narrow pages bound at the tops . . .
Fliers passed by overhead; towers reared impossible heights into the pink-blue sky like skyscrapers in Manhattan, and above it all, the two small moons passed like rapid stars. It was nearly twenty years since the first Terrans had come out of the desert to
They weren’t; computer analysis had shown subtle planning, something like the deep patterns you got in a fractal . . . or it might be the result of constant minor adjustments over inconceivable lengths of time. The tall, blank walls of melted-looking stone on either side were mostly close, but they waved and curved like frozen water, usually giving you a place to step aside when a caravan of tall, spindly, hairy beasts laden with huge packsaddles went by, or a rider mounted on a rakza , an animal that might have been a big ostrich, except for the thick neck and massive hooked beak.
The rakza screeched and shook its head as a wagon blocked its path for a moment, flicking up the crest of green-gold feathers on its long skull, until the rider gave a sharp tug on the reins. A pair of patrollers paused at the sound; they rode on self-propelled unicycles, with dart-rifles slung over their backs and helmets with eyes on stalks peering rearward, ready to warn their masters of attack. When they saw the incident would die of its own accord, they leaned forward, swaying and turning to weave through the traffic.
Now and then they passed a doorway, which might be blank or elaborately carved wood with the sinuous glyphs the Crimson Dynasty had made the planet’s standard script, or cast with designs in imperishable frosted crystal, sometimes in styles so old that the Martians themselves had forgotten what they meant. Zar-tu-Kan had been a city before the Kings Beneath the Mountains began their rise half a world away. Fine lines showed against the sky, where anti-bird nets strung between the upper stories made sure no migrating predators would drop in for a snack.
Most of the passers-by were natives of the city or its dependent territories, with their hair in elaborate coils to denote occupation and status, and vertical stripes on their robes—farmer, smith, artisan, soldier, clerk, or occupations that had no precise Terran equivalent.
A scattering were from much farther away: Highlanders even more eerily elongated than the standard Martians and barrel-chested, goggles over their eyes, Wai Zang mercenaries in glittering black armor and visors with the faceted eyes of insects, and students incarved masks abstract or whimsical or bestial, come to study at the Scholarium.
Sometimes the alleys opened out into an oblong space surrounded by shops and service trades, their clear glassine windows showing their wares. Atanj players looked up from their boards and spheres of essence as the Terrans walked by—and it wasn’t easy to pry a Martian loose from their equivalent of chess. Shoppers looked up, too.
And I wouldn’t mind shopping here , Jeremy thought. Usually he was bored stiff by it, but that was in the hypermarkets back home.
Flaps of artfully arranged rooz meat looked a little like beef; red-purple canal shrimp swam in globular bowls and huddled back in tight knots when a storekeeper dipped a net in their tank; there were piles of mysterious vegetables and others of breads like fluffy pancakes. And there were other merchants with fabrics, weapons, tools, jewelry, animals of scores of specialized uses, the Martian books with their narrow pages bound at the tops . . .
Fliers passed by overhead; towers reared impossible heights into the pink-blue sky like skyscrapers in Manhattan, and above it all, the two small moons passed like rapid stars. It was nearly twenty years since the first Terrans had come out of the desert to
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