Sunbird by Wilbur Smith Page A

shoulder and led me back to face our retinue of retainers who were looking discomforted and uneasy.
    'You are--' Louren told them, still laughing, '--a bunch of frail old women and giggling virgins. Translate that for them, Joseph.'
    I noticed that Joseph gave them a correct rendition of this pleasantry.
    'And as for you, Joseph, you are a fool.' Louren stepped away from me towards Joseph, one quick dancing step, and hit him with an open hand across the side of the head. The sound of it was shockingly loud, and the force of it spun Joseph fully around in a tight circle before throwing him to the ground. He sat up groggily, with a thin trickle of blood running out of the corner of his mouth where teeth had cut into the thick under lip.
    'You see that I am still laughing,' Louren pointed out to his startled audience. 'I am not even angry yet. Think a while on what may happen to anyone who makes me really angry.'
    The truck was reloaded with alacrity and we went on.
    'Well,' said Sally, 'we can be sure of full cooperation for the rest of this trip. Why didn't the big white bwana use a sjambok, rather than soiling his hands?'
    'Tell her, Ben.' Louren did not look around at either of us, while I told Sally quickly about the campaign of deliberate obstruction that we had run into.
    'I'm sure Louren didn't enjoy hitting the man. Sal. But he ditched the truck deliberately. We've got three and a half days left to get to these Hills of Blood, and we can't afford any more tricks.'
    Sally immediately forgot her concern for Joseph. 'Hills of Blood,' she gloated. 'My God, it conjures up visions of human sacrifice and--'
    'More likely it's merely the red colour of the cliffs,' I suggested.
    'And this taboo thing.' She ignored me. 'It must be because of the ruins! Oh God, I can feel it in my blood - temples stuffed with treasures, relics and written records of a whole civilization, tombs, weapons--'
    'You will notice my assistant's unbiased, unromantic and thoroughly scientific approach,' I pointed out to Louren, and he grinned.
    'It irks me like hell, but for once I feel the way she does,' Louren admitted.
    'For once that makes you smart, dearie,' Sally told him tartly.
    It was two in the afternoon before we reached the point on the eastern extremity of the pan where we were to cut off on compass for the hills, and almost immediately it became apparent that we would not reach them that day. The going was heavy, sand-veld clutched at the wheels of the vehicles and reduced our rate of progress to a low-gear slog. Half a dozen times the trucks bogged in the thick sand, and had to be dragged out by the four-wheel transmission of the Land-Rover. Each time this happened there was a profuse offering of apologies from the driver and crew concerned.
    The sand had absorbed all traces of the recent rains, but they showed in the new growth of green that decked the thorn and acacia trees - and more dramatically in the display of wild flowers that were spread everywhere in carpets and thick banks.
    Their seeds and bulbs had lain dormant for three long years of drought, waiting for this time of plenty - and now the bright crimson of King Chaka's fire burned brilliantly among the fields of Namaqua daisies. Star lilies, Ericas, golden Gazanias and twenty other varieties made a royal show, and helped to lessen the frustrations of our snail's progress.
    At every enforced halt, I left the cursing and hustling to Louren, and wandered away from the vehicles with my camera.
    Sunset found us still fifteen miles from the hills, and when I climbed into the top branches of the flat-topped acacia under which we camped, I could see their low outlines on the eastern horizon. The cliffs caught the last slanted rays of the sun, and glowed orange-red. I sat in the fork of the main trunk and watched them until the sun was gone and the hills melted into the dark sky.
    A strange mood gripped me as I watched the far hills. A mystic sense of pre-destiny filled me with a languid