Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 52 — page 82: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

CLEANSING FIRES poor servant ... As he well knows, the best that Manyh has to offer is by ancient custom the property of the Khuru and his court.” “Why should it be thus?” said Munson. He was con- scious that some of the crowd were gathering round the stall at a respectful distance. ““Why should you not enjoy the prime fruits of your labours ?” The brawny hand holding the knife developed a slight tremor. The butcher suspected that he was being led towards the utterance of treasonable words. “It is the custom, Lord. I do not question the time- honoured ways of our people.” A bead of perspiration formed on the broad forehead and rolled down hiscraggy features. “Why does your highness persecute a poor man? Take what you will and leave me in peace, I beg you.” “But why, Chonprey?” continued Munson, remorse- lessly. “‘Are not the Khuru and his nobles men like your- self? By what right do they take the food from the mouths of your wife and children? You are a powerful man with strong arms, but you talk with the tongue of a woman. It is not enough to say! ‘It has always been so.’” 81 The face of the butcher was a rigid mask of despair. He cleaned the knife thoroughly on a piece of cloth. Then, taking it by the shining blade, offered it, haft foremost, to Munson in a symbolic gesture. “Take what you will, Lord,” he said, pointing with his free hand to his bared chest. A deep-throated murmur swept through the crowd as they surged in closer. A wave of fear coursed through Mun- son as he recalled Rodell’s words; ‘. . . his own com- panions would tear him limb from limb for such _ blas- phemy ...’ He realised that he only remained alive by virtue of the symbolism which sur- rounded his noble’s cloak. He gazed at the knife. One wrong move and his life would be forfeit, of that he was cer- tain. He had no quarrel with this man, or heart to take his life in cold blood. The sunlit air Shimmered with tension... “Make way there!”’ shouted a nasal voice. Munson turned; the spell was broken. A tall thin figure in noble’s robes walked haughtily through the crowd, who parted like sheep before a wolf. **Come with me, you darned fool,”’ snarled Rodell in Inter- lang. He turned and addressed comiclooks.corn