“Are you positive?” asked the young man, now grinning. “If there’s any doubt at all, best you barf it up now. My sister’s waiting for you inside, and—you know this much, I’m sure—the gods help you if you puke all over her.”
Chapter 15
Marange was the most bizarre city Helga had ever seen. It reminded her of a madhouse more than anything else. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the way anything was designed or constructed, outside of the immediate harbor area itself.
Docks and piers, in the nature of things, look much the same the world over. She would have said the same about buildings in general, before she encountered Marange. Granted, architectural styles varied from one nation to the next. Still, all towns and cities of her acquaintance, even the exotic islander city of Vase, had a logic to them.
Not so Marange. Although the city was technically a Southron one—the only real “city” anywhere in the southern half of the continent—its population was not more than a third Southron by birth. At least, its more-or-less permanent population. And even the Southrons dwelling there were, for the most part, outlaws and outcastes from their own barbarian society.
The inhabitants of Marange were the flotsam and jetsam of the whole world. They came from everywhere; every part of the continent, and every island. The only thing they really had in common was that, for whatever reason, they had been discarded by their own folk—or, as often as not, forced to flee for their lives.
Marange only existed at all for two reasons. The first was that, located at the highest point of the Blood River which was navigable by seagoing ships—almost 150 miles upstream from the ocean itself—it made a good and safe harbor. Whatever trade did take place between the southern barbarians and the rest of the world was channeled through Marange.
Secondly, it provided the Southrons with a gathering place for their annual intertribal assembly. That annual assembly, which took place in the autumn, was a great event for barbarian society. Its official purpose was to elect the Chief of Chiefs and settle whatever intertribal quarrels could be settled short of warfare. But it also provided them with a combination fair, trading mart, wife-seeking market, athletic contests, jousts, carnivals—and, of course, the most important time in the year for buying exotic goods brought from the civilized lands to the north.
Marange nestled against the eastern bank of the Blood River. Beyond the city’s limits—insofar as it could be said to have any definite “limits”—stretched a rolling plain which provided a suitable meeting ground for the assembled barbarian tribes. During the assembly, that plain was well-nigh covered with the tents and huts erected by the tribesmen. Those temporary dwellings ranged in size and splendor from holes dug in the ground and covered with branches to the gigantic pavilions erected by the tribal chiefs.
The city itself had a similar cacophony. There was no real government ruling the place. Technically, Marange was neutral territory not allied to any tribe, and thus came under the official and direct jurisdiction of the Chief of Chiefs. But, in the real world, a Chief of Chiefs was a largely ceremonial post. The Chief of Chiefs had no residence separate from his own tribe. And, once the assembly was over, the Chief of Chiefs would depart the area and spend the rest of the year living in whatever portion of the southern continent his tribe happened to lay claim over.
As a result, the Chief of Chiefs paid no attention to Marange. For all practical purposes, the only order and authority which existed in the city was whatever its own inhabitants provided. And since they, in turn, were hardly any less tribal in their own way than the Southrons, no one had ever really tried to exercise authority over the city as a whole. Each group of outcasts tended to congregate in its own quarter. What “order” existed was whatever they saw fit to provide—and then, only for their own.
Needless to say, this posed a perilous situation for an uninformed visitor. “Dangerous as Marange” was a saying which could be found in all the major languages of the north and the Islands.