Interesting Times - Terry Pratchett [79]
Another wall erupted and he was in what was possibly the same corridor.
Behind him, someone landed heavily on a valuable koi.
Rincewind shot forward again.
From; that was the most important factor in any mindless escape. You were always running from. To could look after itself.
He cleared a long flight of shallow stone steps, rolled upright at the bottom and set off at random along another corridor.
His legs had sorted themselves out now. First the mad, wild dash to get you out of immediate danger and then the good solid strides to put as much distance as possible between you and it. That was the trick.
History told of a runner who’d run forty miles after a battle to report its successful outcome to those at home. He was traditionally regarded as the greatest runner of all time, but if he’d been reporting news of an impending battle he’d have been overtaken by Rincewind.
And yet…someone was gaining.
A knife poked through the wall of the throne room and cut a hole large enough to afford space for an upright man or one wheelchair.
There was muttering from the Horde.
“Bruce the Hoon never went in the back way.”
“Shut up.”
“Never one for back gates, Bruce the Hoon.”
“Shut up.”
“When Bruce the Hoon attacked Al Khali, he did it right at the main guard tower, with a thousand screaming men on very small horses.”
“Yeah, but…last I saw of Bruce the Hoon, his head was on a spike.”
“All right, I’ll grant you that. But at least it was over the main gate. I mean, at least he got in.”
“His head did.”
“Oh, my…”
Mr. Saveloy was gratified. The room they’d stepped into was enough to silence the Horde, if only briefly. It was large, of course, but that hadn’t been its only purpose. One Sun Mirror, as he welded the tribes and countries and little island nations together, had wanted a room built which said to chieftains and ambassadors: this is the biggest space you’ve ever been in, it is more splendid than anything you could ever imagine, and we’ve got a lot more rooms like this.
He had wanted it to be impressive. He had very clearly wanted it to intimidate mere barbarians so much that they’d give in there and then. Let there be huge statues, he’d said. And vast decorative hangings. Let there be pillars and carvings. Let the visitor be silenced by the sheer magnificence. Let it say to him, “This is civilization, and you can join it or die. Now drop to your knees or be shortened some other way.”
The Horde gave it the benefit of their inspection.
Finally Truckle said, “It’s all right, I suppose, but not a patch on our chieftain’s longhouse back in Skund. It hasn’t even got a fire in the middle of the floor, look.”
“Gaudy, to my mind.”
“Whut?”
“Typically foreign.”
“I’d do away with most of this and get some decent straw on the floor, a few shields round the walls.”
“Whut?”
“Mind you, get in a few hundred tables and you could have a helluva carouse in here.”
Cohen walked across the huge expanse towards the throne, which was under a vast ornamental canopy.
“’S got ’n umbrella over it, look.”
“Probably the roof leaks. You can’t trust tiles. A good reed thatch’ll give you forty years bone dry.”
The throne was lacquered wood, but with many precious gems set in it. Cohen sat down.
“Is this it?” he said. “We’ve done it, Teach?”
“Yes. Of course, now you have to get away with it,” said Mr. Saveloy.
“I’m sorry,” said Six Beneficent Winds. “What’ve you done?”
“You know that thing we were here to steal?” said the teacher.
“Yes?”
“It’s the Empire.”
The taxman’s expression didn’t change for a few seconds, and then it flowed into a horrified grin.
“I think some breakfast is called for before we go any further,” said Mr. Saveloy. “Mr. Winds, perhaps you would be so good as to summon someone?”
The taxman was still grinning fixedly.
“But…but…you can’t conquer an empire like this!” he managed. “You’ve got to have an army, like the warlords! Just walking in like this…It’s against the rules! And…and…there are thousands of guards!”
“Yes, but they’re all out there,” said Mr. Saveloy.
“Guarding us,” said Cohen.
“But they