Escape From Hell by Larry Niven Read Free Book Online

boulder. It hurt like crazy.
    “It’s a bridge,” she announced.
    It looked like an old wooden railroad trestle, about two feet above the walls. There were more boulders under it, and it seemed I might be able to climb the boulders and get high enough to reach the trestle.
    “Worth a try,” I told Rosemary.
    “But what is it?” she asked.
    I thought about it. “Maybe there are different kinds of Virtuous Pagans. They keep them segregated, but there’s a way to get from one part to another. I don’t know why the Builders would do it that way.”
    “Builders?”
    I explained that there was a time when I thought this place was a vast amusement park, Infernoland, and I thought I could psych out the designers.
    “You don’t believe that!”
    “Not now. Seemed reasonable once.”
    I scrambled up onto the boulders. The trestle was just too high to reach even if I jumped.
    Rosemary came up behind me. “Lift me.”
    That was how I’d got over the wall the first time. Benito lifted me up. I helped Rosemary climb on my shoulders. When we both stretched she could get a grip on the trestle. She pulled herself up.
    “I didn’t think I could do that,” she said. “I worked out, but I was never that strong.” She lay on one of the trestle braces and reached down. “I think I can catch you if you jump.”
    “Worth a try.” I jumped, and we caught each other in the aerial artist grip, each holding the other’s wrist. She pulled and I reached. Between us I was able to get a grip on the trestle. I really needed her help to pull myself up the rest of the way.
    We were on a bridge that led down inside the walls.
    On my left, now, was a veldt, host to some dry, scrubby plants. I looked in vain for human habitants.
    On my right — but motion caught my eye and I looked left again. A score of small black men and women and even smaller children were standing upright, studying us. The plants must have hidden them.
    I stepped to the railing, waved at them, got no response. I shouted, “You can leave here! Follow me!” and heard my speech twist in my mouth, with a lot of clicking in the back of my tongue.
    The women and children disappeared as the men drew blowpipes and fired. I threw myself back. Darts struck around me, and two hit me anyway, one on my right leg, one in the neck.
    Rosemary pulled me to my feet and we ran, hand in hand. My leg collapsed. She dragged me far enough to hide us, then quit. Darts were still falling.
    •    •    •
    S ylvia said, “Warriors can be virtuous.”
    I exclaimed, “I see it! Sylvia, they thought I was telling them to get out of their land. Of course they defended themselves.”
    “Peasant mentality?”
    “I guess. We saw a lot of that on our way down. People in Hell who didn’t want to leave. I don’t know why. Why would anyone want to be here?”
    “Not ready to face why they are here?” Sylvia mused.
    “Don’t know. Anyway, I found my footing and we staggered away, uphill.”
    “Uphill,” Sylvia said. “Of course you went up.”
    “Why of course?”
    “You wanted to see if you could do it. I heard you, Allen, you’ve been talking to yourself about how hard it is to go back up once you start down. Of course you wanted to know.”
    •    •    •
    U pward took us above gardens and mosques. “Not here,” Rosemary said. “I know what they think of women.”
    I nodded and took us past. Now a tremendous Mayan or Aztec pyramid loomed above us on the left. Rosemary said, “Not there, either,” and laughed.
    The trestle gave way to a swinging bridge with no handrails. We crawled. Below us a garden ran off into the distance. Children ran through the plants, laughing, chasing each other, all sizes, all known colors. Some stopped to point up at us.
    I looked at Rosemary. “Think they need teachers?”
    She gave it some thought; shook her head.
    Maybe next time. We moved on.
    We passed a stretch of jungle, and a line of punji sticks half–hidden below