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.The wrinkled land in its descent changed gradually from barren rocks to hardly more fruitful soil.Soon after he took off the Mask, terraced fields came into view a little below the level where they walked, fields girdling mountain after mountain, into the distance.And now, abruptly, there appeared a switchback loop of Inca road, a pebble's roll ahead.Half a kilometer away, Mike could see some villagers moving about, near their huts of stone or mud and thatch.He guessed they might have spread potatoes in the sun to dry and were now getting them into a shed, in expectation of rain.When they had reached the road Cori stood still beside it, looking first one way then the other."I know this place." She pointed to her left."That way the road goes to Cuzco.Back the other way, to Abancay, then Vilcashuaman, then on to the provinces of the north."He consulted the Mask again; it gave him only faint traceries of light.Probably common sense was all he needed here."We must go to Cuzco," Mike said thoughtfully, packing the golden weight away again.Pizarro would not be many miles ahead in the direction of the capital; the Spaniards must have passed over this very road only a few days ago, with Manco their new puppet, and his entourage of Indian supporters.For a long time now, Cuzco would be the stage for the central scenes of the Conquest.Page 74ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlWhile getting clear of the Fort he hadn't really thought of where he and Cori were going, but now it was obviously time to take stock.There wasn't going to be another Fort for them to live in, or another flyer in which to travel.Wherever the Mask was leadingthem, they must live now as Andeans.He looked at his and Cori's modern clothing, which would have to go, and at the packs they carried.He seemed to recall that the Mask had advised packing, but he had probably overdone it.Cori had walked out onto the road, and was looking east along its descending curves, toward Cuzco.She said: "There is a tambo near, where we will be able to spend the night."The road was mainly downhill, but to Mike it felt as difficult as a climb, and he could sense his fever rising.Night had fallen, full and sudden, before they reached the tambo;so far, a moonless night, with stars a prolonged white explosion from one sawtooth horizon to another.The air was like fresh ice, and despite cold-weather gear Mike shivered violently.The tambo, a combination inn and storehouse, was a low stone building that looked deserted when they reached it.In normal times, supply clerks would probably have been on duty, dispensing needed goods under a system of careful control, and innkeepers, operating a kind of motel for the upper classes.Common Indians under the Inca's rule did not journey, except to some nearby village to trade on market day or festival, or when herding animals or marching in the army.Tonight the wooden doors to the storerooms, all ranged around an interior court, were standing open and unwatched.One or two of them had been chopped from their hinges."I will serve the Honored Roca," Cori murmured in her own language, and bent down in the disused corral to scratch up some dried llama dung in preparation for a fire.Mike mumbled something feverish and went to rummage through the storerooms.Other liberators had recently been there before him.The great wooden bins were pulled open; some had all their contents strewn about.He got out a small flashlight; there were several bits of technology it would really hurt to give up when he went Indian.The Spaniards in their monomaniacal search for treasure had scattered many things but taken few.There were still tons of Inca clothing, sandals, unwoven fibers, and stacks of pottery.Great granary jars still brimmed with maize and ground cornmeal.Huge baskets waited, filled with dried fish and charqui.Every storablenecessity of life was hoarded in the tambos by a paternalistic government against a time of need for any of its people.So far even civil war and invasion had not broken down the sturdy mechanism of the moneyless economy; but in three or four years matters would be different.The stored goods would be wasted wantonly, or used up without provision for replacement.The people would be dying en masse of disease, and of starvation previously almost unknown.Those who survived would be broken free of the rocklike mold of their old lives, but reenslaved as Spanish chattels under a new dictatorship as harsh as the old and far less concerned with their material welfare.Mike buried parka, trousers, and boots inside an ancient dungheap.With his teeth chattering, for the time being he retained a T-shirt of his thermal underwear.He quickly put on an Inca loincloth, a fine sleeveless tunic, and a woolen cloak, choosing his new garments from the smaller bins evidently reserved for the nobility [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]