'Amaziga has purchased two forty-fours. Smith and Wesson, double-action. They are in the box on the floor.' Shannow knelt by it and opened the flaps. The guns were long-barrelled and finished in metallic blue, the b.u.t.ts white and smooth. Lifting them clear, he hefted them for weight and balance. 'Each weighs just under two and a half pounds,' Lucas told him. The barrels are seven inches long. There are three boxes of sh.e.l.ls on the table.'

Shannow loaded the weapons and stepped out into the sunlight to see Amaziga walking back towards the house. There was a small sack hanging on a fence post some thirty feet from the Jerusalem Man. Moving to it, she pulled out four empty cans which she stood on the fence rail, around two feet apart. Stepping aside, she called to Shannow to try out the pistols.

His right arm came up. The pistol thundered and a can disappeared. The left arm rose, but this time his shot missed. 'lAjt them close together,' he ordered Amaziga. She did so and he fired again. The can on the left flew from the rail. 'More cans,' he called. Reloading the pistols, he waited as she set out another six.

This time he fired swiftly, left and right. All the targets were smashed from the fence.

'What do you think of them?' asked Amaziga, approaching him.

'Fine weapons. This one pulls a fraction to the left. But they'll do.'

The salesman a.s.sured me they would stop a charging rhino ... a very large animal,' she added, seeing his look of puzzlement.

He tried to drop the pistols into his scabbards, but they were too bulky. 'Don't worry about that,' Amaziga told him. 'I picked up a set of holsters for you at Rawhide.' She chuckled, but Shannow could not see the reason for humour.

Back inside the house she unwrapped a brown parcel, handing Shannow a black, hand- tooled gun-belt with two scabbards. The leather was thick, and of high quality, the buckle highly-polished bra.s.s. There were loops all around it, filled with sh.e.l.ls. 'It is very handsome,' he said, swinging it around his hips. 'Yes, very handsome. My thanks to you, lady.'

She nodded. They do suit you, Shannow. Now I must leave you again. We'll be back at dusk. Lucas will brief you.'

'We'll be back?' queried Shannow.

'Yes, I'm going to meet Gareth. He'll be coming with us.'

Without another word she left the house. Shannow watched her move to the circle of broken stones. There was no bright light; she merely faded, and disappeared from sight.

Inside once more, Shannow gazed at the calm, tranquil face on the screen. 'What did she mean, brief me?'

'I shall show you the route you will travel, and the landmarks you must memorise. Sit down, Mr Shannow, and observe.'

The screen flickered, and Shannow found himself staring out over a range of mountains, thickly covered with pine.

Jacob Moon watched as the painted wagons moved slowly out of sight, the tall, slender blonde woman riding the last of them. He hawked and spat. On another day he would have extracted a price for freeing the sandy-haired young man . . . Meredith? And the price would have been the woman, Isis. Mostly Jacob Moon liked his women fat, but there was something about this girl that excited him. And he knew what it was. Innocence, and a fragile softness. He wondered if she was consumptive, for her skin was unnaturally pale and she had, he noticed, difficulty climbing to the wagon. Turning away, he focused on more important matters.

Dillon's body lay in the undertaker's parlour, and the Jerusalem Man rode free somewhere in the mountains. The trackers had followed him, but lost the trail in the desert. Shannow and a companion had ridden their horses into a circle of stones - and vanished. Moon shivered.

Could the man be an angel? Could the whole sorry Bible fairy tale be fact? No. He couldn't believe that. If G.o.d existed, then why does he not strike me down? Christ alive, I've killed enough people! He was quick enough to strike down Jenny, and she never harmed anyone.

It's all random, he thought. A game of chance.

The strong survive, the weak die.

Bulls.h.i.t! We all die some day.

The town was unnaturally quiet today. Yesterday's shooting had astonished them. True, Dillon had been a feared man, but more than that he had been full of life. A loud, powerful, bull of a man radiating strength and certainty. Yet in the s.p.a.ce of a few heartbeats he had been cut down by a stranger who had stood in the street and named their sins.

Jacob Moon had arrived in Domango three hours after the killing, when the hunters were just returning. Then a rider had come in from the Hankin farm. Two more men dead. The Jerusalem Man? Probably, thought Moon.

Still, sooner or later he would have Shannow in his sights. Then that problem would be over.

Moon smiled, and recalled the woman. With Dillon's blood still staining the street, she had walked into the Crusader office and approached him. 'I understand, sir, that you are a Jerusalem Rider.' Moon had nodded, his hooded eyes raking the slender lines of her body.

'My name is Isis. I have come to you for justice, sir. Our doctor, Meredith, has been wrongly imprisoned. Would you release him?'

Moon had leaned back in his chair and thrown a glance at the stocky Crusader standing by the gun-rack. The man cleared his throat. They're Movers,' he said. They come in beggin'.'

That is not true,' said Isis. 'Dr Meredith merely erected a sign saying that he was a doctor, and inviting people to visit him.'

'We already got a doctor,' snapped the Crusader.

'Let him go,' said Moon. The Crusader stood silent for a moment, then lifted a ring of keys from a hook by the gun-rack and moved back through to the rear of the building.

'I thank you, sir,' said Isis. 'You are a good man.'

Moon had smiled then, but he said nothing. He glanced up as the Crusader brought out Meredith - a tall young man with sandy hair and a weak face. Moon wondered if he was the girl's lover, and idly pictured them coupling. They knew Dillon's killer,' said the Crusader.

That's a fact.'

Moon turned his stare to the woman. 'He was wounded,' she said. 'We found him near to death and nursed him. Then, later, when we were attacked he fought off the raiders.' Moon nodded, but remained silent. Then he killed the Oath Taker from Purity. After that he rode away. I don't know where.'

'Did he say his name?' asked Moon.

'Yes. He said he was Jon Shannow. Our leader Jeremiah thinks the wound to his head has confused him. He has no memory, you see. He cannot remember who shot him, or why.

Jeremiah believes he has taken refuge in the ident.i.ty of the Jerusalem Man.'

The sandy-haired young man stepped alongside Isis, putting his arm around her shoulder.

The action annoyed Moon, but he remained silent. The mind is very complex,' said Meredith. 'It is likely that his memories of childhood included many stories about Shannow. Now that he is an amnesiac, the mind is trying to piece together those memories. Hence his belief that he is the fabled Jerusalem Man.'

'So,' said Moon softly, 'he does not remember where he is from?'

'No,' said Isis. 'He struck me as a lonely man. Will you treathim with understanding when you find him?'

'You can rely on that,' promised Jacob Moon.

Shannow watched the screen, noting landmarks and listening as Lucas talked of the lands of the Bloodstone. Mostly the terrain was unfamiliar to Shannow, but occasionally he would see, in the distance, the shape of a mountain that seemed to strike a chord in his memory.

'You must remember, Mr Shannow, that this is a world gone mad. Those disciples who follow the Bloodstone receive great gifts, but for the vast majority the future is only to die to serve his hunger. We will not have long to find Samuel Archer. The jeep will get us within range within a day. We will have, then, perhaps another twenty-four hours to save him.'

'Jeep?' queried Shannow.

The vehicle outside. It can travel at around sixty miles per hour over difficult terrain. And no Devourer or horseman will catch it.'

Shannow said nothing for a moment. Then: 'You can see many places and many people.'

'Yes, I have extensive files,' agreed Lucas.

Then show me Jon Shannow.'

'Amaziga does not wish you to see your past, Mr Shannow.'

The lady's wishes are not at issue. I am asking you to show me.'

'What would you like to see?'

'I know who I was twenty years ago, when I fought the Lizard-men and sent the Sword of G.o.d through to destroy Atlantis. But what happened then? How did I use those years? And why am I still relatively young?'

'Wait for a moment,' said Lucas. 'I will a.s.semble the information.' Shannow immediately felt a sensation he had long forgotten and it surprised him. His stomach trembled and he could feel his heart beating wildly. In that moment nameless terrors seemed to be clawing at him from deep within his mind, and he realised with a sickening certainty that he did not want to know. His mouth was dry and he found himself breathing too quickly, becoming dizzy. The desire rose in him to stop the I machine, to command it to silence. 'I will not be a coward,' he whispered. Gripping the arms of the chair, he sat rigid as the screen flickered and he saw himself on a tower of rock, the Sword of G.o.d blazing across the sky. The man on the rock slumped down, his black and silver beard darkening. That,'

came Lucas's voice, 'is the moment when you regained youth. The last fractions of Sipstra.s.si power seeping through the tower, regenerating ageing tissue.' The scene shifted to Pilgrim's Valley and Shannow watched as the preacher Jon Cade gave his first sermon, listened to the words and the message of hope and peace. Beth McAdam was sitting in the front row, her eyes upon the speaker, the light of love shining in them.

Sadness engulfed the Jerusalem Man ... the sadness of love, the grief of bereavement. His love for Beth came roaring from his subconscious to rip at his heart. Forcing himself to stare at the screen he watched the pa.s.sing of the years, saw himself struck down by Shem Jackson and felt again the numbing shame that came from having the strength to walk away. He heard once more the man's scornful laughter behind him.

At the last he saw the burning of the church and the murder of the Wolvers. 'Enough,' he said softly. 'I want to see no more.'

'You remember it?' asked the machine.

'I remember it.'

'You are a man of extremes, Mr Shannow, and great inner strength. You cannot walk the middle ground and you have never learned how to compromise. You became a preacher, and you preached of love and understanding - at its best a gentle doctrine. You could not be a man of violence and preach such a doctrine, therefore you put aside your guns and lived it, using the same iron control that you enjoyed as a brigand-slayer.'

'But it was a fraud,' said Shannow. 'I was living a lie.'

'I doubt that. You gave it everything you could - even to losing the woman you loved. That is a commitment beyond most men. Even iron, however, can be ripped apart. When the raiders burned the church the iron gave way. You pursued them and slew them. The mind is a very sensitive creature, Mr Shannow. To all intents and purposes, you had betrayed everything you had stood for during those twenty years. So the mind, in self-protection, threw the memories of those years into a box and held it from your view. The question is, now that the box has been opened, who are you? Are you Jon Cade, preacher and man of G.o.d, or are you Jon Shannow, fearless killer?'

Shannow ignored the question and rose. Thank you, Lucas. You have been of great service to me.'

'It was my pleasure, Mr Shannow.'

Outside the light was beginning to fade, the desert heat abating. Shannow wandered to the paddock and climbed to the fence, watching the four horses cropping gra.s.s. They were standing in two pairs, nose to tail, protecting each other's faces from the swarms of flies that surrounded them.

He drew one of the long, blue-barrelled pistols.

The question is, now that the box has been opened, who are you? Are you Jon Cade, preacher and man of G.o.d, or are you Jon Shannow, fearless killer!'

As Nestor Garrity and Clem Steiner were riding towards Purity, and Jon Shannow stood alone on the streets of Domango, the Apostle Saul urged his tired mount towards the ruined city.

Saul was seething with suppressed fury. Word had reached him yesterday that the Deacon had survived Moon's attack, that the man killed had been Geoffrey, the Deacon's secretary.

The council in Unity was in turmoil. The Deacon was missing.

Missing! My G.o.d, thought Saul, what if he knows it was me?

A mosquito stung Saul's right leg and angrily he slapped it, the sound causing the horse to shy. He swore. The heat was unbearable, and stinking horse sweat had seeped through his trousers. His back ached from hours in the saddle and the ancient city seemed no closer.

He swore again.

The Deacon was alive! Josiah Broome was alive! Jon Shannow was alive! It was all coming to nothing; all the years of careful planning unravelling before his eyes.

I've always been cursed, he thought, remembering his childhood in Chicago, the taunts he had taken from his fellow schoolchildren over his lack of size and his weasel features, the mockery from girls who would not be seen dead with a 'runt like you'. And always in his work there were others who would succeed, moving past him on the promotional ladder, men and women with far less talent. Always it was Saul Wilkins who was overlooked. Little Saul.

It wasn't as if he didn't play the game. He sucked up to those above him, laughed at their jokes, supported their endeavours and worked hard to be as good as anyone. Yet never did he gain the recognition he craved.

Now it was happening again, this time to the tall, handsome, golden-haired Apostle Saul.

Overlooked by the Deacon he had, for the first time in his life, planned for the great gamble. And he was failing.

As he had always failed . . .

No, not always, he thought. There was the golden time at the Tabernacle, when he had first found G.o.d. Laid off from his job in the north, Saul had moved to Florida. One Thursday afternoon late in February, he had been driving along 1-4 West and had pulled in for a coffee at a fast-food outlet. There was a trailer parked there, and several young people were handing out leaflets. A girl offered one to Saul. It was an invitation to a Bible picnic being held near Kissimmee the following Sunday. The girl's smile had been radiant, and she called him 'brother'.

That Sunday Saul had attended the picnic with some three hundred other people. He had enjoyed himself, and the sermon from the fat preacher had touched a chord in him, with its emphasis on the meek and the lowly. G.o.d's love was very special for them.

Short of friends, his lay-off money holding out, Saul had joined the small church. It was the happiest time of his life -especially after the Deacon arrived and appointed him as full- time church treasurer. Jason had been set for the role, had coveted it - and he was tall and handsome. Saul was convinced that yet again he would be overlooked. But no. The Deacon had called him in and calmly offered him the post. Jason, bitter and vengeful, had quit the church.

Good days. Great days, Saul realised.

Then came the fateful flight and the end of the world he knew. Even then there were joys ahead, the gifts of the Sipstra.s.si, a handsome body, endless women.

I had it all, thought Saul. But the Sipstra.s.si was running out, the Deacon was getting older, and soon it would all end. Without the Sipstra.s.si I would be little Saul Wilkins again, bald and bent, peering at the world through watery eyes. Who would take me seriously? What would I do?

The answer was simple. Become rich in this new world. Take control like the hard, ruthless men of the old world. Control land and resources, oil, silver, gold. And all the while search for Sipstra.s.si.

The Deacon had found his h.o.a.rd soon after arriving. He had ridden off into the wild lands and returned with a bag of Stones.

Oh G.o.d, thought Saul, there must have been thirty of them! He had asked him where he found them.

'On my travels,' the Deacon answered, with a smile.

Then last year a man came to Unity who claimed to know the Deacon. He had been ushered into Saul's office. He was an old prospector, who said he had met the Deacon during his wanderings in the land beyond the Wall. 'Whereabouts?' Saul had asked.

'Near Pilgrim's Valley - you know,' said the man, 'where the Lord guided your flying- machine to land.'

Somewhere near here the Deacon had discovered the Stones of power.

There must be more! Please G.o.d let there be more!

With enough Sipstra.s.si he could still gain power. Just five Stones! Three. Dear G.o.d, help me to find them!

He was close enough now to see the towering columns of stone that marked the southern gate of the Atlantean city. One was taller than the other, reaching almost sixty feet. Once there had been a lintel stone between them, but it had fallen to the paved area below, shattering into fragments.

For several moments Saul forgot his mission, as he gazed over the miles and miles of what had once been a magnificent city. There were statues in marble, mostly toppled and broken, but some remaining still on their plinths, stone eyes staring at this latest intruder to observe their silent grief. Many of the buildings were still standing, seemingly untouched by the thousands of years on the ocean floor. Saul rode on, his horse's hooves clattering on the paved streets, the sound echoing eerily.