He stood across from me on the wall, sword drawn and ready. The other troops gave us plenty of space on both sides. He tore open the top of his tunic, letting it fall to his waist, covering his sash.
Oh God, I thought, expecting to see him completely disrobe before me. Fortunately, he did not. Tearing open his shirt was as far as he got. I decided to keep mine on, stained as it was. There was something classy about sword fighting while wearing a nice button-up shirt.
I saw him beat his chest with his free fist and slowly his expression morphed from “friendly next-door neighbor” to “strung-out skinhead who just injected a large dose of PCP straight into his penis.” Things were about to get real.
“Ready, commence!” shouted the King.
The soldiers blew their horns as a signal to all that the competition had begun.
He roared and leapt for me. I lifted my sword to block with no time to think. His iron met mine, and I had to jump back to avoid the aftermath. My wrist—which was still in large part organic, by the way—ached from the sheer force of the blow against my weapon. It was like I had just punched a tree.
He swung again, but this time I slid further back, not even trying to meet his attack head-on. He came again—and once more. Seeing that the overhead guillotine slices were not doing the trick, he made several wild swipes at my stomach.
I almost backed into a cluster of soldiers who scattered away as we came through. He had already pushed me back farther than I was comfortable. I knew I might start to look like a bit of a coward to the home team if I let him force me back much more.
On the next attack, he made yet another crazed sweep at my midsection, but this time I jumped into his range again immediately after my dodge, as his blade continued on its trajectory away from me. I lunged into him, brandishing the tip of my sword.
I managed to jab a small wound into his shoulder, but he reacted quicker than I expected. He shifted his weight on his hind leg to minimize the damage as my weapon made contact and bounced back in, slamming his left fist straight into my jaw.
It must have been an awkward attack for him, using his weak hand at a weird angle, but he got his message across. My vision was drowning in stars, a fitting visualization for a fight with an exaggerated comic book character like himself. It took all I had to prevent myself from falling over.
I reached out and caught myself on the edge of the wall which, thankfully, rose about chest-high on the outward face. Had that not been there to catch me, I would have found myself tumbling down over a hundred feet below to likely have my corpse spat on by his comrades.
I looked up to greet his blade, yet again. I lifted my sword to defend and slid along the wall, trying to get the hell away from him. His metal clanked against mine with a hair-raising screech. The back of my hand scraped against the wall as I slid. Luckily, I didn’t feel any of that skin-ripping pain against the artificial flesh of my prosthetic, although my wrist was begging me to tap out or at least switch hands.
I took half a second to catch my breath, and he was on me again. Another rain of iron from above sent me dodging back to where we started, each miss accompanied by a chorus of gasps from the Trojans. This time, I sent some return swipes his way, but they all missed as well.
His coked-out demeanor was nothing more than a façade. The speed and precision with which he avoided my strikes was near-prescient. He was analytical and calculating of my every movement, like a machine. I was not fighting a mindless animal, no. My enemy was fully present and more patient than he let on. I was beginning to suspect that his mad attacks were simply his way of testing my timing and level-headedness in the face of constant assault, but the smooth manner in which he defended gave his true nature away.
On the rebound, he took his handle in both hands and crashed against my blade as if he wielded the hammer of Thor. I, too, grasped my weapon in both hands. Sparks flew, and I could hear the onlookers marveling at the scene. I heard a second reactionary clank of metal and felt a weight press down on my boot. I glanced down to see the upper half of my blade, gleaming up at me in the afternoon sun.
Ajax made a sound like a growl mixed with a laugh. I dropped what was left of my weapon and threw myself into him, launching my fist into his liver. He coughed and chucked his sword over the outer side of the wall, and went to lock my head under one arm while punching me with the other. I felt the first hit more than anything, as it landed inches away from my healing rib. I had forgotten about it until then, and the pain was enough to make me want to vomit.
Two more followed higher up my torso. I needed to do something fast because I wasn’t sure I could take another beating like that. First, I needed to get out of his chokehold.
My arms were left to do what they could as he wailed on me, though my reach and range of motion were extremely limited. I could see Helen anxiously watching me from my compromised position. All’s fair in love and war, I thought and shot a fist straight into his testicles. I felt his pain and howled alongside him as he doubled over, releasing my head from captivity.
He rolled on his back and watched helplessly as I laid into him, landing hits all up and down his torso with my hammer-fists. I stopped for a moment after I knew he wasn’t getting back up, and he looked at me with a blood-drenched smile and coughed, speaking low enough that only I could hear. “Make it good. Give them something . . . to talk about. Give them all something to talk about.”
I went around so that my legs were on either side of his head and bent over to grab it with my hands. I lifted his bleeding dome several feet up and roared as I drove it back down into the wall of Troy. His skull burst out from the skin of his face, shards of it poking my fingers behind his ears. The Trojans cheered as I raised my arm in the air to signal my victory.
I still had to throw the Greeks a bone to gnaw on, so, in an attempt to fulfill my adversary’s dying wish, I placed my foot on his chest and pinned his body down as I ripped an arm clean out of its socket. My men cheered louder, and I strode over to the wall and tossed the limb down for the enemy to feast on.
Acting like it was no big deal, I turned and went to grab a plate from the dinner table and pour myself a cup of wine. The roar of the enemy soldiers down below was the perfect ambience to compliment my meal. The bitter bite of wine had never tasted so sweet.
I raised my glass to the King as he came over to meet me, Helen at his side.
“That was an impressive display,” he said. “I must admit, I am largely at a loss for words. I have seen many battles in my time, but nothing so raw as that.”
“Compliment accepted.” I grinned, taking another sip.
The King chuckled. “I suspect whoever else they throw our way will not be nearly as great a challenge as Ajax. I await tomorrow with great anticipation.”
“As do I, Your Highness.”
29
The next day, we waited on ground level for the second challenger to arrive. Several prominent figures from the Trojan aristocracy accompanied us this time to watch the spectacle. Word had already spread of the hero who had traveled from a distant land to rid the city of the Greek menace.
Cressida was among the newcomers. She made a show of greeting me from across the field as she hopped off the ladder and went to join the others. I grinned in response. My feats were generating a lot of interest in me. I had never known fame but quickly found that I could get used to it. Not least of all perks was the way women looked at me as I walked the streets. Several civilians had come to meet me the previous night after news of my victory got around. More still greeted me on my way to the wall that morning. They flashed their teeth as I passed by; many made efforts to touch me, to see what a hero felt like, to feel my muscles, to brush against the hair of my arm. I felt like the Pope.
It would be no exaggeration to say that every woman I came across seemed to want me. I looked to Helen, thinking about how in my world it would not be so easy for a man like me to have multiple women. But here, as a champion of Troy, it seemed expected that I b
less its people with my seed. The power of fame was tempting to me even then, and I knew it would grow with time.
I was having a light snack when several figures appeared from over the hill. Upon seeing them, Helen laughed, a high melodic sound. I could not make out any distinguishing features on the men, but experience told me that she certainly could.
“I know this man!” She giggled from her seat beside me, lazily laying a hand on my arm. She had been getting better acquainted with the wine over breakfast and it was beginning to show. I wondered if she had ever gotten tipsy since discovering her humanity. She seemed to enjoy the feeling.
“Yeah?”
“Yes! Well, I know of him through my connection with the other Helen. He was one of my suitors, puffing up his chest like a pigeon in a flimsy attempt to gain my hand in marriage.” She puffed her chest up in an exaggerated imitation, resting her knuckles on her hips.
“Ah, interesting. I take it she—uh, you—didn’t think very highly of him?”
She laughed before answering. “You could say that, Troy. He thinks very highly of himself, and I suppose there are others who do as well, but he seemed little more than talk to me. Just an angry child pretending to be an adult but never able to fit in his daddy’s shoes. Can you guess who his father is, Troy?” She rolled her head around to me and met my eyes with a sly grin.
“I would have no idea.”
She laughed again and said, “I will give you a hint: you killed him yesterday.” Then she followed up with more laughter before taking another sip of her drink.
So, this was the son of Ajax. As he came into view, I saw what Helen meant. He seemed to be a young man of less-than-average build, in height and muscle. I felt a pang of guilt at the idea that I might be about to chop down a whole family tree, but it was their decision to face me.
“I would not mind it if you toyed with him a little, my love,” Helen said. “In fact, I would prefer it.” She winked. I stood and playfully brushed my fingers across her head, disheveling her hair from where she had carefully placed it earlier that morning.
“Troy . . . Troy . . .” She vigorously banged her hands against the arms of the chair. “Guess what he is called.” She giggled, waiting to reveal her punchline.
“I’ll find out in a minute.” I stepped forward, and the King joined me as the challenger and company came near.
“Ajax the Lesser!” His Majesty called out.
I heard Helen burst out in a fit of laughter behind us. I had to admit, I found that pretty funny.
Poor guy, having to live in his old man’s shadow. In a way, I thought I’d done him a service by taking his father out, but it wasn’t like he was going to make anything of the opportunity because I was about to end him, too. I thought it might be fun to try and convince him to turn away and make something of his life. If he refused, I could still get some kicks out of taunting him before whooping his ass.
“King Priam,” he spat. His face was stern.
I wondered if he always looked so angry or if he was just mad about what happened yesterday.
“I am here to avenge the death of my father.”
“There is nothing to avenge, young Ajax,” the King said. “Your father fought most nobly, as always, and died a noble death.”
“I suspect foul play,” Little Ajax whined. “No man has ever bested my father in combat, and none of our men witnessed the event as it took place.”
“That was all you father’s decision, boy. He wanted to fight on the wall and insisted that your men stay down below, as a sign of good faith. We all respected his wishes. Troy here beat him fairly, one-on-one.”
“I do not believe this for an instant. You!” He jabbed a finger in the air at me. “We shall fight on this spot, to the death!”
“Yes,” I said, trying to keep my tone even and patient. “Those are the terms we have all agreed to.”
“Those are the terms we have all agreed to!” he mocked me, speaking in a baby voice shriller than the one I had only just begun adjusting to. “You do not honor terms, you filthy whoreson!” His face was red. I knew this was going to be easy. I never saw anyone win a fight using anger as their source of power.
“You cannot reason with that child, Troy,” Helen shouted over. “He only hears what he wants to.” She giggled. “He does not understand the word ‘no’, for example!”
“You will come to your senses soon enough, woman! You will see what a fool you were to reject me once I am finished with this imbecile!”
She only laughed louder in reply.
I waved his attention back to me. “All right, let’s focus on the task at hand. I’ll start. Hello, I am Troy, son of—”
“A whore! Yes, I know. Your mother is a whore, and you are a wandering bastard! Remove your weapons, and let us settle this like real men!”
I complied, smiling through gritted teeth.
He did not stop with his weapons and armor. Before I realized what was happening, he was throwing all of his clothing to the ground.
“Whoa, what the f—what are you doing, man?”
He stood proud, his little hairless scrotum dangling in the breeze for all to see. He truly did have the body of a child. Well, almost. There was minor definition to his muscles and small tufts of hair sprouting here and there—around his nipples, tiny strands under his arms. I was fairly certain he was younger than me, but still old enough to have made it well past puberty. It was like his body had made an attempt at maturing but gave up halfway through. It seemed to me like his father was hogging all the testosterone.
Helen erupted with laughter once again. “Are you not ashamed, boy?” She almost fell out of her chair.
“Quiet, you drunken floozy!” he spat. “Not every man has a full chest of hair.”
“What you say is true.” She giggled. “But any grown man worth his salt can get an erection!”
He took an angry half-step forward. “What are you implying, harlot? Are you claiming that I cannot?”
She just continued laughing. I made a mental note to talk to her about the drinking later. I understood that it was a new human experience for her, but it was not becoming of a woman in her position.
This guy was acting like a child. I thought that surely there were far more capable men back at his camp, and the Greeks might just be trying to be rid of him. It seemed to me that they played their ace on day one, and everyone else they sent over would just be throwaways. I felt bad for him, but again, it was his decision to fight me.
He turned his attention back to me. “Fine, keep your clothes on if you are too embarrassed to stand naked before me.”
At that point, I was halfway considering getting naked just to show him up.
I took a deep breath and said, “Are you sure this is what you want?”
“What do you mean?” he barked.
“I’ll let you just walk away right now. I would hate to end the life of a man on one day and end the life of his son the day after. It just seems wrong.”
“Well, then it is fortunate for you that you will do no such thing. Now let us stop this idle talk and do battle.”
He charged forth, fists up. I thought to simply stand there and let him get a few hits in, confident there was nothing he could really do to hurt me, but I decided it was best to just end things quickly. I got the impression that the little guy’s life was a long chain of disappointment and anxiety. It would be humane to put him out of his self-inflicted misery as soon as possible.
I reached out and clobbered him square in the temple as he approached. He flew to the side, dropping to the dirt. A cheer rang out from my side. I looked to his troops and saw that they were already leaving; no ounce of surprise marked their faces. I waited half a minute for him to get back on his feet, but he did not stir, so I sat back down and continued eating my snack. Helen was cackling.
She put a hand on my arm and said between bursts of laughter, “What a pleasurable display, Troy.”
I could see Cressida watching us from
the crowd of aristocrats gathered off to the side. All of them were watching us, applauding and raising triumphant fists in the air. Oh yeah, I thought. I could get used to this.
“Hey, Helen,” I said. “How much of that wine have you had?”
“Um, let me see.” She lazily wrapped a finger around the pitcher handle, lifted it a few inches from the table, and let it drop. It landed on its side, but no wine spilled out. She giggled. “Looks like all of it. Why, did you want some? I can get you some—servants!”
“No, no.” I waved the servant away. “It’s just . . . you need to take it slow with alcohol. What you’re doing now, it’s embarrassing.”
“But it is so wonderful,” she said. “I wish to be this way all the time!” She held her arms up like she was on a rollercoaster. “I could never feel this way”—she lowered her voice to a whisper and leaned in to me—“as a robot.”
“Yeah, I get that, but you just can’t be doing this all the time. Maybe once in a while in private, but not out in public. Not like this with everyone watching.” I gestured in the direction of the spectators. “It will affect their opinion of you. You don’t want your people to think poorly of you, do you?”
“No, no, you are correct, Troy.” She nodded. “I will never drink again.”
“I mean, that’s not—you don’t have to swear it off entirely. Just take it one step at a time is all I’m trying to say.”
She hickuped. “Yes.” Hic. “Of course.”
“Good girl.” I looked to the crumpled form of Ajax the Lesser. “Oh, look.” I nudged her arm, pointing. I had not killed him after all. He was beginning to move.
Gears of Troy: A Scifi Fantasy Harem Page 16
