The Reluctant Swordsman

by David Duncan

  They tried with a foil. They tried with his old sword. They tried with his eyes shut. If Nnanji's distress had not been so obvious, Wallie would have thought he was playing games and doing as badly as possible on purpose.

  "Well, let's try the celebrated defense, then," Wallie sighed. They pulled foils and masks from the massive iron-bound chest and faced off.

  His defense was excellent, out of all proportion to the ineptness of his attack.

  Wallie threw down the mask, slumped back into the chair, and folded his arms. Nnanji stood and looked at him with despair.

  "It beats me," Wallie said. "Your reflexes are fine, and your defense is 'way above any Second I saw downstairs-Third at least, even by my standards. Your coordination is okay, because you make exactly the same mistakes every time. The only thing you can't do is lunge-and that movement is half of all swordsmanship. What you've got is a mental block."

  But it did not come out as "mental block"-it translated as "curse," and Nnanji's eyes bulged. Wallie laughed uneasily and said perhaps they had better send for the holy mothers.

  He pointed to another of the chintz-covered chairs. "Sit down and relax for a minute," he said. "Let me think about it."

  Nnanji sat. He sank into the down filling. But he certainly did not relax. Wallie picked up the seventh sword and pretended to examine it.

  "You were surprised at the price you got for your sword," he said quietly. "What do you suppose this one is worth?"

  "I don't know, my liege," Nnanji muttered miserably.

  "The holy Honakura says that it's priceless. He more or less said that it would fetch whatever you asked, as much as you could carry of anything. I'm told that there are brigands on the ferry trail."

  Wallie continued to peer at the blade, and after a moment Nnanji said, "Yes, my liege," a little more attentively.

  "I'm worried about our leaving, then," Wallie continued, still speaking to the sword. "You and me and Jja. I shall ask Honorable Tarru to provide us with a guard."

  He wished that he dared look at his vassal, to see what expressions were chasing across his so-legible face. Surprise? Worry? Shame? Surely, eventually, Nnanji would work out that a Seventh could not be so naive? The comment came just a fraction sooner than he expected.

  "I did swear to die at your side, my liege."

  Then Wallie could look round, with a grin. He saw puzzled and rueful embarrassment. "Who would he choose, Nnanji?"

  "I don't know, my liege. They didn't trust me."

  "That's to your credit, I fear. But certainly I don't trust Honorable Tarru. Is there any other way out of this place?"

  "None, my liege."

  "What happens if we cross the River?" Wallie waved a hand in the general direction of the temple.

  "Cross the River?" Nnanji said in horror.

  "Well, if we could?" Wallie replied, puzzled. The River was the Goddess-was there some taboo against crossing? True, there were rapids and the water was wide, but three active young people could get across, even with a baby. "What's on the far bank?"

  "Nothing but jungle, my liege. And the cliff..."

  True, the cliff looked bad. Well, he would scout that way himself. "Suppose we organized our own escort? Who would you invite? Granted that you tell me that they are all men of honor, which are the most honorable?"

  Nnanji wriggled with shame. "I don't know, my liege! I tried not to know those things!" He was having a bad afternoon-first his inept fencing and now this-but Wallie could not afford to be merciful.

  He pondered, squinting along the sword blade. The trouble with Nnanji was that he was too honest. What was needed was a little human fallibility, enough to know the ropes and who pulled them. "If we picked one man and asked him to organize a guard for us? Who?"

  "Briu," Nnanji said, and then flushed at the surprised look he received. "He gave me my sword, my liege."

  "The devil he did!" Wallie said. "Good for him-and good for you for asking! Well, he has no call to love me, but I suppose we could approach him."

  Nnanji squirmed some more. "His mentor is Master Trasingji, my liege."

  That was as close to an accusation as Nnanji was ever likely to come, and a warning. Even Briu was unsafe.

  Wallie groaned. "I did not know that. Then how the hell do we get out? I need your advice, Nnanji. Remember Farranulu?"

  Nnanji grinned.

  #106 ON ESCAPE

  The Epitome

  When honor permits, a wise warrior fights on terrain of his own choosing. Whether at home alone or in the field with an army, he will always know of at least two routes of escape, and in most cases will also have prepared a place of concealment.

  The Episode

  When Farranulu's wife complained that the bedroom was cold with the window open, he instructed her that she would be even colder without him to share the bed.

  The Epigram

  When Death is present, the wise are absent.

  "We could sneak out quietly, board some mules, and just risk it?" suggested Nnanji, whose thinking could never be devious.

  "There is a guard on the gate," Wallie said. "He will have issued orders; he will know when we leave. We shall be followed, or else word will be sent ahead. They may already have an ambush prepared. Have you seen how he looks at this sword?

  "Is there another gate?" he asked. "Any way around the end of the walls?"

  "One gate," Nnanji said glumly. "And the walls end in the River."

  Again this curious reluctance to go in the water! The prohibition must be very strong, and yet they used boats. But many Earthly religions allowed bare feet in their temples and prohibited shoes; religions need not be logical.

  Nnanji sat and frowned ferociously, but nothing seemed to be coming of it. He was out of his depth.

  Wallie had one vague plan he was not mentioning. If he could get Tarru alone, he could force him to swear the blood oath as he had forced Nnanji, for there was no doubt who was the better swordsman. Then he could make the acting reeve call in his protégés, one by one, and order them to swear also. Theoretically he could turn the whole guard into his vassals from the top down, diamonds and dirt together. The crooks would still be crooks and untrustworthy, but the good men would be true to their oath and surely they were in a majority? The disadvantage to that plan was that Wallie was Tarru's guest, so drawing his sword would be an abomination. Nnanji would die of shame if he knew that his hero was even contemplating such a deed.

  "Horses," Nnanji said. "There are only a dozen or so in the valley and they all belong to the guard." He looked at his liege hopefully.

  "Brilliant!" Wallie exclaimed. "Bloody-handed brilliant!"

  Nnanji tried to look modest and failed.

  "Tell me all about them," Wallie demanded.

  There was little else to tell. The valley road was so steep that trade goods and farm produce went on oxcarts, passengers on mules. The guard kept a few horses to service the advance post at the ferry, where there was usually a picket of three swordsmen and a priest. The temple stable was close by the gate. There was a guard of three men there, also.

  "You can go see it tomorrow, my liege," Nnanji concluded.

  "Not likely!" Wallie said. "I shan't go near it, I'm too conspicuous." They could steal the horses. That would be only a crime, not an abomination, and probably no one would question a Seventh's right to help himself to whatever he fancied. The horses must legally belong to the temple itself, so perhaps he could even make a deal with Honakura to buy them ahead of time. But that left the guards...

  "I think you have found the answer, vassal," Wallie said. "Horse thieves we shall be. But I don't know if I can handle a guard of three men by myself, not without a massacre, and I'd much rather not have that. Overpower them and tie them up... I need a good swordsman to help me."

  Nnanji's private hell fell over him again.

  "So you'd better get back to practicing," Wallie said. "I need you. The sword needs you. The Goddess needs you, Nnanji." He pointed at the mirror.
"One hundred lunges with a straight foot. Then we'll work upward."

  Now that he had money, there were things to do. But his feet were throbbing, and he wanted to emphasize his lameness, so he used the bellrope to summon a slave. Then he sat back like the royal guest he was and had the barracks minions dance attendance on him for the rest of the afternoon, while Nnanji lunged away like a piston in front of the mirror. The tailor brought swatches and measured him. The cobbler traced his feet on leather, although he would have to guess an adjustment for shrinkage when the swellings went down. Whatever Shonsu had been doing for the last couple of months, he had not been getting his hair cut, so its new owner summoned a barber. Coningu had to have a gratuity, and Janu likewise, for she could make Jja's life a misery. Honakura's healer nephew came to change bandages and mutter a few prayers over Wallie's feet.

  Wallie ordered his slave sent up at sundown, and a private meal for the same time. That was a breach of the precautions he had listed to Honakura, but for his first night with Jja he was willing to risk poison. He planned to recreate that strange candlelit dinner they had shared in the pilgrim hut, even if his quarters were now a hundred times as large. A cozy dinner, an intimate conversation to build a few dreams and find what common ground linked their vastly disparate heritages in the human experience... and then lots of that Olympic-class loving!

  The afternoon wore on. He had hot water brought and took a bath, but this time without assistance. He kept an eye on Nnanji as he lunged and lunged and lunged.

  He worked his vassal to exhaustion and made no progress at all. Finally, as the sun grew low, Wallie called a halt. Nnanji was ready to weep as he drooped on to a stool like a discarded shirt.

  "You have a family in the town?" Wallie asked.

  Nnanji colored and straightened up, taut and defensive. "Yes, my liege," he said, almost snapping the words.

  Now what had Wallie said? "I wondered if you might want to go and visit them this evening. I shall be busy demonstrating swordsmanship to my slave and I don't need your help for that."

  "Thank you, my liege!" Nnanji was clearly astonished at such consideration.

  "You'll have a few things to tell them, I expect," Wallie said and got a grin. "And you'd better warn them that you're leaving soon."

  But when? And how?

  BOOK FOUR:

  HOW THE SWORDSMAN

  WAS ENSNARED

  †

  "Put on the shoes now," Janu said, and steadied Jja's shoulder as she did so. Then Janu tapped on the door and led her in to her new master.

  It had been a strange day. Jja's head was throbbing. She was trying very hard not to tremble. Now she must also try not to break an ankle, for she had not worn shoes since she left Plo, and never shoes with heels like these. She remembered to swing her hips and smile out of the comer of her eyes as Janu had taught her. Lord Shonsu rose to welcome her.

  "The cloak!" Janu said.

  Jja dropped the cloak and let Lord Shonsu see her dress. It was a very strange dress, all tassels and beads and nothing else. She was quite accustomed to being unclothed in front of men. That was her duty to the temple and the Goddess, and she did it every evening, but somehow she felt more naked than just naked in this dress. She had hoped that it would please Lord Shonsu, but she knew men well enough to see the shock and displeasure in his eyes. Her heart sank.

  A very strange day-hot bath water and perfume and being rubbed with oil; the smell of her hair being curled with hot irons; the calluses being pared from her feet; her hands shaking as she was shown how to put the paint on her eyelids and lashes and face; the little sharp pains as they made holes in her earlobes to hang the glittery pendants...

  The other slaves had told her that Lord Shonsu was going to be reeve and they had repeated all the stories about the last reeve and the horrible things he had done to slaves. But Jja knew most of those already. They had made jokes about how big Lord Shonsu was and how rough he would be, but she knew that he was not rough. They had told her that swordsmen beat slaves with the sides of their swords. She had tried to tell them of the promise Lord Shonsu had made to her about Vixi. They had laughed and said that a promise to a slave meant nothing.

  "Thank you, Janu!" Lord Shonsu said. He closed the door loudly. There was a wonderful odor of food in that huge room, coming from under a white cloth laid over dishes on a table. But Jja did not feel hungry. She felt sick. She wanted to please her new master, and he did not like her dress. If she did not please him, he would beat her, or sell her.

  Then he was holding her hands and looking at her. She felt her face turning red and she could not meet his eyes. He must be able to feel her shaking. She tried to smile as Janu had taught her to smile.

  "Don't do that!" he said gently. "Oh, my poor Jja! What have they done to you?"

  Then he hugged her, and she began to sob. When at last she could stop weeping, he fetched the cloth from the table and wiped the rest of the paint off her face, and off his shoulder, too.

  "Did you choose that dress?" he asked.

  She shook her head.

  "What sort of dress would you like to be wearing?" he asked. "You describe it to me, and I'll imagine it."

  Between sniffles she said, "Blue silk, master. A long gown. Cut low in the front."

  He smiled. "That was what I said in the cottage, wasn't it? I'd forgotten. I said you would look like a goddess. What did Janu say to that?"

  Janu had said that slaves did not wear silk, or blue, and that long dresses were not sexy.

  "They can be!" her master said firmly. "We'll show them! Now, take off those horrid things and put this on." He gave her the white cloth from the table, then turned away while she removed all the tassels and beads and glitter and wrapped herself in it.

  "That's much better!" he said. "You are a gorgeously beautiful woman, Jja. The most beautiful and exciting woman I have ever met. You do not need vulgar clothes like that... that obscenity. Now, come and sit down."

  He gave her wine to drink, and then later he wanted her to sit with him at the table and eat. He would not let her serve him. She forced herself to eat, but she still felt sick and wondered if that was because her own body smelled so strongly of musk and flower petals. He asked questions. She tried to talk. The pilgrims had never wanted talk, and she was not good at it.

  She told him about faraway Plo and how it was so cold there in the winter that even the children wore clothes. He seemed to believe her, although no one else in Hann did. She told him what little she could remember of her mother-she knew nothing about her father except that obviously he had been a slave also. She told him about the slave farm where she had been reared. She had to explain about slave farms buying baby slaves to train. Talking to him was very difficult, and she knew she was doing it very badly.

  "And I was bought by a man from Fex," she told him. "And when we went on the boat, we came to Hann, and the sailors said my master was a Jonah, but he said that I was the Jonah, because he'd been on boats before. He came to ask the Goddess to return him and he gave me to the temple as an offering."

  Lord Shonsu looked puzzled, although he was trying not to, and she knew that she was a terrible failure.

  Then at last, to her great relief, Lord Shonsu asked her if she would like to go to bed. She could not please him with talk, or with her new dress, but she knew how to please men in bed.

  Except that even that did not seem to work properly. He would not let her do some of the things she had thought he would enjoy, things that pilgrims had demanded. She tried as hard as she could. He reacted as men always did, but she had a strange feeling that it was only his body reacting, that he himself was not pleased, as though his joy did not go very deep. And the harder she tried, the worse it seemed to get.

  * * *

  In the morning, as she was putting the cloak around herself, he said, "Didn't you tell me that sewing was one of the things you were taught in that slave farm?"

  She nodded. "Yes, master."

  He climbed out
of the great bed and came over to her. "If we bought some material, could you sew a dress?"

  He had already spent so much money on her, and she had not pleased him... Without taking time to think she said, "I can try, master."

  He smiled. "Then why not try? Will the others help you if it is what I want?"

  "I think so." She dropped the cloak. "Show me," she said bravely.

  He grinned his little-boy grin and showed her-tight here and lifting her breasts like that and loose there and tight again down here and cut open all the way down here... "Why not a slit up here?" he suggested. "Closed when you stand, but when you walk it will show this beautiful thigh?" Suddenly she shivered all over at his touch and discovered that she was returning his smiles. He put his arms around her and kissed her gently. "Tonight we'll try again," he said. "No face paint and just a tiny drop of scent, all right? I'll tell Janu that's how I like my women served up-raw! I prefer you the way you are now, but any dress you make will be better than that thing."

  * * *

  Just when Wallie thought he was starting to make progress, there on a bed in the outer room was Nnanji, with two black eyes, several loose teeth, and a wide selection of pains and bruises. His new yellow kilt lay rumpled and bloodstained on the floor.

  "Stay right there!" Wallie ordered as his vassal attempted to rise. "Jja, go and ask Janu to send up a healer." He pulled a stool over to the bed and sat down and glared at the wreck of Nnanji's face. "Who did it?"

  The culprits were Gorramini and Ghaniri, two of the three who had beaten up Wallie for Hardduju's amusement. Wallie had thought them gone, but not so. Meliu had left after being snubbed, but the other two were still around, carefully staying out of the Seventh's way. Nnanji had returned from his parents' house and dropped in on the barracks saloon, probably to do a little flaunting and vaunting. Swords were prohibited in the saloon, but fist fights were not, and perhaps even encouraged as a safety valve.

  "Well, that does it!" Wallie roared. "I owe them anyway, and now they have broken the laws of hospitality."