Warlords Of Gaikon rb-18

by Джеффри Лорд

  «Very good,» said Yezjaro. «The Honorable Captain Jawai will fight with his sword. Now I suggest we summon servants with torches to light the battle and some of the dabuni to act as witnesses. Then we shall go outside.»

  «Why?» asked Jawai.

  Yezjaro laughed. «Consider how many holes a war spear might make in your roof, Captain. Do you want the rain dripping in on your mats and furniture like a dog's piss?» He laughed again, and was still laughing as he led the other two men out of the kitchen.

  Chapter 6

  As young as Yezjaro was, he was obviously accustomed to giving orders and getting obedience even from the households of other dabuni in Lord Tsekuin's service. Servants ran about with his various messages while he himself led Blade to Jawai's weapons room. The low-ceilinged room was lined with rack after rack of swords, spears, shields of lacquered wood and metal, complicated suits of armor like the shell of a lobster in black, red, and blue lacquered metal, and a miscellany of other war gear.

  Yezjaro went over to a rack, took one of the spears, and held it out to Blade. «For a man of your height, this would seem to be the best.»

  Blade hefted the spear. It balanced well, and although both shaft and head were fine steel, it was so light he could whirl it with one hand until it was a blur. It had a leaf-shaped head about a foot long, and about six inches behind the head two prongs jutted out and forward. Blade stepped out into the middle of the room and tested the spear in every possible position. By the time he felt he knew it, he had also limbered up all his sore muscles without fatiguing himself.

  Yezjaro watched with a sardonically amused smile flickering on his lips. When Blade had finished he clapped him on the shoulder and said, «I think Captain Jawai faces more of a fight than he is ready to believe. It will be interesting to watch him when he discovers this.»

  Blade suspected Yezjaro was looking forward to being greatly entertained by the coming fight, regardless of who won. He rather wished he could manage the same detached view of the affair.

  The place chosen for the fight was a clearing among some huts in the forest several hundred yards uphill from the main house. When Blade and Yezjaro arrived, a dozen servants were already at work. Some crawled on hands and knees across a square marked out in the grass by four white stones, picking up rocks and fallen branches. The rest stood around the square, holding flickering yellow torches that threw out only a little light and a great deal of smoke and smell.

  The rain had faded away to a fine misting, but it was almost completely dark and the wind had risen. It moaned continuously to itself in the treetops high above, occasionally rising to an angry howl. The sounds of the wind, the darkness, and the flickering torchlight that made the servants look deformed and misshapen lent an eerie and sinister quality to the place. It seemed far too appropriate for death.

  Blade had given back Yezjaro's robe and was wearing a pair of broad white trousers with green embroidery across the waistband. Otherwise he wore nothing except a red silk band around his head.

  The servants finished their work and Yezjaro nodded to Blade. Blade stepped out into the middle of the square and began testing the footing. He had barely finished when the beating of a small gong and the tinkling of bells announced the arrival of several of the house dabuni. Behind them marched-or rather strutted-the Honorable Captain Jawai. He wore black trousers and a white headband and carried two swords in the sash around his lean waist. Blade wished he knew whether the shorter of the two swords was ceremonial or not. He decided to assume that it wasn't. That was always the safest assumption about any weapon that an enemy carried into battle against you.

  The house dabuni formed a line between the square and the huts and drew their swords. Jawai stepped through the line. His sword flew free, the torchlight making flowing patterns of light on the steel. He raised it high over his head, keeping the point down. Blade heard Yezjaro's indrawn breath behind him and saw the other dabuni grin. Apparently Jawai had just insulted him. Blade grinned, shifted his spear to one hand, and made the almost universal gesture of biting his thumb at Jawai. The captain's face clouded and his sword flicked back into its scabbard as he spat on the ground. Then he raised his hand and called out to Blade.

  «Pray to whatever false gods you imagine will listen, imposter. I will give you as much time as you need to bore them with your whines and howls for the mercy you shall not have.»

  Blade bared his teeth in a grin, tossed his spear up into the air, and caught it between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, «I trust in Blessed Kunkoi, who rules justly in this land of Gaikon. And I trust in these,»-he made the heavy muscles of his arms and chest ripple. «Let us do what we came here for, and let it be judged afterwards which of us had the favor of Kunkoi or the greater need for prayers.»

  «So be it,» said Yezjaro. He stepped out from behind Blade and crossed the square to stand in front of the line of dabuni. He drew his sword and held it out in front of him horizontally. «All is fit and proper for the testing of this stranger for his worthiness to join the ranks of the dabuni. So let the fight begin.» He raised the sword to the vertical and grasped it firmly with both hands.

  Blade stood his ground, spear held in a guarding position. He wanted to let Jawai make the first move, revealing his style and perhaps weaknesses. But he knew that was more of a risk than usual now. Jawai's katana-style sword could kill or disable with a single blow. Its heavy blade, superb balance, and razor edge made it deadly. Blade knew that he had far less margin for error than usual, unless Jawai had some disastrously bad habit. But the odds were against Jawai's having reached his rank without being a first-class fighter.

  Jawai took three steps forward, then stopped just out of range of any thrust from Blade. The sword seemed to freeze in his hands, as immobile and perfectly vertical as a stone pillar. Blade kept his eyes fixed on the sword. What mattered now was where it was, not where Jawai might be.

  Then Jawai was coming in, taking a long, almost skipping step. The sword swung down from the vertical and flashed in the horizontal arc of a quick slash. Blade whipped his own spear over to the left, holding the guard position. In the same moment he leaped to the right, out of the path of the sword. The tip of the sword struck the spear with a sharp metallic clink. It was only the tip, but there was enough speed and weight behind it to make the spear shiver in Blade's hands. Definitely that sword could slice flesh and bone like a knife slicing paper. It might be able to chop through the spear shaft with a fair cut at full strength. Blade moved the spear back in front of his body and turned to face Jawai again.

  Jawai came in again on the left, then a third time. Each time Blade leaped to one side, clearing the arc of the slash and warding off the sword with his spear.

  Then Jawai came in a fourth time, suddenly shifting at the last second to the right.

  But Blade had anticipated just exactly that change in the pattern. He sprang to the left, a long leap designed to take him completely clear of the arc of the sword. At the same moment he swung the spear down from the guard position to dart it out in a thrust at the captain's head. The razor-edged steel leaf darted within inches of Jawai's face. His eyes flared open in surprise and perhaps in a little fear as well. This time he stepped back farther and faster than before and watched Blade more intently. Blade took advantage of the delay to arrogantly twirl his spear around his head-keeping a firm grasp on the shaft with both hands, in case Jawai decided to move in suddenly.

  Was Jawai perhaps assuming that Blade was an amateur who would fall easily when a serious attack came in? And in the meantime had he decided to just play with this stranger? That was almost too encouraging a thought, Blade realized. But if it was true, perhaps he should go on playing Jawai's game for a while.

  There would be time enough to change the rifles later, time enough to face the arrogant Captain Jawai with a game he had not expected to play.

  The deadly dance around the square went on. Blade began to narrow his margin, judging and timing his leaps so t
hat he was only inches clear of the deadly arc of Jawai's sword. Whether this leaping about was according to the standard rules for fighting in Gaikon, he didn't know. But Blade held a black belt in karate, and his footwork and endurance were formidable. The game Jawai had chosen for them to play was one Blade knew he could play for hours, if necessary.

  It would probably be necessary. Blade quickly discovered that he would not be able to attack his opponent easily. Jawai was murderously fast on the riposte; Blade could not risk leaving himself open even briefly to deliver a serious attack.

  After a while it began to seem as though they had been fighting for hours. Blade discovered that the captain telegraphed warning of overhead blows with a peculiar flexing of his wrists as he brought his sword up. Blade could easily respond to those signals in plenty of time to leap from under the downcuts. He didn't try to guard against them with his spear. They came down too hard and too fast for him to risk it. Too many blows with the tip might weaken his spear. A glancing blow might easily glance straight into his chest or thigh.

  As he led Jawai in their dance around the square, Blade kept his eyes not only on the captain but also on the line of watching dabuni and on Yezjaro. He was looking for them to start reacting to what he was doing with Jawai. After only a few more minutes he saw that they were starting to react. And what he saw in their eyes was encouraging.

  Obviously they understood more or less what he was doing. He saw men nodding or exchanging whispers with their companions. Yezjaro's face was almost expressionless, but Blade thought he saw faint hints of a smile on it. Obviously he was doing something right although he couldn't yet be sure exactly what it was. At least a dabuno of Gaikon did not have to simply stand up and hack away at an opponent and let the opponent hack back. He could properly use strategy and craft. That was fine with Blade. He knew he had no other hope of surviving here in this land of deadly swordsmen.

  The wind rose further and blew colder and harder on Blade's face and across his bare chest. In spite of the cold and the wind, he was beginning to sweat.

  Some of his muscles were also beginning to protest, particularly the legs that had already carried him so far so fast today.

  But he could also see with growing pleasure that Jawai was getting tired, too, and was becoming confused. Perhaps Jawai had never fought so long before against such a strong opponent? Perhaps he had never expected to, and never developed the endurance he would need to last against Blade?

  Certainly Jawai was no longer playing with Blade or trying to show off his expert swordwork. Each stroke of the sword lashed out like a flicker of flame, three feet of steel seeking Blade's life with all Jawai's strength and skill behind it. Blade realized one thing for certain about this fight: if he lost even a little bit of speed he was probably finished.

  It was also obvious that the audience was becoming impatient. Blade couldn't tell which of the fighters was annoying them more, but he couldn't mistake the look of irritation on Yezjaro's face.

  The fight went on. Except for the mounting roar of the wind, the thud of feet on chill wet grass, and the heavy breathing of the fighters, it went on in silence. Blade began to feel the muscles of his legs turning to white-hot bands stretched almost to the breaking point. He had to force his arms to twist and whirl the spear about as fast as before. And the red band around his head would no longer soak up all the sweat that was pouring down his face. He felt the stinging of salt in his eyes.

  It was Yezjaro's voice that broke the silence. «What pleasure do you people find in this dance? Are you rehearsing a new act to present at the Hongshu's court during Lord Tsekuin's journey of Obedience? I thought you came here to fight-«

  Blade knew that he was tired when he felt anger flare within him. But it flared only briefly. He recognized Yezjaro's tone of voice. For purposes of his own, the instructor was trying to push the fight to a conclusion by making one or the other of the fighters angry. Blade was determined that if there was going to be any anger and carelessness, it should be Jawai's.

  Blade had guessed right. Jawai threw back his head and let out a high scream of rage and hatred. It seemed to be directed at the whole world, not just at Blade or Yezjaro. Then he came in, slashing with wild fury.

  Blade leaped aside twice more as he judged distances and timing. He had known for a long time the perfect way to use the spear to end the fight. It was a way that would not only win but win with the style and flair he suspected the dabuni of Gaikon admired. But it was also risky. A split second off in the timing, and Blade knew that Jawai's sword would be slicing through his arm or into his thigh.

  As Jawai came in for a third wild attack, Blade stood his ground. As Blade had expected, the captain slowed for a moment when he realized that his opponent was not leaping aside any more. That slowing and the captain's fatigue gave Blade all the time he needed. He dropped down into a crouch and lunged upward with the spear. One of the jutting hooks caught the descending sword. Blade sprang to his feet, twisting savagely as he did so. The sword flew out of Jawai's hands and high into the air, turning over and over as it flew. Before it thudded pointdown into the soft earth, Blade had stepped back. The spear whirled around at full speed, and the butt smashed into the side of Jawai's neck. At the last moment Blade avoided smashing it into the captain's temple. He couldn't see any good reason for killing the man, if he could win his fight and the rank of dabuno without it.

  Jawai was flung sideways by the blow and sprawled facedown on the grass. Before he could make a move to rise, Blade was standing over him. One of Blade's feet came down on the small of Jawai's back, just hard enough to push him back down. His arms held the spear pointdown over the back of Jawai's neck, ready to drive it down and in. Then he turned his head to look at Yezjaro and the house dabuni. His voice was cool but challenging as he spoke.

  «Brother dabuni. Do you find me worthy to be among you?» He twirled the spear with an extra flourish, although his arms felt ready to drop off.

  A long silence followed Blade's words, a silence in which it seemed that even the wind had faded away to listen. Blade looked at the silent figures standing and looking back at him, defiance written on his face and in every line of his athlete's body.

  Again it was Yezjaro who broke the silence. «I say the stranger is worthy. I say it by my office as instructor to our clan. And I say it by my love of seeing a mighty and ingenious warrior.» He grinned openly at Blade as he said the last words, and Blade grinned back. He had been right in his guess that in Gaikon they respected brains as well as brawn.

  Now it was Yezjaro's turn to look a challenge at the house dabuni. «Brothers, will any of you say that the stranger is not worthy of the robe and the oil of Kunkoi?» He did not move his sword an inch. But the tone of voice he used could leave no one doubting what he would do to anyone who argued.

  «It shall be as you wish,» said one of the dabuni.

  «Yes,» said another. Then, with genuine enthusiasm that somewhat surprised Blade, «It will be an honor having him among us in the service of Lord Tsekuin.»

  Yezjaro's clipped voice cut the second man down to size. «It is too soon to say whether it will be an honor or not. But certainly it will not be improper nor displeasing to Kunkoi. I think we all agree on that.» All the dabuni nodded. «Excellent.» Then he turned to Blade.

  «Stranger, you are judged fit to rank as a dabuno in the service of Lord Tsekuin. Is it your wish to do so?»

  Blade realized that he knew next to nothing about Lord Tsekuin or what serving him might mean. But the service of a powerful warlord was a good enough place to start his exploration of this dimension. It might be one of those lands where a person without a lord was a person without status and with small chance of more than bare survival.

  He nodded. «It is acceptable to me.»

  «Good,» said Yezjaro. «You will take the oath when we reach the castle. We start tomorrow. One of these brothers will show you to a sleeping room.»

  Blade nodded. He was suddenly afraid to speak
out loud, for fear that his voice would reveal how nearly exhausted he was.

  The bedroom was small, but the walls were dark-colored and restful and gave off a faint scent. On the floor was a thick layer of bamboo mats and on top of that a straw-filled pad and a thick down-filled quilt. The pillows were made of leather, shaped like bars of pig iron and not much softer.

  Two of the servant girls gave Blade a clean robe and led him to the bathhouse. There he soaked the chill and some of the aches out of himself while the girls sponged him down with pads of cloth soaked in scented oil, removing the last of the paint. They also kept pouring buckets of water into the tall wooden tub, keeping the water just below scalding temperature. When Blade finally climbed out of the tub and toweled himself off, he felt like a boiled lobster.

  He took off the robe and crawled under the quilt. He had just decided to shove the pillows entirely aside when he heard footsteps approaching along the corridor outside. They stopped at the door. A moment later the sliding door scraped open, and a human figure showed in the opening, black against the light from outside.

  Blade's training and instincts overcame his fatigue. In a single movement he rolled out of the quilt and off the pad. Then he sprang up, dropping into fighting stance as the visitor pulled the door shut and turned to look at him. He was about to snap out a challenge, when he recognized the visitor and laughed out loud.

  It was Kika, the girl he had seen by the stream and in the kitchen. Now she stood by the door, wearing a pink robe with silver flowers embroidered across the breast. Her eyes ran up and down his body with obvious interest.

  Blade laughed again and sat down on the quilt. «Well, young lady. What are you doing here now?»

  The girl appeared to suddenly remember the respect owed to a dabuno. She dropped to her knees in a nervous flurry and bowed her head. «I am here to serve you, Honorable Dabuno. It was decided that my punishment for not taking care of the Honorable Instructor Yezjaro's robe should be to serve you this night.»