The Space Barbarians

by Mack Reynolds

  DeRudder said, “Mari, mother of Krishna, look at them come! What are those small weapons the first two are carrying?”

  “They aren’t weapons,” John said. “They’re coup sticks.” He darted the other a look of surprise.

  “Sticks? You mean the only weapon they have is a stick of wood, and they’re riding into rifle fire?”

  John had no time to argue the niceties of the glory of an unarmed man counting coup upon an armed enemy. His eyes narrowed, and he drew a bead on the first of the fast approaching Thompsons. He thought he recognized the man and wondered at the speed at which the other had been able to organize this raid, after his disgrace at the stream.

  He squeezed the trigger gently, but at that split second the two leading raiders flung themselves to the sides of their horses, even as John had done in the affair at the stream, clinging by foot and hand to the far side of the beasts they rode.

  DeRudder said excitedly, “The horse! Get the horse, and the man’ll break his neck when he falls.”

  John was so startled at the idea that he took his eyes from the carbine’s sights and looked at the space explorer. “But one doesn’t shoot a good animal deliberately.” He shook his head and returned to his gun. His eyes narrowed, and he began the squeeze again. The carbine barked.

  DeRudder blurted, “You hit him. You hit his foot! Krishna, what a shot!”

  John grunted in satisfaction, threw the carbine’s breech, extracted the spent cartridge with a flick and inserted a new one. He upped the gun again for another shot.

  The leading Thompson, wounded, had fallen from his beast, but one of the others who trailed behind caught him up with a sweep and turned his own beast around to head back.

  Others of the Clann Hawk were streaming up from below now, joining in the fire. The raiders were firing back, while at full tilt. John kept his head as low as was compatible with staying in the action, being fully aware of the famed marksmanship of the Clann Thompson.

  DeRudder, in high excitement, pulled his hand weapon from its holster. “Here,” he blurted. “Let me train this on them. I’ll show ’em what a real gun can do.”

  Shocked, John of the Hawks dropped his own gun and knocked the barrel of the other’s weapon up, just in time. A livid beam reached far into the sky, seemingly into infinity.

  DeRudder stared at the Hawk clannsman. He said, “I can wipe them all out with one sweep of this.”

  “And break the bann by using such a weapon! Do you wish a bloodfeud with the Claim Thompson when there are but eight of you?”

  “But they’re firing at us!”

  “It’s only a raid. In revengement for my stealing four horses from them.”

  DeRudder crouched down behind the parapet. “I give up,” he muttered.

  The charge had been broken, the oncoming raiders realizing that their attempt had come a cropper, that too many of the Aberdeen clannsmen had come on the scene to make the surprise successful. Besides, John suspected that all this was but a diversion, whilst other Thompsons rounded up as many of the Aberdeen animals as they could before the main body of the defenders came up.

  There was no further value in remaining here. John joined his fellow clannsmen in dropping to the ground on the far side of the wall and dog trotting toward the pastures where the main body of the raiders was making its play. He left the spaceman behind, not bothering to speak to him further. John was still feeling his shock at the other’s words and actions. The man conducted himself like a clann-less one.

  He thought he understood what must have happened. The group of four, counting the girl, had been a small unit of a larger group of the Clann Thompson, a major raiding party rounding up Clann Hawk cattle. After John had stolen their horses they had recontacted the other Thompsons and followed him to take their revengement at the disgrace of three of their clannsmen being counted coup upon.

  Their luck had been better than they could have hoped. When they arrived at the Hawk pastures, they had found that there were but a handful of guards. Almost the entire population of Aberdeen had been at the muster to gape at the visitors from Beyond.

  Somehow, in the heat of combat, John had shaken off the better part of his fatigue, and he was among the first of the defending clannsmen to arrive on the scene of action. It was a debacle.

  The Aberdeen clannsmen and young men who had been guarding the herds had been cut down or driven off, and the Thompson raiders, ever top men in this sort of thing, had decided upon an off-beat strategy. All had dismounted from their own tired horses and thrown their saddles upon fresh mounts. Each was now busily rounding up a half dozen or more captured steeds and driving them off, leaving their own jaded mounts behind.

  Here and there, hand to hand combat was taking place, claidheammors flashing, as the Thompson clannsmen attempted to break off the action and make their escape. They knew themselves outnumbered, representing but one clann, whilst in Aberdeen there were a full eight. Those who were escaping were scattering, heading in a dozen different directions, rather than remaining in a single, easy to pursue group.

  John of the Hawks gritted his teeth even as he dashed into the fray. On wearied horses, the Aberdeen clannsmen would have their work cut out catching up with all the raiders. And those whom they did successfully trail would, when caught up with by revenging clannsmen, simply de-sc-it their booty and ride for it back to the safety of their own town of Caithness.

  Aüi! He came up upon one of them who was having trouble with a Clann Clark steed he had captured. John knew the animal well, a highly trained stallion that fought against having any other on his back save his master.

  Shouting the battle halloo of the Hawks, John brought up his carbine to fire. The other rode toward him, swinging his claidheammor, desperately fighting the animal, tearing its mouth with the heavy bit the animal suffered, a raiding bit, deliberately designed for use on captured steeds. Ho shouted the halloo of the Clann Thompson and slashed at the man on foot.

  John caught the blade on the barrel of the carbine, which he only now found was empty. He dropped the gun and tore his own claidheammor from its scabbard.

  The horse reared up, shrilling its fear and anger at being dominated by a stranger.

  John darted under its belly, coming up on the other side of the desperate enemy clannsman. He slashed upward, cutting deep into the other’s side, and slashed again, before the man could turn to defend himself.

  The other’s sword dropped from his hand. For the briefest of moments, he tried to keep his seat on the plunging animal. Then he fell, crashing to the ground.

  John of the Hawks was up and onto the steed, taking over the position of stranger in the saddle. But at least he knew the animal’s name and had, in his time, petted it in admiration.

  Now, even as he battled, he spoke soothingly, calmly, called it by name, resorted to knees, rather than heavy use of the bit. Around him, as he fought to dominate the horse, the battle faded off.

  Most of the Clann Thompson were escaping, heading in all directions as the Aberdeen clannsmen attempted to catch horses, saddle them and get on with the pursuit. Unhappily, little harness was available, most of it being back in the town. The Hawks, Clarks, Fieldings and other defenders of Aberdeen scrambled up bareback in excited attempt to pursue the thieves.

  John was one of the few with a saddled mount and a fresh one at that. He darted his eyes over the ground, looking for his carbine. He couldn’t see it. He and the horse had moved over a considerable area in the past few minutes.

  No matter. He had claidheammor and skean, weapons enough for any clannsman. He headed after the foe at full gallop, blade in hand.

  But then his eyes narrowed. This was what the enemy had in mind. At best with such tactics, he would catch one, or at the very most two, of the raiders. And even then, he might be fought off by a Thompson who still retained his firearm.

  His mind raced. There must be something more effective than chasing off after a retreating enemy and vainly shouting his battle halloo.
In fact, there was a ludicrous quality to it all, and without doubt at the next meeting of the Dail, when the clannsmen of all the confederation’s phyla recited their victories, there would be great laughter on the part of the Clann Thompson at the expense of the men of Aberdeen.

  And it suddenly came to him that much of the laughter would be directed at him, John of the Hawks, who, although he had stolen three horses, had not been able to retain them for more than a few hours, so quick had come the revengement.

  There must be something more effective…

  And yes, there was! The raiders were scattering, but in order to return to their own town, they must sooner or later head toward it, after they had eluded the Aberdeen pursuit.

  As a Hawk scout and a young herder of the cattle, John knew this countryside as well as he knew the long-house of his birth. He cast his eyes around quickly, trying to spot one or more fellow clannsmen he could bring into his plan, but there simply were none. His fellows who had also acquired mounts were taking off after the enemy in all directions. He must go it alone.

  John shrugged and dug heels into flanks and headed out over the countryside. Any of the Aberdeen clannsmen who saw him must have thought him either daft or a slink, for there were no enemies, herding their booty, going in this direction. He grimaced, knowing the dishonor that would be his, did his plan fail.

  He rode hard, pushing his newly acquired and dominated animal. Over field, over heath, through clumps of trees, up and over the hills. Aüi. He knew this land well, but never had he ridden it at such breakneck speed.

  The hills grew higher as the horse began to weary, and shortly he was in a narrow valley. Narrower and narrower.

  Until at last, he reached his destination. Reached it and passed through the narrow way.

  On the far side of the pass, he leaped from the horse’s back, took its reins, hurried it into the shelter of the patch of trees to one side and tethered it. He momentarily considered binding its mouth so that it could not whinny at the sound of other horses approaching. But no, the animal was too weary from its hard gallop to be interested in the company of its fellows.

  John took in hand the scabbard of his claidheammor, to keep it from tripping him up, and began his ascent of the steep hill at a trot.

  At the top, at the spot he’d had in mind from the first, he looked back over the way he had come. And doubts hit him. There was nothing in sight—not so much as a flurry of dust. Perhaps he had miscalculated.

  But no, how could he have? Given scores of Thompsons scattering, and then converging again on their hometown of Caithness, surely at least one enemy clannsman and his stolen horses must come through here. Simply must. If not, all was disgrace for John of the Hawks.

  He settled himself down to wait, sitting on a rock. At this stage he would not be spotted. He considered his plan ol action, when and if the raider or raiders did appear. He cursed himself now, for not having taken the few more moments of time it might have taken to locate his carbine. A more beautiful ambush than this could hardly be asked. The fleeing raiders would not be thinking in terms of Hawk clannsmen before them but would undoubtedly be constantly looking over their shoulders. Given a carbine, John could knock at least two off their horses before they could take defensive measures. But there was little profit in dwelling upon that. The fact remained that all the weapons he had were his heavy claidheammor and his skean.

  He thoughtfully picked up a large rock and hefted it. But no. The foe would pass directly below, and it was possible he might hit one in the head—possible, but hardly probable. He was no great marksman with a thrown stone. There was no occasion for him to be. The youth of Aberdeen played with wooden weapons, not balls.

  And now, at a distance, he could spot a cloud of quickly rising dust.

  Aüi! He had won! At least, to this point he had won.

  Just in case, he gathered half a dozen suitable heavy stones and put them ready to hand. Then he crouched behind his boulder. It would hardly do for the other or others to be keen enough of eye to spot his movement up here.

  The newcomer: were approaching at a rapid pace, and he could make out individual forms. Four horses and but one rider. As a now full-fledged clannsman or, at least, one suffered to sit among the clannsmen until being formally raised up at the next regular muster, he couldn’t admit relief that there was only one foe to deal with, but deep within him the relief was there. In spite of his efforts of the past two days, he was a young man still, with neither the physical capacity nor the experience of a Thompson clannsman.

  He ducked lower and peered from behind his defense. And now he scowled. There was something he couldn’t quite put his finger upon…

  And then it came to him. The lead horse, scurrying along before the others, herded by the raider, was his own personal steed, stolen with the other Hawk animals in the pastures. And—added wonder—now that they came closer, he saw that the rest were the three he had stolen himself at the stream, precipitating this whole affair. He was taken aback. It was an unexpected coincidence.

  He tried to measure the enemy clannsman who was pounding along hard behind the rapidly tiring beasts. And again there was relief. Unless he was mistaken at this distance, the other could be little older and larger than John himself. Possibly not even a full clannsman, but simply a youth brought along to help with the stolen herds.

  John gathered himself. His plan of action was now clear. He put his claidheammor down beside him and took up one of the stones.

  The fleeing group had entered the narrow way, slowed slightly by the rocky character of the pass. And on they came.

  Suddenly, he heaved the rock in his right hand at the first, riderless horse, even as it passed beneath him. He quickly shifted his second stone to his right hand and threw it as well.

  The lead animal screamed terror and reared, slowing all those behind, who also took fright.

  He jumped to his feet, grabbed his skean from his belt, and leaped. Luck was ever with him. He launched himself full onto the back of the Clann Thompson raider, who, completely startled by the unexpected attack, toppled from the horse, John still atop.

  While they were atumble on the ground, John raised the knife, preparatory to the stab. But it was uncalled for. The enemy was unconscious, a cut on the side of the head from the fall.

  But there was another reason John of the Hawks stayed his blow.

  There was no stronger bann than that against injuring a woman.

  Chapter Four

  And as John of the Hawks came to his feet and stared down at the woman he had struck down, he realized that she was not even a woman but merely a lass. Certainly no older than he himself.

  She wore the kilts of the Clann Thompson, and her hair was cut short in the style of young men. And at her side was a skean. He gaped at her. In all his life, he had never heard of a lass so desexing herself. Shameless, Thompson women might be rumored to be, but most certainly he had never seen one at the yearly Dail dressed as a man and carrying a weapon.

  The horses, all trained battle steeds, had come to a halt at the far end of the pass. John, deciding she would be out for a time, at least, or, if she recovered, would still be of little danger, went and secured them and tied them where he had left his own animal. Then he went to the hill crest and regained his claidheammor and returned it to its scabbard.

  He strode down then to where he had left her.

  She was beginning to regain consciousness.

  He had no water, or he might have bathed her head a bit. As it was, he sat on a boulder and waited, still scowling disbelief. So far as he knew, in all the history of his phylum, never had a woman, armed or otherwise, participated in a raid. There was even a puzzling aspect about it. How did one defend himself against a lass? Suppose she came at you with carbine, claidheammor or skean. What did a clannsman do—turn and run? What else was there to do?

  But now she was stirring and moaning. John of the Hawks squatted down beside her, lifting her head to his knee and stroking the for
ehead awkwardly.

  By the Holy, she was a pretty thing! High forehead, reddish hair, cut short though it was, a generous mouth, perhaps just a shade too wide. Teeth that were white, white; a firm chin.

  And suddenly, blue eyes staring unbelievingly up into his own.

  She snatched Quickly for her skean.

  John took it from her as gently as the situation allowed and threw the damper down the pass.

  He said awkwardly, “I would not harm you, lass. We of the Clann Hawk do not harm women.”

  She sat up now, and John came to his feet. He scowled at her, not knowing what to say. What did a clannsman say, upon capturing a raider who turned out to be a woman—a lass?

  She stood up too and looked at him scornfully but then began to sway. She put a hand to the cut at the side of her head, brought it back and looked at it and seemed about to swoon at the sight of the blood. There was not much, but it was blood.

  John stepped forward and put a hand about her waist.

  She began to react in fear, but he said gently, “Easy, lass, I wouldn’t harm you. Come over here and sit on the heather a bit. You’ll get over your dizzy spell.”

  She suffered him to take her over to a softer area and to seat her more comfortably than would have been possible in the stony pass.

  He waited patiently for long minutes and finally realized that she was peering at him from between the fingers she had been holding over her eyes.

  Seventeen—perhaps only sixteen, he decided. What in the name of the Holy did the Thompson clannsmen have in mind, bringing such a child on a raid? He was conveniently forgetting that he himself was not yet eighteen and, except in an emergency at the time of a raid, confined to such activities as holding the horses of full clannsmen whilst they fought on foot, or bringing up ammunition or water, perhaps assisting the wounded.

  Trying to force gruffness into his voice and failing miserably he said, “Now tell me all about this.”

  “About what?” she said defiantly.