Tong Lashing

by Peter David

  I assure you, by that point I would have been more than happy never to have any contact with Chinpan Ali again. Fate, however, had other plans, as it so often does.

  Visitors to Hosbiyu were not all that common, but not all that infrequent either. So on one particular day, when the air was a bit crisper than usual, I thought nothing of it at first when I noticed three horsemen approaching from a distance.

  At that moment, I was busy working with some of the young boys in the village. Several of them possessed small practice swords created from bamboo. Granted, I was hardly the greatest swordsman who ever lived, but I knew the basics.

  I’d done a long day’s work in the fields, and my leg was throbbing. Nevertheless, when I limped back to the village, there were some of the youngsters, waving their bamboo swords and looking to me hopefully. I had made quite an impression on the youngsters when I’d first arrived, or rather the sword strapped to my back had. Clearly they’d never seen anything quite like it. They knew of swords, but claimed that swords of Chinpan were very different from what I carried with me. I took their word for it, considering no one else in Hosbiyu appeared to own a weapon.

  I had learned that the type of digging tool they carried was called a “sai.” When I had eventually learned their language, I had spoken with Double Chin about the misunderstanding involving their wielding of their farm implements upon meeting me.

  “I thought your sai was a weapon,” I told him. “You know… it could be used as such.”

  Double Chin had simply looked at me skeptically. “A weapon? A tool designed to create life from the dirt, used instead to take life and place people beneath the dirt? Not possible.”

  “Very possible,” I had countered. “Why, if used properly—as a means of extending one’s reach—it could be as devastating as a sword.”

  “No, my friend,” said Double Chin, resting a hand on my shoulder and smiling sadly at my lack of comprehension. “A sword is just a sword, while a sai is just a sai.”

  And that was where we had left it.

  The youth of Hosbiyu, however, had their imaginations fired by my sword, and had taken to asking me for pointers as to how to wield one. This had earned me a great deal of scowling and disapproval from Take On Chin and Cleft Chin, but the enthusiasm of the young men could not be denied. And so it was that the village was occasionally filled with the sounds of bamboo swords clattering against one another.

  The boys were quick studies. I was able to teach them a number of basic blocks and guards in very short order, and within a month or so their wielding of the bamboo practice swords was so deft that I was hard-pressed to touch some of the more able students at all. Granted, there were limits as to what I could do thanks to my lame leg. But that didn’t take away from their basic ability, and I liked to think that I had some facility as a teacher.

  So there we were, in the village, sparring as was our wont, when the riders appeared.

  The boys grew very quiet as the horsemen approached. They did not seem particularly concerned, but the banter and sense of fun we’d been having dissipated. I quickly saw why.

  The horsemen were armed.

  All the visitors who had passed through carried with them, at most, walking sticks, or small daggers tucked in their belts that could just as easily be used for carving up food as for anything offensive. These horsemen, however, all had swords with them. None of them, strangely enough, had scabbards dangling from belts. Instead they had very wide cloth belts around their waists, and the swords were shoved through the belts and held in place against their bodies.

  Even though the swords were sheathed, I could tell they were very different from my own bastard sword. They were very slender, for one thing. It seemed to me that made their swords vulnerable to breaking should they come into contact with my own. On the other hand, if they were smaller and lighter, the wielders might be able to deftly maneuver past my own larger and slower blade, cutting me to pieces while I was still trying to bring my weapon around for a blow.

  Not that I was either expecting or anticipating a battle. True, I had developed a most uncharacteristic affection for these people, but I had not lost sight of the fact that I was still Apropos. My safety came above concern for the safety of others, and I had no intention of laying my life upon the line for anyone. If a fight erupted, I would be more than happy to take refuge in my hut and wait until the screaming died down. I only fought when cornered, and preferred to try and prevent such a cornering from taking place.

  Still, occasionally I did indeed find myself in do-or-die situations. In such instances, I always elected to do. The problem was, my actual blade—not the practice sword I was using in jousting with the lads—lay in my hut, out of reach. My staff was at hand as always, and was a ubiquitous weapon, but still not quite as devastating as my sword.

  And I had the sai in my belt. My conversations with Double Chin came back to me at that moment, and I was damned glad that I had conceived of ways to use the implement as a weapon if need be. Because if these sword-bearing new arrivals sought to make trouble quickly, and I couldn’t avoid it, I wanted as many means as possible of defending myself right at hand.

  Others of the village were emerging from their huts as the beats of the horses’ hooves grew ever louder. They started calling to one another, and in short order the entirety of the village was gathering in its small dirt streets. They were speaking rapidly to one another. My problem was that my comprehension of their lingo depended upon slow, careful enunciation. If they were addressing one another with any sort of genuine speed, I was hopelessly lost. I could pick out words here and there, perhaps even parse a sentence or two. Nothing beyond that, however. I knew in time I would comprehend more. Unfortunately, I had the uneasy feeling that these horsemen were bound and determined to provide us as little time as possible.

  They reined up, looking upon the gathering throng with unveiled contempt. By that point I was wearing one of their own hats, those very wide-brimmed bamboo head coverings that served to obscure much of my face if I had it angled forward.

  Their clothing bore no resemblance to that of the farmers. They sported robes with large, flowing sleeves, and intricate woven designs of red and gold. Their breeches were likewise loose and flowing, gathered in at the waist through that huge belt, and tapering down into black boots. Dragons seemed to be the predominant visual image upon their clothes, stitched in a variety of manners.

  They had stylized haircuts, their hair pulled back tightly into topknots, leaving them with very high foreheads that glistened in the sun.

  The centermost one bellowed in a strident voice, “Attention, people of—”

  Then he stopped. And stared at me.

  I lowered my head a bit, hoping to divert his scrutiny. It didn’t work. “What,” he demanded finally, “is wrong with your face?”

  I said nothing. I didn’t see where responding was going to be of much benefit. Instead I just shrugged in a vague manner.

  Unfortunately, Kit Chinette chose that exact time to wander past, and she had apparently been taught always to respond when asked a question by one’s elders. “That’s Po. He’s not from around here,” she said. I fired her my fiercest look. She smiled back innocently. What a sweet child. Would that she had been within range so that I could have hugged her, or even better, staved in her head with my staff.

  “Oh really.” The horseman swung his leg over his mount and dropped to the ground. He swaggered toward me, his thumbs hooked into his sash. It gave me a chance to inspect his sword closer up. The hilt was white, ivory unless I missed my guess. It was ornately carved with images of dragons upon it. “And whereabouts might you be from?”

  “Here and there,” I said, still keeping my gaze fixed firmly upon the ground.

  “I see.” His voice was deep and guttural and had the familiar aspect of the bully that I had encountered on any number of occasions. “And where… precisely… is there?”

  When I didn’t respond, he swung his arm in a wid
e arc and knocked the hat from my head. Then he gripped my chin and turned my face this way and that, inspecting me as he would a horse. His face clouded with increasing suspicion. “I have never seen anything like you,” he said.

  Unfortunately, I had seen his type all too many times in my life. I refrained from saying so, however.

  It was interesting. I felt as if part of me was stepping outside of myself. Once upon a time, my fundamental cravenness and weakness of spirit would have filled me with fear over what was going to happen next. But something was different this time. Perhaps it was all the time that I’d spent as the “peacelord” of Wuin, seeing people bowing and scraping before me. Instead of fear, I was feeling mounting anger.

  And I quickly realized why. It was because, all this time, I had been wondering and dreading when something would go terribly wrong with the bucolic turn my life had taken. And now that it was here, now that the possible destruction of my newfound existence was upon me, all I could feel was slowly building fury that I had been right. The cynic in me rejoiced, but a budding, optimistic side hadn’t wanted me to be right.

  “What do you want?” It was Take on Chin who had spoken, with Cleft Chin right next to him, and Double Chin nearby. Cleft Chin was no more a fighter than anyone else in the village, but he was burlier than the others, and cut an imposing figure when he simply stood still and glowered. He had exceptional glowering skills. Unfortunately, his fighting skills were almost nonexistent. I’d watched him spar with the boys on a couple of occasions, and felt confident in saying that Kit Chinette could have disposed of him with alacrity.

  I had to admit, though, Take On Chin—for all that he annoyed me with his perpetual scowls—wasn’t backing down in the face of the newcomer’s swaggering attitude.

  The newcomer looked him up and down. “Do you know who I am?” he demanded.

  “Should I?” asked Take On Chin mildly.

  He thumped his chest and said, “I am Kaybi, of the Skang Kei family.” He paused for dramatic effect. “You know the Skang Kei, I take it?”

  “I know of them,” replied Take on Chin. “They are reputed to be a business concern, are they not?”

  “Do not toy with me,” said Kaybi. “You know the power and influence wielded by Skang Kei.”

  “They are criminals,” blurted out Cleft Chin. “You all are.”

  “An honest man,” Kaybi said with mock approval.

  “We are all honest men here, you will find,” Double Chin told him. “We live in peace. If you come in peace, you will be received as such.”

  “I come in earnest, is what I come in,” said Kaybi. He began to walk in a wide circle, hands behind his back, a distinct swagger to his stride that was typical of the thuggish mind-set such creatures possessed. “Thus far, the Skang Kei family has limited its influence to the major cities. We have decided, however, to branch out. For the solidarity and good of all, it seems the reasonable thing to do. And it will be to your benefit as well.”

  “Our benefit?” Take On Chin looked skeptical. “How is the interest of the Skang Kei to our benefit? We are simple farmers here,” and there was a silent chorus of nodding heads. “We have no involvement in the activities of the Skang Kei, or their influence in cities, major or minor.”

  “That will change.” He paused to let that sink in, and then continued, “Your village will offer up tribute to the Skang Kei family. Half of what you harvest will become property of the Skang Kei, to do with as we wish.”

  There arose an immediate babble of confused and astonished responses from the villagers, so much and so simultaneously that I was unable to make out what anyone was saying. In response, Kaybi spread wide his arms and repeatedly shouted, “Silence! Silence!” When absolute quiet had been achieved, he permitted a small smile as he went back to his swaggering. “Obviously you believe that you will be getting nothing for your contribution to the Skang Kei. That is not at all the case. You will be receiving protection.”

  “Protection?” Take On Chin looked bewildered. “From what?”

  “From them,” I said, unable to contain myself. “If you do what they say, you won’t wake up one morning to discover the burning of your crops, or your homes, or yourselves.”

  “You have a firm understanding of business,” Kaybi said mockingly.

  “We won’t stand for it!” Cleft Chin cried out.

  “I see.” Quiet menace radiated from Kaybi. “And do you speak for all in this village? All the men? The women?” His gaze settled on Kit Chinette, who was watching him with rapt fascination. He smiled. “The children?”

  In a flash, his sword was from its scabbard, and I could see instantly that the edge was lean and razor sharp. So sharp, in fact, that it would likely make short work of my staff.

  Even as he brought the sword whipping around toward Kit Chinette, even as the people cried out as one, even as my mind screamed What the hell do you think you’re doing?!, I stepped into the path of the blade with the sai yanked from my belt. I brought it up as I would a dagger, thrusting outward in desperation as much as anything else. But sheer, dumb luck was on my side, fortune favoring the foolish, and I intercepted the blade between the middle prong and one of the upraised sides with a resounding clang. I stepped forward, bringing me chest-to-chest with Kaybi, twisting my wrist so the sword was angled to one side, away from us, locked into the hold of the simple farming implement.

  “Sometimes,” I grated, “a sai isn’t just a sai.” And I twisted my wrist as hard as I could.

  The blade was remarkably flexible, I’ll give it that. But the pressure was unexpected and at an extremely odd angle, and the sword simply wasn’t built to endure it. There was a satisfyingly loud snap and the stunned Kaybi was abruptly standing there holding a hilt with about half an inch of steel extending from it. The rest was lying on the ground, looking like a severed head lonesome for its body.

  He spat out a word the meaning of which I did not know, probably because the residents of Hosbiyu were far too polite to have taught it to me. I had no time to rejoice in my minor victory, however, because Kaybi shoved me square in the chest, catching me off balance, and I tumbled to the ground. I came up quickly, though, still gripping my staff as he advanced on me, discarding the hilt and whipping out a dagger from hiding. More of what I presumed to be invective tumbled from his mouth, but I didn’t wait for him to draw near. Instead I thrust the base of my staff forward, catching him squarely in the pit of his stomach. Would that I’d had the other end in position, because I could have popped out my blade and disemboweled the bastard. As it was he staggered back, holding his gut and looking distinctly pale.

  But matters were rapidly spiraling out of control, for the other two men had vaulted from their horses, and they had their own swords out. Idiot. This is what you get for taking chances on the behalf of others, my inner voice informed me with obvious contempt. I’m quit of you. You’re on your own, for the few seconds of life you have left.

  I had the sai still poised in one hand, the staff ready in the other as I hauled myself to my feet. Would that I’d had my sword. It probably wouldn’t have done me much good. My lame leg severely limited my maneuverability, and anyway, it would have been far too cumbersome in comparison with the swords they were using. They’d have carved me up while I was still trying to get into a guard position. And I had a very strong feeling I wasn’t going to get lucky with the sai once again so quickly.

  That was when a strong voice abruptly called out, “Stop!”

  You’d have thought that a single voice wouldn’t have any impact on such as those outlaws, but something about it absolutely commanded attention.

  Chinpan Ali had emerged from his hut. He was eyeing them thoughtfully, and he wore his calm like a comfortable cloak. He gestured toward his hut and said, “Come. Let us talk.”

  “This one must die!” said an angry Kaybi, pointing a quivering finger at me.

  “And he will, as all men must,” Ali assured him. “There is no need for you to hasten it
.”

  “Oh, but there’s very much a need,” said Kaybi, wiping sweat from his brow.

  “Then kill him later,” suggested Ali, which hardly served to mollify my concerns. “He is not going anywhere. Share the hospitality of my hut. We will discuss matters and come to an understanding.”

  “Are you in charge of this rat trap?” Kaybi demanded. He wasn’t taking his eye off me, but he did take a sidelong glance in Ali’s direction.

  Take On Chin looked as if he was about to respond, but then thought better of it. Instead he simply folded his arms across his body, into the sleeves of his garment, and remained silent.

  “I am the village elder,” said Ali. “That has always been sufficient. Now come. Please. Humor an old man.”

  Kaybi hesitated, then smiled evilly. “Very well. Let this one,” and he stabbed a finger at me, “dwell for a time on the fate that awaits him. Fitting punishment.” He turned on his heel and headed for the hut. His companions fell into step behind him.

  The villagers started to crowd toward me, obviously to thank me for my bravery and daring in the face of adversity. I quickly shook them off, saying, “It was nothing. Nothing,” as I headed for my hut as fast as I could.

  Why? To get the hell out of town was why.

  I had no intention of hanging about and waiting for those brutes to saunter out of Ali’s hut so they could continue where they had left off and lay waste to me. It was one thing to foolishly defend myself or even, gods help me, Kit Chinette, in the heat of the moment. But the moment had cooled, and so had my enthusiasm for remaining in Hosbiyu. The faster I could get out of there, the better.

  What was problematic, of course, was determining how best to avoid my would-be killers. I couldn’t just hit the road. They’d catch up with me in short order. I contemplated stealing their horses, but I couldn’t be sure that would work. The animals might be too well trained to allow a stranger to ride them, and I certainly didn’t need to have them hear a bucking and whinnying horse tossing me off its back so they could run out and dispatch me quickly.