Rebels of Vulvar (Vulvarian Saga Book 2)

by J. K. Spenser

  A guard appeared on the other side of the iron gate.

  “What business do you have inside the Hall of Government?” the guard said.

  “I arrived in Nisa this morning,” I said. “A city official told me I must present myself here to the Dabar to satisfy a requirement of the law.”

  The guard nodded. He unbolted the gate and swung it open.

  “Enter,” he said, motioning with a jerk of his head.

  I walked through the gateway. The gatekeeper, like the guards at the city gate, wore the shiny armor of a Vulvarian warrior over a bright yellow tunic. It was somewhat of a strange sight. On my previous visit to the world, I had seen only women wearing armor. Before the slave rebellion, only women were warriors and had the right to bear arms. The guard held the seven-foot Vulvarian spear and shield with the familiar short sword hanging from his sword belt. Two other similarly clothed and armed warriors appeared.

  “Escort this man to the office of the Dabar,” the gate guard said to them.

  Glancing at the spears, I smiled grimly at the two new guards. One turned and walked through an entrance into the interior of the structure. I followed, and the second guard brought up the rear.

  After climbing a narrow circular stairway, we entered a corridor that eventually opened onto a large room with a vaulted ceiling. Burning torches set in the walls lit the room. Despite the size of the hall and the height of the roof, it was unadorned and plainly furnished. At the top of broad steps leading up to an elevated dais sat a man on a curule chair who wore a tunic of gold cloth. He had black, greasy hair slightly covering a broad, stern face. Beady brown eyes, set concealed within their sockets, regarded me without expression.

  About the room, here and there stood other grim-looking armed warriors. One such warrior stood at the foot of the steps to the dais.

  “Kneel,” the warrior commanded. “You stand before Sarek, deputy Dabar of Nisa.”

  When I did not kneel right away, the warrior strode to face me. He kicked my feet from beneath me. I crashed to the floor onto my knees. The warrior placed a hand on my shoulder to prevent me from rising if I tried to get up.

  “Who are you?” the man seated on the dais said.

  “I am Tom Gray of Thiva,” I said. “As you see, I was a slave there, but I escaped and made my way to Nisa.”

  “What is your business in Nisa?”

  “I wish to offer my service to the Dabar of Nisa,” I said.

  “What use does the Dabar have for a house slave,” the man said, apparently recognizing the significance of the color of my tunic.

  “I have other skills,” I said.

  “What skills?”

  “I am skilled with the sword and the bow,” I said.

  “You believe you’re worthy of becoming a warrior of Nisa.”

  “Yes,” I said with confidence.

  “We will decide that,” the man said. “For your sake, Tom Gray of Thiva, you better hope you have not exaggerated your qualifications. Tomorrow your skills will be tested.”

  “I am ready,” I said.

  “Take him to the training cohort,” the deputy Dabar said.

  “Yes, your excellency,” the warrior beside me said.

  The warrior grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. He nodded to the guards who had escorted me into the hall. They took me out through another exit. We passed through a warren of corridors and doorways. I soon doubted that I would be able to find my way without aid from the labyrinth. Finally, we passed through an archway to the outside and crossed a large paved courtyard, then up steps into what I soon learned was a military barracks. There the guards turned me over to a training cohort officer.

  7

  Training Cohort

  The training cohort officer called for a warrior who came and took charge of me. He introduced himself as Greyson, a curious name for a native Vulvarian. Since males on Vulvar had been born into slavery for the past six-hundred years, they had no names. I learned from Greyson that the Dabar instructed all former slaves to choose a name for themselves.

  Greyson turned out to be a fine fellow, somewhat insolent yet good-natured. He was an unkempt, strong-looking lad, with cheerful gray eyes and a mop of unruly flaming red hair.

  After assigning me a bunk in the barracks and issuing me bedding, Greyson escorted me to another building in the training compound. There a bored-looking quartermaster issued me the equipment of a warrior I would need.

  The quartermaster fitted me out with yellow tunics, a helmet with a Y-like opening, the minimalist Vulvarian armor, new sandals, and a folded bright yellow cape. Warriors wrapped themselves in the cape when sleeping out on the ground in the field. He gave me a sword belt and rakir. To my delight, he also provided me with a Vulvarian composite bow, distinctive for its extreme curvature, along with a quiver of arrows tipped with three-edged bronze arrow points. Finally, before we departed, the quartermaster removed the slave collar from my neck with a special tool and the tube from my loins using the same silver disk unlocking device I’d seen before. It seemed I was no longer a slave.

  On our return to the barracks, my arms piled high with equipment, Greyson explained why the quartermaster had not issued me a shield and spear.

  “Because you claim skill with the bow, if you pass the test tomorrow, you will go to the archers,” he said.

  “I think I will like the archers better than being a spearman,” I said.

  Greyson laughed heartily. “Perhaps not once you experience the contempt with which spearmen hold archers. They will call you a weak, worthless man, a contemptible coward likened to a female or a child.”

  “Is that your view?” I said.

  “No, the bow is a potent weapon,” Greyson admitted. “Our commanders value archers, and we have too few. As former slaves, few of us have bow skills.”

  “The skills can be learned.”

  “Archery is a difficult skill for many to learn,” Greyson said. “It is far easier for our instructors to teach former slaves to fight with spears and shields in the phalanx.”

  At the barracks, I stowed my equipment. Then Greyson told me to change into a yellow tunic so I would look like a warrior rather than a slave. Afterward, we walked to the mess for evening rations. The food was a bland mush that reminded me of the tasteless food I had eaten on a ship during my first time on Vulvar.

  “What will tomorrow bring?” I said to Greyson.

  “Training begins at the second hour,” he said. “They will test you at the archery range in the morning, and then you will attend sword training with the rest of the cohort in the afternoon.”

  “May I go into the city after the training is finished?” I said.

  Greyson laughed loudly. “I see you are eager to find a desirable female in the city to copulate with now that the tube has been removed.”

  “No, I am not going into the city to copulate with a female,” I said. “I have important business to attend to.”

  “You will not be going into the city anytime soon,” Greyson said. “The commander wishes new recruits to focus on training. It will be many weeks before the officers permit you to go into the city.”

  “I am restricted to the training area?”

  “Yes, until you complete your first training phase.”

  It seemed evident I had erred in reporting to the Dabar earlier than required. I didn’t yet know where the rebels were holding Idril. Now it seemed I’d have no opportunity to seek out the location. While I knew Idril had been wounded in battle, I didn’t know the extent of her injuries. My attempt to find and free her could not wait for weeks.

  In a laid-back way, I probed Greyson for tidbits of information, careful not to give him the impression I had a personal interest in the welfare of the warriors of Thiva the rebels had captured. He informed me the authorities had built a stockade to hold the prisoners near the back wall of the city. My blood ran cold when he related other shocking details. The captured warriors lived in the open and were not permitted to was
h. The guards gave them minimal food and withheld medical care. Many of the captives had already died of their wounds or sickness.

  “The Dabar will execute the prisoners anyway before we undertake the campaign against Thiva,” Greyson said. “He does not waste resources on caring for them.”

  “When do we leave for Thiva?” I said.

  “The rumor is in three weeks,” Greyson said. “They say the Dabar has already sent a force into the forests west of Thiva. They are now building the siege engines there we will use to breach or circumvent the walls of the city.”

  Later, back in the barracks, I lay on my cot unable to sleep. I was determined I would not delay making an attempt to free Idril. After talking with Greyson, I was even more concerned about her welfare. I had to know if she was still alive. Somehow I had to find a way to leave the training area to accomplish the purpose for which I had come to Nisa.

  * * *

  At the sound of the first bell, the following morning, the officers entered our sleeping quarters and rousted us from our cots. After we dressed, they marched us to the mess where we ate in haste our morning rations of watery gruel and stale brown bread. Then the officers separated the cohort into groups.

  A junior officer marched my group of six to the archery range. An instructor explained the training schedule as we sat on our haunches outside the range. Afterward, the instructors took each of us to our respective positions. There we engaged targets at various distances with our bows.

  My training at the archery club back on Earth did not fail me. My instructor was delighted with my unerring accuracy at every distance. Even when he attempted to distract me by beating his sword against a shield behind my head as I loosed the arrows, each found its mark. By the end of the morning, I had earned a near perfect score.

  Before the officer marched us from the range, the chief instructor informed the others in my group they would report to the range each morning to improve their skills. But he told me I would proceed to other training. I had already surpassed all requirements.

  After the midday meal, my group was merged with the larger group and the officers marched the cohort to the next training site. There they again separated us, this time into groups of eight. A sword training instructor took charge of each group.

  The name of the instructor for my group was Zareb. He was a swarthy, dark haired giant of a man, a bearded fellow with a serious, craggy face and fierce black eyes, who carried himself as though he owned the ground on which he walked. His whole powerful body and demeanor bespoke a warrior who knew the sword and was confident he could kill almost anyone who might stand against him.

  Zareb first demonstrated for us the swordsmanship techniques and tactics he expected us to master. One by one he exhibited how the rakir was used to cut, stab, slash, and parry. There was nothing like the graceful footwork I’d learned from my sensei when I’d trained on Earth with the katana.

  In comparison to the katana, the rakir was a crude weapon used primarily for hacking at an enemy when used at all. Like the female Vulvarian warriors I was more familiar with, the rebels had adopted the same Hoplite-like phalanx formation tactics similar to those of the ancient Athenian military of Earth.

  A phalanx is a military formation consisting of warriors arrayed in squares, their metal shields half-protecting the bearer and the comrade at his left in the formation while their spears protruded outward. It is a massive impenetrable wall of iron spear tips, armor, and shields.

  Since the phalanx formation was designed for pushing and smashing and thrusting spears, the short heavy rakir was only used when spears or the phalanx formation broke. Thus, the Vulvarians followed a simple sword fighting guide. The rakir was heavy and short, so it required strength, but not much skill. Since the primary weapon of the warriors was the spear, and the object was to break the enemies formation, battles often ended quickly. In that case, only the front ranks had the chance to hack anything using their rakirs.

  After the demonstration, Zareb told the group he would spar with each of us so that we might practice the sword fighting techniques. He pointed the tip of his rakir at me.

  “You first, archer,” he said.

  I got to my feet and withdrew my sword from the scabbard. I stepped out into the circle formed by my comrades to face Zareb. Zareb picked up a shield from the ground and tossed it to me. I slipped my left forearm through the holding straps. Zareb nodded and slowly circled me.

  “Defend yourself, warrior,” he growled.

  I held the shield to protect my upper torso and held the rakir in my right hand in the on guard position Zareb had demonstrated. He had spurned the shield, supposing he had little to fear from a trainee. Without warning, with blinding speed, he closed with me and attacked. Because of his great strength, his powerful jabs and chops against my shield kept me backing away in retreat. My attempts to counter with the awkward, unbalanced rakir were at best ineffectual. Within five minutes Zareb cut me superficially, but painfully a number of times, shouting out each time, “You’re dead.”

  The sparring lasted some ten minutes before Zareb called a halt, leaving me covered in sweat, dripping blood, and feeling exhausted. Zareb grabbed the shield from my arm and tossed it to his next victim. I collapsed to the ground to rest, but watched Zareb sparring with the other trainee so I might commit to memory his tactics and movements. I resolved to employ as best I could the things I’d learned when training with the katana. The rakir was a different kind of sword, used differently, but there were a few Kenjutsu tactics I thought I could use to good effect.

  After the first hour of training, Zareb had sparred with each member of my group. It was again my turn, and he tossed me the shield. In the first round, because of my unfamiliarity with the awkward feeling rakir I had allowed Zareb to take the initiative. I would adopt a different tactic. In combat, you do not have time to think about how to hold the sword, how to do the correct footwork. So, I would rely on the correct form I’d learned during hours and hours of practice with the katana. I would seize the initiative.

  In the practice of Kenjutsu I had learned to put and keep maximum pressure on the opponent. There is katsujin-ken and setsunin-to. Setsunin-to is the “killing sword.” Katsujin-ken means “life-giving” sword. In both cases the reference is not to the weapon itself, but to its usage.

  When a combatant uses force of will to overpower, immobilize and strike down an opponent before he can react, this is called setsunin-to, swordsmanship that kills response. This was, in the terms of Kenjutsu, Zareb’s approach. Katsujin-ken is swordsmanship that animates. It involves drawing out the opponent, inducing him to strike, and then going inside his technique, countering it at either the moment of its origination or at the point of its most complete extension. This would be my counter approach.

  Setsunin-to is an egotistic and risky approach to combat. The slightest miscalculation can result in the swordsman walking straight into the opponent’s counter-attack. Katsujin-ken, by contrast, involves a sophisticated manipulation of the opponent and his actions. Properly conducted, it is virtually unbeatable.

  Again Zareb circled, but before he hacked at the shield again, I threw it from me and gripped the hilt of the rakir with both hands as best I could like the katana. Zareb smiled with confidence and slashed with his sword. I parried, but instead of retreating kept my blade in contact with his. For some five minutes, Zareb attacked, alternating slashes with thrusts and downward cuts. Having fallen back into my training, I instinctively parried each time and then feinted to give Zareb the impression I was leaving an opening for him to exploit. Soon I was manipulating him and easily anticipating whether he would slash, thrust, or hack down at me. Finally, after setting him up to bring his sword down in a sweeping cut, I dropped to my right knee with my sword out horizontally to my right. Zareb’s blade passed harmlessly over my head while his momentum carried his midsection into my blade as I swiftly slashed from right to left.

  Back on my feet, I quickly turned to face Zareb as
he spun toward me. Then he looked down at his tunic. I had pulled the slash at the last minute to avoid delivering a serious cut, but Zareb’s tunic was cut cleanly at his belly and a thin red line of blood was visible through the cut cloth. He threw his sword on the ground, leaned his head back, and roared with laughter.

  “I am dead!” he shouted with glee. Then he slapped me hard on both shoulders with pride in his eyes. “Not bad for an archer,” he roared.

  8

  The Raid

  Three days had passed since I had entered the warrior training cohort. Besides the sword training, the instructors had also taught me the use of the spear and shield. I had developed some skill in casting the spear with considerable force and acceptable accuracy. I had also learned to use the shield to meet a cast spear obliquely, so it was deflected away harmlessly. According to Greyson, in times of dire need, the officers might press even archers into service in the ranks of the phalanx. For that reason, every warrior needed to learn to use the spear and shield effectively.

  I lay on my cot in the barracks. Greyson sat on the floor beside me, regaling me with tales of his conquests of attractive females during his last visit to the city. I found I liked Greyson and felt a kinship with him as a fellow warrior. But I had decided I must risk alienating him because time had grown short. The thought of Idril lying hurt and captive inside a filthy open-air stockade enraged me. I could restrain myself no longer.

  “Greyson, I must go into the city this evening,” I said. “I can wait no longer.”

  Greyson looked at me with disbelief. “You cannot, brother,” he said. “Have you taken leave of your senses? Remain patient. If you leave the training area, the officers will almost surely discover it.”