Nomads of Gor (34 page)

        
then turned to Kamchak. "All right' Tuchuk," he said, "I will

       
permit you to choose weapons agreeable to us both."

       
"But perhaps I will not fight," said Kamchak warily.

        
Kamras clenched his fists. "Very well," he said, "as you

        
wish."

        
"But then again," mused Kamchak, "perhaps I shall."

         
Aphris of Turia cried out in rage and the Kassar wench in

          
distress.

          
"I will fight," announced Kamchak.

         
Both girls cried out in pleasure.
   

         
The judge now entered the name of Kamchak of the

          
Tuchuks on his lists.

         
"What weapon do you choose?" asked the judge. "Remem

         
ber," cautioned the judge, "the weapon or weapons chosen

         
must be mutually agreeable."

     
Kamchak seemed lost in thought and then he looked up

     
brightly. "I have always wondered," he said, "what it would

     
be like to hold a sword."

     
The judge nearly dropped the list.

     
"I will choose the sword," said Kamchak.

 
    
The Kassar girl moaned.

     
Kamras looked at Aphris of Turia, dumbfounded. The girl

     
herself was speechless. "He is mad," said Kamras of Turia.

     
"Withdraw," I urged Kamchak.

     
"It is too late now," said the judge.

     
"It is too late now," said Kamchak, innocently.

     
Inwardly I moaned, for in the past months I had come to

     
respect and feel an affection for the shrewd, gusty brawny

     
Tuchuk.

     
Two swords were brought, Gorean short swords, forged in

     
Ar.

     
Kamchak picked his up as though it were a wagon lever,

     
used for loosening the wheels of mired wagons.

     
Kamras and I both winced.

     
Then Kamras, and I give him credit, said to Kamchak,

     
'withdraw." I could understand his feelings. Kamras was,

     
after all, a warrior, and not a butcher.

     
"A thousand cuts!" cried the gentle Aphris of Turia. "A

     
piece of gold to Kamras for every cull" she cried.

     
Kamchak was running his thumb on the blade. I saw a

     
sudden, bright drop of blood on his thumb. He looked up.

     
"Sharp," he said.

     
"Yes," I said in exasperation. I turned to the judge. "May I

     
fight for Lima" I demanded.

     
"It is not permitted," said the judge.

     
"But," said Kamchak, "it was a good idea."

    
 
I seized Kamchak by the shoulders. "Kamras has no real

     
wish to kill you," I said. "It is enough for him to shame you.

     
Withdraw."

     
Suddenly the eyes of Kamchak gleamed. "Would you see

     
me shamed?" he asked.

     
I looked at him, "Beher, my friend," I said, "that than

     
death."

     
"No," said Kamchak, and his eyes were like steel, "better

     
death than shame."

     
I stepped back. He was Tuchuk. I would sorely miss my

     
friend, the ribald, hard-drinking, stomping, dancing Kamchak

     
of the Tuchuks.

     
In the last moment I cried out to Kamchak, "For the sake

     
of Priest-Kings, hold the weapon thus" trying to teach him

the simplest of the commoner grips for the hilt of the short

sword, permitting a large degree of both retention and flexi-

bility. But when I stepped away he was now holding it like

a Gorean angle saw.

Even Kamras closed his eyes briefly, as though to shut out

the spectacle. I now realized Kamras had only wished to

drive Kamchak from the field, a chastened and humiliated

man. He had little more wish to slay the clumsy Tuchuk than

he would have a peasant or a potmaker.

"Let the combat begin," said the judge.

I stepped away from Kamchak and Kamras approached-

him, by training, cautiously.

Kamchak was looking at the edge of his sword, turning it

about, apparently noting with pleasure the play of sunlight on

the blade.

"Watch out!" I cried.

Kamchak turned to see what I had in mind and to his

great good fortune, as he did so, the sun flashed from the

blade into the eyes of ELamras, who suddenly threw his arm

up, blinking and shaking his head, for the instant blinded.

"Turn and strike now!" I screamed

"What?" asked Kamchak.

"Watch out!" I cried, for now Kamras had recovered, and

was once again approaching.

Kamras, of course, had the sun at his back, using it as

naturally as the tarn to protect his advance.

It had been incredibly fortunate for Kamchak that the

blade had flashed precisely at the time it had in the way it

had.

It had quite possibly saved his life.

Kamras lunged and it looked like Kamchak threw up his

arm at the last instant as though he had lost balance, and

indeed he was now tottering on one boot. I scarcely noticed

the blow had been smartly parried. Kamras then began to

chase Kamchak about the ring of sand. Kamchak was nearly

stumbling over backward and kept trying to regain his bal-

ance. In this chase, rather undignified, Kamras had struck a

dozen times and each time, astoundingly, the off-balance

Kamchak, holding his sword DOW like a physician's pestle,

had managed somehow to meet the blow.

"Slay him!" screamed Aphris of Turia.

I was tempted to cover my eyes.

The Kassar girl was wailing.

Then, as though weary, Kamchak, puffing, sat down in the

     
sand. His sword was in front of his face, apparently blocking

     
his vision. With his boots he kept rotating about, always

     
facing Kamras no matter from which direction he came

     
Each time the Turian struck and I would have thought

     
Kamchak slain, somehow, incomprehensibly, at the last in-

     
stant, nearly causing my heart to stop, with a surprised

     
weary little twitch, the blade of the Tuchuk would slide the

     
Turian steel harmlessly to the side. It was only about this

     
time that it dawned on me that for three or four minutes

     
Kamchak had been the object of the ever-more-furious as-

     
sault of Turia's champion and was, to this instant, un-

     
scratched.

     
Kamchak then struggled wearily to his feet.

     
"Die, Tuchuk!" cried Kamrus now enraged, rushing upon

     
him. For more than a minute, while I scarcely dared to

     
breathe and there was silence all about save for the ring of

     
steel, I watched Kamchak stand there, heavy in his boots, his

     
head seeming almost to sit on his shoulders, his body hardly

     
moving save for the swiftness of a wrist and the turn of a

     
hand.

     
Kamras, exhausted, scarcely able to lift his arm, staggered

     
backward.

     
Once again, expertly, the sun flashed from the sword of

     
Kamchak in his eyes.

     
In terror Kamras blinked and shook his head, thrashing

     
about wearily with his sword.

     
- Then, foot by booted foot, Kamchak advanced toward

     
him. I saw the first blood leap front the cheek of Kamras,

     
and then again from his left arm, then from the thigh, then

     
from an ear.

     
"Kill him!" Aphris of, Turia was screaming. "Kill him!"

     
But now, almost like a drunk man, Kamras was fighting

     
for his life and the Tuchuk, like a bear, scarcely moving

     
more than arm and wrist, followed him about, shuffling

     
through the sand after him, touching him again and again

     
with the blade. '

     
"Slay hind" howled Aphris of Turia!

     
For perhaps better than fifteen minutes, patiently, not

     
hurrying, Kamchak of the Tuchuks shuffled after Kamras of

     
Turia, touching him once more and ever again, each time

     
leaving a quick, bright stain of blood on his tunic or body

     
And then, to my astonishment, and that of the throng who

     
had gathered to witness the contest, I saw Kamras, Champi-

     
on of Turia, weak from the loss of blood, fall to his knees

 
before Kamchak of the Tuchuks. Kamras tried to lift his

 
sword but the boot of Kamchak pressed it into the sand, and

 
Kamras lifted his eyes to look dazed into the scarred, inscru-

 
table countenance of the Tuchuk. Kamchak's sword was at

 
his throat. "Six years," said Kamchak, "before I was scarred

 
was I mercenary in the guards of Ar, learning the walls and

 
defenses of that city for my people. In that time of the

 
guards of Ar I became First Sword."

 
Kamras fell in the sand at the feet of Kamchak, unable

 
even to beg for mercy.

 
Kamchak did not slay him.

 
Rather he threw the sword he carried into the sand and

 
though he threw it easily it slipped through almost to the hilt.

 
He looked at me and grinned. "An interesting weapon," he

 
said, "but I prefer lance and quiva."

 
There was an enormous roar about us and the pounding of

 
lances on leather shields. I rushed to Kamchak and threw my

 
arms about him laughing and hugging him. He was grinning

 
from ear to ear, sweat glistening in the furrows of his scars.

 
Then he turned and advanced to the stake of Aphris of

 
Turia, who stood there, her wrists bound in steel, regarding

 
him, speechless with horror