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low-browed, narrow-eyed face, as malignant and devilish as are all Katakis faces, even the dark face of
Rukker, bore down on the slim erect figure of Vax.
If your father was the rast you claim him to be, then your mother must be a stupid and unholy bitch to
have married him in the first place and so give birth to
That was as far as he got.
There was no heroic posturing from Vax. He did not bellow out; he did not request Athgar to repeat his
words. My son Vax, who was Jaidur of Valka, Prince of Vallia, simply lashed out with his fist and
knocked Athgar the Kataki, called the Neemu, head over heels into the fire.
When the uproar subsided and Athgar was held by Rukker s Katakis, and Vax was held by Duhrra and
Nath the Slinger, the ritual challenges and responses were gone through, the lines drawn and the
demarcations between edge and point, between death and maiming, the rules and observances were
finalized with all due solemnity. The rules of Hyr Jikordur would apply. I stood still and silent, watching,
for the matter was passed from the hands of mortal men and lay now with the gods. Honor and passion
ruled all. Words had been spoken. A blow had been struck. Now the answer, in the whims of the gods,
must be found in steel and blood.
Moon-mist lay over the camp and the fires flared strangely.
In the sand the lines were drawn out.
Men ran from the other fires to form a great circle of intent staring faces. A Jikordur happened every
now and then and gave fuel for gossip for sennights thereafter. The matter was grave and full of a
prestigious death-wish, filled with blood and death.
Instinctively, in the very moment a challenge had become inevitable, I had stepped forward to take
Athgar the Neemu on and so shield my son. But that was impossible. Ideals and honor, however
misplaced and distorted, now dictated all actions.
This was to be a Hyr Jikordur. I made an effort. I said, loudly, Let no life be taken. Let the result be
adjudged in the first blow.
Athgar sneered back his thin Kataki lips. If it be first blood, Dak the Tenderhearted, then I will take the
cramph s head off.
And my son said in his ferocious way, which a calmness made all the more vulnerable and bitter, Let it
be to the death, for, by Zim-Zair, I do not care.
At that Krozair oath all my defenses went down. I must stand and watch my son fight a predatory
member of a feral and cruel race, vicious, fully armed and accoutered, equipped with a deadly bladed
tail. I must stand and watch. To do anything else would impugn the strict codes of conduct, bring the
Jikordur into disrepute, and as well as insuring my own death, bring my son humiliation and disgrace.
The Jikordur meant nothing to me. My own death little more. And I would so contrive my interference
that Vax was spared that humiliation. . .
Rukker checked his man. He favored me with a slow glance that I felt meant more than he cared to say.
I stood before Vax. I drew the great Krozair longsword. I tendered it hilt first. Vax looked up, and
something got through to him, for his lips compressed. Then he smiled.
I thank you, Dak.
A sword-blade struck a helmet like a gong. The combat began.
Chapter Nine
Blood in the Hyr Jikordur
Pachaks have been blessed by nature or the dark manipulations of genetic science with quick and
lethal tail hands. Katakis must strap their steel to their whip-tails. I am partial to Pachaks, as employed
mercenaries, as friends. In long talks with them around the camp fires on the eve of battles I have learned
much of the art of tail-fighting. There are tricks. As the gong note clanged with grim promise from the
sword-struck helmet, I leaned down to Vax and said, His tail may be numbed by
I know, said my son.
They always seem to know, these cocky youngsters. I stepped back. I did not waver from my resolution
to court personal dishonor and destruction if they were necessary to save my son. The chances were he
would know. Planath Pe-Na, my standard-bearer who carried Old Superb into action, must have known
Vax as the lad grew up into manhood. Along with all my friends of Esser Rarioch Balass the Hawk,
Naghan the Gnat, Oby, Melow the Supple, the Djangs who were a regular part of the people there; all
must have contributed their knowledge toward the education of Vax no less than they had to Drak and
Segnik no, I must call him Zeg now. And, of course, there were Seg and Inch and Turko the Shield. If
Vax had taken in what they had to tell him then the combined knowledge should make him a formidable
fighter and he was, indeed, as I had seen, a bonny lad with a sword.
Planath must have told Vax of the tricks an apim might get up to with the tail of a Kataki. Planath would
have relished the telling.
With no more relish in myself at the idea of this fight, but with some feeling of relief, I watched as Athgar
stalked forward arrogant, completely confident to knock over and slay this slim and supple apim
lad.
I cannot do justice to that fight, for I was far too intimately concerned for my own good. I had picked up
the look from Duhrra and he had slipped me his longsword. I held it ready, and I must give thanks that
the fight occupied the attention of the men there, for had they seen my face in the firelight glow and the
radiance of the moons, they would no doubt have run shrieking.
Athgar launched himself, his sword blurring, his tail-blade high and deceiving. Vax lunged right, checked
and reversed, came back. The two combatants passed. Now was the danger! The tail hissed around.
Vax jumped. I let out a grunt of relief. Vax dropped down hard. He made no attempt at that cunning
tail-numbing trick. Athgar had expected him to duck, as would be the instinctive response to the threat of
that arrogant high-held blade. Athgar struck low. Vax jumped. And the great Krozair longsword flamed.
Athgar shrieked.
The tail spun and looped away, the strapped blade glittering, flicked like a limp coil of rope into the fire.
It sizzled.
Blood pumped from Athgar. He stood disbelieving. He stood for perhaps two heartbeats.
Rukker yelled, Athgar the Tailless!
The Neemu screeched and swung his sword in a ferocious horizontal sweep. Vax met the blow, slanting
his brand, and let the blades chink and screech in that demoniac sound of steel on steel. His broad back
muscles tensed and bunched, drew out in a ripple of massive power. The blade struck forward. The
point burst through Athgar s throat above the mail, smashed on to eject itself in a spouting gout of blood.
Without a word, Vax withdrew and stepped back. He looked on silently as Athgar dropped his sword
and gripped his crimson throat, his eyes glaring madly. He choked, trying to say something. Then he fell.
He pitched down to sprawl at Vax s feet.
Vax looked down. He was my son. Without a word he spit on the corpse. Then he walked away.
No one said a word.
It was left to Vax, turning to speak over his shoulder, to say, I will clean your sword, Dak, before I
return it.
I wanted to say how I wanted to say! the words hot and breaking in me . . . I swallowed. I said,
Jikai keep the sword, Vax. It is yours. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
