King Of Zunga

They had taken only one step when Chamba's voice rose again from the other side of the circles. Now it was shrill with half-hysterical rage, in spite of its words. «Oh, Sky Father, bless me in slaying these blasphemers, and when they are dead turn your curse away from the Zungans!» Even in his rage, Chamba did not quite dare call down a curse on King Afuno. Blade and Nayung looked at each other, then nodded and moved a few steps apart. As they raised their spears, Chamba burst through the guards into the Ulungas' circle and sprinted around it toward the waiting men. A few steps behind him ran a second warrior.

Whether the Ulungas' guards would have intervened or not, they had no time to do so. Chamba and his companion came down at Blade and Nayung at a dead run, spears raised but dancing and darting back and forth. Blade made a movement to jump backward, but Nayung shook his head sharply.

«It is against a warrior's honor to retreat.»

Blade opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again. This was no time to argue. Besides, if he wanted to impress the Zungans, he would have to win according to their rules, regardless of what his training and instincts told him. This wasn't the first time he had played this sort of game. So he nodded to Nayung, and both moved forward to meet their opponents.

Crude technique or not, Chamba at full speed was a deadly opponent. And he was strong. His first downthrust nearly drove all the way into Blade's chest. It took all the strength of Blade's arms to hold Chamba off. And as the man pulled his spear back, he hooked the head over the shaft of Blade's spear and nearly jerked it out of his hands. Blade lurched forward, for a moment nearly off balance. He had to jump desperately sideways to avoid another thrust at his stomach, and twist his head to avoid a third at his face. Then he was able to bring his own spear back up and whip the point around into a lunge at Chamba's thigh. The warrior sprang sideways also, but not far enough or fast enough. The point scraped his skin just below the loincloth, leaving a thin oozing red line.

The slight wound made no difference to Chamba's speed or determination. He came in again, and Blade had to move fast to slam his own spear down against the shaft of Chamba's spear and force the incoming point down. The point almost went into the ground, and Blade quickly whipped his spear butt up and over at Chamba's head. Again a sideways leap took Chamba clear almost unscathed-the spear butt just grazed his cheek.

So it went on, an endless sequence of thrusts, parries, and ripostes. Each fighter was using every possible and impossible variation of his fighting style. Each was using every bit of his speed, strength, and skill. Blade soon knew that Chamba, fighting all out, was as fast as he was. Blade knew he had more endurance, and was probably stronger. But in a fight where one lucky stroke could end it, would he last long enough for these to make a difference? And how was Nayung doing? He dared not take his attention off Chamba even for a split-second glance at his companion's duel with Chamba's second.

If Chamba had been willing to retreat occasionally, he could have kept the fight going until he or Blade or both of them dropped flat on the ground from exhaustion. As it was, his honor would not permit him to give back a single step. He always stayed within range of Blade. Because he was always within range, Blade's superior strength and endurance finally began to tell.

Blade was focusing so completely on the next sequence of blows that it was a little while before he realized this. He saw one of his thrusts go home a few inches below the now-clotted blood from the first wound, just above Chamba's right knee. A thrust with the butt at Chamba's jaw missed, but glanced along the man's temple. Blade felt the jar along the spear shaft. Chamba shook his head, and stood still for a moment before coming in again. Since the fight began, this was the first pause in Chamba's steady, machinelike offensive.

But it was not the last. The pauses began to come more and more frequently. Each time Chamba kept his spear up, and each time Blade attacked, he defended solidly. But it seemed to Blade that each parry or guard came a little more slowly than the one before. If anybody got home a lucky stroke now, it would be Blade, not Chamba. He told himself not to let hope make him careless about a man who was still dangerous, and moved in again.

The world had shrunk now to Chamba, the bare hard earth between them, and his own blood pounding in his ears. Suddenly something new broke in on his mind-a gasping scream, and the solid sound of metal striking bone. Chamba whirled to stare, and so did Blade.

Nayung's opponent was standing motionless, his spear raised and just about to descend. Nayung appeared to be crouching motionless, a sitting target for his opponent's downstrokes. Then Blade saw that Nayung's spear angled up toward his opponent's chest. The head of the spear was buried almost out of sight between the man's ribs, and a thin rim of blood showed around it. After what seemed an incredibly long time, the dying man dropped his spear. Both hands went down to the spear driven into his body, as if he wanted to wrench it out of him. Then he gasped again and fell forward, so that Nayung's spear drove deep into him, then came out through his back.

Before Nayung could make a single move to jerk his spear free, Chamba struck. He leaped sideways from in front of Blade and came down in a crouch within easy reach of his companion's fallen spear. He snatched it up and raised it to the attack position. Nayung began sidling around to the right, motioning Blade to do the same in the opposite direction. Blade nodded, but kept his eyes fixed on Chamba. The man's eyes were wide, staring, and bloodshot; his breath came in bellows-like wheezes. He seemed to be nerving himself for something.

Then his spear rose, sun flashing from the head, and his right arm snapped forward. The spear hurled free through the air. Before Blade could realize what Chamba had done, the thrown spear plunged deep into Nayung's thigh.

Blade did not need the howl of rage and horror that rose up deafeningly all around him to tell him that Chamba had made a fatal error. He saw King Afuno stiffen as though he himself had been struck, then raise one of his own spears, ready to hurl it into Chamba.

Somehow Blade managed to raise his voice enough so that Afuno realized he was trying to say something. The king's bull-like roar beat through the shouting of the crowd. As the yells and curses subsided, Blade raised his spear and shouted at the top of his voice.

«The Sky Father has spoken. He who would seek to deny my teachings to the Zungans has revealed himself a mad blasphemer. He was thrown a spear and wounded my comrade, the D'bor Nayung. Oh, King, let me teach the Zungans first of all how I honor their laws. Let me slay thus blasphemer with my own hands!»

Even King Afuno could not make himself heard over the roar that went up at these words. Cheers now mingled with the curses, and Blade heard his name from a thousand throats. He looked to where Nayung lay. Four of the Royal Guards were already standing around him, examining his wound, preparing to pull the spear out. Nayung was as well off as he could be for now. It was time to settle with Chamba.

The man was desperate, and Blade knew that a desperate man was the most dangerous opponent possible. But Chamba had lost too much speed and strength. No matter how furiously he attacked, Blade's defenses held. For a few minutes Blade stayed firmly on the defensive, judging Chamba's speed to the split second.

Then he moved in for the kill. The golden sunlight danced in a dazzling pattern as his spearhead bobbed and weaved, up and down, in and out. Bloody slashes and punctures appeared on Chamba's arms, legs, stomach, cheeks. Blood from a cut in his scalp ran down toward one eye. Blade stepped back and let Chamba wipe it off without stopping his spear's movements. Then he moved in again.