Warlords Of Gaikon

And there was more. The present emperor might be too weak to inspire people to resist the Hongshu. But the high prince was a warrior, and if he lived to mount his father's throne Gaikon would have an emperor who might want to rule as well as reign.

If that happened, the Hongshu would have a mighty rival. Those who hated the Hongshu would have a rallying point. And the legend of the twenty-nine uroi would be part of that rallying. To weaken the legend might be to reduce the chances of bringing to an end the Hongshu's tyra

Nothing.

With that settled in his own mind, Blade found it easy to return to the barracks and go peacefully to sleep.

Lord Tsekuin had knelt to die on white sand. The uroi who had avenged him knelt to die on green grass, beyond the forest to the west of the emperor's precinct. But like their lord, each knelt on a small square of black silk. Each wore white, with a red sash. Blade had shoved under his sash the pouch with the diamond, and had put Lady Musura's short sword on the ground in front of him. That would be his death-weapon. It was a last honor that he could do her.

In the center of the circle stood a tall pole. From its top Lord Tsekuin's ba

No, the high prince was being open about what he thought of the Hongshu and the Hongshu's ways of ruling. Was he perhaps trying to spark rebellion even now? Blade couldn't help wondering. But it was idle wondering. Whatever the high prince might be pla

The moment of death for the nineteen uroi was fixed for sunset exactly. Blade looked toward the west, where a swollen orange ball seemed to hang in a luminous sky just above spiky black tree-tops. Less than ten minutes-quite a bit less, he suspected. A few minutes more or less didn't matter, in any case. They would make no difference in the astronomical odds against his living to return to home dimension.

Blade had often wondered what would pass through his mind in the last minutes before his death. But now he realized that all his previous imaginings had been meaningless. He was not going to die in the heat of furious action, brought down by great odds or bad luck. Nor was he going to die in bed of old age or illness. In his profession the second had never been very likely. But he had always accepted that as the only other prospect.

He had never imagined that he would be as he was now, sitting and calmly waiting for the signal to die by his own hand.

Calmly? Yes, calmly. He had accepted that there was no alternative that would permit him to live comfortably with himself-or avoid doing harm here in Gaikon. With this acceptance had come a calmness that seemed likely to last until he had no more need for any emotion of any sort.

The sun sank down. Blade felt sweat trickling down the back of his neck. The breeze seemed to be dying away. He could no longer feel it on his skin, and the tops of the trees were no longer bending toward him. They stood motionless against the sunset sky, with the great wavering ball of the sun sinking down toward them-and touching them.

A trumpet sounded from far away over the trees, from the palace itself. The boom of several massive gongs being slowly beaten followed. Yezjaro raised his head, and his dark eyes stared into Blade's. Blade stared back, and met Doifuzan's stare as well. One hand moved to open his tunic, while the other picked up the short sword lying on the grass in front of him.

All around the circle, the others did the same.

Blade unsheathed the short sword and held it out in front of him, its point toward his abdomen.

Again, eighteen uroi did the same.

Then, just before Blade could tense his muscles to drive the sword in, pain flared-suddenly, savagely-in his head. Sweat sprang out on his face and hands, and he had to clamp his mouth shut hard to keep from gasping out loud. He did not want to make any sound that would give his comrades the impression that he was losing his nerve.

But hope was also flaring in him, even more intense than the pain. The computer was calling him, calling him back to home dimension. He was going to make it home! And without dishonor or disgrace. If he simply vanished…

Then the pain faded, and so did the hope. Blade realized that he might make it home. But he also might still die here in Gaikon. He could not delay his blow much longer. If he did, he would do much of the damage he had feared, whether he died in the end or not.

No, it was time to do what had to be done. With a convulsive snap of his wrist, he drove the short sword in.

It struck so hard that the shock kept him from feeling any pain for a moment. Then as the pain struck, before he could start drawing the sword across, his head seemed to explode. His hand dropped away from the sword hilt because he had lost the strength to hold on. Hope rose in him again. With it rose the fear that the soldier standing behind him with a sword might swing prematurely.

It would be a bloody odd situation if he returned to home dimension in two pieces, or as a headless corpse!

The twilight seemed to turn to a shimmering green. Blade looked down, saw the sword in his hand flickering and glowing with raw red and golden hues. Across the circle he saw Yezjaro, bending over as he drew the sword across his stomach. But the instructor's eyes were fixed on Blade, and his face showed more surprise than pain.

A swish, and Blade saw a sword whistling past. He realized that the soldier behind must have swung to behead him. But he was no longer a solid object to those in Gaikon-or their weapons. Soon they would be gone, and he would be home.

The gree

«Go in honor, Blade. Go, for Kunkoi has called you first before us all, that you may speak for us.»

Then the instructor started to crumple forward. He could no longer keep agony from twisting his face. The sword of the soldier standing behind him flashed high, then swept down.

The flash of that sword was the last thing Blade saw in Gaikon. The green faded into a blackness and Blade sank down into that blackness, losing awareness of his pain, his body, everything.