Guardians Of The Coral Throne

Blade launched another attack aimed at the swordsman, and watched carefully the positions the Three took up. Good. The axeman was moving up too close behind the swordsman. The wounded man wanted vengeance and wanted to show the crowd that he hadn't lost his nerve. He was getting worried about the cheers for Blade, and getting overeager.

He had certainly chosen the wrong time and place for that.

Blade came in again and feinted with his broadsword to draw the trident man out of position. Now he had to use all his speed and get his timing exactly right. As the swordsman moved forward, Blade leaped high, both feet smashing into the top of the swordsman's big shield. Blade's impact knocked the swordsman over backward. As he fell he knocked the axeman down. The man flung out his good arm to break his fall, but only succeeded in dropping his axe. He sprawled on his back on the sand, the swordsman pi

Before either of the fallen men could move, Blade leaped again and landed just behind the axeman's head. He whirled and his broadsword slashed down, biting into the man's neck. Blood splashed onto Blade's legs and all over the swordsman. The axeman's head rolled free on the sand, and the crowd howled and shrieked like madmen.

The trident man could have attacked then, while Blade's attention was directed downward. He might even have succeeded. But the sight of the head rolling on the bloody sand seemed to paralyze him. He stood rooted in place, his net trailing, his trident over his shoulder, and his mouth sagging open.

He continued to stand while Blade stepped over the corpse of the axeman and attacked the fallen swordsman.

He smashed the flat of his broadsword down on the wrist of the man's sword-arm. He saw the man's fingers open limply and let his sword fall. Blade reached down and jerked the man's shield aside as easily as if he had been pulling up a weed in a garden. Then he struck downward with all his strength and weight behind his short sword, driving it between the joints of the swordsman's armor. The man gasped, twisted like a worm on a hook, sprayed blood from his mouth and nose, kicked briefly, and lay still.

As Blade stood up, the thunder of the crowd swelling around him, the trident man got up the courage to attack. But he came in slowly and thrust clumsily with his trident, forgetting his net completely. Blade raised his broadsword and thrust it between the tines of the trident, then twisted hard with all his strength. The trident flew out of the man's hand. Blade dropped his short sword and snatched the trident before it could even hit the ground. The disarmed trident man froze again for a split second, then turned and ran. The crowd went mad.

The trident man did not get very far. Blade hefted the trident, tested its balance, then threw it, aiming low. It took the fleeing man in the backs of his unarmored legs. He went down with a yell, dropping the net. Blade dashed up to his victim, landed with both knees on the small of his back, and picked up the net. Carefully he looped it around the man's neck, then started pulling it tight. The man's pleas for mercy became choked whimperings, then the whimperings died and his face began to turn blue. Blade pulled the net tighter, then jerked up and back as hard as he could. The man's neck gave with a sharp crack and he went limp and lifeless.

Blade stood up slowly, dropping the net to the sand. Then he turned and walked back to where he had dropped his short sword. Every step of the way the impossible noise of the crowd pounded at his ears. A quarter of a million people were pouring out every bit of breath in their lungs to cheer the man who had slain the terrible Three of Iscaros as if they were so many half-trained begi

Although the cheering made his head ache, Blade ignored it. He bent down and picked up his short sword, then waved both swords over his head. The sun was coming out from behind the clouds now, and the light struck dazzling glints from the swords. People in the stands began to throw scarves, wine cups, pieces of jewelry onto the sand.

Blade sheathed his broadsword and headed toward the stake where Tera stood. The crowd roar began to die as people waited to see the climax of the Game of Rescue. Blade's dry lips curled in a savage grin. Those bastards up there were going to get a surprise in another minute, all quarter-million of them! They were just going to have to get their entertainment some other way than by seeing him with Tera.

By the time Blade reached Tera the crowd was almost quiet. Blade was reaching out with his short sword to slash the ropes binding Tera to the stake, when he got a better idea. He sheathed the sword, stepped up to the stake, and took a firm grip on it with both arms. Then slowly, steadily, teeth clamped hard together and forehead wrinkling with the strain, he pulled. Inch by inch the heavy wooden stake slipped up out of the sand, up out of the circle of Tera's arms, until suddenly it came free with a rush. Tera collapsed on the sand. Blade raised the stake high over his head, then threw it like a spear as hard as he could. It flew a hundred feet, then sank point-first into the sand and stood there quivering.

Before the cheering died away Blade stepped up to Tera and picked her up in his arms. Her trembling hands gripped his shoulders, and her eyes closed briefly. She was close to fainting with strain, exhaustion, and relief. Blade took a firm grip on her and began walking across the sand, heading toward the Emperor's canopy.

Silence settled down over the Arena again, broken by an undercurrent of confused muttering as people realized what Blade was doing-or rather, not doing. That was fine with Blade. Let them stay confused for a few minutes more, until he reached the Emperor.

It seemed more like a few hours, walking slowly across the sand with Tera a limp weight in his arms. But eventually Blade found himself standing before the Emperor's section, looking up at the massed potentates of the Empire of Karan. Pardes was there now, and as Blade watched, Iscaros came scurrying down from his own section. The count's face was pale and drawn, the big eunuch's totally expressionless. The Guardians of the Coral Throne were as immobile as so many statues in a temple to the gods of war. But Blade knew that a single word from their commanding officer would put a hundred arrows into him and Tera. He could be facing more danger now than he had against the Three, with less chance of fighting back.

Blade took a deep breath and raised his voice.

«Your Majesty!»

A startled rumble of voices came from the notables. Heads turned toward Jores VII. It was his move now. By law no free subject of the Coral Throne might address the Emperor without being spoken to first. But a slave stood outside the law. Blade could be shot down like a rabbit-or listened to with respectful attention. It was up to the Emperor. The only one of the notables not looking at the Emperor now was Pardes.

Seen close up, Jores VII did not impress Blade. He was no more than nineteen or twenty, with a thin, intense, pimply face framed by unkempt dark hair. The purple robes and glittering regalia of Karan seemed like a costume on his lanky body, and he fidgeted and twisted in his seat. This was not a man Blade would have trusted with his life or the life of anyone close to him, if there were any choice.

The Emperor jerked his head in what was no doubt supposed to be a gracious nod; and raised a hand. That also was no doubt supposed to be a gracious gesture. To Blade it looked more like someone hailing a taxi. But the notables now shifted their eyes to Blade. The Emperor was going to let him speak.

Blade's words came out smoothly. «Your Majesty. This woman, Tera, was to be my wife among the Scadori. I would ask of you permission not to take her here upon the sands before all Karanopolis. Rather, I would take her as my wife, as it would have been, for I have found her pleasing. If this ca