Blue Gold

Gamay was halfway to the ship when she heard the unmistakable sound of motors starting up. The staccato snarl was made even more intense as it echoed off the hard stone walls. Single headlights appeared to the right and left of the ship and began to move slowly in her direction.

Motorcycles.

She could see the silhouettes of the riders. Gamay felt like a deer caught crossing a highway. Then the motors revved up to a high-pitched whine, and the motorcycles came at her like twin rockets.

Her eyes went to the sharp-pointed lances resting on the handlebars.

The riders came at her like grotesque caricatures of jousting knights. Just when it seemed the spears would penetrate her midsection, the motorcycles swerved off. They quickly reversed course and came in behind her. She whirled as they flashed by in a precision criss-cross. They spun around, their motors idling, and once more the headlights faced her on either side like the glowing eyes of a huge purring cat.

The Kradziks were riding the Yamaha 250 dirt bikes that the security guards used to patrol the perimeter of the giant com pound. The lances had been borrowed from the weapon collection decorating the Great Hall. The twins were not imaginative men, and their activities, whether the victim was a teenage girl or an elderly man, always followed the same formula: intimidate, terrorize, inflict pain, and kill.

A voice came out from the darkness on the left: "If you run

Then from the right, ". . . maybe we won't catch you."

Fat chance, Gamay thought. She could tell from the voices that she was dealing with the same metal-mouthed morons who had broken into her house. It was obvious to her they simply wanted a little challenge in their sport. She called out, "Let me see you."

The only sound was the popping idle of the motors. The Kradziks were accustomed to having victims cower and beg for their lives. They didn't know how to deal with questions, especially from a defenseless woman. Curious, they edged their bikes closer and stopped a few yards away.

"Who are you?" she said.

"We are death," they said as one.

The short reprieve was over. The motors revved. The motor bikes reared up on their back wheels. The front wheels came down and, with a double shriek of burning rubber, the bikes shot forward, did another criss-cross, then began to circle. They wanted Gamay to spin until she became dizzy and collapsed into a helpless, blubbering heap. She refused to play their game. Instead she stood her ground with her eyes straight ahead, arms tight by her side. The wind created by their passes blew choking exhaust fumes in her face. It took every measure of self-control not to bolt for it. They'd be on her in a second and use their spears to cut her legs out from under her.

When they saw she had no intention of ru

She heard a bike coming in from the right. Taking a big chance, she stopped suddenly. The rider misjudged and went wide. The bike skidded around in a tight turn, but the move threw off the unca

The only access to the deck was- a ramp near the stern. They probably hoped she would run for it. She made a motion in that direction, and they shot over to cut her off. She grabbed one of the shields off the side of the boat, then turned and held it in front, her back to the boat. The twins spun around and came at her with lances leveled. The heavy shield, made of thick wood braced with iron, was designed more for a brawny Norseman than a slim woman. Fortunately Gamay was tall and athletic and managed to get her left arm through the straps and hold the shield in front of her.

Just in time.

Tunk!

The spears hit the front of the shield as one. The force drove her back against the side of the boat and knocked the wind from her lungs.

The bikes peeled off to the left and the right, did quick turns, and headed back. Gamay put the shield down on the floor, braced her foot against it, and pulled out the spears. In contrast to the shield they were surprisingly light, with thin wooden shafts and slender bronze tips. They were probably de signed more for throwing than for jousting.

She held the spears vertically and the shield at ready. With their weapons gone, she assumed the brothers were making a feint, but there was a blur of motion as a spiked ball whirled at the end of a chain slammed into the shield. Even with her legs braced she was thrown back and went down on her right knee. She managed to keep the shield high in a move that saved her life as a punishing blow from the second rider crunched into the shield and splintered the outer layer of protective wood.

The brothers had exchanged their spears for maces, the weapons developed to smash their way through armor. The bikes swooped down on her before she had the chance to stand. Again the spiked iron balls crashed into the shield. The wood protected her from the main shock but disintegrated after the second blow until all that was left were the leather straps and useless frame work.

She grabbed for a spear and held it at an angle. The bikes held off their attack and went back and forth. Then one attacker came in. The spear spun in his direction like a compass needle. Gamay held her breath. At the last second he turned away. The other came in from her left. She pivoted quickly to face him only to be distracted by another attack on the right. It was a classic flanking tactic. They were not ready for a full press yet, probably just testing to see her reaction.

One bike passed directly in front of her, its rider thinking he was safely beyond the reach of the spear. Instead of jabbing, Gamay brought the spear back on her shoulder and hurled it at the rider. He was moving fast. Her aim was too low. The spear hit the spokes of the front wheel. The force of the wheel shattered the shaft, but not before the ski

The second motorcycle halted its attack, and the rider pointed his headlight at the still form. He dismounted, but he knew even before he crouched down beside the twisted body that his brother was dead. He had felt his brother's fear and pain as his neck snapped. Then came a moan that rose to an agonizing scream. A chill went up Gamay's spine as the remaining Kradzik brother began to howl like a wolf. She edged toward the rear of the boat, hoping that if she made it to the deck she'd find another weapon. The brother saw her move. He straddled his bike in an instant. She held her spear out straight. As he came in from the side she felt the spear jerk, then heard a clink of metal. He had chopped the spear tip neatly off with a short handled battle-ax. He stopped and held the ax high above his head with both hands. Then he came for her.

She ran for the stern of the boat. He caught up in an instant and crashed his motorcycle into the back of her legs, knocking her down. Pain shot up from her knees and elbows as they smashed against the hard floor, but she had more to worry about. A figure was standing over her. "My brother . . . is dead . . ."