Anne Mccaffrey_ Dragonriders of Pern 20 by Dragon Harper Page B

lunged, but Mikal pulled the scarecrow around so that Kindan’s stroke hit the side of the gourd. He pulled his blade free and prepared to strike again.
    In twenty minutes he scored ten times, none of them on the eyes.
    “We should take a break,” Mikal said.
    “No,” Kindan replied, his sides heaving, “let’s continue.”
    Again he thrust and missed. And again. And then—“Excellent!” One of the tomatoes was skewered and remained stuck on the end of Kindan’s blade. Kindan looked at it and his triumphant smile died on his lips as he grew pale and turned away from one-eyed scarecrow. He pivoted swiftly and moved his blade just enough to get it out of the way as he heaved his guts.
    Some time later, Mikal handed him a flask of water and Kindan realized that the ex-dragonrider had dropped his ropes and was kneeling behind him, gently rubbing his shoulders.
    “Drink and spit it out—it’ll clear out the aftertaste,” Mikal told him softly. Kindan obeyed, his insides still shaking. After a while, he felt better. “Are you able to stand?”
    Kindan nodded and stood up. He was glad to get away from the stench of his own vomit. As he stood, he caught sight of his blade once more, with the tomato neatly skewered at the end. It was just a tomato.
    “Kindan,” Mikal called softly. Kindan turned to him. “Now you understand what you’re doing, don’t you?”
    Kindan nodded mutely.
    “And you understand what Vaxoram will do?”
    “He’ll kill me,” Kindan answered. “But that’s stupid.”
    A trace of a smile crossed the old man’s lips. “So don’t let him.” He gestured for Kindan to pick up his blade and return to the exercise.
    Gingerly, Kindan retrieved the blade, flicked it so that the tomato flew off, and moved toward the dummy. He noticed that it once more had two tomato eyes.
    Mikal moved behind the dummy and grabbed the control ropes once more.
    “Now,” he called, “go for the eyes!”
    They practiced for another three hours, by which time Kindan had exhausted Mikal’s store of tomatoes.
    “Maybe we should stop,” the ex-dragonrider suggested.
    Kindan shook his head. “No, I’ve an idea. Let’s see if I can score just below the eye.”
    “Why?”
    “I want to convince Vaxoram that I can have his eyes anytime I want,” Kindan replied. “If he understands that, perhaps he’ll surrender.”
    “And if he doesn’t?”
    “Then he’ll lose an eye,” Kindan replied staunchly, his stomach in a tight knot.
    “And if he doesn’t stop then?” Mikal persisted.
    Kindan heaved a deep sigh. “Then I’ll blind him and leave him fighting his own shadows.”
    Mikal locked eyes with him over the distance and then nodded in acknowledgment of Kindan’s conviction. “If he
knows
that you won’t stop, he’ll surrender.” He tugged on the ropes once more. “Very well, let’s begin.”
    Kindan worked for two more hours, fighting with both his natural right and his newly trained left hand.
    As the sun set, Mikal called a halt.
    “Tomorrow you’ll practice with Jaythen, then Aleesa,” Mikal told him.
    Kindan looked surprised at his mention of the elderly wherhandler.
    “She fights dirty,” Mikal told him with a wink.

    Kindan was just as tired that night, but instead of going to bed exhausted, he found himself led to his quarters by Arella, Aleesa’s daughter.
    “Strip, and lie down there on your stomach,” she ordered, pointing to a raised platform. “Put your head in the hole.”
    All feeble concerns Kindan had over nudity were completely banished by her next words: “Mikal has asked me to give you a massage.”
    As with all harpers, Kindan had received some training in healing and so, from that, he already had some training in massage and understood its benefits to not only muscle tone and skeletal alignment but also just peace of mind. His nostrils pricked as he recognized the smell of warmed, scented oil.
    The head hole was well padded with furs and let Kindan relax completely