speed and Jason hoped for a shattering crash when they
met. However they slowed before they hit and began circling each
other, spitting curses.
"Hate you, M'shika!"
"Hate you, Ch'aka!"
The words were the same, but shouted with fierce meaning, with no
touch of formality this time.
"Kill you, M'shika! You coming again on my part of the ground with
your carrion-meat slaves!"
"You lie, Ch'aka—this ground mine from way back."
"I kill you way back!"
Ch'aka leaped in as he screamed the words and swung a roundhouse blow
with his club that would have broken the other man in two if it had
connected. But M'shika was expecting this and fell back, swinging a
counter-blow with his own club that Ch'aka easily avoided. There
followed a quick exchange of club-work that did little more than fan
the air, until suddenly both men were locked together and the fight
began in earnest. They rolled together on the ground grunting
savagely, tearing at each other. The heavy clubs were of no use this
close and were dropped in favor of knives and knees: Jason could
understand now why Ch'aka had the long tusks strapped to his kneecaps.
It was a no-holds-barred fight and each man was trying as hard as
possible to kill his opponent. The leather armor made this difficult
and the struggle continued, littering the sand with broken off animal
teeth, discarded weapons and other debris. It looked like it would be
called a draw when both men separated for a breather, but they dived
right back in again.
*
It was Ch'aka who broke the stalemate when he plunged his dagger into
the ground and on the next roll caught the handle in his mouth.
Holding his opponent's arms in both his hands he plunged his head down
and managed to find a weak spot in the other's armor: M'shika howled
and pulled free and when he climbed to his feet blood was running down
his arm and dripping from his fingertips. Ch'aka jumped after him but
the wounded man grabbed up his club in time to ward off the charge.
Stumbling backward he managed to pick up most of his discarded weapons
with his wounded arm and beat a hasty retreat. Ch'aka ran after him a
short way, shouting praise of his own strength and abilities and of
his opponent's cowardice. Jason saw a short, sharp horn from some sea
animal lying in the churned up sand and quickly picked it up before
Ch'aka turned back.
Once his enemy had been chased out of sight Ch'aka carefully searched
the battleground and scavenged anything of military value. Though
there was still some hours of daylight left he signaled a halt and
distributed the evening ration of
krenoj
. Jason sat and chewed his
portion reflectively while Ijale leaned against his side, her shoulder
moving rhythmically as she scratched some hidden mite. Lice were
inescapable, they hid in the crevices of the badly cured hides and
emerged with clicking jaws whenever the warmth of human flesh came
near. Jason had his quota of the pests and found his scratching
keeping time with hers. This syncopation of scratch triggered the
anger that had been building within him, slow and unnoticed.
"I'm serving notice," he said, jumping to his feet. "I'm through with
this slave business. Which way is the nearest spot in the desert where
I can find the D'zertanoj?"
"Over there, a two-day walk. How are you going to kill Ch'aka?"
"I'm not going to kill Ch'aka, I'm just leaving. I've enjoyed his
hospitality and his boot long enough and feel like striking out for
myself."
"You can't do that," she gasped. "You will be killed."
"Ch'aka can't very well kill me if I'm not here."
"Everybody will kill you. That is the law. Runaway slaves are always
killed."
Jason sat down again and cracked another chunk from his
krenoj
and
ruminated over it. "You've talked me into staying a while. But I have
no particular desire now to kill Ch'aka, even though he did steal my
boots. And I don't see how killing him will help me any."
"You are stupid. After you kill Ch'aka you'll be the new Ch'aka. Then
you can do what
met. However they slowed before they hit and began circling each
other, spitting curses.
"Hate you, M'shika!"
"Hate you, Ch'aka!"
The words were the same, but shouted with fierce meaning, with no
touch of formality this time.
"Kill you, M'shika! You coming again on my part of the ground with
your carrion-meat slaves!"
"You lie, Ch'aka—this ground mine from way back."
"I kill you way back!"
Ch'aka leaped in as he screamed the words and swung a roundhouse blow
with his club that would have broken the other man in two if it had
connected. But M'shika was expecting this and fell back, swinging a
counter-blow with his own club that Ch'aka easily avoided. There
followed a quick exchange of club-work that did little more than fan
the air, until suddenly both men were locked together and the fight
began in earnest. They rolled together on the ground grunting
savagely, tearing at each other. The heavy clubs were of no use this
close and were dropped in favor of knives and knees: Jason could
understand now why Ch'aka had the long tusks strapped to his kneecaps.
It was a no-holds-barred fight and each man was trying as hard as
possible to kill his opponent. The leather armor made this difficult
and the struggle continued, littering the sand with broken off animal
teeth, discarded weapons and other debris. It looked like it would be
called a draw when both men separated for a breather, but they dived
right back in again.
*
It was Ch'aka who broke the stalemate when he plunged his dagger into
the ground and on the next roll caught the handle in his mouth.
Holding his opponent's arms in both his hands he plunged his head down
and managed to find a weak spot in the other's armor: M'shika howled
and pulled free and when he climbed to his feet blood was running down
his arm and dripping from his fingertips. Ch'aka jumped after him but
the wounded man grabbed up his club in time to ward off the charge.
Stumbling backward he managed to pick up most of his discarded weapons
with his wounded arm and beat a hasty retreat. Ch'aka ran after him a
short way, shouting praise of his own strength and abilities and of
his opponent's cowardice. Jason saw a short, sharp horn from some sea
animal lying in the churned up sand and quickly picked it up before
Ch'aka turned back.
Once his enemy had been chased out of sight Ch'aka carefully searched
the battleground and scavenged anything of military value. Though
there was still some hours of daylight left he signaled a halt and
distributed the evening ration of
krenoj
. Jason sat and chewed his
portion reflectively while Ijale leaned against his side, her shoulder
moving rhythmically as she scratched some hidden mite. Lice were
inescapable, they hid in the crevices of the badly cured hides and
emerged with clicking jaws whenever the warmth of human flesh came
near. Jason had his quota of the pests and found his scratching
keeping time with hers. This syncopation of scratch triggered the
anger that had been building within him, slow and unnoticed.
"I'm serving notice," he said, jumping to his feet. "I'm through with
this slave business. Which way is the nearest spot in the desert where
I can find the D'zertanoj?"
"Over there, a two-day walk. How are you going to kill Ch'aka?"
"I'm not going to kill Ch'aka, I'm just leaving. I've enjoyed his
hospitality and his boot long enough and feel like striking out for
myself."
"You can't do that," she gasped. "You will be killed."
"Ch'aka can't very well kill me if I'm not here."
"Everybody will kill you. That is the law. Runaway slaves are always
killed."
Jason sat down again and cracked another chunk from his
krenoj
and
ruminated over it. "You've talked me into staying a while. But I have
no particular desire now to kill Ch'aka, even though he did steal my
boots. And I don't see how killing him will help me any."
"You are stupid. After you kill Ch'aka you'll be the new Ch'aka. Then
you can do what
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