Seventh Sword - The Reluctant Swordsman Part 10

"Strip!" he said. The man jumped in alarm, ripped off his black loincloth, and kicked off his filthy sandals. "Scram!" Wallie said, and both men scrammed. He dressed with relief, tired of wearing nothing but bloodstains. The hot sun had already dried him.

He crunched up the beach to step onto the fiery flags of the courtyard. He had forgotten how very large it was -- a city block wide and at least twice that in length. The priests and healers from the beach were strung out across it in order of age, with the youngest and fittest halfway up the steps beyond. Nnanji was still going, past the sixties and fifties, closing in on the forties. Pilgrims and priests were lined up four or five deep along the top, their backs now to the G.o.ddess, studying the drama unfolding at the water's edge. Those vast steps looked like one side of a stadium. That seemed very appropriate under the circ.u.mstances -- a pity that he could not sell tickets.

Then he identified Hardduju, starting down from the temple arches. With him were four other swordsmen. Nnanji had reached the steps and was angling up toward them.

Wallie recalled with guilt his first impressions of the temple. He had thought then of megalomania, a rapacious priesthood aggrandizing itself from an impoverished peasantry, but that had been when he was an unbeliever. Today he had talked with a G.o.d, and now the temple seemed a magnificent tribute raised by generations of faithful worshipers. Magnificent it certainly was, although its architectural style was alien to him; the columns perhaps from Karnak, with Corinthian capitals supporting Gothic arches and, above those, baroque windows and, ultimately, reaching for the very sky itself, Islamic minarets of gold. Undoubtedly the builders' plans must have been changed and revised many times over centuries of construction, yet the disparate elements had aged into one harmonious, splendid, and reverent monument of mossy, weathered stone.

Nnanji and Hardduju had met. Wallie wondered if the lad would have enough breath left to give his message. Apparently so, for he turned and started bounding down the steps again, returning to his liege. Please don't break a leg, young Nnanji! Now, would the reeve accept the invitation to a challenge, or summon reinforcements, or advance with his present force? Good -- he was coming down with a single Fourth. The other three were following more slowly. The shoot-out was about to begin.

Nnanji was down to the courtyard again, running back through the waves of heat that now danced above it. Somewhere in Wallie a small voice of conscience was complaining that thou shalt not kill, being told that a G.o.d had commanded this killing, grumbling back that at least thou shouldst not be looking forward to it. For Wallie was very conscious that his pulse was speeding up and he was relishing the coming fight. _Bastinado? I'll show the b.a.s.t.a.r.d!_ It helped when a G.o.d had told you that you were going to win.

Spectators were still spilling from the temple and spreading over the top of the steps like mold. Anxiously Wallie scanned the courtyard, wondering when the rest of the guard would start arriving.

Nnanji was back, shining all over and barely able to speak.

"He is coming, my liege," he panted.

"Well done, va.s.sal!" Wallie said. "Next time I'll find you a horse." The boy grinned and kept on panting.

Hardduju was following at a leisurely pace. He must be a very puzzled man -- how had the prisoner obtained a sword? The most obvious answer would be treachery in the guard -- the condemned man had not been taken to the Judgment at all. Was this stranger an imposter as he had appeared, or a swordsman? The signal that Nnanji had given him must have come from a highrank swordsman, therefore Shonsu. If he was not an imposter, then why had he behaved like one in the temple? Yes, Hardduju must be very puzzled. Of course he might suspect something close to the truth, a miracle. Now Wallie could see why the demiG.o.d had only partly cured his wounds -- Hardduju had seen him just the previous day, and a visibly miraculous cure would be a clear sign that there was divine intervention at work.

Wallie stood his ground and let the reeve advance to normal conversation distance. The florid face was redder than ever in the heat. The beefy belly was as sweaty as Nnanji's ribs. The man was out of condition, and his weight would slow him. But some of the sweat running down his face must be from fear, and Wallie found that idea very pleasant.

Nnanji moved to Wallie's left, the Fourth to the other side. Wallie smiled, paused a moment for the tension to grow. Now he knew the rituals. As the younger and the visitor, he was expected to salute first. Then he drew. He spoke the flowery and hypocritical words, flashing his wonderful sword in the gestures. He sheathed it and waited.

Yes, there was fear. The reeve's eyes flickered around too much. He was delaying his response, knowing what must follow as soon as the preliminaries were over.

Wallie went ahead anyway and made the sign of challenge -- not challenge to a Seventh, but public challenge.

"Just a moment!" Hardduju said. "You were under sentence of the court. You didn't get that sword at the Place of Mercy. Until I'm satisfied that the sentence has been carried out, I do not recognize your standing."

Wallie made the sign a second time. A third time would not require an answer.

Hardduju glanced behind him, then looked at his second. "Go and fetch some guardsmen," he barked. "A prisoner has escaped." The Fourth gaped at him.

He had brought the wrong henchman, thought Wallie; he had not worked out a strategy in time. Nevertheless, he must not be allowed to delay this contest any longer, or he might manage to evade it somehow.

"Go!" Hardduju shouted at the Fourth.

"Stay!" Wallie barked. "Lord Hardduju, will you return my salute in the ways of honor? For if not, I shall denounce you and draw anyway."

"Very well," the reeve snapped. "But then you will explain that sword to me."

He drew and began the response -- and then lunged. He would have fooled Wallie, and probably nine out of ten swordsmen, even Sevenths, but Shonsu was the tenth. His instincts had been watching Hardduju's left shoulder. When it started to swing away from him, he threw back his own left foot and drew, the superb blade bending like a bow to give him a few precious milliseconds. He parried quinte, but he was off balance, and his riposte failed. Yet it was Hardduju who backed off.

He stared narrowly at Wallie for a moment; this was no impostor. Then he lunged again. Parry, riposte, parry -- for a few seconds the metal rang, and again it was Hardduju who recovered, but he guarded quarte, too low for Wallie's advantage in reach and height. One mistake is enough. Wallie cut at the outside of the wrist. It was an unusual move. Had it been parried successfully, it could have left him open. It was not parried. Hardduju's sword clanged to the ground, and he clutched at his wounded arm.

"Yield!" shouted the Fourth, although he should have waited for an offer from Nnanji. Nnanji had remained silent as instructed, so the yield was invalid.

Wallie saw the horror in his victim's eyes, and his resolution wavered. Then he remembered the power of the little G.o.d as it had been revealed to him. With more fear than hate he carried out his orders, ramming the G.o.d's sword into Hardduju's chest. It slid free easily as the body crumpled.

The fight had taken about half a minute.

Wallie Smith was now a killer.

*6*

The clashing of swords was succeeded by Hardduju's death rattle, a brief drumming of heels on flagstones -- and then silence, broken by a shrill whoop from Nnanji. He started to come forward, then froze when no one else moved. Wallie, not daring to take his eyes off the Fourth, made the acknowledgment of an inferior. The Fourth swallowed a few times, looking back and forth from the dead man to this nemesis from the River. For a few more seconds the issue hung in the balance -- would he accept this as a fair challenge under the rules, or shout for the guard and die? There were grounds for dispute, for the rules had not been perfectly observed, but the errors had not been Wallie's, and the man knew it. He drew his sword and made the salute. Wallie responded. It was to be peace -- for the moment.

Now Nnanji could stalk forward to pick up the dead man's sword. In proper form he dropped to one knee and proffered it to Wallie, marring the solemnity of the ritual with an ear-to-ear grin. To be dragooned into service by a naked unknown intruder was one thing; to be suddenly on the winning side in a notable pa.s.sage of arms was something else entirely.

Wallie hardly glanced at the sword being offered to him. It was a gaudy weapon with too much elaborate filigree on the hilt to be properly balanced, but it was now his and would be worth a great deal of money. It would also be a much better sword than Nnanji's, and by custom the winner in a duel gave an honorarium to his second.

"You can keep that," he said. "And see that that thing on your back is returned to the kitchen where it belongs."

_"Devilspit!"_ Nnanji said, astounded. "I mean _thank you_, my liege!"

Wallie wiped his sword on the dead man's kilt in the traditional sign of contempt. "We're not done yet," he said. "Who were Lord Hardduju's deputies?"

"Only Tarru, my liege, of the Sixth."

"Honorable Tarru to you, spot. Can you lead me to him?"

"He's coming now, my liege." And Nnanji pointed to the three men Hardduju had left on the steps. One green kilt and two reds -- a Sixth and two Fifths. They were halfway across the court. More swordsmen were streaming down the temple steps, and others into the court from both ends.

"Then let's go!" Wallie led the way, leaving the Fourth to dispose of the body, one of the duties of a second. There could be more trouble. Tarru might seek to avenge Hardduju. As acting reeve, he might even be justified in using the whole temple guard against an intruder, although that was unlikely under the code of the craft. Reaction had set in, and Wallie was feeling incredibly weary.

They met and stopped in silence. Tarru was a scarred and gray-haired veteran, but his slight body was wiry and his eyes were sharp. His green kilt was clean and smart -- he sported no jewels or finery as Hardduju had done. Deeply etched lines on his face made him appear weathered and seasoned. He might be a rank lower than Wallie, but he would be no pushover and he was in much better trim than his superior had been.

He raised his sword in salute, and Wallie responded.

The two of them studied each other for a long moment, and those sharp eyes flickered to the sword hilt with the sapphire and then down to the blood-soaked sandals. There was no call of honor if Hardduju's second had accepted the duel as a fair fight, but the lure of that sword was too great, just as the demiG.o.d had predicted. Kill a cripple and win a fortune -- it must seem like a good gamble.

Greed won; Tarru made the sign of challenge.

"Now!" Wallie roared, and the swords flashed out. Nnanji and one of the Fifths sprang into position as seconds.

Tarru cut at s.e.xte, and Wallie parried -- and then pulled his riposte just before he killed his opponent. Again that blaze of fury? Tarru parried much too late and tried a lunge, a very slow lunge. Wallie turned it without difficulty. Seeing that he was in no danger, he relaxed and kept parrying those incredibly obvious strokes, directing the next wherever he wanted, making no effort to riposte.

Tarru danced forward and back. Wallie rotated slowly to face him, the seconds edged around like planets. A crowd was gathering, and the other Fifth kept shouting to keep them back.

Boots slapped on the stones and raised dust. Metal rang. Cut ... parry ... lunge ... Tarru's breathing became loud below the furnace sky, and his face grew fiery also.

Wallie was discovering how it felt to be the greatest swordsman in the World: it was fine sport. He need hardly move his battered feet, and his arm could keep this up all day. Tarru was a fair Sixth -- so Shonsu's eye told him -- but there was no upper limit on Seventh rank, and Shonsu might well be an eight or nine on the same scale. He utterly outcla.s.sed the older man. He dare not look away, but he knew that there were swordsmen among the gathering spectators and he wondered how Tarru was feeling. The effort was telling on him, his breath starting to rasp. He had been the challenger -- by not being able to get close he was appearing ridiculous. What emotion had succeeded his greed -- anger? Fear? Humiliation?

At last Tarru backed off and stood gasping, obviously beaten, eyes wide and almost glazed. Wallie pretended to smother a yawn. A few sn.i.g.g.e.rs and one very faint boo emerged from somewhere in the crowd.

"Draw?" called Tarru's second. A nice try, but he could not have much hope.

By the rules, Wallie should not speak and he dared not move his eyes from his opponent, but he made a quick nod.

There was a pause. Nnanji had been given fatally explicit instructions. For mortal challenge not to lead to blood was almost unthinkable. Would the lad understand?

"Draw accepted!" Nnanji's voice was squeaky with excitement.

Wallie sighed with relief, flashed his second a smile of approval, and sheathed his sword. For a moment Tarru was too winded to move, then he came forward for the ritual embrace.

He made no apology, offered no congratulations, and hid any shame he might -- and should -- be feeling in the formalities of introducing his second.

"May I have the honor of presenting to the valiant Lord Shonsu my protege, Master Trasingji of the Fifth?"

Wallie accepted his salute and said innocently, "I believe you may have already met my second, Honorable Tarru? Apprentice Nnanji of the Second, my liegeman."

Tarru glowered, and Trasingji choked. A Second bound by the blood oath? Nnanji swelled visibly and saluted.

They could probably spend all day on this sun-blasted griddle, mouthing meaningless formalities like a convention of Chinese mandarins, but Wallie was exhausted and finding these rituals absurd. "You will see that the remains of the n.o.ble Hardduju are attended with all due respect?" he asked, and Tarru bowed. "I am somewhat in need of the attentions of a healer myself. Could it please you to direct me to some place where I may rest?"

Tarru bowed again, still panting. "The barracks of our temple guard provide but the most humble quarters for a so distinguished warrior, but if your lordship could graciously deign to accept our poor hospitality, we should be most honored."

Wallie retrieved the sutra "On Hospitality" from his new mental databank and saw that the lions' den might indeed be the safest place to be. "You are most kind. I must summarily attend upon the G.o.ddess and then I shall come at once."

Tarru gestured. Wallie became aware for the first time that the crowd was composed entirely of swordsmen. There were at least thirty of them. He sighed. There would have to be more formalities.

Tarru presented another protege. Then that protege and Trasingji presented theirs in a sort of iron-age chain letter. Two other Fifths appeared and had to be presented and present their juniors. Wallie went through the gestures on automatic, the names sliding past him in a blur. He was vaguely aware that he was a celebrity. If Hardduju had ever inspired loyalty, it had now dissolved in professional admiration. They were genuinely respectful.

And of course they all a.s.sumed that he was about to become the new reeve. He had not thought to deny it. Should he do so or wait until later? He was too weary to solve such convoluted problems.

Then his wanderings were interrupted, the routine broken. The Fourth standing in front of him was not admiring -- he was terrified, his sword visibly trembling. Wallie forced his eyes to focus. The man's face was familiar. He was one of the three who had beaten him up before he was taken to the jail. He searched back a few moments for the name ... Meliu.

Revenge!

A third time he felt sudden rage. Red fringes flickered in his vision.

Meliu was beefy, about Shonsu's age, and did not look too smart, although it was hard to tell in his present condition. What would Shonsu have done? Answer: Shonsu would never have allowed himself to get into the sort of mess that Wallie had. Yet Shonsu's reaction had expressed itself in that now-familiar blaze of anger -- challenge and kill this hoodlum for having had the temerity to strike a Seventh. Wallie Smith's inclination was to forgive, for the man had been acting under orders, and he who had given the orders had now paid the penalty. But to act like Wallie Smith was to risk trouble. He must stay in character. A sheep in wolf's clothing should not bleat within the pack.

Compromise, then. Forcing down his fury, he ignored the salute and turned to the Fifth who had made the introduction.

"Who's next?"

It was a crushing insult. The crowd waited to see what Meliu would do. He had the option of suicide -- he could challenge. Instead he turned and fled. Believing Shonsu to be the next reeve, he would probably be gone from the temple before dark. Satisfactory!

Eventually they reached the end, the last stammering Third. All those Seconds and Firsts at the rear, thank the G.o.ddess, did not count.

Tarru bowed slightly. "If I might make so bold, my lord, as to ask what dispositions you wish to make for the temple guard?"

This was it, then. He decided to procrastinate, some uneasy instinct telling him that he should not explain their mistake.

"Until the priests see fit to appoint a replacement reeve, I am sure that you will do whatever is best, Honorable Tarru."

"Lord Shonsu is most gracious ... and Apprentice Nnanji of the Second? He is, er, detached from duty with the guard?"

Wallie turned to look at young Nnanji, who was attempting to stand at attention, but could not help sending Wallie an agonized plea out of the corners of his eyes.

"I shall retain Apprentice Nnanji in my personal service for the time being."

Apprentice Nnanji relaxed.

Tarru bowed again. Wallie was feeling more tired by the minute and was frightened his fatigue might make him start to tremble. He made a curt farewell. Forty swords flashed out in salute as he started toward the steps, his liegeman strutting proudly beside him.

*7*

As soon as Lord Shonsu's destination became clear, a tornado of activity developed within the mult.i.tude at the top of the great staircase. Wallie climbed slowly, being gentle to his throbbing feet, and halfway up he stopped altogether so that the priests could complete whatever they were organizing. He turned to admire the view. The Judgment looked much better from a distance than it did close to.

The guard had been formed up and was being marched away, arms swinging and heads high to impress the newcomer. A dust of pigeons was settling on the great courtyard behind them. Two slaves scrubbed the flags where the reeve had died.

Life was sweet -- on any world. Wallie felt satisfied. The unpleasant matter of Hardduju he had disposed of easily, and even the knowledge that he was now a killer distressed him little. He was safe under the aegis of the swordsmen's ways of honor. The only wrinkle in his comfort blanket was the memory of those sudden flashes of rage that had surged up every time his p.r.i.c.kly Seventh's status had been invoked -- by Nnanji's defiance, by Tarru's impudent challenge, and by the chance to level scores with Meliu. That fury had not come from Wallie Smith, and he suspected that Shonsu, had he been there in his place, would have left four bleeding corpses behind, not one. Anger was fueled by adrenaline. Adrenaline came from somewhere near the kidneys. He had not been given Shonsu's personality, but he did have his glands, and he must take care in future that his Wallie Smith mind stayed in firm control of his Shonsu body.

He would be a swordsman, not a butcher.

Then he glanced at Nnanji and encountered a glazed smile of high-octane hero worship that annoyed him at once.

"Well done, va.s.sal," he said. "You were a great second."

Nnanji at once blushed scarlet with pleasure.

"You did very well to interpret my signal about the draw," Wallie added. "I should have given you more careful instructions beforehand."

"You were up his left armpit, my liege!"

Wallie discovered his memory transplant included swordsman slang, but he could have worked that one out -- a left armpit was an impossible target in a right-handed opponent. There was a suggestion in Nnanji's manner, though, that Wallie should have gone for a kill. Bloodthirsty young devil!

The hero worship grew more irritating the longer Wallie thought about it. The honor for a superbly trained body and virtuoso skill belonged to the late Lord Shonsu, not to him. But that distinction he could hardly hope to explain. This youngster obviously had the instant adhesive loyalty of a puppy, and Wallie would have to find some gentle method of detaching him.

He glanced up at the arches. The pilgrims had been herded into two wedges at the sides, leaving the center free for his entrance. "I think we've given them enough time to fix their hair," he said. "Let's go."

_Let's go_ ... he had acquired that phrase from the demiG.o.d.

The guards at the center arch were now two of the Fifths he had just met, still puffing slightly from their run to get there before him. They saluted as he stepped into the cool shadow of the arch, receiving an acknowledgment from Wallie and an impudent smirk from Nnanji.

So Lord Shonsu entered the great nave for the third time, Wallie Smith for the second. Its cool vastness was still overpowering, the blaze of lights from the windows still resplendent. There was no priest there to conduct him, and he strode straight forward as well as he could on his blood-soaked sandals. Halfway along the nave he came to the beginning of the priesthood, a double line stretching from there all the way to the altar. Priests on one side, priestesses on the other, Firsts in their white at the front, yellow Seconds after them.

As he pa.s.sed, each one knelt down, making him feel like a storm blowing through a forest -- it was embarra.s.sing and horrible to him. He felt unworthy and phony. He wanted to shout at them to stop it, but all he could do was hurry on as fast as he could and not watch.