by Джеффри Лорд
Two yards more. Then he had to freeze for what seemed like an hour, as one of the women sat down to rest with her eyes on the spread-out clothes. Blade lay motionless, gritting his teeth to stifle a grunt of impatience, wondering if the woman would ever get up off her arse!
It seemed like an hour, but it couldn't have been more than five minutes before the woman stood up and began unwrapping the cloth around her waist. It fell to the ground, and she stepped naked down into the pool. As the other woman turned to do the same Blade snaked forward the last few feet, and his long arms reached out. In seconds he gathered in a long blue robe, a red sash, and a loincloth. In a few more seconds he was back under the bushes, crawling away as fast as he could. The two girls were still splashing about cheerfully in the pool, completely unconcerned with what might be going on around them.
A quarter of a mile later, Blade stopped to put on the clothes and get his bearings again. The loincloth was plain linen, but the sash seemed to be heavy red silk, with stylized waves embroidered on it in white thread. The blue robe was also linen, light but fine and tough, with elaborate patterns of black and white checks embroidered around the neck, bottom, and cuffs. On the right sleeve about halfway to the elbow was a stylized golden sunburst with sixteen rays picked out in red.
For all its elegance, the garment had obviously been made for someone rather shorter and slimmer than Blade. From the cut it was obviously intended to be fought in, but it made Blade feel more like a sausage stuffed into its skin. Oh, well, he could always strip it off if he had to fight or run again.
He guessed that there must be a house nearby if the girls had felt safe washing and bathing alone by the stream, as they obviously had. It would probably be downstream, too. The water in the stream would be cleaner above the house.
Blade had guessed right. A few minutes walking, and he saw a large house and the glow of lanterns through the forest and the rain. The house was on the far side of the stream, but a gracefully arched wooden bridge provided an easy crossing.
The house itself was a sprawling, one-story affair, with several wings apparently running off at odd angles to each other and a massive tile roof that seemed too heavy for the building under it. Blade saw no one moving outside, but he could see the glow of lights through the delicate lattice-work shutters over the windows. From the rear rose a column of smoke, coiling upward slowly until it disintegrated under the rain.
Blade darted across the bridge and began working his way around the house toward the rear. That smoke might mean the kitchen, and that was the place he intended to start. The chill weather and his exertions during the day had made Blade hungry enough to eat a colt, if not a full-grown horse.
As he reached the rear of the house, the appetizing sound and even more appetizing smell of frying food drifted out to greet him. He stood up and tied the sash more neatly around his waist. He couldn't be sure exactly what class or rank his robe indicated, but he suspected it was something well up the social scale-possibly even the local warrior caste. Blade's experience with warrior castes in several different dimensions had taught him that they always carried themselves with a swagger. So he drew himself up to his full six feet one as he approached the kitchen door and knocked as sharply as if he were a policeman. It never hurt to look and sound as though you had every right to be where you were and to be doing what you were doing.
The door opened after Blade's third knock. An old woman peered out, her wrinkled but sharp brown features screwed up into an angry frown. Then she took in Blade's commanding height, his air of calm arrogance, and his robe. Her expression changed in a split second to one of abashed servility. She dropped to her knees, beat her head three times on the ground with her hands over her eyes, and then straightened up.
«What is your wish, Honorable dabuno?»
«My wish is food.» Blade kept his voice cold and haughty.
«Food, yes. Do you wish anything else?»
«We will speak of that after the food.» And after he had taken a look around.
«It shall be so.» The woman's voice had an almost ritual quality as she spoke. Then she stood up, bowed low, and led Blade inside.
The kitchen was lit by several lanterns and the glowing bed of charcoal under the heavy iron grate on the stone hearth. On that grate stood several large iron pots and an iron pan at least a yard in diameter. What looked like enough meat and vegetables to feed a battalion sizzled cheerfully in the pan, and clouds of sweet-smelling steam rose from the pots. Blade kept his face straight, but he could not keep his stomach from giving off a rumble like a tank engine.
There was a mat in one corner of the kitchen. Blade sat down cross-legged on it. Strains, sprains, and bruises protested as he did so. He realized that he would have to get thoroughly thawed out, and fast. Otherwise he would be stiff enough tomorrow to be slowed down in a fight. That could be fatal.
The curtain across the door leading into the main area of the house was pushed open, and a young woman came in with a stack of dirty dishes. Blade's eyes flickered across her, recognizing her as one of the women by the stream, scanning her for any sign that she suspected anything. But she bowed as the old woman had done when she saw the blue robe, then she murmured, «The house of the Honorable Captain Jawai is honored by your presence, dabuno.»
Blade merely nodded graciously. Then the old woman came over with a lacquered tray holding a bowl of soup, a bowl of meat and vegetables, and a large plate of coarse, whitish porridge. The only eating utensils visible were six-sided lacquered sticks, enough like chopsticks so that Blade could use them easily. He dug into the food with no effort to conceal his hunger. Perhaps the dabuni were supposed to be ascetics who picked at their food, but at the moment he didn't care. He could argue that or any other point much better with a full meal in his stomach.
Neither of the women made any comment on the rate at which Blade emptied his tray, nor raised an eyebrow when he asked for more. The young woman only asked, «Do you also wish saya?»
Whatever that was, it sounded alcoholic. Blade shook his head. After a long and exceptionally exhausting day that might still end violently, he wanted to stay absolutely sober.
«Ah, I see you have taken the dem vow as well as becoming a Lonely Brother,» said the older woman. «Then you will not wish to meet the Honorable Captain Jawai?»
Blade had been wondering how to get out of going through any social formalities with the master of the house. But now the woman had just presented him with what seemed like a ready-made excuse.
«Yes, I have taken the dem vow.» The paint on his skin was beginning to itch. He pulled the robe half off his left shoulder and rubbed vigorously. He would have to ask for some turpentine or something to get this muck off before long.
The girl's eyes widened at the width and muscles of Blade's chest. The old woman noticed where the girl was looking and slapped her lightly on the shoulder. «Don't make eyes at a Lonely Brother who has taken the dem vow, Kika. He's not for you.» Blade decided he should nod again at those words. «Now go and tell the Honorable Captain about our guest.»
Kika vanished through the curtain, still looking back at Blade. Blade looked at his empty tray, considered whether he should eat any more, and decided against it. The food and the warmth would be making him feel sleepy before long.
Blade's tray had barely touched the mats on the floor when a sharp, shrill scream sounded from farther inside the house. Then the girl's voice-«No, Honorable Master, please. I did not know!»-the sound of two hard blows, another scream, and the thud of a falling body.
Blade was on his feet before the first scream died away, his eyes flickering around the room for a safe spot and a weapon of some sort. One leap carried him into the opposite corner, where he had both flanks protected by heavily timbered walls. As he moved he snatched up the poker leaning against the hearth. Then before the old woman could move or even open her mouth for a scream of her own, he scooped up her carving knife with the other hand.
He had barely reg
ained his safe corner when more noises came from inside the house. First the clatter of falling trays, and bowls, then the fussing sound of a sword being drawn, finally the thud of fast-moving feet heading toward the kitchen. Blade crouched low, raised the poker to guard, and held the carving knife ready to thrust.
A moment later the curtain flew open, and another man in a blue robe burst into the kitchen. Both hands held a curved, yard-long sword above his head. The light shimmered on the flawlessly polished steel, and another kind of light gleamed in his eyes. It was the light of an almost maniacal determination to kill or die.
Blade had braced himself physically for an attack. Now he quickly braced himself mentally for a fight to the death.
Chapter 5
The sword whistled down. Blade angled the poker downward to make the sword strike it a glancing blow. He suspected that an overhead slash from that sword would hack through even the tough iron of the poker.
The sword came down, struck with a terrific clang, and glanced off. But the other man swung it up into position again almost faster than Blade's eye could follow. Blade shifted his grip on the poker, now holding it upright. His opponent was watching him more closely now. The man's eyes were still filled with rage and also now with curiosity. That made him more dangerous. He might not swing in wild fury again, but use his skill instead. The sword seemed to hover, the light glinting from it.
Blade never found out what the man would have done next. The curtain burst open again and another man in a shorter and plainer blue robe dashed into the kitchen. He took up a position by the door, bowed quickly to the first man, and drew his own sword. The first man nodded. Blade saw his hands tighten on his sword.
Then the curtain flew open a third time. Blade had a moment's glimpse of a slim figure, clad only in wide black trousers and carrying his drawn sword in front of him. Then the second swordsman whirled to confront the new arrival. The new arrival's sword seemed to leap toward the ceiling like a living thing, the blade reaching up and slicing the air as though trying to bring down a bird on the wing. The other's sword started to follow it. Then the first sword came down as fast as it had gone up, slashing from the side. There was a sound like a butcher chopping meat and a gasping grunt from the second swordsman. He dropped his sword, staggered, twisting completely around, and toppled to the floor. Blood sprayed out through the slash that had cut him open from armpit to breastbone, and some of it sprayed onto the hearth. The pungent smell of burning human blood rose into the room.
The old woman gasped and tottered. Blade reached out and clamped one hand on the neck of her robe to keep her from toppling into the flre. His opponent made no effort to take advantage of his moment's distraction. Instead he turned to look at the newcomer. After a moment Blade did the same.
The newcomer was a young man-his bare chest and arms were layered with sinewy muscles, but the face above it was almost boyish. Blade wondered if he was much more than twenty or so. He bent to wipe his sword on the robe of his victim, then sheathed it and crossed his arms on his chest.
«Honorable Captain Jawai, what is your purpose in this fight?» His voice was as quiet as that of a man ordering a drink in a conservative London club, and it carried the same tone-he was unquestionably expecting a proper answer. It subdued Jawai, who sheathed his own sword and bowed low. Blade realized that the newcomer might not be his friend, but he did not seem a friend of Jawai either.
«This man,» said Jawai, jerking his head at Blade. «This-dirty lout-blasphemed the Igumasi Temple of Kunkoi, assaulting both the priestess and the guards. He then fled, and apparently stole the robe of a dabuno from one of my servants while she was washing it in the stream earlier this evening.»
The young swordsman nodded. «I recognize the robe he is wearing.»
«Word came from the temple by messenger to look for a very tall and strong man, pale-skinned but probably with paint smeared on his chest. The servant-girl Kika told me that a Lonely Brother just like that was in the kitchen, saying that he was under the dem vow. I forced her to confess the loss of your robe and punished her for it.»
«I heard,» said the young man.
«Then I entered the kitchen, to kill the blasphemer and avenge the honor of Kunkoi. What happened after that you know well.» Jawai could not keep the anger entirely out of his voice as he finished.
The young man nodded slowly. «Was the temple damaged in any way, or any blood shed in the precincts?»
«A scaffolding fell down, and the captain of the guards was knocked unconscious. But-«
«So the temple is intact, and blood is unshed?»
Jawai nodded reluctantly. «That is as I was told.»
«Then the blasphemy is one that can be compounded with gold, if the priestesses of Kunkoi give their consent.»
«But he is still guilty of falsely wearing the robe of a dabuno,» exploded Jawai, clapping his hand to his sword hilt. «No gold may sweep aside that crime.»
«If he has committed it, no,» said the young man slowly. He fixed his eyes on Blade. Blade saw in those eyes an assurance and an authority surprising in a man so young. «I am Yezjaro, instructor to the Warlord Tsekuin. Tell me in your own words what happened at the temple of Kunkoi.»
Blade ran through the story as quickly as possible, trying to keep an eye on both Jawai and Yezjaro at the same time as he talked. When he had finished, Yezjaro looked at him closely.
«You entered the temple precincts by accident?»
«Entirely by accident. I thought it was deserted or at least not being used at the time.»
«And you neither slew nor maimed any of the temple's people?»
«I did my best not to,» said Blade. «If they had stopped to listen to me, I would have told them just what I've told you and then departed. The priestess fell down some steps and I had to knock the guard captain down to save my own life. Other than that I don't see how anybody could have been hurt.»
«You seem to have skill and self-control, as well as courage,» said Yezjaro. Blade thought it appropriate to bow in response to this praise. Yezjaro smiled. «But what of your wearing the robe of a dabuno? That is another and graver crime, as Captain Jawai has said.»
Blade thought quickly. «I am sorry that it was your robe. But it was a garment appropriate to my rank in my own land.» He ran quickly through a story of his origins, his travels, and his arrival in this land.
«So in a sense I am indeed of the rank of dabuno, traveling as a Lonely Brother, and I have taken the dem vow. But this is by the laws and customs of my own land. I know yours are different, and I submit to being judged by them.»
There was a long silence. It seemed even longer to Blade. Finally Yezjaro clasped both hands behind his back and looked down at the floor for a moment. Then he looked at Blade again.
«It is not beyond belief that you are a warrior, considering what you seem to have done. Were you of the land of Gaikon, I think I would accept your story. I would then pay for having a new robe of dabuno rank made for you, as mine fits you like a man's sash on an ox!» He laughed briefly at his own joke, then sobered. «If you lied, you would be discovered sooner or later and punished terribly. If not by men here in Gaikon, then by the Goddess Kunkoi after your death.
«But you are from a distant land, known only to Kunkoi, with customs and laws of which we know only what you chose to tell us. Who knows if you fear Kunkoi's judgment? So I cannot accept your word.»
His eyes dropped to the poker and knife Blade was still holding. «Would it be acceptable to you to fight against Captain Jawai with a weapon of your choice? He is an excellent swordsman, of the fourth Kim- If you can defeat him or even last more than a few minutes against him, it will satisfy me that you indeed deserve to be accepted as a dabuno in Gaikon. Then-«
«It won't satisfy me!» snapped Jawai. «What if he asks for some weapon we can't give him? Or fights with a bow? What if-?»
«I did not finish, Captain,» said Yezjaro. His voice would have frozen an entire side of beef in a split
second. «The fight will take place as I say. Unless you wish to try defeating me first?» One long-fingered hand dropped to the hilt of his own sword.
Jawai gulped, apparently realizing his danger for the first time. «No, Honorable Instructor, I do not wish to disobey your wishes in this matter.» Then rage got the better of his self-control. «But you've always been after me, one way or another. You're using this-«
Yezjaro sighed. «Captain, I advise you not to open your mouth again except to shout a challenge. Otherwise I shall have to tell Lord Tsekuin that you dishonor the name of his clan. Then you will pass from among us without ever having the chance to prove that you speak the truth about this man.»
Apparently the prospect of dying a condemned liar and loudmouth was enough to subdue even Jawai's flapping tongue. He swallowed and bowed almost humbly.
«Good,» said Yezjaro. «Now, stranger, you may choose any weapon that is to be found readily in Gaikon. What is your choice?»
Blade thought furiously and fast. He wished he could ask a few questions about the weaponry and weapons etiquette of a dabuno of Gaikon. But he couldn't be sure if he could trust Yezjaro that far. The clan's instructor seemed to be a formidable and knowledgeable young fighter. But he was also filled with a youthful arrogance and pride that might make him rather unbending. In general, he was not the man Blade would have chosen for his first ally in Gaikon if he had had a choice. But he didn't, so that was that.
«I have seen spears much used,» said Blade. «I will fight with one of those.» He knew just about everything that could be done with any sort of spear. And he knew just enough about the Japanese sword, the katana-which the swords of Gaikon resembled-to know that it would take him a year of practice before he could fight well with one of them.