by Philip Blood
G’Taklar worked his way down the hillside carefully. After a short walk he reached the first buildings and as Jatar had suggested, he entered the town a few streets away from the main road.
Three men were working on a broken wagon axle and one of them looked up and saw G’Taklar passing by. The worker looked at him casually, and then something made the man look again, intently. He nudged one of his fellows who lay on his back under the wagon and the startled man smacked his head on the bottom of the wagon. He was about to admonish his companion when he saw G’Taklar, which immediately caused him to stop shouting and stare at the passing apparition. His friend hit him lightly on the shoulder and they both laughed.
“What are they laughing at?” G’Taklar asked Jatar in thought.
“It’s probably these silk clothes you are wearing, they’re appropriate for a Karnian Sheik, but from the looks those two men gave you, I’m sure the clothes are out of place in this region. Perhaps we should think of a new plan; remember what I told you about attracting too much attention. I think we should get out of here before trouble finds us,” Jatar recommended.
By this time, G’Taklar had reached the main road where it intersected with the street on which he traveled. “But I need food and water and these are the only clothes I have.”
“I think you should stop and go back, people are staring. We can always come in at night when the darkness will hide the bright color of your clothes. Oh no, too late,” Jatar said resignedly and thought to himself that this had probably been inevitable with the inexperienced G’Taklar at the helm.
Three Tchulian soldiers, a corporal, and two privates had come out of a building right in front of G’Taklar. One of the men spotted him immediately, nudged his compatriots and then all three of them started over with big grins pasted on their rough faces. The corporal was a huge man, towering three hand spans over G’Taklar, his face had not been shaven for at least a week and his uniform was a wrinkled, filthy mess.
His two companions weren’t much better. The one on the right was fairly young, G’Taklar estimated eighteen, and he had large square teeth that stuck out like a horse. He was about the same height as G’Taklar. The one on the other side was about thirty and definitely fat. His uniform, buttons were stretched to their capacity holding in his bulging gut. He had a long, bushy black beard that was so matted G’Taklar expected to see nesting rats moving around.
All three of the soldiers were carrying sheathed swords and daggers, they swaggered toward G’Taklar, snickering and jesting about him as they approached.
“What do you think I should do?” G’Taklar asked Jatar, keeping to thought communication.
“It’s too late to run,” Jatar responded quickly, “they would catch you anyway. It doesn’t look like they’re coming to arrest an escaped prisoner, so they probably don’t know about that. I think they just want to harass you; the leader looks like the bully type, so act humble.” Jatar finished his advice abruptly because the soldiers had reached G’Taklar.
“What can I do for you, good sirs?” G’Taklar asked before they could say anything. At the same time, he thought to Jatar, “How’s that for humble.”
“My, this desert flower speaks as perty as e’ looks,” the corporal said to his two followers and then turned and spoke to G’Taklar, “You must be one o’ those kissy boys I heard about down south.”
G’Taklar had never had any common soldier speak so rudely to him in his life, and his pride made him bristle before he could even think. His head lifted and he spoke in a haughty voice, “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I prefer girls, you’ll have to find a different boy to kiss.”
Some of the townspeople had started gathering to watch the proceedings, though they stayed back a respectful distance from the soldiers. A quiet ripple of laughter swept the small crowd at G’Taklar’s response to the soldier, though it was quickly repressed when the corporal turned to glower at the crowd. The reaction of the crowd bolstered G’Taklar’s confidence even further.
Jatar hollered into G’Taklar’s mind. “WHAT HAPPENED TO STAYING HUMBLE?”
“I will not allow this bully to insinuate that I’m a feather puff, it isn’t dignified.”
Because he was busy answering Jatar, G’Taklar didn’t hear the beginning of the corporal’s next statement, but he caught the last part: “...and pull yer head off if you tried to kiss me, you perfumed piece of cekklar crap,” the huge corporal finished, practically leaning over G’Taklar’s body in his anger.
“I’m not wearing perfume, but you sure could use some! Thank G’lan I’m not downwind. Do you know what the term ‘bath’ means?” the young noble asked and watched how his audience accepted his sally. He found himself enjoying outwitting the bully.
Jatar tried to get through to his cousin, “Do you want to be locked up again, or worse? You don’t seem to understand, this ogre will rip your arms off, and none of these people will help you!”
“He can’t touch me with these witnesses watching, don’t you see, these people are completely on my side,” G’Taklar answered cockily in his mind.
Meanwhile, the corporal was standing there speechless; his mouth opened and closed a few times as bits of spittle and something barely resembling speech tried to explode from his uncooperative mouth.
Jatar tried a new approach and he spoke calmly to his cousin, “G’Taklar, consider running at this point, though it’s probably futile.” Jatar believed a physical confrontation was now inevitable.
“Why? The townspeople are on my side, I think they are enjoying this bully getting his due,” G’Taklar responded, and gestured with his hand held at waist level, palm up as he swept it in a horizontal arc to point out everyone.
To the corporal, G’Taklar’s gesture looked like a kind of bow. The furious man finally found his voice and he turned on the crowd and bellowed with spit flying from his lips, “WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING AT?”
The sound of people laughing and talking shut off like a closed water sluice. As the big man spun back around his hand rose in a blurred arc as he backhanded G’Taklar across the face. The blow was so strong, and G’Taklar so surprised that it knocked the youth off his feet and onto his back in the dusty road.
The corporal jabbed a calloused finger at the stunned and sprawled out G’Taklar as he turned to his two fellow soldiers and barked, “Grab this primping piece of bird dung and get him to his feet,” the corporal ordered, and then added, “I’m going to break every bone in his body, and then castrate him, so his body matches what his clothes are advertis’in.” Then he turned to the crowd and said, “The rest of you, shove off, or you’ll get the same.”
Immediately the crowd started to disperse and people lowered their gaze or turned their heads. They knew what was about to happen to the young boy, and though many of them sympathized, they knew better than to go up against the soldiers lest they lose their own lives.
G’Taklar had managed to drag himself to his hands and knees, shaking his head to clear away the bells that were ringing. The two soldiers grabbed him under the armpits and lifted him to unsteady feet.
G’Taklar called feebly to the townspeople as they turned to go, “Aren’t you going to help me? These men are committing a crime!”
Jatar spoke in his mind, and from the tone of his voice, G’Taklar pictured him shaking his head in resignation, “I tried to warn you, these soldiers are the law in a garrison town like this; no one will help you.”
“What do I do?” the suddenly aghast G’Taklar thought to his more experienced cousin.
“You’ll have to fight, your chance to talk yourself out of this is now past,” Jatar informed the confused youth as he worked on ways to assist G’Taklar in the coming minutes.
“I’ve never fought anyone before,” G’Taklar nervously informed Jatar.
G’Taklar’s words shocked Jatar out of his planning and he gave his cousin his full attention. “What do you mean? Your father’s swords master taught you to fight, didn’t he?”
<
br /> “Sort of, but I haven’t been practicing lately, my book studies took up too much time. I’ve… I’ve never actually fought anyone for real,” he whimpered.
Jatar’s concern for their predicament went up another notch.
“G’Taklar, listen,” he said in a pleading tone, “These men are serious, they’re going to hurt you, and if you don’t fight your way out of here, they might even kill you. Let me take control of your body before it’s too late, I can take them.”
“I can’t Jatar, I...” G’Taklar’s thought to Jatar was cut off by a blow to his stomach delivered by the corporal’s boot, “uuooof...!” G’Taklar exclaimed and doubled over before falling to the dirt on his side.
“Now, little girl, stand up and defend yourself, if you’re a man, or lie there and we’ll beat you until every bone is broken,” the corporal promised with a wicked grin.
G’Taklar started to get to his feet, but the fat soldier standing to his left clubbed his fist into the back of the youth’s neck, knocking him sprawling back onto the ground.
“What, the poor girl-boy can’t stand up like a real man? Come on, rose petal, put up a little fight or this will get bor’in,” and the corporal punctuated his statement with another kick, this one to G’Taklar’s ribs, and then he continued talking, “and I hates be’in bored.”
“I can take him, G’Taklar,” Jatar said with intensity to the pain-soaked brain of his young cousin.
G’Taklar ignored Jatar’s thought. “Wait!” he gasped aloud, “I’m noblemen, so if I’m hurt my father will have you all beheaded.”
“Oh I see, ye’re a noblemen, and from where might yer noble family be?” the corporal asked as if springing a trap, he obviously didn’t believe the boy.
“I’m from... ” G’Taklar began but was interrupted by Jatar.
“TELL HIM YOU’RE FROM LINDANKAR AND THEY’LL KILL YOU FOR SURE!” Jatar’s thoughts thundered into G’Taklar’s pain soaked brain. Jatar believed that the Tchulians were in on the Lindankar conspiracy, so telling them that he was from Lindankar might be a death sentence.
G’Taklar continued after an obvious pause, “Olsk, I’m from Olsk.”
The pause had made his answer sound like an outright lie and the soldiers all laughed. “And I’m Lord Jatar of Lindankar, master swordsman!” the buck-toothed one exclaimed.
The fat one chimed in with a laugh, “And I’m the Seeghe of Ghanter, bow down lowly one!” Then he used his chubby fist to club G’Taklar in the back of the head again. All three of the Tchulians guffawed loudly at their jokes.
The men were slapping each other’s hands congratulating their wit and superiority when G’Taklar managed to lurch to his feet and take a staggering step toward the buck-toothed private. G’Taklar swung his fist wildly at the man.
The private simply stepped back out of the way and then stepped forward and kicked G’Taklar in the hip, which knocked him to the dirt again. The three soldiers chortled at their victim’s uncoordinated and inexperienced attack.
At this point, the mirth on the corporal’s face faded and a look of pure malice appeared as he pulled out a large knife and held it up to catch the sunlight coming between two of the buildings that lined the street. He tilted the blade back and forth to make it glint and watched for the effects on his victim’s face. “Hold him down boys,” the corporal’s soft voice promised chilling consequences for G’Taklar.
Terror spread through G’Taklar’s mind like fire across spilled oil and he thought to Jatar, “They won’t really cut off my...”
“Yes, that’s exactly what he’s going to do,” Jatar answered him grimly, to help convince G’Taklar as to the seriousness of the situation.
G’Taklar was suddenly terrified and he called aloud so that even the soldiers heard his words. “All right, take my body!”
“I mean to, little boy,” the corporal responded, thinking G’Taklar was speaking to him, and he snickered evilly to his cohorts.
Jatar suddenly felt his mind and control flow completely into G’Taklar’s body, and he was whole again. After his time locked away within G’Taklar’s mind movement felt like the finest pleasure imaginable.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have the time available to enjoy himself properly. Jatar got to his feet quickly to give himself mobility, and then he outwardly cringed away from the approaching, knife wielding, corporal. He backed swiftly toward the buck-toothed soldier on his left, rambling away in a fear-laden voice. “Please sirs, don’t hurt me, I’m just a boy. I’ll do anything for you; just don’t hurt me, please! Look, I’m not fighting you anymore,” and Jatar put his hands behind his back, near the old dagger that was tucked in his pants, hidden beneath his jacket.
“Look, the smart-mouthed girlie has suddenly showed his real colors,” the corporal said with a smirk and added, “perhaps there is someth’in you can do fer us, pretty boy,” and he leered at G’Taklar’s young body.
The other two soldiers had stopped advancing on Jatar because they thought he was submitting to their leader. Jatar backed another step toward the buck-toothed Tchulian, and then spun to face the soldier and stuck his open left palm right in front of the man’s eyes. “Here, I have gold!” he exclaimed.
The man’s eyes bugged out as he tried to focus on the hand in front of his eyes, searching for the promised gold.
Jatar unceremoniously kicked him between the legs with everything he could get out of G’Taklar’s body. The soldier didn’t even have time to scream; he just collapsed at Jatar’s feet.
Before his body hit the ground, Jatar had taken two steps right and brought his right hand containing the hidden dagger around in an up swinging arc that slashed the fat soldier’s face through his cheek and up through the wide open eye and into the skin of his forehead.
With a horrifying cry, the shocked man grabbed his destroyed face and crashed sideways into the building wall, wailing from the pain while blood dripped through his fingers. His fat body crashed to the ground where he lay moaning.
Jatar turned back to face the corporal and only three heartbeats had passed since he had last spoken. The Tchulian was stupefied, his two soldiers were out of action and the boy was standing there holding a knife, and grinning!
“Now it’s just you and me, care for a kiss?” Jatar asked insolently in order to anger the man into doing something foolish and rash.
“I’ll carve you up for that!” The corporal roared and charged, brandishing his large knife over his head and bellowing his challenge.
Jatar waited until it was too late for the moving hulk’s mass to change direction and then he darted down and to the left, leaving his knife out in his trailing right hand. Jatar used the momentum of the man’s own body against him and let his motion take him onto the knife.
The blade left a ragged cut along the corporal’s stomach and ribs, but did not incapacitate the soldier; the old dagger wasn’t as sharp as it should have been kept. The enraged soldier managed to halt his progress and turn to face the elusive Jatar.
Instead of the inexperienced youth he expected, he found an expert knife fighter crouched and ready. The knife Jatar held with a supple wrist maintained the perfect angle as it moved continuously in flawless defense of the body it protected. His feet were placed far enough apart to give him good balance, but not far enough to restrict movement. His weight was poised on the balls of his feet and his eyes never left his opponent.
Astonishment shattered the Tchulian’s insane anger and he paused in his attack. “What are you that changes from a boy to a man in the blink of an eye? I have fought many men and no one could fool me this completely as to their skill, yet where a boy was now a warrior stands. Is this some bizarre enchantment that I battle?”
“Come and find out, mutilator of innocent boys!” Jatar retorted in a calm and confident voice.
The Tchulian felt his wounded side with his free hand and found that the damage wasn’t severe. “Hide the answer if you will, but you will tell me when you are dying in the dirt.
”
“I’ll promise you this, you’ll know before you die,” Jatar swore to the corporal.
The soldier was a seasoned knife fighter, he realized that his anger and lack of respect for his opponent had cost him a shallow wound to his side, so this time he moved forward toward Jatar in a crouch with his knife held with the hilt grasped in his fist and the blade projecting horizontally from the little finger side of his hand. In this position, he was ready to punch and slash or stab his opponent backhanded.
G’Taklar thought to Jatar, “Why did you ...”
“Not now, G’Taklar!” Jatar said intensely, cutting off his question; he needed his full attention on his adversary. This man was a trained fighter and from his body language, he knew how to handle a knife fight.
They both moved forward slowly until they reached the sphere of attack, that area in which a quick move could bring them into conflict. The two combatants carefully circled each other, knives in constant motion to keep their opponent from planning a move. Both watched the other planning and discarding plans in rapid succession.
Jatar feinted a low attack and saw his opponent move his free arm to block, and at the same time bring his knife around in a blinding slash at Jatar’s eyes. Being only a feint, Jatar was not far enough forward for the riposte to reach him, but he learned something in the exchange, the corporal was good.
It would require a very complex maneuver to bring him out of position far enough to allow Jatar to get inside his longer reach. Jatar felt a little frustrated, he was used to his own body’s arm length, and G’Taklar had not yet reached his full height, which handicapped Jatar somewhat and he didn’t need any disadvantage against such a huge opponent.
Time was also a factor; it had been less than sixty heartbeats since he had kicked the buck-toothed soldier in the treasury. At this point, the man was still lying on his side moaning, but it would not be long before he was up and ready for revenge. Jatar knew that he had to attack, he could not afford the time it would take to wait for his opponent to make a mistake, so he would have to force one.