by Andre Norton
Chapter VI
DUELIST'S CHALLENGE
Inside the red stockade there was a crowded community. The Salarikidemanded privacy of a kind, and even the unmarried warriors did not sharebarracks, but each had a small cubicle of his own. So that the mud brickand timber erections of one of their clan cities resembled nothing somuch as the comb cells of a busy beehive. Although Paft's was considereda large clan, it numbered only about two hundred fighting men and theirnumerous wives, children and captive servants. Not all of them normallylived at this center, but for the funeral feasting they hadassembled--which meant a lot of doubling up and tenting out undermakeshift cover between the regular buildings of the town. So that theTerrans were glad to be guided through this crowded maze to the GreatHall which was its heart.
As the trading center had been, the hall was a circular enclosure open tothe sky above but divided in wheel-spoke fashion with posts of the redwood, each supporting a metal basket filled with imflammable material.Here were no lowly stools or trading tables. One vast circular board,broken only by a gap at the foot, ran completely around the wall. At theend opposite the entrance was the high chair of the chieftain, set on atwo step dais. Though the feast had not yet officially begun, the Terranssaw that the majority of the places were already occupied.
They were led around the perimeter of the enclosure to places not farfrom the high seat. Van Rycke settled down with a grunt of satisfaction.It was plain that the Free Traders were numbered among the nobility. Theycould be sure of good trade in the days to come.
Delegations from neighboring clans arrived in close companies of ten ortwelve and were granted seats, as had been the Terrans, in groups. Danenoted that there was no intermingling of clan with clan. And, as theywere to understand later that night, there was a very good reason forthat precaution.
"Hope all our adaption shots work," Ali murmured, eyeing with no pleasureat all the succession of platters now being borne through the inneropening of the table.
While the Traders had learned long ago that the wisest part of valor wasnot to sample alien strong drinks, ceremony often required that theybreak bread (or its other world equivalent) on strange planets. And soscience served expediency and now a Trader bound for any Galactic banquetwas immunized, as far as was medically possible, against the evilconsequences of consuming food not originally intended for Terranstomachs. One of the results being that Traders acquired a far flungreputation of possessing bird-like appetites--since it was always betterto nibble and live, than to gorge and die.
Groft had not yet taken his place in the vacant chieftain's chair. Forthe present he stood in the center of the table circle, directing thecaptive slaves who circulated with the food. Until the magic moment whenthe clan themselves would proclaim their overlord, he remained merely theeldest son of the house, relatively without power.
As the endless rows of platters made their way about the table the basketlights on the tops of the pillars were ignited, dispelling the dusk ofevening. And there was an attendant stationed by each to throw onhandsful of aromatic bark which burned with puffs of lavender smoke,adding to the many warring scents. The Terrans had recourse at intervalsto their own pungent smelling bottles, merely to clear their heads of thedrugging fumes.
Luckily, Dane thought as the feast proceeded, that smoke from thebraziers went straight up. Had they been in a roofed space they mighthave been overcome. As it was--were they entirely conscious of all thatwas going on around them?
His reason for that speculation was the dance now being performed in thecenter of the hall--their fight with the gorp being enacted in a seriesof bounds and stabbings. He was sure that he could no longer trust hiseyes when the claw knife of the victorious dancer-hunter apparentlypassed completely through the chest of another wearing a grotesquemonster mask.
As a fitting climax to their horrific display, three of the men who hadbeen with them on the reef entered, dragging behind them--still enmeshedin the hunting net--the gorp which Dane had stunned. It was uncurled nowand very much alive, but the pincer claws which might have cut its wayto safety were encased in balls of hard substance.
Freed from the net, suspended by its sealed claws, the gorp swung backand forth from a standard set up before the high seat. Its murderous jawssnapped futilely, and from it came an enraged snake's vicious hissing.Though totally in the power of its enemies it gave an impression ofterrifying strength and menace.
The sight of their ancient foe aroused the Salariki, inflaming warriorswho leaned across the table to hurl tongue-twisting invective at thecaptive monster. Dane gathered that seldom had a living gorp beendelivered helpless into their hands and they proposed to make the most ofthis wonderful opportunity. And the Terran suddenly wished themonstrosity had fallen back into the sea. He had no soft thoughts for thegorp after what he had seen at the reef and the tales he had heard, butneither did he like what he saw now expressed in gestures, heard in thetones of voices about them.
A storm priest put an end to the outcries. His dun cloak making a spot ofdarkness amid all the flashing color, he came straight to the place wherethe gorp swung. As he took his stand before the wriggling creature thedin gradually faded, the warriors settled back into their seats, a poolof quiet spread through the enclosure.
Groft came up to take his position beside the priest. With both hands hecarried a two handled cup. It was not the ornamented goblet which stoodbefore each diner, but a manifestly older artifact, fashioned of somedull black substance and having the appearance of being even older thanthe hall or town.
One of the warriors who had helped to bring in the gorp now made a quickand accurate cast with a looped rope, snaring the monster's head andpulling back almost at a right angle. With deliberation the storm priestproduced a knife--the first straight bladed weapon Dane had seen onSargol. He made a single thrust in the soft underpart of the gorp'sthroat, catching in the cup he took from Groft some of the ichor whichspurted from the wound.
The gorp thrashed madly, spattering table and surrounding Salariki withits life fluid, but the attention of the crowd was riveted elsewhere.Into the old cup the priest poured another substance from a flask broughtby an underling. He shook the cup back and forth, as if to mix itscontents thoroughly and then handed it to Groft.
Holding it before him the young chieftain leaped to the table top and soto stand before the high seat. There was a hush throughout the enclosure.Now even the gorp had ceased its wild struggles and hung limp in itsbonds.
Groft raised the cup above his head and gave a loud shout in the archaiclanguage of his clan. He was answered by a chant from the warriors whowould in battle follow his banner, chant punctuated with the clinkingslap of knife blades brought down forcibly on the board.
Three times he recited some formula and was answered by the others. Then,in another period of sudden quiet, he raised the cup to his lips anddrank off its contents in a single draught, turning the goblet upsidedown when he had done to prove that not a drop remained within. A shouttore through the great hall. The Salariki were all on their feet, wavingtheir knives over their heads in honor to their new ruler. And Groft forthe first time seated himself in the high seat. The clan was no longerwithout a chieftain. Groft held his father's place.
"Show over?" Dane heard Stotz murmur and Van Rycke's disappointing reply:
"Not yet. They'll probably make a night of it. Here comes another roundof drinks--"
"And trouble with them,"--that was Captain Jellico being prophetic.
"By the Coalsack's Ripcord!" That exclamation had been jolted out of Ripand Dane turned to see what had so jarred the usually sereneAstrogator-apprentice. He was just in time to witness an important pieceof Sargolian social practice.
A young warrior, surely only within a year or so of receiving his knife,was facing an older Salarik, both on their feet. The head and shoulderfur of the older fighter was dripping wet and an empty goblet rolledacross the table to bump to the floor. A hush had fallen on the immediateneighbors of the pair, and the
re was an air of expectancy about thecompany.
"Threw his drink all over the other fellow," Rip's soft whisperexplained. "That means a duel--"
"Here and now?" Dane had heard of the personal combat proclivities of theSalariki.
"Should be to the death for an insult such as that," Ali remarked, asusual surveying the scene from his chosen role as bystander. As a childhe had survived the unspeakable massacres of the Crater War, nothing hadbeen able to crack his surface armor since.
"The young fool!" that was Steen Wilcox sizing up the situation from theangle of a naturally cautious nature and some fifteen years of experienceon a great many different worlds. "He'll be mustered out for good beforehe knows what happened to him!"
The younger Salarik had barked a question at his elder and had beenpromptly answered by that dripping warrior. Now their neighbors came tolife with an efficiency which suggested that they had been waiting forsuch a move, it had happened so many times that every man knew just theright procedure from that point on.
In order for a Sargolian feast to be a success, the Terrans gathered fromoverheard remarks, at least one duel must be staged sometime during thefestivities. And those not actively engaged did a lot of brisk betting inthe background.
"Look there--at that fellow in the violet cloak," Rip directed Dane. "Seewhat he just laid down?"
The nobleman in the violet cloak was not one of Groft's liege men, but amember of the delegation from another clan. And what he had laid down onthe table--indicating as he did so his choice as winner in the comingcombat, the elder warrior--was a small piece of white material on whichreposed a slightly withered but familiar leaf. The neighbor he wageredwith, eyed the stake narrowly, bending over to sniff at it, before hepiled up two gem set armlets, a personal scent box and a thumb ring tobalance.
At this practical indication of just how much the Terran herb wasesteemed Dane regretted anew their earlier ignorance. He glanced alongthe board and saw that Van Rycke had noted that stake and was callingtheir Captain's attention to it.
But such side issues were forgotten as the duelists vaulted into thecircle rimmed by the table, a space now vacated for their action. Theywere stripped to their loin cloths, their cloaks thrown aside. Eachcarried his net in his right hand, his claw knife ready in his left. Asyet the Traders had not seen Salarik against Salarik in action and inspite of themselves they edged forward in their seats, as intent as thenatives upon what was to come. The finer points of the combat were loston them, and they did not understand the drilled casts of the net, whichhad become as formalized through the centuries as the ancient and nowalmost forgotten sword play of their own world. The young Salarik hadgreater agility and speed, but the veteran who faced him had theexperience.
To Terran eyes the duel had some of the weaving, sweeping movements ofthe earlier ritual dance. The swift evasions of the nets were gracefuland so timed that many times the meshes grazed the skin of the fighterwho fled entrapment.
Dane believed that the elder man was tiring, and the youngster must haveshared that opinion. There was a leap to the right, a sudden flurry ofdart and retreat, and then a net curled high and fell, enfolding flailingarms and kicking legs. When the clutch rope was jerked tight, thecaptured youth was thrown off balance. He rolled frenziedly, but therewas no escaping the imprisoning strands.
A shout applauded the victor. He stood now above his captive who laysupine, his throat or breast ready for either stroke of the knife hiscaptor wished to deliver. But it appeared that the winner was not mindedto end the encounter with blood. Instead he reached out a long, befurredarm, took up a filled goblet from the table and with seriousdeliberation, poured its contents onto the upturned face of the loser.
For a moment there was a dead silence around the feast board and then asecond roar, to which the honestly relieved Terrans added spurts oflaughter. The sputtering youth was shaken free of the net and went downon his knees, tendering his opponent his knife, which the other thrustalong with his own into his sash belt. Dane gathered from overheardremarks that the younger man was, for a period of time, to be determinedby clan council, now the servant-slave of his overthrower and that sincethey were closely united by blood ties, this solution was consideredeminently suitable--though had the elder killed his opponent, no onewould have thought the worse of him for that deed.
It was the Queen's men who were to provide the next center of attraction.Groft climbed down from his high seat and came to face across the boardthose who had accompanied him on the hunt. This time there was noescaping the sipping of the potent drink which the new chieftain sloppedfrom his own goblet into each of theirs.
The fiery mouthful almost gagged Dane, but he swallowed manfully andhoped for the best as it burned like acid down his throat into hismiddle, there to mix uncomfortably with the viands he had eaten. Weeks'thin face looked very white, and Dane noticed with malicious enjoyment,that Ali had an unobtrusive grip on the table which made his knucklesstand out in polished knobs--proving that there _were_ things which couldupset the imperturbable Kamil.
Fortunately they were _not_ required to empty that flowing bowl in onegulp as Groft had done. The ceremonial mouthful was deemed enough andDane sat down thankfully--but with uneasy fears for the future.
Groft had started back to his high seat when there was an interruptionwhich had not been foreseen. A messenger threaded his way among theserving men and spoke to the chieftain, who glanced at the Terrans andthen nodded.
Dane, his queasiness growing every second, was not attending until heheard a bitten off word from Rip's direction and looked up to see a partyof I-S men coming into the open space before the high seat. The men fromthe Queen stiffened--there was something in the attitude of the newcomerswhich hinted at trouble.
"What do you wish, sky lords?" That was Groft using the Trade Lingo, hiseyes half closed as he lolled in his chair of state, almost as if he wereabout to witness some entertainment provided for his pleasure.
"We wish to offer you the good fortune desires of our hearts--" That wasKallee, the flowery words rolling with the proper accent from his tongue."And that you shall not forget us--we also offer gifts--"
At a gesture from their Cargo-master, the I-S men set down a small chest.Groft, his chin resting on a clenched fist, lost none of his lazy air.
"They are received," he retorted with the formal acceptance. "And no onecan have too much good fortune. The Howlers of the Black Winds knowthat." But he tendered no invitation to join the feast.
Kallee did not appear to be disconcerted. His next move was one whichtook his rivals by surprise, in spite of their suspicions.
"Under the laws of the Fellowship, O, Groft," he clung to the formalspeech, "I claim redress--"
Ali's hand moved. Through his growing distress Dane saw Van Rycke's jawtighten, the fighting mask snap back on Captain Jellico's face. Whatevercame now was real trouble.
Groft's eyes flickered over the party from the Queen. Though he had justpledged cup friendship with four of them, he had the malicious humor ofhis race. He would make no move to head off what might be coming.
"By the right of the knife and the net," he intoned, "you have the powerto claim personal satisfaction. Where is your enemy?"
Kallee turned to face the Free Traders. "I hereby challenge a champion tobe set out from these off-worlders to meet by the blood and by the watermy champion--"
The Salariki were getting excited. This was superb entertainment, anengagement such as they had never hoped to see--alien against alien. Therising murmur of their voices was like the growl of a hunting beast.
Groft smiled and the pleasure that expression displayed was neitherTerran--nor human. But then the clan leader was not either, Dane remindedhimself.
"Four of these warriors are clan-bound," he said. "But the others mayproduce a champion--"
Dane looked along the line of his comrades--Ali, Rip, Weeks and himselfhad just been ruled out. That left Jellico, Van Rycke, Karl Kosti, thegiant jetman whose strength they had to
rely upon before, Stotz theEngineer, Medic Tau and Steen Wilcox. If it were strength alone he wouldhave chosen Kosti, but the big man was not too quick a thinker--
Jellico got to his feet, the embodiment of a star lane fighting man. Inthe flickering light the scar on his cheek seemed to ripple. "Who's yourchampion?" he asked Kallee.
The Eysie Cargo-master was grinning. He was confident he had pushed theminto a position from which they could not extricate themselves.
"You accept challenge?" he countered.
Jellico merely repeated his question and Kallee beckoned forward one ofhis men.
The Eysie who stepped up was no match for Kosti. He was a slender, almostwand-slim young man, whose pleased smirk said that he, too, was about toput something over on the notorious Free Traders. Jellico studied him fora couple of long seconds during which the hum of Salariki voices was thethreatening buzz of a disturbed wasps' nest. There was no way out ofthis--to refuse conflict was to lose all they had won with the clansmen.And they did not doubt that Kallee had, in some way, triggered the scalesagainst them.
Jellico made the best of it. "We accept challenge," his voice was level."We, being guesting in Groft's holding, will fight after the manner ofthe Salariki who are proven warriors--" He paused as roars of pleasedacknowledgment arose around the board.
"Therefore let us follow the custom of warriors and take up the net andthe knife--"
Was there a shade of dismay on Kallee's face?
"And the time?" Groft leaned forward to ask--but his satisfaction at sucha fine ending for his feast was apparent. This would be talked over byevery Sargolian for many storm seasons to come!
Jellico glanced up at the sky. "Say an hour after dawn, chieftain. Withyour leave, we shall confer concerning a champion."
"My council room is yours," Groft signed for a liege man to guide them.