Seventh Sword - The Reluctant Swordsman Part 17

"A strong man could lift the slab if he could get close to it," Tarru suggested, frowning.

"I doubt it," Wallie said. "It takes two slaves, standing upright, to lift one end. Would you like to go over there with me, and I'll try? If I can't, then few could. They are very smooth, slimy chunks of rock."

Tarru seemed to come to a decision. "You have made a very good observation, my lord! I shall make it my first business in my new post -- and while I am at it, I shall order a new roof for the jail. It certainly brings the G.o.ddess no honor."

There was a surprisingly generous surrender! Then Wallie realized that Tarru's lost wager was not going to cost Tarru himself anything.

Tarru's eyes still kept wandering to Wallie's sword.

Gradually the others completed their lunch and rose to make their excuses and leave, until only Trasingji and Tarru were left. Then Nnanji came in and detoured around the table to make sure that Wallie saw him and knew he was back -- or perhaps just to let as many people see him as possible. His kilt was brilliant yellow linen, with pleats as sharp as his sword. His boots were b.u.t.ter-colored suede, his harness s.h.i.+ny and embossed. A silver hairclip glittered beside the hilt of his new sword. He looked a trifle out of breath, as though he had been running.

Tarru and Trasingji glanced at each other and thereafter avoided Lord Shonsu's eye ... which was just as well. Sevenths should maintain a certain dignity in public, and Wallie was turning bright red from suppressed laughter.

The exercise area was a courtyard, partially roofed, three sides open to catch any breeze that might wander in from the parade ground. It was unfurnished, except for a few full-length mirrors, some racks against the wall to hold masks and spare foils, and a small raised gallery for spectators. On that, Wallie stood for a minute to study the place. Nnanji, beside him, was twitching with eagerness to have his first fencing lesson from this superb Seventh.

Over the parade ground the afternoon sun raged. In that suffocating heat, the twenty or so swordsmen present were slouched around in groups, chatting listlessly. Wallie was looking now at the colors of their kilts and -- so far as he could see -- at their boots. He had done the same when he was leaving the mess hall, for Nnanji's new splendor had emphasized his previous shabbiness -- the washed-out drabness of his kilt and the patches on his boots. Wallie was looking to see how many more impoverished swordsmen there were around. He could see none. Perhaps Nnanji gave all his pay to his parents. Perhaps he spent it all on women.

Or could he be the only honest man in the guard?

Now they had been noticed. In a few moments all the men were masked and paired off, leaping back and forth, stamping up clouds of dust, and clattering foils with terrifying enthusiasm.

"We seem to have inspired some action," Wallie remarked sarcastically.

"They have heard that you are leaving, my liege. They are auditioning."

"The devil they are!" Wallie studied the fencing carefully through Shonsu's eyes. "Are these fairly average, or are they a duffer cla.s.s sent in for extra practice?"

Nnanji looked surprised. "They are average, my liege." He started to point out some of the men, commenting on those who were thought likely to win promotion soon, a few who were thought to be slipping.

"Remembering that you don't repeat to anyone what I tell you," Wallie said after a while, "I will give you my opinion. They are the worst collection of ducks I ever saw outside a farmyard."

"My liege!"

"I mean it!" Wallie a.s.sured him. "I can't see one Third fencing like a Third, one Fourth fencing like a Fourth. Admittedly they're all so eager to show off right now that no one is left to supervise, but I find them disgusting. I'd drop them all one rank at least!"

Nnanji looked worried and said nothing.

Probably few of these swordsmen had ever fought a serious fight in their lives. They herded prisoners and bullied pilgrims and that was all. Most of them looked as though they had never had a proper lesson. Tarru was a good swordsman -- did he not care?

"How many Seconds in the guard?" Wallie demanded suddenly, still leaning on the rail and staring in disbelief at this ma.s.s incompetence.

"Twelve, my liege, without me."

"How many of those can normally beat you in a best of three?"

"Two, maybe three," Nnanji said uneasily.

Wallie turned his eyes to look at him. He was very pink.

"And how many can you beat?"

Nnanji muttered, "Three."

"What! That doesn't make sense!"

"Briu says that my defense is very good, my liege. They rarely get a hit against me."

Wallie frowned. Unless his Shonsu expertise was starting to fail him, something was wrong there. Then he noticed a curious contraption at the far end of the court and forgot Nnanji's troubles for a moment. It was an edifice of ma.s.sive beams and straps, and neither he nor Shonsu knew what it was. Long rods like pool cues stood in a barrel beside it.

"What in h.e.l.l is that?" he asked, pointing, not able to believe what he was starting to guess.

"The whipping post, my liege."

Wallie wheeled to stare at his va.s.sal. "And who gets whipped?"

Nnanji shrugged. "Mostly slaves. Some mentors use it on some proteges."

"And expect to make swordsmen of them?" Wallie looked once more at the whipping post, briefly again at the fencers. "Let's get out of here," he said, "before I lose my lunch."

In sulky silence, Nnanji followed his liege back to the royal suite, obviously a.s.suming that the lesson had been canceled. They marched through the anteroom. "Close the door," Wallie said and kept walking until he was a safe distance into the great room.

"_Draw!_" he shouted, wheeling and drawing. Nnanji jumped and drew.

"Hey! Not bad!" Wallie said. "And with an unfamiliar sword, too!" He laughed at Nnanji's alarm. "Relax! Did you think I was going to start fencing with real blades? I was testing your speed -- and you're a lot faster than Briu. A lot faster? Of course you're younger."

Nnanji beamed -- he could have had little praise on his fencing for a long time, if he was third from the bottom of thirteen.

The guest chamber was almost as large as the fencing court. It was cooler and shaded and private. Wallie laid the seventh sword carefully on a lacquered table and moved a stool close to a silk-embroidered chair. He sat down with a sigh of pleasure, putting his feet up. Nnanji was grinning again, still clutching his sword.

"Not foils," Wallie said. "You need to learn the feel of that blade anyway. Now, guard at quarte. Show me a lunge."

Nnanji lunged and there was a pause.

"Terrible," said his mentor. "Foot turned in, thumb turned up. Limp wrist ... elbow. G.o.ds! The attack of the killer earthworm." He pointed at the mirror. "Try again over there. Now -- how were you first shown? Use that memory of yours."

Nnanji lunged once more at the mirror, then adjusted his foot, his hand, his arm, his wrist. He tried again, went through the same process, and looked around uneasily.

"You're dead, apprentice," Wallie said quietly. "They're down at the armory selling your sword. Pity, he was a nice kid."

He lunged a dozen times and was wrong every time. Then Wallie had him concentrate on his wrist. He could do that, but when he tried to get his foot right as well, his wrist wavered as before. In half an hour he had gained no ground at all, and both Wallie and Shonsu were totally baffled. He stood up and gripped Nnanji's left hand.

"I'll take your weight," he said. "Try it very, very slowly." Like a slow-motion movie, Nnanji moved his arm, raised his right foot, and inched through the lunge. Wallie held him steady until his right foot came back to the floor. Constantly adjusting his position, Nnanji managed a travesty of a lunge. They tried that for a while, but the least increase in speed put him right back where he was before.

"It's your d.a.m.ned memory!" Wallie roared. "Can't you forget?" But apparently Nnanji could not, although he was almost insane with frustration. His bad habits had soaked in like the sutras. They tried a fresh start with his left hand, but he was no southpaw, and they gave up on that idea.

They tried with a foil. They tried with his old sword. They tried with his eyes shut. If Nnanji's distress had not been so obvious, Wallie would have thought he was playing games and doing as badly as possible on purpose.

"Well, let's try the celebrated defense, then," Wallie sighed. They pulled foils and masks from the ma.s.sive iron-bound chest and faced off.

His defense was excellent, out of all proportion to the ineptness of his attack.

Wallie threw down the mask, slumped back into the chair, and folded his arms. Nnanji stood and looked at him with despair.

"It beats me," Wallie said. "Your reflexes are fine, and your defense is 'way above any Second I saw downstairs -- Third at least, even by my standards. Your coordination is okay, because you make exactly the same mistakes every time. The only thing you can't do is lunge -- and that movement is half of all swordsmans.h.i.+p. What you've got is a mental block."

But it did not come out as "mental block" -- it translated as "curse," and Nnanji's eyes bulged. Wallie laughed uneasily and said perhaps they had better send for the holy mothers.

He pointed to another of the chintz-covered chairs. "Sit down and relax for a minute," he said. "Let me think about it."

Nnanji sat. He sank into the down filling. But he certainly did not relax. Wallie picked up the seventh sword and pretended to examine it.

"You were surprised at the price you got for your sword," he said quietly. "What do you suppose this one is worth?"

"I don't know, my liege," Nnanji muttered miserably.

"The holy Honakura says that it's priceless. He more or less said that it would fetch whatever you asked, as much as you could carry of anything. I'm told that there are brigands on the ferry trail."

Wallie continued to peer at the blade, and after a moment Nnanji said, "Yes, my liege," a little more attentively.

"I'm worried about our leaving, then," Wallie continued, still speaking to the sword. "You and me and Jja. I shall ask Honorable Tarru to provide us with a guard."

He wished that he dared look at his va.s.sal, to see what expressions were chasing across his so-legible face. Surprise? Worry? Shame? Surely, eventually, Nnanji would work out that a Seventh could not be so naive? The comment came just a fraction sooner than he expected.

"I did swear to die at your side, my liege."

Then Wallie could look round, with a grin. He saw puzzled and rueful embarra.s.sment. "Who would he choose, Nnanji?"

"I don't know, my liege. They didn't trust me."

"That's to your credit, I fear. But certainly I don't trust Honorable Tarru. Is there any other way out of this place?"

"None, my liege."

"What happens if we cross the River?" Wallie waved a hand in the general direction of the temple.

"_Cross the River?_" Nnanji said in horror.

"Well, if we could?" Wallie replied, puzzled. The River was the G.o.ddess -- was there some taboo against crossing? True, there were rapids and the water was wide, but three active young people could get across, even with a baby. "What's on the far bank?"

"Nothing but jungle, my liege. And the cliff..."

True, the cliff looked bad. Well, he would scout that way himself. "Suppose we organized our own escort? Who would you invite? Granted that you tell me that they are all men of honor, which are the most honorable?"

Nnanji wriggled with shame. "I don't know, my liege! I tried not to know those things!" He was having a bad afternoon -- first his inept fencing and now this -- but Wallie could not afford to be merciful.

He pondered, squinting along the sword blade. The trouble with Nnanji was that he was too honest. What was needed was a little human fallibility, enough to know the ropes and who pulled them. "If we picked one man and asked him to organize a guard for us? Who?"

"Briu," Nnanji said, and then flushed at the surprised look he received. "He gave me my sword, my liege."

"The devil he did!" Wallie said. "Good for him -- and good for you for asking! Well, he has no call to love me, but I suppose we could approach him."

Nnanji squirmed some more. "His mentor is Master Trasingji, my liege."

That was as close to an accusation as Nnanji was ever likely to come, and a warning. Even Briu was unsafe.

Wallie groaned. "I did not know that. Then how the h.e.l.l do we get out? I need your advice, Nnanji. Remember Farranulu?"

Nnanji grinned.

#106 ON ESCAPE.

The Epitome When honor permits, a wise warrior fights on terrain of his own choosing. Whether at home alone or in the field with an army, he will always know of at least two routes of escape, and in most cases will also have prepared a place of concealment.

The Episode When Farranulu's wife complained that the bedroom was cold with the window open, he instructed her that she would be even colder without him to share the bed.

The Epigram When Death is present, the wise are absent.

"We could sneak out quietly, board some mules, and just risk it?" suggested Nnanji, whose thinking could never be devious.

"There is a guard on the gate," Wallie said. "He will have issued orders; he will know when we leave. We shall be followed, or else word will be sent ahead. They may already have an ambush prepared. Have you seen how he looks at this sword?

"Is there another gate?" he asked. "Any way around the end of the walls?"

"One gate," Nnanji said glumly. "And the walls end in the River."

Again this curious reluctance to go in the water! The prohibition must be very strong, and yet they used boats. But many Earthly religions allowed bare feet in their temples and prohibited shoes; religions need not be logical.

Nnanji sat and frowned ferociously, but nothing seemed to be coming of it. He was out of his depth.

Wallie had one vague plan he was not mentioning. If he could get Tarru alone, he could force him to swear the blood oath as he had forced Nnanji, for there was no doubt who was the better swordsman. Then he could make the acting reeve call in his proteges, one by one, and order them to swear also. Theoretically he could turn the whole guard into his va.s.sals from the top down, diamonds and dirt together. The crooks would still be crooks and untrustworthy, but the good men would be true to their oath and surely they were in a majority? The disadvantage to that plan was that Wallie was Tarru's guest, so drawing his sword would be an abomination. Nnanji would die of shame if he knew that his hero was even contemplating such a deed.

"Horses," Nnanji said. "There are only a dozen or so in the valley and they all belong to the guard." He looked at his liege hopefully.

"Brilliant!" Wallie exclaimed. "b.l.o.o.d.y-handed brilliant!"