Battle Circle 2 - Var the Stick Read online

  Then a sworder took on a sticker. Tyl watched this contest with interest, for his own two weapons were sword and sticks, and he wished he had more of each in his tribe. The sticks were useful for discipline, the sword for conquest.

  The sticker-novice seemed to have some promise. His hands were swift, his aim sure. The sworder was strong but slow; he laid about himself crudely.

  The sticker caught his opponent on the side of the head, and followed up the telling blow with a series to the neck and shoulders. So doing, he let slip his guard-and the keen blade-edge caught him at the throat, and he was dead.

  Tyl closed his eyes in pain. Such folly! The one youngster with token promise had let his enthusiasm run away with him, and had walked into a slash that any idiot could have avoided. Was there any hope for this generation?

  One youth remained-a rare Momingstar. It took courage to select such a weapon, and a certain morbidity, for it was devastating and unstable. Tyl had left him until last because he wanted to match him against an experienced warrior. That would greatly decrease the star's chance of success, but would correspondingly increase his chance of survival. If he looked good, Tyl would arrange to match him next month with an easy mark, and take him into the tribe as soon as he had his band and name.

  One of the perimeter sentries came up. "Strangers, Chief-man and woman. He's ugly as hell; she must be, too."

  Still irritated by the loss of the promising sticker, Tyl snapped back: "Is your bracelet so worn you can't tell an ugly woman by sight?"

  "She's veiled."

  Tyl became interested. 'What woman would cover her face?"

  The sentry shrugged. "Do you want me to bring them here?'

  Tyl nodded.

  As the man departed, he returned to the problem of the star. A veteran staffer would be best, for the Morningstar could maim or kill the wielders of other weapons, even in the hands of a novice. He summoned a man who bad had experience with the star in the circle, and began giving him instructions.

  Before the test commenced, the strangers arrived. The man was indeed ugly: somewhat hunchbacked, with hands grossly gnarled, and large patches of discolored skin on limbs and torso. Because of his stoop, his eyes peered out from below shaggy brows, oddly impressive. He moved gracefully despite some peculiarity of gait; there was something wrong with his fóet. His aspect was feral.

  The woman was shrouded in a long cloak that concealed her figure as the veil concealed her face. But he could tell from the way she stepped that she was neither young nor fat. That, unless she gave him some pretext to have her stripped, was as much as he was likely to know.

  "I am Tyl, chief of this camp in the name of the Nameless One," he said to the man. "What is your business here?'

  The man displayed his left wrist. It was naked.

  "You came to earn a bracelet?" Tyl was surprised that a man as muscular and scarred and altogether formidable as this one should not already be a warrior. But another look at the almost useless hands seemed to clarify that. How could he fight well, unless he could grasp his weapon?

  Or could he be another weaponless warrior? Tyl knew of only one in the empire-but that one was the Weaponless less, the Master. It could, indeed, be done; Tyl himself had gone down to defeat in the circle before that juggernaut.

  "What is your chosen weapon?" he asked.

  The man reached to his belt and revealed, hanging be neath the loose folds of his jacket, a pair of singlesticks.

  Tyl was both relieved and disappointed. A novice weaponless warrior would have been intriguing. Then he had another notion. "Will you go against the star?"

  The man, still not speaking, nodded.

  Tyl gestured to the circle. "Star, here is your match" he called.

  The size of the audience seemed to double as he spoke. This contest promised to be interesting!

  The star stepped into the circle, hefting his spiked ball. The stranger removed his Jacket and leggings to stand in conventional pantaloons that still looked odd on him. Hi chest, though turned under by his posture, was massive. Across it the flesh was yellowish. The legs were extremely stout, ridged with muscle, and the short feet were bare. The toenails curled around the toes thickly, almost like hoofs. Strange man!

  The arms were not proportionately developed, though on a man with slighter chest and shoulders they would have been impressive enough. But the hands, as they closed about the sticks, resembled pincers. The grip was square unsophisticated, - awkward-but tight. This novice was either very bad or very good.

  The veiled woman settled near the circle to watch. She was as strange In her concealment as the young hunchback was in his physique.

  The sticker entered the circle circumspectly, like an animal skirting a deadfall, but his guard was up. The star whirled his chained mace above his head so that the spike whistled in the air. For a moment the two faced each other at the ready. Then the star advanced, the wheel of his revolving sledge coming to intersect the body of his opponent.

  The sticker ducked, as he had to; no flesh could withstand the strike of that armored ball. His powerful legs carried him along bent over, and his natural hunch facilitated this; half his normal height, he raced across the circle and came up behind the star.

  That one ploy told half the story. Tyl knew that if the sticker could jump as well as he could stoop, the star would never catch him. And the star had to catch him soon, for the whirling ball was quickly fatiguing to the elevated arm.

  But it never, came to that. Before the star could reorient, the sticks had clipped him about the business arm, and he was unable to maintain his pose. The motion of the ball slowed; the man staggered.

  Seeing that he was too stupid to realize he had already lost and to step out of the circle, Tyl spoke for the man:

  "Star yields."

  The star looked about, confused. "But rm still in the circle!"

  Tyl had no patience with folly. "Stay, then."

  The man started to wheel his ball again, unsteadily. The sticker stepped close and rapped him on the skull. As man and ball fell, the sticker put one of his sticks between his own teeth and used that hand to clamp on to the chain. This was an interesting maneuver, because the typical star chain was spiked against just such contact-tiny, needlepointed barbs. But the sticker seemed not to notice. He dragged the unconscious man to the edge of the ring, then let go and bent to roll him out.

  With something akin to genuine pleasure, Tyl presented the grotesque sticker with the golden band of manhood. He noticed that the man's hands wore enormously callused. No wonder he did not fear barbs! "Henceforth, warrior, be called-" Tyl paused. "What name have you chosen?"

  The man tried to speak, but his voice was rasping. It was as though he had calluses in his larynx, too. The word that came out sounded like a growL

  Tyl took it in stride. "Henceforth be called Var-Var the Stick." Then: "Who is your companion?"

  Var shook his shaggy leaning head, not answering. But the woman came forth of her own accord, removing her veil and cloak.

  "Sola!" Tyl exclaimed, recognizing the wife of the Master. She was still a handsome woman, though it had been almost ten years since he had first seen her. She had stayed about four years with Sol, then gone to the new Master of Empire. Because the conqueror was weaponless and wore no bracelet and used no name, she had kept the band and name she had. This was tantamount to adultery, openly advertised-but the Master had won her fairly. He was the mightiest man ever to enter the circle, armed or not. If he didn't care about appearances, no one else could afford to comment.

  But Sola had at least been faithful to her chosen husbands, except for a little funny business at the very beginning with that Sos fellow. What was she doing now, wandering about with a (hitherto) nameless youth?

  "The Master trained him," she said. "He wanted him to take his name by himself, without prejudice."

  A protégé of the Weaponless! That made several things fall into place. Well trained-naturally; the Master knew all weapons as adve
rsaries. Strong-yes, that followed. Ugly-of course. This was exactly the sort of man - the Nameless One would like. Perhaps this was what the Master himself had been like as a youth.

  And then he made another connection. "That wild boy that ravaged the crops, five years ago-"

  "Yes. A man, now."

  Tyl's hands went to his own sticks. "He bit me, then. I will have vengeance on him now."

  "No," she said. "That is why I came. You shall not take Var to the circle."

  "Is he afraid to meet me by day? I will waive terms."

  "Var is afraid of nothing. But he is novice yet, and you the second ranked of the empire. He returns with me."

  "He requires a woman to protect him? I should have named him Var the Schtick!"

  She stood up straight, her figure blooming like that of a freshly nubile girL "Do you wish to answer to my husband?"

  And Tyl, because he was bonded to the man she termed her husband, and was himself a man of honor, had to stifle his fury and answer, "No."

  She turned to Var. "We'll stay the night here, then begin the journey back tomorrow. You will want to take your bracelet to the main tent."

  Tyl smiled to himself. The new warrior, with his grotesqueries, would find no takers for his band. Let him celebrate alone!

  And perhaps one day, one year, they would meet again, when the protection of the Nameless One did not apply.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Var knew well enough the significance of the golden bracelet. It was the product of crazy workmanship and distribution, costing the wearer nothing, indistinguishable physically from thousands of others. But not only did it identify him as a man, it served as a license to have a woman-for a night or a year or a lifetime. He had but to put the bracelet on the slender wrist of the girl of his choice and she was his, provided she agreed. Most girls were said to be flattered to be offered such attention, and sought to retain the bracelet as long as possible. They were particularly pleased to bear sons by the bracelet, for as a man proved himself in the circle, so a woman proved herself in fertility. The land always needed more people.

  The big tent was standard. Each camp had one, where the unattached warriors resided, and where single girls made themselves available. In winter a great fire heated the central chamber, while the couples occupying the fringe compartments trusted to sleeping bags and mutual warmth for their comfort.

  Var was sure he would get by nicely on the latter system. In any event, it was summer.

  Dusk, and the lamps were already lighted inside. The collective banquet was just finishing. Var, flush with his achievement of a name, had not been hungry, so that was no loss.

  The girls were there, lounging on home-made furniture. The crazies provided everything a warrior might need, but it was considered gauche to use such unearned merchandise. The nomads preferred, generally, to do for themselves.

  He walked up to the nearest girl. She wore a lovely one-piece wrap-around fastened in front with a silver brooch-the costume signifying her availability. Her hair was a languorous waving brown. Her figure was excellent: high-breasted, low-thighed. Yes, she would do.

  He looked the question at her, putting his right hand on the bracelet and beginning to twist it off. This was approved technique; he had seen warriors do it at the Master's camp.

  "No," she said.

  Var stopped, hand on wrist. Had he misunderstood? He was tempted to query her again, but preferred not to speak. Words were not supposed to be necessary. He had only learned, or perhaps relearned, the language since joining the Master and though he understood it well enough, his mouth and tongue did not form the syllables well.

  He went on to the next, somewhat disgruntled. He had not considered refusal, and didn't know how to handle it.

  This adjacent girl was slightly younger, fair-haired and in pink. Now that he thought about it, she really looked better than the first. He tapped his bracelet.

  She looked at him casually. "Can't you talk?"

  Embarrassed, he grunted the word. "Brach-rit." Bracelet. It was clear in his mind.

  "Get lost, stupid."

  Var did not know how to deal with this either, so he nodded and went on.

  None of the girls were interested. Some showed their contempt with disconcerting candor.

  Finally an older woman, wearing a bracelet, came up to him.

  "You obviously don't understand, Warrior, so I'll explain it to you. I saw you fight today, so don't think I'm trying to insult you."

  Var was glad to have anyone treat him with respect. Gratefully, he listened to her.

  "These girls are young," she said. "They have never had to work, they have never borne children, they have little experience. They're out for a good time. You-well, you're a stranger, so they're cautious. And you're a fledgling warrior, so they're contemptuous. Unjustly so. But as I said, they're young. And I have to tell you-you're not pretty to look at. That doesn't matter in the circle, but it does here. An experienced woman might understand-but not these good-time juniors. Don't blame them. They need tempering by time, just as a warrior does. They make mistakes too."

  Var nodded, frustrated but thankful for her advice, though he did not completely understand it. "Who-"

  "I'm Tyla, the chiefs wife. I just wanted you to understand."

  He had meant to ask what girl to solicit next, but was glad to know the identity of this helpful woman.

  "Go back to your home-camp, where they know you," she said. "Tyl doesn't like you, and that also prejudices your case here. I'm sorry to spoil your big night, but that's the way it is."

  Now he understoodc He wasn't wanted here. "Thanks," he said

  "Good luck, Warrior. You'll find one who's right for you, and she'll be worth the wait. You have lost nothing here."

  Var walked out of the tent.

  Only as the cooling night air brushed him did the reaction come. He war not wanted. At the Master's camp he had been kindly treated, and no one had told him he was ugly. He had seemed to fit in with human life, despite his childhood in the wilderness. Now he knew that he had been sheltered-not physically, but socially. Today, with his formal. achievement of manhood, he was also exposed to the truth. He was still a wild boy, unfit to mingle with human beings.

  First he was embarrassed, so that his head was hot, his hands shaking. He had been blithely offering his shiny virgin bracelet....

  Then he was furious. Why had he been subjected to this? What right had these tame pretty people to pass judgment on him? He tried to accommodate himself to their rules, and they rejected him. None of them would survive in the badlands!

  He took out his shiny metal sticks and hefted them fondly. He was good with these. He was a warrior now. He needed to accept insults from no one. He stepped into the circle, the same one in which he had won his manhood earlier in the day. He waved his weapon.

  "Come fight me!" he cried, knowing the words came out as gibberish but not caring. "I challenge you all!"

  A man emerged from a small tent. "What's the noise?" he demanded; It was Tyl, the camp chief, dressed in a rough woollen nightshirt. The man who, for some reason, did not like Var. Var had never seen him before, that he recalled-though the man could have been among the crowds of people that had gawked at him when the Master first brought him from the badlands.

  "What are you doing?" Tyl demanded, coming close. A yellow topknot dangled against the side of his head.

  "Come fight me!" Var shouted, waving his sticks threateningly. His words might be incoherent, but his meaning could not be mistaken.

  Tyl looked angry, but he did not enter the circle. "There is no fighting after dark," he said. "And if there were, I would not meet you, much as it would give me pleasure to bloody your ugly head and send you howling back through the cornfields. Stop making a fool of yourself."

  Cornfields? Almost, Var made a connection.

  Other people gathered, men and women and excited children. They peered through the gloom at Var, and he realized that he was now a far more ludi
crous figure than he had been in the tent.

  "Leave him alone," Tyl said, and returned to his residence with an almost comical flirt of his topknot. The others dispersed, and soon Var was standing by himself again. He had only made things worse by his belligerence.

  Dejected, he went to the only place he knew where he could find some understanding, however cynical. The isolated tent of his traveling companion: the Master's wife.

  "I was afraid it would come to this," Sola said, her voice oddly soft. "I will go to Tyl and have him fetch you a damsel. You shall not be deprived, this night."

  "No!" Var cried, horrified that he should have to be satisfied by the intercession of a woman going to his enemy. Human mores were not natural to him, but this was too obviously a thing of shame.

  "That, too, I anticipated," she said philosophically. "That's why I had my tent set up away from the main camp."

  Var did not understand.

  "Come in, lie down," she said. "It'd not- as bad as you think. A man doesn't prove himself in one day or one night; it's the years that show the truth."

  Var crawled into the tent and lay down beside her. He really did not know this woman well. She had remained aloof all the years the Master trained him, only instructing him curtly in computations. Thanks to her, he could count to one hundred, and tell whether six handfuls of four ears of corn were more than two baskets with fifteen ears each. (They were not.) Such calculations were difficult and pointless, and he had not enjoyed the lessons, and Sola had made him feel particularly stupid, but the Master had insisted. Thus his chief association with her had been negative.

  He had been surprised when she was delegated-or had volunteered-to accompany him here for his manhood test. A woman! But as it had turned out, she was quite competent. She walked well, so that they made good distance each day and knew the route, and when they encountered strangers she had done the talking. They had spent the nights in the hostels, she in one bunk, he in another, though he would have preferred even now to sleep in a familiar tree. Aloof she remained, but she did not entirely conceal her body as she showered and changed for the night, and the glimpses he bad had, had given him painful erections. His nature was animal; any female, even one as old as this, provoked him. And she did know his origin and understand his limitations.