“Five thousand forty!”
Tau stepped into his fighting circle and did not like what he saw. He was facing a stocky, bare-chested man with no shield. The man had raised welts over his chest, back, and arms from the day prior. He eyed Tau, looking him up and down, but said nothing. Tau tossed his shield outside the circle, though not in some misguided attempt at fairness. He hated fighting with the damned things anyway.
“Fight!” the Proven ordered, and they did.
The topless man held back, so Tau attacked, coming fast, looking to finish the fight early. The topless man was faster. He shrugged off Tau’s first and second strikes with the edge of his blade and sent a jab for Tau’s stomach. Tau parried and their swords tangled. The stocky man stepped in, grabbed the wrist of Tau’s sword arm, and bent it. Tau mirrored the move and they grappled, tripping and falling in the dirt. There was a scramble, a dropped sword, a head butt, a curse, a retrieved sword, and a heavy kick, and then both were back up, circling.
Tau’s left eye was swelling shut and the jagged cut Lekan had given him was bleeding through its scabs. The man’s head had felt like a rock when he’d slammed it into Tau’s face. At least the stocky fighter wouldn’t be as fast. Tau had kicked him in the thigh as hard as he could and the bare-chested brawler was favoring the leg.
Tau lifted his sword, keeping it parallel to the ground and aimed at his opponent’s chest. The brawler slapped at it with his blade, trying to keep Tau focused on the meaningless contact as he planned his next offensive. Tau didn’t give him the chance.
He came forward, sword point leading and punching through the air like a needle through cloth. His opponent skipped backward and Tau harried him, taking him to the fighting circle’s boundary. With no more room for retreat, the swordplay began in earnest.
The brawler yelled something unintelligible and attacked. Tau snarled and went for him. Blades connected; they repositioned, swung again: block, riposte, each looking for any advantage, any chance for a clean strike.
The brawler gave Tau a hard hit to the arm, Tau blasted him in the waist, and the man moved back, hunching over his injured core. Tau followed, smashing at him, the pressure forcing the brawler to his knees.
Tau had the advantage, but the match had taken a toll. He was wearied and could barely feel his arms or legs. He had to end this, and, roaring, he hammered at the kneeling man like an errant nail. Bang, bang, bang!
The sword fell from the brawler’s hand. Bang, bang, bang! Tau didn’t stop. He hit him on his arms and shoulders and clubbed him in the chest. The brawler fell over and Tau hit him and hit him until he heard the Proven’s shouting over the blood booming in his ears.
“Victory! Victory! Match over! The match is over!” the officiant screamed.
Tau backed away. The brawler was mewling like a newborn. Five, Tau thought. Five more wins and he was guaranteed a place among the Ihashe.
He wanted to laugh and didn’t have the energy. He had just gotten the joke, the one that had tickled the smiling Ihashe who had explained the rules the day before. Tau couldn’t win ten of these fights. Tau didn’t think he could win one more.
He made his way to the nearest bucket, cupped his hands, and drank, the cut on his face dripping blood into the water.
“Five thousand forty!” shouted a voice several fighting circles away. “Five thousand forty.”
Tau looked toward the shouting and saw the Proven and the fighting circle. He could leave. He was so tired. He could leave.
“Five thousand forty!”
Tau left the blood-tainted bucket of water and walked over. He was joined by the huge Low Common he’d seen bludgeon a man on the first day.
“Uduak,” the massive man said, pointing a thick finger at himself.
Tau looked up and into the muscular man’s bland, heavy-browed face. “Tau,” he told him.
The giant shook his head. “Nine,” he said, pointing at Tau’s chest.
“Nine?”
“Ninth fight,” he said, stepping into the same circle as Tau.
NINE
Uduak held a great sword almost as tall as Tau. On his other arm was a massive circular shield. He wore a full gambeson and was holding a bronze helm. The brute stuffed the helm onto his sweat-slicked shaven head. It covered him down to his neck and had a single piece of thick bronze down its center, protecting his nose.
“Shield, neh?” the attending Proven asked, as if he doubted anything would make the slightest difference to this match’s outcome.
“Yes,” Tau said. He didn’t like fighting with one, but he couldn’t imagine surviving a blow from Uduak’s great sword, no matter how much linen was wrapped around it. A crowd was forming and Tau knew they weren’t here to watch him.
“Fight!” the Proven shouted, and Uduak charged.
Tau tried to get out of the way, but Uduak’s great sword was too long to dodge, so he blocked with his shield. The contact spun him around, putting him on his ass, and the pain was instant. It vibrated up Tau’s blocking arm, into his shoulder, and down his back.
He jumped to his feet, scurrying away from Uduak, who came at him swinging. Tau blocked two thundering blows and could no longer lift his shield arm. He shrugged off the paltry protection, letting shield slip to hot sand. Behind him the onlookers gibbered, cheering and jeering in turns.
“He’s done,” one of them said.
“Burn him,” another shrieked.
Uduak came on.
Trying to shake some feeling back into his arm, Tau danced out of the way of the oversized man’s next swing but had to use his sword to block Uduak’s follow-up. The collision of swords came close to tearing his weapon from his hand.
“Goddess!” chortled a faceless fool in the crowd, half-chewed food flying from his mouth.
Tau had to attack. He sucked air into his lungs, bellowed, and ran for Uduak. The crowd cheered and Uduak didn’t move. He stood there, tall as a mountain, and swung that great sword.
Tau ducked beneath the linen-covered blade and thrust for the giant’s gut. Uduak stepped off the line of the thrust and swiped at Tau with his shield. The shield belted Tau aside, lifting him off the ground and flinging him through the air. He hit the sand hard and the air was blasted from his lungs. Head spinning, chest burning, he rolled to his knees. Uduak was coming for him.
Tau couldn’t win, not against this. He thought to call for mercy and end the foolishness before the brute killed him. Instead, he stood. The crowd went mad. They would get to see blood.
Uduak slowed, stretching the moment. He pointed at Tau. “Nine,” he said.
Tau spat, tasting copper. “Cek your nine.”
Uduak swung his great sword hard enough to disembowel, linen wrap or no. Tau dove to the dirt, letting the swing spin the big man half around, and then Tau came back up, slamming his sword in the weak space below Uduak’s ribs. His blade hit the brute square, punched into the gambeson, and bit flesh.
With the linen around his sword intact, the superficial cut was legal, and Tau had blooded the beast. The crowd howled, their rapture rising to a frenzy when Uduak looked down to see where he’d been hit.
“Point!” said the Proven, flinging a hand in the air for emphasis.
Uduak’s eyes thinned to slits and his fingers danced over the hilt of that horrible sword. He banged the blade on the edge of his shield, pushing the circle of bronze farther onto his arm, and he came for Tau.