Tau’s severed sword pushed the attack wide, and as they were taught, Oyibo kept his eyes on his opponent’s dominant hand, his opponent’s weapon hand. The problem was that Tau had two weapon hands, and the sword in the one Oyibo wasn’t watching was coming for his head.
Tau hit him cleanly, ringing his bronze helm like a bell and staggering Oyibo, who swung about wildly. Dodging the first drunken swing and halting the second with the half sword in his left, Tau used his other blade to continue battering Oyibo’s shield.
Oyibo stumbled back, trying to get his bearings, but Tau was there, clubbing him in the thigh with one sword and clipping him in the ribs with the other. With twin hisses of pain, Oyibo backpedaled at speed, intent on getting out of striking distance.
The two men had reset and Tau knew it was win the match then or never. If he let Oyibo steal the fight’s momentum, he’d also be letting him take advantage of Tau’s deficiencies. Given time, Oyibo was good enough to use Tau’s broken sword and inexperience fighting with two blades against him.
Thinking fast, impulsively, Tau launched into the choreographed sequence of attacks most trainers used to drill basic sword swings into new fighters. It was a sequence taught to children, meant to encourage comfort and confidence around weapons. As such, it started slowly but rapidly increased in speed and power. Still, it wasn’t meant for two swords, and to avoid blocking his own attacks, Tau began the sequence with his left. Then, after the first swing, began it again with his right.
Oyibo’s eyebrows shot up when he saw that Tau was still attacking with both swords. His surprise slowed him enough that he misjudged the first strike and was hit. He did catch the second attack in time, predicting it. He had to have recognized the sequence and knew Tau’s right hand would do the mirror-same thing his left hand had just done. He was using his memory of the sequence to predict Tau’s swings, but he’d never had to do this against two swords, and the whole point of the sword form, the reason Tau chose it, was that, though it began slowly, it ended in a whirlwind.
Oyibo stopped the third strike, but the fourth and fifth hit him. The sixth and seventh did as well, eliciting a grunt and then a much louder yowl, the eighth dropped him to a knee, the ninth disarmed him, and the tenth Tau pulled short, the blade in his right hand quivering a fingerspan from the crown of Oyibo’s head.
“Goddess’s mercy,” Oyibo whispered, eyes crossed as he stared at the sword’s too-close point. “Did you just fight with…”
“I think so,” said Tau.
Oyibo swore using words that made even Tau cringe.
“One more round?” Tau asked, trying not to beg.
BLOWS
It was a few days later when Anan called on Tau and Uduak. The sun burned high overhead, its heat near enough to smelt metal. The rest of the scale, already having a sluggish day, put down their weapons and got comfortable, happy to cool off and ready to bet on the fight’s outcome. The word went out and initiates from the other scales wandered closer. Most of the umqondisi followed their men, putting on a show of casual disinterest.
Anan was set to officiate the match and Jayyed stood off to the side, chewing a blade of dried grass. Uduak stepped in the fighting circle, warming up with his oversized wooden sword and shield. Tau, holding his wooden sword, followed him into the ring and the betting began in earnest.
Anan raised his hand to start the match and Tau asked for a moment. He stepped out of the circle, with Anan and Uduak watching him like he’d lost his mind and then looking certain of it when he walked back with a second wooden sword. Tau swung his two swords in circles, flowing the blades in opposite directions.
Uduak cocked his head. “Two?”
Tau stilled his swords, ready.
Uduak shrugged as if to say, one or two, he’d break the man who held them. Tau watched Anan, waiting for the call.
“Fight!” Anan shouted.
Tau attacked and Uduak stepped into the fray. Tau wanted to distract him with the second sword. The plan he’d developed, over nights of secret training with Oyibo, was to use it to keep Uduak’s shield busy while he found openings with his left blade, his strong side. In the beginning it worked, and he scored two quick hits.
Uduak adjusted and came on harder. This put Tau on the defensive, and the extra attention needed to dual-wield was taxing. Tau realized that if he played this match according to plan—distract and engage—he would lose. So he let go, allowing the instincts bred into his right hand over cycle after cycle of training with his father to take hold. This allowed his stronger left side to reap the full benefits of training in the isikolo.
He attacked full on and full out, each blow capable of maiming or killing if it had been dealt with bronze. The effect was instant, and Uduak began to buckle under the pressure of Tau’s twin blades as they whipped against his sword, shield, and body. The men who had gathered to watch stood without words, and the only sounds in the broiling air were the clashing of wooden weapons and the painful grunts from Uduak as Tau hit him over and over.
But Uduak refused to fall. He bellowed, his temper lost to Tau’s flurry, and struck out as hard and as fast as he was able. Tau’s blades met his anger with equal rage, greater speed, and finer skill. Uduak’s shield arm was bludgeoned, his helmet crunched in on its right side, and the big man could not get past the stinging swords.
Uduak began to retreat, no other option left, and Tau came forward, blades whirling. Tau beat him to his knees, forcing Uduak to drop his sword and use both hands behind his chipped and cracking wooden shield. He would not surrender, though, and, caught in the rush, the violence of combat, the shouts of the other men, and his own instincts, Tau no longer saw an initiate of the isikolo. He no longer saw a sword brother. He no longer saw Uduak.
In his place was Kellan Okar, then Dejen Olujimi, and, at the last, Abasi Odili, and Tau let his anger spill out in a storm of blows that rained down on Uduak’s shield and body, but Uduak still would not surrender. Tau, screaming his rage at an opponent that refused to be vanquished and seeing the world through a haze of red the same shade as his father’s lifeblood, smashed Uduak’s shield in two, clubbed the helmet from his head, and went to cave his skull in, when Jayyed called the match in a stunned Anan’s place.
“It’s done,” Jayyed yelled, moving to stand between Tau and Uduak.
“Move,” Tau snarled, swords held to strike.
“It’s done, Tau.”
“Uduak has not called for the Goddess’s mercy,” Umqondisi Thoko said.
“And that is why the match is declared a draw,” Jayyed told the circle of men, causing an outcry. “This is sparring, not a blood-duel. I’m not keen to see good Ihashe injured. I congratulate the efforts of both men, and Uduak is an example to you all. Think on his bravery the next time you face an Indlovu in the Crags.”
Thoko snorted, snatching back a handful of coins from Umqondisi Njere. “Next time they face an Indlovu? There’s no example here. Tau is no Indlovu.”
“Thoko, you can’t even be thankful?” Njere asked. “Jayyed just saved you your drinking money.”
That drew stifled laughter from many of the initiates.
“The match is over,” Njere continued, “and Umqondisi Jayyed has called it a draw. Enough gawking and back to training. You can be sure the hedeni are sharpening their spears while we sit in the heat like sun-dazed lizards.” The initiates dawdled. “Go!” ordered Njere.