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Boxing? Was there any help there?
Redbeard raised his hand for silence. When it came he did not look at Blade,
but at Jarl, and his words, and his mien, were kingly enough for any man.
Blade was forced to admiration.
"The gods are strange," said Redbeard, "and no man knows how they decide. I,
Getorix called
Redbeard, have scoffed at gods and taken them were I found them, as we all
do yet I acknowledge their power. If I am to lose my life, and my kingdom, to
this puny stranger" he indicated Blade with a gesture of infinite
contempt "then it is so written and so it shall be. If I am vanquished I
charge all of you to accept the Prince of London as your new ruler. You will
obey him. I also charge Jarl that he be guide and mentor to this man if he is
to be king in my stead."
Blade, falling back a few steps into a posture of defense, had to admit the
cleverness of the man. He was doing it well. Redbeard was leaning over
backward to be fair, to build a legend that would be sung of by the skalds
and, more important, would stand in his favor when the reckoning came with
Voth. It was also a gesture of supreme confidence. Getorix had no thought of
failure he counted Blade as dead.
Redbeard lowered his arms and faced Blade. Blade tensed, then made himself
relax as he tried to fashion a battle plan.
Savate
! The word slipped into his mind from nowhere. Foot boxing. He had once been
proficient in it.
And yet Redbeard did not move toward him. He made a signal and a cupbearer
came forward.
Redbeard grinned at Blade. "One last thing, Prince of London. It is a
tradition with us. We must drink the death toast."
The cupbearer tipped wine into the cup and handed it to Blade. Blade stared at
it. It was contrived of a skull, white as alabaster and chased with gold
runes. The teeth were still intact, large and white and perfect, and they
grinned at Blade as he drank.
The cupbearer filled the skull again and took it to Redbeard. The massive man
held it on high, laughing, an honest mirth that filled the great hall and
started echoes.
"This belonged to Thoth," said Redbeard. He drank and flung the skull at the
servant.
"The last man to challenge me."
Chapter Twelve
«^»
Redbeard advanced on Blade, his great arms spread wide. Blade retreated
slowly, feinting with his head and body, knowing that at all costs he must
avoid that deadly embrace. He did not doubt that, once
Redbeard had him enfolded in those arms, the man could crush him to death.
Blade had never before played the role of David. In his former life his size
and strength had given him an advantage; now the roles were reversed and he
was David to this Goliath called Redbeard.
Redbeard, tired of playing about, rushed at Blade and swung a sledgehammer
fist. Blade ducked under the blow, feeling a rush of air, and countered with a
smashing right hand to the bigger man's belly.
The impact nearly broke his wrist. It was like hitting a cast iron washboard.
Blade slipped deftly away from the tables where Redbeard had nearly cornered
him. Redbeard grinned and followed patiently, taunting Blade.
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"What is this, Prince of London? You will not stand and fight? Yet it was you
who picked this quarrel."
Blade did not answer. He was busy trying to remember and he was going to need
every bit of wind he could get. He knew one other thing he must defeat this
giant quickly or not at all. Here was a man who would not tire, as even Horsa
had tired at last. Here was an enemy who could fight all night and all day.
Guile, cunning, superior technique; in all these, plus speed, lay Blade's only
chance. As he ran swiftly backward he saw the skull cup on a nearby table. He
did not want to furnish a mate to it.
Redbeard leaped in again, pounding with both hands. One blow caught Blade on
the shoulder and spun him a dozen feet. The watching raiders came to their
feet in unison, screaming for the kill. Redbeard lunged after Blade, trying to
grapple. Blade recovered balance just in time and stood his ground for a
moment, shooting a left and right hand into the grinning bearded face. Memory
and reflex served him
well Blade had not consciously planned the blows and they were a perfect
combination. Jarring left and a murderous right cross. Both landed squarely on
Redbeard's chin.
Pain shivered up to Blade's shoulders. Redbeard, scowling now, annoyed with
such insect bites, came on.
Blade leaped into the air, turned half to his right and kicked the giant in
the face. A
savate kick that came somewhere out of memory. His heel cut the flesh around
Redbeard's right eye and a little blood trickled.
Redbeard laughed. "Thunor take me! He fights like a maid kicking and striking
puny blows. How is this, Prince? I know you to be a warrior, for I have seen
it, but you do not fight like one now. Come, Prince! Best have it over. Lock
arms with me like a man and let us see who is stronger."
Blade leaped again, turned, and kicked the man in the stomach. Futile. Blade
went back to his fists and landed another left and several stunning rights.
Redbeard stood rooted like a tree, his hands on his hips, his face bleeding
into the beard, and took the blows laughing.
Blade was already beginning to feel arm weary he had fought much of late and
he had a churning in his stomach that was worse. Panic. He could not do this
thing.
The task was impossible. This was not a mortal flesh and blood creature he
faced Getorix was an automaton with bronze for flesh and iron for muscles.
Redbeard leaped in with a speed that surprised Blade and caught him off
balance. The great arms, greasy with sweat now, twined around Blade's waist
and began to lock behind him.
"Aha," cried Redbeard. "Now we shall hear how your bones crack." The little
blue eyes glinted cold at Blade over the flaming hair.
Blade nearly died then. It was more reflex than conscious effort that saved
him. Reflex and fear. Pure clammy fear and the cunning lower brain that Lord
Leighton's computer had not touched.
Blade arched backward, at the same time clawing at Redbeard's eyes and kneeing
him in the groin. It was not enough. The arms closed steadily around him and
Blade felt a rib go.
Blade seized one of the beribboned plaits and tugged at it with all his might,
wrenching at the beard with every ounce of strength he possessed. He pulled it
out of that contorted face, so close to his own, by the bloody roots.
Redbeard let out a bellow of pain and rage. For an instant his hold loosened
and Blade slipped out of that terrible vise.
He flaunted the plait, half of the man's treasured beard, at his opponent, and
spoke for the first time since the fight had started.
"Here are your pretty ribbons. Come and take them back!"
Redbeard charged like a berserk bull, his pride and vanity outraged, his only
thought to crush and maul this upstart stranger into a pulp.
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Blade moved to one side, tripped the charging man, and whipped him in the face
with his own beard. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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