Piers Anthony - Battlecircle 3 - Neq the sword

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CHAPTER ONE
"But you are too young for the circle?" Nemi cried.
"If I am, then you are too young for that bracelet you've
been eying! You're fourteen—the same as me." His name
" was the same as hers, too, for she was his twin sister. He
refused to use that name now, for he no longer considered
} himself to be a child.
| In fact he had already chosen his manhood name: Neq.
| Neq the Sword—as soon as he proved himself in the battle
J circle.
| Nemi bit her lip, making it artfully red. She was full-
bodied but small, like him, and could not term herself adult
until she had borrowed the bracelet of a warrior for at least
a night. After that she would shed her childhood name and
assume the feminine form of the warrior she indulged. Be-
tween bracelets she would be nameless—but a woman.
And twice a woman when she bore a baby.
"Bet I make it before you do!" she said. But then she
smiled.
He tugged one of her brown braids until she made a
musical trill of protest. He let go and walked to the circle
where two warriors were practicing: a sticker and a staffer.
It was a friendly match for a trivial point. But the metal
weapons flashed in the sunlight and the beat of the weap-
ons' contacts sounded across the welkin.
This was what he lived for. Honor in the circle! He had
taken a sword from the rack in a crazy hostel four years
ago, though it was so heavy he could hardly swing it, and
had practiced diligently since. His father, Nem the Sword,
had been pleased to train him, and it was excellent train-
ing, but he had never been allowed in a real circle.
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BATTLE CIRCLE
Today he was fourteen! He and his sister were no
longer bound by parental conventions, according to the
code of the nomads. He could fight; she could borrow a
bracelet. Whenever either was ready.
The sticker scored on the staffer, momentarily stunning
him, and the two stepped out of the circle. "I'm hot today!"
the sticker cried. "Gonna put my band on someone. That
girlchild, maybe—Nem's kid."
They hadn't noticed Neq. His sister's challenge, "Bet I
make it before you do," meant nothing. But though they
were close as only twins could be, their rivalry was also
strong. Neq had a pretext to act.
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"Before you put your band on Nem's girlchild," he said
loudly, startling both men, "suppose you put your stick on
Nem's boychild. If you can."
The sticker smiled to cover his embarrassment. "Don't
tempt me, junior. I wouldn't want to hurt a nameless
child."
Neq drew his sword and stepped into the circle. The
weapon looked large on him, because of his small stature.
"Go ahead. Hurt a child."
"And have to answer to Nem? Kid, your dad's a good
man in the circle. I don't want to owe him for roughing
up his baby. Wait till you're of age."
"I'm of age today. I stand on my own recognisance."
That silenced the sticker, because he wasn't familiar
with the word. "You aren't of age," the staffer said, look-
ing down at him. "Anybody can see that."
At this point Nem approached, trailed by his daughter.
"Your boy is asking for trouble," the staffer told him.
"Hig don't want to hurt him, but—"
"He's of age," Nem said regretfully. He was not a large
man himself, but the assurance with which he wore his
sword suggested his size in the circle. "He wants his man-
hood. I can't deny him longer."
"See?" Neq demanded, smirking. "You prove your stick
on me, before you prove anything on my sister."
All three men stiffened. That had been a nasty jibe.
Now Hig the Stick would have to fight, for otherwise
Nem himself might challenge him to keep Nemi chaste.
It was no secret that the sworder was protective toward
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NEQ THE SWORD
both his children, but particularly toward his pretty
daughter.
Hig approached the circle, drawing his stocks. "I gotta
do it," he said apologetically.
Nemi sidled near. "You idiot!" she whispered fiercely at
Neq. "I was only fooling."
"Well, / wasn't!" Neq replied, though now he felt shaky
and uncertain. "Here is my weapon, Hig."
Hig looked at Nem, shrugged, and came to the white
ring. He towered over Neq, handsome and muscular. But
he was not an expert warrior; Neq had watched him fight
before.
Hig stepped inside. Neq came at him immediately,
covering his nervousness with action. He feinted with his
blade in the manner he had practiced endlessly, emulating
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the technique of his father. The sticker jumped away, and
Neq grinned to show greater confidence than he felt. It
had actually worked!
He drove at Hig's middle while the man was catching
his balance. He knew that thrust would be blocked, and
the next, but it was best to maintain the offensive as vigor-
ously as possible. Otherwise he'd be forced to the defen-
sive, which did not favor the sword. Especially against the
quick sticks.
But he scored.
Adrenaline had made him swift. The sword thrust inches
deep into Hig's abdomen. The man cried out horribly and
twisted away—the worst thing he could have done. Blood
welled out as the sword wrenched loose. Hig fell to the
ground, dropping his sticks, clutching the gaping mouth
in his belly.
Neq stood dazed. He had never expected it to be this
easy—or this gruesome. He had intended the thrust as
another ploy, braced to get clipped a few times while he
searched for a genuine opening. To have it end this way—
"Hig yields," the staffer said. That meant Neq could
leave the circle without further mayhem. Ordinarily the
man who remained in the circle longest was- the victor,
regardless what happened inside, since some were clever
at feigning injury as a tactical ruse, or at striking back
despite wounds.
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BATTLE CIRCLE
He was abruptly sick. He stumbled away from the circle,
heedless of the spectacle he made. He retched, getting
vomit in his nose. Now, calamitously, he understood why
his father had been so cautious about the circle.
The sword was no toy, and combat was no game.
He looked up to find Nemi. "It was awful!" she said.
But she was not condemning him. She never did that
when the matter was important. "But I guess you won.
You're a man now. So I fetched this from the hostel for
you."
She held out a gold bracelet, the emblem of adulthood.
Neq leaned against her sisterly bosom, crying. "It
wasn't worth it," he said.
After a while she took a cloth and cleaned him up, and
then he donned the bracelet.
But it was worth it. Hig did not die. He was packed off
to the crazy hospital and the prognosis was favorable.
Neq wore the invaluable bracelet clamped around his left
wrist, proud of its weight, and his friends congratulated
him on his expertise and assumption of manhood. Even
Nemi confessed that she was relieved to have had her
liaison with the sticker broken up; she hadn't liked Hig
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that well anyway. She could wait for womanhood—weeks,
if need be!
There was a manhood party for Neq, where he an-
nounced his name, which was duly posted on a hostel
bulletin board for the crazies to record. There was no
eligible girl in this group, so he was unable to consum-
mate his new status in the traditional fashion. But the
truth was that he was as leary as was his sister of the actual
plunge. Man-man in the circle was straight-forward. Man-
woman in the bed . . . that could wait.
So he sang for them, his fine tenor impressing everyone.
Nemi joined him, her alto harmonizing neatly. They were
no longer technically brother and sister, but such ties did
not sever cleanly at the stroke of a sword.
A few days later he commenced his manhood trek: a
long hike anywhere, leaving his family behind. He was
expected to fight, perfecting his craft, and to move his
bracelet about, becoming a man of experience. He might
return in a month or a year or never; the hiatus would
NEQ THE SWORD
establish the change of circumstance, so that all nomads
would respect him as an individual. Never again would
he be "Nem's kid." He was a warrior.
It was a glorious moment, this ceremony of departure,
but he had to hide the choke in his throat as he bid
farewell to Nem and Nema and Nemi, the family he had
set aside. He saw tears forming in his sister's eyes, and
she could not speak, and she was beautiful, and he had to
turn away before he was overcome similarly, but it was
good.
He marched. The hostels in this region were about
twenty miles apart—easy walking distance, but not if a
man tarried overlong. And Neq tended to tarry, for many
things were new to him: the curves and passes of the trail,
unfamiliar because he had never seen them alone before,
and the alternating pastures and forests and the occa-
sionally encountered warriors. It was dark by the time
he found his first lodging.
And lonely, for the hostel was empty. He made do for
himself, using the facilities the crazies had provided. The
crazies: so-called because their actions made no sense.
They had fine weapons that they did not use, and excel-
lent food they did not eat, and these comfortable hostels
they never slept in. Instead they set these things out un-
guarded for any man to take. If everything were removed
from a hostel, the crazies soon brought more, with no
word of protest. Yet if a man fought with his sword
outside the circle reserved for combat, or slew others
with the bow, or barred another from a hostel, and if no
one stopped him, the crazies cut off their supplies. It was
as though they did not care whether men died, but how
and where. As though death by arrow were more morbid
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than death by sword. Thus there was only one word for
them: crazy. But the wise warrior humored their foibles.
The hostel itself was a thirty-foot cylinder standing as
high as a man could reach, with a cone for a roof. Some-
how the cone caught the sunlight and turned it into
power for the lights and machines within. Inside there
was a fat column, into which toilet facilities and food-
storage and cooking equipment were set, j and vents to
blow cool air or hot, depending on the need.
Neq took meat from the freezer and cooked it in the
BATTLE CIRCLE
oven. He drew a cup of milk from the spout. As he ate he
contemplated the racks of bracelets, clothing, and weapons.
All this for the taking without combat! Crazy!
At last he pulled down a bunk from the outer wall and
slept, covering his head from the stillness.
In the morning he prepared a pack with replacement
socks and shirt, but did not bother with extra pantaloons
or jackets or sneakers. Dirt did not matter, but the items
that became sweatsoaked did need changing every so
often or discomfort resulted. He also packed bread and
the rest of the meat: waste was another thing the crazies
were sensitive about, despite their own colossal waste in
putting this all out for plunder. Finally he took a bow
and a tent-package, for he intended to do some hunting
and camping on this trek. The hostels were .fine for occa-
sional use, but the typical nomad preferred to be inde-
pendent.
The second night he camped, but it was still lonely and
he had forgotten to take mosquito repellent. The third
night he used a hostel, but he had to share with two other
warriors, a sworder and a clubber. It was friendly, and
they did not talk down to him though they had to "be aware
of his youth. The three practiced in the circle a bit, and
both men complimented Neq on his skill: meaning he still
was a novice. In serious combat no compliments were
needed; the skill spoke for itself.
The fourth night he found a woman. She prepared a
meal for him that was immeasurably superior to his own
makings, but did not make any other overtures, and he
found himself too shy to proffer his bracelet. She was as
tall as he, and older, and not really pretty. He took a
shower in her presence so she could see he had hair on
his genitals, and they slept in adjacent bunks, and in the
morning she wished him good fortune in a motherly
fashion and he went on. And cursed himself for not initi-
ating his bracelet, at the same time knowing he was even
more afraid of somehow mishandling it and being ridi-
culed. How could a man feign experience in such a matter?
The fifth day he arrived early at a hostel set near a
beautiful small lake, and a man was there. By his fair,
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unblemished features he was not much older than Neq,
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NEQ THE SWORD
and he was not substantially larger, but he had the bearing
of a seasoned warrior.
"I am Sol of All Weapons," he announced. "I contest
for mastery."
This set Neq back. Mastery meant the loser would join
the tribe of the winner. Because it was a voluntary con-
vention, it-did not violate the crazies' stricture against
deprivation of personal freedom, but a man honor-bound
was still bound. Neq had only fought once and practiced
some, and didn't trust his luck in serious combat. Not so
soon, anyway. He didn't want to join a tribe so soon, and
had no use for a tribe of his own.
"You use all weapons?" he asked, putting off the im-
plied challenge. "Sword, staff, sticks—all?"
Sol nodded gravely.
"Even the star?" He glanced at the morning star maces
on the weapons rack.
Sol nodded again. It seemed he wasn't much for conver-
sation.
"I don't want to fight," Neq said. "Not for mastery. I—I
just achieved my manhood last week."
Sol shrugged, amenable.
About dusk a woman showed up. She wore the sarong
of availability, but she was if anything less young and less
pretty than the one Neq had met before. She must have
borrowed many bracelets in her time, yet no man had
retained her. Sol paid her no attention; he was without
his own bracelet, showing he was married. So it was up to
Neq again—and again he did nothing.
The woman prepared supper for them both, at this was
the function of the available distaff. She had the same
assurance about her cooking that Sol did about his weapons.
This must be her territory, so that she was used to catering
to any men who came here, hoping that some would prefer
capability to beauty and would leave the bracelet on her.
No woman ever took her bracelet directly from the rack; it
had to come from a man.
Before the meal was served, a third man arrived. He
was a large warrior, paunchy, gruff, with many scars. "I
am Mok the Star," he said.
"Sol of All Weapons."
"Neq the Sword."
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BATTLE CIRCLE
The girl said nothing; it was not her place. She made
another setting at the table.
"I contest for mastery," Sol said.
"You have a tribe? This boy and who else?"
"Not Neq. My tribe is training in the badlands."
"The badlands!" Mok's surprise matched Neq's own.
"No one goes there!"
"Nevertheless," Sol said.
"The kill-spirits—"
"Do you question my word?" Sol demanded.
Mok bridled at the tone. "Everyone knows—"
"I have to agree," Neq said—and was immediately aware
that he had spoken out of turn. This was not his quarrel.
"In the circle you challenge my word!" Sol said. He
glanced at the rotating transparent door, noting that it was
dark outside. "Tomorrow."
Mok and Neq exchanged glances. Both were stuck.
"Tomorrow," Mok agreed. "For mastery." Then as an
afterthought: "But you will see my weapon is not for
games."
The girl smiled at Mok. He smiled back, stroking his
bracelet. And that night Sol and Neq pulled down bunks
from the wall on the east side, while Mok took the woman
to the west side, putting his bracelet on her wrist.
Neq lay in the dark, listening, feeling guilty for it. But
he couldn't really tell anything from the sounds.
Sol had a barrow filled with weapons. "What would
you face in the circle?" he asked Mok.
"You really use them all? Let's have the star, then."
Sol brought out his ball and chain. Neq was fascinated.
He had never seen a star in action, and had never heard
of a star-star encounter in the circle. The weapon was
unreliable but terrifying, as it could not be used defen-
sively. Either the heavy spiked ball connected or it didn't,
and the outcome of the battle depended on that. Serious
injury was a probability, in this match,
The two men entered the circle on opposite sides, each
whirling his deadly steel ball over his head so rapidly that
the short chains were blurs. Now the stars were beautiful,
flashing the sunlight in rings of fire as the men's torsos
flexed rhythmically. The fight had to be short, for the out-
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NEQ THE SWORD
ward pulling weight of the ball would rapidly tire the arm.
It was short. The two bright arcs intersected, the chains
crossed, the balls spun about each other fiercely, striking
sparks. Both Mok and Sol jumped as their chains yanked—
but it was Sol who hung on to his star. Mok's handle slipped
from his grasp, and he was disarmed.
Neq realized that this was exactly what Sol had in-
tended. He had deliberately engaged the other weapon, not
trying for the man at all, and had jerked sharply the
moment contact was made. Mok had expected the entangle-
ment to interfere with both warriors, so that he could use
his weight to advantage in the clinch. Sol's strategy and
timing had been superior.
Or could it have been sheer luck?
"What would you face?" Sol asked Neq.
Already! Not the star, certainly! Was it courtesy or con-
fidence the man showed? What to answer!
A sword or dagger in a skilled hand could hurt him
severely, like Hig. The sticks were blunt, but the pair of
them could rattle his brain. The club was blunt and slow,
but a real mauler when it connected. The staff—
'The staff!" One piece, slow, no edges, safe.
Sol calmly brought out his staff.
They entered the circle and sparred. Neq felt guilty for
his cowardice. A real warrior would have chosen to oppose
his own weapon, so the threats were equal. The quarterstaff
was safe, but hard to circumvent. Neq feinted—
When he came to, his head was throbbing. He was on
a bunk in the hostel. The woman wearing Mok's bracelet—
Moka—was sponging his face.
Neq refrained from asking what had happened. Obvi-
ously he had been felled by a blow he had never seen.
Could Mok have struck him from behind? No—that would
have been a gross violation of the circle code, and there
had been no evidence that either Sol or Mok were the type
to practice or tolerate such dishonor. The staff must have
passed his guard—
He touched his head. The welt reminded him. An
astonishingly deft maneuver, the staff avoiding his sword
as if it were fog, whipping in—ouch!
Well, he was a member of Sol's tribe now. The badlands
tribe. If there were kill-spirits there, they hadn't hurt Sol
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BATTLE CIRCLE
much! On balance, it wasn't such a bad outcome. Nem
had always said there were advantages to serving a strong
leader. What a man lost in independence he gained in
security. Provided he joined a good tribe.
Neq wasn't quite confident he had joined a good one,
for there remained some doubt whether Sol was an excel-
lent warrior or merely lucky. But Neq put the best face
on it: would he have let himself be taken by a fluke?
He traveled with Mok, following instructions, while Sol
continued in the opposite direction. Mok had reclaimed
his bracelet after the second night, and Neq didn't ques-
tion him. Maybe the man just didn't care to take a wife to
the badlands, though Sol said the kill-spirits—he called
them roents—had gone back beyond the camp. They were
on the trail several days.
Sol's tribe, or at least the portion of it they joined,
seemed to consist of about thirty men encamped in and
about another hostel under the general eye of his wife
Sola. She was a sultry beauty of about sixteen, inclined to
sharpness when addressed and brooding silence at other
times. But she wore her gold bracelet proudly.
For two weeks they tarried there, their numbers aug-
mented by other converts Sol sent back. A number of
men had families, so that the drain on the supplies of the
hostel was considerable. They hunted with bow and arrow
in the forest to supplement those waning rations, though
twice the crazy van came to restock them.
The crazies were as funny in person as their name indi-
cated: strangely garbed, unarmed, almost devoid of muscle,
and ludicrously clean. Yet their truck was a monster,
capable of crushing many warriors if misdirected. Why
should they act like servants to the nomads, when they
could so easily assume power? Some thought it was because
the crazies were weak and foolish, but Neq doubted that
it could be that simple.
Eventually Sol returned with another fifteen men, swell-
ing the tribe to over fifty. Then the whole group marched
—to the badlands. Neq viewed the red crazy warners with
alarm, knowing they marked the boundaries of the kill-
spirits as surveyed by the crazy click boxes. But nothing
happened.
A camp had been established in the wilderness beside
370
r
NEQ THE SWORD
a river, with a flooded trench around it. The leader of this
camp was Tyi of Two Weapons; but the man who really
ran it was Sos the Weaponless. Sos drilled the men merci-
lessly, setting up subtribes for each weapon and ranking
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each man according to his skill. Neq began as the bottom
sworder of twenty, chagrined, but he prospered under the
training and rose eventually to fourth of fifty. The camp
was growing all the time, as Sol traveled and sent more
warriors. There was no doubt of the tribe's power now;
he had never seen such discipline.
Strange that it was all the doing of a man who would
not fight in the circle himself. Sos obviously had an
enormous store of information about combat, and he was
no weakling physically. Yet he kept a stupid little bird on
his shoulder, the ridicule of all the tribe, and obviously
loved Sola without admitting it. Neq once saw her go to
his tent in winter and stay there until dawn. The whole
situation was incredible.
When spring came, the tribe was ready to move out as
a unit, and Neq was a ranking member. He was eager for
the promised conquest.
Only one thing marred his success: he had not yet had
the' courage to offer his bracelet to a girl. He wanted to,
but he was not yet fifteen, and looked thirteen, and a live
naked woman was just too much for him to contemplate.
The mistakes he might make!
Sometimes he dreamed of Sola. It wasn't that he loved
her, or even liked her; it was that she was a lusciously
constructed female who stayed in another man's tent though
her husband was master of the tribe. Dishonor . . . but .
excruciatingly tantalizing! She was the kind to keep a
secret....
That was one reason he had improved so much as a
sworder: he spent almost all of his free time practicing,
while others allowed themselves to be diverted by romantic
concerns. They thought him dedicated, but he was tor-
mented.
Some day—some day he would really be a man!
371
CHAPTER TWO
Neq prospered in battle, too, winning his matches easily.
His first match was against the first sword of a smaller
tribe. The other master had not wanted to fight, and Neq
had been one of the carefully picked hecklers who taunted
him into a commitment. His opponent in the circle was
good, and Neq was so nervous he feared his weapon
would quiver—but incredibly his intensive winter's train-
ing had made him better. Sos had drilled him until he was
furious, not only against swords but against all other
weapons, and had matched him in pairs with others to
fight other pairs. It had been tedious, hard work, and since
the practice sessions were never for blood he had only
Sos's opinion to certify his actual skill. But that opinion
was justified; as Neq saw the little crudities of the other
man's technique he knew it was all true. Clumsy victories
and confused losses were no longer Neq's lot. He really was
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摘要：

file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/Anthony,%20Piers%20-%20Battle%20Circle%20\3%20-%20Neq%20the%20Sword.txtCHAPTERONE"Butyouaretooyoungforthecircle?"Nemicried."IfIam,thenyouaretooyoungforthatbraceletyou'vebeeneying!You'refourteen—thesameasme."Hisname"wasthesameashers,too,forshewashistwinsister.Herefusedt...

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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：153 页 大小：337.52KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-13

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