Anthony, Piers - Battle circle 02 - Var the stick

VIP免费

2024-12-16 0 0 276.39KB 79 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/Anthony,%20Piers%20-%20Battle%20Circle%202%20-%20Var%20the%20Stick.txt

CHAPTER ONE

Tyl of Two Weapons waited in the night cornfield. He had one singlestick in his hand and the other

tucked in his waist band, ready to draw. He had waited two hours in silence.

Tyl was a handsome man, sleek but muscular. His face was set in a habitual frown stemming

from years of less than ideal command. The empire spanned a thousand miles, and he was second only

to the Master in its hierarchy, and first in most practical matters. He set interim policy within

the general guidelines laid down by the Master, and established the rankings and placement of the

major subchiefs. Tyl had power-but it chafed at him.

Then he heard it: a rustle to the north that was not typical of the local animals.

Carefully he stood, shielded from the intruder by the tall plants. There was- no moon, for

the beast never came in the light. Tyl traced its progress toward the fence by the subtle sounds.

The wind was from the north; otherwise the thing would have caught his scent and stayed clear.

There was no doubt about it. This was his quarry. Now it was mounting the sturdy split-

rail fence, scrambling over, landing with a faint thump within the corn. And now it was quiet for

a time, waiting to see whether it had been discovered. A cunning animal-one that avoided

deadfalls, ignored poison and fought savagely when trapped. In the past month three of Tyl's men

had been wounded in night encounters with this creature. Already it was becoming known as a hex

upon the camp, an omen of ill, and skilled warriors were evincing an unseemly fear of the dark.

And so it was up to the chief to resolve the matter. Tyl,long bored by the routine of

maintaining a tribe that was not engaged in conquest, was more than satisfied by the challenge. He

had no awe of the supernatural. He intended to capture the thing and display it before the tribe:

here is the spook that made cowards of lesser men!

Capture, not death, for this quarry. This was the reason he had brought his sticks instead

of his sword.

Slight noise again. Now it was foraging, stripping the ripening corn from the stalk and

consuming it on the spot. This alone set it apart from ordinary carnivores, for they would never

have touched the corn. But it could not be an ordinary herbivore either, for they did not harvest

and chew the cobs like that. And its footprints, visible in daylight following a raid, were not

those of any animal he knew. Broad and round, with the marks of four squat claws or slender hoofs-

not a bear, not anything natural.

It was time. Tyl advanced on the creature, holding one stick 'aloft, using his free hand

to part the corn stalks quietly. He knew he could not come upon it completely by surprise, but he

hoped to get close enough to take it with a sudden charge. Tyl knew himself to be the best fighter

in the world, with the sticks. The only man who could beat him stick to stick, was dead, gone to

the mountain. There was nothing Tyl feared when so armed.

He recalled that lone defeat with nostalgia, as he made the tedious approach. Four years

ago, when he had been young. Sol had done it-Sol of All Weapons, creator of the empire-the finest

warrior of all time. Sol had set out to conquer the world, with Tyl as his chief lieutenant. And

they had been doing it, too-until the Nameless One had come.

He was close now, and abruptly the foraging noises ceased. The thing had heard him!

Tyl did not wait for the animal to make up its crafty mind. He launched himself at it,

heedless of the shocks of corn he damaged in his mad passage. Now he had both sticks ready,

batting stalks aside as he ran.

The creature bolted. Tyl saw a hairy hump rise in the darkness, heard its weird grunt. He

was tempted to use his flash, but knew it would destroy the night vision he had built up in the

silent wait and put his mission in peril. The animal was at the fence now, but the fence was

strong and high, and Tyl knew he could catch it before it got over.

The creature-knew it too. Its back to the course rails, it came to bay, its breath

rasping. Tyl saw the dim glint of its eye, the vague outline of its body, shaggy and warped and

menacing. Tyl laid into it with both sticks, seeking a quick head-blow that would reduce it to

impotence.

But the thing was as canny about weapons as about traps. It dived, passing under his

defense in the obscurity, and fastened its teeth on Tyl's knee. He clubbed it on the head once,

twice, feeling the give of the tangled fur, and it let go. The wound was not serious, as the

thing's snout was recessed and its teeth blunt, but his knees had been tricky since the Nameless

One had smashed them a year before. And he was angry at his defensive negligence; nothing should

have penetrated his guard like that, by day or night. -

It drew back, snarling, and Tyl was chilled by that sound. No wolf, no wildcat articulated

like that. And now, as it tasted blood, its mewling became hungry as well as defiant.

file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/Anthony,%20Piers%...0Battle%20Circle%202%20-%20Var%20the%20Stick.txt (1 of 79) [1/19/03 8:03:53 PM]

file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/Anthony,%20Piers%20-%20Battle%20Circle%202%20-%20Var%20the%20Stick.txt

It pounced, not smoothly but with force. This time it went for his throat, as he had known

it would. He rapped its head again with the stick, but again it anticipated him, hunching so that

the blow skidded glancingly off the skull. It struck Tyl's chest, bearing hint down, and its

foreclaws raked his neck while its hindclaws dug for his groin.

Tyl, dismayed by its ferocity, beat it off blindly, and it jumped away. Before he could

recover it was up again, scrambling over the fence while he hobbled behind, too late.

Now he cursed aloud in fury at its escape-but the expletives were tinged with a certain

brute respect. He had chosen the locale of combat, and the marauder had bested him in this

context. But there was a use he could make of this situation---perhaps a better one than he had

had in mind before.

The creature dropped outside the fence and loped off into the forest. It was bleeding from

a wound reopened by the blows of the attacker, and it was partially lame on flat ground because of

malformed bones in its feet. But it made rapid progress, its armored toes finding good purchase in

the wilder turf.

And it was clever. It had seen Tyl clearly and smelled him. Only its pressing hunger had

dulled its alertness prior to the encounter. It had recognized the singlesticks as weapons and had

avoided them. Still, blows had landed, and they had hurt. The creature thought about it, taming

the problem over in its mind as it angled toward the badlands. Then menfolk were getting more

difficult about their crops. Now they lay in wait, ambushed, attacked, pursued. This last had been

quite effective; if the hunger were not so strong, the area would be best avoided entirely. As it

was, better protection would have to be devised.

It entered the badlands where no man could follow and slowed to catch its breath. It

picked up a branch, curling stubby mottled digits around it tightly. The forelimb was angular, the

claws wide and flat-less effective as a weapon than as supplementary protection for the tips of

the calloused fingers. It wrestled the stick around, finding comfortable purchase, imitating the

stance of the man in the cornfield. It banged the wood against a tree, liking the feel of the

impact: It banged harder, and the dry, rotted branch - shattered, releasing a stunned grub. The

creature quickly pounced on this, squashing it dead and licking the squirting juices with gusto,

forgetting the useless stick. But it had learned something.

Next time it foraged, it would take along a stick.

CHAPTER TWO

The Master of Empire pondered the message from Tyl of Two Weapons. Tyl had not written the

note himself, of course, for he like most of the nomadic leaders was illiterate. But his smart

wife Tyla, like many of the empire women, had taken up the art with enthusiasm, and was now a fair

hand at the written language.

The Master was literate, and he believed in literacy, yet he had not encouraged the

women's classes in reading and figuring. The Master knew the advantages of farming, too, yet he

ignored the farms. And he comprehended the dynamics of empire, for he, in other guise, had

fashioned this same empire and brought it from formless ambition to a mighty force. Yet he now let

it drift and stagnate and atrophy.

This message was deferentially worded, but it constituted a clever challenge to his

authority and policy. Tyl was an activist, impatient to resume conquest. Tyl wanted either to

goose the Master into action, or to ease him out of power so that new leadership might bring a new

policy. Because Tyl himself was bonded to this regime, he could do nothing directly. He would not

go against the man who had bested him in the circle. This was not cowardice but honor.

If the Master declined to deal with this mysterious menace to the local crops, he would be

admitting either timidity or treason to the purpose of the empire. For farming was vital to

growth; the organized nomads could not afford to remain dependent on the largesse of the crazies.

If he did not support the farm program the resultant unrest would throw him into disrepute, and

lead to solidification of resistance around some othet figure. Hc could not afford that, for he

would then soon be spending all his time defeating such weedlike pretenders in thc circle. No-he

had to rule the empire, and keep it quiescent.

So there was nothing to do but tackle this artfully, posed problem. He could be sure it

was not an easy one, for this wild beast had wounded Tyl himself and escaped. That suggested that

no lesser man than the Master could subdue it.

Of course he could organize a large hunting party-but this would violate the precepts of

single combat, and it went against the grain, even when an animal was involved. In fact, it would

file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/Anthony,%20Piers%...0Battle%20Circle%202%20-%20Var%20the%20Stick.txt (2 of 79) [1/19/03 8:03:53 PM]

file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/Anthony,%20Piers%20-%20Battle%20Circle%202%20-%20Var%20the%20Stick.txt

be another implication of cowardice.

It was necessary that the Master prove himself against this beast. That was what Tyl

wanted, for failure would certainly damage his image. He did not appreciate being maneuvered, but

the alternatives were worse-and he did privately admire the manner Tyl had set this up. The man

would be a valuable ally, at such time as certain things changed.

So it was the Nameless One, the Man of No Weapon, Master of Empire-this leader took leave

of the wife he had usurped from the former master, put routine affairs in the hands of competent

subordinates, and set out on foot alone for Tyl's encampment. He wore a cloak over his grotesque

and mighty body, but all who saw him in that region knew him and feared him. His hair was white,

his visage ugly, and there was no man to match him in the circle.

In fifteen days he arrived. A young staffer who had never seen the Master challenged him

at the border of the camp. The Nameless One took that staff and tied a knot in it and handed it

back. "Show this to Tyl of Two Weapons," he said.

And Tyl came hurriedly with his entourage. He ordered the guard with the pretzel-staff to

the fields to work among the women, as penalty for not recognizing the visitor. But the Weaponless

said, "He was right to challenge when in doubt; let the man who straightens that weapon chastise

him, no other." So he was not punished, for no one except a smithy could have unbent that metal

rod. And no other man of that camp failed to know the Nameless One by sight thereafter.

Next morning the Master took up a bow and a length of rope, for these were not weapons of

the circle, and set off on the trail of the raider. He took along a hound and a pack of supplies

doubly loaded, but would tolerate the company of no other man. "I will bring the creature back,"

he said.

Tyl made no comment, thinking his own thoughts.

The trail passed from the open fields of corn and buckwheat to the birches fringing the

forestland, and on toward the dwindling region of local badland. The Master observed the markers

that the crazies placed and periodically resurveyed. Unlike the average person, he had no

superstitions, no fear of these. He knew that it was radiation that made these areas deadly-

Roentgen left from the fabled Blast. Every year there was less of it, and the country at the

fringe of the badlands became habitable for plant, animal and man. He knew that so long as the

native life was healthy, there was little danger from radiation.

But there were other terrors in the fringe. Tiny shrews swarmed periodically, consuming

all animals in their path and devouring each other when nothing else offered. Large white moths

came out at night, their stings deadly. And there were wild tales told by firelight, of strange

haunted buildings, armored bones, and living machines. The Master did not credit much of this and

sought some reasonable explanation for what he did credit. But he did know the badlands were

dangerous, and he entered them with caution.

The traces skirted the heart of the radioactive area, staying a mile or so within the

crazy boundary. This told the Master something else important: that the creature he hunted was not

some- supernatural spook from the deep horror-region, but an animal of the fringe, leary of

radiation. That meant he could run it down in time.

For two days he followed the trail the cheerful hound sniffed out. He fed the dog and

himself from his pack, occasionally bringing down a rabbit with an arrow and cooking it whole as a

mutual treat. He slept on the open ground, well covered. This was late summer, and the warm crazy

sleeping-bag sufficed. He had a spare, in case. He rather enjoyed the trek, and did not push the

pace.

On the evening of the second day he found it. The hound bayed and raced ahead-then yelped

and ran back, frightened.

The thing stood under a large oak about four feet tall, bipedal, hunched. Wild hair

radiated from its head and curled about its muzzle. Mats of shaggy fur hung over its shoulders,

Its skin, where it showed on head and limbs and torso, was mottled gray and yellow, and encrusted

with dirt.

But it was no animal. It was a mutant human boy.

The boy had made a crude club. He made as though to attack his pursuer, having naturally

been aware of the Master for some time. But the sheer size of the man daunted him, and he fled,

running on the balls of his blunted, callused feet.

The Nameless One made camp there. He had suspected that the raider was human or human-

derived, for no animal had the degree of cunning and dexterity this prowler had shown. But now

that he had made the confirmation, he needed to reconsider means. It would not do to kill the boy-

yet it would hardly be kind to bring him back prisoner for the torment the angry farmer-warriors

would inflict. Civilization grew very thin in such a case. But one or the other had to be

accomplished, for the Master had his own political expedience to consider.

file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/Anthony,%20Piers%...0Battle%20Circle%202%20-%20Var%20the%20Stick.txt (3 of 79) [1/19/03 8:03:53 PM]

file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/Anthony,%20Piers%20-%20Battle%20Circle%202%20-%20Var%20the%20Stick.txt

He thought it out, slowly, powerfully. He decided to take the boy to his own camp, so that

the lad could join human society without compelling prejudice. This would mean months, perhaps

years of demanding attention.

The white moths were coming out. He covered his head with netting, sealed his bag, and

settled for sleep. He knew of no reliable way to protect the dog, for the animal would not

comprehend the necessity for confinement in the spare bag. He hoped the animal would not snap at a

moth and get stung. He' wondered how the boy survived in this region. He thought about Sola, the

woman he once had loved, the wife he now pretended to love. He thought of Sol, the friend he had

sent to the mountain-the man for whom he would trade all his empire, - just to travel together

again and converse without trial of strength. And he thought lingeringly of the woman of Helicon,

his true wife and the woman he really loved, but would never see again. Great thoughts, petty

thoughts. He suffered. He slept.

Next morning the chase resumed. The dog was well; it seemed that the moths did not attack

wantonly. Perhaps they died when delivered of their toxin, in the manner of bees. Probably a man

could expose himself safely, if he only treated them deferentially. That might explain the boy's

survival.

The trail led deeper into the badlands. Now they would discover who had more courage and

determination: pursuer or fugitive.

The boy had obviously haunted this area for some time. If there were lethal radiation he

should have died already. In any event, the Master could probably withstand any dosage the boy

could. So if the lad hoped to escape by hiding in the hot region, he would be disappointed.

Still, the Master could not entirely repress his apprehension as the trail led into a

landscape of stunted and deformed trees. Surely these had been touched. And game was scarce,

tokening the irregular ravages of the fringe shrews. If radiation were not present now, it had not

departed long since. -

He caught up to the boy again. The hunched conditlon of the youngster's body was more

evident by full daylight and his piebald skin more striking. And the way he ran-heels high, knees

bent, so that the whole foot never touched the ground-forelimbs dropping down periodically for

support-this was uncanny. Had this boy ever shared a human home?

"Come!" the Weaponless called. "Yield to me and I will spare your life and give you food."

But as he had expected, the fugitive paid no attention. Probably this wilderness denizen

had never learned to speak.

The trees became mere shrubs, scabbed with discolored woodrinds and sap-bleeding

abrasions, and their leaves were limp, sticky, asymmetric efforts. Then only shriveled sticks

protruded from the burned soil, twisted grotesquely. Finally all life was gone, leaving caked

ashes and greenish glass. The hound whined, afraid of the dead bare terrain, and the Master felt

rather like whining himself, for this was grim.

But still the boy ran ahead, bounding circuitously around invisible obstacles. At first

the Nameless One thought it was strategy, to confuse the pursuit. Then, as he perceived the

maneuvering to take forms that were by no means evasive or concealing, he pondered dementia.

Radiation might indeed make mad before it destroyed. Finally he realized that the boy was actually

skirting pockets of radiation. He could tell where the roentgen remained!

Dangerous terrain indeed! The Nameless One followed the trail exactly, and kept the hound

to it, knowing that shortcuts would expose him to invisible misery. He was risking his health and

his life, but he would not relent.

"Are you ashamed because you are ugly?" he called. He took off his great cloak and showed

his own massive, scarred torso, and his neck so laced with gristle that it resembled the trunk of

an aged yellow birch. "You are not more ugly than I!" But the boy ran on.

Then the Master paused, for ahead he saw a building.

Buildings were scarce in the nomad culture. There were hostels that the crazies

maintained, where wandering warriors and their families might stay for a night or a fortnight

without obligation except to take due care with the premises. There were the houses of the crazies

themselves, and the school buildings and offices they maintained. And of course there were the

subterranean fortifications of the underworld, wherein were manufactured the weapons and clothing

the nomads used-though only the crazies and the Master himself knew this. But the great expanse of

land was field and fern and forest, cleared by the Blast that had destroyed the marvelous, warlike

culture of the Ancients. The wilderness had returned in the wake of the radiation, open and clean.

This building was tremendous and misshapen. He counted seven distinct levels within it,

one layered atop another, and above the last fiber-clothed story metal rods projected like the

ribs of a dead cow. Behind it was another structure, of similar configuration, and beyond that a

third.

file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/Anthony,%20Piers%...0Battle%20Circle%202%20-%20Var%20the%20Stick.txt (4 of 79) [1/19/03 8:03:53 PM]

file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/Anthony,%20Piers%20-%20Battle%20Circle%202%20-%20Var%20the%20Stick.txt

He contemplated these, amazed. He had read about such a thing in the old books, but he had

half believed it was a myth. This was a "city."

Before the Blast, the texts had claimed, mankind had grown phenomenally numerous and

strong, and had resided in cities where every conceivable (and inconceivable) comfort of life was

available. Thea these fabulously prosperous peoples had destroyed it all in a rain of fire, a

smash of intolerable radiation, leaving only the scattered nomads and crazies and underworlders,

and the extensive badlands.

He could poke a thousand logical holes in that fable. For one thing, it was obvious that

no culture approaching the technological level described would be at the same time so primitive as

to throw it away so pointlessly. And such a radically different culture as that of the nomads

could not- have sprung full-blown from ashes. But he was sure the ultimate truth did lie hidden

somewhere within the badlands, for their very presence seemed to vindicate the reality of the

Blast, whatever its true cause.

Now, astonishingly, these badlands were ready to yield some of their secrets. For the

century since the cataclysm no man had penetrated far into the posted regions and lived-but always

the proscribed area declined. He knew the time would come, though not in his lifetime, when the

entire territory would be open once more to man. Meanwhile the fever of discovery was on him; he

was so eager to learn the truth that he gladly risked the roentgen.

The boy's tracks were clear in the dirt, that had been freshened by recent rainfall. The

glass had broken up and disappeared, here; sprouts of pale grass rimmed the path. Nothing, not

even the radiation, was consistent about the badlands.

The boy had gone into the building. Most nomads were in awe of solid structures of any

size, and avoided even the comparatively-modest buildings of the crazies. But the Master had

traveled widely and experienced as much as any man of his time, and he knew that there was nothing

supernatural about a giant edifice. There could be danger, yes-but the natural hazards of falling

timbers and deep pits and radiation and crazed animals, nothing more sinister.

Still, he hesitated before entering that ancient temple.

It would be easy to become trapped inside, and perhaps the wily boy had something of the

sort in mind. He had been known to place dead falls for unwary trackers, laboriously scraped out

of the Earth by hand and nail and artfully covered. That was one of the things he had evidently

learned from the measures applied against him. Too smart for an animal-adding to the terror

surrounding him-and not bad for a human.

The Master looked about. Within the shelter of the window-arches there were fragments of

dry wood. Most had rotted, but not all. There was bound to be more wood inside. He could fire it

and drive the boy out. This seemed to be the safest course.

Yet there could be invaluable artifacts within-machines, books, supplies. Was he to

destroy it all so wantonly? Better to preserve the building intact, and assemble a task force to

explore it thoroughly at a later date.

So deciding, the Master entered at the widest portal and began his final search for the

boy. The hound whined' and stayed so close that it was tricky to avoid tripping over it, but the

animal did sniff out the trail.

There were stone steps leading down, an avenue of splendid and wasteful breadth, and this

was where the boy had gone. And, so easily that it was suspicious, they had tracked the marauder

to his lair. There did not seem to be another exit apart from the stair. The boy had to be waiting

below.

Would it be wise to check the upper floors first? The boy might actually be leading him

into the final trap, while his real residence was above. No-best to follow closely, for otherwise

he ran too strong a risk of encountering radiation. Had he realized that the chase would end so

deep in the badlands, he would have arranged to obtain a crazy geiger. As it was, he had tO

proceed with exceeding caution. That meant, in this case, to dispense with much of his caution in

the pursuit. Physical' attack by the boy was much less to be feared than the radiation that might

be lurking on either side of the boy's trail.

As the Nameless One approached the final chamber an object flew out. The boy, unable to

flee again, was pelting his tormentor with any objects available.

The Master paused, contemplating the thing that had been thrown. He squatted to pick it

up, watching the door so that he would not be taken by surprise. Then he turned the object over in

his hands, studying it closely.

It was metal, but not a can or tool. A weapon, but no sword or staff or dagger. One end

was solid and curved around at right angles to the rest; the other end was hollow. The thing had

'a good solid heft to it, and there were assorted minor mechanisms attached.

The Master's hands shook as he recognized it. This, too, had been described in the books;

file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/Anthony,%20Piers%...0Battle%20Circle%202%20-%20Var%20the%20Stick.txt (5 of 79) [1/19/03 8:03:53 PM]

file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/Anthony,%20Piers%20-%20Battle%20Circle%202%20-%20Var%20the%20Stick.txt

this, too, was an artifact of the old times.

It was a gun.

CHAPTER THREE

The boy stood astride the boxes and made ready to throw another metal rock, for the tremendous man

and the tame animal had trapped him here. Never before had pursuit been so relentless; never

before had he had to defend his lair. Had he anticipated this, he would have hidden elsewhere.

But there were so many places here that burned his skin and drove him back! This building

was the only one completely safe.

The giant appeared again in the doorway. The boy threw his rock and reached for another.

But this time the man jerked aside, letting the missile glance off his bulging thigh, and heaved a

length of rope forward. The boy found himself entangled and, in a moment, helpless. It was as

though that rope were alive, the way it twisted and coiled and jerked.

The man bound him and slung him over one tremendous shoulder and carried him out of the

room and up the stairs and from the building. The man's brute strength was appalling. The boy

tried to squirm and bite, but his teeth met flesh like baked leather.

His skin burned as the man passed through a hot region. Was the monster invulnerable to

this too? He had charged through several similar areas on the way in-areas the boy had

meticulously avoided. How could one fight such a force?

In the forest the man set him down and loosed the rope, making man-sounds that were only

dimly familiar. The boy bolted as soon as he was free.

The rope sailed out like a striking snake and wrapped itself about his waist, hauling him

back. He was captive again. "No," the man said, and that sound was a clear negation.

The giant removed the rope again, and immediately the boy dashed away. Once more he was

lassoed.

"No!" the man repeated, and this time his huge hand came across in a blow that seemed

nearly to cave in the boy's chest. The boy fell to the ground, conscious of nothing but his pain

and the need for air.

A third time the man unwound the rope. This time the boy remained where he was. Lessons of

this nature were readily learned.

They walked on toward the main camp, still far distant. The boy led, for the eyes of the

man never left him. The boy avoided the diminishing patches of radiation, and man and animal

followed. By evening they had come to the place they had seen each other the previous day.

The man opened his pack and brought out chunks of material that smelled good. He bit off

some, chewing with gusto, and passed some along to the boy. The invitation did not have to be

repeated, for this was food.

After eating, the man urinated against a tree and covered his body again. The boy followed

the example, even imitating the upright stance. He had learned long ago to control his

eliminations, for carelessly deposited traces could interfere with hunting, but it had never

occurred to him to direct the flow with his hand.

"Here," the man said. He threw the boy down gently and shoved him feet-first into a

constraining sack. The boy struggled as some kind of mesh covered his head. "Stay there tonight,

or. . ." And the ponderous fist came down, to tap only lightly at the bruised chest. Another

warning.

Then the man went apart a certain distance and climbed into another bag, and the dog

settled down under the tree,

The boy lay there, needing to escape but hesitant to brace the dangers of the night, this

close to the hot region. He could see well enough, and usually foraged in the dark-but not here.

He had been stung once by a white moth and had nearly perished. It was possible to avoid them, but

never with certainty, for they rested under leaves and sometimes on the ground. Here beneath the

netting he was at least protected,

But if he did not flee by night, he would not have the chance by day. The rope was too

swift and clever, the giant too strong.

He heard the man sleeping, and decided. He sat up and began to claw his way out,

The man woke at the first sound. "No!" he called.

It was hazardous to defy the giant, who might run him down again anyway. The boy lay back,

resigned. And slept.

In the morning they ate again. It had been a long time since the boy had two such easy

file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/Anthony,%20Piers%...0Battle%20Circle%202%20-%20Var%20the%20Stick.txt (6 of 79) [1/19/03 8:03:53 PM]

file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/Anthony,%20Piers%20-%20Battle%20Circle%202%20-%20Var%20the%20Stick.txt

meals in succession. It was a condition he could learn to like.

The man then conveyed him to a stream and washed them both. He applied ointments from his

pack to the assorted bruises and scratches on the boy's body, and replaced the uncured animal

skins with an oversize shirt and pantaloons. After this disgusting process they resumed the

journey toward the mancamp.

The boy shrugged and chafed under the awful clothing. He thought once more of bolting for

freedom, before being taken, entirely out of his home territory, but a grunted warning changed his

mind. And the fact was that the man, apart from his peculiarities of dress and urination, was not

a harsh captor. He did not punish without provocation, and even showed gruff kindness.

About the middle of the day the man's pace slowed. He seemed weary or sleepy, despite his

enormous muscles and stamina. He began to stagger. He stopped and disgorged his breakfast, and the

boy wondered whether this was another civilized ritual. Then he sat down on the ground and looked

unhappy.

The boy watched for a time, When the man did not rise, the boy began to walk away.

Unchallenged, he ran swiftly back the way they had come. He was free!

About a mile away be stopped and threw off the fettering man clothing. Then be paused. He

knew what was wrong with the giant. The man was not immune to the hot places; he simply hadn't

been aware of them, so had exposed himself recklessly. Now he was coming down with the sickness.

The boy had learned about this, too, the hard way. He had been burned, and had become

weak, and vomited, and felt like dying. But he had survived, and after that his skin had been

sensitized, and whenever he approached a hot area he felt the burn immediately. His brothers,

lacking the skin patches that set him apart, had had no such ability, and died gruesomely. He had

also discovered certain leaves that cooled his skin somewhat, and the juices of certain fringe-

plant stems eased his stomach of such sickness. But he never ventured voluntarily into the hot

sections. His skin always warned him off in time, and he took the other medicines purely as

precautionary procedure.

The giant man would be very sick, and probably he would die. At night the moths would

come, and later the shrews, while he lay helpless. The man had been stupid to enter the badlands'

heart.

Stupid-yet brave and kind. No other stranger had ever extended a helping hand to the boy

or fed him since his parents died, and he was oddly moved by it. Somewhere deep in his memory be

found a basic instruction: kindness must be met with kindness. It was all that remained of the

teaching of his long lost parents, whose skulls were whitening in a burn.

This giant man was like his dead father: strong, quiet, fierce in anger but gentle when

unprovoked. The boy had appreciated both the attention and the savage discipline. It was possible

to trust a man like that.

He gathered select herbs and came back, his motives uncertain but his actions sure. The

man was lying Where he had originally settled to the ground, his body flushed. The boy placed a

compress of leaves against the fever-ridden torso and limbs and squeezed drops of stem-juice into

the grimacing mouth, but could do little else. The giant was too heavy for him to move, and the

boy's clubbed hands could not grasp him properly for such an effort. Not without bruising the

flesh.

But as the coolness of night came, the man revived somewhat.

He cleaned himself up with agonized motions but did not eat. He climbed into his bag and

lost consciousness.

In the morning the man seemed alert, but stumbled when he attempted to stand. He could not

walk. The boy gave him a stem to chew on, and he chewed, not seeming to be aware of his action.

The food in the pack ran out on the following day, and the boy went foraging. Certain

fruits were ripening, certain wild tubers swelling. He plucked and dug these and bound them in the

jacket he no longer wore and loped with the bpndle back to their enforced camp. In this manner he

sustained them both.

On the fourth day the man began bleeding from the skin. Some parts of his body were as

hard as wood and did not bleed; but where the skin was natural, it hemorrhaged. The man touched

himself with dismay, but could not hold on to consciousness.

The boy took cloth from the pack and soaked it in water and bathed the blood away. But

when more blood cam; appearing as if magically on the surface though there was no abrasion, he let

it collect and cake. This slowed the flow. He knew that blood had to be kept inside the body, for

he had bled copiously once when wounded and had felt very weak for many days. And when animals

bled too much, they died.

Whenever the man revived, the boy gave him fruit and the special stems to eat, and

whatever water he could accept without choking. When he sank again into stupor, the boy packed the

file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/Anthony,%20Piers%...0Battle%20Circle%202%20-%20Var%20the%20Stick.txt (7 of 79) [1/19/03 8:03:53 PM]

file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/Anthony,%20Piers%20-%20Battle%20Circle%202%20-%20Var%20the%20Stick.txt

moist leaves tightly about him. When it grew cold, he covered the man with the bag he slept in,

and lay beside him, shielding him from the worst of the night wind.

The dog crawled away and died.

Days passed. The sick man burned up his own flesh, becoming gaunt, and the contours of his

body were bizarre. It was as though he wore stones and boards under the skin, so that no point

could penetrate; but with the supportive flesh melting away, the armor hung loosely. It hampered

his breathing, his elimination. But perhaps it had also stopped some of the radiation, for the boy

knew that physical substance could do this to a certain extent.

The man was near death, but he refused to die. The boy watched, aware that he was

spectator to a greater courage battling a more horrible antagonist than any man could hope to

conquer. The boy's own father and brothers had yielded up their lives far more readily. Blood and

sweat and urine matted the leaves, and dirt and debris covered the man, but still he fought.

And finally he began to mend. His fever passed, the bleeding stopped, some of his strength

returned and he ate-at first tentatively, then with huge appetite. He looked at the boy with

renewed comprehension, and he smiled.

There was a bond between them now. Man and boy were friends.

CHAPTER FOUR

The warriors gathered around the central circle. Tyl of Two Weapons supervised the ceremony. "Who

is there would claim the honor of manhood and take a name this day?" he inquired somewhat

perfunctorily. He had been doing this every month for eight years, and it bored him.

Several youths stepped up: gangling adolescents who seemed hardly to know how to hang on

to their weapons. Every year the crop seemed younger and gawkier. Tyl longed for the old days,

when he had first served Sol of All-Weapons. Then men had been men, and the leader had been a

leader, and great things had been in the making. Now-weaklings and inertia.

It was no effort to put the ritual scorn into his voice. "You will fight each other," he

told them. "I will pair you off, man to man in the circle. He who retains the circle shall be

deemed warrior, and be entitled to name and band and weapon with honor. The other.. ."

He did not bother to finish. No one could be called a warrior unless he won at least once

in the circle. Some hopefuls failed again and again, and some eventually gave up and went to the

crazies or the mountain. Most went to other tribes and tried again.

"You, club," Tyl said, picking out a chubby would-be clubber. "You, staff," selecting an

angular hopeful staffer.

The two youths, visibly nervous, stepped gingerly into the circle. They began to fight,

the clubber making huge clumsy swings, the staffer countering ineptly. By and by the club smashed

one of the staffer's misplaced hands, and the staff fell to the ground.

That was enough for the staffer. He bounced out of the circle. It made Tyl sick-not for

the fact of victory and defeat, but for the sheer incompetence of it. How could such dolts ever

become proper warriors? What good would a winner such as this clubber be for the tribe, whose

decisive blow had been sheer fortune?

But it was never possible to be certain, he reflected. Some of the very poorest prospects

that he sent along to Sav the Staff's training camp emerged as formidable warriors. The real mark

of a man was how he responded to training. That had been the lesson that earlier weaponless man

had taught, the one that never fought in the circle. What was his name-Sos. Sos had stayed with

the tribe a year and established the system, then departed for ever. Except for some brief thing

about a rope. Not much of a man, but a good mind. Yes-it was best to incorporate the clubber into

the tribe and send him to Sav; good might even come of it. If not-no loss.

Next were a pair of daggers. This fight was bloody, but at least the victor looked like a

potential man.

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

file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/Anthony,%20Piers%...0Battle%20Circle%202%20-%20Var%20the%20Stick.txt (8 of 79) [1/19/03 8:03:53 PM]

file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/Anthony,%20Piers%20-%20Battle%20Circle%202%20-%20Var%20the%20Stick.txt

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

file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/Anthony,%20Piers%...0Battle%20Circle%202%20-%20Var%20the%20Stick.txt (9 of 79) [1/19/03 8:03:53 PM]

file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/Anthony,%20Piers%20-%20Battle%20Circle%202%20-%20Var%20the%20Stick.txt

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 adversaries. 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!

file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/Anthony,%20Piers...Battle%20Circle%202%20-%20Var%20the%20Stick.txt (10 of 79) [1/19/03 8:03:53 PM]

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/Anthony,%20Piers%20-%20Battle%20Circle%202%20-%20Var%20the%20Stick.txtCHAPTERONETylofTwoWeaponswaitedinthenightcornfield.Hehadonesinglestickinhishandandtheothertuckedinhiswaistband,readytodraw.Hehadwaitedtwohoursinsile ce.Tylwasahandsomeman,sleekbutmuscular.Hisfacew...

展开>> 收起<<

Anthony, Piers - Battle circle 02 - Var the stick.pdf

共79页,预览16页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

Anthony, Piers - Battle circle 02 - Var the stick

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: