Some time later, much later in fact, and after a soulful duet in which Gord actually took the lead in singing, Rexfelis ended the wassail with a grin and a wink.
“Off you go now, Gord. I have things to do, and you need more exciting company too. See that little kitten, Tirrip!” Gord was more than content with that, and so the evening ended.
Chapter 27
Tirrip was a lovely girl. No, she was a beautiful tiger who could take the form of a gorgeous woman. Well, perhaps she was something else, an intelligent being from another plane whose actual form was unknown, but which could be either that of tigress or woman when she was on the plane of the Catlord.
At any rate, Tirrip and Gord were intimate friends, and that had been the cause of some difficulty for the young adventurer. Her cousin, Raug, and several others of his group resented the relationship and disliked him. With effort, Gord had put the matter aside in his mind after several confrontations and contests with Raug and his friends. After all, Tirrip liked them well enough, so Gord set aside his mislike and ignored them studiously.
He was doing just this the day after his audience and drinking bout with Rexfelis, during a stroll with Tirrip. He and the pretty tiger-were walked slowly, hardly noticing or caring where they were, as she listened to the young man recount the matters he and the Catlord had spoken of, until they were suddenly interrupted.
“Hoy! It’s Tirrip! Come with us, cousin! We’re going on a hunt!”
Gord saw Raug and a half-dozen or so others at a little distance. The big fellow had pointedly ignored Gord’s presence, so as Tirrip called and waved a return greeting, the young thief looked away from the group as if they didn’t exist.
“Come on, Gord!” Tirrip said excitedly. “You can take leopard form and come along! Let’s join them!”
“I think not,” Gord replied slowly. “I wouldn’t find the company even slightly amusing. I’m surprised you would…”
“Oh, don’t be a silly dog,” she said, her voice still filled with enthusiasm. “Raug and the others are all right-honestly! I haven’t been out in the wilds hunting in ever so long, Gord. Please, let’s go. It would mean a lot to me, dearest.”
“You run along and join them,” Gord said with a detached tone. “They’re your kith and kin, after all, not mine,” he added with ice in his tone and a disdainful expression. “I’ll manage to amuse myself while you’re gone… Lady Cheeba has asked me to call upon her several times.”
At that Tirrip spun to face him, her face angry. She brought her hand around and slapped him on the face so quickly that Gord could not avoid the attack. “You are an insufferable cur!” Tirrip spat. “You’re jealous of my friends and sensitive about your size just because they jape because they’re all much bigger than you!”
Gord stepped back and looked at Tirrip in stony silence. He thought of several retorts, but something made him hold his tongue and remain silent still.
“Very well, Master Nobody!” Tirrip went on. “I shall join them and have fun as I like. I’m sick and tired of having to mope around with you all the time and bored with your talk of quests and heritage and destiny-bored to tears! Who cares about that anyway? The lineage and future of an orphan human lucky enough to have curried a little favor with Lord Rexfelis is fitting for a brief entertainment at a dull party, but It grows wearisome at other times. You are a boor… a churl… a… a nobody!”
“Now, dear lady Tirrip, that was well and nobly said!”
Gord jerked his head around to see who had spoken. While he and Tirrip had been exchanging heated words-while she was berating him, rather, and he had been giving it back to her through chilling stares-Raug and his comrades had approached. Certainly the group had been drawn by the slap and the loudly spoken rebukes she had delivered. The male who had congratulated Tirrip was called Lurajal.
“Abuse is never laudable,” Gord said in an even tone, looking squarely at the fellow.
Although Lurajal was smaller than Raug and the others, he was still taller than Gord and somewhat stockier. His brown skin was smooth and rippled with muscles when he moved, and he prided himself on his speed and power. Lurajal scowled at Cord’s words, staring at the young adventurer with hatred in his yellow-brown eyes, “Dogs, even wolfish ones, are but mutts and curs fit only for abuse. To strike or scorn them is a laudable act, dog!”
Tirrip froze at those words, but Raug and the others laughed and slapped one another. Gord didn’t bother looking at them, however, for his gaze was fastened on Lurajal. “Well, bragging is quite natural for a knave and coward quite unable to do anything but jabber so. You see before you the one you called cur, braggart! Strike-lest you are afraid, of course.”
He was a relative newcomer, so Lurajal had no idea as to the true merit of his antagonist. He had been told stories, of course, but they centered on Gord’s trickery and unexpected moves. He had tested himself against Raug and the rest of his group, and Lurajal had found himself but little weaker and far more agile and swift.
Lurajal knew that the little dog who dared to speak to him so, dared him to strike, would be no match at all compared to Raug and the rest. Better still, there would be no aid for him this time, either the Catlord himself or some of the humans who had previously been around to assist Gord out of trouble. Lurajal had heard plenty about how Rexfelis or Gord’s human friends had rescued him before, or else Raug or his cousins or fierce friends would have finished the dark little upstart once and for all. It would be Lurajal’s pleasure to accomplish that. With such thoughts flashing through his mind, the golden-eyed Lurajal leaped upon Gord.
The man’s body hit Gord with full force. Those witnessing the attack were certain that Lurajal’s spring had effectively taken his foe by surprise, overborne him, and that soon Gord would be fully at the mercy of the fierce yellow-eyed attacker-but would get precious little mercy from that one!
It did seem that way, but only for a moment. As Gord’s back hit the ground, his arms had come up so that his hands could lightly grip his antagonist’s rib-cage. As he fell, he had pulled his knees up to his chest. Then in the next instant, before Lurajal had fallen full upon him, Gord’s legs pistoned upward and out, thudded into Lurajal’s groin, then hooked to curl over his head, carrying Lurajal’s body along in that direction as Gord’s hands released their hold. Lurajal screamed in pain as the kick struck him. flew through the air, landed with a heavy thud on his back, and writhed on the ground, gasping, trying to regain his senses.
Gord finished his backward roll, used hands and feet to spring upright, then did a back flip high in the air. He was filled with pent-up rage, a white-burning fury that would not be quenched easily, but an anger that did not flame unchecked. Gord knew exactly what he was doing, how it should be done, and when to do it.
As he reached the apogee of his arcing back-spring, Gord tightened every muscle, made himself into a tight ball, and plummeted downward. Lurajal was directly beneath him. He aimed as he straightened his legs, so that both heels were together and thrusting spearlike for the prone man’s throat. Trachea and jugular were exposed. It would be over in an instant. Then the young acrobat altered his course slightly, perhaps through some innate reflex, and his feet struck Lurajal’s chest instead of the prone man’s neck. Ribs broke, but the blow wasn’t fatal as would have been the case had the thrusting heels struck the throat.
By throwing himself to the side and doing a shoulder roll, Gord completed his routine. A split-second afterward he was standing at his opponent’s head, looking down into the pain-wracked eyes of the groaning Lurajal.