The dueling ground was a marked-off square three hundred yards on a side, lying exactly between the house of the Seven Brothers and the tents of the Steppemen. Blade walked up and down across it while his horse was prepared, checking the footing. The earth was hard and the grass just long enough to keep down the dust. Neither side would have much advantage from the ground today.
Now they were leading out his horse, and on the opposite side of the field his opponent was mounting up. Blade examined his horse and its gear from nose to tail and from mane to hooves. He tested the fit and strength of every piece of harness with all his knowledge and all of his muscles. Emass watched him, a skeptical frown on his face.
«Prince Blade, is this needed?»
«I do not know that it is. I do not know that it is not, either. Therefore I shall do it.»
«We would permit nothing that might do you harm or make the duel less than fair.»
«Emass, I believe you. Yet not even the Free Brothers of Nongai can prevent that which they cannot recognize. There is nothing you do not know of the ships and the sea. Horses and what may be done with them are another matter.»
Blade swung himself up into the saddle. Although the stirrups were let out to their maximum, he still had to keep his knees bent to keep his feet in them.
Prince Durouman approached and handed Blade the great two-handed Steppe sword. Then the trumpet calls started-the brass signal trumpets of the pirate ships and the long wooden trumpets of the tribesmen. Drums joined them-the horse drums of the Steppemen and the deeper-toned rowing drums of the ships. All joined and swelled into a continuous uproar, calling all the men of all the peoples gathered here on the shore to come and watch the duel. Blade gently urged his horse forward, out into the middle of the dueling ground. He wanted to be there waiting when his opponent rode out, to watch the man and his horse in movement.
The mass of Steppemen at the other end of the ground churned and broke apart, and Blade's opponent came trotting out. Like Blade's mount, his horse was fully equipped for the field, with bags and pouches and water bottles dangling from odd places on the harness.
Two Steppemen rode out into the middle of the grounds and two pirate captains walked out from the other side. Apparently the captains had decided it would be less embarrassing to walk than to try riding. Blade agreed. He'd seen some of the pirates try to ride Steppe horses and seen most of them fall off within minutes.
The two duelists reined in their horses ten yards apart and sat listening while the rules of the duel were called out.
The fight would be to the death. Neither might strike at the other's horse unless they were dismounted or use any weapons at all other than the great swords and their bare hands. At the end of each half hour, each contestant might receive a fresh horse. This would continue until the end of the duel.
The fresh horses might be to his advantage, Blade realized. On the other hand, would he have the same chance to inspect each new one as he'd had with the first? He doubted it.
All the trumpets and drums sounded again; the four referees drew back and motioned the duelists to do the same. Blade could not help noticing that as the referees drew back far enough to be out of the way, they also drew back far enough that they would not be able to see very well. It would be entirely up to the two duelists to keep an eye on each other's conduct.
That didn't bother Blade. Somehow, no matter how many rules well-intentioned people tried to make, a fight to the death usually ended up at the level of a barroom brawl. People who forgot that fact in a fight usually didn't get out of it alive.
Blade hefted his sword. His opponent did the same. Both men whirled their weapons over their heads, so that the watery sunshine gleamed along the polished steel. Then the Steppeman threw back his head until his beard seemed to be pointing at the clouds, filled his broad chest, let out a tremendous yell
«Niiiliyaaaaarrrrggggg!»
— and spurred his horse into motion.
Blade did the same. As his horse swept forward he swung his sword down from a striking position into one for blocking. The other horse moved up from a walk to a trot. Blade heard the thud of hooves on the hard ground and the wsssssh of air as the other man whirled the sword around his head.
At the last moment the Steppeman swerved his horse and swung his sword sideways. He obviously expected Blade to keep on course, straight into the deadly arc described in the air by the slash of the sword.
Instead Blade dropped one hand from the hilt of his sword to the reins of his horse. He pulled back hard on the reins, jerking the horse to a sudden stop. His other hand locked tightly on the great sword and swept it forward and down from the vertical position. Halfway down it met the Steppeman's sword. There was a terrific clang and the Steppeman's sword was deflected downward so violently that the point nearly struck the ground. The Steppeman raced past as Blade whirled his sword up and out at the other's head, still using one hand. With his own horse motionless, Blade could launch his attack as precisely with one hand on his sword as the other could with two.
The Steppeman went by just a little too fast. Blade saw the tip of his sword whistle by the back of the man's neck close enough to cut off one pigtail. He also saw a look of amazement burst onto the other's face. The man had just seen the impossible-or at least what all Steppemen had thought to be impossible until now!
If there was fear behind the Steppeman's amazement, it did not last long. With the pressure of his knees he swung his horse into an incredibly tight turn. It seemed to practically spin around on its hind legs. Then he was coming in at Blade again. This time he held his sword vertically and well out in front of him.
Blade did not move. He simply swung his own horse around on the spot, bringing its head and his face toward the Steppeman's attack. This time when Blade raised his sword he had both hands locked on the hilt, and this time it was he who struck first, swinging from the waist with all of his enormous strength.
If there had been any flaw in the other man's sword it would have split apart like a stalk of bamboo. If there had been any weakness in his grip, the sword would have flown out of his hands. If there had been any fault in his seat on his horse, he would have gone sailing over its rump and crashed to the ground. Steel and grip and seat on the horse were all sound. The clash of swords sounded like a stamping machine coming down on a sheet of metal, but the Steppeman rode on past Blade, still in his saddle and his sword still in his hands. He was shaking his head at the jolt Blade had sent up his arms, but he seemed unhurt.
Blade instantly swung his horse and kept it swinging as the Steppeman rode around him in a tight circle. He knew now that he faced a first-class opponent, strong and quick and tough. He would need to put all his own strength and skill and endurance into this duel and hope for good luck as well. He could not be certain of the good luck, but he could be certain of one thing.
This was going to be a long fight.
It was. The minutes followed each other in grim succession, until the first half hour was gone. Each of the duelists used every one of those minutes to do what he knew he had to do to win. The Steppeman circled and passed and backed and charged, trying to come in from an angle Blade could not hope to guard and get a stroke home. One stroke with the great two-handed sword would be enough.
He never succeeded.
Blade also circled and backed, but within a circle no more than a few feet across. He was happy to let the Steppeman ride around and around, working both himself and his horse into a sweat. Blade could stay where he was, meet each attack as it was launched, and try to get one of his own strokes home. He was not sure that one would be enough. Blade's enormous strength made it possible for him to wield the great Steppe sword with one hand, something that drew awed gasps from the spectators. He could not put all his power into a one-handed stroke, and half the time that was what he had to use. Still, one good cut sent home would be a good starting point toward his own victory and the victory of Prince Durouman.