Chapter 8

Blade's second opponent was a bigger man than the first, and rode the largest rolgha Blade had ever seen. If they'd been in a real battle or even a less formal duel, the size of the other man's mount would have given him an advantage. A good Jaghdi rider could sideswipe an opponent's mount with his own, leaving the other man at least dismounted, sometimes pinned under his own rolgha. Since this trick was often rather hard on both rolghas involved, it was clearly out of the question when one of the rolghas was from Queen Tressana's stables.

Blade's second opponent kept his distance, and the three passes with the lance went by quickly and harmlessly. Most of the leather covering was stripped off Blade's shield, but otherwise he was in good shape. The bout with swords, however, was another matter. The Jaghd was an expert swordsman, and unlike some of the guards he could use his sword one-handed. In fact, he'd practiced until his right arm and shoulder were noticeably more developed than his left. He made his sword dance about Blade's ears as if it were no heavier than a bamboo pole.

Fortunately Blade's rolgha was as well-behaved as he could have hoped, and Blade's arms were even stronger than his opponent's. Otherwise the Englishman might have taken a disabling wound early in the sword bout. He did have to spend the first few minutes on the defensive, sizing up his opponent's strengths and weaknesses. Meanwhile the sun was getting hotter and the sweat streaming down made the leather of his armor begin to turn black. From behind him Blade heard shouts which might have come from anyone, sarcastic remarks unmistakably from Curim, and once a strangled scream which must have come from Jollya.

The two fighters swung their rolghas in tight circles, until a patch of grass twenty yards across was trampled almost completely flat. The guardsman sometimes shouted insults or curses, but Blade saved his breath and fought in grim silence. He knew he could stand on the defensive for a while longer, perhaps even long enough to wear out his opponent's sword arm. That would take a while, and also use up strength Blade suspected he'd need for his third opponent. He had no way of guessing who that might be, but knowing Curim he would be surprised if the man wasn't the most formidable of the day's opponents. He decided it was time to use his Home Dimension skills with the sword. Revealing them now would warn the third man, but that was less dangerous than letting this fight drag on much longer.

As he circled away from his opponent for the twentieth time, Blade dropped his sword hand behind his shield and shifted his grip on the sword. His opponent apparently noticed nothing. All he did was ask loudly how Blade would like his manhood served up to him after the fight.

Then Blade dug in his spurs, his rolgha leaped forward, and his sword came up into position for a thrust. The other man was good enough to understand what was happening. He started raising his shield and turning his mount but didn't do either in time. The hardwood tip of Blade's sword swept in over the top of his opponent's shield and crashed into his jaw. It was only a glancing blow, so it broke the man's jaw instead of his neck.

The guardsman was still full of fight. Cursing as well as he could with his broken jaw, he spat out bloody teeth and hunched down so that his shield covered as much of him as possible. The only easy targets left for Blade were the man's helmeted head and his sword arm.

If Blade hadn't felt his rolgha steady as a rock under him, he wouldn't have risked the next attack. But he now trusted his mount almost as completely as he did his own body. He rode in again, and this time he thrust hard at the small target of his opponent's right wrist. Blade's sharp eye and perfect coordination did half the work, and the sword tip with Blade's weight and the speed of his rolgha behind it did the rest: The guardsman screamed at the pain of his smashed wrist and his sword dangled uselessly, although he somehow managed to keep a desperate grip on it. He obviously wasn't going to swing it again.

Blade turned half around in the saddle, straightened his left arm, and flung his shield away. Then he gripped his sword with both hands feinted to draw the guardsman's shield down, and brought the wood side of his sword down on the man's head. The man's eyes rolled up in his head and he toppled out of the saddle into the grass.

Rolghas who suddenly lost their riders could become dangerous. Blade gripped the other rolgha's bridle until he could be sure the beast wasn't going to trample its fallen rider underfoot. Then he let it go, and rode back toward the judges as several guardsmen rode out to pick up their fallen comrade.

This time Curim admitted that Blade was the winner without the queen's prompting, and even with a faint smile on his face. Blade didn't trust that smile. He would rather have seen the guard captain in a blazing rage. The smile indicated that whatever plots against Blade might be hatching today, they were mostly Curim's.

All right, what could the guard captain be planning for the third fight? Blade thought about this as he sat on the grass drinking lukewarm, mint-flavored water from a leather bottle. The fight would be out in the same open field as the first two. If there'd been any snares or pitfalls prepared, he or one of his opponents would almost certainly have already stumbled into them. So the trick would probably involve striking from a distance, and that meant archery.

Would one of the guards shoot because he «thought Blade was trying to escape?» Possibly. Or would some friend of Blade's third opponent «go mad» and shoot? That wasn't at all impossible. The man who did the shooting would be doomed, of course. If Curim didn't have to kill him to show how clean his hands were, the queen would do the job. So the archer would have to be a good shot but not very intelligent. How likely was it that there was such a man among the guards today?

Quite likely. Blade had few illusions about the ability of most people to believe what they wanted to believe, rather than what made sense. He'd been called a cynic for this attitude, but he preferred to call it common sense, at least in his profession. Certainly it had saved his life a good many times, whatever you cared to call it.

The best way to deal with this sort of trick would be to win suddenly, catching Curim and the archer by surprise. It would also help if he could win while he was so close to his opponent that the archer would be afraid of hitting his comrade if he shot. That should delay things until the fight was over, and then it would be too late for Curim to do anything today. Blade knew he would have to go on watching his back all the time he was in this Dimension, or at least in Jaghd, but he was used to that.

Blade ate some biscuits and fruit, then drank more water. He didn't want to risk a stomachache by eating a heavy meal, but he badly needed the water. Normally he was as nearly immune to heat as anyone not born in the tropics could be, but he wanted to take no chances. Today the temperature must be close to a hundred, the dampness along the river made it worse, and there wasn't a breath of wind. Even Tressana and Jollya were beginning to wilt, and Sikkurad looked as if he'd sell his soul for a bath and a cold drink.

Blade was glad he'd been careful when he saw his third opponent. The man was the biggest of the thirteen guardsmen, taller than Blade and just as heavily built. He looked almost too big for his rolgha to carry through the fight without tiring. On the other hand his rolgha was starting fresh, while Blade's mount had already carried him through two fights. As far as Blade could see, he and his latest opponent would be a nearly perfect match. If the man had any weaknesses, it would take time to discover them, and time was the one thing Blade knew he couldn't rely on having.