Then something struck Kickaha on the head, and he fell half-conscious onto the sand. For a moment he lay there while hoofs churned the sand, stomped, missing him narrowly several times, and a body thumped onto the ground beside him. It was a Thana, Toini, the youth who’d given him a hard time. Though blood streamed from his head and his shoulder, Toini wasn’t out of the battle. He staggered up, only to be knocked down as a hikwu backed into him.
Kickaha got up. For the first time he became aware that he was bleeding. Whatever had struck him on top of the head had opened the scalp. There was no time to take care of that now. He leaped for a mounted Indian who was beating at a Thana with a heavy boomerang, grabbed the man’s arm, and yanked him off his saddle. Yelling, the warrior came down on Kickaha, and both fell to the sand.
Kickaha fastened his teeth on the redskin’s nose and bit savagely. One groping hand felt around, closed on testicles, and squeezed.
Screaming, the man rolled off. Kickaha released his teeth, spun around on this back, raised his neck to see his enemy, and kicked his head hard with the heels of his feet. The man went limp and silent.
A hoof drove down hard, scraping the side of his upper arm. He rolled over to keep from being trampled. Blood and moosoid manure fell on him, and sand was kicked into his eyes. He got to his hands and knees. Half-blind, he crawled through the fray, was knocked over once by something or other, probably the side of a flailing hikwu-leg, got up, and crawled some more, stopped once when a spear drove into the sand just in front of his face, and then, finally, was in the water.
Here he opened his eyes all the way and ducked his head under the surface. It came up in time for him to see two mounted battlers coming toward him, a Thana and an Amerind striking at each other with boomerangs. The male beast of one was pushing the female of another out into the water. If he stayed where he was he was going to be pounded by the hooves. He dived away, his face and chest scraping against the bottom sand. When he came up, he was about twenty feet away. By then he recognized the Thana who was being driven from the shore. He was the chief, holding in one hand Kickaha’s metal knife and in the other a boomerang. But he was outclassed by the younger man. His arms moved slowly as if they were very tired and the redskin was grinning in anticipation of his triumph.
Kickaha stood up to his waist and waded toward them. He got to the chiefs side just as a blow from the young man’s boomerang made the older’s arm nerveless. The boomerang dropped; the chief thrust with his left but his knife missed; the enemy’s wooden weapon came down on his head twice.
Wergenget dropped the knife into the water. Kickaha dived after it, skimmed the bottom, and his groping hands felt the blade. Then something, Wergenget, of course, fell on him. The shock knocked the air out of Kickaha’s lungs; he gasped; water filled his throat; he came up out of the sea coughing and choking. He was down again, propelled by the redskin, who had jumped off his hikwu. Kickaha was at a definite disadvantage, trying to get his breath, and at the same time feeling for the knife he’d dropped.
His antagonist wasn’t as big as he was, but he was certainly strong and quick. His left hand closed over Kickaha’s throat, and his right hand came up with the boomerang. Kickaha, looking up through watery eyes, could see death. His right leg came up between the man’s legs and his knee drove into the warrior’s crotch. Since the leg had to come out of the water, its force wasn’t as strong as Kickaha had hoped. Nevertheless, it was enough to cause the redskin some pain. For a moment, his hand loosed the throat, and he straightened up, his face contorted.