“As this is to be a foot combat, signals will be by drum roll rather than bugle. At the first drum roti, you will each retire to your assigned place.” Nathos indicated two squares of colored sand about ten yards apart. “There, each of you will be subjected to a last inspection, conducted by me.
“At the second drum roll, you will draw your steel, salute your opponent, and commence orders. Anyone who enters this yard before I do will be killed. The duelists will fight with the weapons they now bear and only those weapons. The sudden appearance of any darts or throwing-axes or spare dirks will earn their bearer an arrow; so, too, will the throwing of sand or dust into your opponent’s eyes—this is not a general battle, but a duel. Do I make all points clear, gentlemen?”
Alexandros moved out slowly, his body half crouched and his eyes peering through a narrow slit between the iron rim of his buckler and the front band of his helm, for men had been known to throw a sword blade into an opponent’s unguarded face and end a match before it had hardly commenced. Taking careful steps and circling, he and Paulos came very gradually to striking distance.
Surprising Alexandros with his speed, Paulos feinted a thrust at the same time his shield rim slashed at the Sea Lord’s knees. Turning the thrust with his own blade, Alexandros took the slash OB his buckler. The sharp edge cut through all three layers of tough hide to the wood beneath, bringing shouts from the crowd. Quickly recov-. ering, Paulos drove in, trying hard for the face or throat, his own face and body behind his buckler.
Alexandros’ shield came up, but then he abruptly straightened his left arm and slammed the face of the shield into Paulos’ extended sword arm, aiming his iron boss for the wrist He failed to strike the wrist or hand, but Paulos almost lost his sword, and the Sea Lord’s thigh thrust penetrated leather kilt and flesh alike.
When Paulos skipped backward, he could be seen to favor his left leg and, while they maneuvered toward another meeting, a thread of blood crept from beneath the Vahrohnos’ kilt
Above the loud comments of the crowd, Lord Djeree’s voice roared, “That’s the way, Alex! Take his parts off next time, boy!”
But Alexandros was worried. Aside from involuntary grunts and gasps, his foeman had spoken not a word— no threats, no sangrinous promises, nothing. From experience, he knew a silent fighter to be among the most dangerous. Their first encounter had convinced him that if the big, brawny man was not his equal, he was frighteningly close. Taunting the Vahrohnos might not help, but it was worth a try—anything was at this stage.
“I’ve yet to hear your voice, you perverted ape,” Alexandros sneered. “Or did my knee make a soprano of you?”
“No,” Paulos growled, “but I mean to make a full eunuch of you … before I slay you. I hate so to waste beauty, you ungrateful young bitch, but I offered you my love and you answered me with hurt and humiliation; I must make of you an example.” “If you can,” grated Alexandros.
Lord Paulos sighed. “Oh, I can, lovely Alexandros, I can. This is my thirty-seventh duel. But, I reiterate, I would prefer to not slay you, darling. If you’ll even now, say that you’ll be mine. Let me draw a few drops of blood, and I’ll declare the contest done and spare your beauty and your life. Please say yes.”
“Fagh?” Alexandros spat. “I’d sooner couple with a sow. And you had my answer one night last week . . . when you saw fit to sneak into my suite.”
They circled and circled. Alexandros’ battle-trained eyes told him that Paulos seemed less relaxed and supple than he had earlier. He hoped it was the tenseness of anger, but it could equally well be fatigue or the pain of the thigh wound, which had continued to slowly seep. He decided to try once more to arouse the Vahrohnos into a rash move.
Conversationally, he inquired, “Why do you duel so often? Duels are much more common in” my realm than here, but I know of no man of mine who has taken part in so many.”