Its impact and horizontal momentum caused its legs to collapse for just an instant, and two of the hounds were on it before the cat could streak away. It twisted, raked one hound off, then other dogs were at it, and the action, with squalling, yelping and growling, was too swift for Macurdy to follow. A spear drove, taking the cat in the flank, another spear struck, and another, and the dogs swarmed over it, tearing.
Shit, thought Macurdy. Whatever happened to the rule that only one man wields the spear? It was just as well though, he told himself; saved wear and tear on the dogs. He reslung his shield until he reached the lower branch, then tossed it to the ground.
On the way back to town, most of the trainees were still exhilarated from the kill. Macurdy, on the other hand, was grim and angry. He’d hunted all his life, perhaps not with great enthusiasm, but it was what men did, and he’d found pleasure in it. But this time—
He sat beside Jeremid at supper. The young corporal was still somewhat excited. “You’ve got to stay for the party tonight, Macurdy,” he said. “There’s not only the slave girls; there’ll likely be a spear maiden or two, maybe more. Probably try someone out. A good-looking guy like you, one of them may even take you home with her for the night. Get her pregnant, and you’ve got a life of ease, making babies with her. With luck she’ll even let you hump slave girls on the side.” Jeremid laughed. “Especially if she doesn’t know about it.”
Macurdy had heard about spear maidens. Other nations didn’t have them, he’d been told. The daughters of Heroes were trained from girlhood with weapons, the best being honored as spear maidens. They almost always married Heroes. No doubt the practice had been started deliberately to breed up warriors.
Marrying a spear maiden was nothing he wanted to do, but to leave with one, then pretend to get too drunk—
So he waited around, sipping at an ale to pass the time. There was cheering from the doorway, and laughter, male and female. Slave girls came prancing in, wearing nothing but little aprons in front and behind. Thirty or forty poured through the door in a brief flood, dispersing through the room, pairing off, men grabbing them, kissing and pawing. One, a blond with bold breasts, had spied Macurdy’s large body and fended off other Heroes to reach him.
“I never saw you before,” she said, and grabbing him, kissed him roundly while rubbing against his erection.
Good God! he thought, talk about brazen! “Sorry,” he said, “I’m waiting for a spear maiden.”
“Come on, Muscles, don’t be that way. Let’s you and me hump, and then you can wait for a spear maiden.”
His powerful hands gripped her shoulders and removed her, holding her at arm’s length. “When she comes in,” he said, “I want to be ready and loaded. You’re a great looking woman, and there’s lots more guys here. You’ll get all you want.”
She tossed her head, insulted despite the compliments, and turning, walked away, reaching back to flip up her rear apron and expose her buttocks to him. Macurdy sighed. This could be a trying evening. Not a dozen feet away, one of the Heroes already had a slave bent over the table, his buttocks driving. More, though, were drinking and laughing with their girl of the moment, kissing between swigs.
Then he saw another woman enter, broad-shouldered, dressed in decorated calfskin breeches and shirt, wearing a short sword on one hip and a knife on the other. Just inside she paused, scanning the chaos with half a smile. Macurdy waved to her, and she started over. None of the unpaired Heroes grabbed at her, though several spoke as she passed. She answered without looking aside, her focus on Macurdy.
Half a dozen feet away she stopped and looked him over, seeing a man taller than most, lean and hard, with wide heavy shoulders and a strong, good-looking face. Macurdy, on the other hand, saw a woman as tall as an Ozman. Eighteen or twenty years old, he guessed, and long-legged, with shoulders that made her waist look small, and large muscular hands. She had a warrior aura. Her brown hair bordered on blond, and her face, dusted with freckles, suggested straightforward honesty.