Zek had followed on behind; she heard what Lardis said and her eyes went very wide. The men Lardis had been speaking about had also heard him (he’d ensured that they had); they straightened up where they sat, their faces suddenly gaunt and full of apprehension.
Jazz looked at them, remembered how a few of them had seemed ill at ease with some of Arlek’s ideas and actions. ‘Arlek made fools of them,’ he answered Lardis. ‘Great fools. And you weren’t here to set it right. He was a coward, as you’ve said; he needed others to lend his opinions strength. These are the ones who were foolish enough to listen to him. Obviously they wish they hadn’t. But you punish traitors, not fools.’
Lardis glanced at Zek, grinned. ‘It might have been me speaking,’ he said; and she relaxed and took a deep breath. ‘On the other hand,’ Lardis continued, ‘one of these men struck you from behind. Don’t you feel any anger toward that one?’
Jazz touched the tender bump behind his ear. ‘Some,’ he admitted. ‘But not enough to want to kill him. I could teach him a lesson, perhaps?’ He wondered what Lardis was after. Obviously he’d heard how Jazz had dispatched Arlek. Maybe he wanted to see his fighting skills at first hand. It would be a bonus for the tribe to have a man who could teach them or at least introduce superior fighting skills.
‘You want to teach him a lesson?’ Lardis grinned. Jazz had guessed right. Now Lardis walked among the seated men, pushing them left and right off their boulder seats, roughly away from him as he poured his silent scorn on them. ‘Which one of you struck him?’ he demanded.
A young man, muscular, nervous-looking, slowly stood up. Lardis pointed to an area of flat ground fairly clear of rocks. ‘Over there,’ he growled.
‘Wait!’ Jazz came forward. ‘Let’s at least make it a match. He doesn’t stand a chance on his own. Does he have a friend? A close friend?’
Lardis raised his expressive eyebrows, shrugged. He scowled at the youth. ‘Well, do you? Unlikely, I should think.’
Another young man, burlier, craggier, less apprehensive, got to his feet. As he joined the first on the open ground, Jazz thought: / deal with you first! Out loud he said: ‘That should do it.’ He made sure his SMG was on safe and handed it to Lardis – who accepted it gingerly and held it awkwardly.
Jazz approached his two opponents. ‘Whenever you’re ready,’ he said casually. ‘Unless you haven’t the guts for it, in which case you can get down on your knees and kiss my boots!’ The last was a deliberate ploy – to goad them into speedy action, cause them to lose their self-control.
Which it did!
They looked at each other, their chests filled out, and they charged like young bulls. And almost as wildly.
Jazz had determined to put on a show for Lardis. He avoided the rush of the man who’d clubbed him, delivered a slicing rabbit punch to his neck as he flew past. Not sufficient to put him out of the fight – not yet – but just hard enough to send him dazed and sprawling to the hard ground. The second man, sturdier and a shade more wary, swerved his body and threw himself into a dive, rolling to knock Jazz’s feet out from under him. The plan failed as Jazz leaped high, avoiding his tumbling body, then stepped in close as the clever one sprang to his feet. He offered a feint, telegraphing a blow to his opponent’s face. The other saw it coming, snatched the top half of his body back out of harm’s way – which left his lower half not only exposed but proffered. Jazz kicked him smartly in the groin; but again, not hard enough to cripple him, sufficient only to make him curl up and drop like a stone.
The first one, groggy but game, was back on his feet. He’d picked up a jagged rock, now commenced circling Jazz while looking for an opening. Jazz was long-legged and knew that in certain circumstances the reach of his legs was greater than that of his arms – and in any case, this was no boxing match. He half-turned from the man with the rock, who at once stepped forward. But as Jazz turned away, so he bent his body sharply forward and downward from the waist, lifting and lashing out with his right foot. The move was so fast and so alien to any of the other’s previous fighting experience that he seemed hardly aware of its offensive character at all! But suddenly his arm was numb and the rock had been kicked from his grasp. Still in fluid motion, Jazz straightened up, continued his turn through its natural circle, and sliced the other stiff-fingered across the Adam’s apple. And again he pulled his punch.