Y
7
Blood as shockingly pink as a bouquet of bougainvilleas, or the synthetic flesh of a pleasure drone, sprayed in a gruesome yet eye-catching mist through the cold air of Y. The crowd roared approval.
Metal clashed on metal. A crimson warrior, screaming with exertion, thrust the point of his sword at his foe. His stroke was blocked by his opponent, who, upswinging, attempted to lodge one of his own war axes deep into the other man’s chin. The swordsman drew his head back in the nick of time. The displacement of air visibly blew back his long ebony locks. He was forced to take a second costly step to the rear when his foe swung the other axe along the horizontal. A thin pink trail scored across the fighter’s naked chest from the close graze, and his left foot hit the edge of the pyramid-topping platform.
With a breathtaking view of the city of Tolaam to every side, the shaky Yn warrior nearly went tumbling into the crowd watching the duel from the first terrace down. At the last second, he put his non-weapon arm out for balance and almost lost it a moment later to a vicious, downward cleave from his opponent.
Still, he regained his balance. He feinted left and actually darted in the direction of his foe’s next blow, ducking to avoid the swinging axe blades. He wasn’t so much attacking as he was trying to gain room to maneuver. The ploy worked. The axeman twisted to avoid the sharp metal instrument coming at his eyes, and as a result he left just enough space for the swordsman to leap out of his desperate corner, bounce, and come again to his feet. Each man squarely footed again, the Yn warriors circled and leapt at one another again. Below the platform, the blood-red crowd gave another loud and approving shout.
Reuben and the Rexus Baor Korez likewise shouted in excitement. Their vantage point was from the balcony of the next pyramid over. Reuben’s fist struck the stone balustrade in front of him with glee.
Sword met axe with a clang and locked. The metal edges scraped against each other. Muscles strained as the warriors struggled, each trying to find enough leverage to shove the other down. Their faces were so close they could almost kiss. Instead, they spit curses at one another, though smiling at the same time as they both clearly enjoyed the struggle. The swordsman tried to lift his knee into his opponent’s groin and succeeded only in finally forcing them apart. He had to make another skillful dodge as an axe blade was swung wickedly up between his legs, to remind him of his manners.
The two had been fighting a long time. The combatants circled and swung, dodged and parried. From time to time, they stumbled in the pools of blood staining their rectangular platform. Whether the pink fluid was drawn from one or the other, neither they nor the audience could tell anymore. Finally, after a few more evenly matched exchanges, the warrior with the axes fell back. Screaming in bloodlust, tired of raining blow after fruitless blow at his adversary, he swung both his weapons in a converging angle, his foe’s neck at the vertex. It was a move born of utter exhaustion and killing thirst.
It was the first real mistake to that point either man had made in their gory contest.
The swordsman took advantage. Bending low, he swung crosswise with his blade, catching both axes at once across the thick metal. He twisted and leveraged the weapons in place. At the same time, he used his other arm to shove his flattened palm into his enemy’s face, squashing the nose and lips to his skull. There was a loud squirting noise. The man with the axes involuntarily squeezed his eyes shut.
Blindly, he fell back. He swung his dual weapons backwards, partially in pained reflex, mostly because the swordsman stood suddenly and twisted his blade away, giving him the space.
The swordsman swung his weapon. His enemy was off-balance and vulnerable. The sword caught him deep in the chest, gouging out muscle and bone. It was a mortal blow.
Reuben cheered. He had been hoping the swordsman would win.
Such was the strong Yn makeup that the axeman tried to attack one final time. He staggered, threw one of his weapons at his foe—the swordsman easily blocked it—and then charged, having lifted his remaining war axe far over his head in order to bring it down on top of the other man’s skull. Bleeding, his body covered in black bruises and shallow, cherry cuts, the swordsman was nonetheless more than ready for this ineffectual strike. He took the opportunity presented him to showboat. With one arm, he swung his weapon in a great shoulder-wrenching arc and back in again with vicious accuracy.
There was a wet thud. A moment later his adversary’s arm was flying through the air still clutching its war axe in a tightly gripping fist.
The dying, now defenseless man roared in pain and anger. His eyes went wide as they tracked his dismembered body part. The limb landed with a clatter on the edge of the dueling platform, in nearly the same spot where minutes earlier he had cornered his adversary and nearly had him. The weight of the still clutched axe tipped the arm over. The detached limb slid down the slope of the pyramid until it reached the next level down. It was picked up and waved by someone in the madly cheering audience.
The impending victor of the duel raised a leg and took his time aiming. His one-armed opponent stood as still as he could, stoically waiting the final blow. The swordsman straight kicked his opponent in his wounded chest. The man flew backwards and off the platform. He landed on one of the two descending stairways and so slid down it rather than join his arm among the crowd.
The triumphant swordsman lifted his weapon high above his head and bellowed. The crowd of red Yn males bellowed back. Reuben joined in the gory exultation. He was breathing hard, and he was sweating profusely beneath his tunic and leather kilt. He had rarely felt so alive.
Something about being a Yn male made watching men fight to the death very exciting.
“What happens now?” he asked the Rexus. Officiants were removing the loser’s body. Others were leading the exhausted victor down the other side. Men hugged him and clapped him on the shoulders.
“Their dispute is over,” Korez said, and the Betan laughed. It sure is, he thought.
“As I recall, their disagreement started over a kiln that fellow with the sword was supposed to have installed for the other man. It was to be completed on a given date, but the maker overbooked himself and so started on it late and didn’t finish on time. The other man refused to pay.”
He shook his head.
“Stupid fellows. They and their friends fought informally but to no satisfactory conclusion. The Council offered a compromise, but, really, it was inevitable the two would climb the pyramid. Ah, look.”
The Rexus pointed. From their balcony, they had a superb view of both flat fighting platforms topping the slightly shorter pyramid-buildings on that side. Such platforms capped nearly every important structure in the city. He and Korez had been watching rooftop duels all mornings.
Reuben followed the Rexus’ pointing finger. Two young Yn warriors were climbing their separate stairways to the top of another pyramid. “This will be an interesting contest,” Korez said. “These two have been rivals for years. Now they’re both eligible for the same promotion. See.”
He pointed again. The two warriors were armed with identical weapons. These appeared to be just wooden clubs with dull metal spikes ringing each end.
“They know how to put on a good contest! This will be a fight worth watching, you’ll see.”
This was Reuben’s ninth day on Y. At first, the lengthier day had confused him, but eventually his body synchronized with the local thirty-two hours. Now he felt fine. In fact, Reuben had never felt so strong or so healthy in his life. He had never really been sick before; few Betans were what with the state of Centauri medicine. All the same, he felt healthier wearing his new Yn skin and muscles.
The warriors across the open air took their places. A pair of blue-garbed officiants stood in the middle of the platform to say something—Reuben was too far away to hear—and then they got out of the way, each older man climbing down his respective sets of steps. The warriors didn’t waste time with their own words. They started swinging their bludgeons as soon as a path was made clear.
Reuben smiled as he watched the fight begin. He loved being a Yn. He had spent his days in Korez’s vast citadel in the middle of Tolaam, with its ring of squat pyramids and barrel-vaulted halls. He had told the red Yn leader everything he knew about the Flowerworld mission, the starship, the Sovereignty of Outer Alpha Centauri, the planets and diverse cultures of Alpha, Beta, and Proxima Centauri, and anything else the Rexus had wanted to know. Then, for hours each night, Reuben had played with the female slaves Korez had provided him. The only thing the aristocrat lacked and even remotely missed, strangely enough, was his wife, the Lady Alyce.
Korez had told him others from the starship had been brought to Y and turned into Yn. Lord Reuben would have done almost anything to have had his wife kneeling at his feet as a Yn sex slave. He hoped she was still alive on Y. As soon as it was possible for him to do so, he would hunt for her.
Korez was proven right. The battle between the young rivals was epic. It was nearly an hour before the loser fell from the platform and a winner raised his shattered club to roar at the crowd. The platforms on top of most Yn pyramids were exclusively made for this kind of formal dueling. The Yn called these bloody contests “trials.” As Reuben understood it, Yn men fought all the time. Mostly, it was just good-natured brawling, two men punching one another out in order to establish a pecking order. When two Yn were deadly serious about things, however, they “climbed the pyramid.”
Reuben presently felt a hand on his shoulder. “Attend me,” Korez remarked.
They left the balcony. In the interval they had been outside, the inner room had filled with new parties.
Korez introduced the older Yn men in tunics, of the same style he himself wore, as fellow members of Tolaam’s Council of Rexes. “Each of these men rules his own citadel,” Reuben’s host explained, which, as the Betan aristocrat had gleaned, meant that they and Korez controlled those fortresses and private armies that together made up the heart of the city-state. Political authority on Y, Reuben had come to understand, was purer here than in Alpha Centauri, or even in the despotic Solarian Empire. It was an authority, he saw, based solely on military strength. No subtlety. No layers of diplomacy. No ties of history or wealth. Just pure power: what one man could take, and what his army could hold onto.
Reuben, with his new Yn outlook on life, rather liked the idea. It felt right. Right . . . and masculine.
Along with the lesser Rexes—Reuben noted that only Korez wore a headband—had come several more kilt-wearing, bare-chested warriors, each armed with a sharp-looking dirk. Too, four crimson-skinned Yn slavegirls had joined them. Unlike the all-but-naked slaves in Rexus Korez’s citadel, these council-owned women were clad in white, sleeveless gowns that came up high along their thighs. The garments weren’t all that different from the tunics the Rexes and Reuben himself wore, save that they were shorter and possessed deep décolletages. The slaves carried ledgers and writing instruments of an antique sort, of the type clerks in ancient England or Greece might have used. Their heads were bowed in deference.
Rexus Korez introduced Reuben to the others as “Lord Elshwa.” They all gripped arms lengthily.
He turned to the transformed Betan.
“Reuben, you can no longer be a guest in my household.” The Betan stiffened, but Korez grinned and kept a hand on his arm. The Yn men were a little on the touchy-feely side with one another. “Our relationship has deepened beyond that. You have performed a service to the men of Tolaam. The information you have given us is valuable. We have already used it to our advantage.”
“We reward service on our world,” one of the other Rexes spoke. He put out an expectant hand. A document was brought forward by one of the slaves. “We want to extend to you a great honor. We want to make you a citizen of our city.”
The men clapped. They surrounded and embraced Reuben, at length, too long for his comfort, really, not that he was homophobic or anything.
“It means you will be bound to us, and we to you,” Korez explained a minute later, sensing Reuben’s lack of understanding. “Our futures will be linked together. More prosaically, Reuben, only citizens may own land and large properties in Tolaam, and only they may lead men in war and society.”
Reuben nodded. “Thank you,” he said, animating his face with what he thought would be the proper displays of gratitude and humility while keeping his true feelings to himself. This was a talent politicians such as himself had to cultivate to be successful back in the Beta Assembly.
Citizenship, big deal. On the other hand, he reflected, it didn’t appear likely that he would be returning anytime soon to the Triple Suns. So, maybe being a citizen of a city-state on Y wouldn’t be all that bad, he considered, especially if it brought him closer to owning slaves like Soha and Theru, whose company he had been much indulging in this last week. And it might help him to find his dear wife. Perhaps it was because he looked so good now, but he wasn’t afraid of her anymore. Alyce, with her sleek, gene-enhanced refinement, had enjoyed making light of him, and worse. So, yeah . . . citizenship.
He could play at being a citizen of Tolaam for a while. At least long enough to develop a power base of his own. “Thank you,” he said again. “I don’t deserve it,” he added with a well-cultivated tone of false modesty as he accepted the document of citizenship.
“No! You do not!” The sudden shout made Reuben jump. From the sidewall, one of Korez’s two retainers in the room, the same pair of guards who had watched over the Betan aristocrat during his first day on Y, stepped forward with an angry expression on his face. He pulled out a knife.
He’s going to attack, Reuben thought. Instinctively, he pulled back.
Instead of coming after him, though, the guard flipped the dirk over and held the weapon out hilt first to his Rexus. “Rexus,” the man said earnestly. “This new citizen you have made insults me by breathing the same air as I do. He has no warring spirit. He cannot even hold a proper rein over his women.”
“Hey, now, wait a minute . . .” Reuben began to stay indignantly. But the guard ignored him.
“He is an offworlder who has done nothing to prove himself. He has only spoken words.” He sneered the expression. “He does not deserve this honor. Rexus, I request a trial between us.”
Trial . . ? Reuben thought. “Ah, say, listen . . .” He had gone tense all over. His blood was racing.
Throughout, the expression of Korez’s face had not changed at all. It was almost as if he had expected his servant’s outburst. He took the offered blade casually.
“Do you request this as my retainer?” he asked. The guard nodded. Korez faced his fellow Rexes.
They also didn’t look surprised.
“Men, this warrior here, as you know, is my retainer, Galt. He has made a request of me for a trial between himself and the Lord Reuben zee Elshwa of Beta II, a citizen of Tolaam.” He held up the knife. “As his patron, I recognize this as a reasonable request.”
“What’s going on?” Reuben asked. No one was looking at him. Everyone’s attention was now on the six other Rexes, who tilted their heads at one another, rubbed shoulders, and talked together quietly.
Finally, the Rexus who had spoken earlier stepped forward.
“We agree,” he said simply. He met Korez’s gaze steadily. “By a plurality of the members present, we approve the request for a trial. You may inform your retainer.”
Reuben blinked. What? The Rexus turned formally to Galt.
“I am pleased to say that your request for a trial has been approved by the Council of Rexes, Galt. You may challenge the Lord Reuben.” He handed him the knife back.
He took it. “Thank you, Rexus,” the guard said. He turned to face Reuben and threw the dirk at the floor at the aristocrat’s feet, not in a threatening way but in a manner clearly expressing his distaste. The weapon clattered on the smooth alabaster-stone surface.
“I challenge you to a trial of blood, offworlder. All that you have, I want. I place all that I have at risk: my life, my property, my name.” He stood toe-to-toe with the Betan nobleman.
Reuben took a step back.
“You want to fight me?” he asked. Now that the time for a fight was there, curiously enough, Reuben found that he really didn’t want to anymore. He could hurt or worse.
“Yes,” Galt sneered. “Let us climb the pyramid.”
Reuben took another step back. Attention in the room had now focused solely on him. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Wait. I don’t understand.” He turned to Korez.
And, seeing the Rexus, Reuben suddenly did understand.
He shouted accusingly at Korez. “You planned this!”
“Yes,” the Rexus said calmly, without a hint of hypocrisy. “The arrangement benefits everyone, Reuben, including yourself, should you win.” Reuben guffawed, but Korez continued unoffended.
“Consider,” he said. “You have been made a citizen of Tolaam, but, as it stands, you would be a very poor citizen indeed, one without money, without resources, without women. You would have nothing in fact save for your citizenship itself.”
The Rexus shook his head. “Such a situation would be highly unfair to you.”
“Unfair?!” Reuben screamed. The universe felt like it was closing in on him.
“Yes. Galt’s challenge provides you an opportunity to gain station with us. If you kill Galt, you will gain everything he owns. His fortune is small compared to my own, and no doubt it is miniscule compared to what you were used to as the Lord of Elshwa Island, but it is an honorably acquired fortune nonetheless through service and reward. Galt is one of my most faithful retainers.”
“Thank you, Rexus,” the guard, Galt, said, puffing his chest out in pride. His friend, the other guard, clutched him by the shoulder in a comradely fashion.
“On the other hand,” Korez went on, “while you have no assets, should Galt kill you, he would gain your new citizenship, Reuben, which is the only value you currently possess. As I said, Galt has been a prized retainer. I arranged this opportunity for him to win a citizenship and gain the right to, one day, perhaps, build his own citadel.” He turned to Galt. “With my patronage, I would assume.”
Galt nodded. “I would be honored to retain you as patron, Rexus.”
Korez’s attention returned to Reuben.
“If you won, Lord Reuben, you would retain your citizenship and gain Galt’s holdings in the process, and I would become your patron and lend you what you needed to start an estate of your own.”
He spread his hands out expansively. “So. There. Opportunities for everyone, and all lawfully to be won. I offer you a choice of weapons, Reuben. Pick any here, and it is yours. Consider it a gift in recognition of your first trial.” All of the Yn men present, with the exception of Galt, held out a bladed weapon. The Rexus looked at Reuben. He waited expectantly. The aristocrat’s lower lip trembled.
“But . . I don’t want to fight,” he said, finally.
A chorus of disapproving mumbles went through the gathered men.
“There are no hereditary ranks here, Lord Reuben,” Korez said sternly. “Advancement in my world is through skill, merit, or the force of arms, as I believe I once said to you. Choose a weapon, lord.”
“He need not select a weapon, Baor,” one of the other Rexes said, in a mildly chastising tone. “The two of them can fight barehanded.”
Reuben took a breath. He glanced over at Galt. The Yn warrior clenched and unclenched his fists.
“Would we still have to fight to the death?” the Betan aristocrat asked quietly, a bit too quietly for a Yn male. Even the slaves had started to look at him funny.
“Naturally,” the Rexus said, taken aback. The others nodded, their expressions saying, Of course you would.
Reuben went slowly around the room. There were more blades presented than he could name. They all looked quite lethal. He turned to Korez. “I’m your guest. You have to protect me.”
“No longer.”
“I don’t stand a chance. I don’t know how to fight with a sword!”
Korez shrugged. “Then choose a mace or a hammer.”
Reuben gulped. “I don’t know how to fight.”
“I asked whether you considered yourself a warrior, Lord Reuben.” The Rexus straightened his shoulders. His next words took on a heightened solemnity. “You have been challenged, Lord Reuben zee Elshwa of Beta II, by my trusted and loyal retainer, Galt. This challenge has been witnessed and approved by the Council of Rexes of the City-State of Tolaam, over which I preside. The forms have been followed. Honor is assumed by all.”
He paused significantly. He waited until Reuben returned his glance.
“Will you climb the pyramid?” he asked simply.
The large Yn gestured toward the open arch that led to that building’s elevated dueling platform. The steps out into the chill Yn air stretched before Reuben dauntingly. It was as if instead of a mere dozen steps there were a thousand or more he had to climb. His legs were shaking.
His bowels felt weak. The aristocrat no longer felt the least bit hard.
Trembling, Reuben put out a hand and picked up the first thing his fingers found. It was a curved blade of some kind. It had one long cutting surface and three smaller ones projecting out from it, two on one side, a third on the other. All were curved like miniature scythe edges. Whatever the weapon was called, it was razor sharp and so highly polished Reuben could see his reflection in it.
It felt heavy in his hands.
He turned toward the open stairs and took one hesitating step forward. He took another. He stopped, then, shuddering all over. Images of the fights he had witnessed raced before his eyes.
The blood. The gore. The detached limbs flying through the air. Oddly enough, these things somehow no longer filled him with a sense of excitement.
Reuben took a third faltering step, and then he stopped. The blade fell from his nerveless fingers. It made a loud clang as it met the fused stony floor. The Betan aristocrat fell to his knees beside it. He had tears in his eyes. “I can’t!!” he screamed.
Sounds of derision and disappointment poured into Reuben’s ears. He hung his head down in shame.
Galt came forward and struck Reuben open-handed across the cheek. He then kicked the blade weapon out of the aristocrat’s easy grasp. Reuben felt other men’s hands on his arms, lifting him. He was hauled to his feet by the council’s warriors. Galt and Baor Korez stood before him.
His former host looked very let down. He shook his head sadly.
“Galt,” he said after a moment, officially, turning to the retainer. “Your challenge to Lord Reuben has been refused in front of witnesses. There will be no trial. You win by forfeit. I’m sorry.”
Galt looked angry. His teeth were clenched. His hands were fisted. He was shaking with rage.
He’s mad he didn’t get a chance to kill me, Reuben thought, amazed. He wondered what would happen to him now. He had felt so strong with the slaves. He had felt so supremely masculine. He even remembered wanting to get into a fight with his guards, even with Galt himself, earlier. He had cheered at seeing other men fighting. He had felt excited, almost sexually, by these bouts.
But when it was his life that was at stake, the habits of his old existence had come sourly back.
Somehow, somewhere, Reuben heard Alyce laughing at him.
“All that was Lord Reuben’s is now yours,” Korez said. Another document was humbly brought forth. The Rexes put their signatures to it. Korez added his last. “Galt, you are now a citizen of Tolaam. You have the right and the responsibility to build and maintain a citadel within our city walls, and to expect that your citadel will be defended by your fellow citizens, as we expect you to defend our citadels in times of need. Do you accept this privilege and responsibility?”
“I do, Rexus.”
“As the victor in your contest, you are entitled to use the name Elshwa. Do you accept this prize?”
They’re taking my name? Reuben thought. “Wait . .” he started to say. The Rexus, turning savagely, struck the aristocrat with such force that he was almost ripped out of the guards’ hands.
“You have no right to speak here, spineless one! Be silent, or your tongue will be cut out.”
The slavegirls gazed upon Reuben as if he were covered in slime. They were disgusted by him.
Korez regained his composure. “Do you accept this prize?” he asked Galt again, breathing heavily.
“Yes,” the man said through his clenched teeth. He looked at Reuben in revulsion. “I am Galt Elshwa. I will want to petition the Council to change my name to one in our own language as soon as possible.”
“Of course,” Korez said. “Congratulations, citizen. Welcome.” He embraced his retainer, and then all the men were patting Galt on the back or on his ass, congratulating, and embracing him. Reuben was pulled away to the other side of the room. It was several minutes before the Rexus returned his attention to him. The guards forced the Betan to his knees. Korez towered over him.
“What shall we do with this trash, Rexus?” one of the guards asked. “Shall we slit its throat and be done with it?” Reuben made a sound of terror. His newfound Yn confidence had fled him entirely.
When or if that confidence would ever return, he did not know.
“No,” Korez said coldly. “Collar it instead. We’ll sell it to the Imperatrix.”
The slavegirls giggled.
Reuben was dragged away.