Despite the curses Charole had uttered over yielding to an impulse that had caused her some difficulties, when she looked back, she felt that her luck was still holding out.
Having made her escape from Bon-Gatah with nothing untoward occurring, Charole had decided against following the suggestions of Elder Eokan immediately. While she was satisfied that he had sufficient ulterior motives to be sincere in his offer of assistance, she considered that something else must take precedence over going directly to Zeh-Gatah. A shrewd strategist and born conspirator, she was aware of the value of negotiating from as strong a position as possible, and she hoped to gather the means to do just that.
When he had been preparing to betray his superior, Zongaffa the Herbalist had made a large quantity of Thunder Powder and had, almost certainly, prepared a number of “Terrifiers”. In which case, they must be hidden somewhere, and Charole had deduced that the hiding place would be in the vicinity of the late High Priest’s country villa. So she had gone there with the intention of searching for what would be of the greatest help in her bid to return to power.
That had been five days ago.
Since then, the Protectress had had cause to regret having made the attempt!
While conducting the search, Charole had been seen by the one person more than anybody else who had cause to hate her.
Not only had Elidor of Veet-Gatah been the High Priest’s senior female adherent, she was the one he had hoped would supplant Charole as the Protectress of the Quagga God. However, having suffered defeat at the hands of Dawn of the ‘Earths’—all the more humiliating because the foreigner’s wrists had been manacled—she had fallen from grace. Before she could recover from the broken jaw she had sustained in the fight, Dryaka had formed his alliance with Charole and she was displaced permanently from his favor.
Obviously, on learning of the High Priest’s death, Elidor had either decided to establish herself as owner of his estate, or had duplicated Charole’s summation with regard to Zongaffa’s treachery. Whatever the reason, she and six male companions had come on the scene while the Protectress was trying to locate the hoard of Thunder Powder. Recognizing her from a distance, despite the changes she had made to her appearance, they had given chase.
If Charole had had her own quagga as a mount, she would have been able to leave her pursuers far behind during the early stages and lose them at her leisure. As it was, while the banar-gatah stallion circumstances had compelled her to use was an animal of excellent quality it could do no more than maintain roughly the same distance between her and her pursuers as she made for Zeh-Gatah. Naturally, after the original attempt failed to bring them together, neither she nor Elidor’s party were riding at a gallop. Instead, the latter were following her with the aid of an exceptionally competent reader of tracks.
In spite of having been taught various methods of hiding signs of her passing, Charole did not offer to put any of them into practice. xxx They were all too time-consuming to carry out correctly and anything less, considering the obvious quality of the man doing the tracking, would be futile. Nor, as the advantages were outweighed by other factors, had she kept moving after night had fallen in order to increase her lead and, perhaps, lose her pursuers. In addition to having no wish to tire and possibly ride her stallion into the ground, she had known that the proliferation of carnivores with nocturnal hunting habits, and other dangerous animals, made travelling through the darkness an extremely hazardous undertaking. Sharing her appreciation of the difficulties, Elidor’s party had also halted once the sun went down.
One worrying point for Charole was that she was prevented from taking the most direct route to her destination. She had been driven northwards by the original chase and was now making a semi-circular swing towards Zeh-Gatah. What was more, the area she had entered shortly before nightfall on the third afternoon was rolling, but not too dense, woodland that fringed the great ‘Lake With Only One Shore’ close to which— although she had estimated it was still some miles away—the city was situated.
For all Charole’s misgivings, by noon on the fifth day of the pursuit, it seemed that her persistence had paid off. Since she had set out that morning, after breakfasting upon the fulsa and stream water which had been her only sustenance since fleeing from Bon-Gatah, she had seen nothing of Elidor’s party. Of course, because of the woodland terrain she was traversing, her view to the rear was extremely limited. However, she was taking comfort from the thought that they would possibly be suffering even more than she was from the reduction of visibility. They would now be forced to rely entirely upon their tracker, which would compel them to move more slowly than she was.
Even as Charole was returning her gaze to the path ahead, her complacency was shattered in no uncertain fashion. She was going across a fair-sized clearing and, suddenly, found herself surrounded by riders who appeared from concealment all around it. There was even one to her rear, cutting off any slender chance of a retreat. Facing the Protectress was Elidor! Dressed and armed in the same style, except that she did not carry a lance, the woman almost matched Charole in height and dimensions. Although, in healing, the break had left her jaw slightly crooked, she was still sullenly beautiful and about the same age as the Protectress. Nearly as strong and fit, she had attained a well-deserved reputation as a warrior. Lounging on the saddle of her banar-gatah stallion, which was showing just as much evidence of hard travelling as Charole’s leg-weary mount, she had a sword dangling from her right hand.
‘There, you see!’ Elidor said, looking with triumphant exultation at the nearest man who was also mounted on a banar-gatah stallion. ‘I told you that she was making for Zeh-Gatah and we could catch her by cutting across this way.’
‘You did,’ the warrior agreed.
‘So you made a lucky guess for once,’ Charole scoffed, turning the lance in her right hand and throwing it so that the point stuck in the ground by her mount. ‘Now what?’
Before she started to speak, the Protectress’s thoughts were racing. The bag containing the small sack of ‘Thunder Powder’ and the ‘Terrifiers’ was wrapped with her ‘fire box’ and other belongings in the cloak that was strapped on the cantle of her saddle. Even if they had been readily available, the latter’s fuse cord was not lit. So she had no way of bringing the potent devices into operation. Nor did she consider that the lance, or the throwing spear hanging on the skirt of her saddle, would serve her needs. Her banar-gatah had been too hard pressed over the past few days to make a suitable mount on which to wield the former weapon, and she doubted whether she would be granted an opportunity to draw, much less throw, the latter. There was, she accepted, only one way open to her.
‘You took an oath to sacrifice one of the “Earths” to the Quagga God,’ Elidor replied. ‘But we haven’t seen it happen yet. So you have lost His favor and have forfeited your right to act as His Protectress.’
‘I’ve yet to be deposed,’ Charole pointed out.
‘Your failure and flight from Bon-Gatah did that,’ Elidor declared, after glancing around as if hoping one of her male companions would speak.
‘I still have my robes of office,’ Charole countered, indicating the bulky bundle wrapped in the cloak. Acting on Eokan’s advice, she had collected the ceremonial garments before taking her departure. Without them, there can be no new Protectress.’
‘Then they must be taken from you,’ Elidor stated, falling into the trap that had been laid for her.
‘By whom?’ Charole challenged, swinging her right leg forward and over the saddle horn to jump to the ground. ‘Do you mean to have these six men do it for you?’
The words gave Elidor no choice over how she must respond. They were directed in a way which she could not ignore. In spite of having the men with her, she knew Mun-Gatah custom required that a dispute of such a nature must be settled between the main participants if they were of the same sex. Persons of the opposite gender were not allowed to interfere, no matter where their loyalties might lie. So a failure to respond to Charole’s imputation of her courage would cause her a serious loss of face. It could even lead the warriors to desert her in the Protectress’s favor.
For all that, Elidor hesitated instead of acting immediately. While Charole’s failure to make the promised sacrifice had implied a fall from grace, the fact that she still lived, had escaped from the hostile capital city and was apparently going to Zeh-Gatah—which was not her home town—in search of assistance, suggested she had not entirely forfeited the Quagga God’s favor. In which case, dealing with her was not a sinecure. She was too capable a fighter for that.
‘Well?’ Charole said derisively, wanting to make sure that the other’s hesitancy did not go unnoticed by her companions. ‘Why don’t you tell them to do what you’re obviously afraid to try?’
Any slight hope that Elidor might have nourished of evading the confrontation ended with the mocking words. One brief glance at the men informed her of their feelings on the matter. They expected her to accept the challenge. So, yielding to the inevitable, she wondered how she might fight with the best chance of survival.
Watching Charole stepping away from the banar-gatah and lance, Elidor drew her conclusions. While she was still mounted and her opponent on foot, she realized that the animal between her legs would be unable to respond with its best speed. Like the stallion the Protectress had been riding, it had covered many miles since leaving Dryaka’s country estate. What was more, she had pushed it hard while making for the position between Charole and Zeh-Gatah. Taking all those factors into consideration, she felt that she would lose more than she gained by attacking while still in the saddle.
‘All right!’ the brunette ejaculated, making a rapid dismount. Raising her sword, she darted forward with a yell of, ‘Die Charole, you bitch!’
Showing neither alarm nor any great concern over Elidor’s threat and obvious eagerness to come to grips, the Protectress slid the ivory handled sword from its sheath and advanced to meet her.
Watching the way in which the women were moving towards each other, the male warriors dismounted. Leaving their gatahs ground hitched by the dangling reins, confident that their own numbers and the noise of the fighting would frighten away any predatory animals who might be lurking in the vicinity, they advanced on foot to obtain closer views of what promised to be a worthwhile engagement. Charole and Elidor were noted for their skill with swords. As there was so little to choose between them, unless something untoward happened, the contest was likely to be a long one.
Fully trained and competent swordsmen, the warriors were able to form their judgments even before the first blows had been struck. All of them considered that Elidor had one important factor in her favor. As a member of a hunting party whose quarry was aware of their presence, with others to share in keeping watch, and able to light a fire, her rest had been less disturbed than that of the Protectress. Travelling alone and of necessity being obliged to avoid anything that could guide her pursuers to her in the darkness, Charole could have had little sleep for the past four nights and so was much the tireder of the two.
Sharing her companions’ summation, Elidor was determined to draw all she could from her advantage. So she made no attempt at performing the subtler aspects of swordplay. Although she too had learned from Dryaka the value of the blade’s point and of thrusting rather than using the edge all the time, she concentrated upon merely slashing as rapidly and forcefully as she could. To the watchers, it seemed that she was dominating the action. Certainly she was compelling the Protectress to back away before her attack.
Equally conscious of the prevailing conditions, Charole had realized that she had never needed to use her feet and brain so much in order to take some of the strain from her right arm. Such was the fury of the brunette’s onslaught that, at first, the Protectress could do nothing more than parry for her life. However, employing all her considerable skill to help ride out the storm, she was content to let her assailant expend most of the effort. The tactics being performed by Elidor would tire her sword hand and deplete the breath in her lungs.
When at last the brunette’s whirlwind assault began to flag, Charole changed to the offensive. She feinted at the others head and, as Elidor’s sword went up for a parry, changed the apparent cut into a lunge. Showing her appreciation of the danger, the brunette sprang hurriedly backwards. Continuing to retire as Charole pressed after her, she made what fencers on Earth called a Maltese cross defensive pattern with her weapon. It was a style of guard that nothing could penetrate. However, particularly with the Protectress continually probing at it in a series of rapid and light feints, such a method was costly in breath and strength.
Suddenly, realizing the danger from the way she was behaving, Elidor carried her sword up and back for a cut at the top of the Protectress’s skull. Judging that she had time for the maneuver, Charole did not attempt to parry. Instead, bounding rapidly to her left, she executed a swift coup-de-flanc. The blade passed beneath the brunette’s raised right arm, slitting through the silver lamé material of her halter and biting across the flesh below. A little higher and the cut would have rendered her arm useless. As it was, the only result it achieved was to make a shallow gash. What was more, an instant after it was delivered, Elidor’s sword descended to slice away a thin and small strip of skin from Charole’s right thigh. This also failed to do any significant damage.
There was a rumble of excited comment from the watching men as the Protectress drew the first blood. However, she had inflicted only a minor wound and was repaid by an equally unimportant graze. Charole saw fear flicker momentarily across Elidor’s face, but knew it was only caused by the worry that she might be too seriously injured to continue fighting. Then the brunette was withdrawing so quickly that she almost ran backwards for a few paces. As her opponent followed with an equal rapidity, she ducked below the ivory handled sword as it was directed sideways at her neck and lunged for its owner’s bosom.
A lightning fast side step saved Charole, but only just!
For all her speedy evasion, the Protectress felt the point and one edge of the brunette’s weapon plowing along her ribs and the other edge of the blade nicked the inside of her left bicep. However, she had always been famous for her ability to riposte. xxxi Before Elidor could return her sword to the guard, Charole was bringing off a cut across her head. Fortunately for her, the blow was delivered backhand and it was almost the hilt that struck her. Otherwise, despite coming from such close quarters and in a comparatively clumsy fashion, had it been the middle of the cutting edge that made the contact, the fight would have been as good as over.
Even with the limitations imposed upon it, the blow put the brunette into difficulty. Blood gushed down the side of her face, but missed her eye and did not impede her vision. However, it caused her to change tactics once more. Grasping the sword in both hands, she began to swing it violently in a desperate gamble. One successful stroke could tear off a limb, sink the blade far into the head or torso, or—if they came together—batter the weapon from her antagonist’s grasp.
Alert to the peril, Charole also realized it could be turned to her advantage. While the force of every blow was doubled, there was a corresponding decrease in the rapidity with which the blows could be repeated or a defense effected. So she had no intention of blindly following the other’s lead. Instead of turning her sword into a hacking implement, she used it as what on Earth would have been called a ‘foil’ and relied upon the point. Where Elidor moved with slow and flat-footed steps, she kept up on her toes as if dancing while she dodged and feinted, awaiting an opportunity to thrust home the blade.
The onlookers’ excitement and interest increased.
Would a slash or a thrust decide the issue?
A blow from Elidor would be death for Charole!
Just as surely, if a thrust from the ivory handled sword was successful, it would be fatal for the brunette!
As had happened in the opening moments of the fight, Elidor began to force the pace. However, where she attacked with a bull-like ferocity, Charole was bouncing and weaving in the manner of a matador. xxxii
Everybody in the clearing, no matter whether protagonist or spectator, was growing increasingly aware that a climax could not be long in coming. It was a tribute to the skill and physical fitness of the women, as well as indicative of their bitter hatred for each other, that the fight had been so prolonged.
However, not one of the spectators even thought of intervening.
When two members of the Mun-Gatah nation took up arms against one another, regardless of their sex, the conventions dictated that it was they and they alone who could terminate the affair. So, despite having become Elidor’s willing supporters in a bid to gain control of the late High Priest’s country estate, the men intended to let her stand or fall by her own endeavors. To have done otherwise would offend the Quagga God and the outcome of the fight would be indicative of where His favor lay.
Nor, for all the pain and inconvenience caused by the cut on the side of her head, was it certain that the brunette would be the loser. In fact, the matter continued to hang in the balance for several more seconds.
Time after time, Elidor’s sword swept with vicious power over or alongside Charole’s head. On more than one occasion, it came sufficiently close to stir the short and sweat-sodden black hair in passing. However, the speed with which the brunette was still contriving to move prevented the Protectress from being able to find an opening and driving through it with her point to deliver a coup-de-grace.
By now, both of the women were beginning to show the severe strain caused by their exertions. Each was panting, her breath whistling through a parched throat and mouth. Replenishing their tormented lungs was growing increasingly difficult. Perspiration flowed copiously, making their skin glisten and diluting the blood that each was shedding. As their magnificent bosoms expanded and contracted like bellows in operation, their eyes glared glassily at each other and they were oblivious of all else.
‘Quagga God strike her!’ Elidor was croaking, using the words as a spur to drive her exhaustion-wrapped body to further efforts and went on, accompanying each word with a terrific stroke of her sword, ‘Curse you! Blast you! Stand! Fight!’
For her part, Charole was making no attempt to reply or comply with the demand to change her tactics. The night of broken sleep followed by days of almost continual travelling were beginning to have their effect, just as she, the brunette, and the male warriors had anticipated would happen. What was more, due to the perspiration restricting the blood’s power to congeal, she was losing a fair amount from her injuries. In addition, her left arm felt as heavy and cumbersome as if it had been turned to lead. Through the accumulation of her sufferings, she was growing sick and faint.
The sensation caused the Protectress to slip and stagger slightly.
Instantly, with an expression of bitter hate and fury contorting her haggard features, Elidor prepared to make the most of the opportunity with which she was being presented. Gathering all her flagging reserves of strength, she carried the sword high above her head.
In her eagerness to strike, the exhausted brunette went a trifle too far!
Such was the vigor employed by Elidor that, before she could halt the sword, it was pointing downwards behind her. If the blow had been delivered, it could have cleaved the Protectress’s skull open to the chin—but it was never struck.
In spite of all the torment she was enduring, Charole was not too far gone to see and recognize the chance she was being offered. Making a desperate effort to regain her equilibrium, she put all she had into an almost classic lunge. Her point went home beneath Elidor’s left breast, passing onwards to emerge at the rear.
For a moment, the brunette’s whole body went rigid. Then, releasing her weapon so it tumbled behind her, she went over backwards and wrenched the sword that had killed her from its user’s grasp.
Disarmed and tottering, Charole saw her lance standing as she had left it. Pure instinct rather than conscious thought caused her to reel the few steps that separated her from it. Although she managed to take hold of the shaft with both hands, she knew that she did not have the strength or energy to use it. So she was at the mercy of Elidor’s companions.
Keeping herself upright by leaning on the lance, the Protectress swung her gaze to the warrior who—by virtue of being the only male to ride a banar-gatah—was the leader of the party. Even as her gaze reached him, there was a hissing sound and, coming from somewhere beyond her now restricted range of vision, came an arrow that impaled itself in his throat.