Young Rissa (25 page)

Felcie cringed. “Sir — I didn't mean anything — I only — ”
 

Some things, thought Rissa, are more important than keeping to a plan. She pitched her voice to carry. “Claim and be damned to you! The girl expressed nothing outside the rules.” In the sudden quiet she said, using a more normal tone, “And shut your great mouth. Your bellowing is not seemly before the event proceeds.” She turned away, disturbed to find herself near to shaking with rage. She could not afford this much stimulation so early — she took deep, slow breaths and began to calm again.
 

Sparline took her arm and leaned to speak softly. “Not to distract you, but afterward — after you
win
, Rissa! — don't be alarmed, or hesitate, at what you're asked to do. It's politically important, and no demand on you. All right?”
 

Confused, Rissa said, “I suppose so — I trust you.” An arm hugged her shoulders and she looked up to see Hawkman's smile.
 

“All right, are you?” he said. “I've heard good things of you.” He moved away and consulted with the black-robed referee. Then that person spoke.
 

“It is time. Tari Obrigo challenges Stagon dal Nardo, to the death. Weapons, none. Clothing, none. Seconds and other agreed parties are present. Now, if they wish, the opponents may speak. Challenged party speaks first.”
 

Wearing a maroon robe, dal Nardo stalked to the edge of the marked circle. Beside him, covered by a shapeless cloak and hood, came the person none had seen. “Here's what I can do,” said dal Nardo. “You'll see! But first I'll tell you, Tari Obrigo — you walking piece of fertilizer!” He laughed, and to Rissa the sound came like the stench of death.
 

Then he talked. One by one he named the parts of her and what he would do to them — break this, crush that, bite away one thing, gouge out another — on and on, his harsh voice rising as he detailed a vivisection by hands and teeth. Then he paused and laughed again. “Maybe you don't believe. I'll show you. Here's what I do only in
practice
!” And he pulled the cloak off the creature beside him.
 

The sounds from those around her drowned Rissa's gasp. Dal Nardo's exhibit was a woman, tall and muscular — but she looked as though she might be better dead. Blood dribbled from a puffed, purpled socket that might or might not still hold an eye. Bare, bloody patches marked the scalp. Bruises and gaping cuts covered limbs and torso; one breast hung — a flattened, blackened mass — half-torn from the chest. An arm swung crookedly; the gaping mouth showed only a few broken teeth behind swollen, bloody lips. Below a raw cut closed by crude stitches, blood also stained the belly. And — and — shaking her head, Rissa closed her eyes and turned away. Dizzied, she fought to hold her vomit.
 

A supporting hand gripped her arm; Sparline's whisper hissed in her ear. “It's a
fake
, most of it! Plastic and makeup! I recognize her — a professional kill-fighter from the Twin Worlds — she had only one breast when she came here; that messy-looking thing is pure phony.
 

And the belly — the stitches are real, but the wound isn't. Same with the eye, I'll bet. The arm's real — I hope she charged him plenty to let him break it. Rissa — ?”
 

Her eyes opened; she straightened and shook her head. “Thank you
 

— I am all right now. He is truly worth killing, is he not?”
 

Again dal Nardo spoke — now of what he would do while his opponent was helpless but not yet dead. “Top and bottom, fore and aft — ”
 

She turned to Sparline. “This, that he says, is legal?”
 

“If death is, so's rape. That's how the code sees it, anyway.”
 

“I — did not know. Is it, soon, my time to speak?”
 

Across the way, it was dal Nardo who answered. “I'm finished. If the fertilizer wants to squeak like a mouse, I can wait and hear her out.”
 

Rissa stepped forward, so that none stood between them. She paused — was it worth her while to speak?
Yes!
She nodded.
 

Then she spoke. “As when I first met you, dal Nardo, you talk a great deal. I shall waste less time than you. If I squeak like a mouse, you — as I told you at our first meeting — shit like a bull, but from your mouth.” She saw his face swell and redden. “Ah — I anger you. That is good — your blood near the surface, easier to shed.”
 

She breathed deeply — it was nearly time, now, and she would need reserve oxygen. “Thank you for warning me of your sexual intent. I shall make certain you are unable to fulfill it.”
 

She paused once more, then shook her head. “That is all. Let us prepare and meet.” She turned to Sparline. “The grease — on my hair, a great deal of it.” She stripped and stood, air moving against her skin, while Sparline rubbed the oily gel into her scalp and down her hanging hair.
 

“His belly looks tempting,” said Sparline, “but don't bother. Under that fat, he's rock hard.” Rissa nodded.
 

Ernol said, “Look! She's putting adhesive on his hands!” Rissa watched; whatever substance was being applied to dal Nardo's palms, the brush did not come away easily. “That's a big advantage, any time he gets a grab at you.”
 

“Then grease me all over, Sparline — except for palms and fingers, of course, and soles of feet. There is more than enough to do it. Quickly, Hawkman — Ernol — help her — for the referee is preparing to call time.”
 

She felt their hands spread the chilly grease over her; she looked across and saw dal Nardo rise and move forward. He shouted, “What are you doing? Another foul! This wasn't mentioned in the terms.”
 

“If it wasn't mentioned,” said Hawkman, “then certainly it isn't prohibited. Any more than that stuff on
your
hands.”
 

“Then I, too, will be greased!”
 

The referee spoke. “Do so, and quickly.”
 

“I must have it brought.”
 

“You are limited to what you
did
bring.”
 

“They have plenty. I demand some of theirs.” Rissa laughed. Dal Nardo glared, but he said no more.
 

The referee looked once more at each of them, and made sign to begin. Rissa could not shake hands; she touched fingers to her friends' foreheads and stepped forth.
 

Dal Nardo stood, waiting. She approached him, so close and no closer; he did not move. She stopped also. Still he made no move. She said, “I see the bull is constipated.”
 

Then he did move, and it began.
 

He rushed like a bull, too — but he needed time to brace himself and launch his great bulk. So, like a matador she waited almost until he reached her, then dove toward and past him — at an angle, her hip grazing his as her right hand clawed for his groin. She felt her nails catch and pull away, too quickly for real damage. But as she rolled and came up facing him, as he turned also, she glanced quickly at her hand and saw his blood.
 

She looked to dal Nardo; he put a hand to his heavy, loose-hanging scrotum and looked at his stained fingers. The hand shook as he held it out, fingers spread. “I'll reach this into you, and tear out — “ Not waiting to hear the rest, she leaped and caught his outstretched thumb in both her hands. Swinging up, braced on his reflex-stiffened arm, she doubled her legs against her belly — then smashed both feet toward his face. She felt one heel slip off to the side but the other caught him squarely, and pushed her up and over. Somersaulting, she kept her grip and felt the thumb give — she let go and landed on her feet, moving backward, almost falling.
 

Nose gushing blood, dal Nardo charged. He was almost upon her, but she saw the thumb bent to the side and back. She stood fast and chopped at it, then crumpled and rolled directly into his path. The gamble worked; roaring with pain, he tripped and fell over her.
 

She sprang up to face him, but this time misjudged his speed; he was up and moving toward her. Before she could dodge he backhanded her across the mouth and smashed the edge of his good hand into her side. She fell heavily, and from the pain she knew his blow had cracked or broken a rib — perhaps more than one.
 

Spitting blood she scrambled, trying to get away and up; she sensed his kick coming and ducked her head but felt something gash her cheek. Desperate now, she rolled again; through the roar of others came Ernol's shout. “The edge! Stay inside!” She scuttled sidewise, away from dal Nardo's looming shadow. Finally she was on her feet; ignoring pain, she feinted a kick at his crotch and — as he faltered — side-stepped, moving away for a moment's respite.
 

A shout — “Behind you!” Without thought she turned; a hand threw dirt in her face. Coughing, blinded, eyes running tears, she turned and ran — five paces, no more — then turned again and tried to listen for dal Nardo as she knuckled dirt from her eyes. But over the shouting, she could not hear.
 

“Foul! Hold, dal Nardo! Your man can't get away with that!” Then, blearily, she could see. Splieg stood, huge fist raised like a maul, the other hand against dal Nardo's chest. And she saw Tendal skulking behind dal Nardo's seconds, wiping his hands together.
 

Without volition her hoarse croak came. “Dig your grave, Blaise Tendal! If I live, you are a dead man!”
 

Behind her, Ernol shouted, “And if she dies, you're twice dead!”
 

The referee clapped hands together. “Are you ready?” Splieg gave dal Nardo a final push, making him stagger back a step, then walked out of the circle.
 

“I am ready,” said Rissa, and looked again to dal Nardo. Now he moved more slowly — he had spent his greatest speed — but still he stalked her. A good time to attack, she thought — but her eyes streamed and her breaths came coughing. So she moved in and out, to the sides and back again, feinting and lunging, taking one great blow for every two or three of her lighter ones — and, in balance, losing ground.
 

Her face ran blood; her side throbbed with pain. Her greased hair had fallen forward, partially, and she could not risk touching it, pushing it back.
 

She was losing. So she attacked. But first she shouted. “It is time, dal Nardo!” She saw him stiffen, and set her mind to carry out the plan, no matter what it cost her.
 

A feint to the groin; his good hand countered. Almost at the same time, she stabbed for his eyes and engaged the injured hand. Then she brought her free hand up, backed by a full body lunge, as though the stiff fingers could pierce his throat and emerge behind.
 

His head jerked to the side; her thrust slipped off the larynx. He grunted and locked his heavy arms around her. Blood trickled from his mouth, and she knew she had not wholly failed. But now his chin was down; she could not reach that spot again.
 

His voice wheezed. “UET will pay well — I know who you are —
Harnain!
So does Tendal — he'll take word for me — “ He coughed blood, but still his crushing grip tightened.
 

She felt ribs grate — could he live long enough to kill her? And now came the adrenaline effect — time slowed. For as long as lack of breath would allow, she had time to think.
 

Her hands were free. As hard as she could, she clapped both palms to his ears. But the attempt to kill by concussion failed; one hand struck before the other. He bellowed — his ears ran blood. She was certain she had deafened him — but in time to save her life?
 

His nose was flattened and blood-clogged; she thought of stuffing a hand into his panting mouth, against the risk of his teeth. No — there was not time!
 

She slammed the heel of one hand to the smashed nose — again and again while ribs grated as he bent her backward, trying to break the spine.
 

Her pointed nails clawed at the side of his neck as she tried for the carotid artery. The skin tore, but blood made the artery too slippery — she could not grasp or pierce it.
 

Timing the wild shaking of his head, she jammed a thumb into his right eye — his head went back — he shrieked and released her. Then she struck again at the larynx and this time caught it squarely. Twice, while she stood and gasped for breath, dal Nardo hit her. Then he fell. For moments he lay, clutching his throat and kicking feebly. Then he died.
 

He had dropped her to hands and knees. Now, slowly and with effort, she stood.
One down!
Shaking legs barely supported her as she said, “I have completed the terms of my challenge to Stagon dal Nardo. Now then, Blaise Tendal — ”
 

“No, you don't!” Tendal's voice was shrill. “
I'll
do the challenging here!”
 

An arm around Rissa kept her from falling again; Felcie Parager said, “You did it — you
did
it! Oh, Tari — I was so frightened for you!” Rissa tried to smile at the girl but was not sure she succeeded.
 

Then, almost in her ear, Hawkman spoke. “What you'll do, Tendal, is wait your turn. There's another event scheduled here.” He and Felcie helped Rissa outside the circle, where the doctor waited to render aid. She sat; someone gave her a drug to dull the pain, and strong drink to sip, and water for her thirst. She was ministered to — creams and solvents cleaned the grease from hair and body; her ribs were taped and her cheek bandaged; blood was wiped from her lips. She lost track of what was done; she sat dazed. After a time she realized that Sparline was trying to explain something.