The apparent leader, marked by a tuft of blue feathers tied around his spear, stepped out in front of the line and looked Blade over from head to foot. Blade kept his arms raised and his palms out, even though he was itching to snatch the staff out of the ground. Then the man frowned.
«He makes the Peace Hand.»
There were growls from some of the other men. One of them said, «But he is of Kanda. Maybe even of Rulam. Look at his skin.»
«You look at his hands.»
«I do. He makes the Peace Hand because he does not want to die.»
«Who does?»
«You do not, I see, Nayung. He is only one man and has only a stick. Well, then, I will kill him.»
The speaker leaped forward, spear raised high in both hands and stabbing downward. Blade leaped out from under the down-plunging point with split seconds to spare and jerked the staff out of the ground. Another spear stab, another leap backward, and Blade had time to bring the staff up into a guard position. Then the spear lunged downward again, and Blade had to jump back a third time.
«You are a coward,» snarled his opponent. «I will not eat your heart when you are dead. I will feed it to the pigs with the rest of your insides.. I, Chamba, say this.»
«Your pigs will go hungry,» said Blade, smiling. Chamba seemed to know only one way of using his spear. He stood there glaring at Blade, spear raised, and as wide open as a child for a thrust with the butt of Blade's staff. Blade shifted his grip again, sliding both hands down toward one end of the staff.
Chamba laughed harshly. «What are you going to do with that little stick, coward? It is green wood. It would not even make good burning in your Death Fire if I gave you one.
Again Blade smiled. «And I have a question for you, Chamba. Your pigs eat cowards. What do you have here that eats fools?» Chamba stiffened, his arm muscles knotted, and he let out an ear-splitting scream of rage. Then he seemed to be hurtling through the air toward Blade, once again lunging down with his spear point.
This time Blade did not move backward. Nor did he close in. Instead he snapped his staff forward, straight at Chamba's unguarded stomach, pulling his blow at the last possible instant. The end of the staff, solid wood with Blade's massive arm muscles behind it, took Chamba in the stomach. He gasped and the reckless grin vanished from his face.
Before he could recover, Blade took the offensive. The staff lunged forward again. First it smashed into Chamba's wrist. A quick shifting of hands, and the staff swung up, over, and came down like a club on Chamba's shoulder. One arm and one hand disabled, he dropped his spear and stood shaking his head in bewilderment. He was still shaking it when Blade swung the staff around in a level sweep to his temple. For the fourth time Blade pulled the blow-he did not want to kill the man-but Chamba dropped as though he had been hit with an axe.
The leader Nayung was staring at Blade with curiosity now. Then he smiled. «Man of Kanda, I think we will eat your heart. I promise this as a D'bor of Zunga.» His chest swelled out as he took in breath. Then all that breath rushed out in a scream. At the leader's signal all five of the Zungans charged at Blade simultaneously.
Two of the warriors had to leap over Chamba's fallen body as they came at Blade. One of them landed slightly off balance. In the seconds while the man was straightening up, Blade drove the staff in under his spear and hard into his kneecap. Blade felt bone smash under the impact. The man screamed and fell on his face in the dirt, clutching at his knee.
But the other four fighters were all around Blade now, circling him cautiously, trying to get at least two behind him before they rushed him. Again Blade shifted his grip, watching Nayung's eyes for a signal. The D'bor's eyes narrowed, and Blade saw a tightening of his chest muscles as he got ready to give his war cry again.
Then Blade's staff moved. Backward it went this time, straight into the groin of the warrior angling in toward Blade's right rear. Before the man had hit the ground, Blade had pulled the staff back in and swung it horizontally again, jerking the tip up at the last moment. The staff came up under the arm of the man on his right, smashing it into the air, sending the man's spear flying. He stepped back, his arm dangling, staring at Blade. Four down or out.
Nayung was no longer smiling. His mouth was drawn tight, and his voice came out as a growl as he spoke to his sole remaining companion. «Guard me,» he said. Then he tossed his spear up into the air, and caught it as it came down. Now he held it with both hands near the butt. But instead of moving in, he stood where he was, spreading his legs apart for better balance.
Blade guessed what was coming just in time. As the sharp spear point swept in a horizontal arc like a scythe, he sprang clear. The razor-sharp black edge whistled by inches from his stomach. He took a step forward, then hastily backed away as the other warrior advanced, spear held for the conventional downward thrust. Blade lifted his staff to thrust at the second man, and then had to back off again as Nayung's spear whistled toward him again.
Four, five, six times in succession this happened. Now it was Blade's turn to stop smiling. By luck or skill Nayung and his companion had worked out a stronger system of complementary fighting styles. Blade realized he would have to change his own approach. And he would have to do it soon. Before long Nayung would go over to the attack. Blade knew he would have to gamble. As the deadly ballet of stab and swing went on, a plan began to form in his mind.
Nayung's spear was swinging out, far to the right, ready to come around for another slash. The companion hovered, ready to drive Blade back if he tried to close. Nayung's spear whipped forward. Blade guessed its height above the ground, and dropped into a squatting position, head pulled down into his shoulders like a turtle. The spear blade whistled over his head. As it did so, Blade snapped his staff forward, into Nayung's stomach. He had to move too fast to pull that blow. The staff folded Nayung practically double and sent him tottering backward, to fall to the ground a few feet away.
If the last warrior was frightened at facing Blade alone, he gave no sign of it. Before Nayung hit the ground he rushed in, spear stabbing downward. Blade closed barely enough to avoid being spitted. The spear slashed down past his back, the sharp edge slicing through the leaves of his loincloth. As the spear came down, his own staff came up, one end smashing vertically into the warrior's jaw. Blade was able to pull this blow, otherwise it would have gone right on up into the man's brain. Instead, the warrior went limp all over and fell face down on the ground. Blade checked to see that he was still breathing, and then stood up.
Carefully he went around to each of the six men; picking up each one's spear and giving it back to him. He saved Nayung for last.
As Blade handed the leader his spear, the man's eyes followed him with utter amazement written all over the mahogany face. Nayung was obviously seeing something he could not understand. Finally he got up enough nerve to speak.
«Warrior of Kanda, are you not going to slay us?»
Blade shook his head angrily. «Why should I? And do not call me a warrior of Kanda! I am not from there. I have never been there in my life.» He was about to add that nothing in the world would ever make him go there, then decided against embroidering his story too much. As long as they believed he was not from Kanda, they would be less likely to stick spears into him first and ask questions later. There would be other and better times for telling the story of where he really came from.