Suddenly she turned away and kicked back, her heel striking for Tyl's knee. But again he moved aside in time.
"The Weaponless--your other father?--crippled me with that blow when he was driving for the empire himself. But after my knees healed they became leary, and have not been injured since."
If Vara had not realized she was sparring with the top warrior of the old empire, she surely knew it now. Tyl was no longer young, but nothing short of Neq's sword had hope of moving him out of the circle. Vara was fifteen and female; those were insurmountable obstacles.
Tyl was merely blocking, of course. He had no interest in hurting this beautiful girl; he only meant to convince her that she could not have her way.
Vara required considerable convincing. She whirled, she feinted, she sent a barrage of blows against the man. She knew an astonishing variety of tricks--but there was no trick that could overmatch Tyl's reach ami strength and experience.
Finally, panting, she yielded far enough to speak. "Warrior, what is it you want?"
"Neq slew Var in fair combat. Even as I could disarm you now, so could Neq defeat Var. I would not face Neq with the stick myself. Forswear your vengeance."
"No!" she cried, and launched another flurry of blows at him.
"No!" Neq also cried. "It was not fair combat. Var withheld his attack, he opened his guard, saying we had no quarrel. Then I slew him."
Tyl retreated, dismayed by the words rather than by the girl's offense. 'This is not like you, Neq."
"It is too much like me! I have slain innocent men before. I did not understand in time. I thought it was a combat mistake, or a ruse. My sword was there--"
"Desist, girl," Tyl said, just as though she were his daughter playing a game. And Vara desisted. "Neq, you place me awkwardly."
"Let her have her vengeance. It is fair."
"That I cannot."
"You admit you slew him unguarded!" Vara blazed at Neq.
"Yes. As I have others."
"In the name of vengeance!" Tyl cried, as if proving a point.
"In the name of vengeance." Neq was sick of it.
"In the name of vengeance," Vara repeated, and now the tears showed on her cheeks.
"Yet you could have slain him fairly," Tyl said. "And you thought you were avenging--her."
"I misunderstood. I did not let him explain. I slew him without reason, and I am tired of slaying, and of the sword, and of life." Neq faced Vara. "Come, widow. Strike. I will not lift weapon against you."
"If you strike him thus," Tyl said to her, "you become guilty of the same crime you avenge. Knowingly."
"Nevertheless," she said.
"Understand him first--only then are you justified. Learn what he is, what he contemplates."
"What can he be, what can he plan, that will repay what he has stolen from me!" she cried.
"Nevertheless."
She cried, she cursed in Chinese, she threw her sticks at the ground; but she was already committed. As was Neq.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"Melt that?" the smithy cried incredulously. "That's Ancient-technology steel! My forge won't touch it!"
"Then sever it," Neq said.
"You don't understand. It would take a diamond drill to dent that metal. I just don't have the equipment."
No doubt an exaggeration, for Helicon had made the weapon. But these northerners were closer to the past wonders than were the nomads, having houses and heaters and even a few operating machines, and so they stood in greater awe of the Ancients. Neq himself stood in awe, after learning what had been done at Helicon. Perhaps this smithy was superstitious; at any rate, he would not do the job.
"I must be rid of it," Neq said. As long as his sword remained, he was a killer. Who would fall next--Vara? Tyl? Dr. Jones? The sword had to go.
The smithy shook his head. "You have to cut off your arm at the elbow. And that would probably kill you, because we don't have medical facilities in this town for such an operation. Find the man who put that sword on you; let him get it off again."
"He is three thousand miles away."
"Then you'll just have to wear it a while longer."
Neq looked at his sword-arm, frustrated. The shining blade had become an anathema to him, for while he wore it he was inseparable from his guilt.
He looked about the shop, unwilling to give up so readily. Metal hung from all the walls--horse shoes, plowshares (so that was what the crazies had suggested he make his sword into, facetiously!) axes, bags of nails. All the products of the smithy's art. The man was evidently competent; he must make a good living, in the fashion of these people who worked for recompense. In one corner dangled a curved piece of metal with a row of little panels mounted along a center strand. Neq could envision no possible use for it.
The smithy followed his gaze. "Don't you nomads believe in music?"
"A harp!" Neq exclaimed. "You made a harp!"
"Not I," the man said, laughing. He took it down fondly. "This is no harp; it has no strings. But it is a musical instrument. A glockenspiel. See--these are chimes--four-teen plates of graduated size, each a different note. I traded a hundred pounds of topgrade building spikes for this. I'm no musician, but I know fine metalwork! I've no idea who made it, or when--before the Blast, maybe. You play it with a hammer. Listen."
The smithy had become quite animate as he described his treasure. He fetched a little wooden hammer and struck lightly on the plates. The sound was like bells, seldom heard m the crazy demesnes. Every tone was clear yet lingering, and quite lovely.
Neq was entranced. This evoked old and pleasant memories. There had been a time when he was known for his voice as well as his sword... before the fall of the empire and horrors thereafter. He had sung to Neqa....
He could not make his sword into a plowshare, obviously, but it gave him an idea. He did not have to cut off his weapon; he merely had to nullify it. To make it impossible for him to fight.
"The glock and spiel--fasten it to this sword so it won't come off," he said.
"To the sword! A marvelous instrument like this?" The smithy's horror was genuine.
"I have things to barter. What do you require for it?"
"I would not sell this glockenspiel for barter or for money! Not when it is only going to be destroyed by a barbarian with no appreciation for culture. Don't you understand? This is a musical instrument'."
"I know music. Let me have your little hammer."
"I won't let you close to an antique like this! Get out of my shop!"
Neq started to raise his sword, but caught himself. This was the very reaction he sought to quelclass="underline" sword before reason. He had to convince the smithy, not intimidate him.
He looked about again. There was a barrel of water near the great anvil, and he was thirsty. He had walked all day with Tyl and Vara, and come into this village on sudden inspiration when he saw the smithy shop. If the man could only be made to understand....
The smithy stared at him, astonished. "You can sing! I never heard a finer voice!"
Neq had not known he was going to sing. The need had arisen, the mood fit--and a silence of six years had been broken. "I know music," he said.
The man hesitated. Then he pushed the glockenspiel forward. "Try it with this."
Neq took the hammer awkwardly in his pincers and tapped a note. The sound thrilled him, more perfect than any voice could be. He shifted key to match, striking the same note steadily to make a beat.