"The foreigner will meet the test of the cobra," he intoned. "The cobra never lies. We go to the pits."
Two of Ghotak's men flanked me and I was led outside as the crowd streamed out the other exits. I caught a glimpse of Khaleen with Hilary beside her, as I was led past the assembly hall, past an area of spare trees and rocks to where two pits had been hollowed out of the ground. Each pit was square, roughly ten by ten feet and five feet deep. The crowd had gathered on the sloping ground surrounding the pits, nudging each other for a spot to see. Some climbed into the trees for a better view. Ghotak faced me at the edge of the nearest pit.
"You have weapons?" he asked. "Please give them to me." I glanced about and saw Khaleen and Hilary nearby. I went over to Khaleen and handed her the Luger and the stiletto. Her eyes were deep and sad.
"I am praying for you, Nick," she murmured.
I debated whether to tell her to blow the snake's head off if it was getting to me, but I knew at once it was a foolish thought. She'd never hit the thing, and if I had to use the weapon I'd lose at the same time I won. I was about to turn away when Hilary's voice cut through the air.
"You gone absolutely balmy?" she asked crisply. "Whatever it is you think you're doing, call it off at once. You'll bloody well get yourself killed, that's all."
I saw her eyes were deep and concerned, her brow furrowed.
"For the first time, I like you, Hilary, honey," I grinned at her. "But once again I've got to tell you to butt out."
"Butt out my ruddy ass," she exploded. "Don't be a bloody fool, Yank. It's suicide. You're no damned mongoose."
"You never know, doll," I grinned. "And being a bloody fool's part of my job."
I turned, strode to the pit and jumped down into it just as two of Ghotak's men arrived carrying a wicker basket with a cover. They took off the cover and dumped the basket's contents into the pit. I saw the cobra come out and hit the ground, hissing furiously. He was big, some nine feet, I guessed. He was up in an instant, his hood spreading ominously. I moved slowly, circling to the right. The cobra's darting eyes followed me, his tongue flicking out almost too quickly to see. I saw him stretching up higher. I knew what it meant. A snake can strike the full distance of his length uncoiled in the air. He was rearing up to get as much distance as he could in his strike. I stayed on the balls of my feet, bending my body to the right, then the left as he swayed back and forth. I knew he would have me if I let him strike first. I had to draw his strike in order to have any chance of avoiding it. I lifted my right hand slowly, shot it out and the snake struck, lunging through the air with a lightning-like move. I flung myself to the left and felt his fangs snap the air. I landed on my side, rolled over against the wall of the pit and regained my feet. The cobra was rising upward again, that damned evil hood flattened out. I moved forward and he struck again, a whip lashing out, and I fell backwards to avoid his fangs. I felt the sleeve of my shirt rip open as one fang caught the fabric.
The cobra had hit the gorund after the strike and this time, instead of rising up instantly, he snaked his way across the pit with amazing speed. I dodged to one side and the snake lunged again but this time he was not ready for a proper strike, and the blow fell short. He curled and rose up again and I faced him from the other side. I thought about trying to feint him out of position and then dive in to seize him by the neck. A half-hearted attempt at a feint drew a lunge so swift it was little more than a blur and once again I twisted away and leaped backwards, crashing into the wall of the pit. His fangs had ripped the back of my shirt open as though a razor had cut it.
I circled again, feinted, and the snake struck out with that lunging motion. This time his fangs caught the surface of my skin, enough to leave a mark though not enough to break the skin, but I saw one thing; he was coming closer each time. My reaction time was bound to slow, and it would do so faster than his strikes would slow. It would be just a matter of time unless I came up with something better. He was weaving again, lining me up for another strike. I was near the wall of the pit with precious little maneuvering room. I began to dodge from one side to the other but I knew all I was doing wouldn't do much to distract his aim. He poised straight up for an instant and then struck again. I was really lucky this time because I was drawing away as he lunged and once more the deadly fangs ripped into the sleeve of my shirt. The snake recoiled at once and rose up again to strike. I knew one thing. I couldn't stay still. To stay in one spot was to make death a certainty. I couldn't give him time to line up. As he swayed, that evil tongue flicking out in lightning-like motion, I began to leap from one side to the other, careening off each wall in a kind of three-sided ballet step. The cobra lunged and lunged again and each time he missed my body with fractions of an inch to spare.
Finally, I had to stop. I was in a cold sweat and my breath was coming in gasps. I paused, and the damned cobra struck again. I fell backwards and felt its fangs sink into the fabric of my trousers. They ripped down as I fell away. It was no use, I saw, scrambling to my feet. My reflexes were going as I tired, and the cobra was as lightning-fast as ever. He moved forward on the ground and I backed away, pushed off one wall and found a little added room as he turned and rose into the air. The shredded sleeve of my shirt hung loosely from my arm and as it blew against my skin I suddenly had a thought, a desperate, last-chance kind of thought. I backed against the wall, out of range for a moment, and ripped off my shirt. Holding it out before me as a bullfighter holds out his red muleta to the bull, I advanced slowly. The cobra swayed higher, his hood spread out to its fullest. I shifted the shirt back and forth. He waited a moment and then struck, his fangs tearing into the shirt. For a brief moment, hardly more than a second, his fangs were entangled in the fabric. I leaped forward, wrapping both sleeves of the shirt around the snake's head, twisting the fabric around the death-dealing mouth and head. The cobra twisted and writhed in the air, lashing his tail out in fury. I seized the tail end of the snake and started to whirl the serpent in a wide arc, letting centrifugal force keep his body stretched out almost in a straight line. Even then, he was ripping his way through the fabric around his head. I swung hard and slammed him against one wall. The shirt wrapped around his head deadened the impact but it was nonetheless enough to momentarily stun him. I swung the snake again, this time slamming him into the ground. I dropped the tail end and brought my foot down, as hard as I could, on the cobra's head, now almost free of the shirt.
Fear and anger surged inside me as I stomped on the snake's head, crushing it into the ground, stomping and grinding until the soil was stained red. I finally halted. The deadly killer still twitched in post-death nerve spasms, but I was taking no chances. Carefully, using the toe of my shoe, I rolled the serpent over and saw that its head was truly ground into a flattened, lifeless object. I looked up and there was silence and a multitude of faces staring down at me. It was over, and I was alive. I felt my hands quivering. Moving backwards, I leaned against the wall of the pit as a cold sweat suddenly enveloped my body. Hands were reaching down to me. I grabbed two and was pulled out of the pit. Death, horrible death, had flashed by me, and I looked down at the lifeless body of the cobra. My stomach was suddenly in knots and the little pit was a place I'd long remember. But I wasn't finished yet I looked around and found Ghotak standing a few feet away, his face impassive, though I could read the fury behind it. Yet angry as he was, he was smooth enough to carry through.
"Karkotek has spoken," he intoned, spreading out his arms. "The foreigner spoke the truth. He did not kill the snake."