Again Nugun made a rush, but this time Blade was clear in plenty of time. He swung around to Nugun's right, but the other spun in a blur of motion and struck out with one clublike arm. Blade ducked his head, but not quite quickly enough. The blow rode up over his shoulder and smashed against his left temple.
For a moment Blade was half-stunned, barely able to keep on his feet. Through stars and fireworks swirling in front of his eyes, he saw Nugun rushing in again. By reflex and desperation, he launched a kick at Nugun's right kneecap. The kick connected, with a jar that ran up Blade's leg into his body and made his teeth rattle. It was like kicking a granite block.
But the kick stopped Nugun as his hands were already reaching out for Blade's throat. With a growl of surprise and pain the Senar backed away, favoring his right leg. Blade noticed that and his thoughts were grim. That kick would have smashed the kneecap of a normal human opponent into a dozen pieces. But it had barely slowed Nugun. This was going to be a long fight, with victory going to the one who could give out the most punishment while taking the least. And Blade wasn't sure that would be him. Nugun was enormously tough-and if those hands of his ever got a good hold on Blade, the fight would be over then and there.
For the next few minutes, Blade concentrated on staying out of Nugun's range. He didn't care what the Senar thought of him for doing that. He could not afford to let Nugun get in a solid blow. Blade knew that he had been lucky the first time. He might not be so lucky a second time.
So he led Nugun a dance up and down the bank of the stream and around and around the bushes. He bobbed and wove; he ducked Nugun's punches and leaped aside from his rushes; he jeered and taunted him. Sometimes he pretended to close, but he always sprang back in time for Nugun's hands to close on nothing but empty air.
Nugun had no more fighting style than a six-year-old boy. All he knew was bull-like rushes, clublike swings of his arms, and clutches with his long-nailed fingers. But his speed and strength made even these crude tactics dangerous.
After the first few minutes, Blade began moving in again, using all his training and speed to aim and deliver disabling blows. Now he aimed at a knee again, now at a shoulder, now at Nugun's hairy groin. Each time the blow went home. And each time Nugun merely grunted or snarled and clawed or swung furiously at Blade. Once his long nails raked across Blade's chest, leaving five red, oozing lines. At that the Senar threw back his head and howled in triumph, giving Blade just enough time to get out of range.
Any of Blade's blows would have crippled or at least fatally slowed any other opponent. But Nugun had an altogether inhuman capacity to take punishment. Reluctantly, Blade admitted to himself that it would be suicidal to try closing with Nugun until the man was slowed down a good deal more. If he could be, that is. Blade opened the distance between himself and the Senar, and the endless dance began again.
This time Blade had no idea how long it lasted. Minutes followed one another and seemed to stretch into hours. There was an iron band around his chest, white-hot gravel in his throat, knives stabbing into his leg muscles as he moved, rivers of sweat pouring off him, making his eyes sting. His only consolation was that sweat was also pouring off Nugun's body, and the other's eyes were beginning to dull with fatigue.
More minutes. With his breath rasping in his throat, Nugun snarled, «Hairless Ones not fight. I know. You give me woman.»
«I am fighting, Nugun,» said Blade sharply. «If you try to take the woman, I will use the sharp stick on you.» Nugun's lips curled back from his teeth again, but he made no move toward Wyala. The woman was crouched behind a tree, knife in her hand, staring with wide, terror-stricken eyes at the battle raging by the stream.
Still more minutes. Blade began to wonder if Nugun's endurance would be greater than his own. At this rate, the fight would end with him sprawled flat on the ground, for Nugun to pick up and break in two like a stick over one knobby knee.
But now Nugun seemed to think that Blade was weakening. The Senar crouched, arms spread wide and hands curved into claws. Then he sprang forward out of the crouch, arms reaching low as if he wanted to grab Blade's legs and jerk him off his feet.
Behind him Blade heard Wyala scream out loud. But as Nugun's hands lunged for him, Blade was already leaping high. The clutching hands closed on empty air. For a moment Nugun was off balance, unable to bring his arms up to defend himself as he had always done before.
In that moment, Blade's attack struck home. Pivoting on one foot, he drove the heel of the other into Nugun's jaw. Again the solid jar shook every bone in Blade's body. But this time it also shook Nugun just as badly. The Senar's head jerked back and he snapped himself upright.
As he did, Blade completed the pivot, ducked, and came in under Nugun's guard. For a moment he was under the reach of those terrible arms, with a clear shot at Nugun's middle. Blade's balled fists drove into the hairy stomach, in a one-two punch that made a noise like a cannon shot. Once more Blade was jarred to the fillings in his teeth. Punching Nugun's stomach was like punching a bag of solid, wet sand. But Blade's knuckles still sank in, and all the breath whooshed out of his opponent in one foul-smelling gust.
There were a dozen or more things Blade could have done in the next second. But most of them were intended to kill an opponent-break his neck, crush his ribcage, tear his internal organs apart-or at least cripple him for life. Blade still did not want to do that to Nugun. In fact, he now wanted to do it even less than at the beginning of the fight. Nugun had been a brave opponent as well as a tough one.
So he ignored the risks of being close to Nugun if the man recovered his strength. As Nugun reeled, gasping for air, Blade grabbed the Senar's left arm and spun him around. It was like spinning around a stone statue, and Blade's own arms nearly popped out of their sockets with the strain. When he had Nugun turned around, Blade brought one foot up and scythed it hard across the back of Nugun's knees. Nugun reeled again, gave a savage growl of fear and despair, and this time he went down onto the ground, face forward.
Before Nugun could move or growl again, Blade had landed on his back and snatched one arm. He held that arm firmly, barely twisting it, while he poised his other hand over the back of Nugun's neck. No matter how thick that neck was, a strong blow there would certainly end Nugun's fighting days forever, and perhaps his life as well.
Blade bent lower and hissed in one hairy ear, «Don't move, Nugun. I can kill you any time I want to.»
«Then kill,» growled Nugun. «You not like Hairless Ones. You fight like Senar. You fight good. Nugun-weak. You kill now.»
«I don't want to kill you,» said Blade quietly. «I want you to live, and be my friend.»
Nugun was silent for so long that Blade thought the man must have fainted. Then he said slowly, «Not kill?»
«No. Why should I?»
That was apparently a question beyond Nugun's mental resources. He was silent again until Blade asked him, «Remember the woman?»
«Yes. Nugun-did want.»
«You don't want her now?»
«She-your woman. You stronger than Nugun.»
«Yes. I am stronger than you are. And she is my woman. But will you be my friend?»
Hesitation, and more silence. Then, «Nugun is friend to new Hairless One. Nugun die for new Hairless One who not kill.»
Blade stood up and backed away from the prostrate Senar. With a groan, Nugun shook himself and stood up. Blade thrust out a hand. After a moment's more hesitation, Nugun realized what the gesture meant. He took Blade's hand, and they shook vigorously.