Fearless Master of the Jungle (A Bunduki Jungle Adventure (11 page)

‘
I’ve
yet to be deposed,’ Charole pointed out.

‘
Your
failure and flight from Bon-Gatah did that,’ Elidor declared, after
glancing around as if hoping one of her male companions would
speak.

‘
I
still have my robes of office,’ Charole countered,
indicating the bulky bundle wrapped in the cloak. Acting on Eokan’s
advice, she had collected the ceremonial garments before taking her
departure. Without them, there can be no new
Protectress.’

‘
Then
they must be taken from you,’ Elidor stated, falling into the trap
that had been laid for her.

‘
By
whom?’ Charole challenged, swinging her right leg forward and over
the saddle horn to jump to the ground. ‘Do you mean to have these
six men do it for you?’

The words gave Elidor no choice
over how she must respond. They were directed in a way which she
could not ignore. In spite of having the men with her, she knew
Mun-Gatah custom required that a dispute of such a nature must be
settled between the main participants if they were of the same sex.
Persons of the opposite gender were not allowed to interfere, no
matter where their loyalties might lie. So a failure to respond to
Charole
’s
imputation of her courage would cause her a serious loss of face.
It could even lead the warriors to desert her in the Protectress’s
favor.

For all that, Elidor hesitated
instead of acting immediately. While Charole
’s failure to make the promised
sacrifice had implied a fall from grace, the fact that she still
lived, had escaped from the hostile capital city and was apparently
going to Zeh-Gatah—which was not her home town—in search of
assistance, suggested she had not entirely forfeited the Quagga
God’s favor. In which case, dealing with her was not a sinecure.
She was too capable a fighter for that.

‘
Well?’ Charole said derisively, wanting to make sure that
the other’s hesitancy did not go unnoticed by her companions. ‘Why
don’t you tell
them
to do what you’re obviously afraid to try?’

Any slight hope that Elidor might have
nourished of evading the confrontation ended with the mocking
words. One brief glance at the men informed her of their feelings
on the matter. They expected her to accept the challenge. So,
yielding to the inevitable, she wondered how she might fight with
the best chance of survival.

Watching Charole stepping away
from the
banar-gatah
and lance, Elidor drew her conclusions. While she was still
mounted and her opponent on foot, she realized that the animal
between her legs would be unable to respond with its best speed.
Like the stallion the Protectress had been riding, it had covered
many miles since leaving Dryaka’s country estate. What was more,
she had pushed it hard while making for the position between
Charole and Zeh-Gatah. Taking all those factors into consideration,
she felt that she would lose more than she gained by attacking
while still in the saddle.

‘
All
right!’ the brunette ejaculated, making a rapid dismount. Raising
her sword, she darted forward with a yell of, ‘Die Charole, you
bitch!’

Showing neither alarm nor any
great concern over Elidor
’s threat and obvious eagerness to come to grips,
the Protectress slid the ivory handled sword from its sheath and
advanced to meet her.

Watching the way in which the
women were moving towards each other, the male warriors dismounted.
Leaving their
gatahs
ground hitched by the dangling reins, confident that their
own numbers and the noise of the fighting would frighten away any
predatory animals who might be lurking in the vicinity, they
advanced on foot to obtain closer views of what promised to be a
worthwhile engagement. Charole and Elidor were noted for their
skill with swords. As there was so little to choose between them,
unless something untoward happened, the contest was likely to be a
long one.

Fully trained and competent
swordsmen, the warriors were able to form their
judgments even before the first
blows had been struck. All of them considered that Elidor had one
important factor in her favor. As a member of a hunting party whose
quarry was aware of their presence, with others to share in keeping
watch, and able to light a fire, her rest had been less disturbed
than that of the Protectress. Travelling alone and of necessity
being obliged to avoid anything that could guide her pursuers to
her in the darkness, Charole could have had little sleep for the
past four nights and so was much the tireder of the two.

Sharing her
companions
’
summation, Elidor was determined to draw all she could from her
advantage. So she made no attempt at performing the subtler aspects
of swordplay. Although she too had learned from Dryaka the value of
the blade’s point and of thrusting rather than using the edge all
the time, she concentrated upon merely slashing as rapidly and
forcefully as she could. To the watchers, it seemed that she was
dominating the action. Certainly she was compelling the Protectress
to back away before her attack.

Equally conscious of the
prevailing conditions, Charole had realized that she had never
needed to use her feet and brain so much in order to take some of
the strain from her right arm. Such was the fury of the
brunette
’s
onslaught that, at first, the Protectress could do nothing more
than parry for her life. However, employing all her considerable
skill to help ride out the storm, she was content to let her
assailant expend most of the effort. The tactics being performed by
Elidor would tire her sword hand and deplete the breath in her
lungs.

When at last the
brunette
’s
whirlwind assault began to flag, Charole changed to the offensive.
She feinted at the others head and, as Elidor’s sword went up for a
parry, changed the apparent cut into a lunge. Showing her
appreciation of the danger, the brunette sprang hurriedly
backwards. Continuing to retire as Charole pressed after her, she
made what fencers on Earth called a Maltese cross defensive pattern
with her weapon. It was a style of guard that nothing could
penetrate. However, particularly with the Protectress continually
probing at it in a series of rapid and light feints, such a method
was costly in breath and strength.

Suddenly, realizing the danger
from the way she was behaving, Elidor carried her sword up and back
for a cut at the top of the Protectress
’s skull. Judging that she had time
for the maneuver, Charole did not attempt to parry. Instead,
bounding rapidly to her left, she executed a swift
coup-de-flanc.
The blade passed beneath the brunette’s raised
right arm, slitting through the silver lamé material of her halter
and biting across the flesh below. A little higher and the cut
would have rendered her arm useless. As it was, the only result it
achieved was to make a shallow gash. What was more, an instant
after it was delivered, Elidor’s sword descended to slice away a
thin and small strip of skin from Charole’s right thigh. This also
failed to do any significant damage.

There was a rumble of excited
comment from the watching men as the Protectress drew the first
blood. However, she had inflicted only a minor wound and was repaid
by an equally unimportant graze. Charole saw fear flicker
momentarily across
Elidor’s face, but knew it was only caused by the worry that she
might be too seriously injured to continue fighting. Then the
brunette was withdrawing so quickly that she almost ran backwards
for a few paces. As her opponent followed with an equal rapidity,
she ducked below the ivory handled sword as it was directed
sideways at her neck and lunged for its owner’s bosom.

A lightning fast side step saved
Charole, but only just!

For all her speedy evasion, the
Protectress felt the point and one edge of the
brunette
’s
weapon plowing along her ribs and the other edge of the blade
nicked the inside of her left bicep. However, she had always been
famous for her ability to
riposte.
^xxxi
Before Elidor could return her sword
to the guard, Charole was bringing off a cut across her head.
Fortunately for her, the blow was delivered backhand and it was
almost the hilt that struck her. Otherwise, despite coming from
such close quarters and in a comparatively clumsy fashion, had it
been the middle of the cutting edge that made the contact, the
fight would have been as good as over.

Even with the limitations
imposed upon it, the
blow put the brunette into difficulty. Blood
gushed down the side of her face, but missed her eye and did not
impede her vision. However, it caused her to change tactics once
more. Grasping the sword in both hands, she began to swing it
violently in a desperate gamble. One successful stroke could tear
off a limb, sink the blade far into the head or torso, or—if they
came together—batter the weapon from her antagonist’s
grasp.

Alert to the peril, Charole
also realized it could be turned to her advantage. While the force
of every blow was doubled, there was a corresponding decrease in
the rapidity with which the blows could be repeated or a
defense effected.
So she had no intention of blindly following the other’s lead.
Instead of turning her sword into a hacking implement, she used it
as what on Earth would have been called a ‘foil’ and relied upon
the point. Where Elidor moved with slow and flat-footed steps, she
kept up on her toes as if dancing while she dodged and feinted,
awaiting an opportunity to thrust home the blade.

The
onlookers
’
excitement and interest increased.

Would a slash or a thrust decide the
issue?

A blow from Elidor would be death for
Charole!

Just as surely, if a thrust from the
ivory handled sword was successful, it would be fatal for the
brunette!

As had happened in the opening
moments of the fight, Elidor began to force the pace. However,
where she attacked with a bull-like ferocity, Charole was bouncing
and weaving in the manner of a
matador.
^xxxii

Everybody in the clearing, no
matter whether protagonist or spectator, was growing increasingly
aware that a climax could not be long in coming. It was a tribute
to the skill and physical fitness of the women, as well as
indicative of their
bitter hatred for each other, that the fight had been so
prolonged.

However, not one of the spectators
even thought of intervening.

When two members of the
Mun-Gatah nation took up arms against one another, regardless of
their sex, the conventions dictated that it was they and they alone
who could terminate the affair. So, despite having become
Elidor
’s
willing supporters in a bid to gain control of the late High
Priest’s country estate, the men intended to let her stand or fall
by her own endeavors. To have done otherwise would offend the
Quagga God and the outcome of the fight would be indicative of
where His favor lay.

Nor, for all the pain and
inconvenience caused by the cut on the side of her head, was it
certain that the brunette would be the loser. In fact, the matter
continued to hang in the balance for several more
seconds.

Time after time,
Elidor
’s
sword swept with vicious power over or alongside Charole’s head. On
more than one occasion, it came sufficiently close to stir the
short and sweat-sodden black hair in passing. However, the speed
with which the brunette was still contriving to move prevented the
Protectress from being able to find an opening and driving through
it with her point to deliver a
coup-de-grace.

By now, both of the women were
beginning to show the severe strain caused by their exertions. Each
was panting, her breath whistling through a parched throat and
mouth. Replenishing their tormented lungs was growing increasingly
difficult. Perspiration flowed copiously, making their skin glisten
and diluting the blood that each was shedding. As their magnificent
bosoms expanded and contracted like bellows in operation, their
eyes glared glassily at each other and they were oblivious of all
else.

‘
Quagga God strike her!’ Elidor was croaking, using the
words as a spur to drive her exhaustion-wrapped body to further
efforts and went on, accompanying each word with a terrific stroke
of her sword, ‘Curse you! Blast you! Stand! Fight!’

For her part, Charole was
making no attempt to reply or comply with the demand to change her
tactics. The night of broken sleep followed by days of almost
continual travelling were beginning to have their effect, just as
she, the brunette, and the male warriors had anticipated would
happen. What was more, due to the perspiration restricting the
blood
’s
power to congeal, she was losing a fair amount from her injuries.
In addition, her left arm felt as heavy and cumbersome as if it had
been turned to lead. Through the accumulation of her sufferings,
she was growing sick and faint.