(eng) Alan Burt Akers - Dray Prescot 24 by Rebel of Antares

Author:Rebel of Antares [Antares, Rebel of]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter eleven

Concerning a Silver Sinver and a Water Jar

“Watch out!” called Hundal the Oivon, running into our barrack room. “Here comes Tipp the Thrax. Get lost!”

At once a scramble began to get out of the confines of the barrack room and into the labyrinth of alleys and arcades fringing the arena. Fifty men, all stout fighting kaidurs, struggling to run away from a little, limping, lopsided Gon! But, this shriveled-up, shaven-headed Gon was Kyr Tipp the Thrax. He was a Queen’s Cheldur. We all knew what he wanted and we all prayed he did not have our names written down on his note pad. He had a gimlet eye, and a nose and chin in too close proximity, and Queen Fahia looked on him with great favor.

We scattered into the alleys between practice rings and yards, running under the high walls of barrack blocks and armories, even getting away toward the menagerie areas. If our names were not written down then we had a chance. If Tipp the Thrax could not see us, he could not lift that crooked staff of his and beckon us over. We’d have to go. Tipp fixed up the bouts for the Queen’s Kaidurs, and as the youngest child in Huringa knew, the Queen’s Kaidurs always won. Or nearly always. While it was true that the queen would more often allow a champion beaten by her kaidurs the opportunity of his life, out there in the Arena, than she would in fights between the four color corners, no one could be absolutely sure she would not condemn the vanquished. Of course, if a kaidur got himself chopped in the heat of combat, well — wasn’t that always the possibility of this life? So, we rough tough kaidurs fled.

Frandu the Franch hauled up under a striped awning over an opening in the wall where soft drinks might be bought by those with money. Sometimes the cheldurs would give us small sums out of their winnings.

Slaves moved about, busy as slaves always pretend to be busy, the suns shone, the shadows lay dark and slanting, and Frandu said, “By Harg! I’m not running anymore. If Tipp picks me I’ll—”

“You’ll come up against a Queen’s Kaidur,” said Norhan, “and he’ll thrash you. They always do.”

The queen recruited her own champions from the ranks of the greatest hyr-kaidurs. They were good, there was no doubt of that.

“One of these days, if I live, I will be a Queen’s Kaidur.”

“I wish you well of it, and may the glass eye of Beng Thrax smile upon you.”

So they started another wrangle. The four color quarters within the enormous space of the Jikhorkdun were like small towns in themselves. If Tipp didn’t have our names written down, selected by observance of performance, we were safe. This, of course, was another danger faced by any man aspiring to become a hyr-kaidur. But the managers selected promising material and would exclude them from those kaidurs sent up against the queen’s champions. To do otherwise would have been folly.

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