TORLO HANNIS OF NOOMAS (THE NOOMAS CHRONICLES Book 1) by NUETZEL CHARLES

Author:NUETZEL, CHARLES [NUETZEL, CHARLES]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HALDOLEN
Published: 2012-12-21T16:00:00+00:00

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And into slaverY…

The night sky was much as it had always been, though it seemed even more glorious on the desert—a perverse, mocking beauty to add a final artistic stroke of splendor to the setting for a battle to the death. The caravan of desert nomads had reached a small water-hole, surrounded by low bush trees just before darkness folded night down upon the world. Brightly colored tents were quickly placed in a circle about the pond’s calm waters which dutifully reflected the night stars like a glassy mirror. All three moons rose to light the world in a soft glow, soothing away any harsh shadows cast by the flickering blaze of the huge bonfire that had been lighted in the middle of a ring of chiefs’ tents.

I had not seen Youi Janis since our capture. They had placed me on the desert floor upon arriving, bound hand and foot by the tough leather thongs which cut cruelly into the flesh. Neither food nor water was offered by my captors. Upon requesting some, I was told there was no use in giving valuable food and drink to a dead man.

Once camp was set up, small fires had been built in front of each tent and the people of Baji-Ney’s tribe settled down for their evening meal. Children played between the tents, and finally after the feasting was over, they were taken to bed. The men now slowly gathered in the large area in front of the main fire and their leader’s tent. Small skin bags were passed around, in which I learned was the distilled liquor of the water-plant, a powerful drink which before the night was up would make many of the men of Baji-Ney half mad.

By the time the moons were high in the sky, most of the men were getting fairly drunk, some even fighting among themselves. Finally, Baji-Ney brought about order, taking a stance in front of the large fire which was kept supplied by slaves with slowly burning branches of the trees around the pond. He held a bag of the Gouto-liquor high in the air, cried for silence, swaying some from the effects of his drinks.

“Warriors of Baji-Ney, we have a slave who boasts that he can kill any one of you with his bare hands.” His voice was thick, but formed the worlds clearly and loud. “We have all seen him in combat with the Shillos, and know he is a fine warrior with the sword, brave—a man who it would be an honor to kill. I have picked one of the greatest fighters among you—my own son, who will someday lead you to even greater glories and riches when he takes my place. Tonight he will show you his bravery, strength and skill by dispatching this braggart! Come, Rha-Ney—prove to the warriors and chiefs of our people that you are truly a mighty fighter.”

A tall, lean young man with firm, wiry muscles, with only a loin-cloth about his middle, stepped from Baji-Ney’s tent.

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