Renegade of Callisto

In open places, this cobralike whipping stroke is often made from mid-air. With their long, manyjointed legs, which resemble the hind limbs of the praying mantis or the terrestrial grasshopper, the Yathoon are easily capable of incredible leaps into the air. A Yathoon swordsman can and often does leap entirely over his foe, striking at his unprotected head as he springs over it. In this confined space, however, with tree boughs blocking the sky, such aerial tactics were difficult or even dangerous. So they fought face to face, snapping those deadly blades like sharp steel whips, leaping forward with each stroke and springing backward immediately after in order to avoid the counter-stroke.

It was graceful, even beautiful, in a cold, murderous way-like a ballet―a dance of death.

Koja and his challenger were well matched, of an identical height (some seven feet), with arms and also whip-swords of similar length. For a few moments, they fenced in this deadly dance without results: then the others, restive or impatient, sprang forward, one to either side of Koja’s opponent, the chieftain with the broken antenna, whose name later turned out to be Gothar.

Koja swerved sideways, swift and supple as a striking serpent. His whirling blade struck suddenly to the left, catching his hapless foe across the face. His eyes ceased being glittering black jewels and became a flying splatter of winecolored jelly. The barbed tip caught in the corner of the eye socket and cracked the surface of the warrior’s chitin, breaking away a portion of his skull. For a moment Taran caught a brief, sickening glimpse of the Yathoon’s naked brain, a reddish gray convoluted lump of wet, glistening tissue.

Then the warrior seemed to come apart at the joints and fell in a jumble of limbs to sprawl on the scarlet turf. He collapsed as a jointed wooden puppet might collapse if all of the puppet’s strings were severed in the same instant.

Koja then leaped sideways, avoiding strokes from the two remaining swordsmen, and, snatching up the whip-sword his fallen adversary had dropped, he addressed the twain with a sword in each hand.

Fighting with two swords is a particularly difficult practice, a matter for precise rhythm. I have seen it done in my time, but not often: Lukor can do it with amazing deftness, but I had not realized Koja’s own accomplishment in this specialty.

In less time than it would take me to describe the scene, Koja had felled the second of his opponents, and found himself once again engaged with his original foeman, Gothar―he of the crippled antenna. While Koja was otherwise engaged, Gothar had taken advantage of the momentary respite to rest and catch his breath. Now he attacked Koja with redoubled ferocity.

But now Koja was doubly armed! And perhaps Gothar had never before faced a single swordsman who held in each hand a dripping and murderous length of razor-sharp crimson steel …

When Gothar fell, clutching at his naked entrails as they oozed from the wide, ragged gash in his abdomen, Koja charged the other warriors who had lurked behind in order to permit their chieftain and the two warriors who were his lieutenants to have the pleasure of the kill.

Here the tree branches grew higher above their heads, and Koja was able to employ one of those incredible leaps into the air that make Kathoon barbarians feared opponents, dreaded by the swordsmen of more civilized parts of Thanator. Bounding over the heads of the first rank, Koja struck down between his bent legs with either sword in swift rhythm―flick!―flick!―and two more warriors sprawled, spouting crimson on the crimson turf.

When he landed on bent feet again, however, it was to find himself ringed in by foemen. The one who stood, as it chanced, at his back was waiting to strike just as soon as Koja’s steel had been engaged by one of the Yathoon in front of him.

When this happened, the warrior at the rear set his blade into a whirl, preparing to take Koja from behind. But, as Fate would have it, he was taken from behind, himself, although he did not at once realize it. The sharp, stabbing pain caught him quite by surprise, and he stared down to see the encrimsoned point of a slim rapier emerging from his vitals. He was still staring at it in blank bewilderment when the strength drained from him and he fell forward into gathering darkness.

Behind him, young Taran withdrew his rapier with a practiced twist of his wrist and whirled to strike at another of the warriors grouped around Koja. The arthropods had taken no notice in particular of the boy, obviously not considering him to be dangerous. The young of their own kind never partake in adult quarrels until they have achieved the Yathoon equivalent of what would in human terms be called puberty, and it is quite a common sight for a male Yathoon’s sons to stand idly by while their father fights to the death in a duel or similar engagement. The young Yathoon think nothing of this, being immune to filial sentiment.