Renegade of Callisto

And then Kamchan himself struck―and cruelly.

Against Taran!

For the boy now stood helpless and unarmed only five squares away, directly down the third row of the field. And Kamchan, as a Prince, could traverse as many rows as he wished. Flexing his jaw mandibles in a gloating and lustful grin―or the Yathoon equivalent thereof―the heavily armed Arkon strode down the row to where the boy stood with bare hands.

And time slowed down to a mere crawl for Koja, frozen on his high wooden throne above the field.

Xara cried out shrilly; Valkar cursed futilely from his position far up the field; Borak hefted his spear, glancing in question back to where his Prince sat motionless. Kadar unlimbered his own spear, waiting for Koja’s word.

For Koja, it was an interminable, timeless moment of unbearable agony.

Of course, he could not simply sit there while his unarmed little friend was murdered in cold blood by Kamchan. To do so was unthinkable; rather would Koja himself step forward into the path of certain death.

But the Yathoon insectoids are coldly logical; for Koja to have directed Borak or any of the others against Kamchan would be to have broken the rules of the game, hence forfeiting it. And that meant to forfeit the lives of Xara, Borak, Valkar, and Kadar, as well as Taran’s and his own …

Of course, there was nothing else to do. He could not merely sit there, while Kamchan ran the lad through. He would intervene, even if it meant that in the next moment of time the six of them must face a vengeful host of ferocious warriors, which is exactly what it did mean.

At least they would die with weapons in their hands.

Koja tensed, gripping the arms of his seat. He was about to rise and hurl his long, slender javelin at Kamchan … when Fate stepped in.

Kamchan advanced upon the half-naked boy, hefting his long, supple sword. He stood now directly before the square which Taran occupied. Taran, naturally, was very frightened, but he set his square young jaw and looked the towering Arkon straight in the eye, refusing to flinch or to break and run.

Kamchan struck

Like lightning, Taran darted forward nimbly, ducking under the Arkon’s blade, and ran between his legs!

Then he whirled-bent-caught Kamchan by the lower leg and pulled him off balance. Rasping a harsh oath, the Arkon fell on his face. The boy darted forth, snatched the war axe from Kamchan’s harness, and drew back, hovering in a crouch, facing the giant arthropod, weighing the heavy axe in one capable young fist.

Probably at that moment everyone who partook in the scene forgot to breathe.

Koja, half-risen from his chair, froze again―and with a curt word arrested Borak and Valkar and the others in their tracks, for all of the Red players had half-started forward instinctively to the boy’s aid.

Is it possible that it might not be needed?

That one thought rang through the minds of Valkar, Koja, and the others at the same instant.

Kamchan, having regained his feet, glared furiously down at the nimble boy. Then, rasping an oath, he slashed out again with the whip-sword―a vicious blow that would probably have cut the half-naked boy in two had it landed.

But it did not landl Lithe as a dancer, Taran wove to one side, avoiding the blow.

The boy’s mind raced, thoughts tumbling through his head rapidly. His heart was pounding and his breath came in short, panting gasps, but his head was clear and cool as he weighed possibility against possibility.

The towering arthropod, with his long gaunt arms, and with the length of the whip-sword to boot, had a reach that enormously outmeasured Taran’s. So there was no way the boy could close with his opponent and use the axe as it was meant to be used.

Instead, he flung it.

For all the world like an Apache hurling a tomahawk, the boy swung back his arm and let the axe fly ... The heavy blade flashed wickedly in mid-air as it caught the glare of daylight, spinning end over end.

But Taran knew little of the art of axe-throwing, wherein precise balance and timing are all-important.

Therefore, the axe whipped end over end one time too many, and it was only the flat of the handle which caught Kamchan, and not the blade.

Still, the axe was forged of heavy steel, and the blow struck with staggering impact. It caught Kamchan upon the forelimb―about where the wrist would be on a human arm―and the blow was numbing.

Kamchan croaked with the shock of the blow, and his whip-sword fell from his suddenly strengthless grasp to thud against the sand.

And now both Taran and Kamchan were disarmed. But only for the moment, for Kamchan had only to draw forth his sword or spear.

And Taran had only his bare hands with which to fight.

Then it was that the unexpected happened―and a more timely diversion even Taran himself could not have hoped for.