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.That needled him and he pushed the thoughts out of his head andraised high his noble chin.He would not, could not, let this oaf get thebetter of him.He would show all these people his blood, and his skill, andhis mettle.He was Jezal dan Luthar.He would win.It was an incontestablefact.He knew it.'Begin!'Page 203ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlThe first cut sent him reeling, shattering his confidence, his poise, andnearly his wrist.He had been watching Gorst fence, of course, if you couldcall it that, so he knew the man would come out swinging, but nothing couldhave prepared him for that first shattering contact.The crowd gasped with himas he staggered back.All his carefully laid plans, all of Varuz' carefullyworded advice, vanished into air.He winced with pain and shock, his arm stillvibrating from the force of that mighty blow, his ears still ringing from thecrashing noise of it, his mouth hanging open, his knees wobbling.It was hardly the most promising start, but the next chop followed hard afterthe first, flashing down with even greater power.Jezal leaped aside and slidaway, trying to make room and give himself time.Time to work out some tactic,some trick to stem the pitiless tide of swinging metal.But Gorst was notabout to give him time.He was already loosing another throaty growl, his longsteel already begun on its next irresistible arc.Jezal dodged where he could, blocked where he couldn't, his wrists alreadyaching from the ceaseless punishment.To begin with he hoped that Gorst wouldtire.No one could throw those great lumps of metal around for long the waythat he was doing.Soon the fierce pace would take its toll on the big man andhe would slow, and droop, and the heavy steels would lose their venom.ThenJezal would fight back doggedly, run his opponent ragged, and win.The crowdwould crack the Agriont with their cheers.A classic tale of victory againstthe odds.Only Gorst did not tire.The man was a machine.After a few minutes there wasstill not the slightest sign of weariness in those heavy-lidded eyes.Therewas barely any emotion of any kind that Jezal could see, during the raremoments when he dared to take his eyes away from the flashing swords.The biglong steel swung, swung, swung in its brutal circles, and the short steel wasalways there to turn away such feeble efforts as Jezal could make in between,never faltering or dropping even an inch.The power of the blows did notdecrease, the growls tore from Gorst's throat with as much vigour as ever.Thecrowd were given nothing to cheer at, and merely muttered angrily.It wasJezal who began to feel his legs slowing, to feel the sweat springing out ofhis forehead, to feel his grip on his steels slipping.He saw it coming from a mile away, but there was nothing he could do about it.He had backed off until he ran out of circle.He had blocked and parried untilhe lost the feeling in his fingers.This time, when he raised his aching armand there was the crash of metal on metal, one tired foot slipped and hetumbled squawking from the ring, floundering on his side, his short steelspinning from his twitching fingers.His face slapped against the ground andhe took a gritty mouthful of sand.It was a painful and embarrassing fall, buthe felt too tired and too battered to be all that disappointed.He was almostrelieved that the punishment was over, if only for a moment.'One to Gorst!' shouted the referee.A light dusting of applause was crushedbeneath hoots of derision, but the big man seemed scarcely to notice,shuffling back to his mark with his head down and already preparing for thenext touch.Jezal rolled slowly onto his hands and knees, flexing his aching hands andtaking his time getting up.He needed a moment to breathe and make ready, tothink up some strategy.Gorst waited for him: big, silent, still.Jezalbrushed the sand from his shirt, mind racing.How to beat him? How? He steppedcautiously back to his mark, raised his steels.'Begin!'This time Gorst came out even harder, slashing away as if he was scythingwheat, making Jezal dance around the circle.One blow passed so close to hisleft side that he could feel the wind from it on his cheek.The next missedhim by a margin no greater on his right.Then Gorst flung a sideways sweepaimed at his head and Jezal saw an opening.He ducked beneath it, sure theblade tore at the hairs on top of his scalp.He closed the distance as theheavy long steel swung away, almost catching the referee in the face on theback-swing, leaving Gorst's right side all but undefended.Page 204ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlJezal lunged at the big bastard, sure he had finally got through, knowing hehad made it one touch apiece.But Gorst caught the thrust on his short steeland forced it just wide, the guards of the two blades scraping then lockingtogether.Jezal cut at him viciously with his short steel but somehow Gorstblocked that too, bringing up his other sword just in time, catching Jezal'sblade and holding it just short of his chest.For a moment their four steels were locked together, hilts grating, theirfaces just a few inches apart.Jezal was snarling like a dog, teeth bared, themuscles of his face a rigid mask.Gorst's heavy features showed little sign ofeffort.He looked like a man having a piss: involved in a mundane and faintlydistasteful task that must simply be done with as quickly as possible [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]