I touched the medallion of precious metal on my baldric, the insignia which denoted me as a member of the court of Prince Vaspian.
“Here is all the authority I need to examine a prisoner, komad,” I said levelly. “I want a look at the two strangers who were brought down here within the hour. You know the ones, the capok and the white-haired outlander in black. Loguar, a komad of the fourth, brought them in.”
He grinned nastily, eying me from his height. “What do you want with them?”
I shrugged. “It is not what I want, Bluto, but what the Prince my patron wants. They are to do battle in the Nuptial Games following the royal wedding, and he wishes me to see that they are in good shape for fighting and have fed. If they are injured or have been mistreated, I am to inform him of the fact. Now, if you will be good enough to tell me where they are being held, I will be about my business―”
He lifted one great hand, stilling me.
“Bluto has his business, too,” he growled. “Also his orders! No one gets in to see any prisoner without a note from the Lord of the Pits. “
“But the Prince has expressly ordered―‘
“No one gets past Bluto,” he said heavily. And he drew his cutlass with a rasp of steel on worn leather, and held it ready in his hand, watching me from cold little eyes buried in rolls of unhealthy fat. A predatory expression crossed his face; be licked his thick lips with the tip of his tongue.
I stood there, struggling to think. Had the guard been any other except this bully, who bated me for making him look ridiculous in front of his men, I could perhaps have bluffed my way past him through the sheer weight of Prince Vaspian’s name. But Bluto was happy to be able to refuse me what I wanted.
I could not, of course, go to the Lord of the Pits, as the officer in charge of the dungeon guards was called. He would be a senior officer and he would not be swayed by important names; he would want to see my authorization from the Prince in writing. And, even if I could bribe or bully the commandant into giving me a pass, there simply was no time. Minute by minute sped swiftly by, and every passing second brought the woman I loved closer and closer to a forced marriage with a smirking villain she loathed.
If I fought with Bluto, my false identity was exposed. For the duel might arouse guards housed nearby, and I ran the risk of being taken into custody as it was forbidden that Chac Yuul warriors fight among themselves. And how could I explain a corpse, if my skill with the blade were sufficient to strike Bluto down?
In this matter, as frequently in my past career, Fate took the decision out of my hand entirely.
For Bluto lifted his blade and set its point against my heart. A leer of sadistic mirth distorted his coarse features and his voice was thick and hoarse with gloating menace.
“Bluto could kill you now,” he growled, “and say you tried to force your way in. No one would ever know―”
I struck his blade aside with my arm.
“I am an officer of the Chac Yuul,” I protested. “It would be an act of treason!”
He spat. “Treason, eh? You dirty little horeb, you call Bluto a traitor? You made Bluto look like a fool. You dared not face Bluto with steel. You fought with your hands, like a wench!”
I watched the red glare of fury in his cold little pit-eyes, and my heart sank. There was no hope for it. I must fight the man. I must duel here in the Pits, while every racing moment brought my beloved nearer to a horrible doom.
He was panting heavily now, working himself up to a berserk rage, as he had done that time I beat him at the gates. I tried to reason with him but there was no arguing with the man.
He roared out a string of filthy epithets and swung his great cutlass at my head.
I sprang backwards nimbly, avoiding the whistling blade.
He advanced, towering over, me, growling curses.
There was no other way. I slid my blade free of the scabbard, and in the next instant we were at sword’s point there in the black dungeons of Shondakor.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TO THE DEATH!
Barely did I manage to lift my sword to parry his blow. The impact jarred along the blade and numbed my arm. Bluto was immensely strong, and he had worked himself up into a bloodthirsty rage.
I backed away and let him come after me, snarling and spitting ugly curses, his face working. He swung at me, great lusty swipes, his heavy cutlass whistling through the air, and each blow I turned aside, but with great care, for his blade was much weightier than mine, and if I parried in such a way that the full force of his blow met my rapier squarely, he might snap my blade in two.
He fought like a madman, swearing wildly and hacking away with enormous energy. He had little or no science, but his giant strength and endurance, his superior weight and reach, were powerful advantages and for a time I was hard put to keep his edge from slashing my flesh.
As we fought, he taunted me.
“You―too proud to fight with Bluto at gate―too proud to face Bluto with sword, like a gentleman―use your hands on Bluto, will you, you filthy horeb! Now you fight Bluto, steel against steel―how do you like it?” he growled, his red eyes blazing with berserk fury, and whitish foam gathering at the corners of his mouth.
I saved my breath for the duel and did not deign to answer his foul-mouthed raving. I resolved to kill him as quickly as I could, but, as I soon discovered, it is not all that easy to duel with a man who fights like a maniac, swinging great blows with untiring strength. So I continued backing away from his roundhouse swing, while looking for an opening.
If I had been fighting an ordinary swordsman, armed with a weapon similar to my own, I could have killed him within minutes, if such had been my wish. For I could have caught his blade and turned it aside with a deft twist of the wrist, allowing my blade to glide through his guard and my point to sink in his breast. But Bluto was an entirely different sort of opponent, swinging wildly as if armed with a club, and I continued to retreat warily before his advance, for if any one of those blows had connected I would be weaponless.
He began cursing at me to stand still and fight him like a man, rather than to retreat like a coward. But I paid no attention to his raving, watching his blade-work for an opening.
Suddenly, one came― a wide swing that left his burly chest unguarded for a moment. This was the opportunity I had been hoping for and I lunged, my point sinking into the fleshy part of his shoulder just above the heart.
To my astonishment, it failed to stop him, or even to slow him down!
He squealed like a stuck pig, but it was more from blind rage than pain. And instantly he redoubled his assault, whacking away with lusty blows which knocked my blade from side to side like the slender steel needle it was.
Obviously, his berserk fury was such that he was virtually insensible to pain. It would take nothing less than a direct thrust through the heart to fell the roaring maniac.
Around and around the room we went, as I backed away from his advance. The stone room rang like an iron foundry with the clang of steel on steel. I felt my way with caution, fearful of tripping over an unseen obstacle, for I could not see what was behind me and I dared not turn my attention from Bluto for a second to snatch a glance over my shoulder.
I managed to pink him on the throat and on the upper arm, but these were mere slicing cuts, minor wounds, which gushed with blood and must have stung him but were not sufficient to disable him or even to slow him down.