Eskkar dropped his useless sword and reached for Korthac’s throat with his right hand. Before Eskkar could grasp Korthac’s neck, the Egyptian caught his hand and held it with a grip of bronze. Struggling and twisting, they stumbled back into the outer room, grunting and gasping for breath as they fought. They thudded hard into the wall, sliding along its smooth surface, the Egyptian moving so quickly that Eskkar couldn’t get any leverage.
Korthac still held his sword in his right hand, and he kept trying to free his wrist from Eskkar’s grasp. Korthac stood a good foot shorter in height, but to Eskkar’s surprise the Egyptian’s muscles not only resisted his own but nearly managed to bring the blade back into play. They crashed against the table, sending it skidding across the floor with a loud screech. Eskkar’s leg took the brunt of the collision, but he shouted in rage and forced the smaller man back by sheer strength. Suddenly Korthac smashed his forehead into Eskkar’s cheek with such force that Eskkar almost let his grip slip on the man’s sword arm.
Eskkar knew he’d be dead the instant his enemy got the sword into play. Turning his face away to avoid another head-butt, they struggled again, twisting and grunting. Eskkar spun on his heel, using all his strength to unbalance Korthac. Nevertheless, Korthac kept his feet, and the two of them slammed into the wall, bounced off, then crashed back into the half-open door of the inner room. This time they fell through the opening and landed in a heap on the floor.
Another lamp burned here, giving off a dimmer light that barely illuminated the smaller room. Eskkar caught sight of Trella crawling on the floor.
“Eskkar, the baby,” she cried out, pain sounding in her voice.
Trella said something more, but Eskkar couldn’t make out her words.
The baby’s wailing added to the confusion.
Eskkar rammed Korthac’s hand against the doorframe, and grunted in satisfaction when he heard the man’s sword clatter on the floor. Eskkar must have loosed his grip on Korthac’s wrist, for in the next moment, the Egyptian had twisted his wrist from Eskkar’s grasp and lunged away. Eskkar tried to rise, but he slipped on the wet floor. Korthac reached his feet first, a knife appearing in his hand as he moved forward, weaving quickly from side to side, like a snake readying to strike.
Reaching for his knife, Eskkar found the sheath empty, the blade lost in the struggle. Weaponless, Eskkar moved back, his hands extended, but he found himself forced backward into a corner.
“Now you’ll die, barbarian,” Korthac said, his voice hoarse from effort.
But as Korthac stepped past Trella’s prone body, she lifted herself on one hand, and Eskkar saw her drive a small knife into Korthac’s calf.
Korthac flinched in pain. He looked down, then slashed at Trella with the knife. But Eskkar needed no better opening. The instant Trella struck, he rushed the man, covering the short distance between them so fast that Korthac couldn’t react fast enough. Once again Eskkar caught Korthac’s wrist as their bodies crashed together and they tumbled heavily to the floor, and this time it was Korthac who landed on his back.
Eskkar found his face pressed against Korthac’s stomach as the man squirmed, writhing along the floor, striving to get away and at the same time attempting to force his knife into Eskkar’s side. They struggled, rolling back and forth across the floor. Eskkar lunged forward and clamped his right hand on Korthac’s neck and squeezed, trying to choke the man enough to weaken his hold on the knife. They’d jammed themselves against the wall, near Trella’s dressing table. From above their heads the baby continued to cry, its tiny wails competing with the men’s grunts of rage.
Korthac’s free hand searched Eskkar’s face, trying to find his eyes, but Eskkar ground his face deeper into the man’s stomach as he dragged himself up the shifting body and closer to Korthac’s face. The Egyptian used his feet and knees, snapping them up and down with all the force he could muster, searching for Eskkar’s groin, all the while trying to dislodge Eskkar’s hold on his knife hand.
With a savage heave, Korthac loosened Eskkar’s grip enough to bring the knife into play. The Egyptian’s blade seared along Eskkar’s arm. But the pain only enraged Eskkar, and he redoubled his efforts against the man who’d seized his wife and threatened his child. Eskkar tightened his grip on Korthac’s right wrist, putting all his force into squeezing the man’s bones together, harder and harder, as the blood pounded in Eskkar’s ears.
Korthac twisted and jerked his arm, but he couldn’t break Eskkar’s grip, and with a low gasp, his fingers dropped the knife.
Instantly Eskkar released his grip on the man’s neck and levered himself up onto Korthac’s chest, using his weight to keep the man pinned to the floor. Korthac’s fingers groped for the knife and managed to grasp it, but Eskkar, with a brutal surge, slammed his knee onto Korthac’s forearm, pinning his foe’s right arm against the floor. Eskkar shifted his weight, caught Korthac’s other wrist, then raised his fist and struck the Egyptian in the face with his left hand, once, twice, a third time.
The third blow slowed his opponent and gave Eskkar the chance he needed. He heaved his other leg up and used it to pin Korthac’s free arm.
The smaller man now had Eskkar’s full weight upon his body and Eskkar took only a moment to draw back his fist and strike Korthac with his right fi st.
This blow, driven with all Eskkar’s pent-up rage, stunned his opponent.
Before the man could recover, Eskkar seized Korthac by the hair, pinning Korthac’s head to the floor, while with his other hand Eskkar smashed him again and again, aiming each blow at Korthac’s left eye, putting all his force and hatred into the attack. At the fifth blow the man went limp. Taking no chances that his opponent feigned unconsciousness, Eskkar raised his fist like a hammer and pounded the heel of his hand against Korthac’s forehead.
A burst of blood splattered up, but the man lay still. Eskkar gasped for breath, the blood pounding in his head, every muscle trembling with exhaustion. Never had he fought such an enemy before. He searched for Korthac’s knife, groping along the floor with clumsy fingers until he found it, then grabbed it by the bloody blade. The weapon shook in his hand. Eskkar reversed it and put the tip against Korthac’s throat. Only then did he lean back and gulp air into his lungs. Still astride Korthac’s chest, he took a quick look over his shoulder.
Their bedroom, still lit by the oil lamp that somehow remained upright during the struggle, showed Trella on the floor a few feet away, her body shuddering. She pulled herself toward Eskkar, a tiny, bloody dagger still in her hand, but she could scarcely move, and her sobs had joined with the sounds of the baby crying.
The sight of her made Eskkar want to plunge the blade into Korthac’s throat, but the thought that he might need the Egyptian alive stayed his hand. Korthac appeared unconscious, but Eskkar wanted to make certain; he jabbed the tip of the knife into Korthac’s throat, just enough to draw blood. The man didn’t react, so Eskkar raised the weapon and struck down on the man’s forehead with the hilt. The Egyptian’s body stayed limp.
Satisfied that his enemy wouldn’t be moving for at least a few moments, Eskkar pushed himself to his feet. His legs trembled and blood from the side of his head still dripped on his chest, joining with the blood that fl owed from the cut on his arm and all the scratches on his face from Korthac’s efforts to gouge out his eyes.
Eskkar lifted his shoulder to wipe the blood from his face on his tunic, and felt the muscles in his arms twitch from the strain of the fight. It took a moment before he could see clearly. Taking a deep breath he reached down and gathered Trella with one arm and lifted her from the floor.