“I don’t get it. Why would the leaders do such a thing to the people?”
“Because you can lead a cow easier than a bull,” Blade replied. “The forefathers of America were rugged, independent men who believed in individual liberty and the right to bear arms. But the leaders of America at the time of the war were pampered power-mongers who tried to mold the people in the image of their own narrow minds. To them, the law was everything. To them, group rights took priority over individual rights.”
“What does all of this have to do with the King?”
“We all must take responsibility for the evil we encounter in our lives.
We can’t run away from it, or bury our heads in the sand and hope it will go away. The people in the prewar society never dealt with evil head-on.
They tried to control evil by passing hundreds of thousands of laws outlawing evil behavior. But evil can’t be controlled by words printed on paper. Evil must be eradicated at the source.” Blade paused, pondering.
“The King is the source of the evil growing in Memphis, and if he isn’t stopped now, the evil will spread. I have a responsibility to insure the evil does not go any further.”
“You could wind up dead.”
“And how many untold thousands will wind up dead if the King isn’t stopped?”
Bonnie stared at him in admiration. “I wish I had your courage.”
“You do.”
She snorted. “If I had your courage, I would have taken care of the King the other night. But I didn’t.”
“You were never given the opportunity,” Blade said. “You should be grateful you survived. I’m surprised the King didn’t have you killed.”
“I expected him to kill me,” Bonnie admitted. “But he made a big production out of sparing my life. He said I might be carrying his seed, and I should be grateful for the chance to participate in the spread of his glory, whatever the hell that meant.” She placed her left hand on her abdomen. “If I end up pregnant with his kid, I’ll shoot myself.”
“Has he done this to others?”
“From what I hear, he does it about every other month or so.
Sometimes with men, sometimes with women. I also heard he likes children on occasion.”
“Children?”
“He’d probably use dogs if he could catch them.”
Blade opened his mouth to speak, when a harsh outburst to his rear caused him to spin, his hands dropping to his Bowies.
Four hardcases were shoving their way through the crowd, led by a tall barrel of a man dressed in rough animal hides and sporting a silver nose ring. They were coming up behind Hickok and Chastity, and the gunman was slowing and glancing over his left shoulder.
“Out of my way!” bellowed Nose Ring, and gave the gunfighter and the girl a shove.
Chapter Sixteen
The pair of Hounds reacted to General Thayer’s order to kill the Warrior according to their training; predictably, they attempted to unsling their AR-15’s.
Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was already in motion. He wanted to dispatch the duo and retrieve his katana from the Spartan expeditiously and quietly. Any shots would undoubtedly draw more Hounds to the scene. He needed to render the pair unconscious before they could fire, and accordingly he sprang forward as they began to unsling their rifles, releasing the AR-15 he was carrying. He took two strides and leaped into the air, his fists clenched in the Oriental manner, his right leg tucked tight, his left extended.
“Lookou—” the Hound on the right started to yell.
Rikki’s left foot connected with the Hound’s sternum and sent the man sailing backwards to crash into the general. The Warrior landed lightly as the officer and the private tumbled down the stairs in a tangle of arms and legs.
To the left the second guard was trying to level his AR-15.
Rikki pivoted, sliding in toward the Hound, shifting his balance onto his left leg and cocking his right at a 45-degree angle. He executed a side-thrust kick, using his thigh to maximize the power in his blow, twisting at the waist as he made contact.
The second Hound was struck in the ribs. There was a distinct crack and he doubled over, dropping his rifle.
With his right hand clenched in the Tettsui, the iron-hammer fist, Rikki smashed the Hound on the right temple.
Uttering a nasal wheeze, the man sprawled onto the floor.
Eight steps below, the general and the private were in the act of disengaging and getting to their feet. Thayer was on his knees, his right hand on the katana hilt. The Hound had lost his AR-15, which had clattered several steps lower.
Rikki took the stairs three at a time. His second spring brought him to the rising guard, his right knee flicking as he kicked the private full in the face.
The Hound went flying, crunching onto his head six steps below and lying still.
Rikki came down on his toes two steps lower than the Spartan. He whirled.
“I always said you were good,” General Thayer remarked. He stood in a crouch, the katana clenched in his brawny hands.
“I want my katana,” Rikki said.
“I intend to give it to you,” Thayer replied, grinning. “Edge first.”
Rikki assumed the Fudo-tachi, the ready stance. “I have no desire to harm you.”
“You’re putting the cart before the horse,” Thayer responded. “I said you were good. I’m better.”
“This will prove nothing.”
“Not for you maybe.”
“You can leave in peace.”
General Thayer’s lips curled downward. “What is this? Sympathy?”
“Call it the respect due one warrior from another,” Rikki said.
Thayer smiled. “I appreciate the compliment. I wish we had met under different circumstances.”
“I feel the same way,” Rikki acknowledged.
The Spartan shrugged. “Such is life.”
“We don’t need to do this,” Rikki stressed.
“I’m afraid we do.”
“Is dying for a madman a fitting rite of passage for men such as us?”
Rikki inquired.
“I have my duty.”
“And I have mine.”
General Thayer straightened. “Then there’s nothing more to be said.”
“I guess not,” Rikki said with a tinge of melancholy in his tone.
Thayer bowed slightly. “I salute you,” he stated, and as he rose he slashed viciously at the Warrior’s neck.
Almost taken unawares, Rikki barely evaded the swipe of the gleaming sword. He wrenched his body backwards and saw the blade come within a hair’s breath of his throat, then allowed his momentum to carry him from the step. On the stairs the Spartan had the advantage. Rikki wanted room to maneuver, to employ his legs. He landed two steps lower, and without breaking stride vaulted even lower.
General Thayer was determined not to be denied. He dashed after the bounding Warrior, swinging the katana again and again, repeatedly missing by less than an inch. His left foot slipped on an object blocking one of the steps, and he looked down in time to avoid tripping over the corpse of the private with the split skull.
Rikki gained a few feet on his pursuer, covering four steps at a leap and reaching the bottom of the stairs in three jumps. He raced along the corridor, searching for anything he could utilize as a weapon.
General Thayer was hot on the Warrior’s heels.
Midway along the hall Rikki risked a glance over his right shoulder. The Spartan was six feet behind him, the katana spearing toward his back. His facile mind instantaneously recognized an unorthodox opening, and with the recognition came simultaneous execution. He abruptly dropped, flattening on the tile, his body across the hall, resting on his hands and toes.