Var the Stick

Var nodded again. But he realized that this was only part of the story.

"That means it is very steep. When I surveyed it, I saw that I could not climb it. Not rapidly, anyway. I am too heavy, too clumsy in that fashion. And there are boulders perched on the top."

Var visualized rocks crashing down, pushed by a fast climber on to the head of a slow climber. The Nameless One was matchless in combat-but rolled boulders could prevent him from ever reaching it. Perhaps the site had been selected to prevent him from participating, forcing the choice of a lesser man.

"Then-some other? We have many good warriors." Var said "we" though he knew he was not yet a part of the empire.

"It would be a test of climbing as well as fighting. And we have only two days to prepare, for today is August 4, by the underworld calendar."

"Tomorrow morning a climbing tournament!" Var said, knowing his speech had become incomprehensible in his excitement, but that the other would get the gist.

The Weaponless smiled tiredly. "You don't suspect betrayal?"

He hadn't, until then. But he realized the nomads could still take the mountain by force, just as originally planned, if the mountain master did not honor the decision of the champions. So it seemed worthwhile.

The Weaponless fathomed his thinking. "All right. Tell Tyl to select fifty top warriors for a climbing tournament. Tonight I talk to the mountain; tomorrow we practise on Mt. Muse."

But he still did nOt look optimistic.

At dawn on the day of the tournament, Var stood at the base of Mt. Muse, waiting for sufficient light to climb. Rather, for sufficient light for others to climb, for their eyes were less sensitive in the dark than his own. He had known he would be here the moment the Master agreed to hold the tournament. Var, with his horny hands and hooflike feet, and his years in the wilderness, was the most agile climber in the camp, and he had chosen to compete. Since he was not a member of the Master's empire, no one could tell him no.

Tyl had seen him, though, and smiled, and said nothing.

And by noon Var was winner of the tournament.

"But he is yet a novice in the circle!" the Master protested, astonished by this development.

Tyl smiled. "Here are the next three winners of the climb. Test him against them."

The Weaponless, worried, agreed. So Var, tired from his morning effort but ready, faced the man who had reached the top ten minutes after he had. Had it been the contest of champions, on the mesa of Muse, Var would have had ample time to cripple the man by dropping rocks on him. That was the point of the climbing exercise: the best warrior in the empire would lose if he were too much slower than the one the mountain master sent. But when it came to the actual battle, the champion had to be more skilled than the other, too.

The second finisher was a staffer, nimble and lanky, who had used his weapon cleverly to assist his climbing. Var entered the circle, running through in his mind the advice the Master and Tyl had given him in the past: stick against staff. The sticks were faster, the staff stronger. The sticks were aggressive, the staff more passive. The sticks could launch a dual offence, but it was hard to penetrate a good staff defense. And If the sticks did not break through early, eventually the staff would discover an opportunity and score.

The staffer was as well aware of the factors as was Var, and more experienced. His advantage was time, and he obviously meant to use it. He blocked conservatively, making no mistakes, challenging Var to come to him.

Var obliged. He rapped at the weapon, not the man, creating a diversion, while he searched for an opening. He feinted at the head, at the feet, at the knuckles holding the staff, until the man became a trifle slow in his responses, bored with the harassment.

Then Var directed fierce blows at head and body simultaneously. The staff spun to counter both-but not quite rapidly enough, because of the prior chilling byplay. The head shot missed, but the body attack was successful. One rib at least had been fractured.

As the man winced and brought his weapon over to catch Var's exposed arm, Tyle stepped up to the circle. "First blood!" he said. "Withdraw."

So Var had won. The advantage he had achieved would normally have been sufficient to bring him eventual victory, and that was all he had needed to demonstrate. There was no point in wearing himself out. His victory on that basis would only militate against him in the real contest tomorrow.

The next man was a dagger. Var quailed inwardly when he saw that, for the knives were as swift as the sticks, and their contact more deadly. The sword and the club were impressive weapons; but the dagger, competently wielded, was more devastating in the confines of the circle.

But the knives had to be properly oriented. A thrust with the flat of the blade was useless in many instances. And the daggers were not apt instruments for blocking. Though more effective offensively, they were less efficient overall than the dual-purpose sticks.

Var had no choice. He had to fence with the blades, paying first attention to his defense. If he could succeed in making an opening for himself without sacrificing personal protection, he could score. If not- Now the dagger feinted at him, and Var had to react conservatively, just as the staffer had against him. And the result would be the same, with him the victim, unless he could break the pattern.

But the dagger was tired. He was an older man, as old as the Master. No doubt experience had made him a skilled climber, but his age had made him pay for the effort. Not much, not noticeably-except that Var did have a slight and increasing advantage in speed.

When he realized that, he knew he had won. With renewed confidence he beat back the blade thrusts, using his greater vigor to intercept every stroke and jar the hand that made it. Gradually he forced the man back, intercepting the thrust sooner, and finally the hard-pressed dagger made an error, was bruised on the wrist, and ruled the loser.

The third man was another sticker. "I am Hul," he said.

Var, fatigued from two circle encounters as well as the morning climb, knew then that he had lost his bid to be the empire's champion. For the sticker was one of the men Tyl had warned him about-one of the top fighters. Stick against stick, Var could have no advantage except superior skill-and against this man he didn't have that.

Hal stood just outside the circle. "Var the Stick," he said, his voice resonant. "I have studied you and assessed you, and I can take you in the circle. Perhaps not next year but today, yes. But you would bruise me before you went down, for you are strong and determined. This would make me less able tomorrow on the mesa, and prejudice the case of the empire. Will you yield your place to me without combat?"

The request was reasonable. Hul was fresh, for he was young and strong too, and he had rested while Var fought. And if he had been tired he still could have won, for he was a master sticker, Tyl did not make errors about such rankings, for it was Tyl's business to rank the leading weapons of all the empire. And Var was not of the empire, so was answerable to no one but himself. Otherwise no subsidiary contest would have been necessary; the Master or Tyl could have selected the warrior with the best overall prospects and settled it. Var could step down with honor, having proven himself twice and now acting for the best interest of the empire.

But Var was not reasonable. The notion of losing the privilege of fighting for the Master, of being his champion he thought he had won this in the climb and held it in the circle, Such a late sacrifice filled him with fury. "No!" he cried. It came out a growl. He would not give it up; it would have to be taken from him.

Unperturbed, Hul turned to Tyl. "Then, if the Weaponless permits, I shall yield to Var. One of us must conserve his strength; if we fight, neither will. He needs the respite; he has the spirit."

Tyl nodded, granting the Master's acquiescence. Var was to reflect on that act of Hul's many times in the years following, and to learn something more each time he did so.