Master Of The Hashomi

Chapter 6

Blade was ready to fight any reasonable number of Hashomi within two weeks. As far as he was concerned the third week was a waste of time. He had nothing to do but pace up and down the terrace or around and around his hospital room like a caged tiger. The guards at the far end of the tunnel were unfailingly polite, but flatly refused to let him pass. The only way he could hope for the freedom of movement he needed was to pass the testing, and that was that.

At least there seemed to be no possible danger as long as he was in the hospital. Except for the Master himself, no armed Hashomi ever seemed to enter it. The most lethal weapons on hand were the surgeons' instruments.

Of the forty-odd people in the hospital, ten were old men, wrinkled and gray, and twenty were equally elderly women. They were brisk, efficient, and clearly knew their business. Once Blade was on the way to recovery, they seemed ready to treat him as if he was no more than a prize animal.

The rest of the hospital staff were younger women, few of them over twenty and most of them quite attractive as far as Blade could see. Blade sensed one or more of them watching him almost every moment he was out of his room. He was never able to ask one of them what they were looking for, though. Every time he tried, the girl would smile shyly and then dart away.

Blade wondered if orders had come from the Master to keep him in a sort of isolation booth until the time came for him to be tested. The idea made sense. Blade was where no man with his mind intact and free of drugs had been since the Hashomi were founded, centuries before. The Master wasn't prepared to risk destroying him out of hand-or risk letting him find out too much about the Hashomi.

The duel of wits with the Master would be going on long after the testing was over and done with. Blade knew he could not relax for a moment as long as he was within the valley, and perhaps not even in this Dimension. If the Hashomi had reached out across the desert to establish their agents in Dahaura, he might be in some danger even if he escaped to the city.

But that was a thought for a future that might never come unless he passed his testing against the two picked Hashomi. Blade put the matter out of his mind and settled down to eight hours a day of conditioning and unarmed combat exercises. He was careful to do them in the privacy of his room, for he wanted his skill and strength to be as much of a surprise as possible.

The two Hashomi chosen by the Master would be among the most formidable opponents Blade had ever faced. He would give them no unnecessary advantage.

Six Hashomi came to the hospital before dawn one morning to escort Blade down to the testing. They found him already out on the terrace, watching the sun turn the summit of the White Mountain to flame and start sucking up the mist in the valley, below. He wore sandals and a white hospital robe, but he planned to fight barefoot and naked, except for a loincloth and a sash. Clothes would be more likely to slow his movements than protect him from the razor-sharp knives and the drug-laden tips of the black staves.

The six formed a rough circle around Blade, and kept pace with him down the tunnel. Was it just his imagination, or did the rank smells and the cries from whatever lay beyond the side doors seem stronger today? Blade decided one thing. He'd force the Hashomi to kill him before he'd let himself be locked behind one of those doors. If the Hashomi were planning treachery, he could not stop them. But he could make them pay for it with the lives of as many men as he could reach before he went down-perhaps even the life of the Master himself.

They came out of the tunnel, crossed the bridge, and continued their descent of the path toward the valley floor. The path zigzagged back and forth down the steep slope, taking nearly half a mile to descend the last three hundred feet to level ground.

By that time the sun was fully up, and the mist was lifting from the valley. The ground rolled away toward the opposite side of the valley, a good ten miles away. Blade saw plowed fields, huts, little stands of wood, all connected by paths of hard-beaten earth and split up by small streams and fences of logs and piled stones. The soil on either side of the path was dark and moist, and the grass was green and lush. The Hashomi had certainly found themselves a good home in this valley, and done much work to make it even better. Blade could understand why they had little to do with the outside world, preferring that it remain ignorant of where they were. The Valley of the Hashomi was a rich prize. It might be rich enough to tempt someone who knew where it was into leading an army against it.

Blade and the six Hashomi walked for nearly two hours before they came to the testing place. By that time the sun was well up in the sky, and the day had turned pleasantly warm. At last the party came around the end of a low hill and faced a large square of beaten earth, at least two hundred feet on a side. On three sides of the square rose a low wall of stones and dressed logs, just high enough to keep out stray livestock. On the fourth side rose several pyramidal stone buildings. On the ground along this side were spread a number of mats and cushions, and a large tent had been erected in front of the buildings. Above the tent flew a long blue banner with a white poppy in the center.

Several Hashomi came out of the tent as Blade appeared. He went forward to meet them as his escorts dropped back and spread out along the edge of the square.

Blade counted eight Hashomi coming toward him. The Master was in the lead, followed by five fighters carrying swords and knives. Their lines and weather-beaten faces showed they were all middle-aged or older. Two younger men dressed like the leader at the bridge brought up the rear. They carried knives and staves. As the party drew closer, Blade saw that one of the younger men was actually the leader of the Hashomi at the bridge.

Blade stopped twenty feet from the Master, stretched out both arms, then raised both hands in greeting, fingers spread wide.

The Master nodded, his face expressionless. «Welcome to your testing, British agent Blade. Do you find yourself fit?»

«As fit as I can ever hope to be, worthy Master,» said Blade. This seemed to be a solemn, even sacred occasion for the Hashomi, and it would do him no harm to enter into the spirit of the affair.

«That is good.» The Master whistled sharply. Several unarmed men emerged from the tent. Blade recognized two doctors and one of the bearded, brown-robed men who were the Hashomi's equivalent of priests. The priest carried a small drum and a flute.

The Master stepped aside and let the doctors and the priest approach Blade. The doctors ran their hands over Blade's arms and legs, probed the scar tissue on his torso, tapped him on the knees, chest, and groin, looked in his ears, eyes, and mouth. Blade found it hard not to burst out laughing. These men were so much like Home Dimension doctors-not necessarily sure of what they were looking for, but determined to at least give the impression that they knew.

At last the doctors stepped back and turned to the Master. «The man is altogether fit.»

«Good.» Now the priest stepped forward. He walked three times counterclockwise around Blade, tapping steadily on the drum and making a humming sound like a distant hive of bees. Then he drew a small bag from a pouch on his belt, opened it, and shook yellow powder from it all over Blade. Finally he walked three more times around Blade, playing softly on the flute.

Blade could only guess what the priest was up to. Was he driving evil spirits out of Blade, or letting them in? The priest's work was obviously part of the ritual of the testing, so there was no point in raising any objections. Still, Blade was very careful not to swallow or inhale any of the yellow powder, or let it get in his eyes.

At last the priest joined the doctors. The three civilians and the five armed Hashomi arranged themselves on the mats and cushions around the door of the tent. Only the Master and Blade's two opponents remained standing facing him. The Master stepped to one side, raised his staff, then held it out until it formed a barrier between Blade and his two opponents. The two men backed off several yards, and Blade took this as a signal to do the same.

«All are fit,» intoned the Master. «All are blessed. All are ready.» The staff whipped up into the vertical position so fast that Blade's eyes could not follow it. By pure reflex he dropped into fighting stance. His opponents stiffened, and their knives rasped out of their sheathes. The Master's voice swelled and deepened, until it seemed like a lion's roar.

«Let the testing begin!»

Three sets of eyes met and locked. Blade's two opponents began a slow circling to the right, and he shifted just as slowly to the left. For the moment Blade was content to maneuver and draw his opponents into doing the same. The more he saw of the way they moved, the better. Of course, if he could find a good angle of attack right away, without giving them one, he'd take it. But he wasn't going to bet on that. They were two to one against him, the staves gave them a longer reach, and he had to assume they were just as fast and just as skilled as he was. The odds could very well be no more than even.

On the other hand, two men will always have problems coordinating their actions against a single opponent unless they've trained together as a team for months or years. The staves were long-in fact, too long to be easily wielded one-handed. Blade had plenty of room-he could go anywhere within the walled-off square. Doubtless he would make a better impression on the Master and the five judges if he stayed close, but he didn't have to. Finally, Blade knew he had the edge in weight and strength over either opponent. In a close grapple, he could probably break either one of them into little pieces.

Blade and his two opponents literally went around in circles for several minutes, each minute seeming like half an hour. The impassive faces of the two Hashomi leaders, were totally unreadable, and Blade hoped his own face was as good a mask. So far he hadn't learned a thing about the two, except that they were as easy and quick in their movements as he'd expected.

So he could safely rule out any tactics that depended on his being faster than they were, unless he could hand out a little punishment first. No real chances for that, yet. Maybe he'd better let them make the first attack, and see what he could develop in countering it.

The circling went on, and the watchers by the tent seemed to be getting farther and farther away. The circles were getting larger. That should trigger an attack soon, Blade realized. The two Hashomi would also want the Master and the judges to have a good view of what happened. Their lives might not be at stake, but they'd certainly be interested in earning the Master's favor by a good performance.

Blade was determined that they'd have to work a great deal harder than they expected, to earn anything except broken bones!

One more circle. Then a flicker of metal as one of the Hashomi handed his knife to his partner. The first man now had both hands free for his staff, while the second man dropped his staff and raised a knife in each hand. Ingenious, thought Blade, and quite possibly dangerous. It had the disadvantage of leaving one staff where he could pick it up, though, and that might prove to be a very large disadvantage indeed. Blade was a master of quarterstaff fighting, and the Hashomi staves were weighted and balanced well enough for it.

First, though, he had to survive the attack that could now be only seconds away. The three men made another half-circle, then suddenly the two Hashomi were running in opposite directions, to get on opposite sides of Blade.

They were every bit as fast as Blade-but no faster. He picked the man with the staff as the less dangerous. Once past the drug-laden needle at the tip, he would be safe. The knives were a different matter.

He ran straight at the man with the staff and the tip darted toward him with the speed of an arrow. Blade swerved, saw it pass within inches of his skin, leaped clear over the staff as the man drew it back for another thrust, landed, whirled, and struck at the man's shoulder. The man's speed was already taking him back out of range as Blade's hand descended. It struck hard enough to shake him, but nothing was broken or disabled. Before Blade could strike again, the man was out of range and his partner with the knives was almost within range.

Blade couldn't get completely clear of the knife man's rush. The point of one knife left a thin red line across his right arm-no deeper or more dangerous than a paper cut, fortunately, although it stung painfully. One of Blade's long legs whipped out, and a size 12 foot with a leather-tough sole drove into the knife man's thigh. If it had struck the knee the man would have been out of the fight, but he was moving fast enough to spoil Blade's aim. The kick jolted him violently, and he sprang out of range without trying to get another slash home with his knives.

For a moment Blade thought he had the time and the clear space to make a dash for the fallen staff. But his opponents recovered faster than he expected, flowing almost without a break from their retreat into their next attack. The knife man swung wide, until he was between Blade and the fallen staff. Then he and his partner came at Blade again, so fast and so close together that Blade wasn't sure he'd have time to meet them separately.

Once more Blade closed with the staff man, avoiding a thrust even more narrowly than the first time. He closed inside the man's striking range, but did not attack. Instead Blade gripped the staff with both hands, and used his superior strength to jerk both it and the man holding it forward. The knife man came in, suddenly finding himself within seconds of being impaled by the tip of his partner's staff. He slowed down to avoid this. Blade had enough time to wheel on one foot and drive the other into the knife man's stomach. The breath went out of him with a whufff and he reeled back without slashing at Blade.

Blade now shifted his grip on the staff. He kicked at the staff man's groin and at the same moment he heaved with all his strength on the staff. The man sprang clear in time to avoid the kick, letting go of his staff so suddenly that Blade was nearly thrown off-balance. Before he could grip the staff for either attack or defense, the knife man was coming in again.

Blade held the staff crossways and met the attack. Both knives chopped into the staff. The sharp edges with the heavy steel and the man's wiry strength behind them chopped through the wood. The staff fell into three pieces. Blade quickly opened the distance to keep the knife man from doing the same job on him.

The knife man handed one of his weapons to his partner, and both drew back. Both seemed to be a trifle less sure in their movements, and the man who'd held the staff was now rubbing his shoulder. They'd taken a certain amount of punishment-Blade could split two-by-fours with his hands, and without using his full strength. They hadn't taken enough to make them much less dangerous. In fact, now that both had knives, both would be deadly at close range.

The brief pause gave Blade plenty of time to snatch up the fallen staff. He raised it and whirled it over his head. It was light, supple, almost graceful. If he'd been choosing something for cracking skulls or ribs, he'd have chosen something a good deal heavier. Here he wasn't doing the choosing, and if the staff lasted long enough to take out one opponent, that would be enough.

Now Blade had the advantage in reach. He decided it was time to go over to the attack himself. He shifted swiftly to the right, then closed as the two men turned to face him. He whirled the staff end for end, thrusting out savagely with the weighted butt.

The staff struck when the two men were sure they were still out of range. The butt smacked into one man's knife arm. Blade saw his mouth clamp shut, and he sprang back. Blade whipped the staff up and shortened his second thrust. The second man grabbed the staff and shoved it to one side as he slashed at Blade with his knife.

Blade let go of the staff, sidestepped the slash, and clamped both hands down on the man's knife arm. He jerked hard, and the man screamed uncontrollably and horribly as both elbow and shoulder joints gave under the impossible strain. Blade whirled, turning his back on the man and crouching as he heaved with all his strength. The man flew over Blade's head and crashed to the ground. It didn't matter how much punishment he could take or how much pain he could endure-for him this fight was over.

Blade spun around, to see the second man charging him, one hand dangling uselessly but the knife raised in the other. The second staff was also cracked and useless. Blade decided it was time to use his surprise weapon.

By nimble footwork he avoided three furious rushes in the few seconds it took him to untie his sash. It was five feet long, and one end dangled as if weighted. It was. Into a pocket at one end Blade had sewn a number of pebbles and bits of scrap metal. Only a few ounces, but it should be enough. Blade began whirling the sash around his head.

His opponent hesitated for a moment, then decided he still had a chance. He ran at Blade, and this time his knife was raised even higher, to cut the sash apart and deprive Blade of his last weapon.

Blade whipped the sash forward, and with a hiss the weighted end wound itself three times around the man's upraised arm. Blade heaved with all his strength, and the man flew forward to meet Blade's foot slamming up into his groin. He folded in midair and struck the ground already doubled up and writhing. He did not cry out, but after a moment he choked and started vomiting.

Blade turned the man's head to one side so he would not choke on his own vomit. Then he examined the other man. He also was alive, although probably with a concussion and certainly with an arm he'd never be able to use again. Blade rather hoped there was a place among the Hashomi for the one-armed or the castrated, and that he hadn't condemned these men to death by defeating and crippling them. To be sure, they had put his life in considerable danger, but they'd hardly done this of their own free will.

Blade rewound his sash and retrieved both knives. Then he turned toward the watchers outside the tent. From the first moment of the fight they had ceased to exist as far as he was concerned. Yet it still lay with the Master to decide what Blade had won by defeating two picked Hashomi in a matter of minutes. The sun was no higher in the sky than it had been when the fight began, so it had to have been a matter of minutes, even though it felt like several hours.

The Master had risen and was walking slowly toward Blade, carrying his staff in one hand, his other thrust inside his robe: His face was blank, but the subtle quivering of his body told Blade that the Master was not as calm as he was pretending to be.

«So it is done,» the Master said quietly. «You have been tested and found-more than adequate.» His face twisted for a moment with some emotion Blade could not read-fear, rage, surprise, uncertainty? «In fact, you have made the testing as we conceived it a thing for children to laugh at!»

«I am sorry if I have done the Hashomi an injury by this,» said Blade, with an elaborate politeness he was far from feeling.

«Do not fear that,» said the Master. «It is not the way of the Hashomi to believe that we know everything merely because we are the Hashomi. There are those who know what we do not, and from whom we may learn if they are willing to teach us.

«As for your two opponents-«The Master broke off, and raised his staff. Blade's hands dropped to within inches of his knife hilts, fingers curling ready to grip. Then he forced himself to relax. The internal discipline of the Hashomi was not his affair, particularly when the price of trying to make it so could easily be death.

The Master's hands moved in a delicate pattern along his staff. A glossy red needle thrust itself out of the silver ball on the striking end. The Master walked over to the vomiting man, raised the staff, and brought it down. The needle drove deep into the man's neck. He straightened out, throwing his arms wide, his eyes rolling up in his head until only the whites were visible. Then he arched his back so violently and so far that Blade heard the spine crack, and went limp, blood trickling from his mouth, ears, and nose. The man with the disabled arm was still mercifully unconscious, and he died more peacefully.

Blade was waiting, arms crossed on his chest, when the Master came back to him. «Certainly you seem to have told the truth about what you learned as a British agent. It seems to be a strong and wise Order. Will you teach us as much of the agents' skills as we may need?»

«I do not know how much you may need. I can certainly teach you as much as I know. I trust that will be enough.»

«Of course,» said the Master, smiling with everything except his eyes.

«And in return,» said Blade, «I trust you will agree that I learn the ways of the Hashomi, without submitting to the drugs or being caged like an animal.» He made the words a flat statement, not a question. He would be polite to the Master if necessary, but never humble.

«You may trust me in that,» said the Master. «My word is law in the Valley of the Hashomi, and my word will be that the British agent Blade is to call the Valley of the Hashomi his home from this time onward.» The Master turned away, indicating that Blade should follow him.

Blade did so, his smile masking thoughts the Master might not have found agreeable. The Master could be trusted-to do anything that his own power or the power of the Hashomi might demand. For the moment, both demanded that he leave Blade alive and free. That moment would not last forever, and by the time it ended, Blade knew he would do well to be somewhere far from the valley, where the Master's word was not law and the hands of the Hashomi could not reach him easily.