CHAPTER 19

The next day a squad of soldiers appeared at the gate of Kiron's enclave, and escorted the two men to the arena, carefully keeping the citizens back from the Kalnorian hero.

They watched the first day of the Great Tournament from the royal pavilion, as guests of the Tarkan. As they entered and Kiron was recognized, a roar arose from the crowd.

Kiron's presence had packed the arena, and in addition the city had learned of the challenge which had been issued to Gorkok, although various tellings of the rumor had resulted in several different versions, with different challengers.

The crowd was wild with excitement, and cheered the contestants enthusiastically. The tension which gripped the city seemed to find a release in the arena.

Men from six cities competed this day, and the preliminary contests offered a great deal of entertainment.

Warriors competed with the bow, the lance, the knife, and in unarmed combat. Feats of skill in jumping, running, vaulting, and throwing were also exhibited, and various teams battled, as well as individuals.

Tarak enjoyed it tremendously, and Kiron explained each contest to him with detail, so he would understand the scoring and strategy. Because of the challenge Tarak had issued, Gorkok, at the Tarkan's order, did not compete in these early events, and many of them were thus more exciting, and drew more late entries.

Late in the day the arena was cleared, and the audience leaned forward to see the next attraction.

An iron gate opened in the near side of the thirty foot wall enclosing the arena, and Gorkok walked out, to stand arrogantly in the center of the arena floor.

Many cheered him, but far louder were the jeers, for he was unpopular in Kalnor. He was not Kalnorian, and his giant presence was a palpable reminder of the mercenary vise which had been strangling Kalnor for several years.

Gorkok stood silently, his mammoth arms folder across his chest, indifferent to the jeers of the crowd, and contemptuous of them.

Another door opened in the far side, and two men were shoved through by arena guards.

Each was armed with a sword and a leather shield. They were both well-proportioned warriors, large and strong, but neither advanced upon the man who waited in the center.

They stood hesitantly, holding their swords and shields, as the afternoon sum beat down upon the dirt.

Gorkok looked at them, and laughter bellowed from his throat. "Come to Gorkok!" he shouted. "Come and die like the vermin you are!"

Neither man moved, and finally Gorkok moved towards them.

As he walked he unsheathed his sword, and with his left hand grasped his shield, removing it from its position on his chest, and holding it effortlessly, carelessly, in his left hand.

The men had nowhere to run, and both knew that their greatest chance lay in fighting together, and staying away from the wall of the arena, where they would not be able to retreat.

They moved away from the wall, keeping close, and trying to circle the giant who stalked them. They stopped several feet apart, waiting for the giant's attack, their swords held low, their shields to the front.

Gorkok moved in with deceptive speed, totally ignoring the man on his left, as he attacked the other, slashing across in a whirling downward stroke.

The man parried the blow, stepping backward ad he did so, and his companion, sensing an opening, leaped in to attack Gorkok's exposed flank. The giant's slashing blow had caused a slight overbalance, and the warrior moved quickly in with tense eagerness and new hope.

Even as he slashed at the first man, however, Gorkok's left arm was moving to meet the anticipated blow of the second. The man's sword met the leather shield of the giant backed by all the strength in that immense arm, and the attacker's arm shook with the impact.

Gorkok had caught the warrior's sword near the hilt, and so terrific was his blow that the man almost lost his sword.

He tried to step back from the numbing shock, but even as he moved backward Gorkok completed his turn, and his sword came flashing down.

His sword arm numbed from the encounter with Gorkok's shield, the man tried to block with his shield.

Leather shields were most effectively for turning away blows, rather than stopping them directly. Properly used they were an effective defense, and an expert often attempted to cause his opponent's sword blade to jam within the thick leather.

Gorkok's attack was so swift that the warrior had no time to think. In his shock the man simply stuck his shield out in front, directly meeting the sword.

Gorkok's blade sheared through the shield with such force that it was torn from the warrior's hand, and as the sword continued its stroke it sheared as well through the hand and lower arm of the warrior.

The man leaped back, screaming, but even faster cam Gorkok. The warrior vainly tried to block the next blow, again by simply placing his sword in the path of the attacker's weapon.

The blades met, and the force of the collision knocked the warrior's sword through the air, as the man crumpled to the ground, his right arm sliced off at the shoulder by the stroke.

Gorkok's attack had taken mere seconds, and now he turned as the first man, who had recovered from the initial slash, was attacking from the rear.

Gorkok had been listening for the attack while he had dispatched the other, and he whirled and met the warrior's stroke with his own sword, turning it aside easily.

He laughed then, and tossed his shield to the ground, while the man backed away, looking at Gorkok and then at the crippled warrior screaming in the dirt, lying next to his severed arm.

Fear overcame the warrior, and he moved quickly backward.

Gorkok was quick to attack, with a vicious slash, right to left.

The man parried, stepping to the right, when Gorkok stepped in suddenly, reaching for the man's shield.

Their blades met and slid away, but Gorkok's fingers were inside the warrior's guard, streaking for his throat.

Tarak remembered that this was a favorite tactic of the wroks, when the creatures were fighting men who used shields instead of knives, for works could often be bested in swordsmanship by their more skillful and intelligent opponents.

Here, however, Gorkok was not afraid of defeat. He simply wanted to kill the an with his hands. His movement caught the warrior off guard, and even as the man tried to step back, the giant's fingers gripped his throat.

The warrior tried to scream, but could make no sound as Gorkok dragged him back, and lifted him into in the air with one huge arm.

Choking and filled with terror, the warrior tried to dislodge those terrible fingers, but Gorkok laughed and began to shake the warrior violently, steadily increasing the pressure of his grip until his fingers met in a fist.

The warrior was dead, his swollen eyes bulging from a purplish face, and still Gorkok shook him.

The giant roared with savage bloodlust, threw the corpse down into the dirt, and moved toward the other dying man.

As he neared his victim he leaped high into the air, and landed with his entire weight on the man's head, crushing it like an eggshell. He laughed as he looked down at the grisly remains, and walked back into he center of the arena.

The crowd was infuriated, but Gorkok ignored them, saluting the Tarkan, and folding his arms again across his chest.

Twice more pairs of condemned swordsmen were sent out against him, with similar grisly results, and then three unarmed men were driven into the arena.

These he attacked with his hands, crushing their bones, ripping out throats, and twisting limbs into bizarre positions, as the men lay shrieking in the dust.

One man was dealt a blow to his head which broke his spine instantly. Another beat at Gorkok helplessly as the man was picked up in both arms, and slammed down against the giant's knee, breaking his back.

Within the space of an hour Gorkok had killed eight armed men, and ten who had fought without weapons, the last time killing four unarmed men with his hands and feet.

Kiron explained that these were executions, and that the men were criminals, though many were political criminals.

"As long as the men are not well known, Malenot will have them killed publicly. This tends to stifle dissent."

"I can imagine that it would," remarked Tarak.

When the slaughter was finished, Gorkok leisurely walked over to stand beneath the royal box. He bowed to the Tarkan, then looked up at Tarak, his black eyes blazing with lust. His giant frame was covered with the blood of his victims, but he seemed scarcely blemished, and stood effortlessly, without a trace of fatigue.

"You shall soon bleed here in the dirt!" he shouted, laughing. "You may have a knife as well as a shield! I will use it to skin you here before the feet of the Tarkan, while you scream with broken bones and blinded eyes!"

Tarak looked down at the huge man, his face impassive. He raised his voice, so the giant would hear his words clearly.

"I shall need no knife, Gorkok. Nor a shield."

Kiron looked over at his companion in amazement, but Tarak ignored him, and continued.

"Against such a wrok as you a sword shall be more than sufficient."

Gorkok's laughter died, and a look of rage contorted his features. Those seated nearby heard the exchange, and cheered wildly, craning their heads to get a better view of this strange blond Nerosian who taunted the savage Champion so indifferently. Quickly the word spread, and soon everyone in the arena was cheering.

Gorkok attempted to reply, but his words were lost in the noise, and angrily he spat and turned to leave the arena.

Malenot was looking at Tarak balefully, and Kiron was smiling, and shaking his head in wonder.

The Tarkan rose then, signaling the end of the first day of the tournament, and departed for the palace, leaving his men to escort Kiron and Tarak back to their quarters.

"Why did you spurn the use of the knife," Kiron asked as they were making their way back to his home.

"You saw what he can do to one who fights without a knife, and a shield would certainly be of some help."

"The shield is worthless against him," answered Tarak. "That fact is obvious to everyone. He is too strong. A knife would be useful, but if I refuse one, he will also fight without a knife. I can only assume that he is superb with a knife, whether fighting or throwing. I do not wish to try to avoid a thrown knife."

The Kalnorian nodded, smiling.

"I see," he laughed, and slapped Tarak on the back.

"Perhaps you have a chance after all."

Tarak looked at him.

"Until I am killed, I shall always have a chance, no matter what I fight."

That night they practiced long and hard with the sword, and the next day went again to the tournament.

Gorkok was not in the arena this day, and they heard that he was preparing for his challenge.

The games were exciting again that day, and Kiron was pleased to see Malenot's mercenary warriors doing so poorly.

Contestants from the forest city of Car led in the overall standings, followed by those of Elur and Senta.

Kalnor had few native contestants, for most of her warriors were afraid to enter the city. The best warriors had fled when Malenot had seized power, and those who had returned to enter the tournament afterward had too often not been seen again.

For most of a week Tarak and Kiron spent their days at the tournament, and their mornings and evenings fighting in the courtyard of Kiron's home. During this period Tarak became increasingly skillful, for his natural ability and swift mind enabled him to learn quickly that which he did not already know. Kiron was amazed at Tarak's grasp of swordplay, and rarely did he fool the barbarian twice with the same trick. Both men enjoyed fighting, and they battled for long hours, each learning from the other, and teaching in return.

Nothing had been learned concerning Leanna, but Kiron knew his friends would discover her whereabouts eventually, even though they might now be able to communicate this information to Kiron. He thought that she had probably been made a personal slave of the Tarkan.

Finally came the end of the last day of the tournament, except for the final and greatest event, which would be held the next day. Malenot's men had failed to win even one event, and the populace cheered the winners with an excitement not seen in Kalnor in years.

Each day the arena was jammed with thousands upon thousands of citizens and spectators, and as the tournament continued the crowds began to let their contempt for the mercenaries be known.

They jeered Malenot's men, much to his surprise and anger, and cheered loudly when a foe from another city was victorious.

"Your presence had ignited the city," Tarak commented to Kiron on the last day. "They are truly a spirited people."

"Perhaps," admitted Kiron. "But more than that is the challenge you have issued. The people hope against hope that Gorkok will fall. Without his defeat, all Malenot's failures are as nothing. Long have the people lived under the presence of his sword, and none has come forth to challenge. Now a challenger has appeared, and the people seem to feel that they too are a part of the challenge."

"But I am not of Kalnor," said Tarak.

Kiron shook his head.

"It does not matter. You have challenged Gorkok. That is all that matters."

The Tark smiled.

"Besides, you don't know where you were born. Perhaps you are a Kalnorian after all."

Tarak laughed. "Perhaps."

That night Kalnor was the scene of great festivity. The entire city seemed to be celebrating, and sounds and lights carried to the two men who sat in the living chamber of Kiron of Kalnor, drinking wine in front of a roaring fire.

Each man was attended by a beautiful slave girl, as they sat and talked, quietly, in sharp contrast to the pandemonium which reigned outside the walls of the compound.

Both men seemed relaxed, as they sat and drank, looking up leisurely at one another, laughing, and watching the shadows created by the firelight.

Tarak stroked his lovely attendant.

"This girl is pretty, Kiron, but not so pretty as the slave who attended my needs in Neros."

Kiron laughed.

"I think you would find that slave a bit different should you encounter her here in Kalnor. You may survive Gorkok, but I would leave the city, if I were you, rather than meet Rela in her house. She would never let you go."

Tarak nodded, grinning.

"I am planning to depart hastily when that time arrives."

"I am glad to know that you at least realize some limitations," replied Kiron, still laughing.

Both men laughed, and then Kiron grew serious.

"Whatever happens, we have at least survived until now, my friend. That was our objective. Atal Throom should soon be approaching Kalnor."

Tarak nodded.

"Perhaps he will arrive tomorrow. That would make it indeed an interesting day."

Then he raised his goblet.

"I drink to you, Kiron. To your city, and to your House."

Kiron accepted the toast, and raised his own goblet.

"And to you, my friend, who came out of the mountains, to fight so valiantly for two cities."

They were silent for a long moment, and then Tarak looked back at his friend.

"If I defeat Gorkok tomorrow, do you think Malenot will fight you?"

Kiron smiled.

"Our Tarkan is a formidable swordsman, but no, he will not fight. He knows I would kill him. He did not become Tarkan by being a fool. If you win, Tarak, we shall have to fight for our lives. By refusing to fight me Malenot will lose the respect of the people. It is for this reason that I agreed to his wager. His life is more precious to him than his respect, but without the respect of the people, he may well fall. He will try to have me killed immediately, should you triumph, since with me killed he will have a better chance of controlling the populace."

"In any event, Kiron," Tarak said, "We shall live or die together."

"So be it," Kiron agreed.

Then they rose, toasted once more, and retreated to their separate sleeping quarters, while the city raged with festivity around them.