After standing for a short time in the sun, Korkungal’s head became hot and he was forced to remove the helmet. Once he had done this he felt at a loss. There was a new swagger in his movements: he was aware of the new strength implicit in the breastplate and the bulk of the helmet under his arm was commanding and sweet.
But what tasks awaited him?
The blank wall of the Temple rose up before him in the sunlight and the dwellings fronting the garden were inert and silent.
Momentarily useless, he felt foolish.
Then he took a deep breath and let the foolishness pass over him and go beyond him. He plunged through the sunlight, finding relief in this activity, his new cloak flapping out behind him, and marched between the thatched wooden houses.
Klimbah had not moved. He lay out under the same tree, the crown of his head touching the lowest branches. Harmesh lay beside him, his head resting on the giant’s broad chest. Klimbah stroked his brow. His eyes were closed, but they shot open when he heard the rustle of Korkungal’s cloak. He pushed Klimbah’s hand away and jumped to his feet and ran towards Korkungal, crying excitedly. Korkungal stood still, a self-conscious smile softening his features, as Harmesh danced about him, touching his cloak and exclaiming rapturously at seeing so much finery. He quietened then and approached Korkungal with a secretive look and lifted the cloak apart. Seeing the new armour, he raised his eyes to Korkungal’s and smiled proudly. He called repeatedly to Klimbah until the giant laboriously pushed himself to his feet and came over. He circled Korkungal, nodding in sleepy appreciation.
Harmesh remained relatively quiet while Klimbah inspected Korkungal, but now he sprang to life again. He grabbed Korkungal’s hand and pulled him in the direction of the watch-tower, calling Klimbah to follow.
In the watch-tower, he led them up past Korkungal’s chamber to his own. Aware of being in control of the situation, he fussed about behind his couch, out of sight of Korkungal and Klimbah, talking to himself and now and then throwing remarks at the giant, who, however, remained silent. Suddenly, he drew himself upright and pressed his palms to his cheeks, and brushed past the two warriors and disappeared down the stairway. Soon he was back again, Korkungal’s sword in his hand, He wiped the blade perfunctorily on the furs that covered his couch and brought it, ceremoniously laid across his open palms, to Korkungal, who looked from it to Harmesh’s face in puzzlement. Harmesh returned his gaze and appeared to wait. When Korkungal failed to make the desired response, he shook his shoulders in annoyance and swiftly slid the sword into the scabbard. Arms akimbo, he stepped back, nodding away in satisfaction. Korkungal stared down at the now mated sword and scabbard, the light of understanding widening his eyes. He pulled the sword part-way out of the scabbard and pushed it back in. Now the blunt end of the sword made sense to him.
Harmesh had meanwhile returned to fussing about behind his couch. At last he straightened, a look of triumph on his face. He held a long spear in one hand and a shorter one in the other and gestured that Korkungal was to take them. Korkungal wrapped his battle-hand about both shafts.
Now Harmesh gathered up an assortment of weapons: swords, spears and axes, and headed towards the stairway, nodding that Korkungal was to follow. Outside, he threw the weapons down on to the grass in the open space between the watch-tower and the Temple, Korkungal joined him and stood looking down at the jumbled pile of weapons. With pent-up excitement, Harmesh clenched his small fists and flexed his slim shoulders, talking all the while. Korkungal slipped his cloak from his shoulders and stood uncertain for a time watching the antics of liar mesh. Obviously, he was now to begin training the youth.
Harmesh glanced slyly at him and suddenly darted and picked up a spear from the pile on the ground and ran at Korkungal. Instinctively alert at once, Korkungal fell back,
dropping the shorter spear and levelling the longer one. Harmesh came on at him without slackening his speed, a broad grin on his face. With practiced deliberation, Korkungal swung his spear to deflect Harmesh’s, but the youth surprised him by executing a deft counter-stroke with lithe speed. Before Korkungal could retreat and take up a defensive position, Harmesh had swerved to his left and struck him with his spear on the breastplate. Korkungal bellowed more in anger than in pain at being so easily beaten. Harmesh careered past him and came to a halt behind him, chuckling breathlessly. Korkungal swung about, intent now upon teaching the youth a lesson, He raised his spear and cast it. But a metal-tipped spear is not a wooden throwing stick and Korkungal did not take account of the extra weight and unfamiliar balance in his haste. Harmesh stood his ground, spear at the ready, and watched Korkungal’s missile quickly lose height and bury itself in the ground a man’s length from his feet. He cried out to attract the fuming Korkungal’s attention, and when he had succeeded he raised his own spear and threw it. Korkungal watched it arc towards him, its head burnished in the sun, with a kind of silly fascination. At the last moment he leaped to one side and saw it shoot through the space he had just vacated and thud into the turf.
Harmesh whooped and leaped in the air with delight.
Korkungal stared at the trembling shaft for some time. He was angry; he was confused. To train the young in arms was a source of great pleasure of condescendence for the teacher; it also had the merit of being necessary knowledge and of instilling respect for their elders in youth. But this youth, Harmesh, required no training in arms. Yet he was lacking in respect for his elders. This shamed Korkungal, it shamed him because it transgressed the ordering of things among men, and he felt himself grow small and alone in the world. He glanced at Klimbah, who stood to one side. The giant watched them both with an impassive face. Korkungal pulled the spear from the ground and turned to face Harmesh, knowing that what he had to teach him might bring him into conflict with Klimbah, whose prowess he respected, and the inhabitants of the Ka. He levelled the spear and began to advance slowly, his eyes riveted upon the slender form of the youth. He must rid himself of the shame, for it unmanned him, and he must do it regardless of the cost to himself. The familiar sink of death-possibility gripped him and the world at the edge of his vision warped and became monstrous.
Seeing Korkungal approach, Harmesh grinned broadly and picked up the spear the Brigan warrior had thrown so clumsily. He flexed his shoulders and crouched, imitating Korkungal’s grave manner. When they had drawn close, Korkungal jabbed at Harmesh’s breast. The youth sprang to the right and raised his spear with the intention of driving it once again into Korkungal’s breastplate. But Korkungal followed his thrust by suddenly swinging the shaft of his spear and striking Harmesh behind the knees. He screamed with pain and began to fall, and screamed with pain again as the flat of Korkungal’s spearhead came down on his shoulder. He writhed on the grass, crying shrilly in pain and spite. Korkungal made the rhetorical gesture of placing the point of his spear against Harmesh’s throat and then stood back and resumed his crouched position over his spear. Somewhat mollified, he spoke:
‘You are a difficult pupil, Youth of the Ka.’
Harmesh stared up at him with tear-filled eyes. His surprise was great, but his outrage was greater. He looked about him and shouted for Klimbah. Immediately, Korkungal fell back and took up a position that gave him sight of both Klimbah and Harmesh. The giant had not moved and he remained still, his massive arms folded across his blue-black chest. Harmesh called him again, his voice more imperious now. The giant remained unmoved and merely spoke a few words in reply.
As Korkungal watched, prepared for his end, he saw Harmesh throw a tantrum and Klimbah stare impassively at him. Harmesh screamed and yelled and beat the ground with his fists, but when he realised that no one would help him he quietened. Slowly, he got to his feet and rubbed his bruised body. He tried to move Klimbah with pathos, by whimpering and stretching his face; but the giant was unmoved.
Korkungal relaxed his guard, set his spear in the grass and leaned on it. Again he was seeing the peculiar relations that existed between Harmesh and Klimbah, which reminded him of those
between nursemaid and child. It was strange to see warriors behaving in this manner, and though he should feel unease, for it reflected upon himself as a warrior, he was instead amused. It confirmed his opinion that the Ka was defended by slaves. And yet the superior weapons and the fighting skills of the two men could not be doubted.
Harmesh had continued to whimper and now Klimbah jerked one massive arm out and spoke. Harmesh listened intently, looking from time to time at Korkungal. He nodded once sullenly, then brightened and nodded again, a grin spreading across his face. He clapped his hands and ran to the pile of weapons. Klimbah went into the watch-tower. Korkungal stiffened and raised his spear. Harmesh chose a sword, weighing it with evident satisfaction, and came towards the watchful Brigan. Klimbah brought a shield and helped fit it onto Harmesh’s arm. He resumed his pacing, only his eyes visible above the rim of the shield. They were bright with mockery. The shield, strapped with bright metal, was like the setting sun, brilliant as fire. The sword, by contrast, gleamed hard and cold in the sunlight.
Korkungal readied himself. He did not complain about the imbalance of arms, for this was no game. He came into himself instead and felt his whole being and experience gather about the death-possibility. He was immensely satisfied, for he was about to justify himself or die.
What other purpose had a warrior?
Harmesh approached until his shield touched the tip of Korkungal’s spear. His eyes were smiling, but they no longer held the gaiety of youth. Like Korkungal, he saw death-possibility, and it satisfied him, though he was young and would lose much of the experience of life.
He rattled his shield against Korkungal’s spear and spoke a few words, as though incantating. Then he raised his sword and cut at Korkungal, who leaped away and jabbed his spear at the youth’s belly – it was deflected by a twist of the shield. They circled one another. Korkungal feinting and Harmesh tapping his sword against the rim of his shield. They grew dazed at seeing each other against a swirling, fluid background, and when the dizziness brought on the sudden surge of energy and exultation they both shouted aloud and rushed together. The confined space between the Temple and the watch-tower rang with the sharp clatter of arms in combat, Korkungal feinted and thrust, testing Harmesh’s ability with the shield, to find a blind spot in his defence. Harmesh concentrated upon this defence, his mouth grim as he countered Korkungal’s skill, and contented himself with making frequent slashes with the sword, which however were harmless, for Korkungal kept him a spear-length away.
They fought like this for a long time, then Harmesh broke and fell back, shield high and sword pointed into the ground, Korkungal followed him eagerly, thinking that the youth was tired, he rammed his spear into the shield and Harmesh staggered and turned and dropped on to one knee. Korkungal saw the exposed flank of flesh and his mind lit in anticipation. He did not see the sword rise but felt only the shock down his arms as it sliced through the shaft of his spear just behind the metal head. Harmesh was immediately on his feet again, coming forward, and Korkungal fell back, momentarily stupefied by the cunning and skill of one so young. He stared at the splintered end of his spear. Harmesh sliced at his head and only instinct saved him from decapitation. He continued to retreat, trying desperately to control his confusion, using the shaft to ward off Harmesh’s cuts and sweeps. Now Harmesh began to circle him, teasing him, delaying the final moment, And now Korkungal the Victorious, the Warrior of Kings, saw the humiliation that was about to be made his. Who was to sing of his death? Who of his people were here to mourn and praise him? Korkungal, the Warrior of the Briga, grew smaller than he had ever been before, grew small to the point of extinction. His pride and his self-glory vanished and he was alone in a way he had never been before. He was without past, without friends, almost now without name. He would have cried to the sky and would have sank to his knees in submission if one thing had not remained in him. Life for the sake of life surged in him, made his head hot, made his face quiver with insane need. He went forward with a power and a strength that was not warrior-made, that was not tribe-made, not even, perhaps, man-made, and brought the shaft down upon the shield of the unprepared Harmesh. The shaft broke into splinters and the shock paralysed Korkungal’s hands and arms. It folded the shield outwards and bits of metal cracked and shot away and Harmesh lifted off the ground and tumbled over, his screams lacking the mediation of his vanity. Korkungal was remorseless. He fell on the semiconscious Harmesh and tore at him with his numb hands, his breath coming in short, hot bursts, his throat tight but trying to form words of scorn and hate. He found the slim neck and his hands attempted to encircle it, to strangle the life out of the one who had aroused this murderous passion – but they could not, for they were stiff and numb.
He slumped over Harmesh and cried out of frustration.
Chapter Eleven