Free Mutiny in Space by Avram Davidson Page B

watching crowd, but not till the circle of combat had turned his way again was Jory able to see the cause. A trickle of blood from Nelsa’s forehead coursed down onto her face, narrowly — fortunately — missing the eye. Attracted like a fly to the blood, Sejarra struck out again and again toward the cut, never achieving her earlier success, but continuing — almost as though hypnotized — to try.
    In so doing, and doing so once too often, she left herself open. Even as her sword clove the air, her antagonist went on one knee, struck with a double chopping movement whose noise, though dull, was clearly heard. It did not seem to pierce the armor of Sejarra’s leg, but she stumbled. Nelsa swung her body around and chopped again.
    Again, they were on their feet, again Nelsa with her back and Sejarra with her face toward Jory. Again Sejarra stumbled, and this time Jory saw why. The tape which bound the greaves upon one of her legs had been cut, and the pieces hung loose, bumping back and forth with each movement. They were obviously not going to remain as they were much longer, and Sejarra, evidently realizing this, endeavored to move the leg as little as possible; tried to tempt Nelsa into coming closer.
    But Nelsa would not be tempted.
    “Fool, fool!” O-Narra said, almost breathlessly. “Why doesn’t she ask a quittance until the armor is repaired? The Code would justify it.”
    But Sejarra was obviously far from thinking of the niceties of the Code. In another moment her actions ceased to be motivated by conscious thought at all, became purely visceral. She wavered, waved her arms woodenly, staggered, then leaned over and was violently sick.
    The fight ended then and there.
    Nelsa simply walked away. Sejarra made no attempt to follow, and, indeed, did not seem to notice. Moha came up and put out her arm, but it was pushed away. With a shrug, Moha, after a second, went away. Everybody went away. Jory, looking over his shoulder, saw the woman, her head still down, standing quite alone.
    No one could say, afterward, when she had left.
    At first, wrenching his mind with difficulty away from the duel whose sounds still echoed in his ears, Jory was intending only to rejoin Rond and the men, who had looked on from a slight rise of ground off to one side a bit. But Jory’s progress was impeded — gently, respectfully, even involuntarily — by the crowds of newcomers, the existence of whom (although they had been the cause of the fight) he had for the moment forgotten.
    Their small hands plucked at his clothes … or, perhaps they only caressed … and their voices, scarcely above a whisper, murmured,
Giant … Great Man … Great Man … Giant … Giant …
    O-Narra saw his mild difficulty and, smiling slightly, came toward him, speaking.
    “Here are the Giants,” she said. “You see them — the Great Men. They cannot talk now with every one of you. Be sure they wish you well. And now — ”
    She was about to ask them to return, but Jory, to whom an idea had suddenly, almost violently, occurred, stepped up beside her. “And now,” he said, “give no cause for offense, but wait quietly till we have washed and eaten and begun our journey to the saintly King. And then, still quietly, come with us on our pilgrimage.” There was an instant’s stunned silence. Then another shout went up. Then, bowing, faces glowing, the small men retreated. What, exactly, they had had in mind, Jory did not know, but that more than a quick peek and then a return to the old order was involved was obvious. The men had brought food, bedding, wood and small stoves, walking-staves, new clothes, children, pet animals…. In another moment the sound of their prayers and the smell of their incense filled the air.
    In less than half an hour the procession moved off.
    It never ceased growing. At least two and fragments of several other outlaw bands joined it — wandering and nonwandering clerics of both sexes, widowers and orphans, peasants,