The Golden Dynasty
Page 83
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And that was when he took his stance and without hesitation and with a mighty roar he charged Lahn.
And Dortak didn’t wait to be just what Dortak was.
An ass**le, a jerk, the king of all dicks and, lastly, a f**king, dirty, little cheat.
For during his charge, his left hand came up and swung out, leaving a trail of yellow dust. He whirled himself to avoid it getting in his face, advancing through it with his back and my guess was that whatever it was would blind his opponent.
A hush of shock settled instantly over the already quiet crowd.
I held my breath again but as Lahn promised, I needn’t have worried. He was prepared. I knew this when he instantly dropped, tucking in his body, he landed on a shoulder, rolling, legs over head, he then twisted and rolled again sideways several times, landing on his back well clear of the dust. Then, without delay, he did one of those awesome knee lifts where he kicked out and, using the power of his legs and strength of his abs, he regained his feet without using his hands.
Oh yeah, my husband was a badass.
It was then I held my breath yet again but not from fear.
From awe.
I had heard a lot about what a fierce warrior my king was, how strong, how swift, how smart. I knew his strength personally.
But I had no idea.
No freaking clue.
Dortak charged again in full on attack. And then again. And again. And repeat. And each time he did, Lahn’s body moved or swayed gracefully, every swing or thrust Dortak threw, Lahn avoided it and not just by a whisper but by a mile. It was like Lahn was in his mind and knew exactly what move he would make. He did ducking twirls, the plait I’d braided in his hair flying as Dortak’s blade whistled through the air six inches above him. He jerked his torso back and Dortak’s steel whizzed by him. Dortak would thrust and Lahn would turn full circle and Dortak wouldn’t catch nothing but air.
After this went on a long time, suddenly, Lahn closed in on him, avoided his sword, took his arm and with apparent ease, he flipped warrior and sword, Dortak landing on his back on stone. Without hesitation, Lahn kicked him in the mouth and blood spewed as his head jerked fully around.
Lahn took a step back, declaring, “First blood.”
This must have meant something for the crowd, watching in silence until that moment, went berserk as a cheer rent the air.
And they continued to cheer as Dortak jumped to his feet and, infuriated, yet again attacked, his swings and thrusts no longer calculated in any way but clearly, even to someone like me who knew nothing of this kind of stuff, no longer strategic but angry.
Lahn, too, changed his tactic. He no longer swayed, turned and ducked. With every swing or thrust he avoided, he finished his movement by landing blow after blow on Dortak, a powerful jab to the ribs that made Dortak grunt; a strike to the jaw that made more blood spew from his mouth; a heel to the back of his knee that made Dortak fall hard to that knee and so on.
Again, this went on a long time, so long, Lahn had opened an oozing cut on Dortak’s cheekbone, blood was pouring from his mouth from lost teeth and two cuts on his lips, there were fierce, angry red welts all over Dortak’s torso and back where Lahn’s fists had connected and Lahn reopened the wound Mahyah had delivered to his shoulder. Blood was leaking and Dortak’s anger had turned to wrath, his grunts of pain and effort filled the air, his sweat mingled with his blood and his movements became jerky and uncoordinated with the beating he was taking, the effort he was expending and the emotion he should have kept in check.
Then, so fast it was hard to believe I’d seen it, Lahn’s hand snaked out, he stole Dortak’s knife at his belt and planted it in his shoulder. Then without hesitation as Dortak shouted with surprise, pain and frustration, Lahn’s hand darted in again, stole Dortak’s other blade and planted it in the old, now bleeding again wound Mahyah had given him.
Dortak retreated five steps all the while bellowing in rage.
The crowd, however, went wild with sheer glee.
Someone close to the front shouted, “Puntay zan, kah Dax!” End him, my king!
And this shout struck up a chant, Puntay zan! Puntay zan! Puntay zan!
But Lahn wasn’t done playing and when Dortak yanked the blades out of his flesh one by one, tossed them aside and rushed Lahn with his sword raised high, Lahn ducked to avoid his steel but lifted an arm. Grabbing Dortak’s sword hand and keeping it held high, Lahn punched him in the stomach on Dortak’s advance, then delivered a blow to the kidneys at the back, then he whirled, lifted a leg and planted a boot in Dortak’s back at the same time he yanked down on Dortak’s arm so viciously, I could hear the bone break even though I was at least twenty feet away.
The crowd roared at the sound as did Dortak but his cry was of pain. He fell flat on his face and dropped his sword, no longer able to carry the heavy weapon in hand on an arm attached to a fractured shoulder.
Lahn stepped several feet away as Dortak struggled to his healthy (ish) hand then got his knees under him.
“Again, my brother, I’d like to hear it. What did you intend to do with my tigress?” Lahn called and Dortak, on one hand and both knees, turned his head to look over his shoulder and up at Lahn. His face was red, sweating, bloody and twisted not just with hate but with not a small amount of pain. “My golden goddess opened the heavens and commanded their tears when your bride left this earth. She drew a rainbow in the sky to guide her ashes to the next realm. When you fall, the heavens won’t weep and she won’t waste her magic on a rainbow. When your lifeblood hits stone that is the closest you’ll get to the heavens. My golden bride will need to waste no energy in guiding your spirit to eternal agony. Your spirit will know exactly where it’s meant to go.”
With visible effort, Dortak pushed himself to his feet, grunted with pain when he bent to retrieve his sword in his left, non-dominant hand and he lifted it clumsily toward Lahn.
Lahn stared at him. Then he turned only his head to me.
“Are you bored yet?” he enquired.
I kind of wasn’t. It was gruesome but it was also, I had to admit, kind of cool.
But I had the feeling my husband was done so I called out, “Meena, kah Dax. Na weykun kay nahna quaxi. Ta jahnay boonahn keeta jahko. Kay zookay juno.” Yes, my king. You promised me your paint. We have better things to do. I want to play.
At my words the crowd, again, went wild.
Lahn grinned.
I grinned back.
Then with a mighty roar that probably took all the energy he had left, Dortak charged, Lahn’s head turned back then I stopped thinking this was in any way cool and stared in a horror I hoped I hid as my king ended the contest.
And Dortak didn’t wait to be just what Dortak was.
An ass**le, a jerk, the king of all dicks and, lastly, a f**king, dirty, little cheat.
For during his charge, his left hand came up and swung out, leaving a trail of yellow dust. He whirled himself to avoid it getting in his face, advancing through it with his back and my guess was that whatever it was would blind his opponent.
A hush of shock settled instantly over the already quiet crowd.
I held my breath again but as Lahn promised, I needn’t have worried. He was prepared. I knew this when he instantly dropped, tucking in his body, he landed on a shoulder, rolling, legs over head, he then twisted and rolled again sideways several times, landing on his back well clear of the dust. Then, without delay, he did one of those awesome knee lifts where he kicked out and, using the power of his legs and strength of his abs, he regained his feet without using his hands.
Oh yeah, my husband was a badass.
It was then I held my breath yet again but not from fear.
From awe.
I had heard a lot about what a fierce warrior my king was, how strong, how swift, how smart. I knew his strength personally.
But I had no idea.
No freaking clue.
Dortak charged again in full on attack. And then again. And again. And repeat. And each time he did, Lahn’s body moved or swayed gracefully, every swing or thrust Dortak threw, Lahn avoided it and not just by a whisper but by a mile. It was like Lahn was in his mind and knew exactly what move he would make. He did ducking twirls, the plait I’d braided in his hair flying as Dortak’s blade whistled through the air six inches above him. He jerked his torso back and Dortak’s steel whizzed by him. Dortak would thrust and Lahn would turn full circle and Dortak wouldn’t catch nothing but air.
After this went on a long time, suddenly, Lahn closed in on him, avoided his sword, took his arm and with apparent ease, he flipped warrior and sword, Dortak landing on his back on stone. Without hesitation, Lahn kicked him in the mouth and blood spewed as his head jerked fully around.
Lahn took a step back, declaring, “First blood.”
This must have meant something for the crowd, watching in silence until that moment, went berserk as a cheer rent the air.
And they continued to cheer as Dortak jumped to his feet and, infuriated, yet again attacked, his swings and thrusts no longer calculated in any way but clearly, even to someone like me who knew nothing of this kind of stuff, no longer strategic but angry.
Lahn, too, changed his tactic. He no longer swayed, turned and ducked. With every swing or thrust he avoided, he finished his movement by landing blow after blow on Dortak, a powerful jab to the ribs that made Dortak grunt; a strike to the jaw that made more blood spew from his mouth; a heel to the back of his knee that made Dortak fall hard to that knee and so on.
Again, this went on a long time, so long, Lahn had opened an oozing cut on Dortak’s cheekbone, blood was pouring from his mouth from lost teeth and two cuts on his lips, there were fierce, angry red welts all over Dortak’s torso and back where Lahn’s fists had connected and Lahn reopened the wound Mahyah had delivered to his shoulder. Blood was leaking and Dortak’s anger had turned to wrath, his grunts of pain and effort filled the air, his sweat mingled with his blood and his movements became jerky and uncoordinated with the beating he was taking, the effort he was expending and the emotion he should have kept in check.
Then, so fast it was hard to believe I’d seen it, Lahn’s hand snaked out, he stole Dortak’s knife at his belt and planted it in his shoulder. Then without hesitation as Dortak shouted with surprise, pain and frustration, Lahn’s hand darted in again, stole Dortak’s other blade and planted it in the old, now bleeding again wound Mahyah had given him.
Dortak retreated five steps all the while bellowing in rage.
The crowd, however, went wild with sheer glee.
Someone close to the front shouted, “Puntay zan, kah Dax!” End him, my king!
And this shout struck up a chant, Puntay zan! Puntay zan! Puntay zan!
But Lahn wasn’t done playing and when Dortak yanked the blades out of his flesh one by one, tossed them aside and rushed Lahn with his sword raised high, Lahn ducked to avoid his steel but lifted an arm. Grabbing Dortak’s sword hand and keeping it held high, Lahn punched him in the stomach on Dortak’s advance, then delivered a blow to the kidneys at the back, then he whirled, lifted a leg and planted a boot in Dortak’s back at the same time he yanked down on Dortak’s arm so viciously, I could hear the bone break even though I was at least twenty feet away.
The crowd roared at the sound as did Dortak but his cry was of pain. He fell flat on his face and dropped his sword, no longer able to carry the heavy weapon in hand on an arm attached to a fractured shoulder.
Lahn stepped several feet away as Dortak struggled to his healthy (ish) hand then got his knees under him.
“Again, my brother, I’d like to hear it. What did you intend to do with my tigress?” Lahn called and Dortak, on one hand and both knees, turned his head to look over his shoulder and up at Lahn. His face was red, sweating, bloody and twisted not just with hate but with not a small amount of pain. “My golden goddess opened the heavens and commanded their tears when your bride left this earth. She drew a rainbow in the sky to guide her ashes to the next realm. When you fall, the heavens won’t weep and she won’t waste her magic on a rainbow. When your lifeblood hits stone that is the closest you’ll get to the heavens. My golden bride will need to waste no energy in guiding your spirit to eternal agony. Your spirit will know exactly where it’s meant to go.”
With visible effort, Dortak pushed himself to his feet, grunted with pain when he bent to retrieve his sword in his left, non-dominant hand and he lifted it clumsily toward Lahn.
Lahn stared at him. Then he turned only his head to me.
“Are you bored yet?” he enquired.
I kind of wasn’t. It was gruesome but it was also, I had to admit, kind of cool.
But I had the feeling my husband was done so I called out, “Meena, kah Dax. Na weykun kay nahna quaxi. Ta jahnay boonahn keeta jahko. Kay zookay juno.” Yes, my king. You promised me your paint. We have better things to do. I want to play.
At my words the crowd, again, went wild.
Lahn grinned.
I grinned back.
Then with a mighty roar that probably took all the energy he had left, Dortak charged, Lahn’s head turned back then I stopped thinking this was in any way cool and stared in a horror I hoped I hid as my king ended the contest.
