JК
Tarnsman of Gor :: Норман Джон
Страница: 138 из 145He then began testing elsewhere, methodically,using his sword almost as a physician might use a stethoscope, applying it first to one area and then to another. I drove in once directly. Pa-Kur slid the blow lightly to one side, almost casually. While we touched blades almost as if involved in some bizarre ritualistic dance, there was the ringing, the clanging of fiercer swordplay around us, as the men of Pa-Kur engaged the men of Ar.
At last Pa-Kur stepped back, out of the range of my blade. He seemed complacent. "I can kill you," he said. I supposed what he said was true, but it may have been a calculated remark, something to put the enemy off balance, like announcing an unseen mate in chess to provoke an opponent into making an unnecessary defensive move, causing him to lose the initiative. That sort of thing would be effective only once with a given player, but in swordplay once would be sufficient.
I responded in kind, to taunt him. "How is it that you can kill me if I do not turn my back?" I asked. Somewhere within that inhumanly calm exterior there lay a vanity that must be vulnerable. I remembered the incident of the crossbow and the tarn disk over the Vosk. That, in its way, had been a rhetorical gesture on the part of Pa-Kur.
A momentary annoyance flickered through the stony eyes of Pa-Kur, and then a small, sour smile appeared on his lips. He again approached, but cautiously as before, still taking no chances. My ruse had failed. His, if ruse it was, had also. If it had not been a ruse, I would soon know, if only briefly.
Our blades met again, this time in a flash of bright, clean sound. He had begun much as at first, moving toward the same area, only with more familiarity, more rapidity. This led me to puzzle as to whether this was the weaker part of my defense and where his attack would come, or if it was a blind to keep my mind from another area until suddenly he drove through for the kill.
Such questions I forced from my mind, keeping my eyes on his blade. In affairs of the sword, there is a place for outguessing the opponent, but there is no place for anxious speculation; it paralyzes, puts you on the defensive. He had toyed with me. Now I determined not to allow him to control the exchanges. If I was defeated, I determined that it would be a man that would defeat me, not a reputation.
I began to press forward in attack, exposing myself more, but beating back his defense by the sheer weight and number of my blows. Pa-Kur withdrew coolly, meeting my attack effortlessly, letting me weary my sword arm; hating him, I admired him; wanting to destroy him, I acclaimed his skill.
At last Pa-Kur stepped back, out of the range of my blade. He seemed complacent. "I can kill you," he said. I supposed what he said was true, but it may have been a calculated remark, something to put the enemy off balance, like announcing an unseen mate in chess to provoke an opponent into making an unnecessary defensive move, causing him to lose the initiative. That sort of thing would be effective only once with a given player, but in swordplay once would be sufficient.
I responded in kind, to taunt him. "How is it that you can kill me if I do not turn my back?" I asked. Somewhere within that inhumanly calm exterior there lay a vanity that must be vulnerable. I remembered the incident of the crossbow and the tarn disk over the Vosk. That, in its way, had been a rhetorical gesture on the part of Pa-Kur.
A momentary annoyance flickered through the stony eyes of Pa-Kur, and then a small, sour smile appeared on his lips. He again approached, but cautiously as before, still taking no chances. My ruse had failed. His, if ruse it was, had also. If it had not been a ruse, I would soon know, if only briefly.
Our blades met again, this time in a flash of bright, clean sound. He had begun much as at first, moving toward the same area, only with more familiarity, more rapidity. This led me to puzzle as to whether this was the weaker part of my defense and where his attack would come, or if it was a blind to keep my mind from another area until suddenly he drove through for the kill.
Such questions I forced from my mind, keeping my eyes on his blade. In affairs of the sword, there is a place for outguessing the opponent, but there is no place for anxious speculation; it paralyzes, puts you on the defensive. He had toyed with me. Now I determined not to allow him to control the exchanges. If I was defeated, I determined that it would be a man that would defeat me, not a reputation.
I began to press forward in attack, exposing myself more, but beating back his defense by the sheer weight and number of my blows. Pa-Kur withdrew coolly, meeting my attack effortlessly, letting me weary my sword arm; hating him, I admired him; wanting to destroy him, I acclaimed his skill.