Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
known it would end. Now he was big enough, the governor wouldn't tear him, or if he did, he'd heal
again. He knew how to tell himself he wasn't really there, his body was just a lump of meat, that he'd
leave behind when he went to Celestrinlis. He liked being nearly grown up, ten years old—things didn't
hurt anymore. He knew how to think of something else, to look ahead. He never cried anymore.
Tikas would take care of him afterwards, put salve on his bruises and kiss him and rock him in long
warm arms until he fell asleep.I'll be all right .
It was dark in the boys' barracks. He could hear Ardas, his best friend who he played pretend brothers
with, breathing sleeping breaths in the next pallet.
After Tikas had held him for a while, he'd pretended he was sleeping so Tikas wouldn't worry about
leaving him. Tikas was busy.
He shouldn't be awake, he knew. He needed his beauty sleep. But he couldn't sleep. He shouldn't think
what he was thinking, but the memory kept pushing its hands into his head and hanging on like claws.
He'd thought after it happened he would be happy for the rest of his life. Now he knew it was something
too good to happen more than once in forever. It was a long time ago.
I was afraid of him, when Master lent me to him.A barbarian, with long straggly writhing hair the
color of dark red earth, and not even dyed: born that way. He was a famous gladiator that Master had
invited to the party. He didn't wear gloves, and had dark hair on his knuckles like pig's bristles. He was
called the Wolf, Mannas the Wolf. Rasas was afraid the Wolf would tear him up with his teeth and eat
him.
Mannas came into the little room, and Rasas wanted to back up against the wall, but he stayed where he
was, sitting gracefully. The barbarian's head nearly reached the ceiling, or so it seemed, and his bare
hands were gnarly, sword-callused from fighting, from killing other gladiators. He had so many
victory-chains around his neck they were a wreath of gold that sparkled like glitter every time he moved;
on his sword-arm, just above the elbow, he wore a black arm-ring, ebony. He sat down.Always give
them what they want, even if it kills you . Though Rasas wanted to run crying, he started to do what
he was supposed to. The barbarian stopped him. Looking straight at him, which showed how base-born
he was.
"I in a Yeoli," he said, in his strange accent. "I don't lust ahfter little boys. I only said yes to give you tseh
night off." Rasas didn't understand. "No, no, no," the barbarian said, pulling the small hands off his
dark-hairy chest. His big brown-bristled ones were gentle and strong at the same time, stronger than
anyone else's that Rasas had ever felt, even though they did nothing to hurt.He's displeased. What am I
doing wrong ? "You don't hahve to," Mannas said, kept saying. "It'll be ourrh secret, just between you
ahn' me, so you won't get in any trouble. I won't tell. I promise. Iswearrh ." He held the bright clear glass
thing dangling around his neck and said some strange words Rasas didn't understand. Then: "Second
Firrhe come. You know no one breakstsaht oath, Arkahnorrh Yeoli."
Rasas didn't know what to do, but Mannas said, "Let's just talk," and started. They talked about fighting
and the Mezem and grown-ups, and Mannas showed Rasas all his scars and told him all sorts of war
stories, about fighting the Lakans and how he'd had to save his best friend when one of the wood-cutters
they were raiding pulled out a hidden bow. When Rasas told his stories, Mannas took him under his arm,
just to hug him. The barbarian's arm was as warm as Tikas's, but thicker and harder. Though he didn't