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

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clues, beautiful. He twisted midair and landed on her leg, pinning her to the saddle, now givinghis
war-cry, hoarse and deafening.Shield down, stop him chopping at the leg; Baiwun he's fast. Block,
shield, sword, shield …
Whump. Hotblood's head came around and back; she heard and felt the thump against Chevenga's
back. He flew over her head, his scarred face passing by hers with an expression almost casual, eyes
fixed carefully on the ground where he was headed, to land rolling fluidly onto his feet. She cantered off,
flicking herself back upright in the saddle. His horse was long gone; she could see a gap in the spectators,
and a bobbing black thing trailing a tent.
"Nice try!" she yelled from ten yards.Sheepshit, that was close . He just beckoned her to him with his
sword, standing upright in a natural stance.
This says something. At least three hundred people were watching, enough to make whatever
happened here common knowledge in camp in a day. A shrugging matter if he beat her—but ifshe beat
him , the Invincible, on whom all their hopes rested…He's smart enough not to underestimate me,
and to know I'm not going to hold back in one sinew for one instant. Yet he was doing this, and
with a grin. So confident in your own skill, Gold-bottom ? She remembered Ivahn's words: "He takes
great risks."
"Eeeeeeiiiiiii" Hotblood sprang into charge. Saber back and up for a forward-sweep cut, mount's
shoulder into the footman and the blade chops with all the weight behind itbut pull it, we're sparring …
As if he was going to stay there—damn. In the last instant Chevenga spun out of line somehow,
jumped, this one's a fucking jackrabbit he's over the line of my cut . She flipped the saber into the
overhand guard down her spine, but he kicked in midair, sandalled foot whipping out flicker-fast. The
heel rapped her shoulder, just hard enough to make her reel in the saddle.
He should have gone for my head or neck; a miss, or intentional? She'd seen his face at the apex of
the jump, measuring carefully like before.Give him the benefit of the doubt, at least half of it . She
rolled out of the saddle on the other side, landing on her feet. Hotblood circled, then lay down and sulked
when she told him to stay out. This wasnot a scream and leap situation.
Ex-gladiator, she thought.Used to duels, in front of crowds . She stood, shield up under her eyes,
saber laid flat along her spine. Now he was rushing her, the hoarse cry again, cut low straight from the
run, blurring fast. She leaped over it, milked the hilt as she slashed down, onto his shield.Thud . The
shock jarred her arm.
Blocked his sight, hah!—she punched out the wood sabre in a lunge at his midriff, to be turned
perfectly by his, almost delicately, just enough motion to send it offline…Shit, can the steer-raper see
through leather ? Then he attacked, high cut, low cut, thrust at eyes, elbow… She remembered:
manrauq. He has weapon-manrauq . She kept the shield in front of her, on the defensive, the blows
rocking back into her shoulders,Baiwun, he's strong for his size , slightly shorter than her. She yielded
ground, stop-thrust to make him guard, bounded backward.Thrust again while I'm outside his fighting
range; keep him there and I can peck at him .
No, he understood how to fight like one smaller, getting inside and moving quick; besides he had long
arms for his height, deceptive. The brown eyes were even more wide-open now, concentrating, pupils
big. She and he moved together, like dancing, like sex, each of hands and feet and bodies in concert, in
amber honey. Once their gaze caught, and his lips parted in a small quiet smile.