With his head down on the ground, Tarvos could still see the bandit approaching, shimmering in the heat rising from the dust. He forced himself to lie still while his body shivered with nervous tension, fully aware that the bandit could see him as well and had only failed to notice him so far because his clothes were almost exactly the same colour as the sand. That would change very soon, though. Indeed, the bandit was already looking right at him, staring as trying to decide whether he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.
Then the bandit yelled and pulled the sling from around his neck. "Now!" Tarvos shouted, jumping to his feet and whirling his own sling around his head, a rock already in the cup. Around him, his friends were also rising and swinging their own slings, each of them turning to face their selected targets. They all let their rocks fly at the same time, and the bandit who'd been walking towards them fell as Daphnis's rock struck him squarely between the eyes.
The other rocks all missed, though, and then three bandits were running towards them, all swinging their own slings. Tarvos searched around for the other two bandits, but they were nowhere in sight. Dammit, where were they? Then there was no more time to look, though, as three rocks the size of fists were flying through the air towards them.
One was coming straight towards Tarvos, and he threw his arms over his head to protect it. The rock hit him on the side of the chest and he staggered back as his rib cage exploded with pain; an agony so great that he was doubled over and an attempt to stand straight caused new spikes of agony to shoot through him. He heard a cry of pain and saw Fornjot fall as a rock smashed the bones of his leg, but the other bandit rocks missed, thumping into the ground and throwing up clouds of dust.
He managed to raise his head and saw three bandits running towards them. Skoll was one of them, fully a head taller than the others, and he had his eyes fixed firmly on him, his mouth stretched wide in a grin of anticipation. Tarvos tried to reach into his tunic for the second stone he had there, but every smallest movement sent new waves of agony shooting through him. The idea of swinging a sling around his head was completely out of the question.
At least Skoll wasn't swinging a sling. If he'd thrown another rock it would have been the end of Tarvos, but Skoll evidently wanted to kill him up close and personal. The other two bandits had ceased their onwards rush to throw more stones, though, and seeing that both Tarvos and Fornjot were incapacitated they both aimed at Geirrod. Their target saw this and fell to his knees with a wail of dismay, curling himself up into a ball to make himself as small as possible.
It worked because only one of the rocks hit him, but it slammed into his hip with a solid thunk. Geirrod cried out in pain and staggered forward, but he couldn't have been seriously injured because he jumped back to his feet and fitted another rock to his sling. Daphnis, meanwhile, was throwing another rock which struck Skoll on the arm, making him curse violently. Skoll kept his attention fixed on Tarvos, though, and pointed his spear directly at his heart as he ran the last few yards towards him.
With a heroic effort, Tarvos struggled to ignore the pain as he snatched up his own spear and rose to his full height. He held his spear in vertical guard position with one hand low and the other high. Then, as Skoll's spear came plunging in towards him, he thrust his spear sideways, hitting the shaft of Skoll's spear and pushing it to the side. Skoll's momentum carried him onwards and Tarvos spun his spear around, bringing the base up and around to hit his opponent hard on the shoulder.
Skoll grunted in pain and fury, but then he danced away to a safe distance, Tarvos's defence reminding him that he was facing a man as skilled with the weapon as he was. He would need to use all his fighting skills to defeat him. He was favouring his right arm, Tarvos saw. Daphnis's rock must have done him a serious hurt. Tarvos put the other bandits out of his mind. It would require all his concentration to fight Skoll. If he allowed himself to become distracted, he was dead.
The two men faced each other half side on, their right legs forward, their right hands forward on the spears as they pointed them at each other. Both wanted to keep the other man on their 'inside', the front between their arms, where they would be unable to land a strike on their unprotected 'outside'. They both kept their legs as straight as they could, aware that a forward-pointed knee made a good target. It meant that they were keeping their centre-of-gravities high, with the risk that they might he swept from their feet by the butt of their opponent's spear, but Tarvos's father had taught him that the straight leg was better overall and Skoll's weapons master had evidently told him the same thing.
Skoll lunged forward with the point of his spear and Tarvos moved his weapon to defend, but it was a feint and Skoll pulled back again, launching another attack while Tarvos was overextended. He had to pull his spear back into guard position with a speed that caused an agonising spike of pain to shoot through his injured ribs. He made it, but he cursed himself for allowing the other man to take the initiative. During their sparring matches, his father had drilled into him again and again the importance of striking first, of forcing your opponent to react, to defend himself, thereby leaving him unable to launch any attacks of his own, and now he'd allowed Skoll to do just that. This wasn't a sparring match, though. This time the loser wouldn't walk away with a bruise and a spinning head. This contest was to the death.
From beside him, he heard shouts and cries of pain and knew that Daphnis and Geirrod were fighting the other two bandits, and there were two other bandits out there somewhere who might enter the fight at any time. He didn't dare take his eyes away from Skoll, though, as the other man thrust with his spear again and again. He had to just ignore the knowledge that one of the other bandits might plunge a spear into his back at any moment.
The razor-sharp tip of Skoll's spear grazed the back of his hand and he cursed as blood ran down his fingers, making his grip on the spear slippery. The pain in his rib cage had faded as his brain tuned it out, but he knew that, so long as Skoll had the initiative, it was only a matter of time before the other man's spear made it all the way past his guard and killed him. He had to get the initiative back, but how?
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Skoll thrust with his spear again, but this time Tarvos didn't use his spear to smack it away. Skoll was growing angry and frustrated by his inability to land a killing blow and had come too close, allowing Tarvos to grab the shaft of his spear, just behind the steel tip. The spear was already driving forward with all the force that Skoll's powerful body could give it and Tarvos pulled it forward harder, while at the same time dodging his body to the side. The spear tore through his tunic and drew a line of blood along his chest, but Skoll was pulled off balance and stumbled to the ground. Tarvos returned his left hand to the spear, spun it around and thrust downwards with all his might, but Skoll rolled to the side and Tarvos's spear went into the sand instead.
Skoll struggled back to his feet and, gripping his spear with his good hand, he ran from Tarvos until he could rise to his full height and turn to face him again. Tarvos chased after him, though, determined not to allow the other man to regain the initiative, and hs thrust with his spear, forcing the other man onto the defensive. Skoll was holding his spear with both hands, but Tarvos could see that there was no strength in his left arm. He was using that hand only to aim the spear while he used his right to move it with force, holding it vertically in guard position, as Tarvos had, to deflect the tip of Tarvos's spear.
Tarvos thrust again and again, forcing Skoll to deflect again and again, and Tarvos had to resist the temptation to move closer to his opponent. He couldn't take the risk that Skoll might grab his spear with his hand, as Tarvos had done, or trap it under his arm. If that happened, the fight would turn into a wrestling match, and Tarvos knew he would have no chance against the other man's greater size and strength. The main use of a spear was to hold your enemy at a distance, and that was what Tarvos knew he had to do. Just keep jabbing again and again without relent. Keep Skoll on the defensive until he scored a hit.
He saw that moving his left arm too far across his body caused Skoll pain, and so Tarvos aimed every strike to the right side of Skoll's body, feeling a savage satisfaction at the grimace that appeared on Skoll's face as he moved his spear to the right to block him. His tactic was rewarded when Skoll failed to deflect his spear fast enough and the tip pierced the larger man's shoulder. The tip got stuck in Skoll's collar bone, though, and it took Tarvos a moment to pull it free. It gave Skoll a moment of free time in which to act, but with his own spear held vertically he wasn't able to thrust the point forward. Instead he gripped the base of his spear with both hands and swung it like an axe, bringing the twelve-inch steel tip with its razor-sharp edge down hard towards Tarvos's head.
Tarvos's spear was overextended. He couldn't use it to defend himself. The stance of his body made it impossible for him to dodge back or to the side. The only thing he could do was lunge forward, so that it was the plethin shaft of the spear that struck his head instead of the steel edge. The blow caused pain to explode in his head, paralysing his whole body, and he could only stand there, dazed and barely conscious, as Skoll levelled his spear and aimed it at his heart.
There was no way Tarvos could defend himself. He wasn't even sure whether he was still holding his spear. He could do nothing but wait for the steel tip to pierce his chest, but instead Skoll gave a gasp of pain and spun around in fury. Daphnis was there, blood dripping from her spear where she'd stabbed him from behind. "Bastard!" she spat as she made to drive her spear in again, but instead Skoll jumped forward and struck her hard across the head. Blood flew from her mouth as the blow spun her around, and she fell to the ground where she lay still.
Tarvos shook his head to clear it and found that he still had his spear in his hand. He took a firm grip on it and thrust forward with all his strength before Skoll could turn back to face him. The spear went deep into Skoll's chest, but instead of falling Skoll took hold of the shaft and began to push it back out. His eyes met those of Tarvos and glared with such hatred and fury and that Tarvos almost lost hold of the spear and fell back. Instead, he gathered his strength and pushed. The spear went in deeper, but Skoll still remained standing, the muscles in his right arm bunching as if the steel was only giving him greater strength.
The pain began to return to Tarvos's chest and he felt his body beginning to weaken. Skoll's eyes were filled with madness as he glared at him. "Kill you," he gasped, and blood dribbled down his chin. "Kill you, and then I'll kill her. Make her beg and scream..."
Sobbing with pain and fear, Tarvos pulled the spear out of Skoll's body, where it brought a spurt of blood with it. Skoll was still holding his own spear and, his body shaking and trembling, he brought the tip up to point at Tarvos's heart. His strength was going, though, and the tip wobbled and dropped. Tarvos thrust forward with his spear again, this time aiming for the other man's throat. The steel tip sank deep and blood jetted from Skoll's mouth.
Tarvos watched as Skoll crumpled and folded, as if even now he was still fighting to live. He sank to his knees, his eyes still blazing with hatred, but then he fell to the side to thump hard onto the ground, his eyes still open. Tarvos watched him for a moment, to make sure he was really dead. Then he looked around to see how the others were faring with their own battles.
Fornjot, his broken leg bent at an unnatural angle, was sitting beside Geirrod, who was pressing a fold of his tunic against the side of his head. There was blood covering his face, he saw, but the man seemed to be only dazed, as if he would recover his full senses soon. Around them, the other bandits were all dead. Tarvos wished he could have seen it, marvelling that Daphnis and Geirrod had won a battle against two much larger men.
Remembering Daphnis, he staggered over to her to see that she was gradually coming back to her senses. "You did it," she said, her voice a little slurred as she looked around her. "You killed Skoll."
"We killed him," Tarvos replied. "You and me together. How are you feeling?"
"I've been worse. Only four dead outlaws. There's still two more out there somewhere."
"I think they're probably dead," Tarvos told her. "They probably had a disagreement with Skoll and he killed them. Otherwise they'd all have attacked together."
"Makes sense," Daphnis agreed. "So. We won."
"Did we?" Tarvos looked across at Fornjot with his broken leg. "I think I've got broken ribs from that rock that hit me. Now that the fighting's over, the pain's coming back. A lot. I've seen what broken ribs do to a man. Pretty soon my muscles'll tighten up and I'll barely be able to move. Gyre's hurt too. He took a rock to the hips. Might have chipped his pelvis. If nothing else he'll have bruises like you've never seen before. You're the only one in any shape to move around. If we were back in Gunnlod village we'd be right as rain after a few weeks of rest, but out here..."
Daphnis's eyes widened as she saw the truth. "We're meat turning on a spit for the first rex or pack of groths to come along," she said. "We're just as dead as Skoll and his bandits."
