BAR
Chapter Six
With a sigh, Sonja drew her own weapon. "Are you sure you want to die?"
"Are you?"
"Don't be a fool, Bar. I don't know how many men have tried to fulfil the terms of my oath, as you put it; but they're all fattening worms."
"So, you're undefeated?"
"Yes," she said.
"As am I; which you should know already."
"How so?"
"Because I stand and breathe, like you. If you want to know what it's like to taste defeat, talk to the dead."
"One of us may do so very soon."
"It's possible. Do you fear?"
"No!"
"Then why the concern?"
"I do not – know. Strange; I do not usually offer warnings. Defend yourself!"
Like a wild beast, Sonja sprang. Her blade was like a living force, carving silver patterns through the air as she cut and slashed and thrust. But Bar was equal to her every move. His sword did not gleam as brightly as hers, but its battle-song was as sweet.
The two opponents drew apart to catch their breath. "Come on, you spawn of a lizard; fight!"
"I am fighting."
"No, you're not. You think I don't know the difference? You're blocking my blows, but are attempting none of your own."
"Patience."
"I told you; patience was never my strong point."
"In that case…"
Bar raised his blade and began to rain down blows upon the red-haired maiden who stood before him.
It was Sonja's turn to fend off death. Though her Goddess had gifted her great strength of arm, she was still a woman; and she had from time to time had to fight men more powerful than herself. Not that this usually caused her any great concern. She knew that she had to deflect their blows rather than block them; but this was merely a matter of skill; and skill she had in abundance. It was, she knew, simply a matter of time. Sooner or later there would be an opportunity for a riposte – a swift counterstroke – and then it would be done. Besides, she had another advantage. Bar knew about her oath.
This was the reason she often mentioned it in her travels. Like so many of her opponents, Bar did not actually want her dead. Wounded, perhaps. On her knees and begging for mercy, assuredly. But not dead. That would spoil everything. And so, whether he knew it or no, he would hold something back. Yes, sooner or later, he'd leave an opening. Eventually. Hopefully.
They fought. They fought until the noise of clashing steel drove the birds from the trees. They fought until their chests heaved and their bodies ran with sweat. They fought; they fought.
A particularly powerful blow from Bar sent Sonja staggering back two or three paces, but Bar did not follow her. Instead he wiped a hand over his face and drew in several huge lungfuls of air.
"Why, do you fight so hard?" he panted. "You don't want to win."
"I certainly have no desire to lose."
"No? You say that life is a curse; your oath a burden. Why do you defend them both so savagely?"
"Because I am Red Sonja!"
"Indeed you are. And I am Bar."
"Then let us continue."
Again they set to. The fury was as great as it had been before; but the pace was slower. It had to be; they were both tiring. Who would tire faster?
Then at last an opening. Bar swung a fraction wide, so that Sonja was able to flick the point of her sword at his face. He jerked his head aside, but in so doing, he took his eyes off her. Half a pace forward, and Sonja kicked out viciously. Her boot smacked into the inside of Bar's thigh. He staggered; off balance. She swung again. He blocked desperately, but as he did so she was able to step inside his reach and shoulder-charge him, driving her steel epaulette into his ribcage. He was down!
She stamped down on his sword and drove the point of her own weapon down at his unprotected throat. He rolled aside in time, but in so doing had to relinquish his blade. Victory!
But – not yet! He was scrabbling away; reaching for….the crossbow! She chased after him. He reached the bow, grabbed it, turned to face her. Another kick sent it spinning out of his hand – and then was he truly at her mercy.
A tableau. A straw-headed and empty-handed man on his knees; a tall, flame-haired woman standing over him, arm raised to strike. Both panting for breath, but otherwise motionless.
Slowly, Sonja lowered her blade. "Get up."
"Strike!"
"No."
"Why not? I have not asked for mercy; I do not want it. Strike!"
"This is not mercy."
"What then?"
"Payment of a debt."
"Debt?" Bar asked, "What debt?"
"You could've gutted me when that fool Malik hit me with a stool. You did not."
"That was for my benefit, not yours."
"How so?"
"Had I gutted you when your wits were fled, the victory would've been Malik's, not mine. That I could never allow."
"You could've done worse than gut me."
Bar scratched at his beard, removing the last traces of the combing it had had the night before. "Aye, I could. But I told you; I don't want to take you – I want to win you fair and square."
"Which you have just failed to do."
"So it seems. Therefore strike!"
"I do not choose to do so. You have tasted defeat, but the worms will have to wait yet a while before they savour your flesh. Get up."
"I cannot."
"Don't be a fool. In the tavern, under the eyes of those you seek to rule, I understood; but why such stubbornness here?"
"How shall my rule fare when it becomes known that I have been bested?"
"Then do not let it be known. Say that you slew the red-hair. I shall not return to call you a liar."
"My heart may be black; but it is not so black as to tell such an untruth."
"Who shall know?"
"Myself."
Sonja let out a long breath. "Then it seems that there is only one thing to be done. Pick up your sword."