Read Online Calgaich the Swordsman by Gordon D. Shirreffs - Free Book Online

yellowish cast to them like the yolk of an egg. The hair that showed beneath the boiled-leather helmet he wore had been red in his earlier years, but was now tinged thickly with gray. Girich was not a young man, but the very fact that he -had survived so long as a champion of his clan indicated to Calgaich that he would not be easy to slay.
    Girich came forward, beating lightly on the metal edging of his shield with his sword blade to drive away the evil spirits. He stopped just beyond striking distance and stood there with his upraised blade as steady as one of the great ring stones.
    Calgaich withdrew his untried sword from the scabbard. The graying light struck against the figured blade, which seemed to be like a tongue of cold flame as Calgaich extended it. There was a sharp intake of breath from some of the Picts as they saw the magnificent weapon. Girich moved his blade to feel the heft and balance of it. Girich tapped his sword against that of Calgaich. They circled slowly on the slippery turf. To slip and fall was to die. Their eyes were fixed on each other. Suddenly, Girich closed in with a whirlwind attack to test Calgaich’s defense. Calgaich retreated before the wildly slashing sword to let the Pict tire himself, knowing the man probably had greater reserves of brute strength than he himself possessed.
    The blades crossed swiftly, reflecting the growing light like the waters of a fast-running stream. Girich closed in again and again and then swiftly fell back before Calgaich’s sudden counterattack. Girich crouched with his shield held up high and cut low at Calgaich's knees. Calgaich leaped back and raised his shield just in time to fend off a smashing overhead blow that shook him to his heels. Girich was far swifter than Calgaich had expected him to be. Calgaich’s left arm still stung from the shield blow as he and Girich circled warily, weaving a pattern of cuts and parries. Calgaich’s sword tip moved swiftly in the curious cross pattern Cairenn had seen him use against the Pictish reivers and also on the night he had found the fine sword.
    Girich retreated, studying the sword pattern being woven by Calgaich. There was no way he could counter it, so he suddenly bulled into an attack to drive Calgaich back with the impetuosity of it. Girich smashed at Calgaich like a smith hammering at his anvil. Chips flew from Calgaich’s shield. The tip of Girich’s sword drove through the shield and lightly punctured Calgaich’s left forearm. Blood ran down his arm to form a pattern on his hand, dyeing the fingers red. The Picts began to murmur.
    Girich’s mad rushes drove Calgaich backward, ever backward until the Picts behind him stepped aside. He knew he was but inches away from one of the ring stones. He suddenly closed on the Pict, retreated and then leaped aside. Girich's blade rang like a bell against the ring stone and his arm numbed from the shock of the blow. An instant later Calgaich’s sword came down in a powerful overhand stroke that glanced from the Pict’s hard leather helmet. Girich blinked his eyes. He was half-stunned, and his arm tingled from the force of his blow against the stone. He swayed on his feet as he turned to shield off a thrust toward his belly. His timing and eye were off. Another blow crashed atop his helmet and drove it lower on his head. Girich staggered sideways. His breathing whistled through his slitted nostrils. He backed between two of the ring stones and then realized with superstitious horror where he was. He staggered back toward Calgaich with shield outthrust and his sword flashing in a wild attack.
    Calgaich grinned, but he grinned too fast, for Girich cut hard at his shield and then reversed his blow and came down with a sweeping backhanded stroke that split the shield in two. Girich stepped back to allow Calgaich to get another shield. If that shield was destroyed, Calgaich would be allowed a third one, and if that, too, was demolished, he would have to fight this