Read Online Luana by Alan Dean Foster - Free Book Online Page B

want?”
    She looked down at the dirt.
    “Well . . . is it?”
    “No.” He could barely catch her whisper.
    “Beg pardon. I didn’t quite catch that.”
    “No.” She screamed. “No, no, no!” and turned and ran towards the lean-to where they’d stored their cases and crates and bottles of water.
    “That’s a fine woman,” said Murin as they resumed their walk towards the center of the now well-populated circle.
    “Yeah,” agreed Barrett. “She’s got money, she’s got looks, and she’s got guts. Fact is, she’s only short one thing I can see.”
    “Oh?”
    “Common sense,” Barrett supplied.
    They entered the circle and the locals made a passage for them. Kobenene was on the other side of the open space, waiting, waiting.
    “Well fine,” admitted Murin, from slightly behind him. “That makes you two a perfect match.” Barrett had a reply ready but no time for it. He was sizing up his opponent.
    Stripped to the waist, Kobenene’s bulk was even more impressive. And the Breeded was correct about the absence of fat. The man’s belly protruded comically, true, but it swept out and back in a single smooth curve, not in layers and rolls.
    Barrett undid buttons, broke snaps and stripped off his own shirt. This was no place to be caught or cramped by a taut seam in the wrong place.
    Two young boys finished pounding on a pair of wooden stakes and left the circle. Barrett slowly settled down on his stomach, his eyes never leaving Kobenene’s. He put out his right arm, settling the elbow firmly into the dirt. The big man did likewise. The old chief approached and tied their arms to respective stakes. Obviously enjoying the attention, he took his own good time about it.
    Two small circlets of long thorns were brought out. One was placed next to each stake. Then the two boys reappeared, breathless, carrying two small baskets. The chief mumbled a few words, then another few, and another. It sounded like he could go on all day. Both Barrett and Kobenene admonished him to get on with it. It was damn hot in the sun, and neither Barrett nor the fat man was interested in oratory just now.
    Carefully removing the top from the two baskets, the old chief dumped the contents of each into the pair of thorn circles.
    The black scorpions the boys had rounded up were big ones. Momentarily dazed, they nonetheless began an angry search for a way out. The inward pointing intersecting thorns kept them pinned in their miniature arenas. With big double pincers and centimeter-long, tail-mounted hypodermics, they prodded and jabbed at the confining thorns. Neither was in a very good mood. It was safe to say that they would react to any fleshy intrusion of their territory with appropriately venomous speed. The chief backed away, stood.
    “Enda!” he shouted. “Go!”
    Kobenene threw all his weight into a first irresistible surge. Caught a split second late, Barrett’s hand went down, down, until the back of the palm hovered barely centimeters above that lethal curved sting. The scorpion moved into the shadow, danced and picked futilely at the barrier of thorn. The barb waved and swung like a Saracen’s scimitar.
    The hand was forced down another centimeter, then stopped.
    Slowly, infinitely slowly, Barrett forced Kobenene’s arm back up, up until they were perpendicular to the ground once again. They continued to stare into each other’s eyes.
    An outsider observing them would have thought both men were relaxing in the morning sun. Their arms barely moved. Oh, a centimeter here, a centimeter there. Their expressions didn’t change. Neither gave outward sign that he was putting all of his strength and concentration into every second of the contest.
    The sun sank lower in the sky following a brief ritual bath of cool water the two boys gave each man. Their arms did not waver while the refreshing liquid was carefully applied to their heads and backs. Occasionally some of the watching locals left to perform daily tasks and