Read Online Pyramid of Blood (Swords Versus Tanks Book 3) by M Harold Page - Free Book Online
Authors: M Harold Page
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they coming after us?"
Wisdom-at-Night touched Jasmine's shoulder making her aware of their shared nakedness. "Mere women are beneath the notice of a warrior."
Jasmine felt a spike of lust and flinched away. In the gloom, the tiny priestess was just a dark presence, glistening with rainwater and speckled with jewellery. Jasmine knew what Wisdom-at-Night was, and yet she still desired her. She shook her head.
It was time to start thinking like a soldier.
#
Ranulph sprang to his feet. His head brushed the sodden canopy. Water cascaded down the back of his neck.
Lord Obsidian-Death rose with him. His fist came up, then hammered down, driving a black glass spike towards Ranulph’s chest.
Ranulph caught the old man’s wrist. "What are you doing?"
“Your blood will guide my son’s spirit to our magic,” grated Lord Obsidian-Death. His free hand clawed at Ranulph’s face. “Then we will sail to your country and exact our revenge.”
Sandals splashed towards Ranulph’s exposed back. Keeping his weight low, he pivoted. Without slackening his grip, he hurled the priest over his shoulder.
Screaming, Lord Obsidian-Death crashed feet-first into the face of the on-rushing axeman. His arm made a snapping sound, but Ranulph did not let go. He opened his mouth to make some witty retort, but all that came out was a roar of battle rage.
Thorolf cried, "Sir Ranulph! Lookout!"
Ranulph turned and drew the priest across his body as a shield. A glass-bladed axe sheared into Lord Obsidian-Death’s ribcage. Ranulph heaved aside the dying man. He jammed his elbow into the new opponent’s face, forcing the nose-bone into the brain.
Something flashed in the corner of his eye.
Ranulph threw himself clear. Two obsidian axes crunched against the flagstones. Before the axemen could recover, he stamped on the nearest shaft. As the wood splintered, he pivoted and rammed his open palm down into the face of the small warrior. The head cracked back and the man fell.
The survivor dropped the remnants of his axe and fled.
Ranulph drew his dagger and cast. The heavy blade whirred into the man’s back. He belly-flopped into a puddle.
Ranulph scooped up his weapon and steeled himself to survey the courtyard. Tolmec corpses carpeted the rain-drench flagstones. Better yet, not a single Northman had fallen. “God’s teeth! So much for diplomacy!”
Thorolf kicked a corpse. "Is that all you’ve got, goat-fuckers?"
Four of the housecarls had a live warrior spread-eagled on the ground while Osmund giggled and hacked at the screaming man’s ribcage.
Ranulph exclaimed in Western, "What the Hell are you doing?"
Osmund replied in the same language. "Is Blood Eagle." The ribcage parted and he eased out the man’s steaming lungs. He grinned at Ranulph over his shoulder. "Lungs flap like wings. Funny. Ha! Ha!"
Ranulph’s gorge rose. He swallowed. It was all to easy to forget that, despite their prowess, the Northmen were still barbarians.
The screams cut off.
Ranulph raised his voice. "Gentlemen!" Then quieter. "Why isn’t the entire city attacking us?"
Thorolf spat and replied in his native tongue. "Faction shit, like that time in Ilium."
Ranulph swept his arm over the carnage. "Somehow, I don’t think anybody’s going to believe our version of events." He sheathed his dagger and picked up an obsidian-headed axe. "Gather weapons, gentlemen! Let’s get back to the airship before we have to fight the whole damned Tolmec nation!"
#
Jasmine settled back on her haunches and took stock the way Marcel had taught her. Threats? Fifty or so Tolmec warriors on the pyramid, perhaps twelve on board at any time. Assets? Her lips quirked. One naked priestess of unknown martial ability. One similarly dressed Egality soldier, demon with gun or bayonet, but armed only with a combat dagger. Reinforcements? Ranulph and about a score hairy-arsed barbarians – useless without their weapons and armour which however now lay stacked on the top of the
Wisdom-at-Night touched Jasmine's shoulder making her aware of their shared nakedness. "Mere women are beneath the notice of a warrior."
Jasmine felt a spike of lust and flinched away. In the gloom, the tiny priestess was just a dark presence, glistening with rainwater and speckled with jewellery. Jasmine knew what Wisdom-at-Night was, and yet she still desired her. She shook her head.
It was time to start thinking like a soldier.
#
Ranulph sprang to his feet. His head brushed the sodden canopy. Water cascaded down the back of his neck.
Lord Obsidian-Death rose with him. His fist came up, then hammered down, driving a black glass spike towards Ranulph’s chest.
Ranulph caught the old man’s wrist. "What are you doing?"
“Your blood will guide my son’s spirit to our magic,” grated Lord Obsidian-Death. His free hand clawed at Ranulph’s face. “Then we will sail to your country and exact our revenge.”
Sandals splashed towards Ranulph’s exposed back. Keeping his weight low, he pivoted. Without slackening his grip, he hurled the priest over his shoulder.
Screaming, Lord Obsidian-Death crashed feet-first into the face of the on-rushing axeman. His arm made a snapping sound, but Ranulph did not let go. He opened his mouth to make some witty retort, but all that came out was a roar of battle rage.
Thorolf cried, "Sir Ranulph! Lookout!"
Ranulph turned and drew the priest across his body as a shield. A glass-bladed axe sheared into Lord Obsidian-Death’s ribcage. Ranulph heaved aside the dying man. He jammed his elbow into the new opponent’s face, forcing the nose-bone into the brain.
Something flashed in the corner of his eye.
Ranulph threw himself clear. Two obsidian axes crunched against the flagstones. Before the axemen could recover, he stamped on the nearest shaft. As the wood splintered, he pivoted and rammed his open palm down into the face of the small warrior. The head cracked back and the man fell.
The survivor dropped the remnants of his axe and fled.
Ranulph drew his dagger and cast. The heavy blade whirred into the man’s back. He belly-flopped into a puddle.
Ranulph scooped up his weapon and steeled himself to survey the courtyard. Tolmec corpses carpeted the rain-drench flagstones. Better yet, not a single Northman had fallen. “God’s teeth! So much for diplomacy!”
Thorolf kicked a corpse. "Is that all you’ve got, goat-fuckers?"
Four of the housecarls had a live warrior spread-eagled on the ground while Osmund giggled and hacked at the screaming man’s ribcage.
Ranulph exclaimed in Western, "What the Hell are you doing?"
Osmund replied in the same language. "Is Blood Eagle." The ribcage parted and he eased out the man’s steaming lungs. He grinned at Ranulph over his shoulder. "Lungs flap like wings. Funny. Ha! Ha!"
Ranulph’s gorge rose. He swallowed. It was all to easy to forget that, despite their prowess, the Northmen were still barbarians.
The screams cut off.
Ranulph raised his voice. "Gentlemen!" Then quieter. "Why isn’t the entire city attacking us?"
Thorolf spat and replied in his native tongue. "Faction shit, like that time in Ilium."
Ranulph swept his arm over the carnage. "Somehow, I don’t think anybody’s going to believe our version of events." He sheathed his dagger and picked up an obsidian-headed axe. "Gather weapons, gentlemen! Let’s get back to the airship before we have to fight the whole damned Tolmec nation!"
#
Jasmine settled back on her haunches and took stock the way Marcel had taught her. Threats? Fifty or so Tolmec warriors on the pyramid, perhaps twelve on board at any time. Assets? Her lips quirked. One naked priestess of unknown martial ability. One similarly dressed Egality soldier, demon with gun or bayonet, but armed only with a combat dagger. Reinforcements? Ranulph and about a score hairy-arsed barbarians – useless without their weapons and armour which however now lay stacked on the top of the
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