Read Online Son of Justice by Steven L. Hawk - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Steven L. Hawk
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given him the toned, well-muscled physique and the knowledge of a well-trained soldier. Albeit, an unproven, inexperienced soldier.
After the tense meeting, Eli had tried to refocus his efforts on remaining in the background, but it was no use. The opportunity for keeping a low profile had evaporated. Despite trying to recapture his place as just one more human among a platoon of humans, the eyes of the Minith sergeants always seemed to search him out and study him. He could be standing in the chow line, marching in formation, or working through the next training assignment with his fellow recruits. Whenever he looked their way, they seemed to be looking back.
Like now.
Eli stood inside the fighting ring. Sweat dripped from his body. His arms were beginning to tire, and the welt across his chest—the result of a well-timed strike from his last opponent—was beginning to throb. The ever-present sun and wind beat against his bare torso, and he needed a drink of water badly. But the rules were clear. If you won, you remained in the ring and fought.
In his right hand, he loosely held a wooden sparring staff. At nearly two-and-a-half meters in length, and five centimeters in diameter, the Minith weapon was meant for much larger hands than his. The weight of the thing called for larger muscles as well. Nevertheless, the hours upon hours of sparring with his Minith teachers on Waa had made him an expert in its use. The recruit he faced, a large, rough-looking private from Third Platoon named Crimsa, seemed less sure. Crimsa hefted the weapon in his right hand, testing its weight and balance just like the previous six foes Eli had already bested.
The remaining recruits in their battalion—nearly 150 in all—formed a large, human circle around the two fighters. Many were armed with their own staffs and given instructions to contain the two fighters to the ring. Eli had learned the hard way to remain well away from the outer ring. Some of his peers from the other two platoons took their responsibility a little too seriously. Several of their blows to his back and legs would no doubt leave ugly bruises for the next few days.
Sergeant Brek stood beyond the circle, his large head and ears clearly visible over the heads of the much-shorter humans. He waited patiently for the two contestants to signal their readiness to begin. Eli had already nodded in Brek’s direction and waited for Crimsa to do the same.
Apparently satisfied with his inspection of the staff, Crimsa finally nodded his own readiness to Brek. The sergeant clapped his hands, signaling the start of the match.
Eli stood his ground and waited for the other man to make the first move.
He didn’t have to wait long. Crimsa lifted the Minith staff over his head, held it at the center with both hands, and began to twirl it slowly. Eli grinned. The movement was a standard two-handed spin that was a key technique of the Minith when battling with the staffs. Crimsa had been trained at some point in the past. Eli immediately raised his own staff and began his own two-handed spin, matching his opponent. Crimsa’s spin picked up speed as he charged.
For a fraction of a second, Eli considered allowing the other man to land a blow. If he ended up on the ground, the match would be over, and he could leave the ring. But he discounted the notion just as quickly as it entered his mind. It wasn’t in his nature to voluntarily cede a match, regardless of how sore, tired, or thirsty he was. If he was going to leave the ring, it would be because he had given it his all and been fairly beaten.
He watched Crimsa approach at a near-run. He was at the halfway point now, and Eli increased the speed of his own staff. He waited. Watched. Waited.
Crimsa was within ten feet when he made the move Eli was anticipating. It was a classic strike-from-spin attack, and one of the first offensive maneuvers taught to fighters. Using the momentum created by his forward movement and the spinning of
After the tense meeting, Eli had tried to refocus his efforts on remaining in the background, but it was no use. The opportunity for keeping a low profile had evaporated. Despite trying to recapture his place as just one more human among a platoon of humans, the eyes of the Minith sergeants always seemed to search him out and study him. He could be standing in the chow line, marching in formation, or working through the next training assignment with his fellow recruits. Whenever he looked their way, they seemed to be looking back.
Like now.
Eli stood inside the fighting ring. Sweat dripped from his body. His arms were beginning to tire, and the welt across his chest—the result of a well-timed strike from his last opponent—was beginning to throb. The ever-present sun and wind beat against his bare torso, and he needed a drink of water badly. But the rules were clear. If you won, you remained in the ring and fought.
In his right hand, he loosely held a wooden sparring staff. At nearly two-and-a-half meters in length, and five centimeters in diameter, the Minith weapon was meant for much larger hands than his. The weight of the thing called for larger muscles as well. Nevertheless, the hours upon hours of sparring with his Minith teachers on Waa had made him an expert in its use. The recruit he faced, a large, rough-looking private from Third Platoon named Crimsa, seemed less sure. Crimsa hefted the weapon in his right hand, testing its weight and balance just like the previous six foes Eli had already bested.
The remaining recruits in their battalion—nearly 150 in all—formed a large, human circle around the two fighters. Many were armed with their own staffs and given instructions to contain the two fighters to the ring. Eli had learned the hard way to remain well away from the outer ring. Some of his peers from the other two platoons took their responsibility a little too seriously. Several of their blows to his back and legs would no doubt leave ugly bruises for the next few days.
Sergeant Brek stood beyond the circle, his large head and ears clearly visible over the heads of the much-shorter humans. He waited patiently for the two contestants to signal their readiness to begin. Eli had already nodded in Brek’s direction and waited for Crimsa to do the same.
Apparently satisfied with his inspection of the staff, Crimsa finally nodded his own readiness to Brek. The sergeant clapped his hands, signaling the start of the match.
Eli stood his ground and waited for the other man to make the first move.
He didn’t have to wait long. Crimsa lifted the Minith staff over his head, held it at the center with both hands, and began to twirl it slowly. Eli grinned. The movement was a standard two-handed spin that was a key technique of the Minith when battling with the staffs. Crimsa had been trained at some point in the past. Eli immediately raised his own staff and began his own two-handed spin, matching his opponent. Crimsa’s spin picked up speed as he charged.
For a fraction of a second, Eli considered allowing the other man to land a blow. If he ended up on the ground, the match would be over, and he could leave the ring. But he discounted the notion just as quickly as it entered his mind. It wasn’t in his nature to voluntarily cede a match, regardless of how sore, tired, or thirsty he was. If he was going to leave the ring, it would be because he had given it his all and been fairly beaten.
He watched Crimsa approach at a near-run. He was at the halfway point now, and Eli increased the speed of his own staff. He waited. Watched. Waited.
Crimsa was within ten feet when he made the move Eli was anticipating. It was a classic strike-from-spin attack, and one of the first offensive maneuvers taught to fighters. Using the momentum created by his forward movement and the spinning of
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