Chapter thirteen
On the Day of Nojaz the ShrivenThwack! slammed the rudis against the soldier’s chest and then quite quickly Smash! against his head. The girl doing the smiting, naked save for a breechclout, panted with effort, her body shining, her hair bound into a fillet. The soldier was carapaced with straw-stuffed wooden armor. He jerked about like a marionette and the girl hit him cleanly about one in four.
Wearing a highly ornate uniform, a confection of ribbons and streamers, slashes and sashes, in a virulent greenish-yellow, Nalgre the Point stepped forward.
He thrust his sword against the girl’s wooden sword and turned the rudis away.
“Not quite right yet, my lady. Look—”
Nalgre showed the girl the trick of turning the hand over between blows. His panda face expressed no imp
