Aging -- Fiction; Life on other planets -- Fiction; Science fiction
"Then I have miscalculated you. I'm wrong. I'll stand here, then, until
the sun shucks the flesh off my bone in black scraps, and call you the
filthy names you deserve."
He got an answer.
"I do not like being called names," replied a man's voice.
Sim leaned forward, forgetting his crippled foot.
A huge man appeared in a cave mouth on the third level.
"Come down," urged Sim. "Come down, fat one, and kill me."
The man scowled seriously at his opponent a moment, then lumbered
slowly down the path, his hands empty of any weapons. Immediately every
cave above clustered with heads. An audience for this drama.
The man approached Sim. "We will fight by the rules, if you know them."
"I'll learn as we go," replied Sim.
This pleased the man and he looked at Sim warily, but not unkindly.
"This much I will tell you," offered the man generously. "If you die, I
will give your mate shelter and she will live, as she pleases, because
she is the wife of a good man."
Sim nodded swiftly. "I am ready," he said.
"The rules are simple. We do not touch each other, save with stones.
The stones and the sun will do either of us in. Now is the time--"
VIII
A tip of the sun showed on the horizon. "My name is Nhoj," said
Sim's enemy, casually fingering up a handful of pebbles and stones,
weighing them. Sim did likewise. He was hungry. He had not eaten
for many minutes. Hunger was the curse of this planet's peoples--a
perpetual demanding of empty stomachs for more, more food. His blood
flushed weakly, shot tinglingly through veins in jolting throbs of
heat and pressure, his ribcase shoved out, went in, shoved out again,
impatiently.
"Now!" roared the three hundred watchers from the cliffs. "Now!" they
clamored, the men and women and children balanced, in turmoil on the
ledges. "Now! Begin!"
As if at a cue, the sun leaped high. It smote them a blow as with a
flat, sizzling stone. The two men staggered under the molten impact,
sweat broke from their naked thighs and loins, under their arms and on
their faces was a glaze like fine glass.
Nhoj shifted his huge weight and looked at the sun as if in no hurry to
fight. Then, silently, with no warning, he kanurcked out a pebble with
a startling trigger-flick of thumb and forefinger. It caught Sim flat
on the cheek, staggered him back, so that a rocket of unbearable pain
climbed up his crippled foot and burst into nervous explosion at the
pit of his stomach. He tasted blood from his bleeding cheek.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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