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and pitch.
Under cover of darkness they crept closer to the stockade and the Kattihaws
salvaged what gear they could from dead men and dead muskylopes. While a mixed
bag of the best archers from the Lafranche band and the best of the Kattihaw
circled to concentrate their fire on the rear of the holding where the
palisade was slightly lower, Jerome and Armand, who was the strongest man in
the band, manhandled two barrels of the same combustible with which they had
tipped the arrows up against the wooden pillars that sustained the single
spike-studded gate. To Kattihaw's delight and Jerome's mild surprise,
everything worked out as planned.
Even though the defenders had been expecting just such an attack,
the thoroughness of it was overwhelming. With everyone scurrying about in
the darkness pulling out fire arrows and beating down flames it was too late
before they knew what was really going on. The palisade on each side of the
gate was in flames. The fire was too far along to be inconvenienced by a few
ill-aimed buckets of water. Still, they had to face the Sodbusters.
"To every man upon this earth
Death cometh soon or late. And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds, For the ashes of his fathers, And the temples of his
gods."
Lafranches and Kattihaws poured through the collapsing gate to a reception of
boiling bran which, flung from a ladle, possesses a diabolic ability to stick
until skin and flesh are cooked enough to fall from bone. The Kattihaws had
mostly swords and hangers, and slightly more cuir bouilli armor than
the
Lafranche band whose recent hard times were reflected in their relative lack
of armor and the wolf spears they carried in lieu of proper arms.
At twelve Jerome was still a foot short of his full growth and the spear he
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had appropriated from
Oncle Antoine was, relatively speaking, more like a short pike in his immature
grasp. But his short stature spared him from the worst of those gobs of flung
bran and Jerome managed to slip between fighting, screaming, cursing men to
drive a spear into the broadfaced woman who was ladling out woe with such
abandon. He got a foot on her supine body and removed the spear from between
huge pillowy breasts just in time to drive it into the demon-faced Sodbuster
who rushed him with a pitchfork. Jerome had to drive the foot-long spearhead
three times into the man's chest, almost losing it when vertebral musculature
spasmed and held the spear fast. Finally the wild-bearded man was down. Eyes
glazing, he still clawed at the boy who had killed him.
Without conscious intention Jerome knelt over the man's bloody breast and
sucked a mouthful of warm gushing blood. Suddenly renewed, he wrenched the
spear loose and charged into the stockade intent on his next victim.
But there were no more victims. Men and boys, all dozen of them, were
dead. While Kattihaws rounded up women and girls, the Lafranche band
patrolled the corpses, driving a spear into any that still moved: Infants and
any girls under ten were killed on the spot, as well as all the older women.
Which left only two worth consideration as slaves or concubines.
"Which'n you want " Les Kattihaw asked.
The Lafranches were already topheavy with women. And twelve-year-old Jerome
wanted nothing more than to get one night's sleep without some heir-hungry
woman crawling under his blankets and rubbing herself against him until
the inevitable happened . . . again!
"Tell you what," he offered, "you keep 'em both."
Les Kattihaw stared in disbelief. "What do you want?" he demanded.
"Your folk have better arms than we do. And more muskylopes."
"I can't spare any muskylopes."
"Can you spare us the holding?"
"This little pissant fort? They ain't so much as one good sword in the whole
place. All you'll git's a few kitchen knives, maybe a scythe or two and some
pitchforks."
Jerome nodded.
"Is that really all you want - you're willing to let us take the women and
whatever we done picked up already?"
Jerome nodded again.
"Well, I'll be danged! Boy, any time y'all Lafranches need some help you can
count on Les Kattihaw."
The heavily-mustached man frowned in perplexity. "One thing I can't figger,"
he said. "I saw you rush the gate. Was you bitin' that bugger after you kilt
him?"
Afterward Jerome never knew why he said it. But once said, he knew the
idea must have been germinating within his brain for the last couple of
years. Above all, saying it, he knew it was true. "Brave man. Can't let strong
blood go to waste."
Kattihaw gave him a doubtful grin and changed the subject. The Kattihaws were
awed at the easy way they had gotten the best of the bargain with these
unsophisticated Lafranche. So the band had too many women . . . had they never
heard how much in trade goods a young woman could fetch down south? Yet the
Kattihaws' amusement was tempered by the sly grins of the Lafranche band. It
was just as if they had somehow tricked the Kattihaws into the bad end of a
bargain.
As the fires died down Cat's Eye began graying the eastern skyline. By the
time the sun was up the
Kattihaws were on their way back to their main camp. The Lafranche
band surveyed the scorched
farmstead, licking lips at the sight of all those fat Sodbusters. They turned
to with skinning knives. Then the women started cooking.
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From Bar Lev, A Traveler's Tales of Twenty Worlds (Dayan, 2618)
They don't call it the Outback on Tanith, because for some reason the
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