Matadora Read Free Page B

fighter?"
    "Oh, no. I'm a student, learning to be a matador."
    "What is a matador?"
    "A bodyguard, Dirisha. Matadors are the best bodyguards there have ever been."
    The woman stared at the big man. Was this what Khadaji had meant? Had he known somebody was setting up this— this school three years ago? He must have known, even as he'd known he wouldn't be around to see it. She'd asked him about Renault, but he'd told her then she wouldn't see him there.
    The man had obviously been much more than he had appeared to be, she had known that even on first meeting, but what was all this about?
    The rail car approached the complex of buildings, slowing as it did so.
    Whatever was going on, Dirisha knew she was going to find out soon.

CHAPTER THREE
    THE SURFACE OF what appeared to be plastcrete was more than it seemed; it gave back a spring to Dirisha's steps as she followed Bork toward the largest of the buildings. Bork apparently noticed her interest, for he said,
    "Rockfoam. They use it on tracks and gym floors, like that."
    Dirisha nodded. She didn't ask the obvious question: why such an expensive surface covering such a large outdoor area? Just ahead, she saw what appeared to be a dozen twisted lines of paint—no, they were patterns of footsteps, printed upon the surface. She stopped at the nearest trail and looked at it. The patterns were all identical, as far as she could tell. And from the way they'd been drawn, the angles and distances, it seemed apparent that the steps were to illustrate some artistic bent, rather than to be trod upon—certainly no normal human could follow the pattern and stay standing. She looked up at Boric, but he only grinned. "Pen'11 tell you," be said.
    Dirisha shrugged and followed the homomue into the shade of the largest building.
    Where was everybody? Was the place deserted? So far, she'd seen no other people, save Bork.
    Inside, the faded-brick facade gave way to stark white halls and high ceilings, with more of the rockfoam covering the floor. Bork led Dirisha through a wide hallway toward a set of what looked to be oak doors.
    As they passed a side hall, a figure moved. Dirisha caught a gray blur in her peripheral vision and turned toward it—
    It was a man—maybe a woman—dressed in a shroud which covered everything but its hands and eyes. As she watched, one of those hands came up suddenly, and pointed a finger at Bork. There came a cough of compressed gas—
    Dirisha leaped to her right and slammed her shoulder into Bork, trying to move him aside. It was like smacking into a wall; she rebounded, turned the movement into a dive and hit the hard-but-soft floor into a roll and walk-out.
    She came up and reached for the kinzoku dart hidden in her belt clasp—
    Something stung the back of Dirisha's hand, a sharp twinge no worse than a wasp might do. She ignored the sensation and continued to pull the dart free—
    "Ah, shit. Pen!" Bork said. "It's not fair!"
    Dirisha had the dart free and she cocked it by her left hip, for a side fling.
    But Bork's voice stopped her. She risked a quick glance at him.
    The big man was rubbing his left arm with his right hand and shaking his head. He didn't look hurt, only disgusted.
    Dirisha looked back at the figure in the gray robe and hood. It—he? she?—had both hands raised and both index fingers pointed at her. She knew if she were to risk the throw, she wouldn't make it before it fired. She relaxed slightly, allowing her hand to sag a few centimeters. The figure in gray immediately dropped both hands by its sides. It turned its head slightly and focused bright blue eyes on Bork. "First Rule?" it said. Or, rather, he said, for the voice was masculine. And odd-sounding, somehow.
    Bork said, "But I was bringing her—"
    "First Rule."
    "'Students must be prepared for attack at any time.'" Bork said. "My fault."
    "You thought you were safe because you weren't doing ordinary things, which is why the First Rule was created," the gray man said. "What do