Orion and King Arthur Read Free Page B

and, vicious with implacable jealousy, sends me far from her, to serve him and die over and over again.
    “Well, you’re big enough,”said Sir Bors, snapping me back to the moment. “Can you fight?”
    I smiled tightly. I had led Odysseos’ men over the high stone wall of Troy. I had made Mongol warriors gape at my battle prowess. I had helped Beowulf kill Grendel and its mother.
    “I can fight,” I said.
    Sir Bors barely reached to my shoulder. He was thick and solid as a barrel, though, his arms heavy with muscle. He wore only acracked and stained leather jerkin over his tattered knee-length tunic. But he had a long Celtic broadsword belted at his hip. I was in chain mail and linen tunic, my sword strapped to my back.
    Drawing his sword from its leather scabbard, Bors said, “Let me see what you can do.”
    “Wait!” a young voice cried from behind me. “Let me test him.”
    I turned and saw a handsome tall nobleman walkingtoward us, so young that his beard hardly darkened his chin. His eyes were light and clear, flecked with gold, his shoulder-length hair a light sandy brown, almost blond. He was smiling warmly.
    “My lord,” Bors said, his tone several notches softer than it had been, “this Sarmatian—”
    So this was Arthur. He had grown into a strong young man since the time when he’d been a starveling captive ofHrothgar, king of the Scyldings, in Daneland.
    “He’s got good shoulders, Bors,” said Arthur. Then, to me, he added, “Let us see if you know how to use your sword.”
    Bors objected, “But, my lord, you shouldn’t engage yourself with a stranger. He might be an assassin, sent to kill you!”
    Arthur laughed aloud. He had no fear of an assassin. He did not know that I had murdered men in other eras, atAten’s behest.
    A squire, not much younger than Arthur himself, trudged up and handed him his helmet and a shield with a blood-red dragon painted on it. I drew my own sword, heard its steel tongue hiss as it came out into the sunlight. My fingers tightened on its leather-wrapped hilt.
    “Where is your helmet, friend, your shield?” Arthur asked as he stood before me. His iron helmet covered hischeeks and had a nosepiece shaped like an upside-down cross.
    “I won’t need them,” I said.
    His smile turned down a little. “Pride goes before a fall, Sarmatian.”
    “Then I will fall,” I replied.
    Arthur shrugged, then put his shield up and advanced toward me, sword cocked in his right hand.
    My senses went into overdrive, as they always do when I face battle. The world around me seemed to slowdown, as if everything was happening in a dream. I could see Arthur’s gold-flecked amber eyes blinking slowly over the rim of his shield. And Sir Bors stepping sideways to keep at my side. His sword was still in his hand, ready to strike me down if I endangered Arthur. I thought he was more worried that Arthur did not have the skill or experience to face a true fighting man than fearful that I wasan assassin.
    Arthur swung at me in lethargic slow motion, a powerful overhand cut that would have sliced me down to the navel if I hadn’t danced lightly out of harm’s way. He grunted, frowned, and advanced upon me in sluggish slow motion.
    I feinted once to the left, then slashed at his shield, splitting it in two with a loud cracking sound. My blade would have taken Arthur’s arm off if I hadn’tpulled back in time.
    Arthur’s eyes went wide with surprise. After only a moment’s hesitation, he tossed away the broken shield and came at me again. He smashed another mighty overhand slash at me. I parried it easily and his blade shattered into several pieces with a brittle snap.
    “Hold!” Bors shouted, sticking his sword between us.
    I stepped back.
    If Arthur had feared that I would kill himhe gave no sign of it. Instead, he tossed away the broken stub of his sword and then reached out for mine.
    “That’s a fine piece of steel,” he said admiringly as I handed the sword to him.
    Without