Palace Read Free

of his mind, Kata called himself a fool for engaging in a public display like this. The fewer people who knew that the Outcast was on planet, the better. But to turn down a dance challenge? Never!
    At first, the two merely circled one another. As the challenged one, the door warden’s turn came first. The younger Lep began to spin, to leap high in the air. With every leap he flung his muscled arms toward the sky. The crowd began to clap and stamp their feet, pounding out the rhythm of the dance. Next the youngling feinted powerful blows, side strikes and claw swipes at his adversary while he kept up the dance, leaping right, then left. Kata merely watched, never flinching even when a clawed hand swept within a few centimetres of his eyes. At last the youngling finished his set. His huge scaled chest heaved as he lifted his head to the crowd, right and left, calling upon them to judge his adversary against him. The crowd fell silent. Heads turned; crests raised; eyes, gold and green and black, studied Kata. He could practically hear what they must be thinking. The youngling was strong and fast, with some grace and a store of confidence that would be the joy of any grandmother. What would the scrawny middle-aged Lep with the undistinguished scalings do in answer?
    Kata showed his throat to the crowd, first right, then left. Slowly, as slowly as he could manage, he spread out his arms and hands to the sky. The crowd gasped: to claim the slow fight, the silence, was the right only of a great dancer. No-one moved, no-one clapped while he forced each claw out of each fingertip, very slowly, one by one. With his hands raised against the sky, he began to sway, very slowly, right and left, over and over. At the last claw the crowd gasped. ‘Zah!’ Kata called out.
    They began to clap and stamp in the sacred rhythm. Kata began to move, to turn in place, slowly at first, then faster. The clapping swelled to match his speed as he whirled in place, faster, faster. The pounding feet of the watchers struck the rhythm for his pounding heart, so fast that the alley seemed to blur around him, but even so, each time he faced his adversary he made, with icy precision, a swift stab of a finger claw that would have blinded a blood opponent.
    Round and round - then all at once he stopped. The crowd roared as he leapt far into the air, above the heads of even the tallest of the watching Leps. He landed in a perfect crouch with his clawed hand thrust up in an underhand throat strike. The youngling yelped and stumbled back. Breathing slow and softly, Kata held the position for a moment, then stood to raise his head to the watchers and ask for their judgment.
    The crowd sighed, long and hot, as if they had seen a ritual mating. The grandfathers among them looked at each other, then hissed.
    The young door warden slumped, spreading his arms out to acknowledge the judging, then stood straight and strode over to Kata. Only his eyes betrayed his fear. He tilted his head backward to expose his neck, then waited.
    Kata leapt forward, snaked his head round, and touched the male’s soft throat with his teeth, merely touched points to skin. Let the boy tremble, and he would drink blood.
    ‘E-ya?’ The youngling spoke softly, politely, but there was no trace of a whine or a beg in his voice.
    Kata released the folds of throat and stepped back, licking the taste of salty skin from his lips.
    ‘Eh, sid cad ni-ya.’ Ah, your throat tastes of piss! But he raised his crest as he said it and clasped the boy forearm to forearm.
    All round the crowd applauded in the low rumbling that sounded like human laughter, a shaking of the heart. The grandfathers nodded to one another, then called out, telling the crowd to go home and clear the street.
    Kata reclaimed his goods from the grandmother, who allowed herself another slight crest-lift of approval, then followed the youngling inside a dim salon, smelling of scented oils and rubbing alcohol. All along one wall stood