Sword Masters Read Free Page A

to Tarius, and this could be problematic.
    * * *
    Dinner had been nutritious and tasteless. The uniforms were plain blue puffy pants, black stirrup boots, and plain long-sleeved white tunics, which offered no protection at all. Tarius was accustomed to wearing armor as clothing, and this stuff made Tarius feel almost naked. Normally in the Kartik this would have been no problem, but under the circumstances this was the last thing Tarius needed.
    The haircut was worse. What protection did Tarius now have for the head area? What padding for a helmet? Everything these people did seemed to make no sense at all.
    Tarius lay fully clothed on top of the bedclothes, the sword drawn and lying beside the fighter. The lights were doused, and Tarius lay alone in the dark.
    Tarius's mind raced. What the hell was I thinking? I can't pull this off! I'm the only woman in a room with twenty-four men. A room where no woman is allowed. These people's ways are strange; they are crazy! Women are treated like a different species here. How can I hide my secrets from all these people when I live with them? Thank the one who has no name that they didn't make us strip!
    She looked over at where Tragon lay on his bed. He's followed me around like a puppy all night. I wonder if he knows. He damn near came in the shower with me. No locks on the doors; it's only a matter of time till I get caught. All this bathing . . . what a waste! I'll have to find some other place to bathe. I am caught up in my father's curse. Forced to live with these strange, basically stupid people, hiding all that I am so that I can do my part to weed the Amalites from the world, and gain my revenge.
    "Tarius, you asleep?" Tragon asked in a whisper.
    The sudden sound of his voice had made her jump, and her hand had automatically gripped her sword. "No, I'm not," she answered.
    "I can't sleep, either," he said. "It's not easy is it?"
    "What?" Tarius asked not understanding the question.
    "To be the son of a great fighting tradition. Every male member of my family has been a Swordmaster of the Jethrik. My father, my uncles, my two older brothers—all have been great warriors. My father is a Knight, and doubtless my brothers would have been knighted as well if they hadn't died in the Battle of Garrison. I am all that's left to carry on the tradition. I . . . I'm afraid. If I don't make the cut, I will disgrace my household. I'm not very good. In fact, I'm sort of clumsy. I am also afraid of dying, and I have no wish no desire to fight."
    This was the reason the boy had been drawn to her, because he felt a camaraderie. They both had their fathers reputations to live up to, but it was fair to say that Tarius didn't really understand the boy's problem. "You should go into farming and raise sons who might carry on your great fighting tradition."
    "And disgrace my family!" Tragon gasped in disbelief.
    "Why would that disgrace your family?" Tarius asked. "People can fight or they can't fight. It's in you, or it's not. If you die without producing children, then the line dies with you and no good fighting people can ever come from you again."
    "Wow! You really are a foreigner," Tragon scoffed.
    "If you were to marry a woman who came from a good fighting line but couldn't fight herself, then chances are your off-spring would be very good fighters," Tarius explained.
    Tragon laughed almost too loudly then. "Women fighting! Women don't fight."
    "Kartik women fight," Tarius said plainly. She was surprised at how utterly ignorant of Kartik culture these people were. After all, Orion Harbor was less than a days ride from here and it was always teaming with Kartik sailors and traders.
    "Oh, now you are pulling my leg," Tragon said.
    "No I'm not. My own mother was a fine swordswoman until an Amalite thug ran her through," Tarius said.
    "If you say so." Tragon yawned sleepily. "If I don't become a Swordmaster I will disgrace my family, my father will never forgive me, and I will be