huyas hurried forward and placed a long ax in his palm. The ax's haft was carved of purple snakewood and ended in a pikelike steel head. It was a wicked-looking tool and one of the most savage dueling weapons.
Nate found a similar ax thrust into his own hands.
Across the way, he watched another huya hurry forward and hold out a clay pot full of an oily liquid. Takaho dipped his axhead into the pot.
Nate recognized the mixture. He had assisted the shaman in preparing this batch of woorari, in English curare, a deadly paralyzing nerve poison prepared from a liana vine of the moonseed family. The drug was used inhunting monkeys, but today it was intended for a more sinister purpose.
Nathan glanced around. No one came forth to offer a similar pot to anoint his blade. It seemed the battle was not to be exactly even.
The village chief raised a bow over his head and sounded the call for the duel to begin.
Takaho strode across the plaza, wielding the ax with practiced skill.
Nathan lifted his own ax. How could he win here? A single scratch meant death. And if he did win, what would be gained? He had come here to save Tama, and to do that, he would have to slay her father.
Bracing himself, he lifted the ax across his chest. He met the angry eyes of his opponent. "I didn't hurt your daughter!" he called out fiercely.
Takaho's eyes narrowed. He had heard Nate's words, but mistrust shone in his eyes. Takaho glanced to where Tama was being ministered to by the village shaman. The lanky elder was bowed over the girl, waving a smoking bundle of dried grass while chanting. Nathan could smell the bitter incense, an acrid form of smelling salts derived from hempweed. But the girl did not move.
Takaho faced Nate. With a roar, the Indian lunged forward, swinging his ax toward Nate's head.
Trained as a wrestler in his youth, Nate knew how to move. He dropped under the ax and rolled to the side, sweeping wide with his own weapon and knocking his opponent's legs out from under him.
Takaho fell hard to the packed dirt, smacking his shoulder and knocking loose his monkey-tail headband. But he was otherwise unharmed. Nate had struck with the blunt side of his ax, refusing to go for a maiming blow.
With the man down, Nate leaped at him, meaning to pin the Indian under his larger frame. If I could just immobilize him ...
But Takaho rolled away with the speed of a cat, then swung again with a savage backstroke of his ax.
Nate reared away from the weapon's deadly arc. The poisoned blade whistled past the tip of his nose and slammed into the dirt between his hands. Relieved at the close call, Nathan was a second too late in dodging the foot kicked at his head. Ears ringing from the blow, he tumbled across the dirt. His own ax bounced out of his stunned hand and skittered into the crowd of onlookers.
Spitting out blood from his split lip, Nathan stood quickly.
Takaho was already on his feet.
As the Indian tugged his embedded ax from the dirt, Nathan noticed the shaman over his shoulder. The elder was now exhaling smoke across Tama's lips, a way of chasing off bad spirits before death.
Around him, the other huyas were now chanting for the kill.
Takaho lifted his ax with a grunt and turned to Nate. The Indian's face was a crimson mask of rage. He rushed at Nate, his ax whirling in a blur before him.
Without a weapon, Nate retreated. So this is how I die...
Nate found himself backed against a wall of spears held by other Indians. There was no escape. Takaho slowed for the kill, the ax high over his head.
Nathan felt the prick of spearheads in his bare back as he instinctively leaned away.
Takaho swung his weapon down with the strength of both shoulders.
"Yulo!" The sharp cry burst through the chanting huyas . "Stop!"
Nathan cringed from the blow that never came. He glanced up. The ax trembled about an inch from his face. A dribble of poison dripped onto his cheek.
The shaman, the one who had called out,
Nate found a similar ax thrust into his own hands.
Across the way, he watched another huya hurry forward and hold out a clay pot full of an oily liquid. Takaho dipped his axhead into the pot.
Nate recognized the mixture. He had assisted the shaman in preparing this batch of woorari, in English curare, a deadly paralyzing nerve poison prepared from a liana vine of the moonseed family. The drug was used inhunting monkeys, but today it was intended for a more sinister purpose.
Nathan glanced around. No one came forth to offer a similar pot to anoint his blade. It seemed the battle was not to be exactly even.
The village chief raised a bow over his head and sounded the call for the duel to begin.
Takaho strode across the plaza, wielding the ax with practiced skill.
Nathan lifted his own ax. How could he win here? A single scratch meant death. And if he did win, what would be gained? He had come here to save Tama, and to do that, he would have to slay her father.
Bracing himself, he lifted the ax across his chest. He met the angry eyes of his opponent. "I didn't hurt your daughter!" he called out fiercely.
Takaho's eyes narrowed. He had heard Nate's words, but mistrust shone in his eyes. Takaho glanced to where Tama was being ministered to by the village shaman. The lanky elder was bowed over the girl, waving a smoking bundle of dried grass while chanting. Nathan could smell the bitter incense, an acrid form of smelling salts derived from hempweed. But the girl did not move.
Takaho faced Nate. With a roar, the Indian lunged forward, swinging his ax toward Nate's head.
Trained as a wrestler in his youth, Nate knew how to move. He dropped under the ax and rolled to the side, sweeping wide with his own weapon and knocking his opponent's legs out from under him.
Takaho fell hard to the packed dirt, smacking his shoulder and knocking loose his monkey-tail headband. But he was otherwise unharmed. Nate had struck with the blunt side of his ax, refusing to go for a maiming blow.
With the man down, Nate leaped at him, meaning to pin the Indian under his larger frame. If I could just immobilize him ...
But Takaho rolled away with the speed of a cat, then swung again with a savage backstroke of his ax.
Nate reared away from the weapon's deadly arc. The poisoned blade whistled past the tip of his nose and slammed into the dirt between his hands. Relieved at the close call, Nathan was a second too late in dodging the foot kicked at his head. Ears ringing from the blow, he tumbled across the dirt. His own ax bounced out of his stunned hand and skittered into the crowd of onlookers.
Spitting out blood from his split lip, Nathan stood quickly.
Takaho was already on his feet.
As the Indian tugged his embedded ax from the dirt, Nathan noticed the shaman over his shoulder. The elder was now exhaling smoke across Tama's lips, a way of chasing off bad spirits before death.
Around him, the other huyas were now chanting for the kill.
Takaho lifted his ax with a grunt and turned to Nate. The Indian's face was a crimson mask of rage. He rushed at Nate, his ax whirling in a blur before him.
Without a weapon, Nate retreated. So this is how I die...
Nate found himself backed against a wall of spears held by other Indians. There was no escape. Takaho slowed for the kill, the ax high over his head.
Nathan felt the prick of spearheads in his bare back as he instinctively leaned away.
Takaho swung his weapon down with the strength of both shoulders.
"Yulo!" The sharp cry burst through the chanting huyas . "Stop!"
Nathan cringed from the blow that never came. He glanced up. The ax trembled about an inch from his face. A dribble of poison dripped onto his cheek.
The shaman, the one who had called out,
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