Five to Twelve Read Online Free PDF Page A

became hard. “Jack, when I invite, only a brave sport declines.”
    “Felicitations. In this case a coward also declines. May I offer you a drink?”
    There was a roar of derision from the watching doms.
    “I am ugly, deformed,
persona non grata?
” demanded the bouncy dom in a hard voice.
    “Not any. Eminently desirable, etcetera. But, alas, I prefer to drink.”
    “Fifty lions should inhibit your thirst”
    “It doesn’t. Please join me.”
    There was a sudden silence.
    Surprisingly, the dom laughed. “Courtesy, it seems, is the new vice of the peons. I’ll join you indeed, my courteous coward. Name the mental block.”
    Dion signalled to No Name.
“Löwenbrau
, twice.”
    The drinks appeared with some rapidity.
    “Grüs Gott
,” said Dion, raising his glass.
    “Salaam aleikum
,” responded the dom with a smile. Then she poured the
Löwenbrau
over his head. “And may God bless all who sail in her.”
    Dion spluttered. Everybody laughed.
    While he was vainly trying to mop up the mess with a kerchief, the dom—spurred, doubtless, by general approval—took the other glass and repeated the process. His discomfort seemed to be out of all proportion to the quantity of liquid that had been poured over him.
    “The duality of mercy is twice blessed,” explained the dom. “It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven.”
    Through a veil of
Löwenbrau
, Dion gazed at the mocking woman. The sounds of hilarity increased on all sides. Pando and Tibor were killing themselves with mirth.
    “Ho, ho,” said Tibor. “Stand three feet taller and be counted. How now, brown squire?”
    Dion shook his head and took a deep breath. He gazed at the dom who had humiliated him and who now stood obsering his discomfort with immense satisfaction.
    “That,” she said, “may teach you to be more of a man.”
    “And this,” retorted Dion, striking wildly at her throat with the hard edge of his hand, “may teach you to be more of a woman.”
    The dom was not expecting retaliation. The chop connected with her throat, and she grunted. Dion followed the blow with a straight finger thrust to her stomach. As she doubled, he hit the back of her neck for good measure.
    She fell to the floor and lay there, twitching and groaning.
    “Any more for the skylark?” enquired Dion savagely. “Any number can play.”
    Again, briefly, there was silence. Pando and Tibor gazed at him in awe.
    Then there was the sound of a chair being moved. It seemed to reverberate like thunder. One of the doms in the oubliette stood up and walked towards him. She was one of the most beautifully proportioned human beings he had ever seen. A full negress. About six foot six, but slender and feline. Her dark, muscular arms seemed to ripple with power.
    “I’m afraid,” she said, in perfectly modulated English, “you have hurt my friend. That is a shade unsociable. I’m sure you must now be most unhappy.”
    “Get her away,” said Dion, indicating the dom at his feet. “She has had too much to drink.”
    “Certainly,” said the tall negress. “We have all had too much to drink. But first, without prejudice and if you will allow me, I’m going to break you in two.”
    Out of the corner of his eye, Dion saw that two of the other doms had also left the oubliette. He glanced desperately at Pando and Tibor. “Now is the time for all good men to come to the party of the first part.”
    “Nix,” called Pando. “Retroactive resignations effective instantly. Happy touch down, squire. Unto them that hath shall be given.”
    In desperation, Dion snatched a bar stool. He held it with the legs pointed towards the tall negress. “Come one step nearer,” he threatened, bracing himself against the bar, “and I’ll teach you to stand on a barrel and sing God Save the Queen.”
    The negress smiled, and continued to advance.
    With an expert movement, No Name, who was immediately behind Dion, on the other side of the bar, snatched a loaded plastic truncheon