The City of Gold and Lead (The Tripods) Read Online Free PDF Page B

in fury.
    He was probably a year or so older than I was, and bigger and heavier. He fended me off contemptuously. My mind did not cool down enough for me to realize how stupidly I was behaving, but enough for the skills I had acquired during my long training to take over. I feinted toward him and, as he swung a still casual arm in my direction, slipped inside and belted him hard over the heart. Now it was his turn to go sprawling, and there was a roar from the men crowding around us. He got up slowly, his face angry. The others moved back, forming a ring, clearing the tables to do so. I realized I had to go through with it. I was not afraid of that, but I could appreciate my own folly. I had been warned about my rashness by Julius and now, within a week of starting out on an enterprise of such desperate importance, it had already betrayed me.
    He rushed at me, and I had to concern myself again with what was present and immediate. I sidestepped and hit him as he went past. Although he was bigger than I was, he was lacking in any kind of skill. I could have danced around him for as long as I liked, cutting him to pieces. But that would not do at all. What was needed was one disabling blow. From every point of view, the sooner this was over the better.
    So the next time he attacked I rode his punch with my left shoulder, sank my right fist into the vulnerable area just under his ribs and, stepping back, caught himwith as powerful a left hook as I could manage as, gulping air, his head involuntarily came forward. I got a lot of strength into it. He went backward even faster and hit the floor. The watching men were silent. I looked at my fallen opponent and, seeing that he showed no signs of getting up, moved in the direction of the door, expecting that the ring would open to let me through.
    But that did not happen. They stared at me sullenly without budging. One of them knelt beside the prone figure.
    He said, “He hit his head. He may be hurt badly.”
    Someone else said, “You ought to get the police.”
    • • •
    A few hours later I stared up at the stars, bright in a clear black sky. I was cold and hungry, miserable and self-disgusted. I was a prisoner in the Pit.
    I had met very rough justice at the hands of the magistrate who had examined me. The fellow I had knocked out was a nephew of his, a son of a leading merchant in the town. The evidence was that I had provoked him in the tavern by saying things derogatory of the Württembergers, and that I had then hit him when he was not looking. It bore no resemblance at all to what had happened, but there were a number of witnesses who agreed on the story. My opponent was not one of these: he had suffered concussion when his head hit the floor and he was in no state to say anything to anybody. I was warned that if he failed to recover I would assuredly be hanged. Meanwhile I was to be consigned to the Pit, during the magistrate’s pleasure.
    This was their preferred way of dealing with malefactors.The Pit was round, some fifteen feet across and about as many feet deep. The floor was of rough flagstones, and the walls were also lined with stones. They were smooth enough to frustrate attempts at climbing up, and there were iron spikes near the top, projecting inward, which further discouraged thoughts of escape. I had been dropped over these like a sack of potatoes, and left. I had been given no food, and had nothing to cover me in a night which looked as though it were going to be cold. I had banged my elbow and grazed my arm in the fall.
    But the real fun, as I had been told with satisfaction by some of my captors, would take place the following day. The Pit was designed partly for punishment, partly for the amusement of the local people. It was their custom to stand at the top and pelt the unfortunate prisoner with whatever came to hand or mind. Filth of all kinds—rotting vegetables, slops, that sort of thing—were what they chiefly preferred, but if they were really