The Reluctant Swordsman Read Online Free PDF

required entertainment, he would certainly have found this one adequate.
    “Has he awakened at all?”
    She shook her head, nervous at his high rank. “No, my lord.” She had a pleasantly tuneful contralto voice. “I thought he was going to, my lord, for he was groaning. Then he quieted. He seems to be just sleeping a normal sort of sleep now, my lord.”
    That seemed a reasonable guess, and it was a perceptive comment from a slave.   Obviously she had obeyed Dinartura’s instructions and washed the swordsman. He looked quite respectable. She had even combed out his long black hair.   Honakura hesitated, but if there was truly danger, as he feared, then every visit he made would increase that danger. The potential victim must be warned.   “Waken him!” he ordered.
    The girl cringed. Probably she had never met a Seventh before and now she was alone with two of them. “Go on,” he said, more gently. “I won’t let him eat you.”
    Gingerly she reached down and gave the sleeper’s shoulder a gentle shake.
    The swordsman sat up.
    The movement was so sudden that the girl leaped back with a gasp, and even Honakura retreated a pace from the foot of the bed. The man glared wildly around, heavy black eyebrows lowered in a scowl. He took in Honakura and the woman and the room in one lightning scrutiny. Then he seemed to relax a fraction. He looked them all over once more, sitting upright and not saying a word. He lingered his gaze appreciatively over the girl and finally brought it back to the man facing him.
    “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.
    Honakura recoiled another pace at this unexpected vulgarity. Then he recalled that they had not observed the proprieties of formal salutes at their earlier meeting and so, although he was the elder, he proceeded with the greeting to an equal: “I am Honakura, priest of the seventh rank, Third Deputy Chairman of the Council of Venerables, and I give thanks to the Most High for granting me this opportunity to assure your beneficence that your prosperity and happiness will always be my desire and the subject of my prayers.” The swordsman raised an eyebrow incredulously at the recital and the elaborate gestures. He glanced at the girl to see her reaction. There was a long pause.   Then he nodded solemnly to Honakura and said, “Likewise, I’m sure. My name is Wallie Smith.”
    †††
    Jja leaped forward and assisted the old man to a chair. His face had turned gray and he was gasping for breath. She had been surprised to hear his name, for her mistress Kikarani had returned from a summons to the temple that morning in a storm of alternating terror and fury, breathing plagues and disaster against this same holy Honakura—Jja had envisioned an enormous, dreadful ogre, not a quiet and kindly old man. She hovered over him for a moment, worrying: should she run for a healer? But that would be for the swordsman to decide. She heard a creak from the bed and turned to see that he had pulled himself back so that he could lean against the wall. He was modestly adjusting the cloth over himself.   She was going to kneel beside the priest, but the swordsman smiled at her and pointed to the chair at his side. He had a very kindly smile.   “And what is your name?” he asked, as she obediently went over.
    “Jja, my lord.”
    “Jja?” he echoed, sounding it. “Jja! How do you . . . ” He frowned and tried again: “How do you . . . Damn!” he muttered. He tried once more: “How do you make-marks-to-see for that?”
    She did not understand. He was looking puzzled himself.   The old man had recovered some of his breath. “My Lord,” he said faintly. “This morning you told me that your name was Shonsu.” The big man stared at him menacingly for a moment. “I don’t remember that.” He frowned, looking puzzled again. “In fact I don’t remember anything for . . .   well, it feels like quite a long time.”
    “You said,” the priest repeated, “that your name was