The Wolf Worlds Read Online Free PDF Page A

hit the treeline at a run as behind him he heard the eerie ululating cheers of the warriors on the savannah outside.
    Brush smashed up at Sten. and he flat-dove over a bush, twisted in midair, and hit the ground in a left-shoulder roll.
    Ground scraping, and then knees under him and don't do that as Sten did a fast bellyskid to his right.
    The air hissed and a short spear did a stomach-high death-dance in a tree where he would have been.
    Sten stayed down. Diaphragm breathing. His hands running over the weapons. Trying for some kind of familiarity. He remembered something from Mantis Section's thoroughly hateful primitive weapons instructor—if you have to even think about it, troop, you're dead.
    Don't think. Automatic. Listen. See. A soft breeze, carrying the scent of unknown flowers, and a soft rustle. Dead ahead, Sten thought, sweeping his head from side to side, tracking the sound of the warrior moving away from him, deeper into the grove.
    Sten was on his feet, the short spear notched into the atlatl.
    Move forward. Deep shadows became masses of vines and ancient tree roots. Silence became the rustling of small animals and insect buzzings.
    Half crouched, Sten moved after his challenger. Ah. A snapped twig. The warrior had waited at that spot.
    Nothing else—and then the frantic buzz of an insect and a blur as Sten snapped back the throwing-stick, hurled, and dove away in one motion.
    Sten almost felt his enemy's spear bury itself in the ground next to him. He heard a muffled yelp of pain—satisfaction, hit—and was on his feet again and plunging forward, the war club coming up to strike.
    He smashed down at a tangle of brush. Nothing.
    Wrong, and Sten spun behind a tree for cover.
    Waiting.
    If you will not come to me, he thought, and went flat, belly-crawling forward under that bush he'd clubbed. Not that far wrong—there was bruised vegetation, immense footprints in the soft soil, and a rusty smear of what he assumed was blood.
    But from the amount, Sten was sure he'd done little damage.
    He scanned the area, looking for a sign. Grudgingly Sten had to admire his opponent. How could a creature that size disappear without a trace?
    Up, and slowly moving deeper into the grove.
    "/Ari!cia!"
    It was a muffled shout.
    "/Arilcia," it came again.
    Sten had been listening to the shout for nearly fifteen minutes. And for at least five of those, he had been trying to figure out what to do.
    He gently parted a few stems and peered out. The warrior was standing at one end of a large glade smack in the middle of the grove. A large, well-tended grove , where, Sten was sure, many beings had met and fought and died before. The warrior had dropped all of his weapons except for the huge, woodenlike war boomerang. He was brandishing it and yelling "/Ari!cia!" for Sten to come out to fight.
    Sten had quietly circled the grove twice, trying to logic out the warrior's game. Obviously this trial by combat, or whatever it was, consisted of formalized rules: creepy-crawly through the grove and then if everyone survived that, another test in the glade. One on one, one weapon at a time. At the moment it looked like it meant they were supposed to stand out in the open and hurl boomerangs at each other.
    Sten had several problems with this proposition. First off, although this was obviously a fight to the finish, he was sure that the being's many friends, relatives, and stray drinking acquaintances wouldn't be too pleased if Sten cut the warrior's head off. Sure, it was probably a great way to get invited to a drinking feast, but leaving alive afterward might be a problem.
    Second, there was the problem with the boomerang. Sten hefted it for the eighteenth time. He had thrown such things during primitive-weapons training, but they were all built for beings pretty much Sten's size, give or take a quarter meter or so. This weapon, on the other hand, was built for three-meter-high beings. Sten could barely pick it up, much less throw it in his