CHAPTER ONE
"But you are too young for the circle?" Nemi cried.
"If I am, then you are too young for that bracelet you've
been eying! You're fourteen—the same as me." His name
was the same as hers, too, for she was his twin sister. He
refused to use that name now, for he no longer considered
himself to be a child.
In fact he had already chosen his manhood name: Neq.
Neq the Sword—as soon as he proved himself in the battle
circle.
Nemi bit her lip, making it artfully red. She was full-
bodied but small, like him, and could not term herself adult
until she had borrowed the bracelet of a warrior for at least
a night. After that she would shed her childhood name and
assume the feminine form of the warrior she indulged. Be-
tween bracelets she would be nameless—but a woman.
And twice a woman when she bore a baby.
"Bet I make it before you do!" she said. But then she
smiled.
He tugged one of her brown braids until she made a
musical trill of protest. He let go and walked to the circle
where two warriors were practicing: a sticker and a staffer.
It was a friendly match for a trivial point. But the metal
weapons flashed in the sunlight and the beat of the weap-
ons' contacts sounded across the welkin.
This was what he lived for. Honor in the circle! He had
taken a sword from the rack in a crazy hostel four years
ago, though it was so heavy he could hardly swing it, and
had practiced diligently since. His father, Nem the Sword,
had been pleased to train him, and it was excellent train-
ing, but he had never been allowed in a real circle.
Today he was fourteen! He and his sister were no
longer bound by parental conventions, according to the
code of the nomads. He could fight; she could borrow a
bracelet. Whenever either was ready.
The sticker scored on the staffer, momentarily stunning
him, and the two stepped out of the circle. "I'm hot today!"
the sticker cried. "Gonna put my band on someone. That
girlchild, maybe—Nem's kid."
They hadn't noticed Neq. His sister's challenge, "Bet I
make it before you do," meant nothing. But though they
were close as only twins could be, their rivalry was also
strong. Neq had a pretext to act.
"Before you put your band on Nem's girlchild," he said
loudly, startling both men, "suppose you put your stick on
Nem's boychild. If you can."
The sticker smiled to cover his embarrassment. "Don't
tempt me, junior. I wouldn't want to hurt a nameless
child."
Neq drew his sword and stepped into the circle. The
weapon looked large on him, because of his small stature.
"Go ahead. Hurt a child."
"And have to answer to Nem? Kid, your dad's a good
man in the circle. I don't want to owe him for roughing
up his baby. Wait till you're of age."
"I'm of age today. I stand on my own recognisance."
That silenced the sticker, because he wasn't familiar
with the word. "You aren't of age," the staffer said, look-
ing down at him. "Anybody can see that."
At this point Nem approached, trailed by his daughter.
"Your boy is asking for trouble," the staffer told him.
"Hig don't want to hurt him, but—"
"He's of age," Nem said regretfully. He was not a large
man himself, but the assurance with which he wore his
sword suggested his size in the circle. "He wants his man-
hood. I can't deny him longer."
"See?" Neq demanded, smirking. "You prove your stick
on me, before you prove anything on my sister."
All three men stiffened. That had been a nasty jibe.
Now Hig the Stick would have to fight, for otherwise
Nem himself might challenge him to keep Nemi chaste.
It was no secret that the sworder was protective toward
both his children, but particularly toward his pretty
daughter.
Hig approached the circle, drawing his stocks. "I gotta
do it," he said apologetically.
Nemi sidled near. "You idiot!" she whispered fiercely at
Neq. "I was only fooling."
"Well, / wasn't!" Neq replied, though now he felt shaky
and uncertain. "Here is my weapon, Hig."
Hig looked at Nem, shrugged, and came to the white
ring. He towered over Neq, handsome and muscular. But
he was not an expert warrior; Neq had watched him fight
before.
Hig stepped inside. Neq came at him immediately,
covering his nervousness with action. He feinted with his
blade in the manner he had practiced endlessly, emulating
the technique of his father. The sticker jumped away, and
Neq grinned to show greater confidence than he felt. It
had actually worked!
He drove at Hig's middle while the man was catching
his balance. He knew that thrust would be blocked, and
the next, but it was best to maintain the offensive as vigor-
ously as possible. Otherwise he'd be forced to the defen-
sive, which did not favor the sword. Especially against the
quick sticks.
But he scored.
Adrenaline had made him swift. The sword thrust inches
deep into Hig's abdomen. The man cried out horribly and
twisted away—the worst thing he could have done. Blood
welled out as the sword wrenched loose. Hig fell to the
ground, dropping his sticks, clutching the gaping mouth
in his belly.
Neq stood dazed. He had never expected it to be this
easy—or this gruesome. He had intended the thrust as
another ploy, braced to get clipped a few times while he
searched for a genuine opening. To have it end this way—
"Hig yields," the staffer said. That meant Neq could
leave the circle without further mayhem. Ordinarily the
man who remained in the circle longest was- the victor,
regardless what happened inside, since some were clever
at feigning injury as a tactical ruse, or at striking back
despite wounds.
He was abruptly sick. He stumbled away from the circle,
heedless of the spectacle he made. He retched, getting
vomit in his nose. Now, calamitously, he understood why
his father had been so cautious about the circle.
The sword was no toy, and combat was no game.
He looked up to find Nemi. "It was awful!" she said.
But she was not condemning him. She never did that
when the matter was important. "But I guess you won.
You're a man now. So I fetched this from the hostel for
you."
She held out a gold bracelet, the emblem of adulthood.
Neq leaned against her sisterly bosom, crying. "It
wasn't worth it," he said.
After a while she took a cloth and cleaned him up, and
then he donned the bracelet.
But it was worth it. Hig did not die. He was packed off
to the crazy hosp
ital and the prognosis was favorable.
Neq wore the invaluable bracelet clamped around his left
wrist, proud of its weight, and his friends congratulated
him on his expertise and assumption of manhood. Even
Nemi confessed that she was relieved to have had her
liaison with the sticker broken up; she hadn't liked Hig
that well anyway. She could wait for womanhood—weeks,
if need be!
There was a manhood party for Neq, where he an-
nounced his name, which was duly posted on a hostel
bulletin board for the crazies to record. There was no
eligible girl in this group, so he was unable to consum-
mate his new status in the traditional fashion. But the
truth was that he was as leary as was his sister of the actual
plunge. Man-man in the circle was straight-forward. Man-
woman in the bed . . . that could wait.
So he sang for them, his fine tenor impressing everyone.
Nemi joined him, her alto harmonizing neatly. They were
not sever cleanly at the stroke of a sword.
A few days later he commenced his manhood trek: a
long hike anywhere, leaving his family behind. He was
expected to fight, perfecting his craft, and to move his
bracelet about, becoming a man of experience. He might
return in a month or a year or never; the hiatus would
establish the change of circumstance, so that all nomads
would respect him as an individual. Never again would
he be "Nem's kid." He was a warrior.
It was a glorious moment, this ceremony of departure,
but he had to hide the choke in his throat as he bid
farewell to Nem and Nema and Nemi, the family he had
set aside. He saw tears forming in his sister's eyes, and
she could not speak, and she was beautiful, and he had to
turn away before he was overcome similarly, but it was
good.
He marched. The hostels in this region were about
twenty miles apart—easy walking distance, but not if a
man tarried overlong. And Neq tended to tarry, for many
things were new to him: the curves and passes of the trail,
unfamiliar because he had never seen them alone before,
and the alternating pastures and forests and the occa-
sionally encountered warriors. It was dark by the time
he found his first lodging.
And lonely, for the hostel was empty. He made do for
himself, using the facilities the crazies had provided. The
crazies: so-called because their actions made no sense.
They had fine weapons that they did not use, and excel-
lent food they did not eat, and these comfortable hostels
they never slept in. Instead they set these things out un-
guarded for any man to take. If everything were removed
from a hostel, the crazies soon brought more, with no
word of protest. Yet if a man fought with his sword
outside the circle reserved for combat, or slew others
with the bow, or barred another from a hostel, and if no
one stopped him, the crazies cut off their supplies. It was
as though they did not care whether men died, but how
and where. As though death by arrow were more morbid
than death by sword. Thus there was only one word for
them: crazy. But the wise warrior humored their foibles.
The hostel itself was a thirty-foot cylinder standing as
high as a man could reach, with a cone for a roof. Some-
how the cone caught the sunlight and turned it into
power for the lights and machines within. Inside there
was a fat column, into which toilet facilities and food-
storage and cooking equipment were set, j and vents to
blow cool air or hot, depending on the need.
Neq took meat from the freezer and cooked it in the
oven. He drew a cup of milk from the spout. As he ate he
contemplated the racks of bracelets, clothing, and weapons.
All this for the taking without combat! Crazy!
At last he pulled down a bunk from the outer wall and
slept, covering his head from the stillness.
In the morning he prepared a pack with replacement
socks and shirt, but did not bother with extra pantaloons
or jackets or sneakers. Dirt did not matter, but the items
that became sweatsoaked did need changing every so
often or discomfort resulted. He also packed bread and
the rest of the meat: waste was another thing the crazies
were sensitive about, despite their own colossal waste in
putting this all out for plunder. Finally he took a bow
and a tent-package, for he intended to do some hunting
and camping on this trek. The hostels were .fine for occa-
sional use, but the typical nomad preferred to be inde-
pendent.
The second night he camped, but it was still lonely and
he had forgotten to take mosquito repellent. The third
night he used a hostel, but he had to share with two other
warriors, a sworder and a clubber. It was friendly, and
they did not talk down to him though they had to "be aware
of his youth. The three practiced in the circle a bit, and
both men complimented Neq on his skill: meaning he still
was a novice. In serious combat no compliments were
The fourth night he found a woman. She prepared a
meal for him that was immeasurably superior to his own
makings, but did not make any other overtures, and he
found himself too shy to proffer his bracelet. She was as
tall as he, and older, and not really pretty. He took a
shower in her presence so she could see he had hair on
his genitals, and they slept in adjacent bunks, and in the
morning she wished him good fortune in a motherly
fashion and he went on. And cursed himself for not initi-
ating his bracelet, at the same time knowing he was even
more afraid of somehow mishandling it and being ridi-
culed. How could a man feign experience in such a matter?
The fifth day he arrived early at a hostel set near a
beautiful small lake, and a man was there. By his fair,
unblemished features he was not much older than Neq,
and he was not substantially larger, but he had the bearing
of a seasoned warrior.
"I am Sol of All Weapons," he announced. "I contest
for mastery."
This set Neq back. Mastery meant the loser would join
the tribe of the winner. Because it was a voluntary con-
vention, it-did not violate the crazies' stricture against
deprivation of personal freedom, but a man honor-bound
was still bound. Neq had only fought once and practiced
some, and didn't trust his luck in serious combat. Not so
soon, anyway. He didn't want to join a tribe so soon, and
had no use for a tribe of his own.
"You use all weapons?" he asked, putting off the im-
plied challenge. "Sword, staff, sticks—all?"
Sol nodded gravely.
"Even the star?" He glanced at the morning star maces
on the weapons rack.
Sol nodded again. It seemed he wasn't much for conver-
sation.
"I don't want to f
ight," Neq said. "Not for mastery. I—I
just achieved my manhood last week."
Sol shrugged, amenable.
About dusk a woman showed up. She wore the sarong
of availability, but she was if anything less young and less
pretty than the one Neq had met before. She must have
borrowed many bracelets in her time, yet no man had
retained her. Sol paid her no attention; he was without
his own bracelet, showing he was married. So it was up to
Neq again—and again he did nothing.
The woman prepared supper for them both, at this was
the function of the available distaff. She had the same
assurance about her cooking that Sol did about his weapons.
This must be her territory, so that she was used to catering
to any men who came here, hoping that some would prefer
capability to beauty and would leave the bracelet on her.
No woman ever took her bracelet directly from the rack; it
had to come from a man.
Before the meal was served, a third man arrived. He
was a large warrior, paunchy, gruff, with many scars. "I
am Mok the Star," he said.
"Sol of All Weapons."
"Neq the Sword."
The girl said nothing; it was not her place. She made
another setting at the table.
"I contest for mastery," Sol said.
"You have a tribe? This boy and who else?"
"Not Neq. My tribe is training in the badlands."
"The badlands!" Mok's surprise matched Neq's own.
"No one goes there!"
"Nevertheless," Sol said.
"The kill-spirits—"
"Do you question my word?" Sol demanded.
Mok bridled at the tone. "Everyone knows—"
"I have to agree," Neq said—and was immediately aware
that he had spoken out of turn. This was not his quarrel.
"In the circle you challenge my word!" Sol said. He