Роджер Желязны - Warriors of Blood and Dream

In fifteen minutes Cameron learned the names to a dozen faces and put down a hunt breakfast that would have done for dinner at many an Earthside inn.

The company turned out again to the courtyard, where it met up with an assemblage of mounts and trackers. Ansari kir again detached himself from the general preparations to see Cameron firmly in the saddle of a handsomely turned out gaffa , its trappings and harness gay and colorful in the early sun.

"Here," Ansari kir handed up a helmet of local design, its utilitarian plastsheen leathered and painted in the amber and green colors of the Hunt. "Wear it and be at one with your mount."

And with the world , he might have said. Cameron pulled the helmet on and found the colors about him jumping at him in augmented brilliance. He heard sounds of forest wildlife beyond the courtyard walls: timid ground rodents; arboreal creatures; raptors soaring. His gaffa 's mind was strongest and closest to hand. It awaited not his commands but his impulses, and to course with him as a companion, not as a mere beast of burden. The minds of the trackers, a feeling of all-consuming quest, impinged eagerly. And those of his companions—their swirl and energies flowed about him without words.

Cameron looked about him. If the company felt him, his alienness, they showed no sign. They wore no helmets.

"No need," said/thought Ansari kir . "And, yes, they see/feel your presence. With welcome and anticipation."

He waved and the gates folded open. The eager parade flowed out, not into the forest but across a meadow of spring grass and wildflowers. Not at all as Cameron remembered it. He recalled the encroaching forest just outside of every wall. Every wall? Were there more outlooks here, more points to the compass than the usual thirty-two?

Another question that held its own answer. It was the best kind. It went unasked.

"Ride!" Ansari kir commanded.

Cameron rode.

When Cameron looked back on it later, it seemed a timeless idyll. Perhaps it had been. Perhaps it had all been a nanosecond synaptic flash, a compression beyond words. Words. Words were seldom used. The helmet obviated the need for words, save those that held their own intrinsic and autonomous body and were to be held up and admired as they sparkled. Or words as shorthand for an abstract shard of thought. There were more of these than a morning of coursing through wood and field might be expected to produce.

The Hunt ranged across meadows wet with morning dew, then hot under a noonday sun. Early hour cricket sounds ceased as they rode through the grass, but the small internal hummings carried unabated through the helmet. The insect hummings of midday never stopped.

There were also dark copses of bay and laurel to be traversed, and forest trails that had to be taken at a slower pace and in single file. No matter that the quarry might not choose to hold to wooded paths.

As the day reached its hottest they emerged from the forest coolness to a grassy swale by the river. The sun was at its zenith, but an array of tents, striped with brightness, drew the eye and promised shade. The party dismounted and turned the gaffas loose to graze, drink, and dream. The tents were airy, the fabric ending several feet off the ground with only the guy lines to tie them down. Within lay trays of cheeses and breads, drinks in beds of ice, refreshing sorbets. All as if just laid out, though there were no retainers to be seen.

The company looked as if refreshment was in order. Though Cameron was warm, it seemed as nothing compared to Ansari kir and the others of the field. Perspiration flowed down their faces, seeming to melt the promontories of their features, flattening them visibly. Ansari kir 's aquiline nose seemed to have broadened and spread, appearing almost squashy. Cameron looked closer at his companions. Their domes, too, though they must have been designed for the Hunt, appeared to be too flimsy for the task. They seemed to be bursting at the seams and rent where twigs and branches had torn and snagged. Beneath appeared patches of mottled skin.

None paid any mind; all addressed themselves to the refreshments. Cameron did as well, till Ansari kir called a halt and led them to the largest tent of all. Before his eyes had adjusted to the shadowed light within, Cameron's feet and nose told him that he was in a dojo . He felt the firm springiness of tatami underfoot. The smell of fresh straw hung in the sun-warmed air. Cameron sat down on the edge of the mat and removed his shoes. When he looked up he saw his companions in a new guise. They were more clearly human again, of varying statures and weights, all attired in judo gis . He recognized the faces of old friends and opponents, smelled their body odors around him, felt the rough softness of his often-washed gi on his shoulders. A faint breeze stirred the hairs on his naked chest.

"Your dojo , your art, Cameron," Ansari kir said. He alone kept his features as Cameron remembered them. "Lead us through the stretches and ukemi ."

The crisp sounds of rollups and arm slaps permeated the air, rebounding off the tent walls. Uchikomi followed, as the judokas paired off and practiced repetitions of step-ins, taking their lead from Cameron. Cameron's partner was Ansari kir , the player on the defensive. Cameron played tori , attacking with ogoshi in a reverse pivot, spiraling in and down to slam his hips in below his partner's belt. He slid his arm around Ansari kir's waist to pull him onto Cameron's back, and realized something was wrong. He was coming in too high, not breaking his partner's balance. And Cameron's arms were not succeeding in encircling a girth that seemed broader than met the eye.

Instinctively, Cameron pivoted out to stand face-to-face with his partner. Ansari kir bowed. "My apologies," he said.

Cameron looked again and saw the squatter and heavier form that Ansari kir had presented at the refreshment tent. Only the face remained as before. Cameron nodded in understanding. He took Ansari kir through a series of shorter players' moves—hip throws, mainly. The other judokas took their cue from the main pair and followed along in the repetitions. In-out; in-out. The air became heavier and moister, overlaid with an exudation subtly different from human sweat.

They were fast learners.

Expectation also hung in the air, as palpable as these other aromas. At last Ansari kir voiced the collective desire. " Randori ?"

Cameron nodded. He stepped to the center of the mat together with Ansari kir . They bowed, then grasped each other's lapels and sleeves and began.

Cameron took them in a wheeling counterclockwise shuffle. He tried an ankle block. Ansari kir hopped over it. Cameron closed for a left side osoto gari and found his opponent pivoting away. They resumed their circling movement. Cameron tried using his tall man's leg reach into a tai otoshi , a good throw to use on a short, stocky opponent. He spun on his left foot, shot his right leg out to block Ansari kir's ankle, and tried to wheel him over his extended leg. Again, his opponent hopped over the block, then pivoted into a kubi nage , his hips coming in swiftly to break Cameron's balance, his arm going for a headlock. Cameron dropped his hips just in time to get his weight low enough to avoid being doubled over and to slip the encircling arm. Ansari kir was fast. Too fast.

They circled again and Cameron thought it over.

And then he had it. He stopped thinking, adopted a state of no mind . He let his body think, allowing no premeditation that could be read. When his body found the opening and moved in, it was with a hip throw of his own, unlooked for from a taller man. It was Ansari kir's turn to plant his legs and drop low to block Cameron's seoi nage . But as Cameron spun in he reversed his pivot, hooking his opponent's left leg with his right, catching it just below the knee. Cameron slammed his left shoulder into Ansari kir's , driving him back to his left corner. His opponent's right leg was off the ground, and Cameron kept driving, hopping on his left leg and hooking Ansari kir's supporting leg out from under till his opponent fell backward onto his back and slapped the mat hard.