Harry Harrison: The Stainless Steel Rat Gets Drafted

"No time like the present. Let's find a club shop." This was easily enough done. Most of the side streets were open markets, with stalls and tiny shops that sold an apparently endless variety of cloth, fruit, meals wrapped in leaves, knives, saddles, tents - and clubs. While the merchant extolled the value of his wares, muffledly and incomprehensively through the layers of cloth about his face and neck, I hefted the samples and tested their swing. I finally settled on a meter length of tough wood that was bound about with iron bands.

"This looks like what we want," I told Bibs. The weapon vendor nodded and took the coins and muttered some more. Bibs pointed inside.

"He insists that a year guarantee goes with every club and you must try it out before you leave."

The testing block proved to be a large upright stone that had been carved into human form, what might at one time have resembled a man in armor. But years of testing had taken their toll. Gouges, nicks and missing chunks defaced it; noseless, chinless with a single fragment of ear remaining. I hefted my club, tried a few practice swings - then stood with my back to the stone while I psyched up my muscles with some dynamic-tension contractions and a breathing mantra. I was chuffing as nicely as a Spiovente steam wagon, holding the club upright, when I felt ready.

Timed release, that's the secret. Not a secret really, just technique and practice. A single shout contracted my body all in an instant. In time with the sound I swung about with all of my weight and strength focused on the iron band on the end of the club. It whistled through a half-circle that terminated on the side of the rock head.

There was a ringing crack as the neck shattered and the stone head fell off. The club was still sound and the iron ring had a slight nick.

"This one will do," I said, as offhandedly as I could.

They were both very impressed, let me tell you. I was impressed myself. It had been a good blow, better than I had realized.

"Do you do that often?" Bibs asked in a hushed voice.

"If I have to," I said with a calm I did not feel. "Now take me to your hogh."

We found one just a few streets away, the identity of the business made known by a skeleton in an iron cage above the door.

"Some sign," I said. "You would think they would hang out a painting of a money bag or a wooden Arghans,"

"This is more practical. That is the last thief they caught trying to steal from them."

"Oh, thanks."

"It's just a tradition, don't let it disturb you." Easy enough for her to say - she wasn't going to rob this place. Disturbed, I followed her past two ugly weightlifters who leaned on their spears and scowled at us.

"Hogh," Bibs said, sniffing with disdain at the guards. They muttered something not too nice, but still knocked on the iron-bound door until it creaked open. Inside were more guardians from the same mould. Except these had swords. The door slammed shut and was locked behind us as we passed through a dark room into the courtyard beyond. There were spikes - as well as more guards - on the surrounding wall. Not a wall, really, but the roof of the buildings that surrounded the courtyard. The hogh himself sat on a large chest, shielded from the sun by a canopy, guarded by two more men - this time armed with pikes. The chest had a flat top and was covered with pillows.

"I suppose he sleeps on it at night." I said, a feeble joke to build the morale.

"Of course," Bibs said and the morale slumped even lower.

The moneylender was all smarmy, gestures and oily voice. Bibs jingled our money at him and he smarmed even more. At the clap of his hands assistants cleared the pillows away and opened the lid of the chest. I looked in and the guards looked at me. It was neatly divided into sections and each section was filled with leather bags. More orders and handclapping produced a bag that was placed on top of the now reclosed chest. He sat back onto the lid with a happy sigh and cradled the bag in his lap, opened it and let a trickle of shining coins run through his fingers. The haggling began and I feigned boredom and looked around at the courtyard.

This was not going to be easy, not easy at all. The entrance door would certainly be sealed and guarded. If I came over the wall there were those spikes - and more guards as well. Then what? Sneak down into the courtyard and tip the old boy off into the dust, grab the bag. And get speared, stabbed, clubbed and so forth. Not an attractive proposition at all. We were going to have to get a new plan to raise funds. I could see no way to get into this place; brute strength was far more efficient than technology in this setup. And say I got in, say I lifted the loot - there was the little matter of getting out with it. Though that might not be too difficult …

I felt the glimmerings of an idea and held onto them and stirred them about. Keeping my expression as calm and stony as possible, with just a hint of a snarl as I looked at the guards, who snarled back. Negotiations were progressing well with plenty of wails of grief and snorts of disdain from both sides. I was only barely aware of this as I rough-fashioned my plan, ran it around and polished it a bit, then took it through slowly, step by step, to see if it would work. Given a little bit of luck it would. Was it the only plan? I sighed inwardly. Yes, all things considered, it was the only plan. I swung my club impatiently and called out to Bibs.

"Come on lady, don't take all day." She turned about and scowled.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me. You came to the bodyguard hiring hall and promised good pay for a short day. But the pay ain't that good and the day is too long."

If the hogh didn't understand Esperanto the plan would stop there. But I could see his ears perk up, listening and understanding everything we said. Bash on - no turning back now. Bibs didn't know what I was doing, but she was smart enough to play along, taking umbrage at my insults.

"Listen you muscle-bound moron - I can hire better than you for half the price. I don't need the static from a malbonulo whose eyebrows meet in the middle!"

"That does it!" I shouted. "I don't take that from no one!"

I swung my club at her in a wicked blow that just brushed her hair. It didn't touch her - so I let the butt end follow through with a light tap on the forehead that dropped her to the ground. With Bibs safely out of the picture I would now see if I could get away with what is usually referred to as a smash-and-grab.

My club swung again and knocked down one of the poles that held up the canopy. I stepped forward as it fell and chopped the hogh on the side of the neck as the cloth engulfed us.

Fast now, Jim. You have seconds - or less. I groped the bag of coins out of his lap and stuffed them inside my shirt. It wouldn't fit until I spilled some out. Seconds. Gone.

There was plenty of shouting now and struggling with the cloth. I pulled myself free - and walked away, calling back over my shoulder.

"I quit, lady. Get another bodyguard. Only poofters work for women anyway."

Two paces, three, four. The armed men looking from me to the heaving canopy as the guards there pulled it free. One of them emerged, dragging the unconscious hogh, shouting and screaming with anger. I did not need a translation. All of the other guards howled in rage and ran toward me.

I turned tail and ran in the opposite direction. Away from the only exit.

But toward the flight of wooden stairs that ran up to the roof.

The single guard there stabbed at me with his spear. I parried it with the club and kicked him hard where it would make the best impression. Jumped his falling body and bounded up the stairs two at a time and almost impaled myself on the sword of the man standing at the top. All I could do was dive under it, roll, crash into his legs and bring him down.