Dragon's Honor - Kij Johnson [45]
“You should have listened to me, outlander,” Tu Fu crowed. “I said I would grind you into the dirt like a bug and so I will.” He dug his heel into the base of Riker’s spine. “No foreign devil can stand against a true warrior of the Empire.”
Kan-hi disagreed. “Don’t just lie there!” he yelled at Riker. “Get up! Do something! Vanquish him this minute!”
“Once again you have wagered unwisely, my brother,” Chuan-chi said. Riker could readily imagine the smirk on his face. “No wonder you have so many gambling debts.”
Riker had heard enough. Tu Fu twisted his heel once more, but Riker did his best to ignore the excruciating pain in his back. Mentally, he removed himself from the harem, the palace, and Pai itself, placing himself instead on a gray, padded mat in an empty gymnasium somewhere in Alaska. He saw his father standing a few meters away. A reinforced red plastic helmet, its visor down, rendered Kyle Riker completely sightless, but that didn’t matter. Anbo-jyutsu was not about eyes, but motion. Controlled, efficient motion. “Trust your other senses, then let them go,” his father had told him over and over in countless training sessions just like this one. “Let your unconscious keep track of where you are in relation to your opponent. Concentrate on nothing except the moment and the motion. The moment is the motion.” With an effortless flip, Kyle Riker dropped his son face-forward onto the mat. He held him down with one foot, standing like an old-time safari hunter posing astride a fallen lion. The younger Riker fought back tears of frustration and anger. There was no possible escape from this humiliating position … or was there? Kyle Riker would not let his son give up. “There is a defense to every attack,” he repeated endlessly until Riker was sick of hearing it. “An escape to every trap.” Riker squirmed helplessly underneath the constant pressure of his father’s foot. “Anbo-jyutsu.” Kyle said in his memory. “Don’t think about it. Just move.”
Riker moved.
His legs snapped up behind Tu Fu, striking like twin cobras. He hooked his feet around Tu Fu’s legs, as wide around as small pillars, then straightened his own legs in one convulsive jerk. The huge Pai warrior was flung backward. Riker heard the man’s skull crack against the marble floor, followed by the sound of heavy, regular breathing. Riker recognized the reassuring rhythm of unconsciousness.
Applause and some jeers greeted Riker’s victory. Turning over and sitting up, he took a second or two to wipe his eyes thoroughly free of wine and tears. As his vision cleared, he saw Kan-hi standing nearby with a jubilant smile on his face. The two women who had been flanking him had vanished. Riker glanced around, looking for them, but was unable to locate either woman amid the assembled crowd of bachelors and serving maids. He still had his suspicions about his lost phaser, not to mention that sudden faceful of wine. “He okay?” he asked Kan-hi, nodding in the direction of Tu Fu’s collapsed form.
“I suppose so,” the Second Son said blithely. “I’m sure the women will summon a physician if there’s anything serious … but enough about that enormous fool! That was most impressive, friend Will.” He slapped Riker on the back. Riker winced. His back was still sore from where Tu Fu’s nails had gouged him.
“I’d like to give that guy a manicure,” he groused. Preferably with a phaser set on maximum.
Kan-hi inspected the lacerations on Riker’s back and the gashes in his uniform. He shook his