Dragon's Honor - Kij Johnson [48]
Worf accepted a sword from Chih-li’s right hand. The long silver blade gleamed beneath the flickering light of the paper lanterns. He saw no nicks, scratches, or other defects upon its surface. Stepping back, he swung the sword experimentally, slicing through the foggy, incenseladen air. The sword was neither as heavy nor as versatile as a Klingon bat’telh, but it struck him as a good weapon nonetheless. “This will do,” he grunted.
No other words were necessary. Chih-li shifted his remaining sword to his now-empty right hand and extended the point toward Worf, who assumed a defensive pose. His lack of armor put him at a disadvantage, Worf realized, but only a coward would refuse a challenge on those grounds. Besides, he did not intend to grant first blood to the Pai.
Chih-li attacked ferociously, driving Worf farther back into the hall. Behind the Dragon’s Minister of Internal Security (First Rank), the enamel-covered door slid back into place, cutting off both combatants from the chamber beyond. Worf retreated only a few steps, however, before meeting the Pai’s assault with an attack of his own. Steel clanged against naked steel as they tried to force each other back through sheer force of arms. Their faces, only centimeters apart, met above crossed blades. Chih-li clenched his teeth. Sweat dripped from beneath the brim of his helmet. Worf could see the effort—and the determination—written on Chih-li’s face. His opinion of the Dragon Empire rose by the minute.
Back and forth, they tottered, neither warrior willing to yield one centimeter to the other. Worf would press forward for an instant, only to be pushed back a second later by Chih-li’s unrelenting exertion. The Minister of Internal Security was strong for a human … or a Pai. Changing tactics, Worf stopped pressing against his adversary’s sword and stepped abruptly to one side. Caught off guard, Chih-li stumbled forward, his own momentum carrying him onward into the space Worf had vacated. The flat of Worf’s blade struck Chih-li right below his ribs. The blow knocked the wind out of the Pai, who gasped out loud. Good, Worf thought. He didn’t want to kill Chih-li, and not just for the captain’s sake. The Pai had proven an honorable opponent. Worf raised his free hand, forming it into a fist, and prepared to strike Chih-li at the back of his neck, just below the rear of his helmet. With luck, one good blow would render the Pai unconscious and bring the duel to an honorable, yet bloodless, conclusion.
But Chih-li was not as stunned as Worf hoped, and much more acrobatic. Before Worf’s fist could lower the boom on him, Chih-li flipped headfirst over Worf’s sword, spinning through the air and landing on his feet several meters behind Worf, who barely had time to turn around before Chih-li came charging at him once more, shouting an incomprehensible battle cry at the top of his lungs. Worf quickly raised his sword to meet the razor-sharp blade descending toward his head.
Blue sparks flashed as the swords smashed together. The ring of steel echoed down the wide expanse of corridor. Worf’s sword searched for chinks in his opponent’s armor, but Chih-li’s skillful parries never let Worf’s sword get that close. Out of the corner of his eye, Worf saw a bevy of servant girls coming down the hall, clad in flowing robes of peach and lavender. High-pitched screams rose from the young women as they came upon the fierce struggle being waged in the hall. “A demon!” one of them shrieked. “The minister is battling a demon from hell!” Worf felt mildly offended.
Yanking up the hems of their gowns, the women scurried away as fast as their lithe young legs could carry them. Worf barely noticed their departure; all his concentration was consumed by his unceasing duel