"Anthony Piers - Sos the Rope" - читать интересную книгу автора (Anthony Piers)

"But their first-"
"Will conquer only my sixth-who would have likely lost to any other man. I do not need him."
"And you will have ten men, while he is left with only two," Sos finished. "Yet his team was better than yours, before you fought."
Tun gaped, then laughed, seeing it, for he was not a stupid man. "I will remember that!" he exclaimed. Then he sobered. "Only-what if their best refused to fight any but my best?"
"How is he to know?" Tor demanded. "How do you know his rankings?"
They agreed that the strategy would be effective only with advance scouting, preferably by some experienced but retired warrior. Before long they were all eagerly inventing similar problems and challenging each other for solutions. They fetched dominoes from the game-compartment of the hostel and set them up against each other as tactical situations, the higher values indicating greater proficiency. Tor soon proved to be cleverest at this, and got so that he could parlay almost any random deal into a winning effort. Sos had started this type of competition, but he lost ground to his pupils.
He had shown them how to win with their intelligence when they could not do it by brute force, and he was well satisfied.
The second month, with the physical rankings firmly established, the tribe began inter-weapon competition. The advisors rejoined their own ranks and conspired to overcome all enemies by means of their more subtle skills. Each subgroup now had esprit de corps and was eager to demonstrate its superiority over its fellows.
Sos trained men to keep tally: a point for each victory, nothing for each loss. Some laughed to see grown men carrying pencil and pad, emulating scribes among the crazies, and soon the women moved in to take over this task. They prevailed upon Sos to teach them how to write identifications for each group, so that competitive scores could be posted on a public board. Instead be suggested that they learn to make symbols: simplified swords, clubs and other weapons, to be followed by lines slashed in bunches of five for ready comparison. Every day men were to be seen trekking to that board and exclaiming over their victories or bemoaning their losses of rank. As the fives grew too cumbersome with the cumulative totals, the women mastered the more versatile Arabic. numerals, and, after them, the men. This was a dividend Sos had not anticipated; the tribe was learning to figure. He walked by one day and spied a little girl adding up her group's daily total on her fingers. Then she took the pencil and posted "56" beside the sword-symbol.
That was when he realized how simple it would be to set up a training course in basic mathematics, and even in full-fledged writing. The nomads were illiterate because they had no reason to read or write. Given that need, the situation could quickly change. But he was too busy to make anything of it at the time.
The daggers, being the smallest group, were at a disadvantage. Their leader complained to Sos that, even if all five of them won every encounter, they could hardly keep up with the swords, who could lose more than they won and still finish the day with more points. Sos decided that this was a valid objection, so he showed them how to figure on index: the number of points per man. Then he did have to start his class in maths, to teach the women how to compute the averages. Sola joined it; she was not the smartest woman available but, since she was alone, she had more time and was able to master the procedures well enough to instruct them. Sos appreciated the help, but her proximity disturbed him. She was too beautiful, and she came too close when he was explaining something.
Strange things happened in the circle. It was discovered that the ranking swords were not necessarily the most effective against the crude clubs, and that those who could master clubs might be weak against the staffs. The advisors who first caught on to the need to shift rankings as the type of opposition shifted gained many points for their groups.
Tyl came upon Tor setting out his dominoes in his tent and laughed. Then he saw Tor make notes and call off a marvelously effective battle strategy, and stopped laughing. Tyl, also aloof at first because of the deference he felt due his position, watched the individual progress being made and decided to participate. No one could afford to stand still, and already there were sworders rivaling his prowess. The time even came when he was seen pondering dominoes.
The third month they began doubles drill. Two men had to take the circle against two opponents and defeat them as a team.
"Four men in the circle?" Tyl demanded, shocked. "What charade is this?"
"Ever hear of the tribe of Pit?"
"A very powerful organization in the far east. They put up their swords by pairs, and their clubs and staffs. They will not enter the circle singly. Do you want them to claim a victory over us by default?"
"No!" And the drill went on.
The daggers and sticks had little trouble, but the staffs could entangle each other and the free-swinging clubs and swords were as likely to injure their partners as their targets. The first day's doubles practice was costly. Again the rankings were shuffled, as the teamed first and second swords found themselves ignominiously defeated by the tenth and fifteenth duo. Why? Because the top-rankers were individualists, while the lower numbers had wisely paired complementary styles: the aggressive but foolhardy offense supported by the staid but certain defense. While the two top sworders lurched against each other and held back strokes because they could not separate friend from foe, the smooth teamwork of the lesser warriors prevailed.
Then inter-group competition again, with reshuffled rankings, and finally mixed doubles: sword paired with club, dagger with staff, until every man could pair with any other weapon against any combination and fight effectively. The scoring had to be revised to match; the women learned fractions and apportioned the sections of the victories where due. Months passed unnoticed as the endless combinations were explored, and an experienced cadre developed to break in the newcomers, naturally bewildered, and show how to improve and ascend the rankings.
The leaves fell, then snow, and the moths and shrews disappeared, though group vigilance and action had long since reduced these menaces to comparative impotence. As a matter of fact, shrew stew had become a staple in the diet, and it was awkward to replace this bountiful source of meat when winter came.
The rings were swept clean each day and the interminable drill went on, in shine or snow. Additional warriors appeared steadily, but still Sol did not return.


CHAPTER EIGHT


With the cold weather, Sav elected to move into the main tent, which was heated by a perpetual fire. It had been subdivided into numerous smaller compartments, for a certain amount of privacy between families. Increasingly, eligible young women were showing up in search of bracelets. Sav was candid about passing his around.
Sos stayed in the small tent, unwilling to mix freely with those who bore weapons. His impotence in the circle was a matter of increasing distress, though he could not admit it openly. He had not appreciated the extent of his compulsion to assert himself and solve problems by force of arms until denied this privilege. He had to have a weapon again-but was barred from employing any of the six that the crazies distributed to the cabins. These were' mass produced somewhere, standardized and stocked freely in the hostels, and alternates such as the bow and arrows were not useful in the circle.
He had wondered often about this entire state of affairs. Why did the crazies take so much trouble to provide these things, making the nomad existence possible, then affect complete lack of concern for the use men made of them? Sometime he meant to have the answer. Meanwhile he was a member of the battle society, and it was necessary for him to assert himself in its terms. If he were able.
He stripped his clothing and climbed naked into the warm sleeping bag. This was another item the crazies obligingly stocked in wintertime, and many more than the normal number had been provided at the local cabin, in response to the increased drain on its facilities. They all most certainly knew about this camp, but didn't seem to care. Where the men were, they sent supplies and sought no other controls.
He had a small gas lamp now, which enabled him to read the occasional books the crazies left behind. Even In this regard they were helpful; when he started taking books from the hostel, more appeared, and on the subjects he seemed to favor. He lit the lamp and opened his present volume: a text on farming, pre-Blast style. He tried to read it, but it was complicated and his mind could not concentrate. Type and quantity of fertilizer for specified acreage; crop rotation, pesticide, applications of and cautions concerning.. . such incomprehensible statistifying, when all he wanted to know was how to grow peanuts and carrots. He put the book aside and turned off the light.
It was lonely, now that Sav was gone, and sleep did not come readily. He kept thinking of Sav, passing his bracelet around, embracing yielding and willing flesh, there in the main tent. Sos could have done likewise; there were women who had eyed his own clasp suggestively even though he carried no weapon. He had told himself that his position required that he remain unattached, even for isolated nights. He knew that he deceived himself. Possession of a woman was the other half of manhood, and a warrior could bolster his reputation in that manner as readily as in the circle. The truth was that he refused to take a woman because he was ashamed to do so while weaponless.
Someone was approaching his tent. Possibly Tor, wanting to make a private suggestion. The beard had a good mind and had taken such serious interest in group organization and tactics that he outstripped Sos in this regard. They had become good friends, as far as their special circumstances permitted. Sometimes Sos had eaten with Tor's family, though the contact with plump good-natured Tora and precocious Tori only served to remind him how much he had wanted a family of his own.
Had wanted? It was the other way around. He had never been conscious of the need until recently.
"Sos?"
It was a woman's voice-one he knew too well. 'What do you want, Sola?"
Her "hooded head showed before the entrance, black against the background snow. "May I come in? It's cold out here."
"It is cold here, too, Sola. Perhaps you should return to your own tent." She, like him, had maintained her own residence, pitched near Tyl's. She had developed an acquaintance with Tyla. She still wore Sol's bracelet, and the men stayed scrupulously clear of her.
"Let me in," she said.
He pulled open the mesh with one bare arm. He had forgotten to let down the solid covering after shutting off the lamp. Sola scrambled in on hands and knees, almost knocking over the lamp, and lay down beside his bag. Sos now dropped the nylon panel, cutting off most of the outside light and, he hoped, heat loss from inside.
"I get so tired, sleeping alone," she said.
"You came here to sleep?"
"Yes."
He had intended the question facetiously and was set back by her answer. A sudden, fierce hope set his pulses thudding, seeming more powerful for its surprise. He had deceived himself doubly: it was neither his position nor his lack of a weapon that inhibited him, but his obsession with one particular woman. This one.
"You want my bracelet?"
"No."
The disappointment was fiercer. "Get out."
"No."
"I will not dishoner another man's bracelet. Or adulterate my own. If you will not leave yourself, I will have you out by force."