dragging her across the floor, roaring at her in Russian.
'Boris!' Nicholas had to shout his name three times to get his
attention, and then they saw the shadow play on the canvas as he dropped
Tessay and flung open the tent flap.
He was dressed only in a pair of underpants. His torso was lean and
muscular, the chest flat and hard-looking, covered with coppery curls.
On the floor behind him Tessay lay face down, sobbing into her cupped
hands. She was naked, and the planes of her body were sleek as those of
a panther.
'What the hell is going on here?' Nicholas demanded, his anger only just
beginning to stir as he witnessed the gracious, gentle woman's distress
and humiliation.
'I am giving this black whore a lesson in good manners,' Boris gloated,
his face still swollen and flushed with drink and passion. 'It's none of
your business, English, unless you want to pay some money and have a bit
of pork for yourself.' He laughed, an ugly sound.
'Are you all right, Woizero Tessay?' Nicholas looked directly into
Boris's face, sparing the woman the further humiliation of another man's
eyes on her nudity.
Tessay sat up, lifted her knees against her chest, and hugged them with
both arms to cover her body.
'It's all right, Alto Nicholas. Please go away before there is real
trouble.' Blood was trickling from one nostril into her mouth, and
dyeing her teeth pink.
'You heard'my wife, English bastard. Go away! Mind your own business. Go
away, before I give you a little lesson in good manners also.'
Boris staggered forward and thrust his open hand against Nicholas's
chest. Nicholas moved as smoothly and as effortlessly as a matador
avoiding the first wild charge of the bull. He swayed to one side, and
used Boris's own momentum to send him on in the direction in which he
was already committed. Completely off balance, the Russian reeled across
the open ground in front of the tent until he collided with one of the
camp chairs and went down in a sprawling heap.
'Royan, take Tessay to your tent!' he ordered softly.
Royan ran into the tent and pulled a sheet from the nearest cot. She
spread it over Tessay's shoulders and lifted her to her feet.
'Please, don't do this,' Tessay sobbed. 'You don't know him when he gets
like this. He will hurt somebody.'
Royan dragged her, still protesting and weeping, out of the tent, but by
now Boris was on his feet again. He bellowed with rage and picked up the
camp chair that had tripped him. With a single jerk he tore off one of
the legs and hefted it in his bunched fist.
'You want to play games, English? All right, we play!' He rushed at
Nicholas, swinging the chair leg like a Ninja baton, so that it hissed
with the force with which he aimed it at his head. As Nicholas ducked
under it Boris reversed the swing, going for the side of his chest,
under his upraised arm. It would have staved in his ribs if it had
landed, but again Nicholas twisted away.
They circled each other warily, and then Boris charged again. If it had
