the groin.
Someone tried to grab her from behind. 'Shamur knows that cog,' she growled.
She thrust her elbow back into his gut, stamped on his foot, and then, when his grip loosened, pivoted and smashed her forearm into his jaw. His front teeth broke, and he reeled backward.
She spun back around to face the rogues rushing up behind her. 'Come on!' she screamed. 'You capons! You cousins! Shamur will bash out your crashing-cheats! She'll curb out your glaziers and eat them like grapes!'
Since she knew she had no chance of fighting her way free, her resistance was in one sense a sham. But she had to buy herself sufficient time to let them hear her rant. For all she knew, they might have intended to stuff a gag in her mouth before commencing whatever torture they had in mind.
Now, plainly, they had heard her. They were hanging back and staring, some with more comprehension than others. 'She speaks Cant,' Donvan said.
Cant was the secret patois of the most professional of thieves, useful both for confounding eavesdroppers and as a means of mutual recognition. Shamur had mastered it in her youth, and still remembered most of it though she hadn't had occasion to use it since her displacement in time.
'You're damn right, copesmate,' she said. 'Of course, Shamur talks Cant. She pledged to Mask when she was only a rumpscuttle lass, before any of you flicks and ferrets were even born. She's practiced the figging law, nipping purses with a cuttle-bung. She's been a charm and a cony-catcher, a foin, a padder, and a prigger of prancers, a warp and a stall. Later, she married that gentry cove j there.' She jerked her chin at Thamalon, currently standing battered and helpless in the grip of two of his captors. 'But slipping on his fambling-cheat didn't change what Shamur was inside.'
'You've led a colorful life,' Avos drawled, 'but so what? Did you think we'd spare you just because you were once a fellow rogue? Not likely!'
'I was more than a rogue,' Shamur replied. 'I was a Quipper.'
The bravos and doxies babbled to one another. Avos said, 'Nonsense.'
'It was more than thirty years ago,' she replied, 'before your time or that of anyone in this hall.' And since she was lying, thank the gods for that! 'But I can still give the sign: Sharp eyes, sharp blade. Still tread, still tongue.' In her mind, she blessed the lovesick, drunken Quipper who had once whispered the gang's secret protocols in her adolescent ear.
Some of the blackguards were visibly impressed by her recitation. Avos simply scowled and said, 'I still don't believe you were ever one of us, but if you were, you're now a traitor for slaying some of your own brothers, and we have even better reason to hurt you.'
'I slew them in self-defense,' Shamur said, 'as our rule permits. But we don't even need to debate that, and I'll tell you why. We say, once a Quipper, always a Quipper, do we not? Even death can't break the bond; the shades of our predecessors are waiting to welcome us into the chapter of the brotherhood they've established in Hell.'
Avos grinned. 'Then if you're telling the truth, you'll be seeing them soon.'
'Not necessarily,' Shamur replied, 'because it is likewise our tradition that any of our members accused of wrongdoing has the right to demand a trial by combat against the chieftain of the gang, and go free if he prevails.'
The big man laughed. 'You want to fight me?'
'Yes,' she said.
'Do it, captain!' someone shouted. 'We haven't watched you scrap in a while.'
Shamur could see enthusiasm for the idea running through the crowd like a fever. In all likelihood, a number of the rogues simply craved the spectacle of a bloody duel. Some seemed to think it a splendid joke that the slender captive would think to challenge their enormous and no doubt formidable leader. While others, perhaps, wanted to see Avos annoyed and inconvenienced, because they still resented his indifference to the slaying of their fellows, or disliked his bullying ways in general.
'Don't be stupid,' Avos said to his followers. 'The wench is lying. How many female Quippers have there ever been? Damn few!'
'She knows Cant and the Quipper signs,' said Garris, and then flinched when Avos scowled at him.
'Who cares if she was a Quipper or not?' cried another ruffian. 'Let's have a little sport!'
'Yes,' Donvan said ironically, 'why not? After all, Avos, if you can't defeat a female, we're better off without you.'
The blond hulk snorted. 'All right, mates, if that's how everybody wants it, I suppose it doesn't matter if Lady Uskevren here'-his sneering tone turned the title into a mockery-'dies quickly. It's her man I truly want to pick apart, just as he's the package our associate will really want to buy. But I can't promise you much of a show. Not only is the prisoner a woman, she's well past her prime.'
'I wouldn't be surprised if the Quippers I've already killed thought that very same thing,' Shamur replied. 'Give me back my broadsword, and I'll do my best to make our contest as interesting as possible.'
Avos sneered. 'If you truly were a Quipper, you should remember that in a duel like this, he who was challenged has the choice of weapons.'
In fact, Shamur hadn't known, and now she felt a twinge of apprehension. 'Oh, of course,' she said lightly. 'What did you have in mind?'
Til show you,' he said.
Avos snapped his fingers, gave the galltrit a final caress, then set the creature gently on the arm of his chair. As he rose and stepped down from the dais, one of his underlings hurried up with two unusual sets of weapons, each composed of a short sword and a fishing gaff, a sturdy, four-foot shaft of wood with a barbed steel hook at the end.
Shamur had never heard of anyone fighting with such a tool. She wondered if Avos had invented this particular mode of combat, and was its sole master. That would certainly tilt the odds in his favor whenever any of his fellow Quippers dared to challenge him.
'Look them over,' Avos said, 'then choose the ones you like.'
She took him at his word, hefting the weapons to check their weight and balance and finding little to choose between them. She settled on the gaff that was a hair lighter and the short sword with the narrower, sharper point. 'These will do,' she said.
'Good,' he said. 'Now, just so we're clear: Your husband doesn't claim to be a Quipper, and even if a god reaches down and smites me, which is about the only way I can see you winning, Thamalon stays with us.' 'Fair enough,' she said. 'Let's do this.' 'After you, milady.' He waved her toward a circle sloppily painted on the concrete floor. Judging from the rusty stains inside it, it had served as a dueling arena on a number of previous occasions.
Shamur and Avos took their places at opposite ends of the ring. The other ruffians crowded around its border. Garris, assuming the director's role, declared, 'The fight will continue until one duelist yields or is unable to continue. Fighters, come on guard.'' Shamur copied her opponent's stance, slightly crouched, with the gaff in the lead hand. 'And… begin!'
The two combatants circled, sizing one another up, looking for openings. Shamur was likewise trying to figure out how one fought with this particular set of weapons. The essential principle seemed clear enough: Use the long gaff to snare an opponent, either by hooking one of his limbs or snagging his flesh with the barbed point, then yank him close and thrust the short sword into his vitals. With his superior reach and strength, Avos could no doubt execute all the variations on the basic maneuver very well.
Still, she could envision an effective counter. Parry her enemy's gaff with her own, then hold the parry to keep his weapon at bay while she closed the distance, bringing them both well into short sword range before he was expecting it. Caught by surprise at such close quarters, Avos would have a hard time defending against a low thrust to the belly.
The Quipper chieftain stepped forward just far enough to flick his gaffs hook behind her shoulder. Beginning the sequence of actions she'd devised, she parried, but her weapon never made contact with that of her opponent.
Instantly, with a quickness phenomenal in so huge a man, Avos dropped into a squat. He slipped the gaff around the calf of her lead leg and yanked it toward him. Shamur kicked frantically to free herself, and by sheer good luck more than anything else, her leg came out of the hook. The point caught in her leather boot for a second,
