A Princess of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs (an ebook reader TXT) 📕

world without TV or Internet, these duels were considered premium entertainment. The few times I had witnessed such things in my former life, it was exclusively via a screen. And I must say that it hardly inspired me to encounter any such violence in the real.

I wish I could just close my eyes and not look at what was about to happen. But no, Treya wouldn’t have that. Nothing escaped her, and she was adamant in forcing me to do what I disliked.

Besides, not watching was just as hard. It is a weird trick of the psyche. You may cringe as you watch something truly repugnant, and still you can’t look away.

The last such execution had taken place at the end of winter, when Camai personally brought in a couple of bandits. Common farm hands from the southwest. The poor bastards barely made ends meet in summertime, so when the weather turned cold, the hunger pushed them to all sorts of lawlessness.

I still remembered the sight of blood spattering both my feet.

Ah crap, must I remember that now? I’m already nauseous...

Teshimi picked a spear. Good choice, Teshimi. It never failed to surprise me to see your random dolt going for a sword. It is a weapon of the aristocracy for a reason—the few commoners that could fight with it aren’t commoners anymore, but those of Camai’s ilk. Achieving that kind of status as a fighter is beyond difficult. The odds are about the same as winning a game in Nightmare mode with a naked character that can’t earn experience, when the lowest opponent can finish you off in a single shot.

Commoners were meant to be born, work the land, then die. Fighting with weapons was never in the cards for them.

That said, anything could happen—and sometimes did. The lands in which the pitiful remnants of the Crow Clan had settled are restless. But given our status of exiles who were unwelcome anywhere near civilization, we had to content ourselves with scraps of land at the edge of civilization.

And the lands beyond the edge are, accordingly, no longer civilization. Our clan was hardly enthused with our neighbors, as most of our interactions with them were of the unpleasant variety. Moreover, the scanty nature of the land fostered criminality among the locals, compelling even the most mild-mannered peasants to keep a quilted jerkin, a thick leather helm and a spear, close at hand.

So, yes, Teshimi, the spear was a solid choice. It is not uncommon to see a teenager handle the weapon with skill that would cause Hollywood stuntmen to turn green with envy, let alone a grown man with combat experience.

But skill wouldn’t be of any help to Teshimi.

Because Teshimi is a dead man.

Camai came out empty-handed and silent, as always. Wearing his usual uniform of all black, lips closed in a thin line. I once saw him go up against four men with nothing but his bare hands, and beat them all to death. With not a word spoken or noise uttered, he twisted their limbs, cracked their skulls, tore the flesh off their faces with inhumanly powerful fingers, and snapped their collarbones. That sickening crunch was still fresh in my memory.

Not once did his mouth open throughout that whole battle.

“Can that monster even breathe?”

I wish I knew the answer.

Teshimi is no fool, either. He knew full well that he wouldn’t be walking away from this. They always know. In this hinterland, a hardened beta-ranked warrior of the twenty-eighth circle of enlightenment might as well be an army of fifteen thousand Imperial guardsmen. Either scenario is just as unbelievable as the outcomes are predictable.

His chances going up against an army wouldn’t be any better than against Camai.

The duel lasted mere seconds. Displaying little enthusiasm, Teshimi spun the spear and thrusted the butt-end into the earth, aiming to send clumps of dirt flying into his opponent’s face. Camai easily evaded the clumsy attempt as he cleared the distance between the two.

A snatch and a jerk and the familiar sickening crunch, and the body of the former grower of spices crumbled to the trampled ground of the yard—his neck unnaturally twisted, the light of life gone from his eyes.

Teshimi is a dead man.

Is it me, or did Teshimi and Camai exchange words imperceptibly before the battle? It just seemed too long, the time they stood opposite each other before getting on with the action.

Must be my imagination. Teshimi was a common farmer, not a warrior. The secrets of the warrior class were sealed off from his kind.

Then again, who knows? Hardly anything surprised me anymore in this bizarro world.

“Teshimi fought honorably and deserves to rest in peace,” mother nodded, rising from her throne.

Wonderful. That meant the body would be handed over to his family instead of being dumped on the far shore of Redriver, to be promptly devoured by the predators of the Wild Wood. That would be some consolation to the widow, at least. Planning the funeral should distract her from her mourning, and channel her thoughts towards the future.

And the future far less certain now that she has two kids to raise on her own. Finding a new husband here is hardly realistic.

This land is rich with widows, making competition among the fairer sex quite fierce. And Teshimi’s widow is neither a beauty nor young, by peasant standards.

Up on her feet, Treya graced me with a smile and offered her hand.

“Come inside, my dear boy. It’s chilly out, and you haven’t your strength.”

That much was true. I don’t have my strength—or anything else, for that matter.

I am a zero, capable only of drawing breath once the amulet is discharged.

And barely capable, at that.

With an inhuman effort, I grabbed mother’s hand and willed myself to my feet.

It wasn’t the getting up part that was truly difficult.