Part 14 (1/2)
Brother Paul stepped into it again. The demon braced against the maneuver that had brought it down before, but this time Brother Paul caught its right arm with both of his own and turned into ippon seoi nage, the one-armed shoulder throw.
The demon's momentum carried it forward, and Brother Paul heaved it over his own shoulder to land on its back in the sand, hard.
This time Brother Paul followed it down and applied a neck lock. A simple choke would have cut off the demon's air, causing it to suffocate in a few minutes; this was a blood strangle that would deprive the creature's brain of oxygen, knocking it out in seconds.
The demon struggled, but it was useless. Brother Paul knew how to apply a stranglehold. He would not kill the creature, but would merely squeeze it unconscious. It would revive in a few minutes, unharmed- but too late to stop him from entering the castle. Temptation postponed might well be Temptation vanquished!
The seconds pa.s.sed-and still the thing fought. The hold was tight, yet it seemed to have no effect. What was the matter?
The demon's arm came around, groping for Brother Paul's face. Sharp nails sc.r.a.ped across his cheek toward his right eye. He knew he would lose an eye if he did not get it out of reach in a hurry, but to do that he would have to release the strangle. This creature was not bound by polite rules of sport-combat!
Obviously the stranglehold had failed. The vascular system of demons seemed to be proof against the attack of mortals. Temptation could not be so simply nullified. Brother Paul let go and jumped up and away.
”I am a dragon,” the demon said, standing. ”I have no circulation, no blood. I operate magically. I need breath only to talk. You cannot throttle Temptation, fool!”
Evidently not! Brother Paul stepped toward the castle again, and the demon blocked his pa.s.sage as before, grinning.
Brother Paul's left hand caught it by the right arm, jerking it forward. His right arm came up as if to circle the thing's impervious neck. The demon laughed contemptuously and pulled back, resisting both the throw and the strangle.
But Brother Paul's right arm went right on over the demon's head, missing it entirely. He twisted around as though hopelessly tangled, falling to the sand.
But the weight of his falling body jerked the demon forward over his back. It was soto makikomi, the outside wraparound throw, a strange and powerful sacrifice technique. The demon landed heavily, with Brother Paul on top; such was the power of the throw that an ordinary man could have been knocked unconscious. Immediately Brother Paul spun around, flipped the demon onto its face, and applied an excruciating arm-lock, one of the kansetsu waza. The demon might not have blood, but it had to have joints, and they were levered like those of a man. Such a joint could be broken, but he intended to apply only enough leverage to make the creature submit. In this position, there was no way the demon could strike back; no biting, no kicking, no gouging.
He levered the arm, bending the elbow back expertly. The demon screamed ”Do you yield?” Brother Paul inquired, easing up slightly.
For answer, the demon changed back into the dragon, its original and perhaps natural form. Brother Paul had hold of one of its legs, but the ratios were different, and the lock could not be maintained. The monster's jaws opened, its orange tongue flicking out to lash at Brother Paul's face, whiplike. He had to let go quickly.
”So you couldn't take it,” he said to the dragon. ”You lost!”
”Temptation never loses; it is merely blunted, to return with renewed strength.
I balk you yet.” And the dragon moved to stand once again between Brother Paul and the castle.
Brother Paul turned to Therion, who had stood by innocently while all of this occurred. ”What do you say now, guide?”
”Have a drink,” Therion said, presenting a tall, cool cup of liquid.
”I don't need any-” he started to reply, but he was thirsty, and in this situation the refreshment cup was appropriate and tempting. Maybe he was too hot and bothered to perceive the obvious-whatever that was. With a cooler, cleared head he might quickly figure out the solution to this maddening problem of the Dragon. He accepted the drink.
It was delicious, heady stuff, but after the first sip, he paused. ”This is alcoholic!” he said accusingly.
”Naturally. The best stuff there is, for courage.”
”Courage!” Brother Paul's wrath was near the explosion-point. ”I don't need that kind! My Order disapproves of alcohol and other mind-affecting drugs. Get me some water.”
”No water is available; this is a desert,” Therion said imperturbably. ”Does your Order actually ban alcohol?”
”No. The Holy Order of Vision bans nothing, for that would interfere with free will. It merely frowns on those things that are most commonly subject to abuse.
Each person is expected to set his own standards in matters of the flesh. But only those persons of suitable standards progress within the Order.”
”Uh-huh,” Therion said disparagingly. ”So you are a slave to your Order's inhibitions, and dare not even admit it.”
”No!” Brother Paul gulped down the rest of the beverage, yielding to his consuming thirst.
The effect was instantaneous. His limbs tingled; his head felt pleasantly light.
That was good stuff, after all!
Brother Paul faced the dragon, who was still between him and the castle, smirking. ”I've had enough of you, Temptation. Get out of my way!”
”Make me, mushmind!”
Brother Paul drew his gleaming sword. He strode forward menacingly, bluffing the beast back. When the thing did not retreat, he smote the red dragon with all his strength-and cut its gruesome head in half. Sure enough, there was no blood, just a spongy material like foam plastic within the skull. The creature expired with a hiss like that of escaping steam and fell on its back in the sand, its little legs quivering convulsively.
”Well, I made it move,” he said, wiping the green goo off his blade by rubbing it in the sand.
”You certainly did,” Therion agreed.
”So let's get the h.e.l.l on to that castle before the dragon revives.”
”Well spoken!”
But now a new obstacle stood between them and the objective. It was another cup-the one containing the Victory Wreath. The braided twigs and leaves stood tall and green above the chalice, the two ends not quite meeting.
”Take it,” Therion urged. ”You have won it. You have slain Temptation!”
Brother Paul considered. ”Yes, I suppose I have.” Somehow he was not wholly satisfied, but the pleasure of the drink still buoyed him. ”Why not?”
He reached out and lifted the wreath from the meter-tall cup. Strange that this, too, should appear in his vision of the castle; had his choice of one cup granted him all cups? Somehow his quest was not proceeding precisely as he had antic.i.p.ated.
He set the wreath on his head. It settled nicely, feeling wonderful.
”Very handsome,” Therion said approvingly. ”You make a fitting Conqueror.”
Yes, this was Key Seven, the Chariot, the Conqueror, wasn't it? With the Seven of Cups superimposed. Brother Paul bent down to view his image in the reflective surface of the polished golden cup. And froze, startled.
His image was a death's head. A grinning skull, with protruding yellow teeth and great square eye sockets.
Brother Paul rocked back, horrified. There was something he remembered, something so appalling- No! He shut it off. This was only a reflection, nothing supernatural. He forced himself to look again. The death's head remained.
Experimentally, he moved his face. The skull moved too. He opened his mouth, and the bony jaw dropped. He blinked, but of course the skull could not blink, and if it could, how could he see it while his own eyes were closed?
His left hand came up to feel his face. A skeletal hand touched the skull in the cup. His nose and cheeks were there; the flesh was solid. The skull was merely an image, not reality. But what did it mean?
”Let's not dawdle,” Therion said. ”The dragon is not going to play dead all day.”
Regretfully, Brother Paul stood up and circled around the cup. He was sure the skull meant something important. If it were part of the natural symbolism of this card, why hadn't he noticed it before? If not, why had it appeared now? He had encountered this card many times before coming to Planet Tarot; had the skull been on the cup then? He couldn't remember. There was something-something hidden and awful-but he did have a mission. Maybe the explanation would come to him.
He moved on. Then he realized he could have checked the blinking of the skull by winking one eye and watching with the other. He was thinking fuzzily, though his mind seemed perfectly clear. Well, it was of insufficient moment to make him return for another look at the cup. If it remained.