Page 37 of Taken to Nobu
“We call this a dagger bow, though it is neither. A hybrid sword-staff, it is very effective for hunting large game, particularly those that roam in packs, or when up against more than one opponent.”
“Impressive.” I pull my hand back and clear my throat, trying to sound confident. “You have an impressive selection here in general.”
“I feel it is important that my xub’Okkari learn to train with every weapon they may use in battle, or when hunting — as well as defend against them. Here are samples of every type of weapon found on Voraxia.”
As we turn back, my fingers reach out and stroke the length of a curved object, shaped like a bowl with one serrated edge. I can’t even figure out how you’d hold it.
“These are just the training weapons?” I say quietly.
“Hexa.”
“Oh.”
“I see this troubles you. You should know that this selection, of course, does not include firing weapons. These are only for hand-to-hand combat.”
“No, that’s not…wait. These are just non-firing sample weapons? You have more?”
“Of course. All of my warriors learn to train with each of these weapons until they find their specialty. You will tell me if yours is absent here and I will have it constructed. The Rakukanna, in particular, can assist in the creation of more human-adapted weaponry.”
Frustration mounts. A slight tickling of that anger that knows me. “No. I’m sure you have something I can use,” I snap.
I force myself to move forward, blocking out the feeling of him lining my side, mismatching my steps so we don’t touch anymore. I scan the weapons, the discomfiting feeling inside spreading until it blots out everything else.That’s called anxiety. That’s called stress.Nothing is recognizable to me at all.
“Don’t you have any spears?”
“Of course.”
Okkari stops, turns around and places his hand on a staff that I missed. Instead of handing it to me, he pulls and the staff comes free, opening a drawer with it. Inside, there are a dozen more staffs, each in a different style. Some have curved ends, others serrated, some that look charged withsomething,others white and slippery. Nothing that resembles the simple wood I trained with, or the grabar Miari made for me that I used to fight off the khrui.
“I just…all of these…there are so many,” I mutter quietly to myself.
We have so little. And they have so much. What was I thinkingever? That I could fight off a warrior who’s been training with these weapons his entire life? With every weapon in Voraxia? What would I do with my tiny fucking spear? A spear so small by comparison he could probably pick his teeth with it. I thought this would be fun. Get a chance to exercise a skill I’ve been working on for so long with Jaxal. Get a chance to make him proud. Make myself proud. Makehimproud. And here I am, inundated and overwhelmed and shamed.
I’m a heartbeat away from calling this whole date business off and going back to my little den with Kuana when Okkari says, “May I make a suggestion?”
I look up at him, hesitant and guarded, but I don’t say no. How can I, when he’s asked me a question?
Without hesitation, he pulls a white slippery-looking staff from the row. “Helos,” he says, handing it to me. “One of the hardest stones, it will abrade your skin if you wield it without gloves, but it is light and lethal. Even the lightest stroke to your opponent will break the skin. A harder hit will tear through the plates of a seasoned warrior. This is a training staff, so it is dulled, but given that human skin is more delicate than ours, I encourage you to keep your gloves on and your hands on the holds.”
He hands me the staff and I’m surprised that it doesn’t weigh me downtoomuch. It’s still heavier than my old grabar and just about as heavy as the clunky training staffs Jaxal trained me with. I look at it closer and see that it’s not smooth, but striated with something pebbly and dark, like microscopic droplets of black water, or the crusted in the smallest black onyx. I pull off one of my gloves with my teeth and press just my middle finger to it. Sure enough, I pull back and my finger is dotted with little droplets of blood.
I feel myself smiling as I look up into Okkari’s frown. “It looks good.” I clear my throat. “I mean, I’m not used to it, but it’ll be fine.” I pull back on my glove and stand back with the weapon, tilting it from side to side, testing its weight.It fits me perfectly. And heknew.I was drowning and once again, he threw me a lifeline.
Okkari takes a staff of his own, this one as black as the walls around us and longer than mine by several feet. He leads me away from the wall, away from the other warriors and where they’re practicing. But not too far away. Not far enough for them not to watch us — and many of them are watching us. I can see their surreptitious glances tossed not so surreptitiously our way. I ignore them, keeping my chin up.I’ve practiced for this. I’ve trained. I know what I’m doing. They’re not better than me.
“Have we started?” I say.
“Hexa.” He comes to a stop and turns to me, weapon held aloft. “You will attack first.”
I make a show of struggling to untie the pelt Kuana secured around my shoulders as I murmur my assent. My heart is beating fast, my stomach is a kettle of beetles writhing, and still all I can think about is the last training session I had. The last session I remember.Jaxal coming at me with everything he had. Me beating him back. Me winning.I’d never felt better than I did in that moment, and if I ever did, I don’t remember it. I felt invincible.
I can do this. I’ve practiced. I won’t humiliate myself.“I will offer you assistance,” he says, right on cue. He starts forward and when he gets within striking distance, I let go of my pelt, wrench up with the staff and let it fly.
The weight of the staff is new and disrupts my center of gravity. I’m slightly off as a result, and don’t strike where I mean to. I hit him in the chest, right where his thick plates are, and I can feel their resistance at the same time that I hear their soft crunch.
He looks down. I look down at the space between our bodies. About two feet. Close enough to feel the pall of his heat roll over me like the sun obliterating the shade. He glances up at me and is wearing another one of his small pleased expressions, droplets of blue swimming across the space above his eyes.
“Xhivey,” he says quietly. “Give nothing to me.”
