SWNOVELS Chapter CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Trial by Combat
Abdul knew that something had been decided upon about him and Tryone, but just what it could be he had no idea. Tyrone was not intelligent enough to even sense what had occurred, but even he felt a vague nervousness. Abdul knew that he was in imminent danger of being executed, but he still felt righteous indignation over what he knew was an abomination to his god- women here were given all too much freedom and self-determination, and if he had his way they would be slain, and not in any humane, easy way leading to death! He relied on this tribe’s weakness, what they would term “humane treatment”, to keep them from harming him.
Tyrone also had been emboldened for all too many times as he was given lenient treatment by the liberal urban establishment, to believe that they would ever actually punish him for his crimes. He sneered over at the fire, his thick lips drawn back across his teeth, and continued his endless stream of profanity.
Akula and Wulf walked over to the prisoners, side by side, and soon loomed over the prone figures. Tyrone stopped his swearing of a sudden, as the shadows of the two men loomed over him. Even Abdul felt momentarily cowed before these two magisterial figures.
“We had been thinking of letting you two live,” said the medicine man. His voice was melodious and rich, but with an awful authority. “We do not execute the helpless, but we understand that you are two of a type not suited to live freely. You will both get a trial by combat! Those you have offended will be your combatant, and if you survive, you will be set free in the forest, with a knife and one day’s rations, and will not be pursued.”
With that announcement, he clapped loudly, and as if by magic all of the tribespeople converged about them, in a large circle. Wulf bodily picked up Tyrone, seemingly without effort for lifting such a large, muscular man, and drawing a knife, cut the ropes about his legs. Then, throwing the knife so it stuck into the ground near the center of the circle, he withdrew.
Tyrone staggered forward, circulation returning to his legs as he did so. He had always been accounted as a good knife fighter, having killed a large number in brawls and attacks with that weapon. He was feeling more confident by the moment, just so long as they didn’t send in more than one man at once. He was larger than any of the natives; only Wulf would have made him nervous in a battle…
Tyrone’s eyes bulged in amazement, as Jafiro slipped into the circle. That was it, his opponent was this scrawny kid? He smiled wickedly, and slipped the knife into his large hand. Man, this was gonna be fun! He licked his big lips with relish.
Abdul was shocked as well, but also pleasantly. ’Who will my opponent be, if he gets that smallish youth? As a mighty warrior of my people, I will probably be matched with their strongest opponent,” he scanned the crowd around him, and like Tyrone, concluded that only Wulf himself could stand up to him man-to-man. ’Ah well, at least then I will go to Allah with honor, and feast with my forty virgins this day in Jannah!” Then, he settled in to watch this first contest.
Tyrone lunged at Jafiro, his outthrust knife before him. Jafiro gave back, slowly, his knife also raised, and Tyrone ran all of a sudden and then lunged. The smaller man thrust downward, and cut the knife hand of Tyrone with a glancing slash, and then he leaped back lithely with a smile.
Tyrone, surprised, looked over at his smaller opponent with a wicked glance of hate, and lunged again. Always, for him, an explosive blast of violence had smashed those he fought against, over and over. They were just not expecting such a wave of unreasoning anger.
With Jafiro, that was not the case- he was expecting, and had trained assuming such a rash explosion. So had the ancient Spartans trained, since they had known that relatively untrained fighters relied on such a tactic in a fight. Jafiro had trained in the Ojibwe school, led by Wulf and Nikan, to expect such an unreasoned attack, and to counter it with reason and tactics. This was how smaller fighters could prevail against larger, and how smaller armies, such as the Spartans, learned to defeat much larger armies. What worked on the large scale, also worked just as well on the smaller.
Anger drove Tyrone, not anything nearly resembling tactics- he lunged again, even more violently than before. Jafiro leapt to the side, and then with a lithe economy of motion, stabbed downward with his own blade. Tyrone felt the knife penetrate his hand right to the wrist bone, and he dropped his knife! Blood poured from the wound, and he staggered from the pain, dropping to one knee. He screamed in pure rage and impotence.
Jafiro, spinning like a cat fighting a dog, used his foot to kick Tyrone quickly, once on his extended knee, and the other to his face. Tyrone fell like a log, his knee dislocated, and utterly incapacitated from the blow to his face. He lay there, unconscious.
The surrounding tribespeople let out a huge yell of appreciation, and applauded Jafiro as he left the circle. The larger black man lay unceremoniously within the circle, and Jafiro went right to the medicine man and Wulf.
“I did not wish to slay the fool,” he said. “He is like a dumb brute, untutored and so unworthy to die, my men of the tribe- so let me imbibe!” Jafiro always loved his little rhymes, and this time was no exception. He was not violent or vindictive, and had no desire to humiliate, as did Tyrone and those like him.
Akula spoke: “Save this foolish one for later. Although worthy enough of death, it would not become our manhood to provide it!” And so, they dragged the insensible black man from the circle, and deposited him unceremoniously outside of the ring of natives. “And now, let us continue with the despoiler of women- the Muslim unbeliever in Nature and the Great Spirit- bring him forward!”
Abdul Jawaad, leader of ISIS warriors, and killer of countless “unbelievers” like Christians and those from other harmless religions, was dragged upright by many hands, and dragged into the ring of natives. A knife was thrust into his outthrust hand, and he was left in the middle of the ring. ‘Who shall come forth to fight me, a mighty warrior?’ he thought. ‘If it be Wulf the barbarian, well, it will be a tough contest, but even in losing I shall be in Jannah, as a man to be reckoned with in battle. My fate is sealed to greatness, either way- either I win in besting a great opponent, whether Wulf or another, or I die, and go in glory to be with my virgin princesses!’
And that is when the slim form of Trina, dressed in buckskin and carrying a knife, slipped into the ring. Loud cheers sprang up from the tribespeople as the slight, yet magnificent female form of Trina entered the circle, waving her knife above her head, and smiling with her white smile. The sunlight glinted off of her straight, black hair, and Abdul involuntarily thought that such was exactly the form he was anticipating in the afterlife from those magnificent virgins… and then she attacked!
Abdul barely had the time to raise his knife in defense, when Trina plunged hers down on his. The knife twisted in his hand, and fell to the ground. As he reached to reclaim it, she kicked out, and the knife went spinning away. He reached out in anger, grasping her knife arm, and kicked viciously at her as well, right at her abdomen. She twisted, and then violently put her other hand on the arm grabbing her arm, and pulled with the whole strength of her beautiful body-
The Spartan training that was Jafiro’s was also hers. The Arabian felt himself yanked to the ground, where he lay on his back as Trina leapt purposefully upon his back with her full weight of perhaps one hundred pounds of lean muscle. The wind knocked out of him, unable to move, the mighty ISIS warrior lay on the ground, totally incapacitated by a young girl of less than half his size!
If Allah was watching, he was very disappointed…
“I am proud of the restraint shown by our most recent tribespeople today!” So announced Akula, medicine man and spiritual leader of the Ojibwe Nation. “With training, it is easy to kill our opponents, especially when their machines are rendered impotent by the magic of the Great Spirit when within our nation”. In emphasis, he raised his hands, and displayed to the tribe this power, as bright lights of green and blue shone between his two hands, crackling with an electric power.
“But Grandfather,” shouted Jafiro, newly adopted grandson of Akula, “What to do, with men so bad, they life on earth so sad?” And, in spite of himself, Akula smiled. Jafiro was a new type of being to him, and he was still getting used to the inner city black youth…
“Trina!” he announced. “What would you do with the despoiler of women, this follower of the anti-Christ, who so insulted you?”
The young woman, knife still in hand, considered. “He is ignorant of the ways of the Ojibwe, and also of true civilization. As is the other black one, who is but a savage, untutored by his decadent government. Neither knows of true Nature- let Nature be their teacher!”
Akula looked towards Wulf, who nodded grimly, arms folded across his mighty chest. “So be it! As of old, the punishment for evil, but with mitigation for extreme misguidance and ignorance shall be- banishment!”
Abdul, still struggling for air, looked over at the prone Tyrone, who remained out cold. This sounded promising! Banishment from this backwards tribe? Who cares!! He wanted to get away, back to the middle east, as soon as he could anyway. Back to where armaments flowed like water into his countries, where he could assemble another Jihadist army to despoil the West and Christendom- perhaps he could bring one back here to despoil this backwards land, and kill that bitch who had somehow managed to trick him into losing…
“At nightfall, after our commune with the Great Spirit, these two shall be banished to the forest!”