One long arm snaked out and crashed into my face. No teeth went, but I
felt my lips slicing against my choppers, and warm, salty blood spurted
into my mouth. At the same moment I barrelled a punch straight forward
aimed at Riccio's bony stomach. It landed and produced a satisfying
grunt from him.
The idea of physically fighting another human being had not occurred
to me in more years than I cared to think about. But I was in it now.
I was profoundly grateful that we were both naked. Riccio was the sort
who would be carrying a knife, if he had any place to keep it. But he
wasn't wearing a thing--no hat, no socks--and so I knew I had nothing
worse to face than his bare fists.
Drunken, bloodshot eyes loomed up in front of me. A hand clawed for my
face. I swiped it away and started to aim a body-punch, when his leg
began to rise. I got out of the way just barely in time. I had more to
fear than fists, evidently. Riccio was going to fight me tooth and claw.
I parried a couple of other wild kicks and punches, and tried to get
close enough to him to land one myself. But his long arms and legs
kept me at bay. Naomi still sat stupidly in the grass, watching us
in a dazed sort of way and ignoring my shouted requests for help. I
envisioned myself getting beaten to a pulp by this drunken madman
before anyone heard the sounds of battle.
But Riccio _was_ drunk. That was my salvation. It made him an
unpredictable opponent, but it also interfered with his coordination.
We traded a couple of wild blows. Then he reared back and aimed
another kick at my groin, but this time I was ready. As the foot came
up, I sidestepped and wrapped both my hands round his bony ankle and
yanked. He came skidding forward on the grass and tried to pull free,
but I held tight, and he started to topple. He went over in a spidery
tangle of arms and legs, yelling in agony as his other leg folded up
underneath him, and the next moment I was sprawling on top of him.
He still had plenty of fight left. He smashed me in the midsection
hard, two or three times. I just wanted to pin him. His leg was still
caught under him, and if I could only get those flailing arms to hold
still--
I tried to pinion his wrists. He squirmed loose and managed to roll
halfway over, freeing his leg and nearly throwing me off. His ugly
face was contorted with hatred and contempt. He arched his back,
trying to toss me, and I grabbed his throat, feeling the protruding
adam's-apple against my palm.
"Lie still or I'll choke you!"
"Go to hell."
I tried to tighten my grasp, but he caught my wrist and started to pull
my fingers off my hand, and I had to release him. He writhed again in
an attempt to throw me off. This time he nearly succeeded. He moved two
feet along the grass, but I moved with him. One of his arms was pinned
down, now, but the other moved freely, clawing at me, going for my
eyes. I heard Naomi stirring behind me; she was coming out of her daze
at last. But I didn't know how long I could hold out against Riccio. I
was running out of breath fast, and before very long I would have to
release him.
Once he got the upper hand it could be slaughter. He was just drunk
enough not to worry about gouging out my eyes, kicking my teeth down my
throat, or otherwise messing me up.
Luck was with me, though. Luck and a bit of flexible morality. What I
did wasn't exactly approved technique for gentlemanly fighting, but I
didn't see why I had to stick by the rules if my opponent didn't.
His shift in position had brought his head within a couple of inches of
a large flat rock. I wriggled him over a little more. Then I buried my
fingers in the thick, greasy coils of his hair, lifted his head about
four inches off the ground, and smacked it down hard. He let out a
yelp and struggled hard to break free. I grabbed him and banged him
down again. I think I might even have wanted to kill him, just then.
But his eyes started to glaze. I gave him a third smash and felt him go
limp all over. His head lolled to one side. I clung to him for a couple
of moments, on the wild chance that he might be shamming, but he didn't
move. He was out cold. I didn't feel like a conquerer, somehow.
_CHAPTER FOURTEEN_
I got up slowly, keeping my eyes on him, but he was stretched out like
a long strand of cold spaghetti. Naomi was gone. For help, I hoped. I
staggered over to one of the big oak trees and proceeded to lose my
lunch. I was shaking all over, my face felt battered and swollen, my
mouth was full of blood. But far worse than any of the bruises or cuts
was the psychological effect. I had never been a very good soldier,
and in the years since my discharge I had grown rather civilized. To
be thrown back fifty thousand years in a twinkling is an upsetting
experience. I had fought with a man--a drunken beast of a man--and I
had knocked him out, perhaps had fractured his skull, maybe had come
within one bang of killing him altogether. And we had been naked while
we fought. It was something straight out of Neanderthal days, and now
that it was over I was shocked and revolted by the ugliness of the
fight, by the mere fact that such a conflict was still possible in our
allegedly civilized era.
I clung to that big oak until the wave of nausea passed. After a minute
or two it was gone, and I felt mostly just the aches and pains Riccio
had inflicted on me.