lovingly. So I admired their carved handles and blued steel and barely let my fingers pass over them, walking down that weapons rack toward the next.
On the next were various clubs. I tried several, relieved that I could at least pick them up. Not one felt comfortable, but my stomach didn't do flip-flops, either. The metal ones, like the mace and the morningstar, screamed at me to leave well enough alone. After the experience with the halberd, Gilberto's instructions or not, I left them alone.
Next to the clubs were some coiled ropes. They felt all right, only faintly repugnant-but what could you do with a rope? How was it even a weapon? Then there were some sort of polished handles connected by heavy cords. Same thing there-I could handle them, but couldn't imagine how they worked.
Finally, I came to the staves. Surprisingly, there were two dark ones, of a polished dark brown wood-darkened white oak, rather than black oak or black lorken, like my staff. Also unlike my own staff, which Talryn had suggested most strongly that I leave in my room during instruction periods, none of the staves were bound in metal, although their finish was almost as fine as that which Uncle Sardit had imparted to my staff. One staff, which I took, nearly matched my own in length. The other was somewhat shorter. Both were the first weapons, if a staff were a weapon, that hadn't made me uncomfortable.
With the longer staff in hand, I looked at the remaining section of the last rack, which contained truncheons. One, more like a short staff, although it was pitch-black, beckoned almost as much as the full-length staff. I held it for a while, then returned it.
Tamra walked toward the staves. Her feet dragged, as if she wanted no part of them. Her lips were pressed tightly I together, and she carried no weapon.
Beyond her, I could see Krystal standing by a brown leather sitting pillow, almost fondling the deadly sword. Myrten sat, examining the pistol which he had taken from the racks.
Sammel carried a pair of matched truncheons, and Wrynn was still poking around the blades.
My eyes shifted back to Tamra. Her forehead glistened with a layer of perspiration as she picked up a steel mace with iron spikes. The mace head was nearly the size of hers. Her lips tightened until I could see the whiteness in them even from five cubits away. Slowly, she set the mace back in the rack.
I had to admire her strength, even if she were far more stubborn than I. But why did she put herself through that kind of torture? It was torture; that was certain. Her hands were almost shaking by the time she finally reached the staves.
"Think it's amusing, do you?" Tamra's voice was like molten lead.
I shook my head. She didn't have to prove anything to me, and she certainly didn't owe any sort of proof to the Brotherhood.
She looked right through me as she picked up the other dark staff. The tension in her body eased, but the frown remained, like a line chiseled above the ice-blue eyes. Unlike some redheads, or Dorthae, Tamra didn't darken her eyebrows, and she seemed to scorn any kind of adornment except the colored scarves she wore.
"Tamra . . . Lerris ... are you finished admiring your weapons?" Gilberto's voice was dry.
"Admiring is not the word I would have chosen," observed Tamra, her voice cold enough now to chill warm fruit juice-instantly.
Gilberto ignored her comments, stood there waiting, holding a short black baton in his hand, the length of a truncheon, as I scrambled to a pillow next to Krystal.
Tamra sauntered toward a pillow at the other side of the group, each step slow and deliberate. Gilberto waited. I would have clobbered her . . . with something. He just gave a slow and lazy smile, and I shivered.
Tamra smiled back sweetly.
Krystal giggled.
Gilberto turned to the group even before Tamra seated herself. "The weapons you have in your hands are the weapons most suited to your temperament." Gilberto's voice was dry. "That does not mean they are
On the next were various clubs. I tried several, relieved that I could at least pick them up. Not one felt comfortable, but my stomach didn't do flip-flops, either. The metal ones, like the mace and the morningstar, screamed at me to leave well enough alone. After the experience with the halberd, Gilberto's instructions or not, I left them alone.
Next to the clubs were some coiled ropes. They felt all right, only faintly repugnant-but what could you do with a rope? How was it even a weapon? Then there were some sort of polished handles connected by heavy cords. Same thing there-I could handle them, but couldn't imagine how they worked.
Finally, I came to the staves. Surprisingly, there were two dark ones, of a polished dark brown wood-darkened white oak, rather than black oak or black lorken, like my staff. Also unlike my own staff, which Talryn had suggested most strongly that I leave in my room during instruction periods, none of the staves were bound in metal, although their finish was almost as fine as that which Uncle Sardit had imparted to my staff. One staff, which I took, nearly matched my own in length. The other was somewhat shorter. Both were the first weapons, if a staff were a weapon, that hadn't made me uncomfortable.
With the longer staff in hand, I looked at the remaining section of the last rack, which contained truncheons. One, more like a short staff, although it was pitch-black, beckoned almost as much as the full-length staff. I held it for a while, then returned it.
Tamra walked toward the staves. Her feet dragged, as if she wanted no part of them. Her lips were pressed tightly I together, and she carried no weapon.
Beyond her, I could see Krystal standing by a brown leather sitting pillow, almost fondling the deadly sword. Myrten sat, examining the pistol which he had taken from the racks.
Sammel carried a pair of matched truncheons, and Wrynn was still poking around the blades.
My eyes shifted back to Tamra. Her forehead glistened with a layer of perspiration as she picked up a steel mace with iron spikes. The mace head was nearly the size of hers. Her lips tightened until I could see the whiteness in them even from five cubits away. Slowly, she set the mace back in the rack.
I had to admire her strength, even if she were far more stubborn than I. But why did she put herself through that kind of torture? It was torture; that was certain. Her hands were almost shaking by the time she finally reached the staves.
"Think it's amusing, do you?" Tamra's voice was like molten lead.
I shook my head. She didn't have to prove anything to me, and she certainly didn't owe any sort of proof to the Brotherhood.
She looked right through me as she picked up the other dark staff. The tension in her body eased, but the frown remained, like a line chiseled above the ice-blue eyes. Unlike some redheads, or Dorthae, Tamra didn't darken her eyebrows, and she seemed to scorn any kind of adornment except the colored scarves she wore.
"Tamra . . . Lerris ... are you finished admiring your weapons?" Gilberto's voice was dry.
"Admiring is not the word I would have chosen," observed Tamra, her voice cold enough now to chill warm fruit juice-instantly.
Gilberto ignored her comments, stood there waiting, holding a short black baton in his hand, the length of a truncheon, as I scrambled to a pillow next to Krystal.
Tamra sauntered toward a pillow at the other side of the group, each step slow and deliberate. Gilberto waited. I would have clobbered her . . . with something. He just gave a slow and lazy smile, and I shivered.
Tamra smiled back sweetly.
Krystal giggled.
Gilberto turned to the group even before Tamra seated herself. "The weapons you have in your hands are the weapons most suited to your temperament." Gilberto's voice was dry. "That does not mean they are
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