rterstaff or swordstick, as it was

sometimes called, went back to the Federation's third century when it

was introduced as an exercise weapon by a member of the First Family

called Bruce Lee Jefferson. As practised by Trackers, it was a cross

between the Japanese martial art form known as kendo, where bamboo

swordsticks were used, and the six to nine-foot long oak quarterstaff

wielded by popular heroes of the Middle Ages such as Robin Hood. In

the East, it had been used to teach budding samurai the art of

swordsmanship; in the West, for training knights to use the two-handed

battle sword.

In the Federation, trainees wore kendo-style helmets, gauntlets, and

thick pads covering the target areas, with additional protection for

the back, shoulders, pelvis and thighs. Both ends of the stick could

be used and - apart from the mental discipline, lightning-fast reflexes

and sheer physical stamina required - it was the dexterous manipulation

of the staff, using a parrying stroke as the springboard for a scoring

blow that distinguished the true expert from the talented tyro.

According to the rules governing formal bouts, the only blows that

counted were those striking the top or sides of the head, the sides of

the torso, the right and left forearm and a direct thrust to the

throat. But this was no formal bout. This time around, there would be

no rules.

As they faced up to each other, Steve reckoned that this might shorten

the odds in his favour; the hulking Mute was sharp, but he was

sneakier. He had to get in low and fast and not just because of the

time factor. Apart from his visored helmet and his flight fatigues,

his body was unprotected whereas Motor-Head was wearing his usual stone

and bone-decorated leather skull mask and body plates. Steve could

afford to take a few shots to the head but if any of Motor-Head's blows

landed with full force elsewhere it could mean a broken wrist, rib or

collar-bone. Even if he won, and then managed to take out Black-Top

and Steel-Eye, any injury along these lines would make the task of

flying BlueBird both difficult and extremely painful. Somehow, Steve

had to block every attack Motor-Head made or, at the very least, sap

the force of each blow before it crashed against his unprotected

body.

Keeping his staff crossed with Motor-Head's, Steve circled slowly to

the left. Motor-Head matched him with wide-legged mirror-steps to the

right.

Down in the settlement, on the mat outside Mr Snow's hut, Clearwater

saw the danger to the cloud-warrior and felt the power begin to flow

through her body from its secret source deep within the earth below.

It coursed through her veins, pierced her flesh like thousands of tiny

red-hot needles, and sent its fire into the core of her bones. Every

muscle in her body drew taut and began to jerk spasmodically. She fell

backwards, eyes still tightly shut, back arched, her legs drawn up

beneath her. The power inside her began to build with a frightening

intensity, f'filing her body with an explosive pressure like molten

lava inside a volcano that is about to erupt. With the rapidly

shrinking part of her mind that still remained hers in this moment of

possession, Clearwater realised she was about to become the executioner

of her clan-brothers. The thought appalled her but she knew Talisman

would stop at nothing to protect his own. The power doubled, tripled,

in strength, and offered itself to her will. She tried to resist it,

tried not to cede to the overwhelming desire to save the

cloud-warrior.

One hand flew to her neck, the other clamped itself over her mouth,

fingers digging deep into the skin, in a desperate effort to hold back

the death-dealing cry that was forming in her throat.

On the bluff, the quarterstaffs flashed and crashed together as Steve

and Motor-Head suddenly burst into action.

Thrust/parry/strike/parry, thrust/parry/strike/parry, to the head, to

the side, to the arm, to the leg. Keep circling, Brickman! This lump

has been practising. He is fast! Only one thing to do... let him lay

one on you and hope it will provide a chance to slow him down...

The opportunity came. With a frightening yell, Motor-Head brought his