In the Skin of a Nunqua by R. J. Pouritt Read Free Book Online Page B

share the same sleeping quarters with us,” he said.
    “It’s not the sleeping arrangements that worry me,” she said. “It’s the humiliation.” It was an attempt at small talk. After being stuck with knives by Caravey, humiliation wasn’t so daunting. “By the way, what happened to Commander Mossgail?”
    “I’m not at liberty to say.”
    A bear of a man came out of the building, catching everyone’s attention. “All right, you worthless pond scum, grab your gear.”
    More men came out of the building, whooping and yelling. One headed straight for her. “If it isn’t the freak!” he said. “Give me those darts.”
    “Sir?” she said, not ready to hand her weapon over to a stranger. His uniform bore no rank. Indeed, none of the men wore identifying insignia.
    “Are you disobeying an order?” he said.
    “Not that I’m aware of, sir.”
    “Give me the damn darts! I won’t have you using them as a crutch. If you make it through this training—and you won’t—it will be because of your integrity and not your ability to intimidate.”
    “And you are . . . ?” she said.
    “Ignorant bitch. Don’t even know who I am. I’m going to do everything in my power to ensure you don’t become a commander. One last time: give me the darts. Disobey, and you can return to your pitiful life cleaning bedpans and wiping up puke in the infirmary. Don’t belong here anyway.”
    Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Taran tilt his head, signaling her to give the man her weapon. She did as instructed.
    He rolled up the wristlet and whacked the side of her head.
    “Poison,” she said. “Those darts have poisonous tips.”
    “Afraid of dying? I’d be doing the military a favor. You really are a maggot-infested pile of sheep shit—too foolish to know, you never give up your weapon. And you—are you the freak’s woman?”
    “No,” Taran said. “No sir, Commander Gy, sir.”
    Commander Gy! The high commander, who took his orders directly from the king! Oh, hell, this wasn’t starting well.
    He hit Taran in the side of the head with the wristlet.
    So it begins, she mused.
    *
    Taran punched her in the jaw, and she toppled on the dirt path. Shanti hooked his ankle with her leg, and he went down. She scrambled over the top of him, planting a foot in his back to push off. Sliding through his grasp, she raced toward the next obstacle. Spectators—soldiers who had come to watch the show—stood alongside the obstacle course, hissing and shouting obscenities while pelting the contestants with acorns and pebbles.
    Watermelons were perched on logs at eye level. Shanti yanked her sword from its scabbard and ran to the right, cutting the first melon in two. She spun to the left and cut another, drooling at the sight of the juicy red meat. So hungry .
    Taran cut his two watermelons and ran. They swung over piles of pungent manure, and Taran took the lead. Reaching the maze of ropes that stretched as long as a barn, he crawled through, entangling his sword in the web.
    Shanti reached the ropes and, instead of trying to maneuver through them, stepped on them, gaining ground on her opponent. On her way off the maze, she hooked a loop of rope around his sword to slow him down.
    Something hit her in the side and splattered. An egg. Another egg hit the top of her shoulder and sprayed her hair with viscous liquid. A quick glance to the right caught a grinning High Commander Gy. He flung another egg at her, and she ducked. A hand pushed her from behind, and she was once again off her feet. Taran.
    She picked up a small stone and hurled it, hitting Taran in the back of the head. He staggered and put a knee to the ground—her cue to speed to the end. She caught up to him, but his long legs made him faster in the straightaway, and he reached the finish line first. Second place. Damn, she was close this time. Shanti leaned against a tree, hunger gnawing at her insides. She tried to wipe the egg out of her hair.
    Taran came over,