Retief!

Retief! by Keith Laumer Read Free Book Online

Book: Retief! by Keith Laumer Read Free Book Online
Authors: Keith Laumer
Tags: Science-Fiction
for us to be going, Fitz," he said.
    The squire jumped up. "As you command, sir; but the ceremony is quite interesting. . . ."
    "Never mind that; let's go." Retief moved off, Fitzraven following, puzzled.
    * * *
    Retief descended the steps inside the stands, turned and started down the corridor.
    "This way, sir," Fitzraven called. "That leads to the arena."
    "I know it," Retief said. "That's where I'm headed."
    Fitzraven hurried up alongside. What was the old man going to do now? "Sir," he said, "no one may enter the arena until the tourney has been closed, except the gladiators and the officials. I know this to be an unbreakable law."
    "That's right, Fitz," Retief said. "You'll have to stop at the grooms' enclosure."
    "But you, sir," Fitzraven gasped . . .
    "Everything's under control," Retief said. "I'm going to challenge the champion."
    * * *
    In the Imperial box, the Emperor Rolan leaned forward, fixing his binoculars on a group of figures at the officials' gate. There seemed to be some sort of disturbance there. This was a piece of damned impudence, just as the moment had arrived for the Imperial presentation of the Honors of the Day. The Emperor turned to an aide.
    "What the devil's going on down there?" he snapped.
    The courtier murmured into a communicator, listened.
    "A madman, Imperial Majesty," he said smoothly. "He wished to challenge the champion."
    "A drunk, more likely," Rolan said sharply. "Let him be removed at once. And tell the Master of the Games to get on with the ceremony!"
    The Emperor turned to the slim dark girl at his side.
    "Have you found the Games entertaining, Monica?"
    "Yes, sire," she replied unemotionally.
    "Don't call me that, Monica," he said testily. "Between us there is no need for formalities."
    "Yes, Uncle," the girl said.
    "Damn it, that's worse," he said. "To you I am simply Rolan." He placed his hand firmly on her silken knee. "And now if they'll get on with this tedious ceremony, I should like to be on the way. I'm looking forward with great pleasure to showing you my estates at Snowdahl."
    The Emperor drummed his fingers, stared down at the field, raised the glasses only to see the commotion again.
    "Get that fool off the field," he shouted, dropping the glasses. "Am I to wait while they haggle with this idiot? It's insufferable. . . ."
    Courtiers scurried, while Rolan glared down from his seat.
    Below, Retief faced a cluster of irate referees. One, who had attempted to haul Retief bodily backward, was slumped on a bench, attended by two surgeons.
    "I claim the right to challenge, under the Charter," Retief repeated. "Nobody here will be so foolish, I hope, as to attempt to deprive me of that right, now that I have reminded you of the justice of my demand."
    * * *
    From the control cage directly below the Emperor's high box, a tall seam-faced man in black breeches and jacket emerged, followed by two armed men. The officials darted ahead, stringing out between the two, calling out. Behind Retief, on the other side of the barrier, Fitzraven watched anxiously. The old man was full of surprises, and had a way of getting what he wanted; but even if he had the right to challenge the Champion of the Games, what purpose could he have in doing so? He was as strong as a bull, but no man his age could be a match for the youthful power of the blond fighter. Fitzraven was worried; he was fond of this old warrior. He would hate to see him locked behind the steel walls of Fragonard Keep for thus disturbing the order of the Lily Tournament. He moved closer to the barrier, watching.
    The tall man in black strode through the chattering officials, stopped before Retief, motioned his two guards forward.
    He made a dismissing motion toward Retief. "Take him off the field," he said brusquely. The guards stepped up, laid hands on Retief's arms. He let them get a grip, then suddenly stepped back and brought his arms together. The two men cracked heads, stumbled back. Retief looked at the black-clad

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