The Desert Spear by Peter V. Brett Read Free Book Online

the white. They left the Kaji’sharaj and were never seen again. Jardir was not chosen for this honor, but he did not mind. He had no desire to spend his days poring over ancient scrolls or shouting praise to Everam. He was bred for the spear.
    The
dama
showed more interest in Abban, who had letters and numbers, but his father was
khaffit,
something they did not take to, even though the shame did not technically carry to a man’s sons.
    “Better you fight,” the
dama
told Abban at last, poking his broad chest. Abban had kept much of his bulk, but the constant rigor of training had hardened the fat to muscle. Indeed, he was becoming a formidable warrior, and he blew out a breath of relief when it became clear he would not be called to the white.
    Other boys, too weak or slow, were cast out of the Kaji’sharaj as
khaffit—
forced to return to the tan clothes of children for the rest of their lives. This was a worse fate by far, shaming their families and denying them hope of paradise. Those with warrior’s hearts often volunteered as Baiters, taunting demons and luring them into traps in the Maze. It was a brief life, but one that brought honor and entrance into Heaven for those otherwise lost.
    In his twelfth year, Jardir was allowed his first look at the Maze. Drillmaster Qeran took the oldest and strongest of the
nie’Sharum
up the great wardwall—a sheer thirty feet of sandstone looking down on the demon killing ground that had once been an entire district of the city, back in ancient times when Krasia was more populous. It was filled with the remnants of ancient hovels and dozens of smaller sandstone walls. These were twenty feet high, with pitted wards cut into their surfaces. Some ran great distances and turned sharp corners, while others were just a single slab or angle. Together they formed a maze studded with hidden pitfalls, designed to trap and hold the
alagai
for the morning sun.
    “The wall beneath your feet,” Qeran said, stamping his foot, “shields our women and children, even the
khaffit,
” he spit over the side of the wall, “from the
alagai.
The other walls,” he swept his hands out over the endlessly twisting walls of the Maze, “keep the
alagai
trapped in with
us.
” He clenched his fist at that, and the obvious pride he felt was shared by all the boys. Jardir imagined himself running through that maze, spear and shield in hand, and his heart soared. Glory awaited him on that blood-soaked sand.
    They walked along the top of the thick wall until they came to a wooden bridge that could be drawn up with a great crank. This led down to one of the Maze walls, all connected by stone arches or close enough to jump. The Maze walls were thinner, less than a foot thick in some places.
    “The walltops are treacherous for older warriors,” Qeran said, “apart from the Watchers.” The Watchers were
dal’Sharum
of the Krevakh and Nanji tribes. They were laddermen, each man carrying an iron-shod ladder twelve feet in length. The ladders could be joined to one another or used alone, and Watchers were so agile they could stand balanced at the top of an unsupported ladder as they surveyed the battlefield. The Krevakh Watchers were subordinate to the Kaji tribe, the Nanji to the Majah.
    “For the next year, you boys will assist the Krevakh Watchers,” Qeran said, “tracking
alagai
movements and calling them down to the
dal’Sharum
in the Maze, as well as running orders back and forth from the
kai’Sharum.
”
    They spent the rest of the day running the walltops. “You must know every inch of the Maze as well as you know your spears!” Qeran said as they went. Quick and agile, the
nie’Sharum
shouted in exhilaration as they leapt from wall to wall and darted over the small arched bridges. Jardir and Abban laughed at the joy of it.
    But Abban’s big frame did not lend itself to balance, and on one slender bridge he slipped, falling off the wall. Jardir dove for his hand, but he was not fast