Three

Abstract

Jonas dismounted from Warhorse. Already he had become an encumbrance. Everything was an encumbrance. Warhorse quickly regained his human features. Like the others, he backed against the wall, ready to enjoy the spectacle. And what a spectacle. The combatants studied each other intensely. Both smiling: Gleam again with his ironic smile. Pithecanthropus with a crocodile-jaws-of-fire smile. Lance and sword sought each other out. Muscles were taut, living strings of a crossbow. Suddenly Gleam feinted with one arm. Jonas leapt clumsily. The Ironic One’s smile grew. It was too much. His opponent at the breaking point. Exasperated. Out of control. He squatted. All arms and legs, he charged his enemy, trying to run him through. The defender simply ducked. So great was the General’s momentum—that without making contact—he continued his blind dash. Far beyond his adversary. He turned quickly on the weird lancer. Propelled by a good kick in the rectum, Pithecanthropus was flung toward the wall.