The Navigator of Rhada Read Online Free

onto the rock ledge. At that instant, the assassin with the flail charged him. Kynan lifted his pistol and fired. The heavy bullet struck the man in the stomach, doubling him up and flinging him back against the cliff. He fell face down across his own flail, and there was a flash and the smell of scorched flesh as the weapon overloaded and burned out.
    Kynan felt a stab of pain in his thigh and looked down to see that the thrown lance had pierced his leg just above the knee. He stumbled and fell, snapping the haft of the weapon, the ripped muscle drawing a moan of agony from him.
    The second assassin was charging, flail held high. Kynan dropped his useless pistol and pulled his sword over his shoulder. He caught the first sweep of the flail on his blade, and a shower of sparks scattered over the rubber grip of the sword.
    Kynan forced himself to his feet and leaned against the cliff as his assailant took a fighting stance with his back to the sea.
    The man was breathing hard, and his face was distorted with anger. “All right, holy Joe. Now--now, we’ll see!”
    Kynan put his weight on his uninjured leg and thrust. He could not afford a long fight--he was losing too much blood for that. Even with the lance point in his thigh, he must attack or die.
    The flail crackled by his face, trailing sparks. Kynan aimed a series of head cuts, feinted, swept his point down across the hand holding the flail.
    The man screamed with pain and anger and changed weapon hands. He charged heedlessly and caught a ringing blow on his steel cap. A single chain brushed across Kynan’s injured leg, and the electric shock almost knocked him down. He could feel the warm blood streaming, and he felt a growing weakness.
    The light was going swiftly, and the rain made the footing dangerous. Kynan caught the assassin’s cheek with his point and laid the dark face open to the bone.
    The warman, more heavily built than the Navigator, closed with him hilt to hilt. Sparks showered as the chains touched the sword blade. Kynan looked into the dark eyes, the bloody face, and saw the look of the priest-hater. There were many such throughout the galaxy, men who hated the clergy for real or imagined wrongs. But they were rare on Gonlan, and Kynan wondered what had happened among the Rhad to conjure up this kind of dark passion.
    “I’ll kill you -- Nav--kill you--” The man’s voice was harsh, strangling in his throat.
    Kynan could feel himself weakening. There was no time now for anything but survival. His free hand found his knife and drew it. The Navigator let the other force him back a step, then twisted toward the cliff’s edge.
    The man lost balance, and Kynan, with a short, desperate motion, drove the knife home.
    The assassin dropped the flail, turned, and ran--his hands holding his stomach. He ran headlong into the rock wall, feeling nothing but his mortal wound, turned, ran again across the track and straight over the edge. He made no sound as the rain and night consumed him.
    For what seemed to be a long time, Kynan stood on the ledge, his breath coming in deep, painful sobs. It was dark now, and the wind drove the rain in gusts before a rising storm.
    Kynan’s wounded leg gave way abruptly, and he found himself stretched out on the wet rocks of the path with the rain stinging his face.
    He was very weak, and his whole side seemed on fire with the pain of the lance head in his thigh. But he dragged himself toward the body of the assassin he had killed with his pistol.
    Still stretched out at full length and with his strength all but gone, Kynan inspected the contents of the dead man’s pouch by the tiny light of his electric torch.
    There was nothing significant: only a half-dozen Imperial coins. The bearded image of Torquas, the Galacton, was etched familiarly into the stainless steel disks.
    The lance head felt like a drop of molten metal in his thigh. He dropped the torch, and it went out. He fumbled for it among the wet rocks and could not