Choosing Names: Man-Kzin Wars VIII Larry Niven (fantasy novels to read txt) 📖

sawing with desperate determination at the mooring cable with his foreclaws—taking advantage of his captor’s seeming preoccupation. The cable was far tougher than anything he’d seen before and his already frayed talons were beginning to bleed. He ignored the pain. Sooner or later the cable had to give. Hopefully it would give in time.

“I am being Jotok you are being kzinti.”

Swift-Son sat bolt upright, as if stung by a v’pren, the mooring cable forgotten. He hadn’t expected the creature to speak. It had an odd lilt to its voice, almost as if it were singing. Its accent was strange and its words hard to understand. At first Swift-Son didn’t even try to comprehend, he was simply too shocked that it could talk at all.

“I am being Jotok my name is being Joyaselatak. You are being kzinti your name is being?”

This time understanding seeped through. He slowly relaxed his grip on the binding cable and regarded his captor with a strange calm. Despite the unusual phrasing, the question honored him. Perhaps this strange being was a servant of the Fanged God, such as the sagas spoke of.

For a moment he thought of claiming a Name. The question hinted that he might, and had he not earned it when he sprang fearlessly to attack? But he had not completed the kill and was now a captive of his prey. Perhaps the compliment was also a test. Sheathe Pride and bare Honor. Better to be found worthy than boastful.

“I have no Name. I am Swift-Son, of Rritt-Pride.” His answer was humble, but he acknowledged the honor by speaking formally, as a guest on a neighbor’s territory.

“Your name being Swift-Son-of-Rritt-Pride.” The creature seemed pleased with itself. “Your reason being?”

Swift-Son was puzzled by the question. It didn’t seem to have any meaning.

After a long pause waiting for an answer, the Jotok elaborated. “Your reason being for attacking of myself?”

Ah. He was being tested, and the Fanged God had selected a battle of wits. He must be true to the honor-of-the-captured-warrior, always the hardest to maintain and made doubly difficult by his Nameless status, while the demon tried to trap him into violating it. He would rather be tested claw to claw and fang to fang, with victory to the strongest and fastest.

He had been so tested. His careful stalk, his unhesitating pounce had demonstrated both his hunting skill and courage. Clearly his captor controlled magic enough to kill him with a glance. The creature would gain no honor through such an uneven duel. Swift-Son had simply been frozen in midleap so that the second test could occur.

He composed his next answer carefully and spoke with pride, but not arrogance. “Hrrr. I am Namequesting in the spirit of Chraz-Mtell. I am a fated . . .” He paused, considering whether to claim himself as a warrior. He decided he had not yet earned that honor. “ . . . hunter of the Fanged God. I follow the Portents of the Starstreak and the Skylash. They have led me here and I have challenged-claimed your totem.”

Jotoki were excellent linguists, their multibrain structure naturally parceling out the tasks of phoneme parsing, word identification, vocabulary translation, syntax deconstruction, and meaning recognition. Nevertheless Joyaselatak wasn’t exactly sure what Swift-Son meant. The dialect was oddly different from what it had learned and many of the words were unfamiliar.

As far as it could determine, the primitive kzin was saying that he had been out hunting and something, the Jotok didn’t know what, had happened to a sky god. Therefore, the kzin, driven by visions from its god, had attacked Joyaselatak for the sake of some religious object. The self sections bubbled the question around for a moment. What object was it? Perhaps the iron balls held some special symbolism?

And the word the kzin had used actually meant formal attack. That was an odd usage, especially for an unprovoked killing leap. Some clarification was called for.

“Why is being use of ‘formal attack’?”

Swift-Son was growing wise to the demon’s tricks and at once understood the test. It was suggesting that his challenge was incorrect, offered to an unworthy foe. He was being deliberately insulted, yet to maintain the honor-of-the-captured-warrior, he must answer with dignity, not rage. He spoke carefully, in the Formal Tense.

“You are a demon of the Fanged God’s pride-circle are you not? What challenge could I offer that you would be unworthy of?”

Joyaselatak buzzed the kzin’s words and several possible translations around its torochord, looking for the most valid interpretation. The kzin thought it was a supernatural creature—an unsurprising mistake—and for that reason the attack was formal, which still meant nothing. Better understanding would have to wait until the basics were covered.

The demon waved one of its arm/legs at the massive artifact beneath the shimmering travel-tent. “I am being a Jotok. This is being my starship.” It gestured upwards, indicating the clear blue sky. “In it I am arriving from the stars. To be speaking to you I am traveling a distance of great lengths.”

Swift-Son followed the gesture and looked with new awe at the “starship.” The creature was only confirming what Swift-Son was all but certain of. It had come from the stars of course, from the pride-circle of the Fanged God, and it had come specifically for Swift-Son. But that it had traveled in the huge—artifact—that truly savaged credibility.

Of course he knew what a ship was. The pride-ballad spoke of them. Ships were driven by the wind across a savannah of water called a sea, like sailseeds over a pond. Rritt-Conserver had said the ballad was their ancestors speaking, for those wise enough to listen. Swift-Son had dutifully memorized his daily verses, but only now did he understand why. Life in the larger world contained much that wasn’t found in the pride. If his ancestors could float ships to distant lands, he had no doubt this demon could sail the skies to the stars.

When the demon interrupted his thoughts, Swift-Son realized he’d been staring at the starship and ignoring his host/captor. Not the best