A Warrior Must Dance: Age of Ishtar part 5

Even having just restarted his breathing exercises as he had approached, the sight of these three goddesses took his breath away. Luckily, fourteen years at a charm school had ingrained in his body a certain degree of autonomy when it came to formal responses. He at least did not feel his face betray him, and his bow came of its own accord; smooth and effortless.

After his own bow, Semias entered into his autonomous recitation, technically flawless in its formality, yet somehow with more than a note comfortable of earthiness, "Monsieur Dumas, may I introduce Milady Estelle Montoya, daughter of Madrid Montoya, Matron of Grigori stable. To her left is Milady's firstborn daughter Kris Montoya, and to her right is her youngest daughter Kukri Montoya. Miladies, may I present Skye Dumas, son of Victoria Dumas, graduate of Monsieur Van Dam Charm School, rookie gladiator, obtainable."

The stable matron was a woman still in her prime. About two decades short of middle aged, she appeared to be merely a buxom seventy years old, with the hints of laugh lines just beginning to set in, and not a hint of grey touching her long obsidian hair. Skye had assumed that since she had chosen Semias as her husband she would be well past her first century like him, but no, it seemed that she just preferred more experienced men. Or perhaps it was his long silver hair. Her daughters couldn't be much older than Skye, if not a bit younger. All three women appeared athletic, they had a poise that spoke less of being drilled to stand up straight, and more of good posture born of vigorous activity and learning their bodies well. Their attire, while elegant and appropriate to the formal setting from the perspective of certain cultures, was definitely designed with form fittingness and ease of movement in mind. Each wore a pistol slung at her hip, and they did not appear to be costume pieces worn for show.

Skye knew that in some places women wore firearms at all times, and in many others they were considered an integral part of a woman’s formal dress. He knew his sisters and mother all had at least a few firearms each, and he had seen his mother’s antique plasma rifles in their locked case over the mantle, but he had never actually seen them worn in person before. There were none in his school; the schoolmistresses were concerned that with all those curious boys around one might get his hands on one. Even if the boy didn't accidentally hurt someone, he would have broken planetary law by even picking one up (not to mention the legal troubles for the owner of the gun if it was determined that him getting it had been the result of negligence). Even if the judge was lenient in their ruling, he would still be forever marked as a registered vicious offender, just as if he had actually assaulted a woman. He would not be allowed near children or disabled persons, he would not be allowed in any government building, he would have to have the operation of his LASH chip tested once a month instead of the standard once a year, his appraisal price would fall through the floor, even in the arena he wouldn't be allowed any weapons that could be thrown, he would be sterilized, he wouldn't be allowed to step foot on any interplanetary vessel that didn't have armed guards, and the list of restrictions and repercussions goes on and on. If a weapon even accidentally flew out of your hand in the arena, if someone said you threw it; that became a serious allegation. A confirmed thrown sword was considered a projectile and could earn you a vicious offender registration.

Understandably, he knew little about guns and was more than a little bit nervous about them. These three women stood with their lithe but curvaceous forms concealed only by their dark skintight attire with instruments of death-from-afar perched on their jutting hips. Skye was intimidated, but he switched to a quieter breathing technique than prana and met the depthless brown eyes of the stable matron with his own cool blue gaze before bowing again, this time to each of them in the order they had been introduced. Each looked back into his gaze with the same soft, unknowable eyes. "I'm pleased to become acquainted with each of you, and hope that I can bring you pleasure with my presence, for to be warmed by the radiance of your smiles is more than I could dare hope to ask."

The two sisters gave one another a quick glance with a small wry grin as their mother responded smiling, "If you continue with that flattery I'm certain that smiles will be given whether you ask for them or not." The light drawl of her accent was soothing and reassuring, "We are pleased to meet you as well, and I would ask that you escort my daughters to the dance floor as it would be just silly for them to dance with one another when so fine a specimen as yourself stands unpartnered. As you are injured, I wouldn't risk overtaxin' you by asking that you dance with both at once though. If you could escort Kris, my eldest, first; I would be much obliged."

With a half bow, Skye extended his right arm out to Kris saying, "I would be delighted if your wishes matched with your mothers to grace me with your presence on the floor."

She nodded with a slight blush, and ever so lightly offered her hand into his, "If she hadn't, I don't think I could have resisted asking myself."

In all the world of Ishtar, there was only one place where men still led women, and that was on the dance floor. In the home, the woman was the head of the household if there even was a man. Government and law enforcement officials were all women. Any profession that carried with it respect, honor, or prestige outside of the arena was solely the female domain. Even in the arena women called the shots. They decided the rules, the penalties, the rewards, who fought who, and everything else. On the dance floor alone men lead women. Well, that is unless you believe those men who say that many women allow or even prefer a man to take charge in the bedroom. He thought that if those stories were true there would have been some explicit mention of it in his marital arts classes.

On to the dance floor he led her, still consciously controlling his breathing. He had danced with women before. Most of the teachers at his school were, of course, female, and they had occasional mixers with one or another of the cities prominent girls’ schools. He had never, however, danced with a woman of such grace and beauty. He had definitely never danced with a woman who moved with the deadliness this woman exuded. Her hand was light in his, like a bird that had alighted for a moment but would fly at any wrong move. Her hand was a bird that if it were to become displeased was within reach of a weapon that could end him in a moment. He didn't actually think she would just shoot him on the dance floor, but with his lifelong training to keep track of threats in the arena, the presence of such a weapon on the hip of the woman he was escorting could not leave his mind.

They reached an open place on the dance floor and he turned to face her. Skye gently, yet firmly, pulled Kris against himself, his right arm around the small of her back. Effectively leading in a dance requires the ability to communicate one’s intentions entirely through touch. That cannot be done with one hand unless the partner is pulled against the leads own body so that he can communicate where they are going. Skye looked into her eyes and tried not to become lost in them, not right now. He must keep his head. She didn’t appear surprised at him beginning with such an intimate stance with a partner he has just been introduced to. Good, just because she was trained in dance and combat does not necessarily mean she is automatically knowledgeable about dancing with a man who has been injured in combat. Her hands came up to rest on his shoulders and they began to move.

Skye started simply, stepping in a box, learning the feel of her and her subtle rhythms. A man can lead a hundred different girls through the same dance to the same song, but the feel could be entirely different with each and every one. How fluid or rigid, how quickly they reacted, natural stride length, how light or heavy on their feet, height, how much momentum they had, degree of trust in their partner, how much they would fight for the lead, what beats within a song they were likely to see as the primary beat, not to mention every tick, habit, or other idiosyncrasy each girl was likely to have. If one added in all of the variables to more advanced maneuvers; strength, the girls weight, what points she balanced at, how much she tried to self-balance in the air as opposed to letting her partner control the balance, rigidity in the air, gripability of all graspable points, jumping power, amount of fear of falling, you could spend your entire life searching and never find any two girls who felt the same to dance with.

She moved easily and quickly to his touch. He added rotation, and then more complexity. She responded smoothly and effortlessly to the slightest change in pressure of his touch. He slowly allowed himself to fall into her eyes, losing himself to her gaze and the dance.

"Do you hunt often?" Kris asked, a thoughtful expression flitting across her face.

"No, I've only fought other men before. I've wondered though, what it would be like to do battle with an opponent who has more than two legs." He answered after a slight pause that did not touch his movement. "Do you?"

"My home region, Terra del Sol, is a paradise for hunters from all over this world. Most of the land that’s livable, and much of it that isn't, is huntin’ preserves of one type or another. I haven't been huntin’ since we moved here to Gascon. It is a beautiful city here, don't get me wrong, but the local wildlife has me less than enthused. The most dangerous animal I've heard of is the occasional stray dog, not exactly my idea of excitement. I was just imaginin' I would enjoy seeing you fight a silver scale drake."

"That does sound like an interesting adventure. I hope I can fulfill that and any other fantasies you might have." A sly grin snuck onto his face as he watched a smile find its way to her lips.

"You might want to beware of makin’ such an open ended offer to women you don't know. It can get you into hot water quick." She warned coyly as he adjusted their path to avoid a drunken couple who were careening around the dance floor.

"I'll try to keep that in mind, but it is hard not to want to do whatever it would take to please you." They narrowly avoided the couple who instead collided with a matronly pair of women who had not been paying as much attention to their surroundings.

"There's a difference though between doing what you think a woman wants, and makin’ a woman happy by doing something you have a passion for. Not saying you should disobey your lady, or not do something she wants. All I'm sayin’ is that you might be able to make a woman happier being the best version of yourself than by being a cheap copy of what she says she wants."

This conversation had taken a much more philosophical turn than he had thought it would go. He didn't really have a charming pat answer, so he responded honestly. "What if she doesn't like me then?" Cracks of vulnerability showed through the exterior of bravado and icy confidence he had been taught to display.

"Then she knows you aren't what she wants and can pass you on to someone who will ‘preciate you for who you are. Also, it helps her find someone who fits better what she's looking for. If a fighter has a rapier but wants a broadsword, they can pretend it's a broadsword all they want. They can call it a broadsword, care for it like a broadsword, and wield it like a broadsword. It's still a rapier. Swung like a broadsword it won't cut well, and soon it'll break. That isn't good for the fighter, and it isn't good for the sword. It's much better for everyone involved if they just sell the rapier, get the broadsword they really want, and let someone who actually wants the rapier have it."

"I've never heard it put that way. It actually makes a good deal of sense. I'd hate to think I was a waste of time and money for a woman who didn't really want me, and quite frankly I would much rather be the property of someone who appreciates who I am." He caught himself, "I apologize if I offend by speaking my thoughts. I just realized you had not asked for them."

"You're right, I didn't ask for them," Her face stern for a moment before breaking back into that alluring coy smile of hers, "but I wanted to hear them. Now, after this little learnin’ experience, what do you think of huntin’ a silver scale drake?"

"I have no idea what one is, nor the first thing about how to hunt one." His confidence was back, but it was no longer the canned confidence of training to look that way. It was the confidence he felt in the arena; the confidence of putting himself on the line with all he had. It was the confidence, not of knowing that he would win, but of knowing that whether he won or lost he would fight well and thereby earn his own honor. "Maybe it would be enjoyable, maybe I would die horribly doing it, but if told to I would go. However, I really have never put much thought towards hunting and could probably benefit from much training regarding it before being put to such a task."

"Thank you for your honesty," Kris's coy smile had grown wider with each sentence of his response into an outright grin, "Your bravery is to be commended, even though a single man against a silver scale would be as good as dead. You would need more than just good trainin’, you would need a whole team, and still it would be risky. Honesty is something that we value highly in our family, and the worlds would be much better I think if more people gave it the proper weight.”

"If I may ask, have I impressed you as little as I believe?"

"I doubt it, but I do believe I have monopolized you on the dance floor quite long enough. My sister does still have a reservation for a dance with you."

Skye reluctantly broke away to bow to her. "It would not do to keep her waiting then." Skye was mentally kicking himself; he had surely ruined any chance he had of getting this stable's bid at the auction. "Let us return to your family."

"I should probably tell you something first though. While I have always preferred the sweepin’ style of the broadsword, my sister Kukri has always been an almost cultish fan of the rapier."