Chapter 11: The Salle

When they left the Neo-Tantra office some time later, Jazira had signed up for a basic course. Pru explained that, as soon as she got back to North America, she would be taking a similar one, although more intensive.

"You need to tell me what you think of it," she told her friend, "I want to get other people's reactions while I'm learning, too."

They wandered down the streets, looking in shop windows and scanning the open market offerings. Jazira picked up a few items for her kitchen.

"I hope you don't mind my telling them about Zahl," Pru said, wondering whether Jazira felt she had been out of line.

"No, not really. I sort of figured you had something in mind when you suggested visiting Neo-Tantra the other day. I don't know if they can help, but I'm worried enough that I'll take any help I can get.

"Hey, look," she went on, "we're at my Salle."

They stopped outside one of the Salles des Armes that could always be found in a Controlled Area. The densely populated CAs survived, in part, because nearly everyone was trained from childhood to protect themselves in unarmed combat or with the knives everyone carried. The knives, made of very high-strength plastic, were razor sharp and designed to retain DNA samples. If used in combat, the police could easily find out who had been wounded by any given knife.

"This is the one I always come to," Jazira said, "and I haven't worked out in a week. You game?"

"I guess this was something you had in mind. Sure."

Pru followed her friend into the Salle. They were met by two men, dressed only in briefs, and without knives. Their flashes begged the point, calling them merely Instructors.

"Good afternoon, Ms al-Hamdi, are you here for practice?" asked one of them.

Jazira said, "Yes, please. This is my friend Pru Whiteside. She'll play, too."

The other man extended a hand to Pru who shook it, not without some caution. Her own maître was not above trying to throw her just as a greeting.

They were led into the practice room, bright, wide, high-ceilinged and with resilient mats on the floor. Racks of practice staffs and knives lined one wall. Jazira led the way to the changing room, where they put their packages, kilts, jewelry, shoes and knives into lockers. Clad only in their briefs, like the two trainers, but with the addition of sports bras, they returned to the practice room. In the older schools of unarmed combat, participants wore uniforms like the judo-gi; but considering the modern North American habit of wearing only a kilt in Controlled Areas, combat practice was usually done almost in the raw. Only tournaments were fought with padded, protective clothing and gloves.

In a few minutes, after doing stretches and limbering up, each of them squared off with one of the men.

Pru selected the larger of the two, estimating his musculature and assessing his speed. They circled one another, oblivious of the shouts and slaps as Jazira attacked her partner. Pru watched the stranger carefully, noting his attempts to dominate the session and to develop a psychological mastery even before contact was begun. Pru's estimation of her opponent went up a notch, but she gave no response. It was not her style to attempt dominance with a new partner. Instead, she saved her attention for assessing his preparedness to make the first strike. Pru knew the first strike must sometimes be your own initiative and never hesitated when the time seemed right. But, today she waited.

As they circled warily, Pru slipped automatically into a still, empty place of no expectation, totally in the moment. Without thinking or noticing anything, she nonetheless caught the sign she had been waiting for: a flicker of decision in his eyes, a slight tightening of his mouth. Each opponent was different, but every one betrayed his or her intentions in some way. So, Pru was ready when his hand swept out toward her.