The girl moaned.

Kamras smiled with contempt. "You see," he said, "I am Champion of Turia and I have no particular wish to stain my blade with the blood of an urt."

The urt is a loathsome, horned Gorean rodent; some are quite large, the size of wolves or ponies, but most are very small, tiny enough to be held in the palm of one hand.

"Well," said Kamchak, "I certainly would not want that to happen either."

The Ka.s.sar girl cried out in distress.

"Fight him, filthy Tuchuk" screamed Aphris of Turia, pulling against the retaining rings.

"Do not be uneasy, gentle Aphris of Turia," said Kamras.

"Permit him to withdraw branded braggart and coward.

Let him live in his shame, for so much the richer will be your vengeance."

But the lovely Aphris was not convinced. "I want him slain," she cried, "cut into tiny pieces, the death of a thou sand cuts!"

"Withdraw," I advised Kamchak.

"Do you think I should," he inquired.

"Yes," I said, "I do."

Kamras Divas regarding Aphris of Turia. "If it is truly your wish," he said, "I will permit him to choose weapons agreea ble to us both."

"It is my wish," she said, "that he be slaint"

Kamras shrugged. "All right," he said, "I will kill him." He then turned to Kamchak. "All right' Tuchuk," he said, "I will permit you to choose weapons agreeable to us both."

"But perhaps I will not fight," said Kamchak warily.

Kamras clenched his fists. "Very well," he said, "as you wish."

"But then again," mused Kamchak, "perhaps I shall."

Aphris of Turia cried out in rage and the Ka.s.sar wench in distress.

"I will fight," announced Kamchak.

Both girls cried out in pleasure.

The judge now entered the name of Kamchak of the Tuchuks on his lists.

"What weapon do you choose?" asked the judge. "Remem ber," cautioned the judge, "the weapon or weapons chosen must be mutually agreeable."

Kamchak seemed lost in thought and then he looked up brightly. "I have always wondered," he said, "what it would be like to hold a sword."

The judge nearly dropped the list.

"I will choose the sword," said Kamchak.

The Ka.s.sar girl moaned.

Kamras looked at Aphris of Turia, dumbfounded. The girl herself was speechless. "He is mad," said Kamras of Turia.

"Withdraw," I urged Kamchak.

"It is too late now," said the judge.

"It is too late now," said Kamchak, innocently.

Inwardly I moaned, for in the past months I had come to respect and feel an affection for the shrewd, gusty brawny Tuchuk.

Two swords were brought, Gorean short swords, forged in Ar.

Kamchak picked his up as though it were a wagon lever, used for loosening the wheels of mired wagons.

Kamras and I both winced.

Then Kamras, and I give him credit, said to Kamchak, 'withdraw." I could understand his feelings. Kamras was, after all, a warrior, and not a butcher.

"A thousand cuts!" cried the gentle Aphris of Turia. "A piece of gold to Kamras for every cull" she cried.

Kamchak was running his thumb on the blade. I saw a sudden, bright drop of blood on his thumb. He looked up.

"Sharp," he said.

"Yes," I said in exasperation. I turned to the judge. "May I fight for Lima" I demanded.

"It is not permitted," said the judge.

"But," said Kamchak, "it was a good idea."

I seized Kamchak by the shoulders. "Kamras has no real wish to kill you," I said. "It is enough for him to shame you.

Withdraw."

Suddenly the eyes of Kamchak gleamed. "Would you see me shamed?" he asked.

I looked at him, "Beher, my friend," I said, "that than death."

"No," said Kamchak, and his eyes were like steel, "better death than shame."

I stepped back. He was Tuchuk. I would sorely miss my friend, the ribald, hard-drinking, stomping, dancing Kamchak of the Tuchuks.

In the last moment I cried out to Kamchak, "For the sake of Priest-Kings, hold the weapon thus" trying to teach him the simplest of the commoner grips for the hilt of the short sword, permitting a large degree of both retention and flexi- bility. But when I stepped away he was now holding it like a Gorean angle saw.

Even Kamras closed his eyes briefly, as though to shut out the spectacle. I now realized Kamras had only wished to drive Kamchak from the field, a chastened and humiliated man. He had little more wish to slay the clumsy Tuchuk than he would have a peasant or a potmaker.

"Let the combat begin," said the judge.

I stepped away from Kamchak and Kamras approached- him, by training, cautiously.

Kamchak was looking at the edge of his sword, turning it about, apparently noting with pleasure the play of sunlight on the blade.

"Watch out!" I cried.

Kamchak turned to see what I had in mind and to his great good fortune, as he did so, the sun flashed from the blade into the eyes of ELamras, who suddenly threw his arm up, blinking and shaking his head, for the instant blinded.

"Turn and strike now!" I screamed "What?" asked Kamchak.

"Watch out!" I cried, for now Kamras had recovered, and was once again approaching.

Kamras, of course, had the sun at his back, using it as naturally as the tarn to protect his advance.

It had been incredibly fortunate for Kamchak that the blade had flashed precisely at the time it had in the way it had.

It had quite possibly saved his life.

Kamras lunged and it looked like Kamchak threw up his arm at the last instant as though he had lost balance, and indeed he was now tottering on one boot. I scarcely noticed the blow had been smartly parried. Kamras then began to chase Kamchak about the ring of sand. Kamchak was nearly stumbling over backward and kept trying to regain his bal- ance. In this chase, rather undignified, Kamras had struck a dozen times and each time, astoundingly, the off-balance Kamchak, holding his sword DOW like a physician's pestle, had managed somehow to meet the blow.

"Slay him!" screamed Aphris of Turia.

I was tempted to cover my eyes.

The Ka.s.sar girl was wailing.

Then, as though weary, Kamchak, puffing, sat down in the sand. His sword was in front of his face, apparently blocking his vision. With his boots he kept rotating about, always facing Kamras no matter from which direction he came Each time the Turian struck and I would have thought Kamchak slain, somehow, incomprehensibly, at the last in- stant, nearly causing my heart to stop, with a surprised weary little twitch, the blade of the Tuchuk would slide the Turian steel harmlessly to the side. It was only about this time that it dawned on me that for three or four minutes Kamchak had been the object of the ever-more-furious as- sault of Turia's champion and was, to this instant, un- scratched.

Kamchak then struggled wearily to his feet.

"Die, Tuchuk!" cried Kamrus now enraged, rushing upon him. For more than a minute, while I scarcely dared to breathe and there was silence all about save for the ring of steel, I watched Kamchak stand there, heavy in his boots, his head seeming almost to sit on his shoulders, his body hardly moving save for the swiftness of a wrist and the turn of a hand.

Kamras, exhausted, scarcely able to lift his arm, staggered backward.

Once again, expertly, the sun flashed from the sword of Kamchak in his eyes.

In terror Kamras blinked and shook his head, thrashing about wearily with his sword.

- Then, foot by booted foot, Kamchak advanced toward him. I saw the first blood leap front the cheek of Kamras, and then again from his left arm, then from the thigh, then from an ear.

"Kill him!" Aphris of, Turia was screaming. "Kill him!"

But now, almost like a drunk man, Kamras was fighting for his life and the Tuchuk, like a bear, scarcely moving more than arm and wrist, followed him about, shuffling through the sand after him, touching him again and again with the blade. '

"Slay hind" howled Aphris of Turia!

For perhaps better than fifteen minutes, patiently, not hurrying, Kamchak of the Tuchuks shuffled after Kamras of Turia, touching him once more and ever again, each time leaving a quick, bright stain of blood on his tunic or body And then, to my astonishment, and that of the throng who had gathered to witness the contest, I saw Kamras, Champi- on of Turia, weak from the loss of blood, fall to his knees before Kamchak of the Tuchuks. Kamras tried to lift his sword but the boot of Kamchak pressed it into the sand, and Kamras lifted his eyes to look dazed into the scarred, inscru- table countenance of the Tuchuk. Kamchak's sword was at his throat. "Six years," said Kamchak, "before I was scarred was I mercenary in the guards of Ar, learning the walls and defenses of that city for my people. In that time of the guards of Ar I became First Sword."

Kamras fell in the sand at the feet of Kamchak, unable even to beg for mercy.

Kamchak did not slay him.

Rather he threw the sword he carried into the sand and though he threw it easily it slipped through almost to the hilt.

He looked at me and grinned. "An interesting weapon," he said, "but I prefer lance and quiva."

There was an enormous roar about us and the pounding of lances on leather shields. I rushed to Kamchak and threw my arms about him laughing and hugging him. He was grinning from ear to ear, sweat glistening in the furrows of his scars.

Then he turned and advanced to the stake of Aphris of Turia, who stood there, her wrists bound in steel, regarding him, speechless with horror Kamchak regarded Aphris of Turia.

"Why is a slave," he asked, "masquerading in the robes of a free woman?"

"Please, no, Tuchuk," she said. "Please, no!"

And in a moment the lovely Aphris of Tuna stood at the stake revealed to the eyes of her master.

She threw back her head and moaned, wrists still locked in the retaining rings.

She had not, as I had suspected, deigned to wear the shameful camisk beneath her robes of white and gold.

The Ka.s.sar wench, who had been bound across from her to the opposing stake, had now been freed by a judge and she strode to where Aphris was still confined.

"Well done, Tuchuk!" said the girl, saluting Kamchak.

Kamchak shrugged.

Then the girl, with vehemence, spat in the face of the lovely Aphris. "Slave girl!" hissed the girl. "Slave! Slave girl!"

She then turned and strode away, looking for warriors of the Ka.s.sars.

Kamchak laughed loudly.

"Punish her!" demanded Aphris.

Kamchak suddenly cuffed Aphris of Turia. Her head snapped sideways and there was a streak of blood at the corner of her mouth. The girl looked at him in sudden fear.

It might have been the first time she had ever been struck.

Kamchak had not hit her hard, but sharply enough to in- struct her. "You will take what abuse any free person of the Wagon Peoples cares to inflict-upon you," he said.

"I see," said a voice, "you know how to handle slaves."

I turned to see, only a few feet away, on the shoulders of slaves standing on the bloodied sand, the open, bejeweled, cushioned palanquin of Saphrar of the Caste of Merchants.

Aphris blushed from head to toe, enfolded transparent in the crimson flag of her shame Saphrar's round, pinkish face was beaming with pleasure, though I would have thought this day a tragic one for him.