and smell of it, he had been there some weeks.
"We caught this crazy using our hostel," Yod said. "He
claimed to be a surgeon, so we're giving him a chance to
carve his way out. We don't like fakes." He glanced at
Neq.
"A surgeon?" Neqa asked. "We haven't—" She stopped,
remembering her guise as a nomad woman. But it told
Neq that this man was not a crazy, for she would have
known of him. Perhaps he deserved his punishment.
The prisoner looked dully at them. He was a small man
with graying hair, very old by nomad definition.
"He says he's literate!" Yod said, laughing. "Show our
guests your writing, Dick." In an aside to Neq: "All crazies
have funny names."
The man reached around and found a tattered piece of
cardboard, probably salvaged from one of the rifled crates
the trucks had carried. He held this up. There were lines
on it that did resemble the crazy writing of Neqa's re-
cent report.
"Mean anything to you?" Yod asked Neq.
"No."
"Because you can't read—or he can't write?"
"I can't read. I don't know about hint. Maybe he can't
write either."
"Maybe. We could use a literate man. Some crazy
books we found, don't know what's in 'em. Maybe some-
thing good."
"Why not test them on the crazy in the cage?" Neq
asked.
"He lied about being a surgeon. We brought him a
wounded man and gave him a dagger and he wouldn't
operate. Said it wasn't clean, or something. Lot of ex-
cuses. So he'd lie about the books, too. He could tell us
anything—and how could we know the difference?"
Neq shrugged. "I can't help you." He knew Neqa could,
but he had no intention of giving her away.
"You're still Neq the Sword?"
"I always was."
"Prove it and you can join my tribe. We'll have to take
your girl away, of course, but you'll get your turn at her."
"The man who touches her is dead," Neq said, putting
his hand to his sword.
Yod laughed. "Well spoken. You have your part down
well—and you shall have your chance to enforce it. Here
is the circle." He glanced around and made a sweeping
signal with his hand. Ready for this summons, the men of
the tribe gathered.
In the temporary confusion, Neqa touched his hand.
"That man in the cage—he is literate," she murmured.
"He's from Helicon—a survivor. He may not be their
surgeon—they had the best surgeon in all the crazy
demesnes—but he's worth questioning."
Neq considered. If there were Helicon survivors. . . .
"When I fight, you cut him down. I'll put on a show to
distract them. You take him to the truck and get out. Use
your knife; this bunch is rough. I'll find you later."
"But how will you—"
"I can handle myself. I want you out of here before it
starts." He brought her to him suddenly and kissed her.
Stolen this fleetingly, the kiss was very sweet. "I love you."
"I love you," she repeated. "Neq! I can say it now! I
mean it! / love you"
"Touching," Yod said, breaking it up. "Here is your first
match, crazy."
Neq let her go and faced the circle. A large clubber
was there flexing his muscles. Most clubbers were large,
because of the weight of the weapon; by the same token,
most were clumsy. Still, no one could ignore the smash-
ing metal, that could bash sword and torso right out of the
circle in one sweep. Bog the Club had been astonishing. . . .
Suddenly, incongruously, Neq remembered how Bog
had been balked. Once by Sol of All Weapons, the great-
est warrior of all time; once by the Weaponless, who had
broken his neck and killed him by a leaping kick. But
once between those two honest contests, by the man Neq
had not been able to remember before. The Rope! Sos
the Rope—the man Miss Smith had remembered. He had
looped the cord about the club, surprising Bog (who was
not bright) and disarming-him. Then the man had talked
Bog into joining forces for doubles combat. The story of
that audacity was still going the rounds. The Rope had
not been nearly the man Bog was, but he had known
how to use his luck. With Bog on his side, he had torn up
several regular doubles teams. Bog plus a two-year child
would have been a winning team! The Rope had finally
overrated himself so far as to challenge Sol himself, and
Sol had sent him to the mountain.
He would have to tell Neqa that, when they were out
of this. And ask her whether by any chance her Sos had
carried a little bird on his shoulder. Not that any of it was
important today.
"That's Nam the Club," Yod said. "He says he's going
to diddle your crazy blonde right after he diddles you.
Should be no threat at all to—the fourth sword of a
hundred?"
Neq gave Neqa a parting squeeze on the arm and
urged her toward the caged man. The cage was beyond
the immediate circle of spectators, partially concealed by
the tree it hung from. If all of them faced toward the
circle, and if there were enough noise, she would be able
to cut open the cage and free the surgeon. Neq would
have to arrange his fights—he knew they would keep
sending men against him until they tired of this sport—to
attract the complete attention of the outlaws. All of them.
She moved away, and he walked slowly toward the
painted circle, drawing his sword. He stepped inside with-
out hesitation.
Nam roared and charged. Neq ducked sidewise, stay-
ing within the ring. The clubber, meeting no resistance,
stumbled on out.
"One down," Neq said. "Not much of a diddler, I'd
say—either kind." He wanted to insult both clubber and
tribe, to make them angry and eager to see the stranger
get beaten. He wanted nobody's attention to wander.
Nam roared again, and charged back into the circle.
This was another direct proof of his outlaw status, for no
true warrior would re-enter the circle after being thus
ushered out of it. To leave the circle during combat was
to lose the battle—by definition. That was one of the ways
the circle code avoided unnecessary bloodshed.
Neq did not wish to appear too apt with his blade too
soon. If they recognized his true skill immediately, the
game would be over, for they would know that he was
the man he claimed to be, and that none of them could
hope to match him. Yod would play fair only so long as
he was certain of winning.
So Neq sparred with the clubber, ducking his clumsy
blows, pinking him harmlessly, dancing him about in the
circle. Meanwhile Neqa was edging toward the cage, not
facing it but making covert progress.
When it seemed to him that interest was beginning to'
flag, Neq skewered Nam with a seemingly inept thrust,
very like the one he had made against Hig the Stick at the
/>
outset of his career as a warrior. It looked like a lucky
stab by a novice sworder—as intended.
"So you can fight," Yod remarked. "But not, I think,
quite up to the measure of your name. Tif!"
A sworder stepped toward the circle as men dragged
the bleeding, moaning clubber way. Neq could tell at a
glance that Tif was a superior sworder. The ante had been
raised. The outlaws watched with greater anticipation.
Neqa was now close to the cage.
It required less art to fence with Tif, for the man was
quick and sure with his blade, making defensive measures
mandatory, not optional. But he was no threat to Neq.
They jockeyed around, blade meeting blade clangingly,
keeping the tribe absorbed. Every nomad liked a good
show, even an outlaw.
Then Tif drew back. "He's playing with me," Tif called
to Yod. "He's a master. I can't touch—"
Neq put a red mouth across Tif's throat and the man
spouted his life's blood and fell. But it was too .late. The
"secret" had been exposed.
Neqa was working at the cage.
"So you are Neq the Sword!" Yod exclaimed. "We can't
trust you, then. You'd want the tribe for yourself."
"I disbanded a tribe ten times this size!" Neq said scorn-
fully. "This is nothing to me, and you are nothing. But
you called me a crazy—so fight me for your tribe!" That
might be an easy way out: take over the tribe, reconstitute
it along honest nomad lines, bring all the trucks back to
Dr. Jones.
Yod made an obscene gesture. "I'm not that kind of a
fool. We'll have to shoot you."
If they brought out the bows again, Neq would have
little chance. "I'll take on any two of you pitiful cowards
in the circle!" he cried.
Yod was quick to accept the opportunity to save some
face. It was always better for a leader to dispose of his
competition honorably, if at all feasible. Otherwise other
leaders would arise quickly to challenge him, suspecting
his weakness.
"Jut! Mip!" Yod shouted.
A dagger and a staffer came up, but not with the same
eagerness the first two warriors had shown. Neq knew
why: they were aware that one of them would likely die,
even if the other finished off the challenger. Two men
could generally defeat one—but the one could generally
pick his man and take him out, if life were not the su-
preme object. Also, the tribe was beginning to mull the
possibility of new leadership. If Neq were a better sworder
than Yod, he might improve the lot of the tribe. So a
certain discretion in loyalties was developing. As Yod
was surely aware.
This was a smart combination. The staff would block
Neq's sword and defend the pair of them, while the dagger
would slice out from under that cover with either hand.
But Neq, like all warriors of the former empire, had
been well trained in doubles combat. His reflexes sifted
through automatically and aligned on "partner incapaci-
tated; staff and dagger opposed." Except that he had no
wounded partner to protect. That made it easier.
Yes, he owed a debt now to that Sos he had known!
The interminable practice against all doubles combina-
tions had seemed a'waste of effort, for singles combat was
the normal rule. But Sos had said that a top warrior had to
be prepared for every eventuality. How right he had been!
As he engaged the pair, he saw that Neqa was still
working at the cage. She could not devote her full atten-
tion to it, because she had to appear innocent. But she
would shortly have the prisoner free.
Neq made the battle look good. He concealed none of
his skill now. He kept the dagger at bay with a steadily
flashing blade, and beat the staffer back by nipping at his
hands and slamming against the staff itself. The pair had
not fought like this often; they got in each other's way at
crucial moments. A duo could be less effective than either
warrior singly, if they were not properly coordinated. He
could take them; it was only a matter of time. And they
knew it; they were desperate, but had no way out.
Meanwhile, the tribe was watching, pondering loyal-
ties, gravitating toward the strongest candidate for leader-
ship.
"The crazy's escaping!" Yod cried.
Heads whipped about, Neqa and Dick the Surgeon
were running away from the open cage.
Neq's ploy had almost worked. But that one small
hitch—the random glance back of one spectator, perhaps
only because a fly was bothering him—or because he was
desperate himself to break up a pattern that did not favor
him—had undone it all.
Now there would be hell to pay.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"After theml" Yod screamed. "Don't kill the girl!"
Men lurched to their feet, drawing their assorted weap-
ons. Now they had to follow the leader they knew, for
there was an immediate crisis. Had Neqa and the cage-man
escaped cleanly while Neq fought, so that it was obvious
that there was no chance to recapture them, then the
leadership of Yod the Sword would have been open to seri-
ous question. Then Neq might have killed him quickly, and
assumed command of the tribe. All that had been nulli-
fied by this one bad break.
Neq leaped from the circle and charged the chief. He
still had a chance: he could take Yod hostage and buy
time, and perhaps bargain for his own release and that of
the other two. Or kill Yod outright, leaving the tribe no
choice.
But Yod was too canny for that maneuver. Yod met
him with drawn sword, yelling constantly to his men,
stiffening their wavering loyalty.
Suddenly Neq was surrounded again. The warriors did
not approach the battling sworders too closely, for he
could still catch Yod in a desperation lunge; but that
circle of weapons did prevent his escape. There were
drawn bows—but again, he and Yod were moving so
swiftly and the pack of other men was so great that the
archers dared not fire until forced.
"The gun!" Yod yelled.
Then Neq despaired. He knew what a gun was. Tyi's
tribe had returned from the mountain with guns and gre-
nades and demonstrated them on targets. Guns had been
employed against the underworld, and without them the
assault would have been impossible. They were metal
tubes that expelled metal fragments with great speed and
force. The effect was similar to that of an arrow—but the
gun could shoot farther and quicker, and it required far
less skill to use. A cripple could kill a master sworder, with
a gun.
Tyi had later decided that guns were inimical to the
nomad mode of existence, and had called all such weapons
in and hidden them. But he lacked authority over the
complete empire, and some few had been lost. . . .
If Yod's tribe had a gun, Neqa and the surgeon would not
&n
bsp; escape. A gun could penetrate the metal of a truck.
Neq made his desperation lunge, breaking through Yod's
guard and wounding him in the thigh. But as Neq recov-
ered his stroke there was a blast of noise. Something struck
his own thigh, and not an arrow.
The gun had been fired at him.
First he was relieved: they were not using it on Neqa!
Then he realized that it meant his own doom. The gun
could kill him, and he would never get back to Neqa, and
she would have to make the return journey alone. Unless
the surgeon could protect her. But that man had not even
been able to protect himself from being caged!
"Yield!" Yod panted. "Yield—or we shoot you down
now!"
There seemed to be no choice. This was not a bluff. They
might kill him anyway if he yielded—but they certainly
had the means to do so if he did not. If Neqa was going
to get away at all, she had had time enough; he could not
help her by fighting longer.
Neq threw down his sword and stood waiting.
"You're smart," Yod said, as men grabbed Neq by the
arms. "You saved your life." He touched "his leg gingerly.
"And you proved who you are. No lesser man could have
wounded me in fair combat."
That was an exaggeration. Yod was good, but a score
of empire sworders could have taken him handily. But
Neq didn't feel obliged to enrage the man by pointing that
out. He was now dependent on Yod's mercy, and the more