The Chieftan

wondered if her daughter understood. He thought perhaps she did. He thought, perhaps, within her, there was a woman.

One of the dwarfs, giggling, leaped up and down in the sand before him, waving his hook. It was an iron object, much like a poker, or grating tool, for stirring fires. It was an iron staff, with a point at one end, the hook some five inches below the point. It could thus stab as well as insert itself in objects, flesh, or canvas, to drag them about. He jabbed the object at the peasant, who drew his head back, angrily. This was doubtless to increase his heartbeat, to increase the circulation. The peasant suspected he might be saved for late in the sport.

He saw one of the large, soft men drag the head of one of the adherents of Floon up by the hair, placing it so. For the best effect the target must be kneeling upright, its head up, this directing the arterial flow upward. Otherwise it is less impressive. It is then also, of course, difficult to measure.

He looked up to the stands. The daughter of the judge was reading. Her mother, the judge, and the mayor were conversing. This portion of the sport, he gathered, was not of great interest to them. Perhaps they even found it, the slaughter of the simple, innocent, inoffensive adherents of Floon, sheeplike, tasteless, or boring, perhaps even oppressive. But he suspected that they might later return their attention to the sand. Perhaps even the officer of the court might at that time put aside her book, to watch. He wondered if they would bet on various matters.

One of the large, soft men suddenly ran at him with the barang raised and then ran past him.

The crowd laughed.

He saw the dwarfs, by means of the hooks, dragging bodies toward the dead gate.

One was kicking and rolling a head across the sand. Another bent down, seized up the head, and ran. The first pursued him, crying out angrily.

It was amusing.

But there were to be better things later, a beast fight, for a beast had been rented, and a gladiatorial combat, such things.

One of the adherents of Floon seemingly found his legs and leaped up, running about the arena.

There was booing.

“No, brother,” cried out his fellows to him. “Come, kneel with us! The koos cannot die! Do not betray Karch! Karch will protect you! Trust in Floon!”

The fugitive ran to the wall of the arena. He tried to climb it, in one place, and then another, but there was no place to gain purchase. There was no need even for the poles and nets jutting from the height of the barrier above, to prevent certain agile beasts from leaping into the stands. Sometimes that had happened, on various worlds, and dozens of men and women had been clawed, several of whom died afterwards, sooner or later, of wounds and infection. The dwarfs, with their hooks, now swarmed about the distraught fugitive. He tried to defend himself, fending the blows, but, in the end, surrounded, struck again and again, he fell to the sand. Then he was dragged still living through the sand by several hooks, back before the privileged seats. He was thrust up, dying, and held in place by the points of the dwarfs’ tools. Other dwarfs scolded him. A blow of a barang flung the head a dozen yards across the sand.

“Courage, brothers!” called out one of the adherents of Floon to his fellows.

Then they began again to sing, the hymn to Floon. The strains now seemed plaintive, desperate.

One of the large, soft men approached him. He swung the barang toward him, but stopped it, only inches from his throat, and then turned away, and laughed.

The heart of the peasant pounded.

“Hold your head up,” squealed a dwarf.

One of the adherents of Floon turned to him. “Declare for Floon!”

The peasant, wrapped in his bonds, regarded him, angrily.

“Declare for Floon!” said the man.

But then his head was lopped away.

Others continued to sing.

The peasant did not care to die in this fashion.

Another of the large, soft men rushed at him, and, again, the blow was not struck.

He then turned away, as had the other, laughing, lifting his barang to the stands.

He did not see the peasant rise to his feet. Perhaps not many did, for two dwarfs were rolling about in the sand, fighting for the last head which had fallen, each wanting to put it in his own basket. First one would take it, and then another, putting it in one basket or the other, then the other stealing it, when the back of the other was turned. Such skits had been rehearsed. Even the mayor, the judge, the officer of the court, looked on, with amusement.

“Kneel, kneel!” squealed a dwarf, running up to him, brandishing his hook.

Then the dwarf was dead, its neck broken by the kick. Still, few, if any, took much notice of this. The peasant then put his strength against the ropes which bound him.

The dwarf’s hook lay in the sand. The peasant regarded it. It lay in the sand, half-covered.

It had two points, the end point, which might be used for jabbing, and the point on the hook. It had no blade. A point might have been used, if there was time, to wedge into a rope. That might divide the rope but it was not likely, in a short time, that it would serve to break or cut it. If there had been a great deal of time, if he had been bound in a cell, left there, not observed, the hook might have been useful. A man of lesser strength, or a woman, might have been able to use it so, if there were time.

Again the peasant pressed outward against the ropes. Again he tried to pull his wrists apart. Skin was torn from his wrists. He put his strength against the ropes. He looked upon the hook, in fury, in frustration. He was bound. He could not well manipulate it. It had no blade. There was little time.

Again he bent against the ropes. He was, as I have indicated, unusually strong. All the sources agree on that point. Too, it seems to be borne out by what occurred. The ropes, to him, to a man of such strength, might have been more in the nature of tenuous cords to a lesser man. We do not know. The guards, the officer of the court, however, I believe, may be excused for not having understood this. After all, how, before the fact, could one have been expected to know such a thing?

And would the ropes not have held a garn pig, a sacrificial bull? Then why not a mere man? But the peasant was not a mere man, or, perhaps better, he was not an ordinary man.

But perhaps the ropes would hold him. After all, they had doubtless been chosen with care, and were supposedly such as might easily hold any man, even one of unusual strength, even one who was enormous, one who was extraordinarily powerful.

Again the peasant strained against the ropes.

Yes, the ropes would hold him.

A dwarf came up to him, and watched him, curiously. Only that dwarf, at that time, seemed aware of the straggle which was taking place quite publicly, but yet unnoticed, at that point on the arena sand. The crowd, you understand, and the other dwarfs, and even the large, soft men, were more attentive to the antics of the performers before the privileged seats, those two with the baskets. The dwarf did not approach him closely. He was well aware of his fellow, lying in the sand, his eyes bulged, the head clearly wrong.

The peasant again, half bent over, strained against the ropes.

Wet now were the ropes with blood.

A strand, stressed beyond the weight it had been woven to withstand, broke.

Their mistake may have been to bind the peasant, as I have suggested. He might have held himself, perhaps being strong enough to do so, in the bonds of his own will, for the stroke of the barang. But, you see, the matter had not been left up to him. Presumably it had been taken out of his hands. The peasant had not cared for that. Decisions in such matters he would have preferred to make for himself. They did not trust him. The officer of the court had made that clear. And why should they have trusted him? They did not know him. In any event, we will never know what might have happened, had they not seen fit to bind him.

And so he stood, struggling, in the sand, not much noticed in those first moments.

The ropes might have held a garn pig, even one who smelled blood, and saw the ax; it is hard to say; the ropes might have held a sacrificial bull, a white bull, one fully grown, with gilded horns, hung with beads, perhaps