Janina, the rope on her neck, crouched down, behind him.
The gladiator stood with his back to a large rock. There was a clearing here, in the forest, and several such outcroppings.
“Abandon me, Master,” Janina had begged.
But he had turned about, in anger, and cuffed her to silence.
She had not even requested permission to speak.
To be sure, he had not made a practice of requiring this deference of Janina.
She had then knelt at his feet and gratefully kissed them.
He had seen shadows in the forest, about them.
Shortly thereafter he had come to the open place, and had gone to the rock, a large, high, broad rock, where he had turned about and placed himself as he now stood.
There had been more blasts of horns, some doubtless summoning blasts, others perhaps signaling that the quarry had been brought to bay, and then, in a few minutes, the shadows among the trees, darknesses among darknesses, had become numerous.
Nothing emerged from the forest.
The gladiator sat down, cross-legged, then, waiting.
He picked up pebbles, after a time, and threw them about.
Janina continued to crouch behind him, eyeing the forests.
Then, something like a quarter of an hour later, a man emerged from the forest. He had a leather headband. He was clad in skins. There was a large ax tied across his back.
He sat down, also cross-legged, back near the trees. He was some twenty yards from the gladiator.
After a time the gladiator called to him. “Can you understand my speech?”
“Yes,” said the man.
After a time the man called to the gladiator. “You are Drisriak.”
“No,” said the gladiator.
“You have their weapons,” said the man.
“I am not Drisriak,” said the gladiator.
“There are too many of us for you to kill,” said the man.
“I mean you no harm,” said the gladiator.
“We have bowmen,” said the man. “A hundred arrows, in an instant, could strike you.”
“If you are marksmen, only one would be needed,” said the gladiator.
There was an angry sound from the forest behind the man, and he lifted his hand, to silence it.
“You are bold, Drisriak,” said the man.
“I am not Drisriak,” said the gladiator.
“You have not come for the tribute?”
“No,” said the gladiator.
“We keep our produce, our pelts, our women, for ourselves,” said the man.
“I mean you no harm,” said the gladiator. “I shall put my weapons aside.”
“Only a fool disarms himself,” said the man.
The gladiator very slowly, very carefully, unslung the Telnarian rifle and put it to the side. He, too, undid his belt and placed it to the side, with its holstered fire pistol, and the sheathed knife.
“You are without ammunition,” said the man.
“You are discerning,” said the gladiator.
“Why do you not try to threaten us,” asked the man, “because you are somehow without your ship, without your armor, without usable weapons?”
“I am not Drisriak.”
“What is your people?”
“I have no people,” said the gladiator.
“Everyone has a people,” said the man.
“No,” said the gladiator. “In the empire there are millions who are alone, who have no people.”
“I have heard of the empire,” said the man.
“It is far away,” said the gladiator.
“Who are you?” asked the man.
“I am called ‘Dog,’ “said the gladiator.
“That is an animal,” said the man.
“Yes,” said the gladiator.
“Is that your true name?”
“I do not think I have a true name.”
“You are a slave?”
“No.”
“What are you?” asked the man.
“I am a peasant,” said the gladiator.
“No,” said the man. “You are Drisriak.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The woman,” he said.
The gladiator was silent.
“You have her naked, with a rope on her neck,” he said.
“Yes,” said the gladiator.
“That is no peasant’s woman,” said the man. “She is beautiful. She is beautiful enough to be a tribute girl.”
The gladiator was silent.
“That is a slave-block woman,” said the man.
“All women are slave-block women,” said the gladiator.
There was assent to this from the forest.
“That is a Drisriak’s woman,” said the man.
“No,” said the gladiator.
“She is beautiful enough to be a Drisriak’s woman,” said the man.
“Then their women must be very beautiful,” said the gladiator.
“They are,” said the man.
“You seem not fond of the Drisriaks,” said the gladiator.
“We conceal ourselves in the forest from them,” said the man.
The gladiator shrugged.
“Where is your ship, the others?”
“We are alone. There is no ship.”
“How came you here?”
“We fled the captured imperial vessel, the
“Who took your vessel?”
“The fleet of Ortog, who is an Ortung.”
“Ortog is a prince of the Drisriaks,” said the man. He spat to the side.
“His house is secessionist,” said the gladiator.
“Who, then, will come for the tributes?”
“Will any come?”
“They have.”
“Who?”
“Ortog, for the Drisriaks,” said the man.
“Perhaps there is an end now, to such things,” said the gladiator.
“There is never an end to such things,” said the man.
“But you are concealed in the forests.”
