'I'm very good against the club.'
Sol opened his barrow and drew out the club.
Sav eyed him amiably. 'But I'm not forming any tribe myself. Don't misunderstand, friend-I'm willing to join yours if you beat me, but I don't want your service if I beat you. Do you have anything else to put up?'
Sol looked at him baffled. He turned to Sos.
'He's thinking of your woman,' Sos said, keeping it carefully neutral. 'If she will accept his bracelet for a few nights, as forfeit-'
'One night is enough,' Sav said. 'I like to keep moving.' Sol turned to her uncertainly. He had spoken truly when he said he was a good bargainer. Standard terms were fine, but a variable or three-person arrangement left him hanging.
'If you beat my husband,' Sola said to the staffer, 'I will accept your bracelet for as many nights as you desire.' And Sos understood her nostalgia for attentions other than sexual; this commitment was routine. She paid a penalty for her beauty.
'One night,' Sav repeated. 'No offense, miss. I never visit the same place twice.'
Sos said nothing more. The staffer was disarmingly frank, and whatever Sola was, she was no hypocrite. She went to the best man, wanting his name. If she had to put herself on the line to promote a settlement, she would. There was little room in her philosophy for a loser, as he had learned.
Or did she have such confidence in Sol that she knew she risked nothing?
'Agreed then,' Sol said. They trekked as a party to the nearest hostel, several miles down the trail.
Sos had his private doubts as the two men stepped up to the circle. Sol was exceedingly swift, but the club was basically a power tool, not given to clever maneuvering. Even if it didn't show in ordinary travel, Sol's recent illness was bound to have its effect upon his strength and endurance in battle. The staff was a defensive weapon, well suited to a prolonged encounter, while the club rapidly sapped the strength of the wielder. Sol had committed himself foolishly and given himself the very worst chance.
Yet what did it matter to him? If Sol won, the tribe had its first real member. If he lost, Sola would take another bracelet and become Sava, and likely be free shortly thereafter. Sos could not be certain which alternative would benefit him personally, if either did. Best to let the circle decide.
No! He had agreed to serve Sol, in exchange for a name. He should have seen to it that Sol's chances were good. As it was, he had already let the man down, when he should have been alert. Now he could only hope that his lapse did not cost Sol the victory.
The two men entered the ring, and the contest began immediately. There were no manners in the battle circle, only victory and defeat.
Sav sparred, expecting a fierce attack. It did not come. The staff was about six and a half feet long and the same diameter as a singlesticlc, with square-cut ends; it flexed slightly when put under strain, but otherwise was nothing more or less than a rigid pole. It was one of the easiest weapons to use, though it seldom led to a quick decision. It readily blocked any other instrument, but was as easily blocked itself.
Sol feinted four times with the heavy club, watching the defensive posture of his opponent, then shrugged and lashed out with a backhand blow to the chest that neatly bypassed the horizontal shaft.
Sav looked surprised, fighting for the wind and steam that had been knocked out of him. Sol placed his club gently against the staff and pushed. The man fell backwards out of the circle.
Sos was amazed. It had looked so simple, as though a lucky blow, but he knew it was not. Sol had expertly tested his opponent's reflexes, then struck with such quick precision that no parry had been feasible. It was a remarkable feat with the crude club-and no accident. Sol, nothing special outside the circle, was a tactical genius within it. A man had been added to the group, efficiently and virtually uninjured.
It appeared Sol needed no advice on terms of combat.
Sav took it philosophically. 'I looked pretty foolish, didn't I, after all my talk,' he said, and that was all. He didn't mope and he made no further overtures to Sola.
The law of averages Sos had read about
