followed him without letup.
Sol's strategy was plain. He was conserving his strength, letting the other expend his energies uselessly. Whenever there was an opening, he sneaked his own club in to bruise head, shoulder or stomach, weakening the man further. It was a good policy-except that Bog refused to be weakened. 'Good!' he grunted when Sol scored-and swung again.
Half an hour passed while the entire tribe massed around the arena, amazed. They all knew Sol's competence; what they couldn't understand was Bog's indefatigable power. The club was a solid weapon, heavier with every swing, and prolonged exercise with it inevitably deadened the arm, yet Bog never slowed or showed strain. Where did he get such stamina?
Sol had had enough of the waiting artifice. He took the offense. Now be laid about him with swings like Bog's, actually forcing the bigger man to take defensive measures.
It was the first time they had seen it; for all they had known until that point, Bog had no defense, since he had never needed it. As it was, he was not good at it, and soon got smashed full force across the side of the neck.
Sos rubbed his own neck with sympathetic pain, seeing the man's hair flop out and spittle fly from his open mouth. The blow should have laid him out for the rest of the day. It didn't. Bog hesitated momentarily, shook his head, then grinned. 'Good!' he said-and smote mightily with his own weapon.
Sol was sweating profusely, and now took the defensive stance from necessity. Again he fended Bog off with astute maneuvers, while the giant pressed the attack as vigorously as before. Sol had not yet been whacked upon head or torso; his defense was too skilled for the other to penetrate. But neither could he shake his opponent or wear him down.
After another half hour he tried again, with no better effect. Bog seemed to be impervious to physical damage. After that Sol was satisfied to wait.
'What's the record for club-club?' someone asked.
'Thirty-four minutes,' another replied.
The tinier Tor had borrowed from the hostel indicated a hundred and four minutes. 'It isn't possible to keep that pace indefinitely,' he said.
The shadows lengthened. The contest continued.
Sos, Tyl and Tor huddled with the other advisors. 'They're going on until dark!' Tor exclaimed - incredulously. 'Sol won't quit, and Bog doesn't know how.'
'We have to break this up before they both drop dead,' Sos said.
'How?'
That was the crux. They were sure neither participant would quit voluntarily, and the end was not in view Bog's strength seemed boundless, and Sol's determination and skill matched it. Yet the onset of night would multiply the chances for a fatal culmination, that nobody wanted. The battle would have to be stopped.
It was a situation no one had imagined, and they could think of no ethical way to handle it. In the end, they decided to stretch the circle code a bit.
The staff squad took the job. A phalanx of them charged into the circle, walling off the combatants and carrying them away. 'Draw!' Sav yelled. 'Tie! Impasse! Even! No decision!'
Bog picked -himself up, confused.
'Supper!' Sos yelled at him. 'Sleep! Women!'
That did it. 'Okay!' the monster clubber agreed.
Sol thought about it, contemplating the extended shadows. 'All right,' he said at last.
Bog went over to shake hands. 'You pretty good, for little guy,' he said graciously. 'Next time we start in morning, okay? More day.'
'Okay!' Sol agreed, and everyone laughed.
That night Sola rubbed liniment into Sol's arms and legs and back and put him away for a good twelve hours' exhaustion. Bog was satisfied with one oversized meal and one sturdy well-upholstered lass. He disdained medication for his purpling bruises. 'Good fight!' he said, contented.
