Bog thought about it. He grinned. 'Okay!' He was nothing if not agreeable, once the logic was properly presented.
That night no women happened 'to be available for a bracelet. Bog looked around the cabin, circled the center column once in perplexity, and finally turned on the television. For the rest of the evening he was absorbed by the silent figures gesticulating there, smiling with pleasure at the occasional cartoons. He was the first person Sos had seen actually watch television for any length of time.
Two days later they found the large Pit tribe. Twin spokesmen came Out to meet them. Sos's suspicions had been correct: the master would not even talk to him.
'Very well. I challenge the master to combat in the circle.'
'You,' the left spokesman said dryly, 'and who else?'
'And Bog the club, here.'
'As you wish. You will meet one of our lesser teams first!'
'One, two, three a'time!' Bog exclaimed. 'Good, good.!'
'What my partner means,' Sos said smoothly, 'is that we will meet your first, second and third teams-consecutively.' He put a handsome sneer into his voice. 'Then we will sell them back to your master for suitable information. They will not be able to travel, in their condition.'
'We shall see,' the man said coolly.
The Pit's first team was a pair of swords. The two men were of even height and build, perhaps brothers, and seemed to know each other's location and posture without looking. This was a highly polished team that had fought together for many years, he was sure. A highly dangerous team, better than any he had trained in the badlands camp . . . and he and Bog had never fought together before. As a matter of fact, neither of them had fought in any team before, and Bog hardly understood what it was all about.
But Sos was counting on the fact that the rope weapon would be strange to these men-and Bog was Bog. 'Now remember,' Sos cautioned him, 'I'm on your side. Don't hit me.'
'Okay!' Bog agreed, a little dubiously. To him, anything in the circle with him was fair game, and he still wasn't entirely clear on the details of this special arrangement.
The two sworders functioned beautifully. Both were expert. While one slashed, the other parried, and while the first recovered, his partner took the offense. Every so often with no apparent signal they lunged together, twin blades swinging with synchronized precision just inches apart.
This, at any rate, was the way it was during the brief practice they engaged in prior to the formal battle. The, situation changed somewhat when Bog and Sos 'took the circle against them.
Bog, turned on by the circle in the usual fashion, blasted away at both opponents simultaneously, while Sos stood back and twirled the end of his rope and watched, only cautioning his partner when Bog began to forget who was on which side. The devastating club knocked both swords aside, then swept back to knock them again, to the consternation of the Pit team. They didn't know what to make of it and couldn't quite believe that it was happening.
But they were neither cowardly nor stupid. Very soon they split apart, one attempting to engage Bog defensively from the front while the other edged to the side for an angled cut.
That was when Sos's rope snaked out and caught his wrist. It was the only move Sos made, but it sufficed. Bog smashed them out of opposite sides of the circle, and Sos was right: they were not in fit condition to travel
The second team consisted of two clubs. A good idea, Sos thought, giving the Pit director due credit, but not good enough. Bog mowed them both down zestfully while Sos continued to stay out of harm's way. The contest was over even more quickly than the first.
The Pit strategist, however, learned from experience. The third team consisted of a staffer and a netter.
Sos knew immediately that it meant trouble. He had only learned of the existence of non-standard weapons after returning to gain the advice of his mentor, Principal Jones. The very fact that a man had a net and knew how to use it in the circle meant that he had had crazy training-and that was dangerous.
It was. The moment the four were in the circle, the netter made his cast-and Bog was hopelessly entangled. He tried to swing, but the pliant nylon strands held him in. He tried to punch the net away, but did not know how. Meanwhile the netter drew the fine but exceedingly
