CHAPTER TWELVE
'Is this the tribe of Sol of all weapons?' Sos inquired. He had not waited for the arrival of Tor's subordinate at the Pit camp, much as he would have enjoyed being on hand for the contest of wits between Tor and the perceptive Pit strategist. It would probably be a standoff. It was Sol he was after, and now that he knew where to find him no further delay was tolerable.
As it happened, he had met Tor on the way, and obtained updating and redirection-but it was hard to believe, even so, that this was the proper camp.
Warriors were practicing everywhere, none of them familiar. Yet this was the only major group in the arena, so the directions had not been mistaken. Had he traveled a month only to encounter Sol's conqueror? He hoped not. The camp was well disciplined, but he did not like its atmosphere.
'Speak to Vit the Sword,' the nearest man told him.
Sos searchedout the main tent and asked for Vit. 'Who are you?' the tent guard, a swarthy dagger, demanded, eying the bird on his shoulder.'
'Step into the circle and I will show you who I am!' Sos said angrily. He had had enough of such bureaucracy.
The guard whistled and a man detached himself from practice and trotted over. 'This intruder wishes to make himself known in the circle,' the dagger said contemptuously, 'Oblige him.'
The man turned to study Sos.
'Mok the Morningstar!' Sos cried.
Mok started. 'Sos! You have come back-and Stupid, too! I did not recognize you, in all that muscle!'
'You know this man?' the guard inquired.
'Know him! This is Sos-the man who built this tribe! Sol's friend!'
The guard shrugged indifferently. 'Let him prove it in the circle.'
'You nuts? He doesn't carry a-' Mok paused. 'Or do you, now?'
Sos had his rope about him, but the man had not recognized it as a weapon. 'I do. Come, I'll demonstrate.'
'Why not try it against the staff or sticks?' Mok suggested diplomatically. 'My weapon is-'
'Is dangerous? You seem to lack faith in my prowess.'
'Oh, no,' Mok protested, obviously insincere. 'But you know how it is with the star. One accident-'
Sos laughed. 'You force me to vindicate myself. Come- I'll make a believer out of you.'
Mok accompanied him to the circle, ill at ease. 'If anything happens-'
'This is my weapon,' Sos said, hefting a coil of rope. 'If you are afraid to face it, summon a better man.'
Several neighboring men chuckled, and Mok had to take the circle. Sos knew the jibe had been unfair; the man had wanted to spare him from possible mutilation. Mok was no coward, and since he was still with the tribe, his skill was sufficient too. But it was important that the rope prove itself as a real weapon; men like Mok would not believe in Sos's new status as a warrior otherwise.
Friendship ended in the circle, always. Mok lifted his morningstar and whirled the spiked ball in an overhead spiral. He had to attack, since the weapon could not be used defensively. Sos had never faced the star before and discovered that it was a peculiarly frightening experience. Even the faint tune of air passing the circling spikes was ominous.
Sos bcked away, treating the flying ball with utmost respect. He fired a length of rope at it, caught the metal chain, fouled it, and yanked ball, chain and handle out of Mok's hand. Mok stood there staring, as Bog had done before him. The spectators laughed.
'If any of you think you can do better, step inside,' Sos invited.
A sticker was quick to accept the challenge-and as quick to fall to the throttle-loop. This time it was Mok who
