passersby. But up ahead in the rest area they spotted a group of men, rather large-sized for Dahlites, mustaches bristling, bare upper arms muscular and glistening under the yellowish indoor light of the walkway.
Clearly, they were waiting for the Outworlders and, almost automatically, Seldon and Dors came to a halt. For a moment or two, the tableau held. Then Seldon looked behind him hastily. Two or three additional men had stepped into view.
Seldon said between his teeth, “We’re trapped. I should not have let you come, Dors.”
“On the contrary. This is why I’m here, but was it worth your seeing Mother Rittah?”
“If we get out of this, it was.”
Seldon then said in a loud and firm voice, “May we pass?”
One of the men ahead stepped forward. He was fully Seldon’s height of 1.73 meters, but broader in the shoulders and much more muscular. A bit flabby at the waist, though, Seldon noted.
“I’m Marron,” he said with self-satisfied significance, as though the name ought to have meaning, “and I’m here to tell you we don’t like Outworlders in our district. You want to come in, all right—but if you want to leave, you’ll have to pay.”
“Very well. How much?”
“All you’ve got. You rich Outworlders have credit tiles, right? Just hand them over.”
“No.”
“No point saying no. We’ll just take them.”
“You can’t take them without killing me or hurting me and they won’t work without my voiceprint. My
“That’s not so, Master—see, I’m being polite—we can take them away from you without hurting you
“How many of you big strong men will it take? Nine? No.” Seldon counted rapidly. “Ten.”
“Just one. Me.”
“With no help?”
“Just me.”
“If the rest of you will clear away and give us room, I would like to see you try it, Marron.”
“You don’t have a knife, Master. You want one?”
“No, use yours to make the fight even. I’ll fight without one.”
Marron looked about at the others and said, “Hey, this puny guy is a sport. He don’t even sound scared. That’s sort of nice. It would be a shame to hurt him. —I tell you what, Master. I’ll take the girl. If you want me to stop, hand over your credit tile and her tile and use your right voices to activate them. If you say no, then after I’m through with the girl .?.?. and that’ll take some time”—he laughed—“I’ll just have to hurt you.”
“No,” said Seldon. “Let the woman go. I’ve challenged you to a fight—one to one, you with a knife, me without. If you want bigger odds, I’ll fight two of you, but let the woman go.”
“Stop, Hari!” cried out Dors. “If he wants me, let him come and get me. You stay right where you are, Hari, and don’t move.”
“You hear that?” said Marron, grinning broadly. “?‘You stay right where you are, Hari, and don’t move.’ I think the little lady wants me. You two, keep him still.”
Each of Seldon’s arms were caught in an iron grip and he felt the sharp point of a knife in his back.
“Don’t move,” said a harsh whisper in his ear, “and you can watch. The lady will probably like it. Marron’s pretty good at this.”
Dors called out again. “Don’t move, Hari!” She turned to face Marron watchfully, her half-closed hands poised near her belt.
He closed in on her purposefully and she waited till he had come within arm’s length, when suddenly her own arms flashed and Marron found himself facing two large knives.
For a moment, he leaned backward and then he laughed. “The little lady has two knives—knives like the big boys have. And I’ve only got one. But that’s fair enough.” His knife was swiftly out. “I hate to have to cut you, little lady, because it will be more fun for both of us if I don’t. Maybe I can just knock them out of your hands, huh?”
Dors said, “I don’t want to kill you. I’ll do all I can to avoid doing so. Just the same, I call on all to witness, that if I do kill you, it is to protect my friend, as I am honor-bound to do.”
Marron pretended to be terrified. “Oh, please don’t kill me, little lady.” Then he burst into laughter and was joined by the other Dahlites present.
Marron lunged with his knife, quite wide of the mark. He tried it again, then a third time, but Dors never budged. She made no attempt to fend off any motion that was not truly aimed at her.
Marron’s expression darkened. He was trying to make her respond with panic, but he was only making himself seem ineffectual. The next lunge was directly at her and Dors’s left-hand blade moved flashingly and caught his with a force that pushed his arm aside. Her right-hand blade flashed inward and made a diagonal slit in his T- shirt. A thin bloody line smeared the dark-haired skin beneath.
Marron looked down at himself in shock as the onlookers gasped in surprise. Seldon felt the grip on him weaken slightly as the two who held him were distracted by a duel not going quite as they had expected. He tensed himself.
Now Marron lunged again and this time his left hand shot outward to enclose Dors’s right wrist. Again Dors’s left-hand blade caught his knife and held it motionless, while her right hand twisted agilely and drew downward, even as Marron’s left hand closed upon it. It closed on nothing but the blade and when he opened his hand there was a bloody line down the palm.
Dors sprang back and Marron, aware of the blood on his chest and hand, roared out chokingly, “Someone toss me another knife!”
There was hesitation and then one of the onlookers tossed his own knife underhanded. Marron reached for it, but Dors was quicker. Her right-hand blade struck the thrown knife and sent it flying backward, whirling as it went.
Seldon felt the grips on his arms weaken further. He lifted them suddenly, pushing up and forward, and was free. His two captors turned toward him with a sudden shout, but he quickly kneed one in the groin and elbowed the other in the solar plexus and both went down.
He knelt to draw the knives of each and rose as double-armed as Dors. Unlike Dors, Seldon did not know how to handle the blades, but he knew the Dahlites would scarcely be aware of that.
Dors said, “Just keep them off, Hari. Don’t attack yet. —Marron, my next stroke will not be a scratch.”
Marron, totally enraged, roared incoherently and charged blindly, attempting by sheer kinetic energy to overwhelm his opponent. Dors, dipping and sidestepping, ducked under his right arm, kicked her foot against his right ankle, and down he crashed, his knife flying.
She then knelt, placed one blade against the back of his neck and the other against his throat, and said, “Yield!”
With another yell, Marron struck out against her with one arm, pushed her to one side, then scrambled to his feet.
He had not yet stood up completely when she was upon him, one knife slashing downward and hacking away a section of his mustache. This time he yowled like a large animal in agony, clapping his hand to his face. When he drew it away, it was dripping blood.
Dors shouted, “It won’t grow again, Marron. Some of the lip went with it. Attack once more and you’re dead meat.”
She waited, but Marron had had enough. He stumbled away, moaning, leaving a trail of blood.
Dors turned toward the others. The two that Seldon had knocked down were still lying there, unarmed and not anxious to get up. She bent down, cut their belts with one of her knives and then slit their trousers.
“This way, you’ll have to hold your pants up when you walk,” she said.
She stared at the seven men still on their feet, who were watching her with awestruck fascination. “And which of
There was silence.
She said, “It doesn’t matter to me. Come one at a time or all together, but each time I slash, someone dies.”
And with one accord, the seven turned and scurried away.
