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Mogart warned. "Now, touch him!"
It was an order and a compulsion. Walters touched the primitive man. He felt a
sensation like an electric shock, and suddenly the young primitive
looked up, confused, then fell dizzily to the ground.
Mogart looked satisfied. "By all the gods, I need a drink!" he swore, and
vanished.
2
Mac Walters awoke and sat up groggily. The ground was wet and clammy, and he
was in some underbrush. For a moment he was confused; images seemed
to blur and thoughts were duplicated. Suddenly he became fully aware and
looked around, startled. He hadn't really believed
Mogart when the demon had said he'd be inside another's body, but there was no
mistaking it.
The body was powerful and in excellent condition, that was a fact. But it was
different-filled with small aches and pains that he understood probably had
been in his own body as well but, being in different places, were more
noticeable in this one. Vision, hearing, smelling-all seemed slightly
better and slightly differ-ent, although subtly so.
He was still checking out such things when something, some sixth sense,
shouted a warning to him. Instantly the newly acquired instinctive protective
reactions came into play; he was up and quickly off to seek cover behind some
nearby large rocks. It was done so fast and so totally without
thinking that he was through all the motions before he even
realized it. Curious, he cautiously peered out from his hiding place,
ears and nose particularly searching for what had
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made him run and hide. Then he heard them com-ing up the canyon. Not a lot of
people, no more than a match-pack. But, of course, that was what it had to be.
Someone was challenging a leader to combat for position.
The group of men came around the bend-no, check that, four men and one elderly
woman. The woman was obviously the senior wife of the leader, represent-ing
his wives and children. If the
, man lost, she would return with the new winner and there would be a for-mal
family exchange.
Looking at her, Walters wondered why they both-ered. She was old, scarred,
saggy, with a bad limp and gray hair. She looked more like a wicked witch than
somebody anyone would want to marry. He wondered how many husbands the woman
had had.
It was easy to pick which was the dominant male-he had an aura of arrogance
and displayed a look of confident contempt. Two of the men were
obviously slaves, one for each of the combatants. They had a stake in
this fight as well-the loser lost all he had, but the slaves of the loser were
freed of further service.
The challenger was no newcomer: although younger than the man he was to
fight, he'd been through a lot. Massive scars covered his body, and his nose
looked as if it had been broken half a dozen times. Unlike the leader male,
the challenger was serious, almost grave.
This was no ordinary challenge, Mac realized sud-denly. The leader
was the chief of the tribe-and the challenger was going for the whole
thing. This would be more than interesting. The easiest way to gain
un-hampered access to the demon and his gem would be to become chief.
Mac didnt have to hold on to the position, only have it for a matter of hours
at most.
'
The slaves carried a supply of weapons-large poles that looked like two
meter-long clubs, stone axes bound to wooden handles with strips of skin or
bark, and nasty-looking sharp stone spears similarly bound to thin but long
bamboolike poles. All the weapons were dumped in a single heap between the
two fighters. The two slaves and the elderly wife then walked back,
far from the fighting, and took seats. Now only the two fighters stood
facing each other, the challengers back
'
to the river, about three meters apart. The pile of weapons was about
equidistant between the two men.
Then, for the first time, the chief spoke. "Bakh fight Malk? he asked
ritually.
"
The other bowed. "Bakh be chief. Malk old. No good now."
Malk seemed to smile. He never lost his aura of superiority, and that had to
be unsettling to the chal-lenger.
This may be primitive, but it is subtle, Walters decided. The old
chief knew psychology.
"Bakh show white hair," the chief noted, trading age insult for age insult.
"Bakh lose, cost be high. No man no more."
Mac puzzled over this for a minute. Obviously you were allowed only so many
challenges no matter what, and Bakh was down to his last one. Did the remark
mean that he would be killed if he lost?
Whatever it meant, the comment seemed to in-furiate the challenger. "Oh?" he
sneered. "Then
Bakh say same to Malk."
Walters understood now that they were setting the terms of the fight beyond
that prescribed by the law of the tribe. This was not standard, then-they were
upping the stakes.
These men must hate each other a great deal, he decided.
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"Balch say Malk be slave of woman, do woman work to death-sleep," the
challenger added.
A little of the confident veneer wavered just a mo-ment in the chief's
demeanor, but he quickly recovered. Mac realized with growing fascination that
this was a war of nerves, that they were adding promise of a horrible
existence on top of horrible existence to the loser. You could back
out, probably, up to the mo-ment of the fight-although you probably lost your
honor and therefore all you owned. He wondered how many fights for top spots
ended without a blow being struck.
The chief nodded to his challenger. "Bakh same, he replied in a tone that
added the "of course"
"
not in their language.
They went on a bit longer, until finally there seemed nothing else to
threaten. It was over. Both men nodded acceptance of the terms and turned to
the slaves and the old woman, who nodded back indicating that they had
heard the exchange, understood it, and would see the challenge
carried out. Then the men turned back to face each other.
"Fight," the chief said, totally without expression-and it was on.
The two men warily circled each other and the weapons for a while, each trying
to feel the other out. Suddenly Bakh, the challenger, darted in and grabbed a
club. Malk laughed and circled the challenger, stand-ing amid the weapons
pile. As long as Bakh held that position, the old chief could not
get a club or axe or spear himself, but he really didnt have to. It was the
challenger's job
'
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