of the tribe, who
naturally regarded any departure from established customs as one of
the worst of crimes.
Everything must be set out, Urk declared in a high and indignant
voice, otherwise how would he earn his fee of the robe and weapons of
the defeated?—here he cast covetous looks at Wi’s strange ax, the
like of which he had never seen before, although his withered arm
could scarcely have found strength to lift it for a blow. He announced
loudly that once before in his youth he had assisted his father, who
was the First Wizard before him, to go through this ceremony, and the
garment he still wore—here he touched the shiny, hairless, and
tattered hide upon his shoulders—had been taken from the body of the
conquered. If he were interrupted now, he added, as Wizard he would
pronounce his most formidable curse upon the violator of tradition and
privilege, and what that meant probably both of them would understand.
Wi listened and said nothing, but Henga growled out:
“Be swift then, old fool, for I grow cold, and soon there will not be
enough light for me to see so to smash up this fellow, that even his
dog would not know him again.”
Then Urk set out the reasons that caused Wi to challenge, which, being
angered by Henga’s description of him as “old fool,” he did with point
and acidity. He told how Wi alleged that Henga oppressed the people,
and gave startling instances of that oppression, all of them quite
true. He told of the kidnapping and murder of Wi’s daughter Fo-a,
which Wi lay at the door of Henga, and of how the gods were wroth at
such a crime. Warming to his work, indeed, he began to advance other
grievances, not strictly connected with Wi; whereon Henga, able to
bear no more, rushed at Urk and sent his frail old body flying with a
kick of his huge foot.
As Urk picked himself up and hobbled off, calling down on Henga’s head
his widest if somewhat confused wizard’s curse, Henga threw off his
tigerskin cloak which a slave removed. As Wi did likewise, Pag, who
took the garment, whispered to him:
“Beware! He has something hidden in his right hand. He plays a trick.”
Then he hobbled off with the cloak, leaving the giant and the hunter
facing each other at a distance of five paces.
Even as Pag went, Henga lifted his arm and with fearful force hurled
at Wi a flint knife set in a whale’s tooth for handle, which he had
hidden in his great paw. But Wi, being warned, was watching, and as a
shout of “Ill done!” went up from the crowd, dropped to the ground so
that the knife whizzed over him. Next instant, he was up again,
charging at Henga, who now grasped the club with both hands and swung
it aloft to crush him.
Before it could fall, Wi, remembering Pag’s counsel, smote with all
his strength. Henga sloped the club sideways to protect his head. Wi’s
ax fell on it halfway up the handle, and the sharp steel, forged in
heaven’s furnace, shore through the tough wood, so that the thick part
of the club fell to the ground, a sight that caused the people to
shout with wonder.
Henga threw the handle at Wi, striking him on the head and, as he
staggered back, picked up the thick end of the club. Wi paused to wipe
the blood out of his eyes, for the broken stick had grazed his skin.
Then again he charged at Henga, and keeping out of reach of the
shortened club, strove to smite him on the knee, once more following
the counsel of Pag. But the giant’s arms were very long and the handle
of Wi’s ax was short, so that the task was difficult. At length,
however, a blow went home and although no sinew was severed, cut into
Henga’s flesh above the knee so deeply that he roared aloud.
Maddened with rage and pain, the giant changed his plan. Dropping the
club, as Wi straightened himself after the blow, he leapt at him and
gripped him in his huge arms, purposing to break his bones or hug him
to death as a bear does. They struggled together.
“All is
naturally regarded any departure from established customs as one of
the worst of crimes.
Everything must be set out, Urk declared in a high and indignant
voice, otherwise how would he earn his fee of the robe and weapons of
the defeated?—here he cast covetous looks at Wi’s strange ax, the
like of which he had never seen before, although his withered arm
could scarcely have found strength to lift it for a blow. He announced
loudly that once before in his youth he had assisted his father, who
was the First Wizard before him, to go through this ceremony, and the
garment he still wore—here he touched the shiny, hairless, and
tattered hide upon his shoulders—had been taken from the body of the
conquered. If he were interrupted now, he added, as Wizard he would
pronounce his most formidable curse upon the violator of tradition and
privilege, and what that meant probably both of them would understand.
Wi listened and said nothing, but Henga growled out:
“Be swift then, old fool, for I grow cold, and soon there will not be
enough light for me to see so to smash up this fellow, that even his
dog would not know him again.”
Then Urk set out the reasons that caused Wi to challenge, which, being
angered by Henga’s description of him as “old fool,” he did with point
and acidity. He told how Wi alleged that Henga oppressed the people,
and gave startling instances of that oppression, all of them quite
true. He told of the kidnapping and murder of Wi’s daughter Fo-a,
which Wi lay at the door of Henga, and of how the gods were wroth at
such a crime. Warming to his work, indeed, he began to advance other
grievances, not strictly connected with Wi; whereon Henga, able to
bear no more, rushed at Urk and sent his frail old body flying with a
kick of his huge foot.
As Urk picked himself up and hobbled off, calling down on Henga’s head
his widest if somewhat confused wizard’s curse, Henga threw off his
tigerskin cloak which a slave removed. As Wi did likewise, Pag, who
took the garment, whispered to him:
“Beware! He has something hidden in his right hand. He plays a trick.”
Then he hobbled off with the cloak, leaving the giant and the hunter
facing each other at a distance of five paces.
Even as Pag went, Henga lifted his arm and with fearful force hurled
at Wi a flint knife set in a whale’s tooth for handle, which he had
hidden in his great paw. But Wi, being warned, was watching, and as a
shout of “Ill done!” went up from the crowd, dropped to the ground so
that the knife whizzed over him. Next instant, he was up again,
charging at Henga, who now grasped the club with both hands and swung
it aloft to crush him.
Before it could fall, Wi, remembering Pag’s counsel, smote with all
his strength. Henga sloped the club sideways to protect his head. Wi’s
ax fell on it halfway up the handle, and the sharp steel, forged in
heaven’s furnace, shore through the tough wood, so that the thick part
of the club fell to the ground, a sight that caused the people to
shout with wonder.
Henga threw the handle at Wi, striking him on the head and, as he
staggered back, picked up the thick end of the club. Wi paused to wipe
the blood out of his eyes, for the broken stick had grazed his skin.
Then again he charged at Henga, and keeping out of reach of the
shortened club, strove to smite him on the knee, once more following
the counsel of Pag. But the giant’s arms were very long and the handle
of Wi’s ax was short, so that the task was difficult. At length,
however, a blow went home and although no sinew was severed, cut into
Henga’s flesh above the knee so deeply that he roared aloud.
Maddened with rage and pain, the giant changed his plan. Dropping the
club, as Wi straightened himself after the blow, he leapt at him and
gripped him in his huge arms, purposing to break his bones or hug him
to death as a bear does. They struggled together.
“All is
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