Urs whacked his own mount and tried to outrun them. Screeching, they chased him over gullies and ravines, through dense scrub and under oaks that threatened to sweep him out of the saddle. But gradually, they gained on him. For you can study the riding of horses. You can practice faithfully on tire test models. But you’ll never learn how difficult it really is till you have a living, snorting beast lunging unpredictably between your legs. Inevitably, Urs fell off his horse. With the shouts of the brigands loud in his ears, with arrows plunking into the sod around him, he dived down a steep, grassy slope. Then he jumped up and ran, twisting and dodging among trees and rocks. In one hand he carried the shining wand that in England in those days was called a “sword.” Three of the robbers had left their horses to chase him on foot. The other three circled around to head him off. Halfway down the hill, Urs lost his footing and slid again. Flailing his arms, he fell against a great boulder. His wand, carried forward by his weight, plunged into the rock. At the moment, Urs was too busy dodging the arrows and regaining his balance to realize what that meant. The men pounced on him. One held his arms, while another caught him around the neck from behind. The third man gave a great startled cry. Eyes wide, bristly face twitching, he pointed one skinny arm at the rock. His companions looked, gasped, and let go of Urs. They stood transfixed, showing all the signs of men half-scared to death. The other three, hearing the first exultant shouts, had dismounted and were hurrying up. They saw the rock, with the sword buried in it nearly to the hilt. They stopped dead, turned pale, and began to tremble. Urs was understandably mystified by this abrupt change of pace. Staring at the rock, he became aware of what had happened. Had it been made of the proper crude Earth metal, his wand could never have penetrated it. For the first time he realized that the shops had sent him off with an impregnium sword. The only way out of the situation was to jerk the weapon loose, then press the time-stud embedded under the skin of his waist. But one of his attackers, half-hysterical, was drawing his bow. Those brawny arms looked strong enough to send an arrow to the moon. The wand dropped out of Urs’ mind. His fingers flew to the stud that would snatch him out of this world and safely back to his own. He vanished, leaving six badly frightened Englishmen blinking at the rock and the sword so impossibly fixed in it. * * * * * The chairman paused, looked courteously at Urs. The charge had been specified. Now was the time for Urs to speak, if he had anything to say. Urs swallowed the dryness in his throat. “Sir, the facts you describe are correct.” There was a stir among the watching men at the Time Traveler’s Bureau. At millions of other locations, people in front of life screens nodded to one another. What else could he have said?