"I'll peck away at him at knee level. When he bends over to swat me, I'll get a crack at him." Across the cleared floor, Qorn shook off his helpers with a snort. "Enough! Let me at the upstart!" Retief moved out to meet him, watching the upraised backward-jointed arms. Qorn stalked forward, long lean legs bent, long horny feet clacking against the polished floor. The other aliens--both servitors and bejeweled Qornt--formed a wide circle, all eyes unwaveringly on the combatants. Qorn struck suddenly, a long arm flashing down in a vicious cut at Retief, who leaned aside, caught one lean shank below the knee. Qorn bent to haul Retief from his leg--and staggered back as a haymaker took him just below the beak. A screech went up from the crowd as Retief leaped clear. Qorn hissed and charged. Retief whirled aside, then struck the alien's off-leg in a flying tackle. Qorn leaned, arms windmilling, crashed to the floor. Retief whirled, dived for the left arm, whipped it behind the narrow back, seized Qorn's neck in a stranglehold and threw his weight backward. Qorn fell on his back, his legs squatted out at an awkward angle. He squawked and beat his free arm on the floor, reaching in vain for Retief. Zubb stepped forward, pistols ready. Magnan stepped before him. "Need I remind you, sir," he said icily, "that this is an official diplomatic function? I can brook no interference from disinterested parties." Zubb hesitated. Magnan held out a hand. "I must ask you to hand me your weapons, Zubb." "Look here," Zubb began. "I _may_ lose my temper," Magnan hinted. Zubb lowered the guns, passed them to Magnan. He thrust them into his belt with a sour smile, turned back to watch the encounter. Retief had thrown a turn of violet silk around Qorn's left wrist, bound it to the alien's neck. Another wisp of stuff floated from Qorn's shoulder. Retief, still holding Qorn in an awkward sprawl, wrapped it around one outflung leg, trussed ankle and thigh together. Qorn flopped, hooting. At each movement, the constricting loop around his neck, jerked his head back, the green crest tossing wildly. "If I were you, I'd relax," Retief said, rising and releasing his grip. Qorn got a leg under him; Retief kicked it. Qorn's chin hit the floor with a hollow clack. He wilted, an ungainly tangle of over-long limbs and gay silks. Retief turned to the watching crowd. "Next?" he called. The blue and flame Qornt stepped forward. "Maybe this would be a good time to elect a new leader," he said. "Now, my qualifications--" "Sit down," Retief said loudly. He stepped to the head of the table, seated himself in Qorn's vacated chair. "A couple of you finish trussing Qorn up for me." "But we must select a leader!" "That won't be necessary, boys. I'm your new leader." * * * * * "As I see it," Retief said, dribbling cigar ashes into an empty wine glass, "you Qornt like to be warriors, but you don't particularly like to fight."