The Barbarian extended his right arm and turned his wrist over. A faint double scar, crossed at right angles, showed in the skin. The tribesman peered at it and grunted. "Old one." "I got it twenty years ago, when I first came through here," The Barbarian answered. "Double, too. Ain't many of those." "My name's Hodd Savage." "Oh," the tribesman said. His entire manner changed. Without becoming servile, it was respectful. He extended his hand. "Sime Weatherby." He and The Barbarian clasped hands. "That your woman down there?" the tribesman asked, nodding toward Myka. "That's right." "Good enough." For the first time, Weatherby looked directly at Geoffrey. "What about him?" The Barbarian shook his head. "No mark." The tribesman nodded. "I figured, from the way he was actin'." He seemed to make no particular signal--perhaps none was needed--but Geoffrey's arms were suddenly taken from behind, and his wrists were tied. "We'll see if he can get him a mark today," Weatherby said. He looked to his left, where other men were just pushing Dugald into the ring they had formed around the group. "Seein' as there's two of them, one of 'em ought to make it." Geoffrey and Dugald stared expressionlessly at each other. The Barbarian kept his eyes on Geoffrey's face. "That's right," he said. "Can't have two men fight to the death without one of them coming out alive, usually." * * * * * The tribesmen lived in wooden cabins tucked away among trees and hidden in narrow little valleys. Geoffrey was surprised to see windmills, and wire fencing for the cattle pastures that adjoined their homes. He was even more interested in their rifles, which, the tribesmen told him, were repeaters. He was puzzled by the absence of a cylinder, such as could be found on the generally unreliable revolvers one saw occasionally. The tribesmen were treating both him and Dugald with a complete absence of the savagery he expected. They were being perfectly matter-of-fact. If his hands had not been tied, Geoffrey might not have been a prisoner at all. This puzzled him as well. A prisoner, after all, could not expect to be treated very well. True, he and Dugald were nobles, but this could not possibly mean anything to persons as uncivilized as mountain tribesmen. Yet somehow, the only thing that was done was that all of them; the tribesmen, The Barbarian, Myka, Dugald and he--made their way to Weatherby's home. A number of the tribesmen continued on their way from there, going to their own homes to bring their families to watch the test. The remainder stayed behind to post guard. Dugald was put in one room, and Geoffrey in another. The Barbarian and Myka went off somewhere with Weatherby--presumably to have breakfast. Geoffrey could smell food cooking, somewhere toward the back of the house. The smell sat intolerably on his empty stomach.