If Watson had supposed that he had taken the Bar's measure, he was mistaken. The prince's eyes suddenly glinted with a fierce pleasure. Like a flash his antagonism shifted to something astonishingly like admiration. “Well spoken! Incidentally, you are well made and sound looking, stranger.” “Passably,” replied Watson. “I do not care to discuss my appearance, however. I am certainly no more ill-favoured than some others.” “And impertinent,” continued the other, quite without malice. “Do you know anything about the Bar, to whom you speak so saucily?” “I know that you have intimated that I may be an impostor. You have done this, after hearing what the learned Rhamda Geos has said. You know the facts; you know that I have come from the Jarados. I--” But it wasn't Watson's words that held the Bar's attention. Chick's straight, well-knit form, his quick-trained actions, overbalanced the question of the prophet in the mind of the man on the throne. His delight was self-evident. “Truly you are soundly built, stranger; you are made of iron and whipcord, finely formed, quick and alert.” He threw a word to one of his heavy-faced attendants, then suddenly stood up and descended from his throne. He came up and stood beside Watson. Chick straightened. The prince was an inch the taller; his bare arms long-muscled, lithe, powerful; under the pink skin Chick could see the delicate, cat-like play of strength and vitality. He sensed the strength of the man, his quick, eager, instinctive glance, his panther-like step and certainty of graceful movement. “Stranger,” spoke the Bar, “indeed you ARE an athlete! What is your nationality--Kospian?” “Neither Kospian nor D'Hartian; I am an American. True, there are some who have said that I am built like a man; I pride myself that I can conduct myself like one.” “And speak impertinently.” Still in the best of humour, the prince coolly reached out and felt Watson's biceps. His eyes became still brighter. If not an admirer of decorum, he could appreciate firm flesh. “Sirra! You ARE strong! Answer me--do you know anything about games of violence?” “Several. Anything you choose.” But the prince shook his head. “Not so. I claim no unfair advantage; you are well met, and opportune. Let it be a contest of your own choosing. The greater honour to myself, the victor!” But the little queen saw fit to interfere. “Senestro, is this the code of the Bar? Is not your proposal unseemly to so great a guest? Restrain your eagerness for strength and for muscle! You have preferred charges against this man; now you would hurl your body as well. Remember, I am the queen; I can command it of you.” The Senestro bowed.