"_Butsudo_ forbids us to kill men," Takeko said. "It does not deny us the right, in pointing them to the path of knowledge, to jab them a bit." She smiled at Hartford. * * * * * "How do you propose to do this jabbing?" he asked. "I remind you all, if you need reminding, that our troopers travel with Dardick-rifles and machine-guns, with rocket-mounted jeeps and veeto-platforms from which bombs can be dropped." Kiwa spoke. "We are like a bear after honey," he said. "We are hungry, but do not wish to taste the stings of the guardians of the hive. We must surprise them." Hartford, his knees stiff with kneeling, his backside sore from the camelopard-saddle despite the expert massage, got up to pace the floor. "We need a needle-gun of some sort," he said. "No gun," insisted white-bearded Togo. "It need have only slight power," Hartford said. "It would throw its projectile only forcefully enough to penetrate the fabric of a safety-suit." "It has been so many generations since we have been soldiers, we know nothing of weapons," Yamata-san said. He wet a fine brush with _sumi_, Chinese ink, and sketched rapidly. "I remember seeing pictures of _Bushi_ carrying a sort of throwing-sticks with pointed ends in pockets on their backs, and flinging them like little spears with a kind of one-stringed lute." Hartford stared at the calligrapher's drawing, then exclaimed. "Of course! A bow and arrow." Takeko inspected the sketch. "The man who threw the stick is standing," she said. "Could we stand against troopers?" "A man would have to stand exposed to shoot an arrow," Hartford admitted. "The Dardick-guns would mow us down before we'd punctured a single safety-suit." He paced up and down the room, the only trained warrior there, trying to devise his unkilling weapon. "We have wine, Lee-san," Takeko said. "Please sit and drink." Hartford, bemused with his problem, folded his legs onto his cushion and lowered himself gently. Takeko's mother appeared with tiny cups of hot wine, _sake_. Hartford bowed with the others and sipped. The stuff was good, rather like a dry sherry. Takeko bowed to leave the room, returned, bowed and commenced playing a tune with the instrument she'd brought in. It was a flute made of bamboo, with a high-pitched, pure sound Hartford found quite pleasant. He frowned, though, after a moment. Takeko took the pipe from her lips. "You do not enjoy my playing?" she asked. "What is that made of?" Hartford demanded. "Just bamboo, isn't it?" "_Hai, take_," Takeko agreed. "It is my name. _Take_--bamboo. This is only a _shakuha-chi_, for very simple music." Hartford smiled and bowed toward Togo-san, the white-bearded carpenter. "Sir," he said, "if we may have your advice, I believe Takeko-chan has helped us find our weapon." X