Wilding nodded, understanding. Women would be scarce, and men exiles would fight over them like male rats over scarce females. He had expected strange and difficult social organization in Alcatraz, even chaos, and the presence of women would be an additional cause of dissension. It might be used to his advantage. "Who's the bull of this scrub herd?" he asked. "None of you?" Amyth's laugh was a jangling of steel-shards. Taming her could be an interesting project, but held jagged possibilities. "Most of us take orders from Tichron," the girl replied. "A few follow Credus, an Earthman. If you have ideas about me, you'll have to fight Tichron for the privilege." Wilding grunted. "Small privilege. But I'd fight him anyhow. While I'm here, I rule. I lead, not follow." "Big talk for a newcomer," she said. "When you're here a while--" "I'm not staying. I'm Wilding. No prison can hold me." "Alcatraz can," Concor said wearily. "We all feel like that at first. Nobody escapes. But if you want to try, count me in." The Amazon belched beer fumes volcanically. "Me, too. And Grouth. It will be something to do. I'm Tiny. If I had another name it's down the drain years ago." Amyth's wicked glance slashed at Wilding. "I'll decide ... after you've fought Tichron. If you have a plan, tell us. Maybe we can use it after Tichron wrings the blood from your body and throws the husk to the Pit Men for fodder. He'll be happy to learn there's a new challenger. His blood lust is growing--" "There are those who fan his other lusts," Grouth broke in angrily. "It's unfair to taunt a newcomer into unequal combat. Give Wilding time to find his way around--" Warm, unfamiliar emotion writhed in Wilding. It had been so long since the occasion for it that he could scarcely recognize gratitude. He could not remember anyone's championing his rights and interests. Also, he realized, if the sullen and monstrous Mercurian stood up for him, it was a sign he was accepted. Such as they were, he had allies. "The girl is right, Grouth," he said quietly. "Now is the time. I must fight Tichron." His eyes lashed the girl. "I have a plan--but it is not for the ears of Tichron's sluts. When I have use for your obvious talents, I'll give orders." Amyth's eyes blazed, her face whitened beyond its odd pallor. From the doorway came a brazen bellow of delight, drowning what she might have said. A burly shape glided into the room. A giant Venusian, broad face as savage as that of a swamp-slug, oily body glistening like the image of a squat godling. He looked like a professional wrestler. "I heard that," he said. "I'm Tichron." The game had started. II