“Beautiful? Humph!” a stern male voice sarcastically replied. “He _must_ be, without any fur! Oh, to think that my royal daughter would wish to wed a freak of nature, and a common soldier at that!” “He’s _not_ a common soldier!” asserted the voice of Arkilu. “He wears clothes merely so as to preserve his health for my sake.” “Well, a sickly cripple then,” answered her father’s voice, “which is just as bad. At all events, Jud is the leader of this expedition, and therefore this captive belongs to him. You can have him only if Jud so wills. It is the law.” Myles Cabot stealthily crossed the tent and put his eye to an opening between the curtains at the tent opening. There stood the familiar figure of Arkilu, and confronting her was a massive male Vairking. _His_ fur, however, was snow white, so that his general appearance resembled that of a polar bear. His face was appropriately harsh and cold. This was Theoph the Grim, ruler of the Vairkings! The dispute continued. And then there approached another man of the species. The newcomer, black-furred, was short, squat, and gnarled, yet possessed of unquestionable intelligence and a certain dignity which clearly indicated that he was of noble rank. He wore a leather helmet and carried a wooden lance. Theoph the Grim hailed him with: “Ho, Jud, what brings you here?” Jud raised his spear diagonally across his chest as a salute, and replied: “A change of plans, excellency. Upon reaching the river, I decided that it would be wiser not to return to Vairkingi by that route.” “Really meaning,” Arkilu interposed, with, a laugh, “that you found it impossible to throw a bridge across at that point.” “Why do you always doubt the reasons for my actions?” Jud asked in an aggrieved tone. “You wrong me,” she replied, “I never doubt your reasons. Your _reasons_ are always of the best. What I doubt is your _excuses_.” “Enough, enough!” the king shouted. “For I wish to discuss more immediate matters than nice distinctions of language. Jud’s reasons or excuses, or whatever, are good enough for me. Jud, I wish to inform you that my daughter has recently captured a strange furless being, whom it is my pleasure to turn over to you. I have not yet seen this oddity—” “Father, please!” Arkilu begged, but at this juncture, Myles, exasperated by Theoph’s remarks, parted the tent curtains and stepped out. “Look well, oh, king!” he shouted. “Here stands Myles Cabot, the Minorian, beast from another world, freak of nature, sickly cripple, common soldier, and all that. Look well, O king!” “A bit loud mouthed, I should say,” Theoph the Grim sniffed, not one whit abashed. “Watch him crumple at the presence of a real man,” added Jud the Excuse-Maker. Suiting the action to the word, the latter stepped over to Myles and suddenly slapped him on the face.