It was a daring move that Rog was making. Unless he challenged Sarak and demanded a fight alone with him, they would be massacred. Perhaps if he won, the tribe would still exact payment, for Luk-no was at the head of the men, waiting for his chance to avenge himself. They crashed together with a sickening sound of stone on flesh. Blood spurted from Rog's head, where Sarak's club had grazed him. The sight of the blood brought a scream of triumph from the Old Man, he raised the weapon again in his stubby hands. Rog released the club with his right hand and shot a hard fist into the other's face. Thrown off guard, Sarak had to fall back as his son swept in upon him. His years of experience saved him as he warded off every blow expertly. He drove in a hard sweep of the cudgel that rocked against the younger man's shoulder. Again Sarak bludgeoned his way in, driving Rog back before him, bleeding and dazed. A sob of despair choked Rog. It was more than his life that was at stake today. Johann Adam's fingers were locked in the folds of his garments as he watched the struggle. He knew as well as Rog what the stakes were. And it was a heartbreaking fact for him to realize that he was powerless to help. Interference by him, even if it resulted in victory for the boy, would mean the tribe would never accept him. Only as a tribal member could he aid. Around the fighters a great crowd was collecting. The rest of the tribe had run up just after Sarak and Luk-no, and now they crowded in to watch the deadly combat. Their screams of hate filled the quiet forest. Rog fought with desperation. In strength he was a match for his bloodthirsty sire, but he lacked the years of experience behind the Old Man's clubbing. He was forced to give ground time after time, wading in with swinging bludgeon only to be brought to his knees by a clever blow over the back of the neck. Sweat streamed down his forehead and blinded him, mingling with blood. His ribs ached terribly from a blow that had cracked several on one side, and one leg was wrenched so it would hardly support him. But still his shoulders writhed to his efforts to give Sarak a death blow. Suddenly, as he backed to the very edge of the crowd, he saw a shadow rise swiftly over his head, in the black images cast on the ground. For a moment the battle with Sarak was forgotten in the more immediate danger of being clubbed from behind. He ducked. Something smacked into the ground at his feet, and a man, his balance lost by the blow's missing, lunged past. Luk-no stumbled over the boulder that had almost cost Rog his life. In a flash the intended victim's club was raised and brought down on his back. With a scream of pain the black-browed one went down.