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What if I took his
emblem from him? Would I not then be entitled to his place in the tribe?”
    “The emblem
itself is the place,” Traz Onmale admitted. “This man Osom is the vehicle for
the emblem Vaduz. Without Vaduz he would be no better than you. But if Vaduz is content with Osom, as must be so, you could never take Vaduz.”
    “I can try.”
    “Conceivably.
But you are too late; here is the butcherwoman. Be good enough to disrobe.”
    Reith turned
a horrified glance upon the woman, whose shoulders were broader than his own
and inches thicker, and who advanced upon him wearing a face-splitting grin.
    “There is
still time,” muttered Reith. “Ample time.” He turned upon Osom Vaduz, who
snatched forth his rapier with a shrill whine of steel against hard leather.
But Reith had stepped in close, within the six-foot reach of the blade. Osom
Vaduz tried to leap back; Reith caught his arm, which was hard as steel; in his
present condition Osom Vaduz was by far the stronger man. Osom Vaduz gave his
arm a mighty jerk to fling Reith to the ground. Reith pulled in the same
direction, swung around to drag Osom Vaduz reeling off-balance. Reith thrust up
his shoulder, Osom Vaduz rolled across his hip and crashed to the ground. Reith
kicked him in the head, grounding his heel into Osom Vaduz’s throat, to crush
the windpipe. As Osom Vaduz lay twitching and croaking his hat rolled off;
Reith reached for it but the Chief Magician snatched it away.
    “No, by no
means!” cried the magician in a passion. “This is not our law. You are a slave;
a slave you remain!”
    “Must I kill
you too?” asked Reith, edging ominously forward.
    “Enough!”
cried Traz Onmale peremptorily. “There has been enough killing. No more!”
    “What of the
emblem?” asked Reith. “Do you not agree it is mine?”
    “I must
consider,” declared the youth. “In the meanwhile, no more. Butcher-woman, take
the body to the pyre. Where are the Judgers? Let them come forth and judge this
Osom who carried Vaduz. Emblems, bring forth the engine!”
    Reith moved
off to the side. A few minutes later he approached Traz Onmale. “If you wish, I
will leave the tribe and go off by myself.”
    “You will
know my wishes when they are formulated,” declared the lad, with the absolute
decisiveness conferred upon him by the Onmale. “Remember, you are my slave; I
ordered back the blades which would have killed you. If you try to escape, you
will be tracked, taken, flogged. Meanwhile you must gather fodder.”
    It seemed to
Reith as if Traz Onmale were straining for severity, perhaps to divert
attention-his own as well as everyone else’s-from the unpleasant order he had
given to the butcherwoman and which, by implication, he had rescinded.
     
    For a day the
dismembered body of Osom, who once had carried the emblem Vaduz, smoldered
within a special metal kiln, and the wind blew a vile stench through the camp.
The warriors uncovered the monstrous catapult, started the engine and brought
it into the center of the compound.
    The sun sank
behind a bank of graphite-purple clouds; sunset was an angry welter of crimson
and brown. Osom’s corpse had been consumed; the fire was ashes. With all the
tribe crouching in murmurous ranks, the Chief Magician kneaded the ashes with
beast-blood to form a cake, which was then packed into a box and lashed to the
head of a great shaft.
    The magicians
looked into the east, where now rose Az the pink moon, almost at the full. The
Chief Magician called in a great belling voice: “Az! The Judgers have judged a
man and found him good! He is Osom; he carried Vaduz. Make ready, Az! We send
you Osom!”
    The warriors
on the catapult engaged a gear. The great arm swung across the sky; the elastic
cables ground with tension. The shaft with Osom’s ashes was laid in the
channel; the arm was aimed toward Az. The tribe set up a moan, rising to a
throaty wail. The magician cried: “Away to Az!”
    The catapult
gave a heavy