At the conclusion of their conference the Queen’s men had been forced into a course Jellico had urged from the first.  He, and he alone, would represent the Free Traders in the coming duel.  And now he stood there in the early morning, stripped down to shorts and boots, wearing nothing on which a net could catch and so trap him.  The Free Traders were certain that the I-S men having any advantage would press it to the ultimate limit and the death of Captain Jellico would make a great impression on the Salariki.

Jellico was taller than the Eysie who faced him, but almost as lean.  Hard muscles moved under his skin, pale where space tan had not burned in the years of his star voyaging.  And his every movement was with the liquid grace of a man who, in his time, had been a master of the force blade.  Now he gripped in his left hand the claw knife given him by Groft himself and in the other he looped the throwing rope of the net.

At the other end of the field, the Eysie man was industriously moving his bootsoles back and forth across the ground, intent upon coating them with as much of the gritty sand as would adhere.  And he displayed the supreme confidence in himself which he had shown at the moment of challenge in the Great Hall.

None of the Free Trading party made the mistake of trying to give Jellico advice.  The Captain had not risen to his command without learning his duties.  And the duties of a Free Trader covered a wide range of knowledge and practice.  One had to be equally expert with a blaster and a slingshot when the occasion demanded.  Though Jellico had not fought a Salariki duel with net and knife before, he had a deep memory of other weapons, other tactics which could be drawn upon and adapted to his present need.

There was none of the casual atmosphere which had surrounded the affair between the Salariki clansmen in the hall.  Here was ceremony.  The storm priests invoked their own particular grim Providence, and there was an oath taken over the weapons of battle.  When the actual engagement began the betting among the spectators had reached, Dane decided, epic proportions.  Large sections of Sargolian personal property were due to change hands as a result of this encounter.

As the chief priest gave the order to engage both Terrans advanced from their respective ends of the fighting space with the half crouching, light footed tread of spacemen.  Jellico had pulled his net into as close a resemblance to rope as its bulk would allow.  The very type of weapon, so far removed from any the Traders knew, made it a disadvantage rather than an asset.

But it was when the Eysie moved out to meet the Captain that Rip’s fingers closed about Dane’s upper arm in an almost paralyzing grip.

“He knows—­”

Dane had not needed that bad news to be made vocal.  Having seen the exploits of the Salariki duelists earlier, he had already caught the significance of that glide, of the way the I-S champion carried his net.  The Eysie had not had any last minute instruction in the use of Sargolian weapons—­he had practiced and, by his stance, knew enough to make him a formidable menace.  The clamor about the Queen’s party rose as the battle-wise eyes of the clansmen noted that and the odds against Jellico reached fantastic heights while the hearts of his crew sank.