“Ye clumsy coward!” I jeered.  “Have ye had no practice that ye should trip the old one no better than that?”

“Who are ye?” he stuttered, like the coward he was.  I laughed and helped the chit drag Maka—­for it was he—­up to safety.

“I am a far better man than ye,” I said, not caring to give my name.  “And I can show ye how the thing should be done.  Come; at me, if ye are a man!”

At that he dashed upon me; and such was his fear of ridicule—­for the girl was laughing him to scorn now—­he put up a fair, stiff fight.  But I forgot my weariness when he foully clotted me on the head with a stone.  I drove at him with all the speed and suddenness my father had taught me, caught the fellow by the ankle, and brought him down atop me.

The rest was easy.  I bent my knee under his middle, and tossed him high.  In a flash I was upon my feet, and caught him from behind.  And in another second I had rushed him to the cliff; and when he turned to save himself, I tripped him as neatly as father himself could have done it, so that the fellow will guard the ditch no more, save in the caverns of Hofe.

I laughed and picked up my pack.  My head hurt a bit from the fellow’s blow, but a little water would do for that.  I started to go.

“Ye are a brave man!” cried the girl.  I turned carelessly, and then, quite for the first time, I had a real look at her.

She was in no way like any woman I had seen.  All of them had been much like the men:  brawny and close-knit, as well fitted for their work as are men for war.  But this chit was all but slender; not skinny, but prettily rounded out, and soft like.  I cannot say that I admired her at first glance; she seemed fit only to look at, not to live.  I was minded of some of the ancient carvings, which show delicate, lightly built animals that have long since been killed off; graceful trifles that rested the eye.

As for the old man:  “Aye, thou art brave, and wondrous strong, my lad,” said he, still a bit shaky from his close call.  I was pleased with the acknowledgment, and turned back.

“It was nothing,” I told them; and I recounted some of my exploits, notably one in which I routed a raiding party of men from Klow, six in all, carrying in two alive on my shoulders.  “I am the son of Strok, the armorer.”

“Ye are Strokor!” marveled the girl, staring at me as though I were a god.  Then she threw back her head and stepped close.

“I am Ave.  This is Maka; he is my uncle, but best known as a star-gazer.  My father was Durok, the engine-maker.”  She watched my face.

“Durok?” I knew him well.  My father had said that he was quite as brainy as himself.  “He were a fine man, Ave.”

“Aye,” said she proudly.  She stepped closer; I could not but see how like him she was, though a woman.  And next second she laid a hand on my arm.

“I am yet a free woman, Strokor.  Hast thou picked thy mate?” And her cheeks flamed.