“We do not need your recognition to be what we are, a sovereign tribe of the Alemanni peoples, the Ortungs,” said Ortog.
“In any event,” said Otto, “you have it.”
“Long live the Ortungs!” cried an ambassador.
“Long live the Ortungs!” cried others.
“You have what you wanted,” said Otto. “Now I would have what I want, that the predations of the Ortungs against the Wolfungs cease.”
“‘Predations’?” asked Ortog.
“The Wolfungs are tributary to the Ortungs,” said the clerk.
“That the Ortungs renounce all claim to the Wolfungs as tributaries,” said Otto.
“But we are fond of the Wolfungs,” said Ortog, grinning.
“Especially of their women,” called a man from the side.
There was laughter.
“This matter rests,” said Otto, “as I understand it, on the outcome of the challenge.”
“Agreed,” said Ortog.
“It is you who will meet me?” inquired Otto.
“No,” said Ortog.
“You will choose weapons, then, and a champion, as is your right,” said Otto.
Once before Ortog and Otto had met in combat. It had occurred on a square of sand, in a small arena, one improvised in a section of the Alaria’s gigantic hold. Otto was then a gladiator, being groomed by Pulendius, master of the school of Pulendius, and his trainers, for matches in major arenas.
The experience was not one which Ortog was eager to repeat, nor was it one which he could, in justice, have been expected to repeat.
Ortog was a king, not a pit killer. It was no dishonor for an unarmed, naked man to decline to enter the lair of a vi-cat. Even Abrogastes, his father, lord of the Drisriaks, fierce and terrible, would not be expected to accept such an invitation. Such a thing would not be courage, but insanity.
Too, there were some risks to which a king, if only in virtue of his responsibilities, should not subject himself.
“The arrangements will be explained to you by my advisor and confidante, Huta, of the Timbri,” said Ortog.
There was laughter.
“What is one, and what is many?” inquired Huta.
“I do not understand,” said Otto.
“Are the stars many?” asked Huta.
“Yes,” said Otto.
“But they are all stars, are they not?” asked Huta.
“Yes,” said Otto.
“Thus they are also one,” said Huta.
“I do not understand,” said Otto.
“Is the principle of individuation, of oneness, one of form or matter?” she asked.
“I do not understand,” said Otto.
“Many can be one, and one can be many,” she said.
“I do not understand her speech,” said Otto. “Perhaps she is very wise.”
“Or mad, or clever,” said Julian.
“Bring forth, milord, the champion,” said Huta.
“Bring forth the champion,” said Ortog.
From back, from among the men, a large, simple, slow-moving fellow, blond and blue-eyed, was led forth by the arm. He was very large, and broad-shouldered, but soft, and carried no weapons. His eyes were glazed. He did not seem clearly aware of what was about him.
“He is drunk, or drugged,” said Julian.
“Choose another champion,” said Otto.
“Behold, the champion!” said Ortog, and gestured, again, to the side.
Another such fellow, seemingly identical to the first, was led forth.
“They are the same,” said Otto, puzzled.
“Twins,” said Julian.
“Bring forth the champion!” called Ortog, again.
Another such fellow was conducted forth.
“I am to fight three?” asked Otto.
But again, and again, the call for the champion was issued. Then, at the end, as the crowd stood quiet, uneasy, there were brought before the dais ten such fellows, seemingly somnolent, narcotized. Men supported some of them.
“It is called cloning,” said Julian. “It is a process whereby genetic identicals may be produced.”
“There is the champion,” said Huta, pointing to the ten men before the dais.
“That is ten champions,” said Julian.
“It is one,” said Huta. “They are one!”
“Ten!” said Julian.
“Were you given permission to speak, thrall?” asked Huta. Let his tongue be cut out!” she cried to Ortog.
“No,” said Ortog.
“They do not seem to be fighters,” said Otto.
“They are not,” said Ortog.
“They are drunk, or sick,” speculated Otto.
“Drunk, or drugged,” said Julian.
“They will not be quick,” said Otto.
“They do not need to be,” said Ortog.
“Surely I am to fight them all, at the same time?” said Otto.
“You will meet them one at a time,” said Ortog.
“I do not understand,” said Otto.
“Do you not fear he will win, milord?” inquired the clerk.
“No,” smiled Ortog.
“Does milord intend to surrender so lightly his rights to the property and women of the Wolfungs?” asked Ortog’s shieldsman.
“Not at all,” said Ortog.
“The king of the Ortungs is generous,” said Otto. “But I beg his indulgence, and request that he put before me a true fighter, a suitable champion, if he wishes, his finest warrior.”
“I am he,” said Ortog. “How else is it that I have rings to give?”
“Then meet me,” said Otto, puzzled.
“No,” said Ortog.
“I do not wish to slay drunken, or drugged, men,” said Otto.
“Why have these champions been drugged?” asked Julian.
“That the champion be not too much aware of what is occurring,” said Ortog.
“I do not understand,” said Otto.
“Bring forth the device,” said Ortog.
“Do not do this thing, my brother!” cried out Gerune.
“Be silent, shamed woman,” he snarled.
“She spoke without permission,” said Julian.
“She is free,” said Otto.
“If she were roped at my feet, as a slave,” said Julian, “she would not have dared to speak.”
“No,” said Otto, “but then things would be quite different.”
“Yes,” said Julian.
“Bring forth the device!” called Ortog.
The apparatus was brought forth.
Far off, it seemed there sounded a cry, perhaps that of a bird. The wind snapped the yellow silk which, with its poles, formed the wall of the enclosure.
“Hold his arms!” cautioned Ortog.
Four men seized Otto, and held him fast. Two others restrained Julian.
Huta’s laugh rang out merrily in the enclosure.
It appeared at first a complicated device, but it was not really so. Two chairs, facing one another, with a heavy metal backing behind the head of each, were linked together beneath a small tablelike platform, on which, on an adjustable stand, its base fixed in the platform, was something which looked like a horizontal pipe, or tube. Feeding into this tube, vertically, entering it at the center, rather at the breech at the center of the horizontal tube, was another tube.
“Put them in the chairs,” said Ortog.
There was a murmur of anger from the men about.
Otto shook away those who would hold him and sat in one of the chairs. There were caliperlike grippers attached to the heavy metal backing, behind the head. He placed his head, unbidden, between these calipers, or pincers. They did not restrain his head, but merely positioned it. One could leave them only by moving forward, or downward, not to the side. Their purpose was to prevent any reflexive movements to the side.
“No!” cried Julian.
“Silence, thrall,” said Huta.
The first of the large, soft, somnolent individuals was placed in the seat opposite Otto.
“The charge,” said Huta, “is entered into the vertical tube, at this point. The tube is precisely made, as are the charges. The drop is a fair one, insofar as such things can be tooled, to the thousandths of an inch. There is, in so far as can be assured, exactly the same chance that the charge will fall to the left as to the right, exactly the same chance that it will enter the barrel to the left as the barrel to the right.”