“I understand,” said Otto.
“Do you wish to be tied in the chair?” asked a man.
“No,” said Otto.
“You can reach the trigger?” asked a man.
“Yes,” said Otto.
“If you do not wish to participate, you have lost the challenge,” said another man.
“Abandon the challenge,” urged Julian.
“I do not,” said Otto.
“It is too late to abandon the challenge,” said Ortog.
“The Ortungen are without honor!” cried Julian.
“Your ransom is doubled!” said Ortog.
“Do not interfere, my friend,” said Otto, “if you would again see your worlds.”
The pipe was being adjusted now.
The man opposite Otto was tied in the chair, not because he was unwilling to take that place, as he had little understanding of what was transpiring, but rather in order to hold him in position.
“Do you understand what they are doing?” Julian asked Otto.
“Yes,” said Otto.
“Your skills, such as they may be, and if you retain any, are herewith neutralized, completely,” said Ortog. “The outcome is a matter of chance.”
“Of probabilities,” said Julian, angrily.
“He does not need to cooperate,” said Ortog. “If he wishes, he may leave the chair, and be quickly, mercifully, put to death.”
“There is one chance in two that you will die on the first firing,” said Julian. “The chance of escaping the first firing is one in two; the chance of escaping two firings in a row is one in four; the chance of escaping three firings in a row is one in eight; of four, one in sixteen; of five, one in thirty-two; of six, one in sixty-four; of seven, one in one hundred and twenty-eight; of eight, one in two hundred and fifty-six; of nine, one in five hundred and twelve; of ten, one in one thousand and twenty-four.”
“I am ready,” said Otto.
“You cannot even count so high, my friend,” said Julian, despairing.
“I know what a thousand is,” said Otto. “I think I know. It is a great many.”
“You could have put him against dwarfs, or women!” raged Julian.
“Like the leaves of a tree, like the stones on a beach,” said Otto.
Let those who are familiar with mathematics congratulate themselves on their knowledge of a simple number, such as a thousand, but let them, too, aside from marks on paper, and procedures of counting, and such, see if they can visualize that number, say, a thousand leaves or a thousand stones. Are they visualizing a thousand, truly, or nine hundred and fifty, or a thousand and ten?
“Dwarfs are amusing,” said Ortog. “And one would surely not wish to waste women in such a manner. They have much more pleasant uses.”
“Milord!” cried Huta, in horror.
Her priestesses and acolytes gasped, too, some placing their hands to their breasts. They exchanged wild glances. Such women are vowed to chastity.
“It is a high number, surely,” said Otto.
There was one trigger for the apparatus. It was mounted on a small, movable box, which we may refer to as the trigger box, or housing. This box rested on the table. From it, an insulated cord ran to the base of the stand.
“Forgive me, Lady Huta,” said Ortog.
The pipe was adjusted on the stand. It was arranged in such a way as to be level with, and focused toward, the center of Otto’s forehead. The barrel of the pipe, its muzzle, was somewhat lower on the fellow across from Otto. It was centered there just above the bridge of the nose. This was because Otto was the taller man. The muzzle, on each side, was about four inches from the faces of the men.
“Place a charge,” said Huta.
One of the men who had been assisting the priestesses removed a spheroid from a box and dropped it into the vertical tube.
“You may fire first,” said Ortog.
“Is there any advantage in firing first?” asked Otto.
“None,” said Ortog. “The trigger fires the device. One does not know where the charge is.”
“Let him fire first then,” said Otto.
“Wait, milord!” called Hendrix, from the side. “This is not the way of the Drisriaks, nor should it be the way of the Ortungs.”
“This is not a matter of steel, of a duel in which glory may be sought, a cutting with knives, the thrust of the blade, the sort of thing of which songs are made!” cried another man.
“It has been decided,” said Ortog.
“It is a mockery of honor!” cried another.
“All has been arranged,” said Ortog, angrily.
Overhead, but muchly unnoticed, there was a flight of birds, hurrying to the west.
“I will be the champion of the Ortungs!” called Hendrix.
“And you would die!” said Ortog. He himself, on the Alaria, had once crossed blades with the seated blond giant. He had not cared to do so again.
“I am swift,” called Gundlicht, stepping forward, “Let me fight him, in the ways of honor.”
“Yes!” called others.
“Me!” called another.
“No, I!” cried another.
“He would kill any of you,” screamed Ortog.
“How can it be?” cried a man.
“Can you not see the breeding, and the blood, in him?” inquired Ortog.
“Let the match begin!” called Huta.
“He is an Otung!” called Ortog.
Otto did not move.
The men were stilled for an instant.
“Of royal blood!” cried Ortog.
“I am a peasant, from the festung village of Sim Giadini,” said Otto.
Julian regarded Otto wildly.
“I am sure of it!” said Ortog.
“They are a race of warriors, the fiercest of the Vandal peoples!” said a man.
“They were destroyed by the empire!” said another.
“The Alemanni are the greatest of all the peoples!” cried a man.
“Yes, yes!” shouted others.
Julian’s mind raced.
These cries, and the stirring of the crowd, its murmuring, and unease, tended to obscure even the sounds of the wind at the yellow silk.
“Let the match begin!” called out Huta.
“Yes,” said Ortog. “Let the match begin!”
“No, milord,” begged his shieldsman.
“It has been arranged by the priestess Huta,” said Ortog.
“Please, milord!” begged a man.
“It has been decided,” said Ortog.
“Milord!” protested another.
“Who is king of the Ortungs?” asked Ortog.
“Ortog is king of the Ortungs,” said a man.
“Let the match begin,” said Ortog.
“Let the match begin,” said men.
“Press the trigger!” said Huta.
Her words were addressed to the man fastened in the seat opposite Otto.
“The trigger! The trigger!” cried Huta.
“Here, this,” said one of the men who had been assisting the priestesses. He took the trigger housing, on its cord, running to the stand, and put it in the hands of the fellow opposite Otto.
“Wait,” said another man, he who had also been assisting the priestesses. He thrust up, and back, the head of the man opposite Otto, indeed, he held his head in place by the hair, pulling it back, that it would be properly positioned within the caliperlike grips attached to the shielding at the back of the seat.
“Press the trigger,” said the first man.
“Trigger?” asked the lethargic form in the chair across from the chieftain of the Wolfungs.
“This, this,” said the first man.