"Oh." Borel, although he had about as little public spirit as a man can have, had been exposed to the democratic institutions of Earth long enough so as to find these class distinctions distasteful. "In other words, because I'm now an honorary knight, I can tear through the town at full gallop hollering 'byant-hao!' and if anybody gets run over that's too bad?"
"Naturally. What think you? But I forget you're from another world. Tis one of your fascinations that beneath your hard adventuresome exterior you're more gentle and considerate than the men of this land."
Borel hid a smile. He'd been called a lot of things before, including thief, swindler, and slimy double-crossing heel, but never gentle and considerate. Maybe that was an example of the relativity the long-haired scientists talked about.
"Where would you like me to drive you?" he asked.
"To Earth!" she said, putting her head on his shoulder. For a moment he was almost tempted to renege on his plan to leave her behind. Then the resolute selfishness, which was the adventurer's leading trait, came to his rescue. He reminded himself that on a fast getaway, the less baggage the better. Love 'em and leave 'em. Anyway, wouldn't she be happier if they parted before she learned he was no do-gooder after all?
"Let's to the tournament ground outside the North Gate. Today's the battle betwixt Sir Volhaj and Sir Shusp."
"What's this? I hadn't heard of it."
"Sir Shusp forced a challenge on Sir Volhaj; some quarrel over the love of a lady. Shusp has already slain three knights in affrays of this kind."
Borel said: "If you Guardians are supposed to have everything in common, like the Communists we used to have on Earth, I don't see what call a knight has to get jealous. Couldn't they both court her at once?"
"That's not the custom. A maid should dismiss the one before taking another; to do otherwise were in bad taste."
They reached the North Gate and ambled out into the country. Borel asked: "Where does this road go?"
"Know you not? To Koloft and Novorecife."
Beyond the last houses, where the farmed fields began, the tournament grounds lay to the right of the road. It reminded Borel of a North American high-school football field: same small wooden grandstands, and tents at the ends where the goal posts should be. In the middle of one stand, a section had been built out into a box, in which sat the high officers of the Order. Hawkers circulated through the crowd, one crying:
"Flowers! Flowers! Buy a flower with the color of your favorite knight! Red for Volhaj, white for Shusp. Flowers!"
The stands were already full of people who, from the predominant color of the flowers in their hats, seemed to favor Shusp. Borel ignored Zerdai's suggestion, that he pitch some commoner out of his seat and claim it for himself, and led her to where the late arrivals clustered standing at one end of the field. He was a little annoyed with himself for not having come in time to lay a few bets. This should be much more exciting than the ponies on Earth, and by shaving the odds and betting both ways he might put himself in the enviable position of making a profit on these saps no matter who won.
As they took their places, a trumpet blew. Nearby, Borel saw a man in Moorish-looking armor, wearing a spiked helmet with a nose-guard and a little skirt of chain mail; he was sitting on a big tough-looking aya, also wearing bits of armor here and there. This Qararu now left his tent to trot down to the middle of the field. From the red touches about his saddle and equipment, Borel judged him to be Sir Volhaj. Vol-haj as the challenged party had his sympathy, in line with his own distaste for violence. Why couldn't the other gloop be a good fellow about his girl friend? Borel had done that sort of thing and found nobody the worse for it.
From the other end of the field came another rider, similarly equipped but decorated in white. The two met at the center of the field, wheeled to face the Grand Master, and walked their mounts forward until they were as close as they could get to the booth. The Grand Master made a speech, which Borel could not hear, and then the knights wheeled away and trotted back to their respective ends of the field. At the near end, Sir Volhaj's squires or seconds or whatever they were handed him up a lance and a small round shield.
The trumpet blew again, and the antagonists galloped towards each other. Borel winced as they met with a crash in the middle of the field. When Borel opened his eyes again, he saw that the red knight had been knocked out of the saddle and was rolling over and over on the moss. His aya continued on without him, while the white knight slowed gradually as he approached Borel's end of the field, then turned and headed back.
Volhaj had meanwhile gotten up with a visible effort in his weight of iron and clanked off to where his lance lay. He picked it up, and as Shusp bore down on him he planted the butt-end in the ground and lowered the point to the level of the charging aya's chest, where the creature's light armor did not protect it. Borel could not see the spear go in, but he judged that it had when the beast reared, screamed, threw its rider, and collapsed kicking. Borel, who felt strongly about cruelty to animals, thought indignantly that there ought to be an interplanetary S. P. C. A. to stop this sort of thing.
At this point, the crowd began to jostle and push with cries of excitement, so Borel had to take his eyes off the fight long enough to clear a space with his elbows for Zerdai. When he looked back again, the knights were at it on foot, making a tremendous din, Shusp with a huge two-handed sword, Volhaj with his buckler and a sword of more normal size.
They circled around one another, slashing, thrusting, and parrying, and worked their way slowly down to Borel's end of the field, until he could see the dents in their armor and the trickle of blood running down the chin of Sir Volhaj. By now, both were so winded that the fight was going as slowly as an honest wrestling match, with both making a few swipes and then stopping to pant and glare at each other for a while.
Then, in the midst of an exchange of strokes, Sir Volhaj's sword flew up, turning over and over until it came down at Shusp's feet. Sir Shusp instantly put a foot on it and forced Sir Volhaj back with a swing of his crowbarlike blade. Then he picked up the dropped sword and threw it as far away as he could.
Borel asked: "Hey, is he allowed to do that?"
"I know not," said Zerdai. "Though there be few rules, mayhap that's against them."
Shusp now advanced rapidly on Volhaj, who was reduced to a shield battered all out of shape and a dagger. The latter gave ground, parrying the swipes as best he could.
"Why doesn't the fool cut and run?" asked Borel.
Zerdai stared at him. "Know you not that for a knight of the Order the penalty for cowardice is flaying alive?"
At the rate Volhaj was backing towards them, he would soon be treading on the toes of the spectators, who in fact began to spread out nervously. Volhaj was staggering, disheartening Borel, who hated to see his favorite nearing his rope's end.
On a sudden impulse, Borel drew his own sword and called: "Hey, Volhaj, don't look now but here's something for you!" With that he threw the sword as if it had been a javelin, so that the point stuck into the ground alongside of Volhaj. The latter dropped his dagger, snatched up the sword, and tore into Shusp with renewed vigor.
Then Shusp went down with a clang. Volhaj, standing over him, found a gap in his armor around the throat, put the point there, and pushed down on the hilt with both hands… When Borel opened his eyes again, Shusp's legs were giving their last twitch. Cheers and the paying of bets.
Volhaj came back to where Borel stood and said: "Sir Felix the Red, I perceive you succored me but now."
"How d'you know that?"
"By your empty scabbard, friend. Here, take your sword with my thanks. I doubt the referee will hold your deed a foul, since the chief complainant will no longer be present to press his case. Call on me for help any time." He shook hands warmly and walked wearily off to his wigwam.