"Well, Fusas wanted to put on a grand celebration to mark the five-hundredth anniversary of the polis. Of course he cheated a little, for that there was a gap in this fine history, when for several years Ardyman the Terrible of Govannian united all the Twelve Cities under his rule; but the Kortolians thought it more seemly to ignore this break, and who shall blame them?
"Being himself a mighty man, King Fusas thought to please his folk by staging, at the climax of the celebration, an athletic contest between himself and another man. Now, the king's favorite sport was wrestling. But that presented a problem. For, you see, the king thought it bad for his royal dignity to be worsted in such a public contest. On the other hand, if his opponent were warned in advance to lose, the word might leak out, or the other man might too patently let himself be thrown. At best this would give a dull show, and at worst it might cause the king to be jeered, even worse for the royal dignity.
"Belike the king could match himself against a man so much smaller than himself that he were sure to win in any case. But again, the people would see their king flinging a mere shrimp of an opponent about and would jeer him.
"So King Fusas took counsel with his wise man, the wizard Thorynx. And Thorynx reminded Fusas that he had a twin brother, Fusor, living a quiet life in a small country house in the hills of southern Kortoli—or as quiet a life as one can lead when surrounded by spies and informers watching for a chance to denounce one for plotting to seize the throne from one's brother. Luckily for him, Fusor—the younger of the twain by a quarter-hour—was of a retiring disposition. He cared for little but fishing and so never gave the informers any suspicious acts to report upon.
"Now, said Thorynx, Fusor and Fusas were identical twins and therefore a perfect match as wrastlers, albeit Fusor might be in better physical trim as a result of the simple outdoor life he led, not having papers to sign and lawsuits to judge and banquets to eat and balls to keep him up late. So let him be brought to Kortoli City and there wrestle with Fusas at the climax of the festival. Both would be clad identically, so that the viewers could not distinguish them. Whichever won, it would be announced that King Fusas was the winner, and who should gainsay it? Then Fusor could be sent back to his country house with a handsome gift to keep him quiet.
"And so it was done. Prince Fusor was fetched to Kortoli Gty and lodged in the palace for a month preceding the festival. And at the high point of the celebration, a grand wrastle it was, with the king and his brother rolling over and over on the mat in a tangle of limbs and grunting like a pair of boars at the same trough. And at last one of the twain pinned the other and was declared the winner. He was also declared to be the king.
"But no sooner had they returned to the palace and passed out of the view of the throngs than they burst into a furious quarrel, with shaken fists and menaces. Each, both winner and loser, claimed to be King Fusas and, since they looked just alike and were clad in the same purple loincloths, there was no easy way to tell which spake sooth.
"First, the chancellor tried by questioning them separately about the affairs of the kingdom. But each claimant readily answered the questions. It transpired that Fusor—whichever of the twain he was—had made the most of his month's residence in the palace to familiarize himself with such matters, whilst his royal brother had been occupied with training in the gymnasium for the bout.
"Then the chancellor asked Thorynx if he had any ideas. 'Aye,' said Thorynx. 'I can settle the question. Give each claimant a sheet of reed paper and let him write an account of the last time he went in unto Queen Zelde, with full particulars. Then show these two screeds to the Queen and let her say which is that of the true king.' For, unlike the southern tier of the Twelve Cities, the Kortolians do not allow even kings to take more than one lawful wife. It must be the Mulvanian influence that leads you southrons to permit such liberty.
"Anyway, so it was done. The Queen glanced over the two writings and forthwith declared that one was true and the other false. So the one she had declared the true king was restored to his crown and throne and dignities, whilst the other, still indignantly protesting his royalty, was beheaded for high treason.
"That had been the end of it, save that many years later, when the king had died and the aged Queen Zeld6 was on her deathbed, she confessed that she had wantonly chosen the wrong screed—that penned by Prince Fusor and not that by King Fusas.
" 'But grandmother!' cried the young princess to whom she made this avowal. 'Why did you ever do such a wicked thing?'
" 'Because,' said Queen Mother Zelde, 'I never liked that pig Fusas. His breath smelt bad, and when he made love he was always finished before I had even begun to warm up. I thought that by trading him for his brother I might get somebody more to my taste. But alas! Fusor proved identical with his brother in these as in other respects.' And so she died."
Vanora, however, remained scornful. "You're a fearful braggart, Master Jorian," she said at last. "I'll wager you cannot do one half the feats whereof you boast."
Jorian smiled ingratiatingly. "Well, any man would wish to put his best foot forward with an attractive girl, now wouldn't he?"
She snorted. 'To what end? You are not even man enough to enjoy the fruits of gallantry, unless you are first stoked with enough victuals to sate a lion."
"I could show you—"
"Never mind, sirrah; you don't appeal to me."
"I am wounded unto death, as by one of the silvans' poisoned shafts!" cried Jorian, clasping his heart and pretending to faint. "What else would you like me to demonstrate?"
"That lock-picking skill, for example. See you the door of yonder cage?"
Jorian approached the cage. The ape-man, an exceptionally ugly one covered with short, grizzled hair, growled at him. Then, as Vanora came up to the bars, she extended a hand through them. The ape-man took the hand in his own and kissed it.
"A real gallant, this Komilakhian!" said Jorian, examining the lock. "What does Rhithos keep him for? He does not work the creature, as he does the squirrel, and the beast-man must be fed. What's the purpose?"
Vanora had been speaking to the ape-man in the latter's own clucking, hissing tongue. She said: "Rhithos means to use Zor here in the final stage of the making of the sword Randir. The concluding spell calls for thrusting the red-hot blade through the poor creature and leaving it there until it has cooled; then its edge is tested by striking off Zor's head. The spell should properly be performed with a human captive, but Rhithos assures me 'twill work as well with Zor, who is at least halfway to humanhood and is less likely to embroil us with vengeful kinfolk than would a man."
"The poor halfling! Zor seems to like you."
"More than that; he's in love with me."
"How do you know?"
"Look at him, stupid!"
"Oh, I see what you mean." Jorian fumbled in a small pouch, pinned to the inner side of his breeches, and brought out a short length of stout, bent wire. "I think this will take care of Zor's lock. Hold the cage door."
He inserted the wire into the lock, felt about, and twisted. The bolt clicked back.
"Beware!" said Jorian. "Zor might—"
Instead of helping Jorian to hold the cage door shut, Vanora stepped back and uttered a word in Zor's language. With a roar, the ape-man hurled himself against the door. He was even heavier and stronger than Jorian, and the force of his impact was irresistible. Sent staggering back, Jorian caught his heel and sat down in the dirt, while the door flew open and Zor rushed out.