"Smith of Earth," he said, automatically.
"I did not tell you to talk, Smith of Earth. And if your card says Earth
of Smith, how am I to know? A mistake, yes--but an understandable one.
I'm a historian, and I have heard of neither planet. Where is this
Earth? Talk, Smith!"
He stood up, although it wasn't really necessary, and he could feel his
knees trembling slightly. "Earth is a few parsecs from Sirius, and
Sirius I think you know."
"I know Sirius. Now talk!"
"What is it you want me to say? I don't feel much like talking--"
"Yet you speak so loud that the room fairly rocks with it. I wanted you
to tell us why you did not agree with the answer just now rendered. It
is, I feel, a good one. Talk."
"Then I agree, it is a good one." Smith did not want to get involved. He
wanted to be a good, quietly efficient student. Nothing more. But he
forgot that the instructor could read minds.
"You lie, Smith of Earth. I won't go into it any further, because it is
your privilege if you want to lie. But you are not to listen for the
remainder of this lecture. Do not listen."
Smith nodded, cursed himself mentally because he had made such a mess of
things here at his very first lecture, and headed for the door.
"Smith of Earth! Just where under the red sun do you think you are
going?"
"You told me not to listen, so--"
"I didn't say talk. Talk now."
"--so I'm leaving the room."
"No one leaves until the lecture has been concluded. Sit if you will, or
stand, but stay here. And do not listen."
Smith nodded, turned back to the row of benches dumbly. He found a place
next to Brandog of Hulpin, sat near the albino woman. Down the bench, he
saw Jorak grinning broadly. Smith did not know how he was going to sit
there without listening, but he decided he'd better not ask that
question now.
* * * * *
"This is your course in Wortan fighting," boomed the giant of an
instructor. "Dominants only, or such Receptives as question their
classification." The instructor's massive face was beefy, the color of
new-spilled blood, and the muscles rippled and bulged and seethed under
his black uniform.
"Me for this!" confided Kard of Shilon, slapping Smith's back. "Perhaps
Jorak has told you that I am not without ability on the Wortan mats."
Smith hardly heard him. Two dozen paces across the room, on the other
side of the circle that surrounded the instructor, stood Geria, hands on
hips, lips soft-smiling when she saw Smith, silver tunic to her knees,
yellow hair hanging free to shoulders.
"Join me, Smith of Earth?" she called, and knees watery again, Smith
made his way around the circle.
While Jorak gaped, Geria took Smith's hand when they met half way around
the circle, and she smiled up at him. "I wouldn't have believed it, but
you're blushing again. Earth trait, Smith?"
"No, not really," he stammered.
The slim girl was about to say something, but the instructor cleared his
throat ominously, and the room became silent again. "Now, then,"
declared the giant, "there's no trick to fighting with psi-powers.
Anyone can do that, and the women of Bortinot, as you know, are
particularly adept. But the people of Wortan have no such powers, and
they must depend on tooth and nail, on sinew and bone and animal
cunning. Such is the way the Wortanians do battle--and, purely for
sport, such is the way of Wortan fighting. Any questions?"
"Yes," Geria told him, "I have one. Are we not permitted to use any
psi-powers?"
"None. They disqualify you."
"Well, then I suppose I must withdraw from the course. I can't be
expected to stand up to a man physically. I'm not built that way--and
very few women are, Dominant or Receptive."
Smith had not expected this, but now he felt a warm glow in his breast.
He almost wanted to put his arm about the woman's shoulders,
protectively. How could such a delicate beautiful thing be expected to
fight?
The instructor said, "I won't argue with you. I can't remember a woman
ever lasting in Wortan fighting, but if they're Dominants they're
automatically entered. The rest of you can do like--"
The words came out before Smith could stop them. "In that case, can
anyone tell me the difference between a Dominant and a Receptive?"
There was a lot of laughter in the room, and Smith thought it would have
been the same had he, as a child, asked the difference between boy and
girl. "Ah, old Earthsmith!" he heard Jorak's voice. "Everytime he opens
his mouth new wisdom spews forth."
Pale eyes looked out of the instructor's blood-red face. "Obviously,
you're joking. I'm here to answer questions, among other things, but you
couldn't be serious."
And Smith heard his own dull voice reply:
"No, certainly not. I was only joking."
Said Geria, "Silly, a Dominant has more psi-powers, that's all. But you
really didn't know, did you?"
"There are no psi-powers on Earth to speak of," Smith reminded her.
"Hmm, very true. In that case, maybe you're all Receptives--male and
female. But don't feel too badly, Smith; Wortan's the same way, and
Wortan has a first-rate culture. Look: they even have an instructor here
at the school."
The instructor of Wortan fighting was a Wortanian, of course. And here,
in Wortan fighting, Smith might feel at home. But he hardly expected to
excel at the school by breaking someone's back, or pinning him
helplessly to the Wortan mat. Suddenly he found himself thinking of
Earth, thinking of the trust that had been put in him as Earth's first
student at the school. But his thoughts did not remain there long--his
eyes took in the soft yellow of Geria's hair, and Earth faded far away.
"--volunteers," the instructor was saying. "Does anyone want to step on
the mat with me for a fall or two?"
"I recommend Earthsmith," came Jorak's voice. "Positively--Earthsmith's
your man."
Smith felt his face becoming very red again, but Geria nudged him with
an elbow. "Go ahead, Smith--why not? You told me once you didn't fear
anyone in the room of the registrar, not in physical combat. Go ahead."
"I know, but--"
"Go ahead, Smith. Show me."
He could do that. Yes, he could show her. But what if he were
wrong--they might know a trick or two that would make him look foolish.
And he wouldn't want that, not in front of Geria. "I am tired," he said.
"I didn't sleep well last night."
The instructor rescued him. "I didn't ask you to recommend. I asked for
volunteers. But you who spoke, what's your name?"
"I am Jorak of Gyra," said Jorak, purple face paling.
"You'll do. On the mat, man of Gyra."
Jorak stepped forward, slowly, in no hurry to meet the giant. Smith
heard Kard's mocking laugh. "Ho, Jorak--he'll tear you in half. Now if
he had asked for a man of Shilon ... a real man...."
And still laughing, the Shilonian heaved mightily with both his hands
and sent Jorak stumbling out onto the mat. The man of Gyra fell and
skidded on his stomach, turned over once and finally came up into a
sitting position at the instructor's feet. Kard was grinning, but Jorak
saw nothing funny in what had happened. He stood up slowly, wheezing,
and his gaze raked the circle. It flicked past Kard rapidly, kept going,
poised a moment on Geria, then reached Smith. Jorak shook his fist. "All
right, Earthsmith, I'll get you for this."