The instructor bellowed a warning and came for Jorak.
* * * * *
For some reason Smith found he couldn't keep his eyes off the fray, and
he found his own breath coming in ragged gasps. Geria watched with a
dispassionate interest. "Poor man of Gyra," she said. "It might be a
different story if he could use some of his psi-powers. The men of Gyra
have a little of that, you know."
"Well, why can't he?"
"He'd be disqualified, shamed--and maybe worse. I never knew that
psi-powers were not permitted on the Wortan mat, but I did know that the
rules must be adhered to rigidly."
The instructor's massive body stood between them and Jorak, and one of
the great arms circled the man of Gyra's neck. Jorak's purple face
glared straight at Smith, and his body thrashed and wriggled furiously,
like a snake, head held fast by a forked stick. Abruptly, the instructor
stepped back and let go. Jorak fell and lay writhing on the mat, legs
and arms pounding.
"Brute strength is what we want in Wortan," said the instructor,
smoothing his black uniform.
Said Kard of Shilon: "You outweigh Jorak, but I see your point. I wonder
how you would do with a man of Shilon."
The instructor smiled. "Well, we will pair off now. You can select me,
if you wish. Those who want to drop out of the course, step back from
the circle. We need room--"
All the women moved away, slowly, reluctantly. They were Dominants,
every one, and Smith sensed they longed to use their psi-powers. Some of
them trembled nervously from the exhibition they had seen, some wiped
sweat from white and pink and green brow. One tall albino woman seemed
hesitant, stepped back toward the circle, but she backed away again when
a gold man big as Kard of Shilon strode forward eagerly.
Against the wall stood the dozen women, rapt eyes intent on the men as
they paired off. And this, Smith thought bitterly, is culture. This is
what Earth had missed by closing its star lanes. Well, Earth....
"Don't sulk, Smith of Earth," Geria told him, and Smith realized,
shamefully, that he had slunk off with the women. "I say there is
something glorious about fighting tooth and nail. Not depraved,
certainly, unless you insist on judging it by a hidebound ethic. Go back
to the mats, Smith--for me."
He looked long at the woman, saw no guile in her eyes. Who was he to
judge? Could he dare pass judgment on a society that had left Earth
behind a score of thousand years ago? The men of Earth hadn't sent him
here, half way across the galaxy to do that.
* * * * *
He turned and walked stiffly to the mats. By now the men had paired off
two and two, stood facing each other in pairs. Kard of Shilon and the
thick-thewed instructor, great gold man and chunky red, reed-slender
green man and giant orange, albinos two like alabaster statues.
From the circle came Jorak, hands to bruised neck. He stopped, looked
Smith up and down grimly, smiled. "You have no partner, Earthsmith?"
"I'm looking for one."
"Well, look no more. I am tired and hurt, but I'd like to join you on
the mat." He shrugged. "Of course, if you're afraid--"
Smith still did not feel like fighting. It might as well be Jorak as any
other--he certainly had more reason to fight Jorak. Vaguely, it seemed a
needless expenditure of energy. But he had done it again: he had put the
shoe on the wrong foot--he, Smith, stood up for judgment, not the
school. "Good enough, Jorak," he said.
In a moment, the instructor signaled them all to begin, and Smith had
one brief look at the dozen pairs of men, grappling, heard the
instructor shout, "one fall, and one fall only!" And then Jorak was upon
him.
Jorak seemed for all the world like a snake, writhing and twisting with
a deceptive sinewy strength. But calmly Smith stepped out of his reach,
cuffing his ears roundly when he came too close.
"You're afraid, afraid, afraid!" Jorak taunted. "Fight!"
Smith shrugged. If he did not want to fight, he did not want to. But the
women hooted, and they were hooting him, all but Geria who remained
glumly silent.
"This is getting me nowhere," Jorak hissed. "You're making me look like
a fool, Earthsmith." Perspiration bathed the purple face, stained the
sides of Jorak's tunic darkly.
And then he smiled. Smith felt giddy, hardly could keep his legs under
him, yet hardly had Jorak touched him. Then the man of Gyra was using
his psi-powers, despite the sanction. Oddly, Smith felt detached from it
all. Let him use his powers then--that would end it. Let him....
"Fight back, Smith!" Geria cried.
Jorak's powers were not like the woman's. He could induce giddiness,
yes, but not in any overpowering quantities. Smith swayed foolishly,
tipped first to left, then to right, stood for a moment with arms at
sides. Jorak rushed upon him and struck out with both fists, and Smith
stumbled back half a dozen steps, crashed into a pair of struggling
figures, was dimly aware that both fell.
Jorak came on, cocky, confident, and Smith rocked for a moment on the
balls of his feet. Once and once only he lashed out with his right arm,
smeared Jorak's nose flat against his face. Jorak toppled backward and
fell, writhing.
Smith looked around him, panting. The other contestants ceased their
struggles, and the instructor said:
"Someone has used psi. I don't know who, but someone--"