Retief leaned back, grateful for the lull in the music. The last of the
dishes were whisked away, and more glasses filled. The exhausted
entertainers stopped to pick up the thick square coins the diners threw.
Retief sighed. It had been a rare feast.
"Retief," Magnan said in the comparative quiet, "what were you saying
about dog food as the music came up?"
Retief looked at him. "Haven't you noticed the pattern, Mr. Magnan? The
series of deliberate affronts?"
"Deliberate affronts! Just a minute, Retief. They're uncouth, yes,
crowding into doorways and that sort of thing...." He looked at Retief
uncertainly.
"They herded us into a baggage warehouse at the terminal. Then they
hauled us here in a garbage truck----"
"Garbage truck!"
"Only symbolic, of course. They ushered us in the tradesman's entrance,
and assigned us cubicles in the servants' wing. Then we were seated
with the coolie class sweepers at the bottom of the table."
"You must be.... I mean, we're the Terrestrial delegation! Surely these
Yill must realize our power."
"Precisely, Mr. Magnan. But----"
With a clang of cymbals the musicians launched a renewed assault. Six
tall, helmeted Yill sprang into the center of the floor and paired off
in a wild performance, half dance, half combat. Magnan pulled at
Retief's arm, his mouth moving.
Retief shook his head. No one could talk against a Yill orchestra in
full cry. He sampled a bright red wine and watched the show.
There was a flurry of action, and two of the dancers stumbled and
collapsed, their partner-opponents whirling away to pair off again,
describe the elaborate pre-combat ritual, and abruptly set to, dulled
sabres clashing--and two more Yill were down, stunned. It was a violent
dance.
Retief watched, the drink forgotten.
The last two Yill approached and retreated, whirled, bobbed and spun,
feinted and postured--and on the instant, clashed, straining
chest-to-chest--then broke apart, heavy weapons chopping, parrying, as
the music mounted to a frenzy.
[Illustration]
Evenly matched, the two hacked, thrust, blow for blow, across the
floor, then back, defense forgotten, slugging it out.
And then one was slipping, going down, helmet awry. The other, a giant,
muscular Yill, spun away, whirled in a mad skirl of pipes as coins
showered--then froze before a gaudy table, raised the sabre and slammed
it down in a resounding blow across the gay cloth before a lace and
bow-bedecked Yill in the same instant that the music stopped.
In utter silence the dancer-fighter stared across the table at the
seated Yill.
With a shout, the Yill leaped up, raised a clenched fist. The dancer
bowed his head, spread his hands on his helmet.
Retief took a deep gulp of a pale yellow liqueur and leaned forward to
watch. The beribboned Yill waved a hand negligently, spilled a handful
of coins across the table and sat down.
The challenger spun away in a screeching shrill of music. Retief caught
his eye for an instant as he passed.
And then the dancer stood rigid before the brocaded table--and the music
stopped off short as the sabre slammed down before a heavy Yill in
ornate metallic coils. The challenged Yill rose and raised a fist. The
other ducked his head, put his hands on his helmet. Coins rolled. The
dancer moved on.
Twice more the dancer struck the table in ritualistic challenge,
exchanged gestures, bent his neck and passed on. He circled the broad
floor, sabre twirling, arms darting in an intricate symbolism. The
orchestra blared shrilly, unmuffled now by the surf-roar of
conversation. The Yill, Retief noticed suddenly, were sitting silent,
watching. The dancer was closer now, and then he was before Retief,
poised, towering, sabre above his head.
The music cut, and in the startling instantaneous silence, the heavy
sabre whipped over and down with an explosive concussion that set dishes
dancing on the table-top.
* * * * *
The Yill's eyes held on Retief's. In the silence, Magnan tittered
drunkenly. Retief pushed back his stool.
"Steady, my boy," Ambassador Spradley called. Retief stood, the Yill
topping his six foot three by an inch. In a motion almost too quick to
follow, Retief reached for the sabre, twitched it from the Yill's grip,
swung it in a whistling cut. The Yill ducked, sprang back, snatched up a
sabre dropped by another dancer.
"Someone stop the madman!" Spradley howled.
Retief leaped across the table, sending fragile dishes spinning.
The other danced back, and only then did the orchestra spring to life
with a screech and a mad tattoo of high-pitched drums.
Making no attempt to following the weaving pattern of the Yill bolero,
Retief pressed the other, fending off vicious cuts with the blunt
weapon, chopping back relentlessly. Left hand on hip, Retief matched
blow for blow, driving the other back.
Abruptly, the Yill abandoned the double role. Dancing forgotten, he
settled down in earnest, cutting, thrusting, parrying; and now the two
stood toe to toe, sabres clashing in a lightning exchange. The Yill gave
a step, two, then rallied, drove Retief back, back----
And the Yill stumbled. His sabre clattered, and Retief dropped his point
as the other wavered past him and crashed to the floor.
The orchestra fell silent in a descending wail of reeds. Retief drew a
deep breath and wiped his forehead.
"Come back here, you young fool!" Spradley called hoarsely.
Retief hefted the sabre, turned, eyed the brocade-draped table. He
started across the floor. The Yill sat as if paralyzed.
"Retief, no!" Spradley yelped.
Retief walked directly to the Admirable F'Kau-Kau-Kau, stopped, raised
the sabre.
"Not the chief of state," someone in the Terrestrial mission groaned.
Retief whipped the sabre down. The dull blade split the cloth and clove
the hardwood table. There was utter silence.
The Admirable F'Kau-Kau-Kau rose, seven feet of obese gray Yill. Broad
face expressionless to any Terran eyes, he raised a fist like a
jewel-studded ham.
Retief stood rigid for a long moment. Then, gracefully, he inclined his
head, placed his finger tips on his temples.
Behind him, there was a clatter as Ambassador Spradley collapsed. Then
the Admirable F'Kau-Kau-Kau cried out and reached across the table to
embrace the Terrestrial, and the orchestra went mad.
Gray hands helped Retief across the table, stools were pushed aside to
make room at F'Kau-Kau-Kau's side. Retief sat, took a tall flagon of
coal-black brandy pressed on him by his neighbor, clashed glasses with
The Admirable and drank.