"No." He had been here three times with Dryland bands but it was hardly
likely that anyone would remember one specific tribesman out of the
numbers that floated through.
"Then stand steady," Arrin said.
He stood. The people watched him, whispering and smiling among
themselves. Then the man in the yellow kilt said,
"Earthman or Drylander, I don't like your face."
The crowd laughed, and a forward movement began. Carey could hear the
sweet small chiming of the bells the women wore. He gripped the axe and
told Arrin to get away from him. "If you know where Derech's gone, go
after him. I'll hold them as long as I can."
He did not know whether she left him or not. He was watching the crowd,
seeing the sharp blades flash. It seemed ridiculous, in this age of
space flight and atomic power, to be fighting with axe and knife. But
Mars had had nothing better for a long time, and the UW Peace and
Disarmament people hoped to take even those away from them some day. On
Earth, Carey remembered, there were still peoples who hardened their
wooden spears in the fire and ate their enemies. The knives, in any
case, could kill efficiently enough. He stepped back a little from the
rail to give the axe free play, and he was not cold any longer, but
warm with a heat that stung his nerve-ends.
Derech's voice shouted across the square.
The crowd paused. Carey could see over their heads to where Derech,
with about half his crew around him, was forcing his way through. He
looked and sounded furious.
"I'll kill the first man that touches him!" he yelled.