Jason had the barest glimpse of the shocked expression on his face as the man’s arms swung down, his hands still locked tightly about the hilt that supported the merest stub of a blade. The force of the blow had knocked Jason’s arm down and he moved with the motion, letting the knife swing down and around, and up.

The point tore through the leather clothing and struck the man iow in the abdomen, penetrating to the hilt. Bracing himself, Jason jerked upward with all his strength, cutting a deep and hideous wound through the man’s internal organs until the blade grated against the clavicle in his chest. He held the knife there as the man’s eyeballs rolled back into his head and Jason knew thét he was dead.

Jason pulled the knife out and stepped back. The corpse slid to the floor at his feet.

“I will see that knife,” Temuchin said.

“We have very good iron in our valley,” Jason told him, bending to wipe the knife on the dead man’s clothing. “It makes good steel.” He flipped the knife in the air, catching it by the tip, and extended the hilt to Temuchin, who examined it for a moment, then called to the soldiers.

“Hold the wounded one’s neck out,” he said.

The man struggled for a moment, then sank into the apathy of one already dead. Two soldiers held him while a third clutched his long hair with both hands and pulled him forward, face downward, with his dirt-lined neck bare and straight. Temuchin walked over, balancing the knife in his hand, then raised it straight over his head.

With a single galvanic thrust of his muscles, he swung the knife down against the neck and a meaty chunnk filled the silent cainach.

The tension released, the soldier moved back a step, the severed head swinging from his fingers. The blood-spurting body was unceremoniously dropped to the ground.

“I like this knife,” Temuchin said. “I will keep it.”

“I was about to present it to you,” Jason said, bowing to hide his scowl. He should have realized that this would happen. Well, it was just a knife.

“Do your people know much of the old science?” Temuchin asked, dropping the knife for a servant to pick up and clean. Jason was instantly on his guard.

“No more or lessthan other tribes,” he said.

“None of them can make iron like this.”

“It is an old secret, passed on from father to son.”

“There could be other old secrets.” His voice was as hard and cold as the steel itself.

“Perhaps.”

“There is a lost secret then that you may have heard 0f. Some call it ‘flamepowder’ and others, ‘gunpowder.’ What do you know of this?”

Indeed, what do I know of this? Jason thought, trying to read something from the other’s fixed expression. What could a barbarian jongleur know of such things?

And if this was a trap, what should Jason tell him?

Meta made no protest as Jason washed the dirt from her cuts and sprayed them with dermafoam. The medikit had sewn 14 stitches into the cut on her skull, but he had done this while she was still unconscious and had covered the shaved area with a bandage. She had come to right after this, but had not moved or complained when he had put two more stitches in her split upper lip.

Grif breathed a hoarse snore from the mound of furs where Jason had placed him. The boy’s wounds were mostly superficial and the medikit had advised sedation, which suggestion Jason had complied with.

“It’s all over now,” Jason said. “You had better get some rest.”

“There were too many of them,” Meta said, “but we did the best we could. Let me have a mirror. They surprised me, going for the boy first, but it was a wise plan. He went down at once. Then they came at me and I could not talk to you any more.” She took the polished steel mirror from Jason, had one brief glance and handed it back. “I look terrible. It must have been a quick fight. I don’t remember too clearly. Some of them had clubs, the women, and they tried to hit my legs. I know I killed at least three or four, one of the women, before I went down. What happened then?”

Jason took the aehadh skin and worked the hidden valve on the mouthpiece that sealed off the fermented milk and opened the reservoir of spiced alcohol that the Pyrrans favored.

“Drink?” he asked, but she shook her head. He joined himself and had a long one. “Skipping the finer details for the moment, I managed to send some of the troopers after you. They brought back both of you, and a few rat survivors, all of whom are now dead. I killed the unwounded one myself in true Pyrran, vengeance fashion, for which I do not feel too ashamed. But I had to give my knife to Temuchin, who instantly spotted the advanced level of technology. I’m very glad now that I hand, forged it and that the tool marks can still be seen. Bight away he asked me if we Pyrrans knew anything about gunpowder, which rocked me. I played it slippery, told him I knew nothing, just the name, but perhaps others in the tribe knew more. He bought that for the time being, I think. You just can’t tell with that guy. But he wants us to move in. At dawn we have to truck our camach into the camp next to his, and say good-bye to Shanin and his rats, whom we shall not miss. And in case we should change our minds, there is a squad of Temuchin’s boys waiting outside. I still haven’t decided whether we are prisoners or not.”

“I know I look terrible this way,” she said, her head nodding.

“You’ll always look good to me,” Jason told her cheeringly, then realized that he meant it. He twisted the medikit to full sedation and pressed it to her arm. She did not protest. With more than a small amount of guilt, and the feeling that he alone was responsible for their danger and pain, Jason laid her down on the furs next to the boy and covered them both. What bit of insane stupidity was it that had permitted him to involve a woman and a child in this murderous business? Then he remembered that conditions here were still far better than they were on Pyrrus, and he had probably saved their lives by getting them away. He looked at their bruises and shuddered, and wondered if they would thank him for it.

In the morning the two wounded Pyrrans had just enough strength to stumble out of the camach so that Jason could supervise its clismanding by the soldiers. They grumbled about woman’s work, but Jason would allow none of Shanin’s tribespeople near any of his belongings. After all the recent deaths, he was sure that his feud had widened its boundaries until it took in a good portion of the tribe: It was only after Jason had lubricated their spirits with a large skin of high-proof achadh that the soldiers buckled down to finish the job and to load the escung. Jason strapped Meta and Crlf in under the furs, in much the same way that he had been carried after his capture, and the small caravan set out, hurried on its way by many dark looks.

In Temuchin’s own camp, there were enough females who could be drafted for the degrading labor so that the men could stand and watch, which was their normal contribution. Jason could not stay to supervise. He left this to Meta, because a message arrived demanding his instant appearance before Temuchin.

The two guards at the entrance to the warlord’s cainach stood aside when Jason approached. At least he had some prestige among the enlisted men. Temuchin was alone, holding Jason’s knife, which was drenched with blood. Jason stopped, then relaxed when Temuchin seized the point and, with a quick snap of his wrist, sent it whistling through the air to sink deep into the carcass of a goat that he was using for a target.

“This knife has good balance,” Temuchin said. “Throws well.”

Jason nodded silently for he knew that he had not been summoned to an audience just to hear that.

“Tell me all you know about gunpowder,” Temuchin said, bending over to retrieve the knife.