Then he heard the sounds of a battle from the far slope. A man was shouting, more in rage or pain than in fear, weapons were clanging on rocks, and feather-monkeys were chattering and squeaking furiously. He left the trail and cut through the underbrush until he could see down the trail beyond the top of the pass.

A green-gloved knight sat against a tilted slab of rock, his broadsword in one hand and his other arm bleeding and apparently useless. There was more blood on one leg. Just beyond the reach of his sword, three of the feather-monkeys were jumping up and down. A fourth lay twitching on the path, cut in half. Every so often, one of the feather-monkeys would dart toward the knight, then jump back unharmed as he slashed at it.

Blade wondered why one of them didn't climb up on top of the rock slab and jump down. Perhaps it was too smooth or too high? Certainly this wouldn't make any difference in the end. The knight couldn't stay lucky forever. One of the monkeys would reach him with its poisoned dagger, and that would be the end for him, even if he killed the monkey. Or the monkeys might go on taunting him until he collapsed from exhaustion and loss of blood, then move in for an easy kill. Blade decided he was going to save the knight. Whether or not he got an introduction to the local nobility out of it, he couldn't leave the man to be killed.

The first thing to do was cut down the odds. He wasn't going to risk his bare legs against all three monkeys at close range. He searched the ground, looking for a proper stone. When he found one, he crept down to within easy throwing range, judged the distance carefully, then sprang up and threw.

At his public school, Blade was the best bowler on the cricket team. The stone hit the nearest monkey in the head, splattering its brains. The other two monkeys leaped into the air in surprise and fright. One of them came down within reach of the knight's sword. A desperate slash cut off both legs; a second slash cut off its head. Then Blade ran toward the third monkey, to draw it away from the knight.

He succeeded, but almost got himself killed. The third monkey had a diabolical skill at guessing where Blade's legs would be. Several times he had to leap desperately to avoid being stabbed, without time to watch his footing. On the rocky, sloping ground, he knew this meant a fall sooner or later. That might give the feather-monkey all the time it needed.

The strange, almost unnatural duel between the two-foot monkey and the six-foot man went on. Blade realized that he might be able to keep moving until the monkey got tired and slowed down, or lure it within range of the knight's sword. Or perhaps, if he fell deliberately, catching the monkey off its guard…?

Yes.

He waited until he and the monkey circled around each other again, and he was facing downhill. Then he pretended to have a rock slide out from under his foot. He went down on his back, using all his unarmed-combat skill to land unhurt, but still bruising and gouging himself from shoulders to buttocks. The knight roared a curse and the feather-monkey leaped forward with a squeal of triumph. The green-slimed dagger gleamed repulsively in its paw.

Then Blade's arm whipped forward and a handful of gravel hit the monkey like the blast from a shotgun. It wasn't seriously hurt, but it squealed and closed its eyes for a moment, without jumping back out of Blade's reach.

That was all he needed. He foot shot out and took the monkey in the ribs. It flew into the air like a mortar shell with a squeal of pain and terror, traveled at least fifty feet, bounced twice, and lay still.

Blade got up, made sure the knight was fit to be left alone for a little longer, and walked down to make sure the monkey was dead. It was. He felt none of the triumph or even the satisfaction he usually felt after winning a fight. As dangerous an opponent as the monkey was, there was something disgusting about a fight with such a small creature.

By the time he returned, the knight was struggling to get to his feet. Blade reached out a hand to help him up. Instead of taking a firm grip, the knight jerked his own good hand back and picked up his sword.

«You are no Lord from the Lands of the Crimson River,» he said sharply, giving the tall, half-naked stranger in front of him the once over. «And I gave you no permission to touch me.»

Blade frowned. «You can hardly-«

«Nor did I give you permission to speak. That is two offenses against a Lord to your name. If you will tell me what that name is, I may ask that your punishment be light. If you commit the third offense of trying to conceal who you are, I can have no mercy. Nor would I wish to.» He laid his sword across his knees.

Blade was already tired, hungry, thirsty, sore, and angry over the fight with the monkey. The knight's arrogance was the last straw. «I don't need your mercy,» he snapped. «You can save it for those who need it, like yourself. You're tired, you're wounded, and there may be more of those damned monkeys around. You'll be very lucky to reach home without help, and frankly I don't much care if you do. If you're an example of a Lord, then no man in his right mind could want to be one!»

The Lord's head jerked back at Blade's words, as if the Englishman had slapped him. Then he bowed his head on his chest and laid his sword down. Tonelessly he mumbled, «I have spoken words against the honor of a Lord. I have spoken words against the honor of a Lord. I have spoken words against the honor of a Lord.» He raised his head and looked at Blade. «You have the right to challenge me when I am fit to fight. You might even have the right to leave me here to die, for I-«

«I'm not leaving you here to die,» said Blade. «Forget that idea right now.» It was the first thing he could think of, and he said it mostly so that his confusion wouldn't show on his face. From fierce arrogance to almost cringing apologies in a moment-was this man mad?

«You do not need to forgive me for not recognizing you until you spoke,» said the Lord. «I was taught not to judge a Lord by his garb when I was only twelve. There is no excuse for my forgetting it. None!»

The light dawned in Blade's mind. The society in this Dimension was rigidly divided into Lords and everybody else. The Lords were the masters, their status carefully guarded by laws and customs as well as their own weapons. No non-Lord would dare to talk back to a Lord the way Blade had. Therefore he had to be a Lord, however strangely he was dressed. Sometimes rigid class systems, stupid customs, and narrow minds could be useful.

He laughed. «Indeed I am probably dressed less like a Lord than any Lord you have seen since you were twelve. So I do forgive you for that mistake, now that you have freely admitted it. I have made worse mistakes myself, and have the scars to prove it.» Indeed Blade had scars enough to prove almost any story he wanted to tell anyone in any Dimension.

He looked around. «Now-my offer to help you out of here stands. I am more than willing to discuss the mistakes Lords can make with any man, but not here and now. Not when more of those cursed little creatures may appear at any moment.» He wasn't sure what the feather-monkey's name was in this land, and didn't want to give himself away by calling them by the wrong one. The computer had done its usual job of altering his brain so that he and the Lord could understand each other, but it never took care of minor details like this.

The Lord sighed and nodded, then let Blade help him up. After a few cautious steps, he found he could walk, leaning on his sword. Blade borrowed the Lord's dagger and cut a crude staff for him from a nearby bush. «I think we'd better keep our weapons ready.»

«Very true, although I am not sure the danger is from the Feather People. There shouldn't be any more nearby.» He frowned. «But there shouldn't have been any at all, except-«He broke off with a look at Blade, as if he'd just realized he was about to say something a stranger should not hear.