h. Show me."

He could do that. Yes, he could show her. But what if he were
wrong--they might know a trick or two that would make him look foolish.
And he wouldn't want that, not in front of Geria. "I am tired," he said.
"I didn't sleep well last night."

The instructor rescued him. "I didn't ask you to recommend. I asked for
volunteers. But you who spoke, what's your name?"

"I am Jorak of Gyra," said Jorak, purple face paling.

"You'll do. On the mat, man of Gyra."

Jorak stepped forward, slowly, in no hurry to meet the giant. Smith
heard Kard's mocking laugh. "Ho, Jorak--he'll tear you in half. Now if
he had asked for a man of Shilon ... a real man...."

And still laughing, the Shilonian heaved mightily with both his hands
and sent Jorak stumbling out onto the mat. The man of Gyra fell and
skidded on his stomach, turned over once and finally came up into a
sitting position at the instructor's feet. Kard was grinning, but Jorak
saw nothing funny in what had happened. He stood up slowly, wheezing,
and his gaze raked the circle. It flicked past Kard rapidly, kept going,
poised a moment on Geria, then reached Smith. Jorak shook his fist. "All
right, Earthsmith, I'll get you for this."

Geria smiled. "I would say that you have an enemy there."

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