of Shilon."

The instructor smiled. "Well, we will pair off now. You can select me,
if you wish. Those who want to drop out of the course, step back from
the circle. We need room--"

All the women moved away, slowly, reluctantly. They were Dominants,
every one, and Smith sensed they longed to use their psi-powers. Some of
them trembled nervously from the exhibition they had seen, some wiped
sweat from white and pink and green brow. One tall albino woman seemed
hesitant, stepped back toward the circle, but she backed away again when
a gold man big as Kard of Shilon strode forward eagerly.

Against the wall stood the dozen women, rapt eyes intent on the men as
they paired off. And this, Smith thought bitterly, is culture. This is
what Earth had missed by closing its star lanes. Well, Earth....

"Don't sulk, Smith of Earth," Geria told him, and Smith realized,
shamefully, that he had slunk off with the women. "I say there is
something glorious about fighting tooth and nail. Not depraved,
certainly, unless you insist on judging it by a hidebound ethic. Go back
to the mats, Smith--for me."

He looked long at the woman, saw no guile in her eyes. Who was he to
judge? Could he dare pass judgment on a society that had left Earth
behind a score of thousand years ago? The men of Earth hadn't sent him
here, half way across the galaxy to do that.

* * * * *

He turned and walked stiffly to the mats. By now the men had paired off
two and two, stood facing each other in pairs. Kard of Shilon and the
thick-thewed instructor, great gold man and chunky red, reed-slender
green man and giant orange, albinos two like alabaster statues.

From the circle came Jorak, hands to bruised neck. He stopped, looked
Smith up and down grimly, smiled. "You have no partner, Earthsmith?"

"I'm looking for one."

"Well, look no more. I am tired and hurt, but I'd like to join you on
the mat." He shrugged. "Of course, if you're afraid--"

Smith still did not feel like fighting. It might as well be Jorak as any
other--he certainly had more reason to fight Jorak. Vaguely, it seemed a
needless expenditure of energy. But he had done it again: he had put the
shoe on the wrong foot--he, Smith, stood up for judgment, not the
school. "Good enough, Jorak," he said.

In a moment, the instructor signaled them all to begin, and Smith had
one brief look at the dozen pairs of men, grappling, heard the
instructor shout, "one fal