t as the sabre slammed down before a heavy Yill in
ornate metallic coils. The challenged Yill rose and raised a fist. The
other ducked his head, put his hands on his helmet. Coins rolled. The
dancer moved on.

Twice more the dancer struck the table in ritualistic challenge,
exchanged gestures, bent his neck and passed on. He circled the broad
floor, sabre twirling, arms darting in an intricate symbolism. The
orchestra blared shrilly, unmuffled now by the surf-roar of
conversation. The Yill, Retief noticed suddenly, were sitting silent,
watching. The dancer was closer now, and then he was before Retief,
poised, towering, sabre above his head.

The music cut, and in the startling instantaneous silence, the heavy
sabre whipped over and down with an explosive concussion that set dishes
dancing on the table-top.

* * * * *

The Yill's eyes held on Retief's. In the silence, Magnan tittered
drunkenly. Retief pushed back his stool.

"Steady, my boy," Ambassador Spradley called. Retief stood, the Yill
topping his six foot three by an inch. In a motion almost too quick to
follow, Retief reached for the sabre, twitched it from the Yill's grip,
swung it in a whistling cut. The Yill ducked, sprang back, snatched up a
sabre dropped by another dancer.

"Someone stop the madman!" Spradley howled.

Retief leaped across the table, sending fragile dishes spinning.

The other danced back, and only then did the orchestra spring to life
with a screech and a mad tattoo of high-pitched drums.

Making no attempt to following the weaving pattern of the Yill bolero,
Retief pressed the other, fending off vicious cuts with the blunt
weapon, chopping back relentlessly. Left hand on hip, Retief matched
blow for blow, driving the other back.

Abruptly, the Yill abandoned the double role. Dancing forgotten, he
settled down in earnest, cutting, thrusting, parrying; and now the two
stood toe to toe, sabres clashing in a lightning exchange. The Yill gave
a step, two, then rallied, drove Retief back, back----

And the Yill stumbled. His sabre clattered, and Retief dropped his point
as the other wavered past him and crashed to the floor.

The orchestra fell silent in a descending wail of reeds. Retief drew a
deep breath and wiped his forehead.

"Come back here, you young fool!" Spradley called hoarsely.

Retief hefted the sabre, turned, eyed the brocade-draped table. He
started across the floor. The Yill sat a