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determined to do all the damage he could nonetheless. Through a haze of pain, Harkins managed to wriggle out from under Jorn and get to his feet, breathing hard. A trickle of blood wound saltily over his tongue and out the corner of his mouth.
    Jorn backed off. The adversaries faced each other. Harkins felt cold, almost icy; this would have to be a battle to the death, and somehow he suspected there would be no interference by robots or Star Giants this time.
    He had blundered seriously in his approach. He needed Jorn’s guidance in order to reach the Tunnel City—but by implying a sharing of power, he had scraped raw nerves in the tribal leader. And, thought Harkins, his final remark had been sheer stupidity; a logical man would prefer half an empire to an entire squiredom, but Jorn was not logical.
    â€œCome on,” Jorn said beckoning with a powerful fist. “Come close where I can reach you.”
    Harkins considered flight, then abandoned the idea. It was getting dark; besides, Jorn could probably outrun him.
    No; he would have to stand and face it.
    Jorn stepped forward, holding his huge hands out invitingly. As he lunged, Harkins sidestepped and clubbed down hard on Jorn’s neck. The big man wavered at the rabbit-punch, but did not fall. Harkins followed up his advantage by pounding three quick and ineffectual blows to Jorn’s sides, and then the big man recovered.
    He seized Harkins by one arm and drew him close. Sorry , Harkins thought unregretfully, and brought up one knee. Jorn let go and doubled up.
    Harkins was on him in an instant—but, to his surprise, he found that Jorn was still in full command of himself despite the kneeing. The big man put his head down and butted. Harkins fell over backward, gasping for air, clawing at the sky. It had been like being hit in the stomach by a battering ram—and for a dizzy second Harkins felt that he was about to drown on dry land.
    Jorn was moving in for the kill now. Once he reached the throat, it would be all over. Harkins watched helplessly as the big hands lowered. Jorn leaned forward.
    Suddenly, Harkins kicked upward, and with what little strength he had left, he pushed . Hard. Jorn, taken unawares, lost his balance, toppled backward—
    And to Harkins’ horror fell against the spine-tree at the edge of the little clearing.
    Jorn screamed just once—as the foot-long spike of bone slipped between his vertebrae. He struggled fitfully for a fraction of an instant, then subsided and stared bitterly and perplexedly at Harkins until his eyes closed. A few drops of blood mingled with the matted hair on Jorn’s chest. The tip of the spike was barely visible, a mere eighth of an inch protruding near Jorn’s left breast.
    It had obviously penetrated his heart.
    Harkins looked uncomprehendingly at the impaled man for a full thirty seconds, not yet realizing that the contest was over and he had won. He had fully expected to lose, fully expected this to be his last hour—and, instead, Jorn lay dead. It had happened too quickly.
    A lurking shadow dropped over the scene. Harkins glanced up. A Star Giant stood about a hundred feet away, hip-deep in low-lying shrubs, staring far out into the distance. Harkins wondered if the huge alien had witnessed the combat.
    The adrenalin was draining out of his system now. Calming, he tried to evaluate the situation as it now stood. With Jorn dead, the next move would be to establish control over the tribe himself. And that—
    â€œJorn!” a feminine voice cried. “Jorn, are you in there? We’re waiting to eat.”
    Harkins turned. “Hello, Katha.”
    She stared stonily past him. “Where’s Jorn?” she asked. “What are you doing back here?”
    â€œJorn’s over there,” Harkins said cruelly, and stepped aside to let her see.
    The look in her eyes was frightening. She turned from Jorn’s body to Harkins and said, “Did you do