TARAK 18

Tarak sat across the table from the Tarkan of Neros, enjoying his meal, as the morning light filtered through the window, illuminating the room. He had planned to depart earlier, with Kiron, but Foss had insisted that they enjoy at least one meal together, so Tarak had stayed, telling Kiron he would catch up with him later.

The Kalnorian had offered to wait, but Tarak had laughed and assured Kiron that he would be able to overtake him by the day's end, and Kiron, anxious to get started, had left with the morning's first light.

The meal was delicious, and Tarak ate voraciously while talking with his friend about a variety of topics. This was the first time the two men had been really alone, since Foss had won the Tarkanate, and they spent the long meal in cheerful

conversation.

Foss was frowning, however, as they talked about Tarak's decision to travel to Kalnor.

"You have no allegiance to Kalnor," he said. Stay in Neros, or travel with my army, if you must go. You have a home here, and friends."

Tarak shook his heard, smiling at his companion.

"This is not my home, Foss. I am not of Neros Perhaps I am of no city." He shrugged.

"It does not matter. I need no city to call my home. I have no reason to travel to Kalnor, but I do not require a reason. The journey itself is enough."

"Kalnor is dangerous," protested Foss.

Tarak laughed.

"You told me Neros was dangerous, yet here I sit eating tasty meat and drinking fine wine, at the table of the Tarkan!"

"Perhaps you are right," laughed Foss, "but it would be better to wait and travel to Kalnor with my army."

"Armies are for those who need them. I prefer to travel without the sounds and smells of a thousand men surrounding me."

Foss shook his head.

"I fear that I shall see you no more, my friend."

"I shall be in Kalnor, Foss, making preparations to greet you after your armies are victorious."

"I shall look forward to that day."

They talked a while longer, and then Tarak rose to leave, but the Tarkan approached him and grabbed his shoulders in both of his strong hands, and looked into his face for a long moment.

"Do not forget, Tarak, that Neros owes you a debt it can never repay. Her armies are always ready, should you ever find yourself in need. Neros does not forget her friends."

Tarak returned the Tarkan's smile.

"Her Tarkan is all that I shall ever need, but I shall remember, Foss."

Then he turned and left, while Foss stood looking at the empty doorway long after Tarak had passed through and disappeared from view.

Tarak passed through the great gates, and across the bridge, traveling across the stockade and turning left at the road, as Kiron had instructed him.

The Kalnorian had left hours earlier, but Tarak figured to overtake the Tark before nightfall. As he stepped onto the rough, overgrown road, which had in the past supported traffic from several cities, he broke into a long loping stride, one which covered ground quickly and steadily, and which he could keep up for almost any length of time.

He passed a number of people, walking aimlessly, or lunching in the soft grass, and generally enjoying the freedom which had for so long been denied them. These were common citizens, and they paid little attention to the passing barbarian, though some noted with surprise the stripes upon his green tunic, proclaiming him a Rok of the armies of Neros.

Foss had insisted that he so clothe himself, arguing that it would provide him with a measure of safety, for few men would chance incurring the wrath of such a city as Neros by harming one of her roks.

He moved on, and as he increased the distance between himself and Neros, the people became scarce, and finally he saw no more. A few soldiers passed him, and these saluted, but he merely smiled at them, and continued on his way.

A few hours later he heard sounds which indicated that many men approached him from the south. He slowed his pace, listening intently, and eventually saw in the distance a long column of men marching toward him.

Ahead of the column walked a solitary figure, and as Tarak neared the column he noticed that the man had blond hair, the color of his own.

He had been moving along the center of the road, and now he moved to the right, though still upon the highway. The column was moving down the center toward him, and its present course would carry the troops directly into his path.

Though he could easily have moved off the road, he kept on, walking directly at the approaching men. Tarak was willing to move from the center of the road, and he expected no less from those who approached.

Closer and closer the man and the army moved. Tarak walked boldly, but with a casual grace. He inspected the leader of the army, a man of large proportions, almost as tall as Tarak, and with a splendid physique. Beneath the tawny brows bright green eyes glowed as they measured in turn this strange man who walked silently and boldly toward his army.

Tarak was immediately impressed with Atal Throom, as he assumed this man must be. The man was dressed in a yellow tunic, as were his men. Tarak knew that the color of Kalnor's army was blue, but these men had adopted a different color in rebellion.

No badge of rank was in evidence upon Atal Throom's tunic to indicate that he was an officer, or of any other distinction.

None of the warriors, in fact, wore any insignia upon their plain yellow tunics. A simple leather harness hung over the clothing of each man, and this supported a sword and knife. A number of the men also carried other weapons, such as bows and lances, and each man carried the small leather shield fastened to his harness, over the chest.

Atal Throom marched closer, his gaze steady, studying this man who walked so boldly along the road. He noted the young man wore the tunic of a Nerosian Rok, and he frowned, for the man was far too young to have attained such a rank, and appeared not even to be a native Nerosian. Yet the man moved as if he were a Rok, and as if his army were at his heels.

They moved closer. Then, when perhaps twenty feet separated them, Atal Throom moved a step to the right. His men instantly followed, and the road ahead of Tarak was suddenly clear.

They passed each other, their eyes locked, and Tarak nodded, acknowledging the other's gesture.

Atal Throom returned the nod, a half-smile upon his creased, hard face, and then Tarak had passed, and neither looked back. Tarak continued to walk as he passed the troops, and he was impressed with the men, as he had been with their leader. They were lighter in complexion than Nerosians, and he saw many with blond hair such as his own.

They moved with an easy, swinging stride, more relaxed than that used by soldiers of Neros, and Tarak thought that they at least appeared to be excellent troops.

He noted that the soldiers examined him as well as he passed, but none said anything, or made any movement, and he passed silently. After he had left the column behind he estimated that perhaps a thousand men had marched behind their leader, and he wondered where the balance of Atal Throom's army might be. Probably Foss would not have looked favorably upon a larger force marching into the lands of Neros, and the remainder of this army undoubtedly lay somewhere to the south, or to the southeast.

Tarak had increased his speed after he had passed the army, and after a few hours he came upon a fork in the road.

Kiron's trail had been lost in the road where the army had obliterated it, but now he picked it up, for it led south, while the column had obviously traveled from the southeast. Kiron's trail was still more than an hour old, and Tarak smiled at the thought of the Kalnorian.

He had thought to catch Kiron before now, but obviously the Kalnorian was possessed of endurance above that of a normal man. Tarak was pleased that he was traveling with such a mighty companion, and his admiration for the Kalnorian swordsman grew. The road veered westward slightly, and Tarak noticed a forest looming ahead. The sky was darkening, and Tarak was momentarily surprised that his quarry would enter the forest at such a time. Normally men dreaded to be caught under the trees at night, and chose instead to camp on the plains, beside huge fires. Kiron, however, had apparently pushed on, and Tarak increased his speed. Kiron was a fine warrior, but still he was only one man, and the forests of Aantor held dangers which only the foolish tempted after dark.

Tarak entered the forest with senses fully alert and attuned. He did not know if this was an extension of the great forest, which stretched out to the mountains, or merely one of the many scattered forests which break up the plains, but in either event he was eager to find Kiron, for he had grown fond of the Kalnorian, and enjoyed listening to Kiron's tales of Kalnor and other cities.

Tarak loved the forest, and felt at home sleeping here, as any civilized man might in his own bed, but he had learned that city people seemed generally helpless in the forest after dark, and he cursed Kiron for not stopping on the plain.

The earthy moistness of the air as it passed across his body refreshed him, and tantalized his nostrils with the myriad smells of the night. Above him the giant trees shut out the night sky, and he smiled as he thought of the joy of traveling high among their swaying branches.

Even before he saw the light of the fire he smelled its smoke, and silently Tarak moved toward the source. Like a shadow he moved, testing the surrounding darkness with his nose and ears, as his eyes fixed on the soft glow ahead. He approached the fire cautiously, and as he neared the lighted area he silently leaped into the branches of a tree, and scanned the surrounding area.

A small fire spread its glow over a cleared area. Near the fire, his back against a tree, sat Kiron, his sword across his knees, eating a bit of dried meat.

Tarak silently moved around the area, testing the forest, and when he was satisfied, he dropped to the ground, and moved silently into the light.

Kiron sprang up, his sword ready, and then relaxed as he saw Tarak standing in the firelight.

"You are as silent as death itself!" he said. "How long have you been watching me?"

Tarak smiled. "Only for a moment. You travel quickly."

"Not nearly as quickly a you," replied Kiron. "I thought you would be days catching up with me. I am somewhat famous in Kalnor for my ability to travel long distances, and though you seemed confident you could overtake me, I was not so sure."

"I was sure," said Tarak. "Why did you not camp on the plains? It is much safer."

Kiron snorted. "I bother little with such matters. I am on my way to Kalnor. Let those who would stop me beware."

Tarak laughed, and asked Kiron if he had passed Atal Throom.

"Yes. We are old friends. I told him I would meet him in Kalnor."

He offered Tarak some of the dried meat, for he noticed that Tarak had not brought provisions, but was refused, and then watched in amazement as the barbarian turned and disappeared into the blackness of the surrounding forest.

Soon thereafter Tarak reappeared, and Kiron was further amazed, for over the shoulder of his companion was a freshly slain forest elat.

Tarak quickly skinned the creature and cut off a large piece, which he handed to the Kalnorian for cooking. Then to Kiron's consternation Tarak cut another chunk, and began to eat it, biting off large pieces with his strong white teeth. He noticed the Kalnorian staring at him, and grinned, offering his companion another juicy, bloody piece.

Kiron shook his head. "I prefer mine a bit more cooked." Nevertheless, I do appreciate the fresh mean. No wonder you carry no rations."

"Where there is life, there is food," said Tarak, gnawing on a piece of meat."

They fed, and then lay down to sleep. When they awoke the fire had burned down to embers, and the light was beginning to filter down into the forest. They ate again, then resumed their journey. Later that day they passed out of the forest, and a few hours later entered another. Kiron explained that these were small forests, and that in another day they would leave most of them behind, and would see few really large wooded areas.

They traveled for almost two weeks without encountering any signs of civilization, and in the time they covered more ground than a normal man would have been able to travel over in a month. Tarak enjoyed the journey, as did the Kalnorian, though Kiron was anxious to reach their destination.

Tarak learned much of Kalnor from his companion, and together they discussed an endless variety of subjects. Kiron was intelligent, opinionated and imaginative, and Tarak delighted in testing the theses of the warrior.

Tarak, having little experience with civilized life, and having read little philosophy until meeting Foss, was inclined to be much more individualistic than the Kalnorian warrior. In prior discussions with Foss he had learned a great deal, and his naturally keen mind had helped mold him into a formidable debater. Kiron, as most civilized men, tended to focus his philosophy on the value of his city, or society, and by this standard were his ultimate values measured.

Kalnor was a less structured society than Neros, and Kiron's ideas reflected this, but nevertheless he argued that the preservation society as a whole was the ultimate goal, and the highest value.

Tarak felt that the individual was paramount.

His entire life had been keyed to his own survival, usually at the expense of, rather than in consideration of, the needs and desires of others.

He examined Kiron's ideas from his unique perspective; savage, yet irrefutable, since he had survived.

Acknowledging the values to be gained from companionship, and the affections he had formed for specific persons, he yet regarded a man's happiness was a personal thing, and his social obligations personal obligations to specific individuals.

He reminded Kiron that society was in fact nothing but a collection of individuals, and demanded that Kiron prove to him that something could possibly be more important to Tarak than his own life.

This the Kalnorian could not do, since Tarak had not been socialized with the group mores and values of Aantorian society.

"Without the strength of numbers," Kiron argued, "Men would be at the mercy of the wroks, or of other men who gathered in large numbers. The weak would be unprotected, and men would live in savagery.

Tarak shook his head. "In nature, the weak die that the strong may live. In your cities, the strong seem to die that the weak may live."

He shrugged. "It seems a noble idea, but my own experiences seem to indicate that man's greatest peril is large numbers of other men."

Kiron shrugged. "I must admit there is truth in your words, but it is the way we live."

"There are other ways to live," replied the barbarian.

The Kalnorian shrugged again, and ceased, at least for the moment, his efforts to "civilize" the values of the blond giant.

At they traveled Tarak found little difficulty hunting, even on the open plains, and they are well, often camping by streams or small lakes.

Eventually Kiron indicated that they were approaching the land of Senta, and two days later they saw a peasant working a large tract of cultivated land, one of several tracts which surrounded the city of Senta.

Tarak commented on the absence of soldiers, for he had seen none since leaving Neros.

"Most cities are not so militaristically inclined as Neros." replied Kiron.

"Senta knows they have little to fear from Neros, and thus her soldiers leave the northern border relatively unprotected. Senta is built partially within the great forest, and many of her warriors are necessary to protect her lands there, for as you probably know the forest is the home of the wrok.

A few forts lie south of Senta, but Kalnor had never threatened Senta until Malenot rose to power.

Even under his rule the danger has been slight, so few men patrol south of the City."

Tarak wanted to visit this new city, but Kiron pointed out that time was important, and that they would probably be regarded as enemies, and Tarak gave in

They decided to skirt Senta to the East, to lessen the probability that they would encounter Sentian warriors.

Leaving the road, which veered toward the distant city, they headed across open lands, passing numerous peasants at work in the broad, rich fields; men in brown tunics, who stopped to stare at the strangers, but who offered no hostility.

Kiron explained that Senta's military color was white, but that normally those who worked the land wore brown tunics, woven of a coarse material which was durable and yet relatively comfortable. Tarak had seen many of the peasants of Neros in similar garb, and his predator's sense of style favored brown, green, or gray clothing over the bright colors he had seen within Neros.

Two more days passed before they came upon the road again, now past Senta, and heading towards Kalnor.

Shortly thereafter they cam upon the first military patrol they had seen. It was a small group of men, dressed in white. These men had not seen the green of a Nerosian tunic in years, and suspicion clouded their features as they moved to block the passage of the travelers.

The leader stepped forward and spoke.

"Lay down your weapons and submit to arrest, in the name of Morinus, Tarkan of Senta."

Tarak stood silently, watching the patrol. The men looked tired, and he supposed they were bored by such dreary duty.

Kiron addressed the speaker.

"We are free travelers, and are no danger to your city. We are bound for Kalnor, and have already passed Senta, as you can see."

"Lay down your weapons, then, if you claim to be no danger to Senta."

Kiron frowned. "And if we refuse?"

"Then," said the man, "we will kill you."

Kiron's frown disappeared, a tight smile appeared on his face, and he looked over at Tarak, who shrugged, drawing his sword. The Kalnorian unsheathed his blade, and together they approached the startled guards, blades forward and moving in small circles, as if hungry for battle.

Only seven men opposed them, and Tarak thought they would be able to fight their way through without much difficulty, since these men did not appear to be seasoned warriors.

Their readiness to fight surprised the Sentians, however, who had thought to bully the travelers into submission, perhaps even extracting a toll for their passage, in addition to the sport they would enjoy by frightening them.

It seemed unthinkable that two men would try to engage seven, and they stepped back, measuring their opponents anew. Their officer noted the swiftness with which Kiron had drawn his sword, and the size and grace of the blond man, who, in spite of his youth was garbed as a Rok of Neros.

The officer knew that these men were confident. He knew they were deadly.

He held up his hand.

"You may pass," he said. "I see now that you are not enemies of Senta."

The other Sentians looked at their officer quickly, but it was apparent that they supported his decision.

"A wise appraisal," said Kiron, sheathing his sword, and smiling at his companion.

They passed the guards, still with weapons drawn, for Tarak did not trust these men. He had learned not to trust any men he did not know. After they had passed the soldiers he kept his ears alert, but the patrol did not follow.

They decided to leave the road again, so that they would not provoke further encounter with Sentian troops. Kiron had been surprised at the attempt by the Sentians to hinder their travel, and he had no wish to fight Sentians.

They saw a number of patrols, but were not seen themselves, and they passed out of the lands of Senta a few days later.

Kiron explained that now they traveled lands which belonged to no city. Normally a city extended its control over land sufficient to fulfill its needs, and beyond that land which it could control militarily.

The buffer lands between nations provided neutral land through which citizens and troops could travel freely, and contributed to the preservation of peace. When one nation began to extend its frontiers outward, it was necessary to protect this land, which caused the need for increased manpower, often at little or no economic gain, since the lands already held were more than sufficient to supply the city with its needs.

Such an expansion generally was viewed with suspicion, moreover, by neighboring cities, and tended to disrupt the flow of commerce. The buffer between Neros and Senta was small, for Neros had long ago extended its boundaries well beyond its needs, and being a powerful city, it had encountered little resistance.

For many years the territory had remained unchanged, however, and Senta now regarded Neros with less suspicion. The buffer between Kalnor and Senta was rather large, and they were many days crossing its breadth.

Finally Kiron indicated that they were approaching the lands of Kalnor, however, and Tarak noted his companion's increasingly jubilant mood.

Even though they were many miles from the city, and not yet within the actual boundaries of Kalnor, Kiron seemed to know the area intimately, and constantly pointed out particular landmarks familiar to him.

The terrain was similar to that which they had been crossing since the beginning of their journey, with rolling hills giving way to plains and spotted forests.

Streams and rivers flowed along their path, which later emptied, Kiron explained, into the Sea of Kal, upon which Kalnor was situated.

The air did seem different somehow, and Tarak had never encountered anything like it.

"It is the sea," explained Kiron. "The beautiful Sea of Kal. Your forests have nothing to compare to its majesty."

"Perhaps," commented Tarak, "But you have not seen the forests as I have."

"And you have never seen the Sea of Kal, nor the jewel which is Kalnor, which rests in splendor upon her shores."

"We shall see," said Tarak.

"Soon we shall be stopped," warned Kiron. "Malenot undoubtedly has the land of Kalnor well patrolled, and these men will not be so easily intimidated as those of Senta."

"We could bypass them."

"Yes, but eventually we would have to travel openly, and it is better to enter Kalnor without stealth. To act otherwise would arouse suspicion."

"Will we be allowed to enter freely?"

Kiron shrugged. "Perhaps. We have not been formally invited to the tournament, and normally contestants travel in large groups, with different men to be entered in several events."

"No one from Neros ha entered in many years, so I don't know how well we will be received."

They continued along the road, and some hours later came upon a lowered gate which blocked further progress. A contingent of men was stationed there, and at the sight of the two strangers the men gathered behind the small gate.

They were commanded by a large warrior, dressed in a tunic of dark blue. He was bearded, and extremely hairy. A scowl seemed permanently etched upon his grizzled face, and he seemed to regard the strangers with contemptuous eyes.

"Kalnor lied beyond this gate," he bellowed, examining their tunics. "This is land forbidden to Nerosians. Turn back, or die under the sword of Turk!"

The travelers halted a few paces away, and Tarak turned to Kiron.

"A fine city indeed is your Kalnor, my friend," he said quietly. "Her hospitality is unsurpassed even by the fine troops of Senta. Perhaps I have misjudged the qualities of civilization which you have been stressing so eloquently during our travels."

Kiron repressed a smile, and turned his attention to the guard who had challenged them.

"We wish to enter Kalnor. We have traveled from far Neros to do so." He did not raise his voice, but his tone was uncompromising, and this was not lost on the officer, who scowled even deeper.

"Your wishes mean nothing here, Nerosians. Only those with business in Kalnor may pass this point."

His tone was angry, responding to the quiet strength of Kiron's voice.

"We wish to enter the Tournament," said Kiron. "We understand it is to be held soon."

"We have contestants enough," replied Turk. "Seven cities have entered men in competition for all of the events, except of course in swordsmanship."

He laughed sarcastically, and his men joined him. Turk's force consisted of almost thirty men, and to Kiron they appeared to be for the most part mercenaries in Kalnorian uniforms, for most did not look like natives.

Tarak of course was not a familiar with the men of Kalnor, and noticed nothing unusual.

"We have come," Kiron said slowly, "to enter the competition as swordsmen."

The officer's eyes widened for a moment, and then he laughed. "You are either a liar or a fool, then! You do not look like much of a swordsman to me."

Tarak turned to watch Kiron. The Kalnorian's expression had not changed. He remained impassive, but his eyes hardened a he answered the mercenary.

"Perhaps you would care to test my skill? If I cannot best an paid killer such as you, then we shall turn back."

Turk's eyes flared, and he unsheathed his word in a furious gesture.

"You shall die for those words, fool! Your friend may leave, but you shall taste the steel of Turk of Car, pledged to Malenot!"

Without further warning Turk lunged, swinging a terrific blow at the Kalnorian, but even as he began his stroke Kiron's sword was in his hand, and Turk found his blow met and turned away.

He backed quickly, but before he was out of reach Kiron's blade had sliced through his guard, and Turk staggered back, blood flowing from his shoulder, and a look of surprise and shock upon his face.

"Come, Turk of Car," Kiron taunted, advancing, his eyes locked upon the soldier's face, his sword held low, dripping blood. "Kiron of Kalnor awaits your pleasure."

Now fear replaced surprise and shock as the dominant expression on Turk's face, and he backed away hastily, almost stumbling over his equally shocked men as he backed into them. They drew their weapons, and Turk, now safely in their midst, began to recover his composure, for he noticed that Kiron had halted his advance.

Kiron spat upon the ground. His eyes glittered, and his body stood like a coiled spring.

"You foul the land of Kalnor, mercenary, with your cowardice and your arrogance!"

Kiron slammed his sword back into his scabbard, and looked around himself with disgust.

"We have come to enter the Great Tournament, not to kill vermin such as you. He who would keep Kiron from his city is he who will die quickly."

"You cannot kill thirty men!" shouted Turk.

"Perhaps not," admitted Kiron, but certainly you will be one of the first that I kill."

He looked directly into the eyes of the officer.

"What is your answer, mercenary?"

Turk looked uncomfortable, and the other guards seemed hesitant as they looked at their commander.

"Well," Turk finally said, "if you are foolish enough to enter as swordsmen, I will let you pass, but you must be accompanied by some of my men."

Kiron smiled. "You are generous, mercenary."

Turk returned the smile, though thinly.

"I shall look forward to your meeting with Gorkok, Kiron of Kalnor, if you are truly he, for I have heard of your previous meeting with him."

Kiron's mouth tightened slightly, and Tarak thought for a moment that the Kalnorian was going to attack the entire guard patrol, but the smile upon Kiron's face remained, and an instant later he relaxed.

"I am he, mercenary, but it is my friend, and not I, who is first sword here," Kiron replied.

"He will enter, and I shall be his second. After the tournament, however, I will find you again, mercenary. Then I shall have my own fight."

Turk shifted his eye nervously, and looked at Tarak. He noted, as did all warriors who first saw the barbarian, the sensation of repressed savagery which seemed to flow from the man.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"I am Tarak. I fight for Neros."

"You will die for Neros!" the man growled, but his laughter was nervous, for Kiron's threat had been thinly veiled. Turk understood that he may have insulted a Tark of Kalnor, if this man were truly Kiron. It seemed unlikely, for Kiron had been long thought dead. Still, the swordplay of the man had been almost uncanny. Turk noted the rank of the young Nerosian, and was further confused.

Warriors garbed in Nerosian green had been absent from Kalnor for many years, but they were formidable fighters, and this man, although young, certainly seemed confident enough. He didn't look like any Nerosian Turk had ever seen, either. A young blond man claiming to be a Nerosian Rok, traveling with a man who claimed to be a Kalnorian Tark.

It was absurd, and Turk almost said so; but he looked into the calm green eyes of the strange Rok for a moment, then back into the fierce eyes of the warrior who claimed to be Kiron of Kalnor, and he changed his mind.

Turk turned to his men, and directed five of them to accompany Tarak and Kiron, while two others raised the gate crossbar.

"They will insure your safety," he explained.

"And allow you to send a messenger ahead to notify your Tarkan of our coming," replied Kiron, laughing as his remarks brought a scowl to Turk's face.

The mercenary then spoke quietly to a sixth man, and the warrior immediately set off at a rapid trot.

The five warriors selected to accompany the two challengers came forward, each with his hand on the hilt of his weapon, but none came too near, for they had all heard of Kiron of Kalnor. Kiron slapped Tarak on the back, and surrounded by the five guards, the two men crossed over onto Kalnorian soil.

Kiron turned to Tarak, elation in his voice.

"I am home, my friend!"

Tarak nodded.

"And obviously received with the adulation as befits your fame and station."

Kiron laughed heartily, shaking his head.

"Yes, I suppose you are much impressed with my power in this land."

"How could I be otherwise?"

They traveled slowly, for their escort had been told to delay as much as possible, and during the journey Kiron continued to show Tarak the sights of his homeland.

Now the road turned eastward, and as they neared the crest of a hill, Tarak could smell and feel the salt in the air a never before. They reached the crest, and stopped, gazing out over the broad expanse which descended before them into the distance.

Tarak was captivated by the beauty of the sea. The shore lay about a half mile below them, at the foot of the hill on which they stood, and there the Sea of Kal began, its waters light green near the shoreline, and then darkening as the sea stretched away into the distance.

Endless it seemed, stretching farther than the eye could see, and Tarak stared with almost childlike wonder at its grandeur. Boats could be seen, their sails triangular in the sunlight as they moved slowly across the surface.

Several of the larger ones were manned with long oars, and Kiron explained that the galleys of Kalnor, square-rigged and in addition powered by hundreds of slaves, rarely traveled the shallow waters near the city.

None were in evidence, for they were either far out to sea, or anchored within the port, secure within their deep channels.

To the right, more than a mile away, lay Kalnor.

Its gleaming walls extended more than two miles inland, and perhaps half a mile out into the sea. The walls were not as high a those of Neros, and Tarak could see the tops of buildings behind them.

Unlike Neros, much of Kalnor appeared to be built outside the walls, although even the area within them was larger than that of Neros.

Buildings stretched out in every direction, with paved streets, shops, homes, markets, and assorted other buildings, almost to their feet. It was in all respects a huge city, far more glorious and populous than Neros, and Tarak was immensely impressed.

He turned to speak to his friend, but it was apparent that Kiron was lost in the contemplation of the beauty of his home.

His eyes moist, Kiron gazed out upon his city silently. After a quiet moment he raised his sword deliberately in a silent salute, and held it aloft for long moments.

The guard obviously wanted to continue, but they waited patiently, afraid to disturb this man, Tark or no Tark.

Finally Kiron sheathed his weapon, and turned to Tarak.

"Is it not beautiful?"

Tarak nodded.

"It is all that you said, Kiron. And the sea! It too is beautiful. I had no idea the sea was so large. It truly rivals the forest."

He smiled. "It does not, however, surpass the forest in its beauty."

Kiron laughed. "Perhaps not to a barbarian."

He grabbed Tarak by the arm, and together they began descending the hill, their guard struggling to keep up with them.

They reached the first outbuildings before long, and there they were met by a group of soldiers, mercenaries like the men who patrolled the boundary.

A commander walked forward to meet them, and his manner was more respectful than that shown by the officer they had encountered previously, although suspicion shown upon his features.

"Come with me," he said. "I will take you to the Tarkan."

Kiron seemed to have other plans, however.

"First," he said, "I would like to see my home, and friends."

The commander, a To-Rok named Rebon, shook his head.

"No. You must first come with me to see the Tarkan."

Tarak smiled to himself. He knew that Kiron wanted the people of Kalnor to learn of his presence, and of their challenge, so the Tarkan would not dare to have them killed or imprisoned.

Obviously Malenot was determined to prevent Kiron from accomplishing this, and this waiting commander was the Tarkan's instrument. Tarak thought the next few moments would be interesting.

Kiron frowned.

"Do you know who I am, commander?"

The To-Rok nodded. "I know who you claim to be."

Kiron raised his voice, and Tarak could see a crowd beginning to gather.

"You know that I am Kiron of Kalnor, Tark of Kalnor! Yet you speak to me in tones of command?"

Several of the spectators gaped at his words, and Tarak noticed many rushing off into the streets. More people seemed to gather around the men, to watch, and Rebon, the commander, reddened, but did not relent.

"I speak with the authority of Malenot, Tarkan of Kalnor!" he said loudly.

"Naturally I do not wish to offend you, Kiron of Kalnor, but the Tarkan's word is law."

Kiron scoffed.

"Our Tarkan will wait long enough for me to visit my house! Even Malenot must respect his Tarks!"

Kiron started to move past the commander, but the man blocked his path.

"The Tarkan will not wait. You must see him at once."

The commander had not drawn his sword, and expected Kiron to stop, but the Kalnorian, instead of stopping, suddenly shot out an arm, knocking the commander backward into the road.

"Kiron walks where he pleases in Kalnor, mercenary!"

He looked down at the commander with contempt, and his hand closed upon the hilt of his sword.

Instantly guardsmen drew their swords, and Kiron turned to face them, his own blade clearing the scabbard in an instant, Tarak beside him, his sword also drawn and ready.

"Who first will strike a Tark of Kalnor in his city?" Kiron shouted.

"Who first will die here in this street?"

By now hundreds of citizens had gathered, and Kiron's name was being shouted by many. The commander seemed unsure of himself, for the gathered people now far outnumbered his force, and he had not counted on Kiron's action.

He glanced at the growing, angry crowd, and back at Kiron, who stood triumphantly, daring the guards to attack. He raised his arm and bowed to the people.

"I am Kiron, Tark of Kalnor!"

The crowd cheered wildly, almost unbelievably, and Kiron waved at them. Then he gestured to Tarak.

"This is Tarak, my good friend; who has come from Neros to challenge for the title of Master Sword!"

The people fell suddenly silent, as the import of Kiron's words dawned upon them.

Then they cheered again, louder and louder, rising in volume, a more gathered to look at these two men.

Kiron, Tark of Kalnor, had returned, and had brought with him a blond warrior to challenge Gorkok!

The guards looked extremely uncomfortable.

Kiron looked down at the commander, who was still sitting in the dirt.

"I go now to my home, commander. I trust it is secure and ready to receive me. After I have refreshed myself I shall call on the Tarkan."

Kiron stared down at the man with a look of contempt upon his face.

"Tell the Tarkan also that when wishes to communicate with me, he shall do it through a Kalnorian warrior. I will waste no more words with mercenaries in my fair City."

The commander rose slowly to his feet, his face a mask of hatred.

His men surrounded the two travelers, and stood silently, swords ready, looking at their leader. He seemed undecided, and before he could decide on a course of action Kiron brushed by him roughly and started toward the city gates.

A guard in his path hesitated, then moved aside, and the Tark moved on, Tarak at his side.

The commander hastily departed for the palace, after sending several of his men to follow the departing figures of Kiron and Tarak, with orders to follow closely, but not to interfere.

In the relatively short time which had elapsed since they had confronted the commander, the news of Kiron's arrival had spread rapidly, and as they walked through the streets of outer Kalnor, citizens lined the way, waving to the famous Kalnorian hero.

Kiron greeted them cheerfully as he walked.

Tarak had never seen the Kalnorian happier, and marveled at Kiron's courage and guile.

"Had I known what a hero you are," he said, looking at Kiron impassively, "I might have carried you all the way from Neros."

Kiron laughed.

"When we reach the palace, you will learn that I am not so well thought of by everyone."

They continued through the streets, and finally came to the wall which surrounded the central city.

It was high, though not nearly so tall as that of Neros, and the entrance did not require descending a ramp, as in the former city.

The gates were large, and appeared to be similar to those of Neros, always being left open.

At the gates they were stopped by the gate sentries.

These men were not mercenaries, however, and Kiron recognized several of them including the commander, a tall, fair-skinned warrior who walked forward to greet them personally.

"Kiron!" he shouted. "Long has Kalnor mourned your absence."

"Ho, Armon!" Answered Kiron. "At least the gates of Kalnor are guarded by her citizens."

Armon nodded, smiling broadly.

"The gates, but little else, I am afraid. Still, I can at least offer you a safe entry."

He shook his head frowning.

"What will happen to you afterward I cannot guarantee, however."

Kiron slapped the commander on the shoulder with affection. "We shall survive, old friend, at least for a while."

He introduced Armon to Tarak, and explained their intention of entering the tournament.

The commander shook his head, examining Tarak with interest.

"All Kalnor would embrace you if you could beat Gorkok," he said. Then he shook his head once more.

"No one can defeat him, though."

"How long has it been," asked Kiron, since anyone opposed Gorkok?"

Armon thought for a moment.

"Only twice since yourself. Each time a warrior from far Elur. Neither man lasted more than a moment. One was crippled, and the other killed."

"What of the other contests?" asked Kiron. "Knives, lances, bows, unarmed combat?"

"They are still held, but since Gorkok also enters many of those which involve fighting, entrants have been fewer in recent years. Any contest which involves combat is one more opportunity for him to cripple or kill a warrior, and he is excellent even in those contests which involve targets. He is, all must admit, the ultimate killer."

The commander thought for a moment, and then continued.

"Even when no one opposes him, he partakes in exhibitions of butchery. Often prisoners and criminals are given a sword and made to face him in the arena. Sometimes he will fight wild beasts. Always he kills."

Armon was watching Tarak closely as he spoke, but the blond giant stood silently, his face impassive. Armon turned back to Kiron.

"Whatever happens, I am glad of your presence again in Kalnor!"

"Perhaps I shall remain now, Armon. Malenot's time may soon be over."

Armon looked at Kiron questioningly, but the Tark did not elaborate. He bid the commander goodbye, and together he and Tarak passed through the gate, and into the city.

The architecture of Kalnor was not dissimilar to that of Neros. Stone buildings of various heights and sizes, separated by streets and alleys which formed generally rectangular blocks. The street upon which they walked, leading from the gate directly into the center of the city, was the largest, and was, like the lesser streets, paved with stone.

Kalnor was much more colorful than Neros, and this was reflected both in its people and in its decoration.

Though Kalnor was in the grip of a dictator, still it was an open city, and the variety of people reflected this.

Kiron explained that in recent years Kalnor had been largely deserted by the merchants from other cities who used to crowd her streets, but some such were present. The costumes of the citizens were of a more colorful variety than Tarak had previously seen, and the people themselves seemed more animated.

More women were seen on the streets, which was indicative of the higher status they enjoyed in Kalnor.

In general the city seemed more relaxed than Neros, and Tarak felt somewhat less confined here than in the former city, with its militaristic societal structure and its high, forbidding walls.

Word of Kiron's arrival had spread into the inner city, and many people greeted them as they walked. A few of these seemed to be close friends of the Tark, and Kiron invited them to accompany him as he walked.

When perhaps a dozen had thus joined him, Kiron turned into a side road, and in a few minutes they came to a tavern. They entered, and passed through into a back room, leaving a small group of men to guard the entrance.

"I cannot risk waiting any longer," Kiron said to Tarak as they entered.

"Malenot may stop me before I reach my house, and I must talk to these men."

In the small room Kiron told the men of the recent events in Neros, and of the expected arrival of Atal Throom and Foss, Tarkan of Neros. While he talked more men arrived, each of whom Kiron greeted with affection. Few words were wasted in greeting, however, and the discussion among the men was intense.

Less than a half hour had elapsed when Kiron, satisfied, nodded briefly to the men, signaled to Tarak, and left the room, Tarak following.

Those who had accompanied them left immediately thereafter, singly and in small groups, and taking many different routes as they disappeared into the teeming city.

"My work is completed," Kiron said, as they left the tavern. He smiled briefly. "Now we can see Malenot."

They had not traveled far when a large body of men approached them from the opposite direction, led by a Rok of Kalnor.

The Rok appeared to be a Kalnorian, and Kiron stood quietly, his arms across his chest, his gaze open and questioning.

The Rok raised his arm in a salute.

"Ho, Kiron of Kalnor. I am Bunar, Rok of Kalnor."

Kiron nodded, but did not return the Rok's salute. He did not admire men who rose to power by serving a tyrant.

"Malenot has sent me," the Rok continued, "to bring you as his quest to the palace. He insists that you come immediately."

The Rok was respectful, but Tarak could see that he would not allow a repetition of what had happened to the mercenary commander. Two hundred men accompanied Bunar, seasoned warriors who awaited the orders of a Rok of Kalnor, and who would obey those orders instantly completely.

Kiron glanced at Tarak, and then faced the Rok.

"I would prefer to visit my house," he said, "but I do not wish to overly tax the patience of the Tarkan. I will come with you."

Bunar nodded, and signaled his men to form a corridor through which the two men could walk.

Tarak and Kiron again moved forward, now surrounded by the troops, as they followed Bunar in the direction of the palace.

Eventually they came to and passed through the palace gates, which Tarak noted were every bit as large and magnificent as those of Neros, and continued on across the palace grounds, which were spacious and beautifully kept.

Gardens bordered the walkways, with a gorgeous variety of flowers coloring their way. Colorfully dressed nobles walked the pathways, stopping momentarily to stare at the contingent of troops leading the Tarkan's guests toward the palace.

The grounds of the Tarkan of Kalnor were truly palatial.

The palace itself was immense, much larger than Foss's, and more lavishly decorated.

Golden gates barred their way, and then opened to admit them to a huge foyer, with marble floors and rich tapestries and rugs. Silks draped the furniture, and everywhere gold treasures decorated the rooms through which they passed.

They came at last to a set of high doors, cast of gold, and here they were halted by several richly dressed guards. Jewels studded their harnesses and gleamed from the handles of their weapons.

Bunar conferred with the leader, and then turned to Kiron.

"I will leave you now, Tark Kiron. Before you enter you must remove your weapons. None are allowed in the Hall of the Tarkan."

Kiron hesitated, then shrugged and began to remove his weapons, handing them casually to one of the guards.

Tarak followed his example, and a moment later the two men were escorted into the Great Hall of the Tarkan of Kalnor.

The Hall was large, and at the far end a raised throne dominated the room.

It was massive, a single chair raised set upon a solid block of marble which rose seven feet above the floor, and from which wide steps had been cut, rising from the floor of the Hall to the wide marble plateau upon which sat the Throne of Kalnor.

The Tarkan's Throne was fashioned itself of black marble and gold, with a velvet cushioned seat and back of deep purple.

They moved toward the throne, and upon reaching it the two men stood, hands at their sides, looking up into the eyes of Malenot, Tarkan of Kalnor.

The Tarkan sat rigidly upon the throne, a man a few years older than Kiron, and still large and powerful.

The lines in his dark face attested to the difficulties he had faced in ruling this city, however, and he looked older than his years.

His eyes were dark, almost black, and matched his neatly trimmed beard he. Malenot was dressed in a purple and gold tunic, and golden sandals protected his feet, as he sat and examined the two men who stood silently before him.

On either side of the throne, and a bit in front, guards were posted.

Tarak had been examining the vast beauty of the Hall, and now focused his attention upon the Tarkan and his Guard. He looked up at the Tarkan, then casually glanced at the Royal Guards. As his eyes passed over these men, they suddenly focused intently upon Guard who stood with an air of near indifference, near the side of the throne.

Tarak had never seen a man so large.

The Guard stood well over seven feet, and his tunic seemed to stretch to cover the powerful frame of his body. Even in relaxation the man's muscles knotted and bulged in his arms and legs, and his head seemed almost to merge with his shoulders, so thick was his neck.

Hair, thick and dark, covered most of his body, and his beard, while not long, was so thick that his features were almost hidden. The eyes were easily seen, however, fierce blazing pools of black, glaring from beneath heavy brows, alive with contempt and brutality.

He wore a grey tunic, similar to Kiron's, and no sandals. The harness holding his weapons was large enough for a wrok, and from it hung a sword and a heavy knife.

Tarak knew immediately that this man was Gorkok. It could be no other. He stood apart like a tarab among a herd of elat. Tarak noticed that Gorkok was staring at him, his eyes gleaming with hate and an almost lustful expression, and his mouth contorted in an ugly smile.

He looked back at the warrior, meeting the malevolent gaze with his own clear, impassive eyes. For a moment they stood thus, each oblivious to all else, each sensing in the other a primeval savagery unknown in other men.

After a moment Tarak turned back to Malenot, who had begun speaking.

"Welcome, Kiron," he said smoothly, in a deep, cold voice. "We are honored by your return."

Kiron's eyes were hard, but his voice was level.

"When you sent me as a prisoner to Neros, I did not feel so honored."

Malenot looked irritated.

"That was long ago," he said. "Much has happened since then."

"Yes. I have returned."

"Remember that you are my guest, Kiron," cautioned the Tarkan. "You may well find yourself a prisoner again, if you taunt me."

"I do not think so," replied Kiron. "Your grip on Kalnor is not now so strong that you will with impunity again imprison Kiron, Tark of Kalnor."

Kiron raised his voice as he spoke these words, and his eyes locked with those of the Tarkan as he stood, head high, insolence and fierce pride written upon his features.

The Tarkan had obviously come to the same conclusion, for Tarak could see that he was furious, and trying to retain control over his anger.

He glanced at Tarak for a Moment, and then back at Kiron.

"It is my understanding that you have returned to Kalnor for the Tournament," he said. "I have even heard that you intend to challenge for the title of Master Sword!"

Malenot laughed, and looked over at his champion, whose savage smile became even uglier. "Perhaps you have forgotten how you fared the last time you entered?"

"It is I," said Tarak boldly, looking up into the eyes of the Tarkan, who challenge your wrok-man."

He turned to look at Gorkok as he spoke, and noted that the smile became suddenly replaced with a bestial grimace.

Tarak turned back to Malenot.

"I shall fight your mercenary, or any other, if he chooses to enter against me."

Malenot signaled to Gorkok, and the champion strode slowly down the steps of the dais to where Tarak stood. He stood directly in front of the barbarian, looking down at him with glittering black eyes, for he was several inches taller.

Tarak looked up impassively into the huge, bearded face. The fetid breath of the hairy giant stung his nostrils, but his face betrayed no hint of his discomfort.

"You will die slowly," growled Gorkok. Even his voice seemed bestial.

Tarak looked up at the Tarkan.

"The tournament is to the death, then?"

Malenot laughed, and Kiron looked strangely at his companion.

"Do not worry, Nerosian," the Tarkan said. "The tournament is not to the death, though sometimes men die who oppose Gorkok. You may be crippled, or blinded, but if you beg for your life, he may not kill you."

Several men laughed then, but Tarak held up his hands, quieting them.

"You do not understand, Tarkan. I am not familiar with the rules of your tournament, and simply wish clarification."

He looked at Gorkok, and smiled for the first time.

"If it is possible, I would prefer to discard any rules. Let us fight to the death."

Gorkok's eyes blazed suddenly, and his great body tensed. Several men cried out, and Malenot and Kiron both stared at Tarak, who stood, legs apart, arms crossed, looking engagingly up into the face of the Master Sword, Gorkok the mercenary.

Gorkok was snarling now, all traces of amusement gone from his face.

"You shall scream for mercy as I dismember you, Nerosian!"

Tarak looked up into the hairy face, and his eyes flamed for a moment, a brief shimmer of green.

"I am Tarak," he said quietly. "I am not from Neros, Gorkok. I have come from the mountains, and I am not like any man you have ever fought. I am going to kill you. Think of me, Gorkok. For I am going to kill you."

Instinctively Gorkok reached for his sword, but before it cleared the scabbard Tarak spoke again.

"Brave Gorkok!" he taunted, and the giant stopped and rammed the blade back into its place. Tarak was smiling now, and Kiron also appeared to be enjoying himself immensely.

Malenot broke the silence.

"To the death, then. The Tournament begins tomorrow, but the final competition, for Master Sword, will be the climax, to take place on the last day."

He turned his attention to Kiron.

"Your house has been occupied by others since your, uh, departure, Kiron, but I shall order it cleared, so that you may live there, and train with your....champion."

He laughed at the last word.

"Do not waste too much time on him, however, for I am afraid he will not last long."

Kiron shrugged.

"Perhaps."

Then he turned his back upon the Tarkan, and accompanied by Tarak, walked boldly away from the throne."

"It is too bad," Malenot called out to the retreating figures, "that you, Kiron, are afraid to fight."

Kiron stopped and turned.

"Yes, I would certainly like to have another chance at your mercenary. It does not matter, however, for he will not be alive to fight me."

"I think he will," said Malenot. "And after your friend dies, I would like to see you fight Gorkok once more."

Kiron thought for a moment.

"If I were to enter as second challenger, Malenot, what would be my incentive?"

"Whatever you wish."

"Then let us wager," proposed Kiron, "that if Tarak is killed, I shall fight with Gorkok to the death. And if Tarak wins.....," Kiron paused.

"If Tarak wins, Tarkan, then you shall fight me to the death."

Malenot was startled.

"That is absurd."

Kiron snorted, his voice sarcastic, and his features contorted in a sneer.

"Then do not waste my time, Tarkan. I care not whether I enter your games."

"You have your wager!" screamed Malenot, rising from the throne. "I fear no man!" His face was livid, but as he rose he regained some degree of composure, and laughter followed his anger. "You are truly a fool, Kiron! As you wriggle in the dirt I shall laugh, and my guards will cheer as Gorkok breaks your bones!" Gorkok too was laughing now, and he watched Kiron with an expression of eagerness.

Kiron looked back with indifference.

"Care well for your mercenary, Tarkan. And for your sword." The Tark turned away abruptly and left the room as the laughter of those behind echoed in the Hall.

The two men left the palace, after retrieving their weapons, and Kiron led the way across the grounds, through the gates, and down a broad avenue to his house, which was situated not far from the palace.

It was a large, walled compound, almost a fortress, and occupied a large area. Several soldiers guarded the gate, and at the sight of Kiron these men saluted.

"Your house is now empty but for slaves, Tark," said the commander.

"Good. You may leave now."

"No, Tark Kiron, we may not leave," said the warrior. "Neither may you leave, I am afraid. Nor may anyone else enter or leave, without the order of the Tarkan. You shall have food and drink, and may do whatever you wish, but you must stay within the confines of your compound until the tournament."

"I plan to watch the early contests," Kiron replied gruffly. "And I shall, if I have to fight my way to the arena."

"You shall attend the tournament as the guest of Malenot, and in his party," said the guard. "It is the Tarkan's command."

The guard was a native Kalnorian, and it was obvious that he was uncomfortable relating this information to Kiron.

It was apparent to Kiron that the commander was ill at ease, but as a member of the Kalnorian guard the warrior had sworn to obey the Tarkan. Kiron knew the warrior would die rather than break his oath.

The Tark was silent for a moment.

"I shall remain," he said finally. "Tell Malenot I shall be his guest tomorrow."

The guard seemed visibly relieved, and saluted gratefully.

"I shall report your answer," he said. The commander then turned and headed toward the palace, leaving several of his men behind.

"It is fortunate that I talked with my friends earlier," Kiron said to Tarak as they entered the spacious home. "The Tarkan shall watch me well from now on."

Tarak was smiling.

"Your wager, Kiron, shows great confidence in my abilities."

"I am not as confident as I appeared, my friend. Gorkok seems if anything even more awesome than before."

He shrugged.

"But if you are willing to fight for a cause in which you are not involved, then I am willing to fight beside you."

"Behind me," corrected Tarak.

Kiron laughed.

"Yes," he admitted. "But closely behind."

The Kalnorian took Tarak on a tour of his home, which was richly furnished and well decorated, and consisted of several buildings, numerous gardens, and an encircling wall.

The Kalnorian's family had obviously been very wealthy.

Kiron summoned a slave, and ordered food and wine to be brought to the one of the large living chambers, which they entered a moment later.

The men sat on plush furniture, waiting for the food and drink. Then Kiron turned to Tarak, a serious expression on his face.

"Tell me, my friend, why have you come to Kalnor? Why have you challenged the greatest swordsman ever known to fight in Kalnor?"

Tarak shrugged, and after a moment, replied.

"You are my friend, Kiron. I have found you to be a good companion, and a trustworthy man. Foss is also my friend, and some of the men he rules. To one who has lived alone, friendship is a new and cherished thing."

He paused. "If I can help you, I will. I came here to see Kalnor, for I have never seen your city. I came here also to dine with Leanna, Karn's sister, for Karn too is my friend."

He paused again, and his tone hardened.

"I came here also to fight. I have heard of this Gorkok many times, and each time I hear of him I hear of death and cruelty. I have known other men who enjoy such things, who like to subjecting others to brutality, and to death."

He looked up, and his eyes flared slightly.

"Such men should not live, Kiron. They kill not for food or self-preservation, but for pleasure. Someday I shall find and kill those others I have mentioned. Now, I shall kill this Gorkok, for he is even worse. I could sense his bloodlust in the Tarkan's Hall."

Kiron was silent for a moment.

"You are a strange man, Tarak. You laugh at the concept of a man who would die for his city, yet you'll face death for a friend, or to eradicate an evil which does not threaten you."

"I have not died yet, Kiron!" laughed Tarak, "and I do not plan to die in Kalnor."

"You have never seen Gorkok fight," replied Kiron.

"He is stronger, faster, and more skillful than any swordsman I have ever heard of. He is a monster."

"He is a man," said Tarak. "He is only a man."

"As are you."

"Perhaps," admitted Tarak, "But do not worry, Kiron, for I shall kill this Gorkok."

"You have seen him!" protested the Kalnorian. "Even you seem small beside him."

"I am grateful for your confidence," Tarak commented.

Kiron laughed.

"I am sorry, my friend. It is simply that I cannot forget how I fared when I battled him. I will each you everything I know which may help you. During our journey you learned some, and you had already learned from one of the best. You are a remarkable swordsman. Perhaps you have a chance."

Kiron yet seemed doubtful, and Tarak changed the subject. They discussed the possibilities of Leanna's imprisonment, and the possible outcome of Atal Throom's meeting with Foss. They washed and ate, talking of other things, until each retired to bathe away the dust of their long journey.

They later met in the courtyard, where Kiron continued his personal instruction in swordsmanship, which he had begun almost immediately after their departure from Neros.

They had found little time to fight on the way, for they had wished to travel fast, but now they battled in earnest.

Kiron was a superb swordsman, as Tarak had discovered beneath the palace of Neros. The Tark was fast, strong, and incredibly clever.

His style was more fluid than was that of Foss, and more inventive. He seemed to fight instinctively, his sword darting and flashing with a life of its own, as he sought to find a way past Tarak's blade.

Kiron's skill often enabled him to press the barbarian, but Tarak's uncanny speed and balance served him well, and rarely did Kiron's sword touch his opponent.

Kiron explained and taught as they fought, repeating intricate moves strokes which Tarak had never seen, until Tarak had mastered them both in attack and defense; and Tarak's own formidable skill was thus measurably enhanced in their initial session.

"Can you fight as Gorkok fights?" asked Tarak, in the midst of the duel.

Kiron shook his head. "No man can imitate Gorkok in battle. His strength and speed are impossible to mimic. I can perhaps match his skill, though I cannot best it; but I can never match his total prowess, for his skill is bolstered by his strength, speed, and sheer savagery."

Tarak shrugged, and endeavored to learn more of Kiron's wizardry with the blade. Only rarely did he take the offensive, being content to learn Kiron's tactics and movements, and how to defend against the seemingly infinite variety of attack patterns Kiron unleashed.

After a while Tarak began to attack more frequently, slashing and thrusting, using all his skill and knowledge he had learned from his battles with Foss, Kiron, and others he had battled.

He did not attempt to beat Kiron back with his strength, but instead tried to best the Kalnorian with skill and speed. In this he had little success, for even with his great speed he could not battle his way through the whirling blade of the Tark. Still Tarak attacked, stopping only when Kiron achieved a countering attack, and he was forced back.

Finally the Kalnorian tired, his respect for his friend having increased to some extent, and they retired for the evening. d disappearing down the stairs which led to the palace below.