Pic’s nostrils swelled. There was a sinister glitter in his eyes as he directed them full upon his guest. “Who says that?” he growled. Then without waiting for a reply, he added: “Men who are wise, do not speak to me of the Lion and Mammoth in the same breath.”
“Agh, I forgot,” muttered Gonch completely abashed. “It was of another they spoke. You are a flint-worker who neither hunts nor fights.”
Pic scowled at this impudence and was on the point of replying angrily, when he checked himself as a thought suddenly occurred to him.
“Hunt? fight?” he said sternly: “It is well that you reminded me. You are a stranger here and should know our rules. Listen to them and heed them well for it is quite necessary that they be most carefully observed.”
“Rules?” Gonch awaited curious. His host now spoke in a tone of authority and yet he had mentioned “ours.” A chieftain would have said “my rules.”
“There are three of these rules,” said Pic in his most impressive manner, holding up three fingers by way of illustration. “The first concerns our young men. It is not permitted for them to do any unnecessary quarrelling among themselves. If they should quarrel, it must be a fair fight and for some good reason.”
“He must be joking,” thought Gonch. “No fighting? Whoever heard of such a thing?”
“Our second rule is equally simple,” Pic went on. “Also equally important. There must be no waste of game. The valley abounds with animals of every kind and they are easily caught. We wish these conditions to continue. Without beef or venison, we would starve and so these animals should neither be alarmed nor driven away. Promiscuous slaughter is therefore forbidden. Men must not kill more than they need.”
Gonch gasped as the true meaning of this astounding utterance forced itself upon him. The motive that inspired it and its sound logic were too lofty for his understanding or appreciation. Had Gonch not been born hungry and hungered all his life, he might have understood, for his wits were as keen as those of a fox. But killing was his primary instinct. His every thought and act sprang from his unquenchable blood-lust. “Simple rules indeed and a simpleton who says them,” he sneered under his breath. “This Pic has gone crazy with his flint-working. No wonder his people put him here by himself where he can do no harm.”