And they went immediately to the antechamber, where Hualpa saluted the ’tzin. The latter surveyed his fine person approvingly, and said, “I am told you wish to enter my service. Were you ever in battle?”
The hunter told his story with his wonted modesty.
“Well, the chase is a good school for warriors. It trains the thews, teaches patience and endurance, and sharpens the spirit’s edge. Let us to the garden. A hand to retain skill must continue its practice; like a good memory, it is the better for exercise. Come, and I will show you how I keep prepared for every emergency of combat.” And so saying, the ’tzin led the visitors out.
They went to the garden, followed by the retainers lounging at the door. A short walk brought them to a space surrounded by a copse of orange-trees, strewn with sand, and broad enough for a mock battle; a few benches about the margin afforded accommodation to spectators; a stone house at the northern end served for armory, and was full of arms and armor. A glance assured the visitors that the place had been prepared expressly for training. Some score or more of warriors, in the military livery of the ’tzin, already occupied a portion of the field. Upon his appearance they quitted their games, and closed around him with respectful salutations.
“How now, my good Chinantlan!” he said, pleasantly. “Did I not award you a prize yesterday? There are few in the valley who can excel you in launching the spear.”
“The plume is mine no longer,” replied the warrior. “I was beaten last night. The winner, however, is a countryman.”
“A countryman! You Chinantlans seem born to the spear. Where is the man?”
The victor stepped forward, and drew up before the master, who regarded his brawny limbs, sinewy neck, and bold eyes with undisguised admiration; so an artist would regard a picture or a statue. Above the fellow’s helm floated a plume of scarlet feathers, the trophy of his superior skill.
“Get your spear,” said the ’tzin. “I bring you a competitor.”
The spear was brought, an ugly weapon in any hand. The head was of copper, and the shaft sixteen feet long. The rough Chinantlan handled it with a loving grip.