"A shrinking violet," grinned Steve. "Only don't forget to cross the 't' in 'shrinking'." And to Rodrik—"I too am a ruler in my native territory, Rodrik. Therefore I challenge you to pit your strength against mine, here and now, for the prize of these Women who are my own."
"It is not meet," said the ruler disdainfully, "that I should soil my hands against one so puny. I, Rodrik, who alone and unaided have slain the fierce jungle wolf, snared the sharp-fanged boar with bare hands, shattered the ranks of a warrior Clan—"
"Child's play!" taunted Steve. "In my youth, Rodrik, I met and bested the horrible Intercollegiate Fisticuffs Champion, fighting against staggering odds under the sacred and dreadful Marquis of Queensbury rules! Can you say as much?"
The priestess Beth, who until this moment had seemed fearful not so much for her own safety as for that of the man she was pledged to protect, now turned to Chuck dubiously.
"Is—is this really so, O Chuck?" she murmured. "He did destroy the terrible intakul—intrical—?"
"Sister," chuckled Lafferty, "he moidered him! Left-jabbed him silly, then crossed a kayo to the solar plexus. If Rodrik of Mish-kin gets sucked into this deal, he's gonna get tagged on the whiskers—but plenty!"
"The language of the gods," whispered the girl in awe, "is strange to my humble ears. But I am reassured. What can I do to help?"
"Just say," grinned Chuck, "the magic words: 'Sock him, Steve!' That oughta help."
The priestess made a swift, pious movement. "Your suggestion, O Chuck, is my command."
Meanwhile, Rodrik of Mish-kin had pressed forward to confront Steve. Ranged face to face, there was a startling similarity between the two men. Both were over six feet tall, both were blond of hair, fair of skin, blue of eye. But there the likeness ended. Steve's brow was smooth, unfurrowed; his lips were drawn in an amused, almost hopeful, half smile. The other man's eyes were sultry, his lips drawn thin with anger at having his authority thus challenged.