"Now, that," he said, "is what I call a pretty good law! Hyah, Your Majesty! Whateth is nexteth on ye program?"
"Nuts," said Steve, "to you!" He frowned at his new lieutenant. "We have but just come here. There is much we need to know—er—"
"My name is Jak," supplied the other. "Jak of Norlinz, men call me. I shall try to explain anything you would know. But first—" He jerked his head contemptuously toward the prostrate figure between them—"shall we dispose of this?"
"Yes," said Steve unthinkingly. "Snap him out of it and—Hey! What are you doing!"
For at his word, two men had stepped forward, lifted the body of Rodrik and carried it to the nearest window. In another instant the vanquished chieftain would have been flying on his way two hundred feet to the stone courtyard below. They paused uncertainly. One said, "But, surely—Oh! Pardon, my lord! You would put him to the sword yourself?"
"Release him!" snapped Steve. "Give him water, and tend his hurts!"
"But—but the Law!"
For the second time since his arrival in this strange, semi-civilized world, Stephen Duane invoked a defiant phrase. This time he did it with more assurance. His eyes hardened, tiny white knots gathered at the corners of his jaw. "I am the Law!" he said. "Release him! It is folly to waste good manpower in such—Ah! You've come to, Rodrik?"
The deposed ruler, released, had somehow managed to stay on his feet. He cringed at the tone of Steve's voice.