"I carry no mace," the lowborn admitted.
"Barkeep!" roared Felg, but the barkeep, highborn as Felg himself, shook his head slowly, saying:
"We serve extra-Kedaki here, see? The place is full of them. There will be no duel here tonight, or any night."
"But it's lawful," said Felg stubbornly.
"Lawful or not—" began the barkeep. Then the beautiful woman smiled at Felg, a smile not for him but at him, a baring of the teeth in amused contempt. And she hissed:
"Felg, I swear, you are a barbarian."
Felg slammed his hand down on the surface of the bar. "It is lawful. I demand my rights! Bring maces!"
"I await you, lord," said the lowborn.
"Not here," the barkeep said softly, not wanting to create a disturbance. Then he looked at Felg's eyes. Felg's eyes told him that Felg had been made a fool of before the woman, but they did not tell him what Felg did not know: Felg had been made a fool of by himself. The eyes did say, however, that if Felg did not have satisfaction from the lowborn, he would have it from the barkeep himself. And the voice, a roaring, thundering bellow, confirmed this. "I'll duel with him here!" cried Felg. "Here and now I will!" He added softly, almost purring: "Or I'll duel with you outside, friend. Do you believe in metempsychosis, friend?"
Matlin knew what the barkeep's unspoken answer was by the ashen look which came over the man's face. He most assuredly did not believe. He was afraid to die. He did not want to duel with Felg, a bully and probably an expert with the mace. He sighed, shrugging his shoulders. He looked at the lowborn and shook his head. He said, "I'll get the maces."