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Skandos' face. Thus the head of the
image, although it was a remarkably good piece of sculpture, looked more like
that of Tedric's foreman than like
that of the real Skandos. And with the head, any resemblance at all to Skandos
ceased. The rest of the real Skandos
was altogether too small and too pitifully weak to be acceptable as
representative of any Lomarrian's god; hence
the torso and limbs of the gleaming copper statue were wider, thicker, longer,
bigger, and even more fantastically
muscled than were Tedric's own. Also, the figure was hollow; filled with sand
throughout except for an intricately
carved grey sandstone brain and red-painted hardwood liver and heart.
"They come, master, to the number of eleven," his lookout boy came running
with news at mid-afternoon of the
seventh day. "One priest in copper, ten Tarkians in iron, a five each of
bowmen and spearmen."
Tedric did not have to tell the boy where to go or what to do or to hurry
about it; as both ran for the ironmaster's
armor the youngster was two steps in the lead. It was evident, too, that he
had served as squire before, and fre-
quently; for in seconds the erstwhile half-naked blacksmith was fully clothed
in iron.
Thus it was an armored knight, leaning negligently upon a fifteen-pound
forging hammer, who waited outside the
shop's door and watched his eleven visitors approach.
The banner was that of a priest of the third rank. Good-they weren't worried
enough about him yet, then" to send a
big one. And only ten mercenaries-small, short, bandy-legged men of Tark-good
enough fighters for their weight,
but they didn't weigh much. This wouldn't be too bad.
The group came up to within a few paces and stopped. "Art in armor, smith?"
the discomfited priest demanded.
"Why?"
"Why not? 'Tis my habit to greet guests in apparel of their own choosing."
There was a brief silence, then:
"To what do I owe the honor of this visit, priest?" he asked, only half
sarcastically. "I paid, as I have always paid" the
fraction due."
"True. 'Tis not about a fraction I come. It is noised that a strange god
appeared to you, spoke to you, instructed you
in your art; that you are making an image of him."
"I made no secret of any of these things. I hide nothing from the great god or
his minions, nor ever have. I have
nothing to hide."
"Perhaps. Such conduct is very unseemly-decidedly ungodlike. He should not
have appeared to you, but to one of
us, and in the temple."
"It is un-Sarpedionlike, certainly-all that Sarpedion has ever done for me is
let me alone, and I have paid heavily for
that."
"What bargain did you make with this Llosir? What was the price?"
"No bargain was made. I thought it strange, but who am I an ordinary man, to
try to understand the actions or the
reasonings of a god? There will be a price, I suppose. Whatever it is, I will
pay it gladly."
"You will pay, rest assured; not to this Llosir, but to great Sarpedion. I
command you to destroy that image
forthwith."
"You do? Why? Since when has it been against the law to have a personal god?
Most families of Lomarr have them."
"Not like yours. Sarpedion does not permit your Llosir to exist."
"Sarpedion has nothing to say about it. Llosir already exists. Is the great
god so weak, so afraid, so unable to defend
himself against a one-man stranger that he. . . ."
"Take care, smith-silence! That is rankest blasphemy!" "Perhaps; but I have
blasphemed before and Sarpedion -hasn't
killed me yet. Nor will he, methinks; at least until his priests have
collected his fraction of the finest iron ever
forged and which I only can make."
"Oh, yes, the new iron. Tell me exactly how it is made." "You know better than
to ask that question, priest. That
secret will be known only to me and my god."
"We have equipment and tools designed specifically for getting information out
of such as you. Seize him, men"
and smash that image!"
"HOLD!" Tedric roared, in such a voice that not a man moved. "If anybody takes
one forward step, priest, or makes
one move toward spear or arrow, your brains will spatter the walls across the
street. Can your copper helmet stop
this hammer? Can your girl-muscled, fat-bellied priest's body move fast enough
to dodge my blow? And most or all
of those runty little slavelings behind you," waving his left arm
contemptuously at the group, "will also die before
they cut me down. And if I die now, of what worth is Sarpedion's fraction of a
metal that will never be made? Think
well, priest!"
Sarpedion's agent studied the truculent" glaring iron, master for a long two
minutes. Then, deciding that the
proposed victim could not be taken alive, he led his crew back the way they
had come, trailing fiery threats. And
Tedric, going back into his shop, was thoroughly aware that those threats were
not idle. So far, he hadn't taken too
much risk, but the next visit would be different-very different. He was
exceedingly glad that none of his men knew
that the pots they were firing so fiercely were in fact filled only with coke
and willow charcoal; that armor and
sword and shield and axe and hammer were at that moment getting their final
heat treatment in a bath of oil" but
little hotter than boiling water, in the sanctum to which he retired, always
alone, to perform the incantations which
his men-and hence the priests of Sarpedion-believed as necessary as any other
part of the metallurgical process.
That evening he selected a smooth" fine-grained stone and whetted the already
almost perfect cutting edge of his
new sword; an edge which in cross-section was rather more like an extremely
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