al
Hospital; that was closest to the maternity wards, and statistics
showed that most births occurred just before that hour.

"Certainly not," Verkan Vall vetoed. "We'll fight here and now; I
don't propose going a couple of hundred miles to meet you at any such
unholy hour. We'll fight in the nearest hallway that provides twenty
meters' shooting distance."

Marnark, Sirzob and Yirzol all clamored in protest. Verkan Vall
shouted them down, drawing on his hypnotically acquired knowledge of
Akor-Neb duelling customs. "The code explicitly states that
satisfaction shall be rendered as promptly as possible, and I insist
on a literal interpretation. I'm not going to inconvenience myself and
Assassin-President Klarnood and these four Gentlemen-Assassins just to
humor Statisticalist superstitions."

The manager of the hotel, drawn to the Martian Room by the uproar,
offered a hallway connecting the kitchens with the refrigerator rooms;
it was fifty meters long by five in width, was well-lighted and
soundproof, and had a bay in which the seconds and other could stand
during the firing.

They repaired thither in a body, Klarnood gathering up several hotel
servants on the way through the kitchen. Verkan Vall stripped to the
waist, pulled off his ankle boots, and examined Olirzon's knife. Its
tapering eight-inch blade was double-edged at the point, and its
handle was covered with black velvet to afford a good grip, and wound
with gold wire. He nodded approvingly, gripped it with his index
finger crooked around the cross-guard, and advanced to meet Marnark of
Bashad.

As he had expected, the burly politician was depending upon his
greater brawn to overpower his antagonist. He advanced with a sidling,
spread-legged gait, his knife hand against his right hip and his left
hand extended in front. Verkan Vall nodded with pleased satisfaction;
a wrist-grabber. Then he blinked. Why, the fellow was actually holding
his knife reversed, his little finger to the guard and his thumb on
the pommel!

Verkan Vall went briskly to meet him, made a feint at his knife hand
with his own left, and then side-stepped quickly to the right. As
Marnark's left hand grabbed at his right wrist, his left hand brushed
against it and closed into a fist, with Marnark's left thumb inside of
it, He gave a quick downward twist with his wrist, pulling Marnark off
balance.

Caught by surprise, Marnark stumbled, his knife flailing wildly away
from Verkan Vall. A