d not to let him.
There's a perfectly good woman in my personal trailer, and I'm going to
get her. But if we're going to do that and get clear of this country by
morning, we'd better get to it."

Like every other young man of his time and place, Geoffrey had a
clear-cut sense of duty regarding the safety and well-being of ladies.
He had an entirely different set of attitudes toward women who were not
ladies. He had not the slightest idea of which to apply to this case.

What sort of woman would The Barbarian take to battle with him? What
sort of women would the inland barbarians have generally? He had very
little knowledge to go on. The inlanders had been appearing from over
the westward mountains for generations, looting and pillaging almost at
will, sometimes staying through a winter but usually disappearing in the
early Fall, carrying their spoils back to their mysterious homelands on
the great Mississippi plain. The seaboard civilization had somehow kept
from going to its knees, in spite of them--in this last generation, even
though the barbarians had The Barbarian to lead them, the Seaboard
League had managed to cobble itself together--but no one, in all this
time, had ever actually learned, or cared, much about these vicious,
compactly organized raiders. Certainly no one had learned anything
beyond those facts which worked to best advantage on a battlefield.

So, young Giulion Geoffrey faced his problem. This 'perfectly good
woman' of The Barbarian's--was she in fact a good woman, a lady, and
therefore entitled to aid in extremity from any and all gentlemen; or
was she some camp follower, entirely worthy of being considered a spoil
of combat?

"Well, come on, lad," The Barbarian rumbled impatiently at this point.
"Do you want that Dugald enjoying _her_ tonight along with everything
else?"

And that decided Geoffrey. He pushed himself to his feet, not liking the
daggers in his chest, but not liking the thought of Dugald's pleasures
even more. "Let's go, then."

"Good enough, lad," The Barbarian chuckled. "Now let's see how quietly
we can get across to the edge of that fire."

They set out--none too quietly, with The Barbarian's heavy bulk lurching
against Geoffrey's lean shoulder on occasion, and both of them uncertain
of their footing in the darkness. But they made it across without being
noticed--just two more battle-sore figures in a field where many such
might be expected--and that was what counted.