in that crushed bulk, the turret
and its occupant might be.

The other tankette took its boulder squarely in the flank. It began to
roll over immediately, hurtling back down the hill, its driver half in
and half out of its turret at the beginning of the first roll. Tankette
and boulder came to rest together at the bottom of the hill, the stone
nosing up against the metal.

Geoffrey looked at the scene with cold fury. "That's no fitting way for
a noble to die!"

The Barbarian, who was sprawled out and watching calmly, nodded his
head. "Probably not," he said dispassionately. "But that other man's
giving a good account of himself."

The remaining tankette was almost in among the tribesmen. It had passed
the point where a rolling boulder's momentum would be great enough to do
much damage. As Geoffrey watched, the man in the turret yanked his
lanyard, and a solid shot boomed through the straggled line of bearded
men. If it had been grape or canister, it might have done a good deal of
damage. But the cannon had been loaded with Geoffrey's tankette in mind,
and the tribesmen only jeered. One of them dashed forward, under the
cannon's smoking muzzle, and jammed a wedge-shaped stone between the
left side track and the massive forward track roller. The track jammed,
broke, and whipped back in whistling fragments. The tankette slewed
around while the unharmed tribesman danced out of the way. The noble in
the turret could only watch helplessly. Apparently he had no sidearm.
Geoffrey peered at him as the tribesmen swarmed over the tankette and
dragged him out of the turret. It was Dugald, and Geoffrey's arm still
tingled from the slap that had knocked the pistol irretrievably into the
night-shadowed brush at the battlefield.

"What are they going to do to him?" he asked The Barbarian.

"Make him meet the test of fitness, I suppose."

"Fitness?"

Geoffrey did not get the answer to his question immediately. The woods
all around him were stirring, and bearded men in homespun, carrying
fantastic rifles, were casually walking toward him. The Barbarian pushed
himself up to his feet without any show of surprise.

"Howdy," he said. "Figured you were right around."

One of the tribesmen--a gaunt, incredibly tall man with a grizzled
beard--nodded. "I seen you makin' signs while you was hangin' off that
tank, before. Got a mark?"

The Barbarian extended his right arm and turned his wrist over. A faint
double scar, crossed at rig