ice
of this very city and the stat-wand were known. But beyond that,
everything was locked and sealed in Dulaq's subconscious mind. Could
the machine reach into that subconscious, probe past the lock and seal
of catatonia, and stimulate Dulaq's mind into repeating the duel?

Slowly, lullingly, the dueling machine's imaginary yet very real mists
enveloped Leoh. When the mists cleared, he was standing on the upper
pedestrian level of the main commercial street of the city. For a long
moment, everything was still.

_Have I made contact? Whose eyes am I seeing with, my own or Dulaq's?_

And then he sensed it--an amused, somewhat astonished marveling at the
reality of the illusion. Dulaq's thoughts!

_Make your mind a blank_, Leoh told himself. _Watch. Listen. Be
passive._

He became a spectator, seeing and hearing the world through Dulaq's
eyes and ears as the Acquatainian Prime Minister advanced through his
nightmarish ordeal. He felt the confusion, frustration, apprehension
and growing terror as, time and again, Odal appeared in the
crowd--only to melt into someone else and escape.

The first part of the duel ended, and Leoh was suddenly buffeted by a
jumble of thoughts and impressions. Then the thoughts slowly cleared
and steadied.

Leoh saw an immense and totally barren plain. Not a tree, not a blade
of grass; nothing but bare, rocky ground stretching in all directions
to the horizon and a disturbingly harsh yellow sky. At his feet was
the weapon Odal had chosen. A primitive club.

He shared Dulaq's sense of dread as he picked up the club and hefted
it. Off on the horizon he could see a tall, lithe figure holding a
similar club walking toward him.

Despite himself, Leoh could feel his own excitement. He had broken
through the shock-created armor that Dulaq's mind had erected! Dulaq
was reliving the part of the duel that had caused the shock.

Reluctantly, he advanced to meet Odal. But as they drew closer
together, the one figure of his opponent seemed to split apart. Now
there were two, four, six of them. Six Odals, six mirror images, all
armed with massive, evil clubs, advancing steadily on him.

Six tall, lean, blond assassins, with six cold smiles on their intent
faces.

Horrified, completely panicked, he scrambled away, trying to evade the
six opponents with the half-dozen clubs raised and poised to strike.

Their young legs and lungs easily outdistanced him. A smash on his
back sent him sprawling.