though Gunnar had spent most of the past four days in grumbling and
polishing his sword, there had been hours and hours when Odin had not seen
him. The little man had a secret, but what it was he would not tell. "For,"
he said to Odin, "then it would not be my secret. It would be mine and
yours, and I would own but half of it. Does a man give half of his flocks
away?"

Odin was a bit hurt over his friend's behavior. He even wondered if Gunnar
had taken a liking to one of the white-skinned slave-girls--for they were
beautiful. Still, that did not seem like Gunnar. But you could never tell.
After all, he found himself quoting, there's no fool like an old fool.

Mixed up in this secret was a buckskin bag that Gunnar had brought with him
from the ship. When Odin had inquired about it, Gunnar had replied: "Magic.
A very old magic."

That too was not like Gunnar. He relied upon his sword, since the Norse
gods were usually busy with their own affairs. Those gods ate their
rejuvenating apples every day and then went out like healthy boys to
see what was happening; and though they meant well they usually were
somewhere else when they were needed. Therefore, the use of magic bags
and incantations was a lot of foolishness. But here was Gunnar fondling
a tightly-drawn buckskin bag as though it held eternity's secrets.

"You ought to get yourself a witch-doctor's mask and a couple of
hollowbones to whistle through," Odin had told him scathingly.

"Never mind. Never mind. Old Gunnar will be there when they put out the
fire and call the dogs. Now, you stay here in this room, Odin. And don't
go looking after any of these slave-girls. They are too pretty. And you are
young. After all, there's no fool like a young fool. So don't go wandering
off. Just stay here and polish your sword and wait until I return. I think
my magic will do a great deal this afternoon."

"Touche!" Jack Odin thought as Gunnar departed. "So he's been worrying
about me and the girls, has he?"

Odin polished his sword and looked at the paintings. But the entire palace
seemed to be whispering. An air of tension hung over it. The halls were
quiet, where servants usually were busily going back and forth.

Once he heard shouts and the sound of fighting far off. There was a loud
shot and a scream of pain. After that, the unusual quiet returned.

This was the sixth afternoon that he had spent on this enslaved world. Odin
did not enjoy it. He tried to make plans to