the gleaming copper statue were wider, thicker, longer, bigger, and even more fantastically muscled than were Tedric's own. Also, the figure was hollow; filled with sand throughout except for an intricately-carved gray sandstone brain and red-painted hardwood liver and heart. "They come, master, to the number of eleven," his lookout boy came running with news at mid-afternoon of the seventh day. "One priest in copper, ten Tarkians in iron, a five each of bowmen and spearmen." Tedric did not have to tell the boy where to go or what to do or to hurry about it; as both ran for the ironmaster's armor the youngster was two steps in the lead. It was evident, too, that he had served as squire before, and frequently; for in seconds the erstwhile half-naked blacksmith was fully clothed in iron. Thus it was an armored knight, leaning negligently upon a fifteen-pound forging hammer, who waited outside the shop's door and watched his eleven visitors approach. The banner was that of a priest of the third rank. Good—they weren't worried enough about him yet, then, to send a big one. And only ten mercenaries—small, short, bandy-legged men of Tark—good enough fighters for their weight, but they didn't weigh much. This wouldn't be too bad. The group came up to within a few paces and stopped. "Art in armor, smith?" the discomfited priest demanded. "Why?" "Why not? 'Tis my habit to greet guests in apparel of their own choosing." There was a brief silence, then: "To what do I owe the honor of this visit, priest?" he asked, only half sarcastically. "I paid, as I have always paid, the fraction due." "True. 'Tis not about a fraction I come. It is noised that a strange god appeared to you, spoke to you, instructed you in your art; that you are making an image of him." "I made no secret of any of these things. I hide nothing from the great god or his minions, nor ever have. I have nothing to hide." "Perhaps. Such conduct is very unseemly—decidedly ungodlike. He should not have appeared to you, but to one of us,
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