was altogether too small and too pitifully weak to be acceptable as representative of any Lomarrian’s god; hence
the torso and limbs of 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 grey 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 fre-
quently; 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, and in the temple.”
“It is un-Sarpedionlike, certainly-all that Sarpedion has ever done for me is let me alone, and I have paid heavily for
that.”
“What bargain did you make with this Llosir? What was the price?”
“No bargain was made. I thought it strange, but who am I an ordinary man, to try to understand the actions or the
reasonings of a god? There will be a price, I suppose. Whatever it is, I will pay it gladly.”
“You will pay, rest assured; not to this Llosir, but to great Sarpedion. I command you to destroy that image
forthwith.”
“You do? Why? Since when has it been against the law to have a personal god? Most families of Lomarr have them.”
“Not like yours. Sarpedion does not permit your Llosir to exist.”
“Sarpedion has nothing to say about it. Llosir already exists. Is the great god so weak, so afraid, so unable to defend
himself against a one-man stranger that he. . . .”
“Take care, smith-silence! That is rankest blasphemy!” “Perhaps; but I have blasphemed before and Sarpedion -hasn’t
killed me yet. Nor will he, methinks; at least until his priests have collected his fraction of the finest iron ever
forged and which I only can make.”
“Oh, yes, the new iron. Tell me exactly how it is made.” “You know better than to ask that question, priest. That
secret will be known only to me and my god.”
“We have equipment and tools designed specifically for getting information out of such as you. Seize him, men”
and smash that image!”
“HOLD!” Tedric roared, in such a voice that not a man moved. “If anybody takes one forward step, priest, or makes
one move toward spear or arrow, your brains will spatter the walls across the street. Can your copper helmet stop
this hammer? Can your girl-muscled, fat-bellied priest’s body move fast enough to dodge my blow? And most or all
of those runty little slavelings behind you,” waving his left arm contemptuously at the group, “will also die before
they cut me down. And if I die now, of what worth is Sarpedion’s fraction of a metal that will never be made? Think
well, priest!”
Sarpedion’s agent studied the truculent” glaring iron, master for a long two minutes. Then, deciding that the
proposed victim could not be taken alive, he led his crew back the way they had come, trailing fiery threats. And
Tedric, going back into his shop, was thoroughly aware that those threats were not idle. So far, he hadn’t taken too
much risk, but the next visit would be different-very different. He was exceedingly glad that none of his men knew
that the pots they were firing so fiercely were in fact filled only with coke and willow charcoal; that armor and
sword and shield and axe and hammer were at that moment getting their final heat treatment in a bath of oil” but
little hotter than boiling water, in the sanctum to which he retired, always alone, to perform the incantations which
his men-and hence the priests of Sarpedion-believed as necessary as any other part of the metallurgical process.
That evening he selected a smooth” fine-grained stone and whetted the already almost perfect cutting edge of his
new sword; an edge which in cross-section was rather more like an extremely sharp cold-chisel than a
hollow-ground razor. He fitted the two-hand grip meticulously with worked and tempered rawhide, thrilling again
and again as each touch of an educated and talented finger-tip told him over and over that here was some thing
brand new in metal a real god-metal.
A piece of flat wrought iron” about three-sixteenths by five inches and about a foot long” already lay on a smooth
and heavy hardwood block. He tapped it sharply with the sword’s edge. The blade rang like a bell; the iron showed a
bright new scar; that was all. Then a moderately heavy two-handed blow, about as hard as he had ever dared swing an
iron sword. Still no damage. Then” heart in mouth” he gave the god-metal its final test; struck with everything he
had” from heels and toes to fingertips. He had never struck such a blow before, except possibly with a war-axe or a
sledge. There was a ringing clang” two sundered slabs of iron flew to opposite ends of the room, the atrocious
blade went on, half an inch deep into solid oak. He wrenched the weapon free and stared at the unmarred edge.
UNMARRED! For an instant Tedric felt as though he were about to collapse; but sheerest joy does not disable.
There was nothing left to do except make the links” hinge-pins, and so on for his armor, which did not take long.
Hence, when the minions of Sarpedion next appeared” armored this time in the heaviest and best iron they had and
all set to overwhelm him by sheer weight of numbers” he was completely ready. Nor was there palaver or parley.
The attackers opened the door” saw the smith” and rushed.
But Tedric, although in plain sight, had chosen the battleground with care. He was in a corner. At his back a solid.
walled stairway ran up to the second floor. On his right the wall was solid for twenty feet. On his left, beyond the
stairwell, the wall was equally solid for twice as far. They would have to come after him, and as he retreated, they
would be fighting their way up, and not more than two at a time.
This first swing” horizontal and neck-high, was fully as fierce-driven as the one that had cloven the test piece and
almost ruined his testing-block. The god-metal blade scarcely slowed as it went through armor and flesh and bone.
In fact, the helmet and the head within it remained in place upon the shoulders for what seemed like seconds before
the body toppled and the arteries spurted crimson jets.
He didn’t have to hit so bard, then. Good. Nobody could last very long, the way he had started out. Wherefore the
next blow, a vertical chop, merely split a man to the chin instead of to the navel; and the third, a back-hand return”
didn’t quite cut the victim’s head clear off.
And the blows his steel was taking” aimed at head or neck or shoulder, were doing no harm at all. In fact, except for
the noise, they scarcely bothered him. He had been designing and building armor for five years, and this was his
masterpiece. The helmet was heavily padded; the shoulders twice as much so. He bad sacrificed some mobility he
could not turn his head very far in either direction-but the jointing was such that the force of any blow on the