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Show running with lances, chopping delicately away with swords, lunging and retreating with epees. Pym, something smaller than his mother, but equally confident, followed her glance and smiled himself. Dr'Anya drew a deep breath. She had never seen a tourney with such numbers before and was, as usual, impressed with the grace, the almost fairylike skill at touching and dodging, and thrusting delicately for the red, electronically sensitized symbols indicating the vital points of the body, which showed up on the electronic scoring devices visible on the wall of the largest cottage behind them. In truth, there was nothing to dodging and feinting so as not to be touched, not for the people of BauerWorlde. The champions were those who could score a mark. The whole population of Commendium Doctors had become wizards at dodging, and a good part of the Yeofolk, Techs, and Merchants, too-even an occasional Manager. The Exalted Manager, Jensen, for one. The good Dr'Anya herself, up until three TwelveMonths before, could not be touched, not even by Janni during her last holiday at home. Only a few folk in the whole citizenry, in fact, could score appreciably against an opponent. Erica was one of them. Her son, Pym was another. "Verily," said Pym. "I look foward to this melee." He smiled dreamily. "'Tis tiresome indeed having no true competition." Dr'Igor turned to him in astonishment. "Oh," said Pym. "I mean not that they won't be easy to score against.. ." "They will most likely run fair into your sword," said Erica. " . . . I mean rather that these folk fight to kill. . ." Janni's eyebrows rose and she closed her eyes. "...and-thou seest?-a thing like that adds 257 |