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Wolff worked his way down the hill. Although exposed to the sight of those below, he did not think that
they would take much interest in a lone traveler at this time. He was right. No one hastened from either
camp to question him. He was able to walk up to the edge of the meadow and make a leisurely
inspection.
The flag above the pavilion to his left bore a yellow field with a Solomon's seal. By this he knew that a
Yidshe champion had pitched his tent here. Below the national flag was a green banner with a silver fish
and hawk. The other camp had several state and personal pennons. One of them leaped out into Wolff's
gaze and caused him to cry out with surprise. On a white field was a red ass's head with a hand below it,
all fingers clenched but the middle. Kickaha had once told him of it, and Wolff had gotten a big laugh out
of it. It was just like Kickaha to pick such a coat of arms.
Wolff sobered then, knowing that, more likely, it was borne by the man who took care of Kickaha's
territory while he was gone.
He changed his decision to pass on by the field. He had to determine for himself that the man using that
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banner was not Kickaha, even though he knew that his friend's bones must be rotting under a pile of dirt
at the bottom of a shaft in a ruined city of the jungle.
Unchallenged, he made his way across the field and into the camp at the western end. Men-at-arms and
retainers stared, only to turn away from his glare. Somebody muttered, "Yidshe dog!" but none owned to
the comment when he turned. He went on around a line of horses tethered to a post and up to the knight
who was his goal. This one was clad in shining red armor, visor down, and held a huge lance upright
while he waited his turn. The lance bore near its tip a pennon on which were the red ass's head and
human hand.
Wolff placed himself near the prancing horse, making it even more nervous. He cried out in German,
"Baron von Horstmann?"
There was a muffled exclamation, a pause, and the knight's hand raised his visor. Wolff almost wept with
joy. The merry long-lipped face of FinneganKickaha-von Horstmann was inside the helmet.
"Don't say anything," Kickaha cautioned. "I don't know how in hell you found me, but I'm sure happy
about it. I'll see you in a moment. That is, if I come back alive. This funem Laksfalk is one tough
hombre."
XII
TRUMPETS FLARED. Kickaha rode out to a spot indicated by the marshals. A shaven-headed,
long-robed priest blessed him while, at the other end of the field, a rabbi was saying something to Baron
funem Laksfalk. The Yidshe champion was a large man in a silver armor, his helmet shaped like a fish's
head. His steed was a huge powerful black. The trumpets blew again. The two contenders dipped their
lances in salute. Kickaha briefly gripped his lance with his left hand while he crossed himself with his right.
(He was a stickler for observing the religious rules of the people among whom he happened to be at the
moment.)
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Another blast of long-shafted, big-mouthed trumpets was followed by the thunder of the hooves of the
knight's horses and the cheers of the onlookers. The two met exactly in the middle of the field, as did the
lance of each in the middle of the other's shield. Both fell with a clangor that startled the birds from the
nearby trees, as they had been startled many times that day. The horses rolled on the ground.
The men of each knight ran out onto the field to pick up their chief and to drag away the horses, both of
which had broken their necks. For a moment, Wolff thought that the Yidshe and Kickaha were also
dead, for neither stirred. After being carried back, however, Kickaha came to. He grinned feebly, and
said, "You ought to see the other guy."
"He's okay," Wolff said after a glance at the other camp.
"Too bad," Kickaha replied. "I was hoping he wouldn't give us any more trouble. He's held me up too
long as it is."
Kickaha ordered all but Wolff to leave the tent. His men seemed reluctant to leave him but they obeyed,
though not without warning looks at Wolff. Kickaha said, "I was on my way from my castle to von
Elgers' when I passed funem Laksfalk's pavilion. If I'd been alone, I would have thumbed my nose at his
challenge and ridden on. But there were also Teutoniacs there, and I had my own men to consider. I
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