Harry recoiled, dropping the sword and grasping his wounded arm.

“Halt!” called Moabe.

Hosato stepped back and relaxed his guard.

“First blood has been drawn,” Moabe intoned. “The matter is settled.”

“Not so fast!”

All heads turned toward the source of the voice.

During the skirmish, Casey had drifted back and taken up a position behind Moabe. He was there now, but his blaster was out and leveled at the umpire.

“Harry didn’t agree to this first-blood bull.”

“He entered into combat after the terms had—”

“Shut up, Moabe. What do you say, Harry?”

“Come on, Casey. I’m hurt!”

“Casey glared at his brother for a moment, then turned his gaze to Hosato. “Hayama,” he said, “I know you wouldn’t want to take advantage of Harry’s condition, so what say you switch that sword over to your left hand. Now!”

Slowly Hosato complied with the order.

“Okay now, Harry?” Casey called.

“Okay. Come on, Hayama. Just you and me.”

Hosato advanced slowly to meet him.

Harry was lying. It wasn’t just the two of them. It was becoming increasingly apparent to Hosato that if he succeeded in killing Harry, one of the other brothers would gun him down, rules or no rules. He had been afraid something like this would happen. That’s why he had a small, flat two-shot blaster secreted in his pocket. Casey had timed his move well, however, and there was no way to reach the weapon without drawing fire from the other two brothers.

Harry plunged forward again. Hosato parried and bounded backward, ignoring his chance for a fatal riposte.

“Not so good with your left hand, are you, Hayama?” Harry sneered.