“Put the mace down, slowly and quietly,” the overman said.
Nalba tried to obey; he lowered the head, but was unable to handle the weight of the weapon. The metal ball struck the stone paving with an audible thud, and the terrified soldier discovered that he could not reach down any farther to place the handle on the floor. If he dropped it, it would rattle; if he bent down, the sword would be forced into his gullet.
Garth grasped the situation and said, “Drop it.” He did not see how it could matter; anything listening would have heard the sound of the mace’s head falling.
Relieved, Nalba dropped the mace; the handle rolled down and clicked against the stone.
That done, the two stared at each other, Garth seeing a shadowy backlit figure wearing the green uniform and bronze helmet of Ur-
