Garth shrugged, found one end of the rope, and held it while tossing the main coil to Saram. The man caught it, unwound several yards, and threw a loose loop around his neck. Making sure that it did not pull tight, he then tossed the free end back. It fell short; Galt stepped forward and picked it up. He and Garth each held one end now, while the central portion was wrapped once around Saram's throat.
Saram stooped and reached out for the hilt. His fingers touched it. Immediately there was a loud hissing, plainly audible to the four observers; smoke curled upward as he snatched back his hand, thrust his fingers into his mouth, and began sucking on them.
"It's hot!" he managed to say around his mouthful of singed fingertips.
"It is?" Galt was genuinely surprised. "Try it again."
Reluctantly, Saram obeyed, reaching out toward the sword.
The hiss was briefer this time; Saram had been better prepared and was able to pull his hand back more quickly. With his fingers in his mouth, he shook his head. "I can't touch it," he called.
"All right, then. Come back here and I'll try," Galt said.
Saram returned, looking slightly embarrassed. Galt handed his end of the rope to Fyrsh, then lifted the loop from around the human's neck and lowered it down past his own head onto his shoulders. That done, Saram stepped aside into Frima's considerate attentions, while Galt walked forward toward the sword.
He stopped when he reached the blade's side and called back, "As I understand it, Garth, you believe that I will be able to pick up the sword, but it will attempt to dominate me."
"I think so," Garth called back. "It can be subtle, though; it may just make you more irritable at first, more prone to react with irrational anger." He pulled in some of the slack in the rope he held.
Garth and the others watched intently; Saram, in particular, was curious as to whether Galt would be able to touch the sword without injury.
"I suspect that humans are merely over-sensitive to heat," Galt said, hesitating.
"It did not burn me at all," Garth replied, "save for the first time, when I pulled it from a fire."
Galt bent down and reached his hand slowly toward the hilt. As it neared, the black covering on the grip abruptly flared up in a burst of flame; as Saram had, Galt snatched back his hand. Unlike Saram, he immediately reached forward again. "It caught me by surprise," he called, "but I think it must be an illusion of some sort."
As the overman's hand neared it again, the flames died away to a yellow flickering. Galt ignored them and grasped the hilt firmly.
The smell of burning flesh filled the air and smoke poured from his hand; with a faint cry of pain he released his grip and looked at his scorched palm.
"I don't think it's an illusion," Garth said, "but I don't understand why it rejected you."
For a moment the five stood silently considering. Then Saram asked, "Guard, would you care to try?"
"I am called Fyrsh, human. Yes, I'll try it."
Galt returned and exchanged portions of rope with Fyrsh. The warrior had no better luck than his predecessors; like Saram, he touched the sword only lightly, with his fingertips, and received only slight burns. There was no flaring of flame, but the faint flickering remained.
"May I try?" Frima asked, when Fyrsh had rejoined the group.
There was a moment of surprised silence at this unexpected request. "Why?" Galt asked at last.
"Perhaps it only burns males-or perhaps only those who have not been in Dыsarra."
Galt looked at Garth, who shrugged. "I don't know," Garth said. "She could be right. My theory that it was attuned to overmen obviously wasn't. Let her try."
"Are you sure you want to?" Saram asked her.
She nodded.
"All right," Galt said. "Do you want the rope?"
"No."
"I don't think we need it," Saram said. "She's outnumbered four to one and outweighed at least six to one."
There was general agreement, and Frima approached the weapon unencumbered. She used only one finger for her experiment, and thereby escaped with the least injury, of any.
She came running back into Saram's arms and held up her scorched finger for him to kiss.
"Perhaps," Galt suggested, "the sword has changed somehow-the time of year may have affected it, or some occurrence in the battle. Perhaps no one can now handle it.
Garth nodded. "I hope you're right; let us see if it will singe my fingers as it did yours." He picked up the rope and threw a loop around his neck, handed the ends to Galt and Fyrsh, and then marched toward the sword.
Almost immediately he felt the familiar urge to grab it up, to use it on his enemies. The red glow of the jewel seemed to fill his vision and flood everything with crimson.
As he drew near, any caution he might have felt faded away. He reached down and picked up the sword, easily and naturally, as if it were an ordinary weapon. The flames that had glimmered about the hilt vanished as his hand approached; the grip was warm to his touch, as if. it had been left in bright sunlight for a few moments.
He lifted the sword, and the red haze vanished from his sight. The glow of the jewel faded. He felt none of the berserk fury that the sword had brought upon him in the past; instead he was strangely calm. He turned to face his companions. "You see?" he called. "It has a will of its own, and it has chosen me as its wielder."
"I see," Galt called back. "Now put it down again."
Garth nodded and tried to turn back.
The sword would not move; it hung in the air before him as if embedded in stone.
Garth tried to release his hold and drop it where it was; his fingers would not move.
"I think we have a problem," he called.
Instantly, Galt jerked the rope tight; with equal speed, the sword twisted, feeling as if it were moving Garth's hands rather than the reverse, and cut the rope through. Before Fyrsh could take any action with his end it flashed back and severed that, as well. The two overmen found themselves holding useless fragments, while the loop around Garth's throat remained slack.
There was a moment of horrified silence; then Galt called, "Now what?"
"I don't know!" Garth replied. "I can't let go!" He struggled, trying to pry his fingers from the grip, but could not move them.
He attempted to move his arm and discovered that he could now move it freely. He lowered the sword from the upright display he had held it in; there was no reason to be unnecessarily uncomfortable.
He tried placing his other hand on the grip and then removing it; there was no resistance. He then placed his left hand on the grip and tried removing his right.
It came away easily and naturally.
Now, however, his left hand was locked to the sword.
He switched back and forth a few times, and established to his own satisfaction that whatever power held him to the sword would be content with either hand or both, so long as he retained a hold suitable for wielding the thing. He could hold it with two fingers and one thumb, if he chose; that seemed to be the absolute minimum. Any one finger and both thumbs on the same hand would also work. A single finger and thumb, however, or just two thumbs, would not suffice; when he attempted to use such a grip, his other hand would not come free.