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"Weapons, then." The man in the horned helmet looked at Proteus. "With what
tools of death do you feel most at ease?"
"I choose the spear," he heard himself saying. Again, as when he was asked
his
name, he had no need to give the matter any thought.
Having said that, of course he had to borrow a spear, and several were
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immediately produced. He frowned at the selection, thinking there was
something
wrong about each of these weapons's heads, their points, though obviously all
were well-made. But he could not have said exactly what the difficulty was,
and
at last he made a choice. The design of a dolphin had been worked into the
spearhead with some skill, and it was good sharp bronze which of course could
never be as hard and enduring as the best steel, but some men still preferred
it.
Now, if he could remember that with no trouble at all, along with so much
else
about the way the world worked, how in the Underworld could there be nothing
left of himself except a name? But so it was, and he would have to deal with
it.
Balancing the stout shaft in his right hand, Proteus looked about him,
meeting
expectant glances. "What must I do?"
"Fight three of us to the death. No, no, I'm joking!" And Haraldur bent over
double, slapping his knobby knees in high amusement.
After grim news and edgy talk, everyone was ready to enjoy a joke. When the
laughter subsided, it turned out that what the company were really proposing
was
that he should make a throw of a certain distance someone paced off what was
evidently considered a fair distance and score a solid hit on a log of
driftwood, on which some of the Heroes had already been practicing, leaving
it
chipped and scarred.
Someone jested that they could use as their target the very oaken keel of
Argo.
"She's not going to notice one little pin-prick there." Jason shot the man a
look that said he was not amused.
Concentrating intently now upon his trial, Proteus nodded, stepped up to the
mark, and with a casual motion of his left arm indicated that people should
stand back. Then, without giving himself time to worry about it, he did
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precisely what he had been challenged to do. He did somewhat better, in
fact the
spearhead went in deep, very close to the center of the indicated target. The
long shaft stuck there quivering, as if it still had energy to spare.
He heard a muttering behind him: "Stronger than he looks."
The owner of the spear came to reclaim his weapon, and had to work at it to
wrench it from the wood. Men thumped Proteus on the back, offering
congratulations, bombarding him with their names, half of which he failed to
remember the first time he heard them. He was invited to join the others in
their dinner.
Jason, after being distracted several times by questions, finally said to
Proteus: "Welcome aboard."
"Thank you, sir," the newcomer responded, gnawing fragments of roast meat
from a
bone. The meat was tasty, but suddenly he realized that what he was really
hungry for was fish. Well, no doubt he would see plenty of that in days to
come.
"And do you think yourself qualified in every way to join us in our quest?"
"I don't know the answer to that, sir. I've passed your test, I can handle a
spear. I'm not sure just what other qualifications you expect."
The mass of dark hair nodded judiciously. "A reasonable reply. Come to think
of
it, I believe Hercules had something of the same modest attitude."
When it came time to retire for the night, Proteus saw the steersman Tiphys
carefully bring his compass-pyx with him to the place where he lay down to
sleep.
The sight of the device stirred something deep in the newcomer's ravaged
memory.
Proteus asked permission to look at the fine instrument, hoping that
something
about it would jog his memory into further revelations. Tiphys rather
grudgingly
agreed.
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Use of the compass-pyx was well-nigh universal. Navigation across the open
sea,
out of sight of land, was difficult enough even with the help of such
devices,
and would have been all but impossible without it. Probably Tiphys, like most
other navigators of reputation, relied upon some special private magical
addition to the instrument, an accessory he would try as best he could to
keep
secret.
The compass-pyx that Proteus was now privileged to look at basically
resembled
the similar instruments he could hazily remember seeing.
The pointer, or cusp of the device, balanced on a needle-sharp pivot,
consisted
of a narrow crescent of horn and ivory. A sliver of each of the disparate
materials, identically curved and not quite as long as a man's hand, were
bound
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