king. Having slain Big Fist, Thandar was king, unless some ambitious one desired to dispute his right to reign. But all had seen him slay Big Fist, and all knew that he had killed Korth and Flatfoot, so who was there would dare question his kingship?
When they had come back to the village Thandar gathered them beneath a great tree that grew close to the base of the cliff. Here they squatted upon their haunches in a rough circle. Behind them stood the women and children, wide-eyed and curious.
“Let us choose a king,” said Thandar, when all had come.
There was a long silence, then one of the older men spoke.
“I am an old man. I have seen many kings. They come by killing. They go by killing. Thandar has killed two kings. Now he is king. Who wishes to kill Thandar and become king?”
There was no answer.
The old man arose.
“It was foolish to come here to choose a king,” he said, “when a king we already have.”
“Wait,” commanded Thandar. “Let us choose a king properly. Because I have killed Flatfoot and Big Fist does not prove that I can make a good king. Was Flatfoot a good king?”
“He was a bad man,” replied the ancient one.
