Spring filled the air; even inside the earthlodge you could smell the freshness. It helped that most of the raunchy bedding and skanky underwear was outside, hanging on bushes after a good stomping in the creek. Ayla was rummaging through a large heap of stored items, trying to help Nezzie find a lost bundle of summer clothing, when she ran across a covered basket filled with perfectly round, white stones about the size of a small duck's egg.

"Nezzie," she called out, "what are these for? Are they some kind of special cooking stones?"

Nezzie pulled her head and shoulders out of the large bag she was rummaging in, and came over to see what Ayla was looking at. "Oh, those are Talut's Golvo balls," she said, shaking her head. "Might as well leave them out here where he can find them, he'll be wanting to play now."

"Golvo?" Ayla asked, puzzled.

Nezzie laughed. "I always forget, you have been with us for such a short time -- it seems as though you you should know everything already. Golvo is a game that we play in spring and summer. I don't play much myself, but Talut and Tulie are very good at it. They always play in the big tournaments at the Summer Meeting."

"Oh," Ayla said. "how is the game played? Are the balls thrown at a target?" They would make awesome sling missiles, she thought, but must be very time-consuming to produce. Jondalar might be interested in the process...

"No," Nezzie answered over her shoulder as she dug deeper into the corner where Ayla had found the basket, "although there have been some times I've wanted to throw them at him... ah! here they are." She pulled out a long, heavy mammoth-hide container, similar to the quivers that Ayla and Jondalar had developed for carrying their spear-thrower spears. From it, she extracted an object resembling a long, lightweight club, or a blunt axe with a very small head. It had a wrapping of soft leather at the grip end, and the bone shaft was carved with intricate designs. "This is a Golvo club," Nezzie explained. "One puts the ball on the ground, and strikes it with the club. The idea is to make it land in a certain hole some distance away. When I try to do it, I usually put the ball in a gopher hole or a bison wallow." She smiled self-deprecatingly. "You should ask Talut to show you, if you're interested in learning to play. He will be more than willing to teach you to play his favorite game"

"Yes, I think I will," Ayla said. It would be nice to get outside and enjoy the fresh air and sunshine with no serious objective. Maybe Jondalar would be interested in the game...

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The next day dawned clear and calm. With all the spring cleaning chores done, Lion Camp was in a mood for recreation. Talut invited everyone who had any interest in the game to join him ih a few rounds of Golvo after breakfast.

A group of ten headed up away from the river toward an area of fairly level ground that had been grazed close by passing herds. The short grass formed a dense, almost velvety cover, turned lushly green by the warm spring sun. The smooth-looking meadowland was broken by a few low marshy spots, a shallow ravine, and some patches of low brush. Here and there were bison wallows, spots which the large grazers had used many times over to scratch their backs until they wore away the sod and formed wide, dusty depressions.

Ayla could see some thin poles, placed at odd intervals, with scraps of colored leather tied to their tops. "What are those for?" she inquired.

"They mark where the holes are," Talut said "so we know what to aim at."

"Oh, of course." Ayla nodded. She watched closely as Talut placed a ball on the ground, chose a club, and took a few practice swings to warm up. Then, adjusting his stance carefully, he eyed up the ball and the nearest leather-flagged pole. It was a fair sling-throw away. Talut swung his club slowly back, and then whack! -- he sent the ball flying toward the marked hole. It landed surprisingly close.

Everyone slapped their thighs in applause. "Now, Ayla, you try it," Talut said. "I think Tarneg's clubs would be about the right size for you. Have to see about getting some made, if you want to play in the tournament this summer. I'm sure Ranec would be glad to oblige."

Jondalar winced. So far, the main attraction of Golvo was Ranec's apparent disinterest in the game itself.

Ayla took the club that Tarneg handed her, and gripped it experimentally. She tried to copy the stance and motions that Talut had used. When she was comfortable with the new tool, she placed a ball on the ground and swung at it. The ball rose in a too-steep arc that curved far to the right of the target, and landed with a splat in a muddy pond. "I think it will take a little practice," she laughed, as Druwez ran to get the ball.

Jondalar's turn was next. Because of his height, only Talut's clubs were long enough for him. With knotted brow, he concentrated on the new tool and technique. After his practice swings gave him a feel for the club, he carefully placed a ball, and took a good swing at it. Whap! A small cloud of grassy dust arose. The ball remained smugly in place, next to a miniature bison-wallow that had not been there before. Jondalar's furrow deepened, and he shuffled his feet into what he hoped was a better position. He eyed the ball and the distant flag, and drew back his club for another try. The club came down in a perfect, smooth swing, and the ball shot into the air, arcing wildly off to the right and landing smack in the middle of a day-old aurochs plop.

Druwez shook his head sadly. "you get your own out of plops," he said.

Jondalar's forehead reminded Ayla of the varied knots on the herb packets in her otter-skin medicine-bag. She wondered if perhaps the kind of knots he displayed indicated what was going on inside... there weren't many knots for "happy", it seemed...

The sun was past midheaven before Talut called a halt to the somewhat chaotic Golvo game. Everyone was hungry -- Talut not the least! -- and he could see the growing impatience that hunger brought on in their demeanor. Jondalar was looking particularly frustrated. The balls that he had managed to hit... oh, well, Talut thought, some take to it, some don't. Ayla was progressing amazingly fast. Perhaps Tulie could look forward to winning the Women's Tournament this year with a new partner.

"We will have another go at it tomorrow, if the weather is good," he announced. "For now, let's go EAT!"

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Jondalar dreamed that he was playing Golvo. He was alone except for some fl- erm... Clan people who were standing around watching him. He kept striking at the ball and missing. It seemed as though the ball moved a little every time. The fl- er, Clan people were making derisive gestures.

Finally, in his frustration, he threw down his Golvo club and picked up Talut's axe. But as he raised the mighty tool to swing at the Mother-dishonoring ball again, the Golvo ball turned into a tiny, round woman. "Ohhhhh, Jondalar!" her tiny voice squeaked, as she waddled toward him. A chorus of similar squeaks arose from the basket that held the rest of the Golvo balls. Dozens of itsy-bitsy round women were scrambling over the edge of the basket, bouncing on the ground, and heading toward him as fast as their fat little legs could carry them. He stood there, unable to move, while they grabbed his leggings and climbed inexorably toward his manhood, their fat little cheeks red with effort, and their piggy little eyes agleam with lust. They had lank, greasy hair, and smelled like some kind of animal with wet fur.

Jondalar heard a cackle of laughter, and saw Haduma watching him along with the flatheads...

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Jondalar woke in a cold sweat. The lodge was silent but for a few snores and the faint whispered crackles of a banked fire. The horror of his dream filled him, and drew out every feeling of guilt and inadequacy he ever had to join it. Oh, Mother! He was a lousy hyena, he was dung, he was rotten fish. He had lost Ayla forever, and his punishment would be to live as long as Haduma without her because the Mother would not even take his abominable defiling body. He buried his face in the furs and wallowed in the self-importance of self-pity for the rest of the night.

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