For a moment the beauty of it made him dumb.  As far as he could see, the grassy plain stretched.  There was not a tree or tent anywhere - nothing to interrupt the charge of a good horse.  Even the door through which he had come was gone; there was nothing behind him except more plain.  Glorious!

First he checked his weapons.  He drew out the bow.  It was not of the type he ordinarily used, being metal and plastic - plastic was a Galactic invention: a substance somewhat like dried gut, but shaped with greater versatility - rather than wood and horn.  But it had good weight and spring, and the string was of sturdy nylon - yet another imitation material.  The Galactics seemed to have a fetish about avoiding animal products.  So it was a facsimile - but a serviceable one.

Alp whipped out an arrow from the quiver, brought it over his shoulder and nocked it in the bowstring in a single motion, as the fighting Uigur always did.  And halted, amazed.

The shaft of the arrow was not solid.  It was made of a beam of light.  Only the head and feather were substantial - and these not very.  The tip was no more than a paper shell that would collapse instantly on impact, and the nock was actually set into the feather: it should tear apart when fired.  Yet the arrow as a whole had an odd firmness, and the head remained before the feather no matter how he spun it about.

How could the arrow act solid - when it was made of light?  Tractor beam, his memory said, but that hardly helped.

Alp touched the shaft with one finger.  Yes - that finger went numb.  It was a stunner!

Carefully he returned the strange arrow to its quiver and drew the sword.  It was similar: a thread of light in lieu of a cutting edge.  But his experience with the police stunner - which weapon he had left in the entrance booth as a prerequisite to admittance to Steppe - convinced him that these instruments were sufficient.  They would not kill - but they would incapacitate as surely as the real weapons would have.

He struck the air with his sword, shadow-cutting.  He could handle it.  Any player receiving a "lethal" strike would "die'' and be ejected from the Game, a loser.  He could then re-enter by seeking new admittance, paying the fee, and assuming a new character.  If, in the course of his prior parts, he had amassed sufficient Game-credits, he would be ahead; if not, he would have to produce the fee from his own resources.  A wealthy man could afford to lose many times.  But Alp himself had to prosper within this one part.  His first loss would be his last, because of the waiting extradition to the hell of the chasm.