metal worlds, confined to an alien wilderness, an archipelago of debris between Mars and Jupiter, the Reefs of Space, the Asteroid Belt. It was interesting, I thought, that those of Earth owed so much, their world as they knew it, to an unknown benefactor, a form of life whose very existence was unknown to them. To be sure, I was confident that the motivations of Priest-Kings were self-serving and prudential, not moral, or at least not moral as humans might understand such things. If there were agendas here they were not ours; they were those of the Sardar.
“What is the message of Priest-Kings?” I asked.
“First,” said he, “return to me the ring.”
“Should I not keep it?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “It is meaningless to you. It is important to me. It is my token, my proof, that I speak for Priest-Kings.”
“You are to speak further,” I asked, “to others, at other times?”
“I do not know,” he said. “Put the ring down, on the sand. Step away. I will pick it up.”
To be sure, I had no translator, and was, accordingly, unable to read the message. I wondered if Sullius Maximus suspected that some significance, other than that which he had conjectured, might lie within the leather loop of the golden ring. He was a highly intelligent man. That was surely not impossible.
“Did Lord Sarm give you the token,” I asked, “in a box, a container, of some sort?”
Sullius Maximus regarded me, suddenly, alertly.
Yes, I thought, he is quite intelligent.
Presumably the agent of Priest-Kings, he who had been intercepted, would have had about himself not only the message but a translator. The translator would presumably, as it was outside the Sardar, open only to a code, and only at a certain time, and for a certain time. Presumably there would have been a schedule or envelope of two or three days in which it might have been utilized. The agent would have been instructed to process the leather band, which was, in effect, a scent tape, only in my presence, or, more likely, supply me with the code, and then withdraw. The scent itself, given its nature, as a covert message, would fade after a time, not having been imprinted permanently on the tape. These would seem fairly obvious security measures.
“There was a box,” said Sullius Maximus.
“But it was unusual, was it not?” I asked.
“Quite,” said Sullius Maximus.
I was sure that Sullius Maximus, and his presumed fellows, would have supposed the message was in the box, which was, in fact, unknown to them, either the translator, or contained the translator, and would have tried to open it. I did not think they would associate the ring, on its leather cord, with the box itself. I had little doubt that their efforts had been attended with surprising results. I remembered a metal envelope in which I had received a message, years ago, on a solitary camping trip, in the winter, in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. I had neglected to follow the instructions, to discard the envelope. It had burst suddenly into flame. The fearful destruction of the object not only destroyed it, but was such that it might have blinded one in whose hands it lay, or burned them alive. It had been in my knapsack and I had managed to slip it free and let it fall to the snow, which it melted, for yards about.
“In what way?” I asked.
“- Ornate,” said Sullius Maximus, “small, crusted with jewels, such things.”
“I see,” I said.
I wondered if one or more of his confederates had been incinerated. Doubtless the agent of Priest-Kings would have resisted capture, and would have been quickly, brutally slain, it being presupposed that his life would be of small value, that he was the mere carrier of the message, a message presumably in the box, and the token, which they would have supposed was his identification, his certification to be the one to whom the Priest-Kings had entrusted the transmission of the message.
Sullius Maximus, and his fellows, then, would be unaware of the contents of the actual message.
But then, so, too, was I.
To be sure, the actual nature of the message, which might have been suspected by Kurii, and which, in any event, they would not have delivered to me, would be of less interest to them than the message, their message, which they would want delivered to me, as though it were the message of Priest-Kings. The will of Kurii then would be conveyed to me under the pretense that it was the will of Priest-Kings. If their designs held firm, and their deception was successful, I would then, supposing me obedient to Priest-Kings, pursue their design in place of that of the masters of the Sardar.
Given the presumed destruction of the “box,” supposed to contain the original message, presumably on its scroll, the Kurii, or their minions, utilizing the “token,” not understanding the nature of its imbedded message, and accommodating themselves to the situation as best they might, would deliver their own message orally.
Fortunately for me, they knew little of the Sardar, of Priest-Kings themselves, of their modalities of communication, of their caution, of their security measures.
“The ring, please,” said Sullius Maximus.
I put the ring, on its loop, down on the sand, and backed away from it.
Sullius Maximus approached it and, not taking his eyes from me, picked it up.
“My thanks,” said he.
“Smell the leather,” I said. “It seems to have been perfumed.”
“I know,” he said. “But I doubt the perfume would be popular in the paga taverns of Kasra.”
“Nor elsewhere,” I speculated.
He held it briefly to his nose, and then, with an expression of disgust, returned the loop and ring to a concealment within his tunic.
“Perhaps it would do for a free woman,” I said, “intent on discouraging the avidity of a suitor.”
“No,” he said. “Free women are women, and they desire to be desired. It gives them great pleasure to attract, and then deny and torment suitors. They find it gratifying. It is an exercise of power.”
“True,” I said. Gorean free women were famed for their arrogance and pride. It was little wonder that men often took such things from them. What a terror for a free woman, reduced to bondage, to know that spurned suitors may find her, even seek her out, and buy her. When a woman is stripped and collared, and knelt, and has the whip pressed to her then unveiled lips, she is scarcely any longer in a position to discomfort and torment a fellow. Rather she must then be seriously concerned for her life, and hope that she will be found pleasing, and fully.
“It was much stronger a few days ago,” he said. “The scent has faded, significantly.”
“Even since yesterday?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, puzzled.
The agent of Priest-Kings was to have contacted me yesterday, I supposed, the day I had arrived on the beach, disembarked from Peisistratus’s ship. Instead I had been met by Pertinax.
“If you find it offensive,” I said, “you might clean the cord, wipe it free of scent — and blood.”
“I will,” he said, “now.”
“Now?” I said.
“I thought the odor might be pertinent to the authenticity of the token,” he said. “I noted that you took the scent.”
“You are perceptive,” I said.
“But the scent is fading,” he said. “If I accept an office anew from Priest-Kings, they will doubtless provide a new signature string, with the appropriate scent.”
“Thus you would clean the soiled string?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Why not discard it?” I said.
Whereas I was not sure the message was still readable, and I had no translator at my disposal, even if it were readable, I would have been concerned to retrieve the cord.
“No,” he said. “I think it best to keep the whole intact, lest inquiries arise.”
“I would suppose,” I said, “the ring is the token.”
“But on a strand of leather, not a golden chain,” he said.
“Doubtless you are right,” I said.
