ornate portable chair carried by four gaunt pongs, he started to walk around it.
'You,' said a feminine voice from behind the lacy curtains of the chair.
'Come here.'
Duwan's inclination was to ignore the command, but he felt his tunic being tugged by Jai, who whispered, 'Master, you must obey. The chair bears the royal crest.'
Duwan stepped close. The slaves stood, heads hanging, panting. The lacy curtains were pushed aside and he saw a female half-reclining on luxurious cushions. She wore a garment unlike any he'd seen, a thing of smooth and gossamer construction that showed the shape of her, the swelling of her bud point emphasized by a circular pattern of lace.
'Who are you?' the female asked, in a soft, inviting voice.
'I am Duwan.'
'She is to be addressed as High Mistress,' Jai hissed.
'Forgive me, High Mistress,' Duwan said. His only desire now was to get back to the inn, rest, and then start his journey to the north. 'I am a wanderer, strange to your city and your ways.'
'So, Duwan,' the High Mistress said. 'I have not seen such sword play since my father was a young one. You will present yourself at my residence at the time of the evening meal.' She tossed a ring toward him, and Duwan caught it in the air. 'Present this to my guard.' The curtains closed and, after a soft command, the chair moved off at a trot.
'We must flee now,' Jai said. 'For that was the daughter of Farko, himself. She will find you out, master. Let us not even return to the inn, but make our way to the gate and put a night's distance behind us.'
'I am tired,' Duwan said.
'If you stay and do not obey her orders she will have the entire guard out looking for you,' Jai said. 'If you go to her, she will see through your stories of travel to the southwest, for she has access to all information as the High Master's daughter.'
Perhaps it was only pride that formed Duwan's decision. He was young, and he'd held his own with one of the Devourers' finest swordsmen, and he was convinced that had the swords not been padded, had he used both his weapons, he would have killed Captain Hata. Perhaps it was just that he did not feel like running, that he was weary. He led the way to the inn, washed himself, brushed his rather soiled clothing, and, as Du sank beyond the western walls of the city he followed Jai's directions, walking into a section of the city enclosed by a separate, interior wall, into a place of wide, lush gardens and stone mansions with painted decorations that provided unexpected color amid the uniform grayness of the city. Uniformed guardsmen flanked the gate leading to one of the more impressive mansions. He showed his left hand, on which the High Mistress' ring gleamed, and was admitted. He was escorted by two guards to an ironbound, high, thick door and then he stepped into brightly lit luxury.
Bowing, smiling slave girls guided him down a long hallway whose walls were decorated with carved and painted things of considerable beauty. Another great door was opened by a male slave. The room beyond was large enough to be spacious, small enough to be cozy, and there, at its center, reclining on brightly colored, fur-covered cushions, was the High Mistress. Before her was a table laden with dishes that sent a variety of odors into the air of the room. She motioned Duwan to come forward, indicated that he was to sit beside her. Her gown was even more revealing than her apparel of the afternoon. It seemed to float near her rather than bind her, and through the gossamer thinness of it he could see that she was either naturally dark or that she exposed herself to the rays of Du. Her long, shapely legs were positioned attractively. Her bud point was enchantingly visible through one single thickness of the material. Her eyes, he noticed, were the red of the molten rock in the land of the fires.
'Your earlier efforts, have I trust, left you with an appetite?'
'Yes, High Mistress.'
She waved one graceful hand. 'Here in privacy we waive the formalities. You may call me Elnice.'
'Thank you,' Duwan said.
'Your weapons show great care, but your apparel—' She reached out and fingered the crude cloth of his tunic.
'I am but a wanderer, High Mistress.' At her frown he smiled and said,
'A wanderer, Elnice.'
'A body as well formed as yours should be adorned,' she said. She clapped her hands and two pong females scurried from behind hanging material. She gave orders in the language of the Devourers. Within minutes, the females were
