Max Allan Collins

psychic to sense the Great Teacher's suspicion.

Memnon dismissed the guards and servants, say­ing, 'Leave us!'

And they were alone.

She wandered to the small round table with her jars of runic stones, waiting in its usual position for her return... or had it been left there, in her ab­sence, to suggest to others she still remained?

Memnon did not take his throne; rather he prowled the chamber, like an anxious panther. 'I am relieved to see you unharmed,' he said, the kindness of his words undercut by an edge in his tone. 'I'm surprised the Akkadian did not kill you.'

'What good could I have done him dead?' she asked. 'It was you he sought—and I was his bait, his pawn.'

An eyebrow arched. 'And yet you escaped his grasp.'

She turned to smile at the warlord, a tiny yet sig­nificant smile. 'I am not without my own ways ... my own wiles.'

The smile he gave her in return was a nasty one. 'Oh yes ... of that I am well aware. You gained his confidence.; ..'

'Yes—and slipped away in the desert night.'

'Where did he take you? To an enemy camp?'

'No—some desert oasis, where palms and waters and my own sympathetic words lulled him into com­placency.'

Memnon walked to the balcony, his back to her. 'Did you witness the slaying of my loyal adviser— Thorak?'

'I know of the tragedy, my lord—it took place during a sandstorm. The Akkadian attacked your brave soldiers under its cover; I was buried in sand, and could not run ... not until later.'

For a long while Memnon said nothing. Then he turned to her and asked, 'And the barbarian did not... soil you?'

Her eyes lowered. 'No, my lord. My purity re­mains.'

'As does your vision?'

'Yes, my lord—as I have said, I have seen your great victory.'

'Ah yes ... ah yes. So you say.'

Memnon went to the door and summoned a ser­vant, and whispered words to him that Cassandra could not hear. Then the servant half bowed and hurried off, and the warlord marched past her, on his way to his throne.

'We shall see, my dear... . Take a seat at your mystic table. Relax yourself, and wait.'

'Wait, my lord? For what?'

He was on his throne now, a hand on either for­midable sandstone armrest. 'Just wait, my dear.. . just wait.'

And she sat at her round table, feeling a chill that had nothing to do either with the evening breeze or any clairvoyant sense.

In the main square of the city, near the palace, the horse-drawn cart with its lovely cargo and its scrawny drivers trundled past the shuttered stalls of the marketplace. Soon Philos pulled the wagon to a stop near the palace gates, where four of the Red Guard were on duty.

The scientist turned to speak, softly, to Queen Isis, who sat just behind him; the admirable poste­riors of the female warriors were perched, as on pil­lows, on soft bags that might have contained flour but did not. The tarp concealed the supine Balthazar, his harem outfit gone, traded for a cloak under which was leather armor; the Nubian king was not about to go