either of the warriors or of the assassins. He struck him as he wished, not to kill but in the feigning of a mortal attack.'
'You said he was clumsy,' said the fellow in the scribe's blue.
'Forgive my colleague,' said the merchant. 'He is dull. He did not detect that you spoke in irony.'
'You work for Kurii,' I said.
'Only for one,' said the merchant.
I slowly unwrapped the object in my hands, moving the fur softly aside.
It was a carving, rather roundish, some two pounds in weight, in bluish stone, done in the manner of the red hunters, a carving of the head of a beast. It was, of course, a carving of the head of a great Kur. Its realism was frightening, to the suggestion of the shaggy hair, the withdrawn lips, exposing fangs, the eyes. The left ear of the beast, as indicated with the patient fidelity of the red hunter, was half torn away.
'Greetings from Zarendargar,' said the merchant.
'He awaits you,' said the man in blue, '-at the world's end.'
Of course, I thought. Kurii do not care for water. For them, not of Gorean background, the world's end could mean only one of the poles.
'He said the trap would fail,' said the merchant. 'He was right.'
'So, too,' I said, 'did the earlier trap, that of the sleen.'
'Zarendargar had naught to do with that,' said the merchant.
'He disapproved of it,' said the fellow in the robes of the scribe.
'He did not wish to he cheated of meeting you,' said the merchant. 'He was pleased that it failed.'
'There are tensions in the Kurii high command,' I said.
'Yes,' said the merchant.
'But you,' I said, 'work only for Zarendargar?'
'Yes,' said the merchant. 'He will have it no other way. He must have his own men.'
'The assailant and his confederates?' I asked.
'They are in a separate chain of command,' said the merchant, 'one emanating from the ships, one to which Zarendargar is subordinate.'
'I see,' I said.
I lifted the carving.
'You had this carving,' I asked, 'from a red hunter, a bare-chested fellow, with rope and bow about his shoulders?'
'Yes,' said the merchant. 'But he had it from another. He was told to bring it to us, that we would buy it.'
'Of course,' I said. 'Thus, if the trap failed, I would supposedly detect nothing. You would then give me this carving, in gratitude for having driven away your assailant. I, seeing it, would understand its significance, and hurry to the north, thinking to take Half-Ear unsuspecting.'
'Yes,' said the merchant.
'But he would be waiting for me,' I said.
'Yes,' said the merchant.
'There is one part of this plan, however,' I said, 'which you have not fathomed.'
'What is that?2 asked the merchant. Momentarily he gritted his teeth, in pain from his wounds.
'It was the intention of Half-Ear,' I said, 'that I understand full well, and with no possible mistake, that I would be expected.'
The merchant looked puzzled.
'Else,' I said, 'he would have given orders for both of you to be slain.'
They looked at one another, frightened. The fellow with whom I had grappled, who had called himself Bertram of Lydius, would have been fully capable of dispatching them both with ease.
'That would have put the badge of authenticity on the supposedly accidental discovery of the carving,' I said.
They looked at one another.
'That you were not killed by one of the skill of the assailant,' I said, 'makes clear to a warrior's eye that you were not intended to die. And why not? Because you were confederates of Kurii. A twofold plan is thus manifested, a trap and a lure, but a lure which is obvious and explicit, not so much a lure as an invitation.' I looked at them. 'I accept the invitation,' I said.
'Are you not going to kill us?' asked the merchant.
I went to the counter and thrust back the canvas. I slipped over the counter, feet first, and then turned to regard them.
I lifted the carving, which I had rewrapped in its fur. 'I may have this?' I asked.
'It is for you,' said the merchant.
'Are you not going to kill us?' asked the fellow in blue.
'No,' I said.
They looked at me.
'You are only messengers,' I said. 'And you have done your work well.' I threw them two golden tarn disks. I grinned at them. 'Besides,' I said, 'violence is not permitted at the fair.'
5
I Take My Departure From The House Of Samos
'The game,' I said, 'was an excellent one.'
Samos rose to his feet, storming with rage. 'While you sported at the fair,' said he, 'here in Port Kar catastrophe has struck!'
I had seen the flames in the arsenal as I had returned on tarn from the perimeters of the Sardar.
'He was mad,' I said. 'You know this to be true.'
'Only he could have so approached the ship, only he could have done this!' cried Samos.
'Perhaps he was not satisfied with the design,' I suggested. 'Perhaps he feared to paint the eyes, perhaps he feared to commit his dream to the realities of Thassa.'
Samos sat down, cross-legged, behind the low table in his hall. He wept. He struck the table with his fist.
'Are you sure it was he?' I asked.
'Yes,' said Samos, bitterly. 'It was indeed he.'
'But why?' I asked.
'I do not know,' said Samos. '1 do not know.'
'Where is he now?' I asked.
'He has disappeared,' said Samos. 'Doubtless he has thrown himself into the canals.'
'It meant so much to him,' I said. 'I do not understand it. There is a mystery here.'
'He took a fee from Kurii agents,' said Samos.
'No,' I said. 'Gold could not buy dreams from Tersites.'
'The ship,' said Samos, 'is destroyed.'
'What remains?' I asked.
'Ashes,' said he, 'blackened timbers,'
'And the plans?' I asked.
'Yes,' said he, 'the plans.'
I nodded. 'Then it might be rebuilt,' I said.
'You must take the Dorna,' said he, 'or the Tesephone.'
'It makes little sense to me,' said I, 'that Tersites would fire the ship.'
'It is the end of our hopes,' said Samos, 'to meet Half-Eat at the world's end.'
