hair wet and loose, come from the nearby stream, where she had washed it.
'Our letters of safety,' I said, 'are gone. I had them here, in the sheath.' 'Perhaps they have fallen out,' she said.
'No,' I said. 'They were firmly lodged within. They could be withdrawn only purposefully.'
'There is supposedly a checkpoint down the road,' said Boabissia. 'I heard of it last night.'
'So, too, doubtless,' said I, 'did the thief.'
'We were all about,' said Boabissia. 'How could anyone have done it?' 'Presumably it could have been done only by one practiced in stealth, who knew for what he was searching, and where it might be found. He might even have had a tool for the extraction of the papers.'
'The blade was in the sheath, was it not,' asked Boabissia, 'and the sheath beside you?'
'Yes,' I said, 'and the sheath was on its strap, slung about my shoulder. The blade would have had to be removed, I assume, and then replaced, after the extraction of the papers.'
'Why would it be replaced?' asked Hurtha. 'That the absence of the papers not be immediately noticed,' I said. 'I would not have noticed the matter had I not, as a matter of habit, this morning, tested the draw of the blade.'
This habit, unnecessary and trivial though it may seem, is one inculcated in warriors, in many cities. The theory is not only that it is well to practice the draw frequently, as the first to draw may be the first to strike, but also to be familiar with it on a daily basis lest its parameters alter from time to time, due to such things as contractions and swellings of the leather, these having to do with temperature and moisture. Less obviously, but more deviously, the blade could be tightened, or even fastened, in the sheath by an enemy, by such means as a tiny wooden shim or plug, or a fine wire looped below the hilt. The practicing of the draw, and the associated testing of sheath resistance, is a small, but seldom neglected detail, in the practice of arms.
'Such skill seems impossible,' said Boabissia. 'Who is there who could of done such a thing?'
'Some warriors could have done it,' I said. 'Many red savages could have done it.'
'But who is about here?' asked Boabissia.
'Some thief,' I said, 'one who is highly skillful, one worthy even of the thief's scar of Port Kar, though I doubt he wears it.' The thief's scar in Port Kar is a tiny, three pronged brand, burned into the face over the right cheekbone. It marks the members of the Caste of Thieves in Port Kar. That is the only city in which, as far as I know, there is a recognized caste for thieves. They tend to be quite proud of their calling, it being handed down often from father to son. There are various perquisites connected with membership in this caste, among them, if one is a professional thief, protection from being hunted down and killed by caste members, who tend to be quite jealous of their various territories and prerogatives. Because of the caste of thieves there is probably much less thievery in Port Kar than in most cities of comparable size. They regulate their numbers and craft in much the same way that, in many cities, the various castes, such as those of the metal workers or cloth workers, do theirs. 'Feiqa,' said Boabissia. 'Yes, Mistress?' said Feiqa, frightened. The lovely slave had knelt immediately, being addressed by a free person.
'Did you see anything?' asked Boabissia.
'No, Mistress,' said Feiqa, putting her head down.
'Stupid slave,' said Boabissia.
'Yes, Mistress,' whispered Feiqa, not looking up.
'Are such papers needed at the checkpoint?' asked Hurtha.
'Quite possibly,' I said. 'We are near Ar. I do not know.'
'In this camp,' said Boabissia, 'it seems unlikely that there could have been so skilled a thief.'
'Not necessarily,' I said.
'I think Feiqa took them,' said Boabissia.
'No, Mistress!' cried Feiqa.
'Let her be tortured for truth,' said Boabissia. It is legal in Gorean courts for the testimony of slaves to be taken under torture. Indeed, it is commonly done.
'Please, no, Mistress!' wept Feiqa.
'It would have been difficult for her to have done so,' I told Boabissia, 'for last night her hands were chained behind her, that she might awaken me intimately, not using her hands, at dawn.'
'Disgusting,' said Boabissia.
'I then put her to her back and caressed her, while recovering, until she begged to be put to further use, to which plea I acceded. I then, when pleased to do so, a time or so later released her.'
'Disgusting,' said Boabissia.
'But she is only a slave,' I said.
'True,' said Boabissia. Then she looked at Feiqa. 'Slut,' she said. 'Yes, Mistress,' said Feiqa, not meeting her eyes.
How Boabissia hated Feiqa! Did she really think it was wrong, or improper for Feiqa to give her master such incredible pleasure? I did not think so. Feiqa, after all, was a slave. It was one of her purposes. I think it was rather that she was intensely jealous of Feiqa, that she keenly resented that she, the proud Boabissia, being free, was not subject to the same imperious enforcements. 'No thief so skilled, surely,' said Boabissia, 'would be with the refugees,' She continued to regard the trembling Feiqa balefully. 'It must have been the slave. Let her be tortured.'
Feiqa moaned.
'It could not have been Feiqa,' I said to Boabissia. 'Last night her hands were secured,' I reminded her, 'chained behind her back.'
'Then who?' asked Boabissia.
'Perhaps you,' said Hurtha, coming up behind Boabissia and holding her by the upper arms, from behind. His grasp, I gathered, was not gentle.
'No,' said Boabissia. 'No!' She squirmed. She was as helpless as a slave in Hurtha's grip.
'Perhaps it is you who should be put under torture,' growled Hurtha.
'No, no!' said Boabissia. 'I am free.'
'It would not be impossible for a skilled thief to be with the refugees,' I said. 'It would be necessary only that he, or she, had been turned out of Torcadino with other citizens.'
'Do you know of such a person?' asked Hurtha.
'Yes,' I said.
'Who?' asked Hurtha.
'Wait here,' I said.
'Who?' asked Hurtha.
'One called Ephialtes, of Torcadino,' I said. 'I was warned about him.' 'Let me come with you,' he said. 'I shall break his neck.'
'That will not recover the letters,' I said. 'Wait here.'
'Some of the carts, and many of the refugees, have already left,' said Boabissia, pulling her free of Hurtha's hands, he loosening his grip. She was shaking. She was not accustomed to having been so helplessly in the power of a man, as helplessly, it might seem, as might have been a slave.
'Please, Mistress,' wept Feiqa. 'I did not steal the letters. I could not have done so, even if I had dared to do so, which I would not in my life have dared to do. Do not ask to have Feiqa tortured. Please be kind to Feiqa.' 'You are a slave,' snapped Boabissia, 'and, as such, are subject to torture, or to whatever free persons desire to do to you.'
'Yes, Mistress,' wept Feiqa, shuddering.
'Wait here,' I said.
Boabissia made as though to accompany me, but Hurtha's hand on her arm stayed her.
'Aii!' cried the fellow, startled, in pain. My hand had closed on the back of his neck. I then forced him to his knees, and then to his belly. He squirmed. I thrust his nose and mouth into the soft earth. Instantly he was quiet. I permitted him to lift his head a little. He coughed and gasped.
'Where are they?' I asked him.
'What?' he said, wildly, spitting out dirt.
