them soon-and said, 'Get that thing off so I can clean your wounds.'
She obeyed, untying the gambeson and pulling it over her head; despite the delicacy she displayed in this, Garth saw that several of the cuts beneath had been rubbed raw by the garment and were bleeding anew. He began washing away the blood and dirt as gently as he could but she still twitched away occasionally when the contact of water or the pressure of his hand stung her.
As he attended to this task he asked, 'Now, girl, who are you?'
'My name is Frima.' The girl's voice was high, but not unpleasant; she spoke timidly.
'Are you Dыsarran?'
'Yes, of course!'
'How did you come to be a sacrifice to Sai? Are you one of her devotees?'
'Oh, no! I worship Tema. The priests of Sai kidnapped me from my father's shop last night.'
'How is it that the ceremony was being held at that hour? I had heard that only the cults of Tema and Andhur Regvos lived by night.'
'That's right; that's why the sacrifices to Sai are-ow!-always at night.'
'I do not understand'
'The cult of Sai is secret; its members do not-ooh!-do not admit their allegiance. Therefore, they hold all their ceremonies at night, when-ooh!-when the darkness provides cover, and when they will not be missed from their daytime occupations.'
'Are the other cults equally secretive?'
'The day-dwelling cults are, yes. Ouch. That's part of why the night-dwellers avoid them; would you want to associate with someone who worships pain-ow! Damn them!-or disease? It is said that many of the day- dwellers worship no gods at all, but that's not much better, and there is no way of knowing which are which.'
Garth finished his cleaning, and rummaged in his pack for the pouch of healing herbs he carried. 'Your city has a very complicated way of life. Are kidnappings such as yours common?' He located the herbs, and worked some into the sponge.
'Oh, yes; people disappear all the time.'
'Your overlord allows this?' He began rubbing the herbs gently along each cut; the girl cooperated by remaining as still as she could while she answered.
'There is nothing he can do. The bodies are never found, and there is no way of knowing which cult is responsible.'
'Then why does he not destroy all those cults that practice human sacrifice?'
'Oh, that must never happen! The gods themselves have chosen Dыsarra; the Dark Gods must have temples here, or there would be a great disaster! Besides, nobody knows which cults have human sacrifices and which don't.'
'It would seem obvious,' Garth said as he finished spreading on the healing compound, 'that the cult of The God Whose Name Is Not Spoken must practice human sacrifice; cannot the overlord at least destroy that one? I have noticed that even in Dыsarra most people want nothing to do with that god.'
'There is no cult to destroy; no one worships the Final God but a single old priest. The god himself calls sacrifices to his temple, and no one who has entered the shrine has ever been seen again, except the priest. No one knows what is inside; no traces are ever found. No clothing, no bodies. Whenever a Dыsarran wishes to die, for whatever reason, he merely goes to the god's temple, and when the god is not satisfied with the number of suicides, he turns men mad, so they go to the temple without knowing what they are doing. The overlord would not dare to harm the priest or the temple, for then he himself might be called.'
Garth made no further comment on the subject; instead, he said, 'I am afraid I cannot properly bandage your wounds; they are too many, and I have not the necessary cloth. I hope they will not trouble you' He sat back to consider his situation, and the information Frima had just given him.
Frima, hesitantly, asked a question of her own. 'Who are you? Why did you rescue me?'
'I am Garth of Ordunin, and I came to Dыsarra to steal whatever I found on the seven altars. You were on the altar of Sai, so I am stealing you, and will take you back to Skelleth with me.'
'Are you going to ravish me?'
Garth looked at her in surprise. The question explained her behavior when he had stripped off his gambeson for her use, but the ignorance it implied was startling. 'I couldn't if I wanted to. We are different species, as different as Koros, here, and an alley cat. Overmen take no interest in anything but overwomen.'
'Oh.' He was unable to see her blush in the darkness, and would not have understood its significance if he had.
'I am taking you to Skelleth because you were on the altar of Sai; I have no other interest in you.' He wondered if her sexual expectations were justified by her appearance; she seemed fairly clean and healthy, with little excess fat but no bones showing, but beyond that he had no more idea of whether she was attractive than a bull would have. Overwomen were as noseless, flat-chested and furry as himself; they relied on scent for stimulation, not appearance, and Frima held no more interest for him than any other animal. He supposed men would like her, although her chest seemed rather overdone even for a human.
She was silent for a few seconds, and then burst out, 'I don't want to go to Skelleth! Besides, if you're from Ordunin, why are you taking me somewhere else? And where is Ordunin, anyway? And Skelleth?'
'Ordunin is in the Northern Waste. Skelleth is in Eramma. I have undertaken this task for someone who dwells in Skelleth. I care very little whether you want to go or not, and I suggest you not argue. It was not specified that I bring you back alive.' Garth was not seriously annoyed, but merely wanted quiet to think in and spoke harshly to silence the girl. His ploy succeeded; Frima shut up and shrank back into the straw. He had not intended to kill any of the followers of Sai, though he was repulsed by the use of torture and human sacrifice; he hoped the high priest, scum that he was, survived. He regretted snapping the other priest's neck, not so much out of respect for the life lost as because it would undoubtedly please the cult of Aghad. It had been inevitable, though; he had been attacked, and had responded appropriately. Besides, the man's death had cowed the others very nicely.
He had plundered four of the seven altars; three remained, two of them on the Street of the Temples. The robberies of the temples of Tema and Andhur Regvos had not gone particularly well, but would produce no definite identifications; on the other hand, several devotees of Sai and Aghad now knew him on sight, and the Aghadites knew his name as well. Frima claimed that both cults were secret societies, and presumably would not therefore spread their information about, but on the other hand might well try to dispose of him themselves.
This whole affair was getting very complicated.
He had intended to use his room in the inn in the normal manner and sleep in a comfortable bed; he had not done so previously only because he had collapsed from fatigue before he made it that far. However, now that he was definitely a hunted fugitive, even if not readily identifiable to all his pursuers, he decided that that would be a mistake. He would remain here in this stable. It was uncomfortable and uncivilized, but it was where Koros was, and where his loot and his weapons were. No one would be able to sneak up on him while he was guarded by the warbeast. Furthermore, although a siege might be effective, no frontal assault here would be able to defeat both him and his beast; it would be impossible to pour men into the stall in large enough numbers. He knew, with neither false modesty nor overconfidence, that he was capable of handling at least three human warriors at once, and that Koros could deal with twice that number. In a room at the inn, half a dozen men might slip in and kill him; in the stable, with the warbeast beside him, those same men wouldn't have a chance.
Not only that, but by keeping Frima here he avoided any inconvenient questions as to what a human female was doing with an overman-quite aside from her attire.
That reminded him of her current state of undress; he recalled that somewhere in his bundle of supplies he had a spare tunic, intended for social occasions, that would doubtless serve her better than his gambeson. Even should she fail to appreciate it, at the very least he would have padding for his mail once more; it was digging ferociously into his back where he leaned against the wall of the stall.
He reached for his bundle of supplies, and discovered that he could no longer see it; the moon was down, having sunk beneath the horizon while he mused, and the dawn was still an hour or two away. He reached for his flint and steel, only to be reminded by their absence that he had surrendered them to the priests of Andhur Regvos.
Well, the inn would have lanterns, or torches, or some form of portable illumination. 'Wait here,' he
