moment on no other man had seen her face.
'In a swifter?' I said. 'Passing strange, for a woman to be in a swifter in action.'
'It is known.'
'Aye. It is known. And is that all?'
'None know her name, none know her face. Four men — trusted men — have been flayed alive by Gafard’s orders for trying.'
The majority of the personal bodyguard maintained by Gafard about the tent were not apims. That would greatly reduce the dangers, of course, although no sane man trusted a woman to the protection of some races of diffs. Gafard chose wisely.
The moment came to which I had been looking forward with an interest that had led me to keep Blue Cloud always in perfect condition, a bag of provisions knotted to his harness, to sleep lightly and to have the edges and points of all my weapons honed razor-sharp.
The summons reached me carried by one of Gafard’s aides. I went with him to the campaign tent in which Gafard dictated his orders and kept his official being. Only when he had discharged his duties would he dress and anoint himself and go to the great tent where the Lady of the Stars awaited him. Among his retinue I had, as I have said, made no real enemies apart from his second in command. This was a certain man called Grogor. He was a renegade, also. The situation was obvious. Grogor feared lest I, the new friend of Gafard’s, might oust him from his position. I had been at pains to tell the fellow that I had no intentions of doing any such thing. He had not believed me. Now Grogor, a bulky, sweaty man, but a good fighter, motioned me into the campaign tent. Gafard sat at a folding table affixing his seal to orders and messages. He looked up and waved me to sit at the side and wait.
His stylor, a slave with privileges as a man who could read and write, was, as was common, a Relt. The Relt gathered up all the papers and their canvas envelopes in his thin arms and, bowing, backed out. The flap of the tent dropped. Gafard lifted his head and looked at me. I had not been called to ride with him since the episode of the lairgodont and the hunt.
'You have been wondering why I have been cold to you in the last few days, Gadak?' It needed no quick intelligence to understand why. I said, 'Yes, gernu.' He put his hands together and studied them, not looking at me as he spoke.
'I owe you my gratitude. I do not think I would care to live if my beloved no longer lived and walked at my side.'
'I can understand that.'
He looked up, his head lifting like the vicious head of a striking lairgodont itself.
'Ah! So you are like all the rest-'
There was no way out of this save by boldness.
'I saw the face of the Lady of the Stars. Yes, it is true. You have had men flayed for less. But when a lairgodont rips at one, and the green veil is already torn away, there is not much choice.' He still stared at me. He measured his words. 'Have you ever seen a more beautiful woman in all the world?'
I have been asked that question — and most often by silly women seeking to gain power over me -
many times, as you know.
Every time, every single time, the answer was automatic, instant, not needing thought. No woman in two worlds is as perfect as my Delia, my Delia of Delphond. Yet. .
I hesitated.
He thought I feared, perhaps, to speak the truth, hesitated for the reason directly opposite to the truth. Often, although my own feelings needed no thought to arrive at the truth, that none could compare with my Delia, I had temporized — most particularly on the roof of the Opal Palace in Zenicce. Now my hesitation held none of calculation.
I said, 'The lady is more beautiful than all women — save, perhaps, for one.' He seized on that.
'Perhaps?'
'Aye. But beauty is not all. I know nothing of the lady’s perfections — and I do know a lady whose perfections are unmatched, in her beauty, her spirit, her love of life, her courage, her wisdom, her comradeship, her love-'
He sat back. That small ironic half-smile flitted on his lips and vanished.
'I do not think you lie. You speak too warmly for lies.'
Here there was no need for me to go on. He would decide what to do with me. If he decided against, then I would decide if he must be killed at once or if I dare leave him merely gagged and bound. Perhaps something of those wild leem thoughts showed in my face, although I own I would have been extremely wroth had I thought that possible: perhaps he realized more than I gave him credit for at the time.
'You know little of my history, Gadak.'
'I know little, gernu. Men say you were a Jikaidast. If that is so it is no wonder you always win.' His smile broadened, became genuine, warm. 'Were I not so busy — with this and that — I would call for the board at once, the grand board. Yes, I was a Jikaidast, in Sanurkazz.' These Jikaidasts are a strange lot, strange in the eyes of ordinary men who love the game of Jikaida and play when they can. A Jikaidast lives only for the game. As a professional he plays to earn a living, and these men are found all over Kregen earning their living from the highest to the lowest levels. The greatest of them even aspire to the title of
I resisted the temptation to fall into the deadly trap of talking Jikaida. That way lies the engulfment of many burs of a man’s life.
'You were a hyr-San, gernu. But of aught else, I know nothing.' He showed his pleasure. This was the first time I saw him as a human being apart from those traumatic moments when he had clasped his lady to him after the hunt of the lairgodonts.
'There is little to tell, as a Zairian. My home was too small, the people too small, my opportunities too small. When I fought for Zair men smiled. I was taken by the Grodnims. I did as you have done. I think the decision hardened me, made of me different flesh. I am a man among men now, the keeper of the king’s confidence, his Striker.'
'And Sea-Zhantil,' I said.
I couldn’t resist that little dig. He nodded. 'Aye. I value that. You know it. It was borne by a man who-' He glanced up sharply at me, and I saw he felt his own surprise.
'You were brought here to listen to me, Gadak. I tell you this because I have taken a liking to you. But treachery is rewarded by a knife in the back, just under the ribs.'
'Aye. Perhaps that is all it deserves.'
Again that probing look. If I was to take him seriously, for he was a mortal powerful man in his own surroundings, I would have said, then, that he was puzzled by my attitude, realizing he dealt with a man who might be of more use to him than he could have imagined.
'That is sooth.' He picked up a dagger that threw scattered shards of light from the gems packing the hilt, and he twirled it as he spoke. If there was a meaning here, he was underlining it too obviously. 'I am a king’s man. King Genod is a wonderful man, a genius at war, commanding, powerful — he has the yrium. I do not forget that. But-' Here he again broke off and flicked the dagger into the ground. The sharp blade struck and stuck, the hilt vibrating just enough to fill the tent with leaping colors. 'But he demands women. He takes women and uses them and discards them. It is his only weakness; and, for a man such as he, it is not a weakness.'
'I can see that. But the princess Susheeng?'
'She carried much weight when King Genod defeated the overlords of Magdag and took the throne. She supported him and in return is his official queen — although, well, it is all in the loving eye of Grodno. I tell you this, Gadak-' He interrupted himself yet again, rising and prowling about the tent, his fierce face thrust forward. 'It is all probably common knowledge. Susheeng has her powers. She must tolerate Genod’s caprices. Do not whisper this in your cups, for you may wake up minus your head.'
'I believe I understand, gernu. The veil, the concealment so that no man may see her face — yes, I understand.'
