out to Shaba, the geographer of Anango, the explorer of Lake Ushindi, and the discoverer of Lake Ngao and the mysterious Ua River. I thought these might bring him out of hiding, with the Tahari ring, if I could not locate him by means of the blond Earth girl who had been purchased by Ulafi, captain of the Palms of Schendi, merchant, too, of that city.
The girl, hearing my approach, drew her legs up quickly under her, and rose to her feet, turning to meet me. She smiled, brightly. She was pretty.
“Tal,” said she.
“Tal,” said I.
“You are strong,” she said.
We were in the vicinity of the pier of the Red Urt. It is not a desirable district.
I put down my sea bag.
She looked up at me.
“It is dangerous for you here,” I said. “You should be home.”
“I have no home,” she said.
She traced an idle pattern on my left shoulder with her finger tip.
“Who would want to hurt a little she-urt,” she said.
“What do you want?” I asked. I was alert to the tiny sound behind me.
“I will please you for a tarsk bit,” she said.
I did not speak.
She suddenly knelt before me. “I will please you as a slave girl, if you wish,” she said.
“When I want a slave girl,” I said, “I will have a real slave girl, not a free woman pretending to be a slave girl.”
She looked up at me, angrily.
“On your feet, free woman,” I said.
She got up angrily. She was not a slave. Why should I accord her the privilege of kneeling at my feet?
“I’m hot and I’m pretty,” she said. “Try me.”
I touched her flanks. They were good. I then took her by the upper arms. I looked into her eyes. She lifted her lips to mine.
“No!” she screamed, wild-eyed, as I suddenly lifted her from her feet and spun about, she knowing herself lifted helplessly into the path of the blow. I dropped her inert body to one side.
“You should take your breath,” I told him, “before you approach. Too, you should have your arm raised early, that the movement of the sleeve not be audible. Too, you should have the girl, in her diversion, keep her eyes closed. That could be natural enough, and, in that way, you would not be reflected in the mirror of her eyes.” It had not been difficult to detect his approach, even apart from the more obvious clues I had called to his attention. The senses of a warrior are trained. His life may depend on it.
With a cry of rage the man attacked. I caught the club hand, which was clumsy, and, twisting it, dashed his face first into the walkway. I then took him by the hair and thrust the side of his head into the wall. He slumped down, unconscious. I took binding fiber from my sea bag and tied his wrists together behind his back, and crossed and tied his ankles. I then turned to the girl. I tied her hands behind her back, and then took her by the ankles and held her upside down, thrusting her head and shoulders, and upper body, under the cold waters of the canal. In a few seconds I pulled her up, sputtering, and sat her, tied, against the wall across from me. She gasped for air; she tried to clear water from her eyes. She choked. Her hair and the rag she wore were wet. She backed further against the wall, drawing her legs up, pressing her knees closely together. She looked at me, frightened. “Please, let me go,” she said. Dawn would be well glistening now over the marshes to the east. It was still rather dark in the canal streets with the buildings on each side. There was fog visible on the canals.
“Please, let me go,” she said. “It will mean the collar for me.”
“Do you recall what you said to me,” I asked, “shortly before I turned you about?”
“No,” she said.
“Oh?” I asked.
“Yes, yes!” she said.
“Say it, again,” I told her.
“Please,” she begged.
“Say it,” I said.
“I’m hot and I’m pretty,” she stammered. “Try me,” she said. She swallowed hard.
“Very well,” I said.
I drew her to me by the ankles.
“Please let me go,” she
The girl, hearing my approach, drew her legs up quickly under her, and rose to her feet, turning to meet me. She smiled, brightly. She was pretty.
“Tal,” said she.
“Tal,” said I.
“You are strong,” she said.
We were in the vicinity of the pier of the Red Urt. It is not a desirable district.
I put down my sea bag.
She looked up at me.
“It is dangerous for you here,” I said. “You should be home.”
“I have no home,” she said.
She traced an idle pattern on my left shoulder with her finger tip.
“Who would want to hurt a little she-urt,” she said.
“What do you want?” I asked. I was alert to the tiny sound behind me.
“I will please you for a tarsk bit,” she said.
I did not speak.
She suddenly knelt before me. “I will please you as a slave girl, if you wish,” she said.
“When I want a slave girl,” I said, “I will have a real slave girl, not a free woman pretending to be a slave girl.”
She looked up at me, angrily.
“On your feet, free woman,” I said.
She got up angrily. She was not a slave. Why should I accord her the privilege of kneeling at my feet?
“I’m hot and I’m pretty,” she said. “Try me.”
I touched her flanks. They were good. I then took her by the upper arms. I looked into her eyes. She lifted her lips to mine.
“No!” she screamed, wild-eyed, as I suddenly lifted her from her feet and spun about, she knowing herself lifted helplessly into the path of the blow. I dropped her inert body to one side.
“You should take your breath,” I told him, “before you approach. Too, you should have your arm raised early, that the movement of the sleeve not be audible. Too, you should have the girl, in her diversion, keep her eyes closed. That could be natural enough, and, in that way, you would not be reflected in the mirror of her eyes.” It had not been difficult to detect his approach, even apart from the more obvious clues I had called to his attention. The senses of a warrior are trained. His life may depend on it.
With a cry of rage the man attacked. I caught the club hand, which was clumsy, and, twisting it, dashed his face first into the walkway. I then took him by the hair and thrust the side of his head into the wall. He slumped down, unconscious. I took binding fiber from my sea bag and tied his wrists together behind his back, and crossed and tied his ankles. I then turned to the girl. I tied her hands behind her back, and then took her by the ankles and held her upside down, thrusting her head and shoulders, and upper body, under the cold waters of the canal. In a few seconds I pulled her up, sputtering, and sat her, tied, against the wall across from me. She gasped for air; she tried to clear water from her eyes. She choked. Her hair and the rag she wore were wet. She backed further against the wall, drawing her legs up, pressing her knees closely together. She looked at me, frightened. “Please, let me go,” she said. Dawn would be well glistening now over the marshes to the east. It was still rather dark in the canal streets with the buildings on each side. There was fog visible on the canals.
“Please, let me go,” she said. “It will mean the collar for me.”
“Do you recall what you said to me,” I asked, “shortly before I turned you about?”
“No,” she said.
“Oh?” I asked.
“Yes, yes!” she said.
“Say it, again,” I told her.
“Please,” she begged.
“Say it,” I said.
“I’m hot and I’m pretty,” she stammered. “Try me,” she said. She swallowed hard.
“Very well,” I said.
I drew her to me by the ankles.
“Please let me go,” she
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