"It is in the wagon of Kutaituchik," Saphrar was saying. "I could send mercenary tarnsmen from the north, but I would prefer not to have war."

Kamchak was still watching Aphris of Turia.

My heart was beating with great rapidity. I had learned now, if Saphrar was correct, that the golden sphere, undoubt- edly the last egg of Priest-Kings, was in the wagon of Kutaituchik, said to be Ubar of the Tuchuks. At last, if Saphrar was correct, I knew its location.

I barely noticed, as Aphris of Turia made her way toward the head of the table, that she did not speak to nor acknowl- edge in any way any of the women present, though their robes suggested they must be of wealth and position. She gave them no sign that she recognized their existence. To a man here and there, however, she would nod her head or exchange a word or two. I thought perhaps Aphris was unwilling to acknowledge unveiled free women. Her own veil, of course, had not been lowered. Over the veil I could now see two black, deep, almond-shaped eyes; her skin, what I could see of it, was lovely and clear; her complexion was not so light as that of Miss Cardwell, but was lighter than that of the girl Hereena, of the First Wagon.

"The golden sphere for Aphris of Turia," Saphrar whispered to Kamchak.

Kamchak turned to the small, fat merchant and his scarred, furrowed face broke into a grin, bearing down on the round, pinkish face of the merchant. "The Tuchuks," he said, "are fond of the golden sphere."

"Very well," snapped Saphrar, "then you will not obtain the woman, I shall see to that and somehow I shall have the sphere understand that!"

Kamchak now turned to watch Aphris of Turia.

The girl now approached us, behind the tables, and Saphrar leaped to his feet and bowed low to her. "Honored Aphris of Turia, whom I love as my own daughter," he said. l he girl inclined her head to him, "Honored Saphrar, ? she said.

Saphrar gestured to two of the camisk-clad girls in the room, who brought cushions and a silken mat and placed them between Saphrar and Kamchak.

Aphris nodded her head to the feast steward and he sent the acrobats running and tumbling from the room and the musicians began to play soft, honeyed melodies. The guests at the banquet returned to their conversation and repast. Aphris looked about her.

She lifted her head, and I could see the lovely line of her nose beneath the veil of white silk trimmed with gold. She sniffed twice. Then she clapped her little gloved hands two times and the feast steward rushed to her side.

"I smell bosk dung," she said.

The feast steward looked startled, then horrified, then knowledgeable, and then bowed and spread his hands. I He smiled ingratiatingly, apologetically. "I 'm sorry, Lady Aphris," said he, "but under the circumstances"

She looked about, and then it seemed she saw Kamchak. "Ah!" she said, "I see a Tuchuk of course."

Kamchak, though sitting cross-legged, seemed to bounce twice on the cushions, slapping the small table, rattling dishes for a dozen feet on either side. He was roaring with laughter. "Superb!" he cried.

"Please, if you wish, Lady Aphris, join us," wheezed Saphrar.

Aphris of Turia, pleased with herself, assumed her place between the merchant and Kamchalc, kneeling back on her heels in the position of the Gorean free woman.

Her back was very straight and her head high, in the Gorean fashion.

She turned to Kamchak. "It seems we have met before," she said.

"Two years ago," said Kamchak, "in such a place at such a time you recall it was then you called me a Tuchuk sleen." "I seem to recall," said Aphris, as though trying very hard to do so.

"I had brought you a five-belt necklace of diamonds," said Kamchak, "for I had heard you were beautiful."

"Oh," said Aphris, "yes I gave it to one of my slaves." Kamchak slapped the table in merriment again.

"It was then," he said, "that you turned away, calling me a Tuchuk sleen."

"Oh, yes!" laughed Aphris.

"And it was then," said Kamchak, still laughing, "that I vowed I would make you my slave."

Aphris stopped laughing.

Saphrar was speechless.

There was no sound at the tables.

Kamras, Champion of the City of Turia, rose to his feet. He addressed Saphrar. "Permit me," he said, "to fetch weak ones."

Kamchak was now swilling Paga and acted as though he had not heard the remark of Kamras.

"No, no, no!" cried Saphrar. "The Tuchuk and his friend are guests, and ambassadors of the Wagon Peoples they must not come to harm!"

Aphris of Turia laughed merrily and Kamras, embar- rassed, returned to his seat.

"Bring perfumes" she called to the feast steward, and he sent forth the camisk-clad slave who carried the tiny tray of exotic Turian perfumes. She took one or two of these small bottles and held them under her nose, and then sprinkled them about the table and cushions. Her actions delighted the Turians, who laughed.

Kamchak now was still smiling, but he no longer laughed. "For that," he said, smiling, "you will spend your first night in the dung sack."

Again Aphris laughed merrily and was joined by those of the banquet.

The fists of Kamras were clenched on the table.

"Who are you?" asked Aphris, looking at me.

I was pleased to see that she, at least, did not know my name.

"I am Tart Cabot," I said, "Of the city of Ko-ro-ba." "It is in the far north," she said. "Even beyond Ar." "Yes," I said.

"How comes it," asked she, "that a Koroban rides in the stinking wagon of a Tuchuk sleep?"

"The wagon does not stink," I said, "and Kamchak of the Tuchuks is my friend."

"You are an outlaw of course," she said.

I shrugged.

She laughed.

The girl turned to Saphrar. "Perhaps the barbarians would care to be entertained," she suggested.

I was puzzled at this, for throughout much of the evening there had been entertainment, the jugglers, the acrobats, the fellow who swallowed fire to music, the magician, the man with the dancing sleen.

Saphrar was looking down. He was angry. "Perhaps," he said. I supposed Saphrar was still irritated at Kamchak's refusal to give up, or arrange the transfer, of the golden sphere. I did not clearly understand Kamchak's motivations in this matter less, of course, he knew the true nature of the golden sphere, in which case, naturally, he would recog- nize it as Priceless. I gathered he did not understand its true value, with some seriousness earlier in the evening only that, ap- pareutly, he wanted more than Saphrar was offering, even though that might be Aphris of Turia herself.

Aphris now turned to me. She gestured to the ladies at the tables, with their escorts. "Are the women of Turia not beautiful?" she asked.

"Indeed," I admitted, for there were none present who were not, in their own ways, beautiful.

She laughed, for some reason.

"In my city," I said, "free women would not permit them- selves to be seen unveiled before strangers."

The girl laughed merrily once more and turned to Kamchak. "What think you, my colorful bit of bosk dung? ' she asked.

Kamchak shrugged. "It is well known," he said, "the wom- en of Turia are shameless."

"I think not," snapped the angry Aphris of Turia, her eyes flashing above the golden border of her white silicon veil. "I see them," said Kamchak, spreading his hands to both sides, grinning.

Seeing that he had apparently discussed its exchange "I think not," said the girl.

Kamchak looked puzzled.

Then, to my surprise, the girl clapped her hands sharply twice and the women about the table stood, arid together, from both sides, moved swiftly to stand before us between the tables. The drums and flutes of the musicians sounded, and to my amazement the first girl, with a sudden, graceful swirl of her body lifted away her robes and flung them high over the heads of the guests to cries of delight. She stood facing us, beautiful, knees flexed, breathing deeply, arms lifted over her head, ready for the dance. Each of the women I had thought free did the same, until each stood before us, a collared slave girl clad only the diaphanous, scarlet danc- ing silks of Gor. To the barbaric music they danced. Kamchak was angry.