I noted, following me, as I had more than once, a masked figure, one wearing the hood of the Clan of Torturers. I supposed he was curious about me, not a Tuchuk, not a merchant or singer, yet among the Wagons. When I would look at him, he would turn away. Indeed, perhaps I only imagined he followed me. Once I thought to turn and ques- tion him, but he had disappeared.

I turned and retraced my steps to the wagon of Kamchak. I was looking forward to the evening.

The little wench from Port Kar, whom Kamchak and I had seen in the slave wagon when we had bought Paga the night before the games of Love War, was this night to perform the chain dance. I recalled that he might have, had it not been for me, even purchased the girl. She had surely taken his eye and, I shall admit, mine as well.

Already a large, curtained enclosure had been set up near the slave wagon. For a fee, the proprietor of the wagon would permit visitors. These arrangements irritated me somewhat, for customarily the chain dance, the whip dance, the love dance of the newly collared slave girl, the brand dance, and so on, are performed openly by firelight in the evening, for the delight of any who care to watch. Indeed, in the spring, with the results of caravan raids already accumu- lating, it is a rare night on which one cannot see one or more such dances performed. I gathered that the little wench from Port Kar must be superb. Kamchak, not a man to part easily with a tarn disk, had apparently received inside word on the matter. I resolved not to wager with him to see who would pay the admission.

When I returned to the wagon I saw the bask had already been tended, though it was early in the day, and that there was a kettle on an outside fire boiling. I also noted that the dung sack was quite full.

I bounded up the stairs and entered the wagon.

The two girls were there, and Aphris was kneeling behind Elizabeth, combing Elizabeth's hair.

Kamchak, as I recalled, had recommended a thousand strokes a day.

The pelt of the larl which Elizabeth wore had been freshly brushed.

Both girls had apparently washed at the stream some four pasangs away, taking the opportunity to do so while fetching water.

They seemed rather excited. Perhaps Kamchak would per- mit them to go somewhere.

Aphris of Turia wore bells and collar, about her neck the Turian collar hung with bells, about each wrist and ankle, locked, a double row of bells. I could hear them move as she combed Elizabeth's hair. Aside from the bells and collar she wore only several strings of diamonds wrapped about the collar, some dangling from it, with the bells.

"Greetings, Master," said both girls at the same time. "Ow!" cried Elizabeth as Aphris' comb apparently sudden- ly caught in a snarl in her hair.

"Greetings," I said. "Where is Kamchak?"

"He is coming," said Aphris.

Elizabeth turned her head over her shoulder. "I will speak with him," she said. "I am First Girl."

The comb caught in Elizabeth's hair again and she cried out.

"You are only a barbarian," said Aphris sweetly.

"Comb my hair, Slave," said Elizabeth, turning away. "Certainly slave," said Aphris, continuing her work. "I see you are both in a pleasant mood," I said. Actually, as a matter of fact, both were. Each seemed rather excited and happy, their bickering notwithstanding.

"Master," said Aphris, "is taking us tonight to see a Chain Dance, a girl from Port Karl"

I was startled.

"Perhaps I should not go," Elizabeth was saying, "I would feel too sorry for the poor girl."

"You may remain in the wagon," said Aphris.

"If you see her," I said, "'I think you will not feel sorry for her." I didn't really feel like telling Elizabeth that no one ever feels sorry for a wench from Port Karl They tend to be superb, feline, vicious, startling. They are famed as dancers throughout all the cities of Gor.

I wondered casually why Kamchak was taking the girls, for the proprietor of the slave wagon would surely want his fee for them as well as us.

"Ho!" cried Kamchak, stomping into the wagon. "Meat!" he cried.

Elizabeth and Aphris leaped up to tend the pot outside. He then settled down cross-legged on the rug, not far from the brass and copper grating.

He looked at me shrewdly and, to my surprise, drew a tospit out of his pouch, that yellowish-white, bitter fruit, looking something like a peach but about the size of a plum. He threw me the tospit.

"Odd or even?" he asked.

I had resolved not to wager with Kamchak, but this was indeed an opportunity to gain a certain amount of vengeance which, on my part, would be sorely appreciated. Usually, in guessing tospit seeds, one guesses the actual number, and usually both guessers opt for an odd number. The common tospit almost invariably has an odd number of seeds. On the other hand the rare, long-stemmed tospit usually has an even number of seeds. Both fruits are indistinguishable outwardly. I could see that, perhaps by accident, the tospit which Kamchak had thrown me had had the stem twisted off. It must be then, I surmised, the rare, long-stemmed tospit. "Even," I said.

Kamchak looked at me as though pained. "Tospits almost always have an odd number of seeds," he said.

"Even," I said.

"Very well," said he, "eat the tospit and see."

"Why should I eat it?" I asked. The tospit, after all, is quite bitter. And why shouldn't Kamchak eat it? He had suggested the wager.

"I am a Tuchuk," said Kamchak, "I might be tempted to swallow seeds."

"Let's cut it up," I proposed.

"One might miss a seed that way," said Kamchak.

"Perhaps we could mash the slices," I suggested.

"But would that not be a great deal of trouble," asked Kamchak, "and might one not stain the rug?"

"Perhaps we could mash them in a bowl," I suggested. "But then a bowl would have to be washed," said Kamchak.

"That is true," I admitted.

"All things considered," said Kamchak, "I think the fruit should be eaten."

"I guess you are right," I said.

I bit into the fruit philosophically. It was indeed bitter. "Besides," said Kamchak, "I do not much care for tospit "I am not surprised," I said.

"They are quite bitter," said Kamchak.

"Yes," I said.

I finished the fruit and, of course, it had seven seeds. "Most tospits," Kamchak informed me, "have an odd number of seeds."

"I know," I said.

"Then why did you guess even?" he asked.

"I supposed," I grumbled, "that you would have found a long-stemmed tospit."

"But they are not available," he said, "until late in the summer."

"Oh," I said.

"Since you lost," pointed out Kamchak, "I think it only fair that you pay the admission to the performance." "All right," I said.

"The slaves," mentioned Kamchak, "will also be coming." "Of course," I said, "naturally."

I took out some coins from my pouch and handed them to Kamchak who slipped them in a fold of his sash. As I did so I glowered significantly at the tankards of jewels and chests of golden tarn disks in the corner of the wagon.

"Here come the slaves," said Kamchak.

Elizabeth and Aphris entered, carrying the kettle-between them, which they sat on the brass and copper grating over the fire bowl in the wagon.

"Go ahead and ask him," prompted Elizabeth, "Slave." Aphris seemed frightened, confused.

"Meat)" said Kamchak.

After we had eaten and the girls had eaten with us, there not being that night much time for observing the amenities, Elizabeth poked Aphris, "Ask him," she said.

Aphris lowered her head and shook it.

Elizabeth looked at Kamchak. "One of your slaves," she said, "would like to ask you something."

"Which one?" inquired Kamchak.

"Aphris;" said Elizabeth firmly.

"No," said Aphris, "no, Master."

"Give him Ka-la-na wine," prompted Elizabeth.