"But those men. They're cybers. The Cyclan doesn't operate like that."

"Those aren't cybers."

"No?" She turned to face him and Dumarest saw the glint of amusement in her eyes, the quirk of lips artificially enhanced. A matron on the prowl knowing the erotic stimulus of depicted agony and willing to respond to any advance he might choose to make. "They look like them."

"What do you know of the Cyclan?"

"Me? Not much but I've a cousin who tried to join them. That was on Pikodov-my home world. Then I married and we settled here. A mistake, I was widowed within five years."

"And Juan?"

"He was really involved. That's how I know what they look like. Cybers, I mean. One used to come to the house to give initial instruction or make tests or something. Odd me seeing these." She gestured at the tableau. "I saw one only this morning in town."

"A cyber?"

"That's right. At the Dubedat Hotel. I'm staying there." Her voice was suggestive. "A big room and I'm all alone and I hate not having company."

"If I'm free we'll have dinner tonight," said Dumarest. "Had the cyber just arrived?"

"No. Someone told me he'd booked in a day or so ago."

When he'd run with Melome from the circus. When Zucco and Valaban had been sent after him. Coincidence-or design?

A question Dumarest pondered as he moved on to the shadowed area beneath the stands. It was between performances, the ring holding the dilapidated, slightly tatty air such places always did when the lights dimmed and the stands were empty. Some men raked the sand, smoothing and cleaning the surface while others worked in the tiers. Routine tasks which would soon be completed.

Citizens of a world of which Shakira had made him a part.

A close, snug, normally safe world but a prison to a man used to the spaces between the stars. Dumarest moved on, conscious of the partitions which reared too close, of passageways too narrow and ceilings too low. They lifted as he moved deeper beneath the stands but still the sense of confinement remained. That and the warning prickle of danger which he had learned never to ignore.

"Hi!" Valaban lifted a hand in salute as Dumarest came toward the cage in which he stood. "Be with you in a second, Earl."

He stooped over the limp body of a feline, hands deft, fingers probing, grunting as he jerked a splinter from the thick, black fur. A slender shaft, pointed, tipped with a tuft of wool at the thick end.

"Nice." He handed it to Dumarest and slammed shut the cage. "Some bastard wanted a little fun and used a blowpipe. I've warned Reiza about that trick of hers but she won't listen. She'd be crazy to try it anywhere else."

Dumarest turned the dart in his fingers. "Do you get much of this?"

"Not on Baatz. Other worlds are different. You'd think people would have more sense but they want more than entertainment. They want blood."

"Maybe they should be catered to," Dumarest handed back the dart. "Fights," he explained. "Open bouts and championships. Mixed pairs, even. Bets on first blood, third or to the death. There's money in it. I'm surprised you aren't running them."

"Shakira wouldn't hear of it."

"How about Zucco?"

"Maybe, but Zucco isn't the boss." Valaban looked at the limp body in the cage. "But he's good at his job. He saw the cat twitch and gave the signal without delay. Before it could jump the clowns went in with gas and knocked it out. It'll recover soon." '

"And Reiza?"

"Lucky-but mad as hell."

"About the cat?"

Valaban hesitated then said, "Look, Earl, maybe it's none of my business but it wouldn't do any harm for you to be careful. When we got back she spent some time with Zucco. They were talking and she didn't like what he said. I guess you haven't seen her since you left?"

"No. I've been busy."

"And she's been alone. Thinking, brooding-remember what I told you about cats and women? You can't trust either. And she's handy with that whip."

Too handy. Dumarest felt the bite of it as he turned. The raw sting as again the lash touched his cheek.

Facing him Reiza said, "You bastard! This time you lose your eyes!"

She wore a gown of yellow edged with black, draped so as to bare one shoulder, belted at the waist, the fabric taut over the mounds of her breasts, the swell of her hips and thighs. A garment designed to enhance her femininity but there was nothing soft or gentle about her face or eyes. It was the mask of a tiger illuminated by the narrowed, blazing slits of rampant jealousy. Her voice carried the echo of the crack of the whip she held in her right hand.

Backing, Dumarest said, "Reiza! Be careful!"

"Like hell I'll be careful!" The lash tore the air before her. "I trusted you! Wanted you! Loved you more than I'd ever loved anyone before. And you run off with that pallid freak. Spent the night with her under the stars. How was she, Earl? Did you lie to her too? Tell her you loved her? Use her as you used me!"

He said, "Reiza! Shut up and listen!"

"I've listened to all I want. I've heard how you were found snuggling close. How she clung to you and cried when you parted. The state she was in. You dirty swine! You filth! To prefer that bitch to me!"

Jealousy bordering on madness. Dumarest dodged as the lash tore at his face, feeling the wind of it, the heat of its passing. Leather moving at supersonic speed and able to slice flesh as if it had been a knife. To kill a fly without disturbing the sweat it was drinking-or to tear out an eye as a man would thumb a pea from its pod.

A threat he had faced before and from the same source but now there was a difference. Then she had been playing, teasing him as a cat would tease a mouse, enjoying the game and the demonstration of her skill. Now she wanted to hurt, to maim and blind-and she had the ability to do it.

"Reiza, listen to me." Again Dumarest dodged, the whip slicing the plastic of his tunic at one shoulder. "Damn you, woman, listen! To Valaban if not to me. He was there. He'll tell you what he saw."

"I know what he saw. If he says different he'll be lying. You were with that girl. That freak Melome. You slept with her. You chose her over me. Me!"

A woman too much like a cat. One who had suffered imagined insult and who now wanted nothing but a savage revenge.

Dumarest backed as the lash whined toward his face, felt the bars of the cage slam against his spine, moved quickly to one side the thong hitting metal. A grab and he had it in his hand, a twist and it was around his knuckles. A moment in which each faced the other as she pulled and then, with a sudden jerk, he had thrown her off balance, to stagger, to trip over his foot, to sprawl in an ungainly heap on the littered floor.

She screamed in fury as he slammed his foot hard on the hand holding the whip.

"Jac! Kill him, Jac! Kill him!"

Dumarest stooped, snatched up the whip and rose with it in his hand. Zucco stepped from the shadows as he turned, tall in his ringmaster finery, his own whip lifted before him. One he lost as Dumarest sent his lash against the tall stock, ripping it from the other's grasp and sending it flying to one side.

"Jac!" Reiza almost sobbed in her rage as she rose to her feet, one hand nursing her bruised wrist. "Kill him! Kill him and I'm yours!"

"You have always been mine." Zucco looked at Dumarest. "Do you understand, you poor fool? She went with you for a whim. A momentary passion which I permitted for reasons of my own. Later, perhaps, we shall laugh at your ineptitude."

"As you laughed at Hayter's death?" Dumarest saw the cold, sneering mask of the ringmaster change a little. "You did kill him, didn't you? You wanted the woman that badly. So you made sure he carried a scent which would turn the cats into a fury. The act of a coward-but what else are you?"

"Your better," said Zucco tightly. "Your superior. Now and at any time."