"If you find yourself spitted in the Anbar district that will not much profit the Home Stone of Ar's Station," I said.

"You told me that the Home Stone of Ar's Station would be exhibited again," he said.

"I am sure it will be," I said.

"That was months ago," he said.

"Be patient," I said.

"I do not even know where it is," he said. "It may be in Telnus by now."

"I do not think so," I said.

"At least those of Ar know where their Home Stone is," he said.

"Do not be surly," I said.

"You do not think it is in Telnus?" he asked.

"No," I said. "I think it is still in Ar."

"Why?" he asked.

"I have an excellent reason," I said.

"Would you be so kind as to share this reason with me?" asked Marcus.

"No," I said.

"Why not?" he asked.

"You are too noble to take it seriously," I said.

"Thank you," said her, "perhaps."

We paused to drink, from the upper basin of a fountain.

"Listen," I said.

"Yes," he said.

We turned about.

Some twenty men, stripped, in heavy metal collars, these linked by heavy chains, their hands behind their backs, presumably manacled, prodded now and then by the butts of guards' spears, were approaching. Behind the line came a flute girl, sometimes turning about, playing the instrument. It was this sound we had heard. Some folks stopped to watch.

"Political prisoners," said Marcus.

That could be told by the fact that the ears and noses of the prisoners had been painted yellow, to make them appear ridiculous.

"Interesting," said Marcus, "that they would parade them so publicly down the Avenue of the Central Cylinder."

"It is to be expected," I said. "If they were conducted out of the city in secret there would be much inquiry, much resentment, much clamor, much objection. It would be as though the Central Cylinder wished to conceal the fate imposed upon them, as though they were afraid of its becoming public, as though it might not be legitimately defensible. In this way, on the other hand, it performs its action openly, without special attention but, too, without stealth. It says, thusly, the action is in order, that it is acceptable, even trivial. Too, of course, it hopes to enlist public approbation by the painting of the ears and noses, thus suggesting that any who might disagree with its policies must be mad or dunces, at best objects of caricature and ridicule."

"Those in the Central Cylinder are clever," said Marcus.

"They may miscalculate," I said.

"Whence are these fellows bound?" asked Marcus.

"Probably the quarries of Tyros," I said.

"There must be many in Ar who will have scores to settle with the Ubara," he said.

"I suspect," I said, "that these arrests are more the work of Seremides, and Antonius, of the High Council."

"You would defend Talena of Ar?" he asked.

"I would not blame her for more than that for which she is responsible," I said. "Surely her complicity is clear," he said.

I was silent.

"She is an arch conspirator in the downfall of Ar," he said.

"Perhaps," I said.

"What does she mean to you?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said.

The men were now filing past, with their guards. Their hands, indeed, were manacled behind their backs.

"Some of those men may have been high in the city," said Marcus.

"Undoubtedly," I said.

"Some even have signs about their necks," said Marcus.

"I am not familiar with the politics of Ar," I said, "so I do not recognize the names."

"I know the name of the last fellow," said Marcus. "Mirus Torus."

The sign about his neck had that name on it, and also the word, "Traitor."

"Who is he?" I asked.

"I assume," said Marcus, "that he is the Mirus Torus who was the executive officer of the High Council before Gnieus Lelius, and later held the same office under the regency of Gnieus Lelius."

"I think I have heard of him," I said.

"For some months he was under house arrest," said Marcus.

"The Central Cylinder," I said, "seems now to be very sure of its power."

"Doubtless it was encouraged by its success in the matter of the Home Stone," said Marcus.

"Undoubtedly," I said.

"You seem troubled," he said.

"It is nothing," I said.

We watched the coffle of prisoners move away, south on the Avenue of the Central Cylinder. For a long time we could hear the music of the flute girl who brought up the rear.

"What is it?" asked Marcus.

"There seems nothing to arouse Ar," I said.

"Forget Ar," said Marcus. "The men of Ar have become spineless urts."

"These men," I said, "were once among the strongest and finest in the world."

"Ar dies in the delta," said Marcus.

"Perhaps," I said. There seemed much to the sobering suggestion of the young warrior.

"What is Ar to you?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said.

"Cos loots with impunity," said Marcus, "tearing even the marbles from the walls. She disguises her depredations under absurd, meretricious rhetorics. It is as though the sleen pretended to be the friend of the verr. And what do the men of Ar do? They smile, they hasten to give up their riches, they beat their breasts, they lament their unworthiness, they cannot sufficiently praise those who despoil them, they rush to sacrifice at the great temples. They burn their gates, they dismantle their walls, they hide in their houses at night. They cheer while women who might be theirs are instead marched to Cosian ports. Do not concern yourself with them, my friend. They are unworthy of your concern."

I looked at Marcus.

He smiled. "You are angry," he said.

"Ho! One side, buffoons of Ar!" said a voice, that of a mercenary, one of two, with blue armbands.

We stepped to one side as they swaggered past.

"I am not of Ar," I said to Marcus.

"Nor am I," he said.

"Thus they could not have been speaking to us," I said.

"We could kill them," said Marcus.

"In broad daylight?" I asked.

"Perhaps they are nice fellows," said Marcus.

"Perhaps," I said.

"But then one cannot always permit oneself to be deterred by such considerations," he said.

"True," I said.

"They think they own the street," he said.

"Doubtless an impression they have gathered from those of Ar," I said.

"Surely," he said.

"There is nothing to arouse Ar," I said.

"No," he said.

"If Marlenus were alive, and might return," I said, "that might bring Ar to her feet, angry and mighty, like an awakened larl."

"If Marlenus were alive," said Marcus, "he would have returned to Ar long ago."

"Then there is no hope," I said.

"No," said Marcus. "There is no hope."

I regarded him.

"Ar died last summer," he said, " in the delta."

I did not respond to him. I feared he was right.

We walked on then, not speaking, with rage, a helpless warrior's fury irrepressibly welling up within me.

A passer-by regarded me, startled, and hurried quickly past.

"You are angry," said Marcus.

"Are you not angry?" I asked.

"Perhaps," he said.

We heard then, behind us, running feet, laughter, a tearing of cloth, and a woman's cry. A group of young fellows was running past. We, too, were buffeted but I seized one of the lads by the wrist and, drawing him quickly across and about my body, and over my extended right leg, flung him to the stones, where I held him, my grip shifted now to the palm of his hand, his wrist bent, far back. He screamed with pain. Another fraction of a hort, the least additional pressure, and his wrist would be broken. Almost at the same instant I heard Marcus' sword leave its sheath, warning back the other lads, some six of them. Marcus, I noted, was suddenly, relievedly, in an eager, elated mood. He hoped for their advance. He was quite ready, even eager, for the release of shedding blood. I felt my own nostrils flare as I suddenly, excitedly, drank in the air of Ar, exhilarated, fiercely alive. The six lads backed away. I had little doubt he would have cut them down had they come with the compass of his blade. One of the lads, the leader it seemed, clutched the woman's pouch, torn from her belt, and another held her veil. I looked back tot he woman, who had been struck to her knees. She had drawn her hood about her face, that her features not be exposed publicly. Her eyes were wild in the opening within the hood.