"Obviously," I said.

"There is another delka," I said to Marcus.

"Bold that it should be in such a place," said Marcus.

Marcus and I, some days after the incident of the shop, were strolling on the Avenue of the Central Cylinder, which is, I suppose, in a sense, the major thoroughfare in Ar. It is at any rate her most famous, if not busiest, avenue, and it gives access to the park of the Central Cylinder, which edifice is itself, of course, located within the park of that name. It is a long, shaded, wide, elegant avenue, with expensive shops and fountains.

"A barracks was burned last night," said Marcus. "I heard that."

"If it is true," I said, "I do not think it will be found on the public boards."

"Does there not seem a new spirit in Ar?" he asked.

"It seems quiet here," I said.

"Nonetheless," he said. "Things are different."

"Perhaps," I said.

"There, listen!" said Marcus.

We turned to look at the street. Approaching, singing, was a group of youths, in rows, a sports team, marching together. Their colors were of both Ar and Cos. Such teams, drawn from various parts of the city, competed in various games, in hurling the stone, in hurling the thonged javelin, both for distance and accuracy, in races of various sorts, in jumping, in wrestling, and such. There were meets, and local championships, with awards, such as fillets of the wool of the bounding hurt, dyed different colors, and for champions, crowns woven of the leaves of the mighty Tur tree. Eventually various teams, in their respective age brackets, would become city champions. Such sports as there were familiar to Goreans, and had for years been privately practiced at numerous palestrae throughout the city. Indeed, such palestrae, upon occasion, would compete with one another.

"That is different," said Marcus.

"There used to be such teams," I said.

"They have been revived," said Marcus.

"You see in this something of significance?" I asked.

"Of course," he said. "Why would Cos revive such things? "To help them rule?" I asked. "To appear noble, well disposed, benevolent? To give the public baubles and toys, items of interest with which to beguile themselves? To create diversions, to distract Ar's attention from her defeat and sorry state?"

"They did not do this before," he said. "Why just now?"

We watched the youths as they passed us and continued on, down the street. "Why?" I asked.

"To counteract the Delta Brigade," he said. "To lessen its influence!"

"Cos does not even know we exist," I said.

"The Ubara knows," he said, "and Seremides, and the Polemarkos."

"I think you are mad," I said.

"This time," he said, "I think my Kaissa is more subtle than yours."

"I should like to think so," I said.

"What of the new art center?" he said.

"What of it?" I asked.

"That is the same thing," he said.

I laughed.

"No," he said. "I am serious! That is the same thing, but for the intellectuals, the scribes, the high castes!"

"And will they bring back the marbles from Cos for the art center?" I asked. "I am serious, Tarl," he said.

"Perhaps you are right," I said. "I hope so."

"I tell you things are changing in Ar now," he said. "They are becoming different."

"Perhaps," I said.

"The Initiates do not seem as welcome in the streets now," he said. "Men avoid them. Even some women avoid them. Some even demand they remain in their temples where they belong, away from honest, healthy folk."

"Interesting," I said.

"Now they often ring their bells and swing their censers to deserted streets," said Marcus. "In vain they chant their litanies to indifferent walls."

"I am sure it is not so bad as all that," I said.

"Are you so fond of the unproductive, parasitic caste?" he asked.

"I do not think much about them," I said.

"Surely you regret the minds they have stunted and spoiled," he said.

"If there are any such, of course," I said.

"They prey on credulity, they exploit fear, they purvey superstition," he said. "It is their way of making a living," I said.

Marcus grunted angrily.

"And doubtless many of them, or at least the simpler ones, do not even understand what they are doing. Thus it is hard to blame them, unless, say, for stupidity, or a failure to undertake inquiries or, if undertaking them, a failure to pursue them in an objective manner."

Again Marcus made an angry noise. He was one of those fellows who had not yet wearied of denouncing hypocrisy and fraud. He did not yet see the roll which such things served in the complex tapestry of life. What is some folks required lies, as the price of mental security? Should they be nonetheless denied their comforts, robbed of their illusions? Is their happiness worth less than that of others? Is it not better to tell them, if they are capable of no more, that the illusions are reality, that the lies are truth? If many desired such things, and cried out for them, is it any wonder that fellows would be found, perhaps even from noble motives, to sell them such wares, keeping the truth to themselves, as their burden and secret? I pondered the mater. I knew, as Marcus did not, of many civilizations which were unnatural, which had taken wrong paths, which were founded on myths and lies. Perhaps that is why Marcus disproved so sternly of the Initiates. To him, they seemed anomalous in the world he knew, pointless, dangerous and pathological. In the end few things are real, perhaps the weight and glitter of gold, the movement and nature of weapons, a slave at one's feet, and, too, perhaps in spite of all, if we will have it so, defiant, honor, responsibility, courage, discipline, such things, such baubles, such treasures. "Do you believe in Priest-Kings?" asked Marcus.

"Certainly," I said.

"I do not," he said.

"As you will," I said.

"But how are we to explain the Weapons Laws, the Flame Death?" he asked. "That would seem to be your problem, not mine," I said, "as I accept their existence."

"Something exists," he said, "but they are not Priest-Kings."

"That is an interesting thought," I said.

"It is only that they possess the power of Priest-Kings!" he said.

"That is a second interesting thought," I said. "But if they possess the power of Priest-Kings, why not call them Priest-Kings?"

"Do you think they would mind, if I did not?" he asked, somewhat apprehensively. "Probably not," I said. Indeed, provided men kept their laws the Priest-Kings were content to let them do much what they wished. The major concerns of Priest-Kings with men, it seemed, was to have as little to do with them as possible. That had always seemed to me understandable.

"But what is the relation of the Initiates to the Priest-Kings, if there are such?" he asked.

"One which is rather remote, I suspect," I said, "if it exists at all."

"You do not think the Priest-Kings are on intimate terms with the Initiates, do you?"

"Would you wish to be on intimate terms with an Initiate?" I asked.

"Certainly not," he said.

"There you are," I said.

"Look at that fellow," said Marcus, indicating a baker striding by. The fellow fixed a fearless gaze upon us.

"He is only one man," I said.

"There is something different in Ar these days," he said.

"He is only one man," I said.

"Who walks proudly," said Marcus.

"He will not walk so proudly if he is beaten by a Cosian patrol," I said. "In any event," said Marcus, " the power of the Initiates is certainly less now than before in the city."

"At least for the time," I said.

"For the time?" he asked.

"If men should become again confused, and fearful, and lose confidence in themselves, if they should again begin to whine, and to beg for authority and reassurance," I said, "the white robes will again appear in the streets."