"I am sure of it," I said.

In bondage, the once proud, arrogant Telitsia, of Asperiche, had learned slave arousal. I could imagine her upstairs now, probably chained by the neck to a ring, probably stripped, given the heat of the higher apartments, probably lying on the floor, where she had been put, near the ring, her small hands on her neck chain, or her fingers on the ring, now and then moaning, and turning about, or squirming, with a movement of chain, awaiting the return of her master.

"I wish you well," I said.

"I wish you well," he said.

He then turned about and, with considerably less speed than he had manifested in his descent, began to climb the stairs. In a moment or two, as he was not carrying a light, he had disappeared in the darkness. I listened, however, for some time, to his climbing. I then went outside and rejoined Marcus.

"Do you know who that was?" I asked.

"A magician," he said.

"Here is your wallet," I said.

"Ai!" said Marcus, slapping at his belt.

"Supposedly its contents are unrifled, or at least intact."

"It was wafted away by magic," said Marcus.

"Sometimes I believe him to be more light-fingered than is in his own best interest," I said.

"No," said Marcus. "I felt nothing. It was magic. He is a true magician!"

"Perhaps he is a bit vain of his tricks," I said.

I could well imagine many Goreans leaping upon him with a knife under such circumstances, or, at any rate, looking him up later with that in mind, having discovered their loss in the meantime.

"Perhaps we should exchange him to use magic in his attempt on the Home Stone," said Marcus. "I would not wish him to be torn to shreds on the rack."

"His mind is made up," I said. "He would not hear of it."

"Such courage!" said Marcus.

"Do you know who he is?" I asked.

"Renato, the Great," said Marcus.

"That is not his real name," I said.

"What is his real name?" I said.

"In an instant you would know it, if I told it to you," I said. "You would be astonished that such a fellow has deigned to help us. He is known far and wide on Gor. He is famous. His fame is spread throughout a thousand cities and a hundred lands. He is known from the steaming jungles of Schendi to the ice packs of the north, from the pebbly shores of Thassa to the vast, dry barrens east of the Thentis range!"

"What is his name?" inquired Marcus, eagerly.

"Boots Tarsk-Bit!" I said.

"Who?" asked Marcus.

"Put your wallet away," I said.

"Very well," he said.

I also checked my own wallet, again. It was in place, and its contents were in order.

"That is she," I whispered to Marcus.

We were astride rented tharlarion, high tharlarion, bipedalian tharlarion. Although our mounts were such, they are not to be confused with the high tharlarion commonly used by Gorean shock cavalry, swift, enormous beasts the charge of which can be so devastating to unformed infantry. If one may use terminology reminiscent of the sea, these were medium-class tharlarion, comparatively light beasts, at least compared to their brethren of the contact cavalries, such cavalries being opposed to the sorts commonly employed in missions such as foraging, scouting, skirmishing and screening troop movements. Rather our mounts were typical of the breeds from which are extracted racing tharlarion, of the sort used, for example, in the Vennan races. To be sure, it is only select varieties of such breeds, such as the Venetzia, Torarii and Thalonian, which are commonly used for the racers. As one might suppose, the blood lines of the racers are carefully kept and registered, as are, incidentally, those of many other sorts of expensive bred animals, such as tarsks, sleen and verr. This remark also holds for certain varieties of expensive bred slaves, the prize crops of the slave farms. Venna, a wealthy town north of Ar, is known for its diversions, in particular, its tharlarion races. Many of Ar's more affluent citizens kept houses in Venna, at least prior to the Cosian war. To date, Venna, though improving her walls and girding herself for defense, had not been touched in the Cosian war. This is perhaps because it is not only the rich of Ar who kept properties within her walls, but those of many other cities, as well, perhaps even of Kasra and Tentium, in Tyros, and of Telnus, Selnar, Temos, and Jad, in Cos. We were some pasangs outside Ar. We wore wind scarves. Dust rose up for feet about us. The season was dry. Where our beasts trod the prints of their feet, and claws remained evident in the dust. In places the earth cracked under their step.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

"I saw her only once before," he said, "on a fellow's shoulder, in Ar, in our district, carried in slave fashion, her upper body wrapped closely in the toils of a net."

"Helpless," I said.

"Utterly," he said.

"She had been taken," I said, "only moments before."

"You are sure it is she?" he asked.

"Yes," I said.

"Her head was completely enclosed in a slave hood, buckled shut," he said. "It is she," I said. "I saw her before, in the room. I recognize her."

"I am not sure I understand your plan," he said.

"Let us approach," I said.

We had left Ar early in the morning, and had circled the remains of her walls to the west and then took smaller roads into the hills to the northeast. We then, after noting the travelers on the road, particularly on the more isolated roads to the northeast, running through the villa districts, doubled back. In this fashion one tends almost automatically to cancel through the large numbers of coincidental travelers and detect those whose relationship with you is likely to be more purposeful, those who are following you. The likelihood of a given individual following you in both directions is small. Similarly, there is small likelihood of having someone or other constantly behind you on isolated roads. This helps to compensate for the possibility that the trackers might be acting in relays or shifts, one picking up where another turns aside.

We turned the tharlarion towards the fields where the girl was filling a vessel with water.

Her figure, extremely female, exquisitely curved, was rather like the figure of another girl we had encountered earlier in the morning, some pasangs to the northeast of the city, on one of the isolated roads winding through the hills, among which, nestled back, almost out of sight, were set a number of small, white-washed villas. Apparently she had come from some stream or rivulet, or public place, where she had been laundering, for she had had in her possession a basket filled with dampened clothes. Her hair, too, which she had apparently recently washed, was wet. This sort of thing would normally be done at a cemented pool within the walls of the villa, to the back, but, I had gathered, given the dryness of the season, the villa reservoir might be being reserved for drinking water.

We had come upon her as she was about to turn into the path leading toward one of the small villas.

"A pretty one," commented Marcus.

"Hola," had called I, "slave!"

She immediately stopped and put down the basket, and hurried to the side of the road where we waited.

"Yes," I said. "She is indeed a pretty one."

She did not dally in kneeling. I noted with approval the position of her knees. "Quite pretty," I said.

She looked up. Perhaps free men wished to inquire directions of her? Then she looked down. I saw that she would be quite lively in a man's hands. She had a common band collar, flat, close-fitting. She wore a brief tunic of white rep-cloth. She was barefoot.

"You are a girl of this house?" I asked, indicating the villa behind her. "Yes, Master," she said.