At the door to Zareridargar's chamber I paused, and lifted the dart-firing weapon. But the door seemed ajar.

The fighting in the complex had been sharp and bloody. Men of the complex, and red hunters, had fallen. The resistance had been led by the giant Kur, whose left ear had been half torn away. But there had been too many red hunters, and too many weapons. He had, when the battle had turned against him, freed his Kurii and his men to flee or surrender as they would. No Kur had surrendered. Most had been slain, fighting to the last. Some had departed from the complex, hobbling wounded away into the arctic night. Zarendargar himself had withdrawn to his chamber.

The door there seemed ajar.

I thrust it open with the barrel of the dart-firing weapon.

I recalled the chamber well.

I slipped inside, furtively, but then lowered the weapon.

"Greetings, Tarl Cabot," came from the translator.

On the furred dais, as before, I saw Zarendargar. There was a small device near him.

The great shape, stiffly, uncurled, and sat there, watching me.

"Forgive me, my friend," it said. "I have lost a great deal of blood."

"Let us dress your wounds," I said.

"Have some paga," it said. It indicated the bottles and glasses to one side.

I went to the shelves and, looping the dart-firing weapon over my shoulder, by its stock strap, poured two glasses of paga. I gave one of the glasses to Zarendargar, who accepted it, and retained the other. I went to sit, cross-legged, before the dais, but Zarendargar indicated that I should share the dais with him. I sat near him, cross-legged, as a Warrior sits.

"You are my prisoner," I said to him.

"I think not," he said. He indicated, holding it, the small metallic device which had lain beside him on the dais. It nestled now within his left, tentacled paw.

"I see," I said. The hair rose on the back of my neck.

"Let us drink to your victory," he said. He lifted his glass. "A victory to men and Priest-Kings."

"You are generous," I said.

"But a victory is not a war," he said.

"True," I said.

We touched glasses, in the manner of men, and drank.

He put aside his glass. He lifted the metallic object.

I tensed.

"I can move this switch," he said, "before you can fire."

"That is clear to me," I said. "You are bleeding," I said. The dais on which I sat was stiff with dried blood. And it was clear that so small an effort as rising to meet me, and touching his glass to mine, had opened one of the vicious wounds on his great body.

He lifted the metallic object.

"It is this which you sought," he said.

"Of course," I said. It was that object which lay beyond the reach of men, and where it could not be scanned by the monitoring system.

"Did you know it would be here?" he asked.

"I understood that it would be here only later," I said.

"You will not take me alive," it said.

"Surrender," I said. "It is no dishonor to surrender. You have fought well, but lost."

"I am Half-Ear, of the Kurii," it said.

It fondled the metal device, looking at me.

"Is there so much of value here," I asked, "that you would be willing to destroy it?"

"The supplies here, and the disposition maps, the schedules and codes, will not fall into the hands of Priest-Kings," it said. It looked at me. "There are two switches on this mechanism," it said. It lifted the mechanism.

There were indeed two switches on the mechanism.

"When I depress either switch," it said, not taking its eyes from me, "a twofold, irreversible sequence is initiated. First, a signal is transmitted from the complex to the steel worlds. This signal, which can also be received by the probe ships and the fleet, will inform them of the destruction of the complex, the loss of these munitions and supplies."

"The second portion of the sequence, simultaneously initiated, triggers the destruction of the complex," I said.

"Of course," he said.

His finger rested over the switch.

"There are several humans left in the complex," I said.

"No Kurii save myself," he said.

"True," I said. "But there are humans here,"

"Free," he asked.

"Some are free," I said.

He shrugged. The great furry shoulders then hunched in pain.

I could smell blood.

"Some of the humans here," I said, "prisoners, were among your cohorts."

"My men?" it asked.

"They fought bravely," I said.

The beast seemed lost in thought. "They are in my command," he said. "Though they are human, yet they were in my command."

He depressed the second of the two switches.

I tensed, but the room, the complex, did not erupt beneath me.

"You are a good officer," I said.

"The second switch was depressed," he said. "The signal to the worlds, the ships, the fleet, is transmitted. Secondly the destruct sequence is now initiated."

"But it is a second destruct sequence," I said.

"Yes," said Half-Ear, "that which allows for the evacuation of the complex."

"How much time is there?" I asked.

"Three Kur Ahn," he said. 'The device is set on Kur chronometry, synchronized to the rotation of the original world."

"The same chronometry which is used in the complex?" I asked.

"Of course," he said.

"That is a little more than five Gorean Aim," I said.

"Two Ehn more," he said.

I nodded. The Kur day was divided into twelve hours, the Gorean day into twenty. The periods of rotation of the original Kur world and of Gor were quite similar. That was one reason the Kurii were intesested in Gor. They wished a world which would be congenial to their physiological rhythms, developed in harmony with given environmental periodicities of darkness and light.

"But I would advise you to be better than a Kur Ahn afoot away before the time of destruction," he said.

"I shall act quickly," I said. "You must accompany us to safety."

The great Kur lay back on the dais, his eyes closed.

"Come with us," I said.

"No," it said. I could see the blood emerging from the large body of the animal.

"We can transport you," I said.

"I will kill any who approach me," it said.

"As you will," I said.

"I am Zarendargar, Hall-Ear, of the Kurii," it said. "Though I am in disgrace, though I have failed, I am yet Zarendargar, Half-Ear, of the Kurii."

"I will leave you alone now," I said.

"I am grateful," it said. "You seem to know our ways well."

"They are not dissimilar to the ways of the warrior," I said.

I poured him a glass of paga, and left it near him on the dais.

I then turned away and went to the portal of the chamber. He wished to be left alone, to bleed in the darkness, that no one might see or know his suffering. The Kurii are proud beasts.

I turned at the portal. "I wish you well, Commander," I said.

No response came from the translator. I left.