"I think I know. Her name is Zeena and she is the daughter of Queen Pphira, she who rules Sarma in Bek's name. Equebus gets much above himself if he lays hands on Zeena. A bad mistake, that. Just as it is a mistake for you, sire, to think about women at a time like this. When we are naked and starving and unarmed. When I, for one, am terrified. This is no time to think about women!"

Blade's discomfort and empty belly nearly made him lose his temper. He checked himself in time. He stroked the dark stubble on his stubborn chin and regarded the little naked man. Then, because it was his nature, he could not restrain his laughter. The sound burbled up from his massive chest like thunder.

"In the first place, man, I am not thinking about women. I am thinking about food! Then weapons. Then clothing. In that order. But if I were thinking of women I do not see that it is your concern. I like women. I will have women when I please, and I do not need an undersized school master - for that is what you sound like - to say me yes or no. Neither do I need moralizing or philosophy, for neither of them will feed us or keep us alive. I hope all that is clear, Pelops? If it is, then answer my question and leave out the advice - who is this Zeena, a daughter of the Queen, you say? - and I suppose that makes her a Princess? - who is she that she rides with a slave patrol instead of adorning a palace?"

It was near to a tirade, for which Blade later blamed his belly and his frustration, and the little man shrank away. Yet his eyes met those of Blade squarely and he folded his hands on his chest in resignation. There was a primness about the gesture that began to rekindle Blade's anger.

"For that matter," said Pelops, "I was a school teacher. And in the palace, too. In the capital city of Sarmacid. I was a very fine teacher, very likely the best in all Sarma."

Blade took a deep breath and regarded him darkly. "Then what do you do here, little man? Sitting forlorn and naked, hungry, in a stinking marsh with a man you have never seen before? Answer me that, since you do not like to talk about women."

Pelops made a T sign on his scant, pouter-pigeon breast. "I was betrayed by a woman, sire. My very own wife. Me, Pelops, who was the favorite of her six husbands - or so I thought until she betrayed me to the slave patrol. Later, when I was taken, I found out that she yearned for a new and younger husband. This she could not do until I was made a slave and so was no longer considered husband to her. So you see, sire, why I say beware of all women. They are a trap and a snare and a - "

"A delusion," muttered Blade. "I know what you mean, Pelops." There were, he had found, certain constants in any dimension."

His anger ebbed away. Six husbands? This he must know about. He patted the little man on a frail shoulder. "Tell me about Sarma," he ordered. "It will fill the time and there is much that I must know. The more the better. Talk, Pelops, talk!"

Pelops made a tower of his fingers and stared over them at Blade. He nodded and smiled. Blade thought that the man had spoken truth - he had been a schoolteacher.

Pelops cleared his throat. "Of what shall I speak, sire?" He might have been about to address a class.

Blade scowled, then repressed a chuckle. "Of everything, little man. Of anything that comes into your head. Of ships and sealing wax and cabbages and kings."

Pelops widened his eyes. "I do not remember having heard of - "

"You wouldn't," said Blade. "Don't let it worry you. Talk."

Pelops was in his element. He did not talk so much as lecture. Blade, interrupting now and again with shrewd and pertinent questions, ingested a capsule history of the land of Sarma in the next hour.

The lecture came to an abrupt end. A horseman appeared far down the beach, coming from the direction in which the patrol had disappeared and making for the fort on the promontory.

Pelops was instantly in despair. "A messenger to the fort. They have found that I am missing. A message will be sent from the fort to Sarmacid and in a few hours the whole country will be looking for me. And you, sire."

Blade was at the edge of the marsh and peering at the oncoming horse and rider. It was the girl with the golden hair.

He spoke over his shoulder. "How will they send a message to this Sarmacid?"

Pelops crawled through the mud to join Blade. The little man was pale and shaking. "There is a semaphore," he quavered. "Flags on a pole." He pointed to the range of brown hills inland. "There are such poles all the way to Sarmacid. The message will be picked up and passed on. It will be in Sarmacid by nightfall."

Blade nodded, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He watched the horse come slowly down the beach, still half a mile off. The beast was tired and the girl was not forcing it. Blade made his decision. He had a half formed plan, still valid, but this new idea could do no harm - if he brought it off.

He turned to Pelops and spoke rapidly. The little man quailed. "I - I don't know, sire, if I can do it. I am not a very brave man, as you must know by now." And he made that curious sign of the T again.

Blade frowned at him and growled, "Do what, man? I ask you to do nothing! Just that - you will lie on the beach and play dead. As though you have used all your strength in trying to reach the sea, and have expired just as you did reach it. Just play dead. I will do the rest. Hurry now - she can see you and so put on a good act. Stagger from the marsh and fall. Get up. Fall' again not too far from the marsh edge. I want no great distance, for I must take her by surprise." He was remembering those slim white legs. She could probably run like an antelope.

Pelops forgot his fear in his horror at what Blade intended. It had just dawned on him.

"You would put hands on her? On the person of Zeena, daughter to Queen Pphira?"

"That," said Blade grimly, "is the general idea. I need a hostage. She will do as well as any."

Pelops began to tremble again. He made the T. "That is sacrilege, sire. Bek will swallow us alive. We will die in his fiery maw. I cannot - "

Blade clenched a great fist, then thought better of it. He was in Sarma now and Pelops could not help what he was. Blade folded his arms over his chest and stared down the beach at the horse and rider now only a quarter of a mile distant.

"I see now," said Blade, "why you were made a slave. It fits you, slavery. You were born to be a slave. And you will be a slave again, I can see that, too, because you are afraid of even a little risk So be it. I will try to do it alone. But I cannot catch a horse, even a tired one, and if she gets away and warns the fort we will be taken at once. I will not be taken because I will die fighting. But you - "

Tears glinted in Pelops' dark eyes. He dabbed at them with a finger and said. "No! I will not be a slave again. I will do it."

Blade gave him a little shove. "Get on with it, then. And remember, die not too far from the marsh. Die well and convincingly and leave the rest to me."

A strange little man, Blade thought as he watched Pelops stagger from the marsh. An odd mixture of cowardice and courage. Blade crouched at the very edge of the marsh and watched the girl approach on the tired horse. He cast a glance at the promontory, thankful that this strip of beach could not be seen from the fort. That would have been fatal.

The girl, Zeena, responded as Blade had guessed she would. At the sight of Pelops staggering and falling on the shingle she reined in the horse. She shaded her eyes and peered down the beach. Then, reassured that it was only the slave they were seeking, she dug her bare heels into the horse's sides and forced it into a weary gallop. Blade smiled grimly and waited.