The long line of weary battlemen wavered across the dusty brown plain like a crippled snake. They marched in pairs and a massive chain, half a mile long, stretched from front to back between them. Each man was attached to the master chain by his individual manacles. The slave patrol marched with them, prodding them with lances when they faltered. Captain Equebus rode ahead on the same white horse Blade had seen on the beach.

Blade and Pelops were in the middle of the file and linked together by the master chain. After the first day - it was three marches to Sarmacid - the little man swore that he could not go on. Blade coddled him and swore that he would. Until he could come again to Zeena he needed Pelops for guide and mentor. Despite all that had happened to him he was still very much a stranger in Sarma. Quite apart from all this, and a bit to his own surprise, Blade found that he had grown fond of the timid ex-school teacher. He did not want anything to happen to him.

They were well fed and watered, for they must be in condition to fight in the upcoming games in honor of Otto the Black's visit. Yet, if a man fell more than three times, he was taken from the chain and examined by the Captain himself. If he was thought worth saving the man was allowed to ride on a sledge drawn by horses. If Equebus made a fist and slashed it downward the man was lanced on the spot. Blade counted a dozen bodies that first day.

He gave Pelops most of his own food and water, having no doubt as to the Captain's decision should Pelops fall. Even so the little man fell once the first day and again on the second. Equebus dropped back occasionally to ride near them, silent and watching with a faint sneer. Blade marched with one big hand hooked into the chain about Pelops' middle.

Once, as the Captain rode close by and watched, Blade called out, "I can carry him easily enough. He is no weight."

Equebus shook his head and laughed. "It is forbidden. If he falls again I will examine him and decide." His dark stare mocked Blade. "You doubt my mercy?"

Blade tried to spit, but his throat was too dry. He had given his last ration of water to Pelops. But at least he made the gesture.

Equebus laughed again and spurred away to speak to two of his patrol. After that, Blade noted, the two guards marched close and kept watching Pelops. Blade hardened his jaw and tugged at his curling black beard, now well grown and full of tangles. He lifted Pelops off the ground with a sudden jerk.

"Keep going," he growled. "You can do it, little man, because you must! One step after another - that is the way. Just think of it as one step and then another step and then another. One at a time. Cry out if you are about to fall, but not too loudly. I will hold you up."

"I cannot," moaned Pelops. "I cannot, sire. Let me go. Let them kill me. I care not."

"I care," Blade said grimly. "I need you, Pelops. Think of me, small one. I have no friend in Sarma but you."

Pelops stumbled. Blade snatched him upright and glanced at the guards. They were talking and had not seen.

"You have the Princess Zeena," Pelops muttered. "Though I have begun to wonder - "

"As have I," Blade concurred. "Something has gone wrong."

It was the first time he had voiced the thought, though it had been with him since the march began. He and Pelops were given the same harsh treatment as the other battlemen - even harsher. Blade could not fathom this - not if Zeena had successfully intervened with her mother the Queen, had told of the marriage to Blade and received a parental blessing. Surely the Queen would not treat a new son-in-law and his servant so harshly. Ergo - Zeena had not been successful, or at least not altogether. Blade remembered the words of the Captain - he was being taken to Sarmacid at the Queen's pleasure. Not a word had been said about Zeena!

One thing Blade understood only too well: The Captain was obeying his orders, but just barely. It would please him if something happened to Blade and Pelops enroute, and no doubt he would have a plausible story ready for the Queen.

At night they slept in the dirt, still attached to the great chain. Men defecated where they lay and slept in it too weary to care. Blade, by constant dinning and nagging, kept Pelops awake as long as possible so that he might learn more about Sarma. He learned the basics of the Sarmaian script and the secrets of the signal flags. He memorized (he table of organization of the matriarchy that governed the country. He studied the religion of Bek-Tor. Even during the march he gave Pelops no peace, questioning constantly, feeding the information into his expanded memory center. Lord Leighton had promised him, and now he found it to be true, that he would not have to consciously struggle to remember. The material would file itself and be ready when wanted.

During his last stay in Home Dimension Blade had been at first cajoled, then ordered, to expand his studies. He fretted at first, for it took time away from his regular duties with MI6 - he still thought of himself primarily as a secret agent- - and it also interfered with his sex life. For a time, after losing Zoe, he had been like a faun in heat.

Now, as his cortex was receiving and storing new engrams and neutral patterns, as new dangers and consequent survival patterns were imprinted, he was grateful for his study in ontology and epistemology. In teleology. For by late afternoon of the third day Blade had come to realize that he was deep in trouble. To mortal danger.

The column of chained men, like a wounded lizard, crawled painfully up a steep and narrow pass and debouched on a high plateau. They halted for rest on the brink of sheer cliff. In the distance, touched dull silver by the westing sun, glittered the towers and turrets and cubes of Sarmacid. The salt air tingled in Blade's nostrils and beyond the city he saw again the Purple Sea. A long rectangular harbor, guarded by moles, was crowded with shipping. He knew, from Pelops, that Sarma was essentially a seafaring country.

Pelops groaned and dropped in his tracks. Men did likewise all along the length of the cruel chain. Blade stood, brawny arms akimbo, and surveyed the plain below the cliff. It was in essence a triangular peninsula jutting into the sea. The city was built at the apex of the triangle and well guarded by a fortified isthmus. In the exact center of the city, on a single eminence to which all streets led, was the Palace of Queen Pphira. A low rambling building of white stone with one tall tower to which was attached a flagpole.

As Blade watched a gaggle of colored flags of different shapes and sizes fluttered up the pole. He read: WELCOME EQUEBUS - BRING THE STRANGER AT ONCE - PPHIRA

Pelops, having regained his breath at last, also read the flags. He looked up at Blade in fear. "They will separate us, sire. I know it."

Blade shook his head. "Not for long. As soon as I see Zeena I will arrange matters. She will not deny me."

Pelops sighed. "If you see her, sire. If - there is still much you do not understand of Sarma. Queen Pphira is cruel and hard, though not so much as Equebus, and she is jealous of her throne and her beauty. It is whispered that she orders girl children destroyed not because they are sick or ill formed, but because they show signs of beauty. She has lived forever and will live forever. She has had ten thousand lovers and her beauty never fades. She never ages and will never die."

Blade nudged him with a contemptuous foot. "Be quiet, little man. The long march has addled your brains. We agreed, remember, that such stories were myths to frighten children. No more of it. We have to keep our wits about us. I - "

At that moment there was a thunderous roar from the plain below them. A pale yellow haze of smoke drifted up. Blade sniffed and made a face. The odor seemed compounded of brimstone and burnt meat and bones.

"What is that stink, Pelops?"

Pelops pointed to the great image of Bek-Tor that loomed on the plain away from the city walls. Blade had noticed it in passing, but forgot it in his interest in the city and harbor. Now he scanned the image in detail and did not like what he saw.

This particular image of Bek-Tor, towering a hundred feet into the air, had an open gaping mouth. A twisted yawn of menace. As Blade stared the sound came again and a huge gout of fire and smoke belched from the mouth. Again there was the smell. And again Blade made a face and looked askance at the little teacher.

Pelops made the sign of the T. "It is the Bek-Tor of Sarmacid, sire. The priests are cleaning it of burnt bodies and bones, and that is the smell that offends you. When Otto the Black arrives there will be sacrifices, and slaves and criminals will be executed. It is always so when The Black comes. Girl children are given to Bek - the criminals and slaves who are condemned go to Tor." Pelops began to shiver. Tears welled in his eyes. "I think, sire, it would be as well if you could join your Princess soon. B-better for both of us."

Privately Blade agreed. He did not like the charnel smell. Again he watched smoke and flame gush from the mouth of the image. There had to be a large bellows concealed somewhere in the image.

Equebus rode up then on his white steed. He had six guards with him. They struck off Blade's fetters.

"We go to the Palace," said Equebus. "At once. I think your Princess is impatient and longs for you, Blade. Would you join her?"

There was a hint of mockery in the Captain's tone, of satisfied malice in the narrow stare. Uneasiness rolled in Blade again. He nodded curtly.

"I would go." He pointed to Pelops. "Loose him also. He is my servant and I need him. And we are both under the protection of the Queen."

Equebus roared with sudden laughter. He slapped his leg, leaned down to peer closely at Pelops, then went into another gale of laughter. He pointed at the little man with a shaking finger.

"That one? The Queen would protect that one? Bek's blood! As skinny as a post and a weeping coward into the bargain. I know something of history - his own wife betrayed him to the slavers! Some man he must have been, eh, for his wife to do that?"