Richard Blade, newly bathed and clothed, bejeweled and perfumed to within an inch of his life, his wound treated, pushed open a heavy stone door and stalked into Queen Pphira's chamber. It overlooked the harbor, whence came a sea smell, and was lit by two tall candles near her bed.

Pphira lay naked on the bed.

When she saw that it was Blade she smiled and stretched her arms over her head, as sinuous as a cat, pulling her small breasts up high and taut. She thrust her tongue through white teeth and licked her lips. She began to caress her slim pale body with her fingers.

"Ah, Blade! You have slain Tarsu."

Blade bowed. "I am here, my Queen. That would seem answer enough."

She left off caressing herself long enough to pat the bed beside her. "Come, Blade. Sit here and tell me everything. How did you kill Tarsu in the dark? He was strong and very cunning. He had killed many men in that dungeon."

Blade sat beside her. He was much aroused, his blood high and singing in his veins. Not all his battle frenzy had worn off - and no matter what her age, no matter the tales whispered of her, Pphira was beautiful. He wanted her. Now.

He also wanted a great many other things. Through Pphira he might gain them.

He took one small breast in his hand and squeezed it gently. A brown nipple stiffened. Blade leaned to kiss, taking it in his mouth and sucking and barely nipping with his teeth. She stiffened for a moment, writhed, and then to his surprise pushed him away.

"You are too bold, too soon." But her voice was soft. She made him keep his distance while she stroked herself between the thighs and drew her fingers lightly over the breast he had kissed. Blade sighed and restrained himself. Maybe Pphira was old, though she did not look it. She must prepare herself by autoeroticism.

And something else. She made him recount every detail of the fight with Tarsu. She made him repeat the more bloodthirsty parts. Her mouth opened slowly in a scarlet O as he told of smashing the man's head again and again on the stone. Something began to go sour in Blade and he lost much of his anticipation. She would have listened with the same avidity had it been Tarsu relating how he had slain Blade!

This was no time, Blade thought fiercely, to lose his edge. He had won the battle in the dungeon. He still had to win the battle of the bed. Must win it, else he had gained nothing. He must force the matter before it was too late. An impotent Blade, sick with disgust and made limp thereby, was no better than a dead Blade.

To stop her questions he swept her into his arms. He clamped his lips over hers and, roughly enough, invaded her body with two of his big fingers. She struggled and tried to cry out. He smothered the cry with his tongue, all the time manipulating her. Three fingers now deep in her vagina. He took a small breast completely into his mouth. She writhed and struck at him feebly.

"Stop, Blade! I command it. I am a Queen - and this - this is not the way of Sarma. Women rule - women do the things - oh - oh - I forbid you, Blade - OH - "

He boxed her lightly, with quasi-affection, on each cheek with his huge hand. Pphira was so honestly astounded that she broke off her complaints and stared at him. He had dared to strike her? Even so lightly! She showed her teeth and snarled at him. "I will have you killed for that, Blade, I swear it."

He growled back. "Later! First I will have my way with you. I have killed a man for you and I intend to have my reward. My way! I know of your Sarmaian love making and I cannot say that I care for it. This night, Pphira, you will learn something - even as I taught your daughter."

The dark eyes glittered and the pale mask firmed as anger muscles came into play. He had touched a chord not intended. She was really angry now. She struck at him with a fist and fought to pull away.

"Another law broken, Blade. Those banished to punishment are never mentioned. Let me go! Or I will scream for my guards."

By this time he was again ready. Tremendously ready. Blade was big by any standards and by Sarmaian measurement he was huge. Nearly grotesque. He ripped off his leathern kilt and flung it away. Queen Pphira took one look and screamed, but not for her guards. She backed away from him, inching up the bed, her hand pressed to her mouth.

"I cannot, Blade. I cannot! You are too big. You will kill me."

Blade pulled her back. "I recall," he said with mock lewdness, "that it is said to be a pleasant death. And you make too much of it, Pphira." Cruelly, with deliberate malice, he added, "Zeena made me no complaints." And he thrust his fingers into her again. Not too gently. He did not like this ageless beauty, nor trust her, but he wanted her at the moment More important - he must dominate her. It was now or never. A sword of flesh, he thought wryly, is sometimes better than a sword of steel.

She did not cry out for her guards. Blade had gambled that she wouldn't. He seized her, ankle by ankle, and pulled her apart in a slim white tender V. He raised her legs high and over his broad shoulders and he battered at her with no mercy.

Pphira was small and compact, very tight and moist, and she did scream softly as he ravaged her, filling her near to bursting. Again came the soft scream, this time muted and blurred. She locked her legs around his neck and pulled at his buttocks. She began to claw and scratch. His wound throbbed and Blade ignored it.

It was not the first time that he had made love for his life, for his plans, to gain his objectives, and he supposed it would not be the last time. A man must do what he must and take it as it came. One thing he knew - be had never enjoyed it more.

Blade was as skillful in love making as he was in anything he did. He was that kind of man. If he did a thing he did it well, or not at all. Now he timed himself and used every trick in his considerable book. He touched all bases, left no nerve untitillated, kept pounding at her with a fury and a lust unabated by her groans and prayers for mercy. Pphira began to have an endless series of orgasms and to cry out louder with each succeeding one and still Blade kept at her like a stallion. He hurt her and knew it and kept going. He was little more than an extension of his penis now, and knew that also, and did not care. The more he racked her, the deeper he penetrated, the more he must keep on.

When at last he broke and spewed, it was his turn to cry out, a harsh guttural sound that lacked sense to any but another copulating animal. The two-backed beast was dead. It lay broken on the bed, swamped in sticky moisture, floating in limbo and near death and careless of it.

Blade was smashing the little breasts to mush beneath him. She stroked his hair and whispered, "You are crushing me, great ox. Move before you break my bones."

As he went limp inside her Blade knew he had won. For the present. Now to strike while he held the advantage. It had been his experience that a really satisfied woman would do almost anything for the man who had satisfied her if he was but canny about it. And quick.

And yet he did not overdo it. He lay prone, catching his breath, her head pillowed on his massive chest, and let Pphira undo herself. Like all tyrants, the Queen, when she did unbend to a favorite, swung too far toward benevolence. She lavished her favors.

"I would have Pelops as my personal servant," said Blade. "Not as a slave."

She had her cheek to his belly now, toying with him, admiring the blue-veined hose-like appendage that had pleasured her so much. She swore that in all Sarma there was none like it.

"In this land from which you come, Blade, are all men made thus?" And she gave him a tweak.

He smiled down at her. "Many are much bigger. In my own land I am not considered a giant." There was some truth in that Not too much. He had never had any complaints in Home Dimension.

Pphira was awe-struck. She stroked the now upthrusting creature with a finger, then bestowed a light kiss on it. It was coming to attention again.

"What of Pelops?" Blade insisted.

Pphira nodded. "It is done. You may have him - if Kreed and Equebus have left anything."

It took all his restraint to play it cunningly, but Blade managed. His tone casual, he inquired, "What does that mean, Pphira? How do Kreed and the Captain come into it?"

It was no use. She began to suckle him and Blade lent nine-tenths of his mind to pleasure. While scheming with the remaining tenth.

Later, much later, when at last she was exhausted and sleepy and happy, Blade got back to it.

"Kreed came to me and asked for the slave Pelops," she explained, snuggling to him. "I consented, as why should I not? What is one slave more or less? And Equebus also joined his voice in the asking. I find that I cannot refuse Equebus much, try as I will, so I gave them Pelops." Her voice had a peculiarly gentle quality when she spoke of the Captain. Blade pondered for a moment Another mystery? What was Equebus to her?

No time for that now. "They will torture Pelops," he said. "They will question him about me. It will be useless, because he is a poor little man and knows nothing but what I have told him. When he cannot satisfy them they will kill him."

Pphira traced her fingers over his flat muscle corded belly. "I suppose you are right What of it? What is this Pelops to you?"

"My friend," said Blade.

"In that case," said the Queen, "you shall have him. Or what is left of him." She tugged a cord beside the bed. In less than a minute a house slave appeared. Pphira made no effort to cover herself or Blade. She gave brief orders and the slave left.

She kissed Blade and rolled atop him, moving up so that her little breasts were against his face. If she was ageless, the man thought, she was also insatiable. His sigh was inward. It was the name of the game. Show fatigue or boredom now and he might lose everything. He began to will himself to new passion.

Pphira was shrewd enough to know what was happening. She kissed him, examining his tongue with her own, then began to lick his face like a cat.