Richard Blade stood alone in the great echoing hall of the temple. Torches guttered feebly here and there. The temple, like all structures in El Kal - the city took the name of the current emperor - was built of mud brick. A feat of architectural genius, turreted and spired and buttressed all in mud. Huge frescoes covered the inner walls. Most of them, Blade judged, were portraits of the reigning El Kal. As was the giant image he now confronted.

The idol was fifty feet high and squatting as Buddha squats. There was a great convex belly and above that the head. The carven face was familiar to Blade. Equebus.

The hooked nose, scimitar sharp, the thin mouth and beard, the painted dark eyes that seemed to follow his every motion. Blade's mouth was dry. He had slain Equebus, this man's son. But how could El Kal know that?

On either side of the image a censor smoked on a tripod. Between the tripods was a small thick rug. Blade, following the instructions of the Russian - who claimed to have gone through this himself - approached the idol and went to his knees. He genuflected and spoke.

"I, Richard Blade, have come at your bidding, El Kal, to hear my fate from your lips. I make obeisance. I wait."

Nothing. From far off Blade could hear the weird music of tambour and lyre. They were still celebrating. Blade had left the Russian with a dancing girl on each knee. Canda had not put in an appearance.

He waited. At last there came a volcanic belch from the idol. A deep rumble of sound, a belly basso, a stentorian roaring that had a giant seashell quality. The voice filled the temple.

"Blade! I give you welcome to the kingdom of El Kal. All strangers are welcome here - so long as they do not break our laws or go against our customs. I am happy that you are reunited with your twin. Both your hearts are happy?"

Blade bowed his head and nodded. El Kal was seated somewhere in the belly of the idol, speaking through tubes that amplified his voice.

"Our hearts are happy," lied Blade. Just then, when matters were exactly as serious as life and death, he fought to repress an insane giggle. He was remembering the scene from the Wizard of Oz. Cut it out, Blade! This El Kal is no phony.

"And yet," roared the deep voice, "and yet there is a problem, Blade. A serious problem. My daughter wishes you both, she loves both, she desires both. This cannot be under our law. What do you say to this, Blade?"

Blade was puzzled. What could he say? At that moment a single pain lanced his skull and was gone. The computer.

He shook his head, as much to clear it as in a negative. "I cannot answer that, El Kal. It is you who disposes these matters, not I."

That should be properly servile.

In that instant he caught it. Something he was not meant to hear. She was incautious and spoke too loudly and Blade distinctly heard her say: "Get on with it, Father!"

Canda. She was in the idol's belly with El Kal. And no doubt laughing at Blade. Laughing and scheming.

The voice boomed again. "You speak truth, Blade. I dispose. Would you fight to the death with your twin? Would you kill a beloved brother for a woman?"

Blade pondered. Was there a trick, a trap, in the phrasing? It all seemed too pat, too simple an ending. Yet he had been sent to kill the imposter. Why did he hesitate?

When he answered he spoke more truth than he knew. "If I must I will fight my brother. But with a heavy heart. I do not want to do this thing."

There it was. Treason? Certainly disobedience of orders. Blade faced the truth - he did not want to kill the Russian agent. It was too much like killing himself. And the man had promised to defect.

"There is another way," the voice said. "We will try it first. If it does not avail then will be time enough to talk of killing. So listen well, Blade."

He could imagine Canda whispering into the old man's ear.

"There will be a trial of strength, Blade. Betwixt you and your brother. My daughter Canda will be judge. You will each visit her on different nights, four nights in all, and vie to prove yourself the best man. In the end my daughter will decide. The loser will be exiled. You agree to this?"

Because Blade was Blade he raised his head and stared sardonically at the idol. "I have heard, El Kal, that among you Moghs exile is the same as death. Murder. What of this?"

Silence. Blade thought he heard a bare flutter of sound as Canda whispered.

Then: "This is true, Blade. It must be so. Even El Kal cannot change the ancient laws. Now - do you agree to this test?"

It was, thought Blade, as good a time as any to bargain. To ease his mind of certain matters.

"I agree," he said. "But I would beg certain favors of you, El Kal. Nothing for myself. For others."

More whispering. Then the voice boomed back. "Favors, Blade? This is unusual."

"The situation is unusual," said Blade dryly.

"Ask your favors, Blade. If possible they will be granted."

Blade made a little bow. "I thank you. They are as nothing to one so great as you, El Kal. It is the woman who came with me - the one who has no mind. I would see her well taken care of, but not placed in a mad house. There is a former slave, one called Chephron, who is kind to her and whom she loves and obeys. If they could stay together - perhaps even marry. And be given subsistence?"

It was the best he could do for Zeena. Never mind the irony, the bitterness, the mine slave married to a mad princess. It was not only the best, it was all he could do.

"It shall be so," boomed the idol. "And now - "

Blade raised his hand. "There is one more thing."

Impatience now. "Then ask it, Blade. And let it be the last."

"There is a friend, a companion of mine, a servant if you will. His name is Pelops. I would have him given safe conduct back to his own land of Sarma."

After a moment: "The man is known to us. But can you vouch that he is no spy? We do not trust Sarma, now in revolt against its lawful master."

"Pelops is no spy. That I vouch, for if he is spy so am I a spy. And I am not."

Hasty whispering. Canda was hardly bothering to conceal her presence now.

At last: "This also is granted. Your friend will be given an escort to the Purple Sea and a ship will be procured for him. That is all I promise."

"It is enough. I thank you again, El Kal." Go, little man, and become a genius in Sarma. Invent the wheel. Blade bowed low to conceal his smile.

The voice again, "Go then, to your quarters and await a summons. You will visit Canda this night. The first of four. Go."

Blade backed away from the idol as he had been instructed. A last shred of girl laughter came to his ears. Oversexed little minx. Playing with fire and men's lives. Canda was the one who stood to lose nothing in this weird upcoming contest. Little nympho! She was the gainer any way you looked at it - she stood to end up well screwed no matter the outcome.

He was met outside the temple and taken to his sumptuous quarters. Pelops, nervous and afraid, but trying to hide his jitters, hovered about as Blade bathed again - one must go clean to the lady - and donned fresh clothing. Blade informed him of the promise extracted from El Kal.

Pelops began to weep great silver tears. "I will not go, sire. I will stay with you. I am not afraid, at least not very much, and I have come to love you. I stay."

"You go," Blade said sternly. "It is your own wish, remember. And you have work to do in Sarma. Have you forgotten the secret I told you? Have you forgotten that you are to be famous and have images built in your likeness? Come, little man. Show a bit of courage now. Anyway it would do you no good to linger in the city - I will not be here."

Another pain skewered his head as he donned a vest. Blade grimaced and sat down for a moment, holding his head in his hands.

Pelops wrung his hands. "You are ill, sire. I know it. So I cannot go. How would you fare without me to look after you? I am greatly skilled in medicine, as you know, and though it may take time I am sure that I can experiment and find this illness of yours and pronounce a cure. If you will just put yourself in my hands and give me full charge. I remember a time, long ago, when - "

"Be quiet!" roared Blade. He pointed to the door. "Out. I want to think and I cannot do it with you gabbling. Go and make your preparations for travel."

Pelops left, still sniveling.

They came for him. A Lieutenant of Guards and a soldier bearing a flambeau. He was led through twisting corridors and up stairs and past open doors whence came the sounds and smells of many women. El Kal was reputed to have a thousand wives. Yet Canda could have but one consort. It hardly seemed fair. Blade, as so often before, reminded himself that life was very seldom fair - in any dimension!

His escort left him at the door to Canda's chamber. A great door of leather, brass studded as were all the palace doors. The Lieutenant halted down the corridor and watched until Blade pushed the door open and entered.

There was a low bed with a stand near it. On the bed lay the naked Canda, her body laved, caressed, by the flames of two tapers nearby. Blade halted and drank in the scene, feeling a hot ache and strain in his groin, reacting immediately to the exposed flesh, the taut upthrusting breasts, the mixture of perfume and musk she exuded.

She spoke softly. "You hesitate, Blade? Why? Surely this is better than a bed of sand and rocks."

"It is that, my lady." Blade slipped off his vest and let it drop. He walked slowly toward the bed.

Canda smiled. Her hair was a night wave, dark as sin, floating about her bare shoulders, tendrils kissing her breasts. Her pubic area was a curly triangle of the same jet black. The wide gray eyes, sparkling gold, watched him in anticipation.

"You are slow, Blade. Formal. You are troubled?"