On the morning of the seventeenth day in the palace, Blade was sitting in the same spot, in the same cubicle. Only the mats were different. They were changed every three days by those silent, swift-footed palace servants. For all that had happened otherwise, Blade might as well have spent the entire seventeen days sitting on the floor of his cubicle.

It hadn't taken Blade more than a few of those days to realize what tactic the Hongshu had adopted for attacking Lord Tsekuin. He would have Lord Tsekuin and his men wait-and wait, and wait, and wait until somebody's patience snapped. Hopefully it would be Lord Tsekuin's patience, since that would give the Hongshu the best excuse for the deadliest action.

For eight days Lord Tsekuin had gone out with Yezjaro and Doifuzan, hoping to set a time for his audience with the Hongshu. For eight days he came back, after hearing that no time could be set until he had been approved in the etiquette of the court.

So for the next eight days Lord Tsekuin and the other two had gone out, seeking someone who might test and pass him in court etiquette. That turned out to be the search for the little man who wasn't there. Each time, Lord Tsekuin had returned with his face more and more flushed with barely suppressed rage.

One of these mornings he wasn't going to be able to suppress that rage. Even if by some miracle Lord Tsekuin didn't fly into a rage, Blade daily expected one of the dabuni to blow up. Fortunately, that hadn't happened either. In fact, so little had happened that Blade was beginning to wonder if he wouldn't have seen more of Gaikon by staying in the castle.

He stretched and stood up. He was doing his daily exercises when Yezjaro came in. The instructor was walking more briskly than usual, and his face was pale.

«Blade, Lord Tsekuin has gone out to seek a meeting with Lord Geron. He has gone by himself. Neither Doifuzan nor I nor any of the other dabuni is with him. And he has taken both his swords.»

That was bad news anyway you looked at it. There was no need to go armed in the palace. If the Hongshu was determined that you wouldn't leave the palace alive, that was that. A sword would do no good. In fact, to even draw a sword in the palace was a mortal offense to the Hongshu, an offense for which he could impose any penalties he saw fit. Blade did not turn pale himself, but he understood why Yezjaro had done so.

Together they went out into the common room into which all the cubicles led. They sat down on the mats and, joined a dozen other early rising dabuni at a breakfast of porridge and boiled fish. Blade noticed that both Yezjaro and Doifuzan left their breakfasts practically untouched.

The rest of the dabuni trickled out and ate breakfast. Many of them ate greedily, their appetites unaffected by the tension. But the palace servants never paused in refilling the bowls and plates. Blade tried to calculate how much this charade might be costing the Hongshu. Then he shrugged. It made no difference. If the Hongshu's plot succeeded, he would have control of the diamond mines. If he had control of the diamond mines, they would give him wealth enough to feed ten thousand men for ten thousand years.

The morning plodded wearily on. One hour since Lord Tsekuin had gone out. Two hours. Three. It was getting on toward lunchtime, and Doifuzan and Yezjaro were getting on toward nervous breakdowns. They were both pacing up and down like caged animals. Their faces were the same dirty white as the breakfast porridge.

Finally Yezjaro couldn't stand it any longer. He tightened his sash and pulled on his sandals. «I am going to see Lord Geron and try to find our own lord. Doifuzan, will you join me?»

The older dabuno hesitated for a moment, then nodded. «I will.»

«Good.» Both warriors strode out, wearing their swords and grim expressions. They made no move to invite anybody else to join them, Blade included. Behind them remained a tension that had suddenly frozen into something that could be almost cut in slices. No one moved or spoke, and for a while Blade would have sworn that nobody breathed.

The minutes dragged on. They had added up to another half hour before anyone felt like speaking. Even then it was only casual words in low voices.

Blade was just turning to a man sitting beside him when the sound of a gong came booming down the corridor outside. Several more joined in, making an echoing, painful din.

Faintly over the roar Blade heard angry shouts. Then, unmistakably, he heard running feet approaching along the corridor. Blade sprang to his feet, but remembered just in time not to draw his sword. The running feet approached the door to the room and stopped. The door flew open with a grinding crash.

One of the palace servants stood there, showing the first emotion Blade had ever seen in one of those silent men. Sweat was pouring off his face and his hands were shaking as he stepped forward.

«Horrible! Horrible! Nothing like it was ever seen! Nothing!»

«What is it, you fool?» snapped Blade. «What's happened?»

«Lord Tsekuin-your Lord Tsekuin-quarreled with Lord Geron. Lord Tsekuin-he drew his sword. He drew his sword against Lord Geron and wounded him. Perhaps killed him. I don't know. I couldn't watch. I ran. Oh, Kunkoi have mercy on us!»

By the time the servant had finished, everyone in the room was on his feet, staring at the man. The dabuni began to curse and growl with rage.

«Treachery!»

«That slimy son of six Warm Gates whores has-!»

«Our lord is doomed. We must-!»

«Kunkoi be my witness, I'll-!»

Nobody would let anybody else finish a sentence. Half the men couldn't even talk coherently. The dabuni began to stalk about, raising their hands and swearing blood-curdling oaths. The palace servant watched from the door, frozen and wide-eyed with amazement and growing fear.

From a corner of the room, Blade also watched his fellow dabuni working themselves up into a rage. He knew this uproar among Lord Tsekuin's men could explode at any second into a bloody shambles. He seemed to be the only man in the room who was keeping his head. If one of those idiots drew his sword…

One of the younger dabuni headed toward the door. Blade stepped out of his corner to intercept the man. The warrior's hand flew to his sword. Blade smashed a foot like a battering ram into the dabuno's stomach. The man flew backward, hitting the wall with a sickening thud, and collapsed. Blade sprang backward until he stood between the open door and thirty-odd furious dabuni.

Another man came at Blade, his sword already half-drawn as he came within Blade's striking range. No doubt he saw that Blade had not drawn his sword yet, but he expected he would soon. The stranger dabuno would be an easy victim. Then on to avenge his shamed lord!

That was a mistake. Blade came in low, one hand driving up under the attacker's sword arm, the other up under his chin. The man's sword flew out of its scabbard and soared high into the air. It struck the ceiling with a clang, bounced off, and nearly skewered the gaping palace servant as it came down. He fell over backward in his frantic haste to get clear, scrambled to his feet, and dashed away down the corridor as though hungry tigers were at his heels.

The dabuno also flew into the air. As he came down, Blade's whirling leg scythed into him. He flew across the room, hit the floor on his belly, and slid into one of the cubicles with his chin scraping the mats.

For a long moment everyone in the room seemed paralyzed by Blade's explosion of action. Deadly skill in unarmed combat was well known in Gaikon-the jinais were notoriously expert at it. But for a dabuno to have such skill-well, it suggested that he had the soul of a skulker by night or an assassin, rather than that of a warrior who fought in bright day with bright steel. So Blade had kept the skill of his hands and feet a secret.