Her hands were plucking at him again. It was like flower petals brushing his penis. Blade felt a genuine excitement rising in him, the first in all his days of sexual activity. But he pulled her hands away again.

«Later for that. First you must answer questions. Why does Sybelline spy on me? What am I to her? What does she want to know?»

Norn pulled away from him and stretched out on the bed. She propped herself on an elbow, chin in palm, and regarded him for a long time before she spoke. The look she gave him, and her tone, revealed that she had entirely dropped the mask.

«All right, Blade. I did not come here to talk, but if you must talk let us get it over with. I do not know exactly why Sybelline spies on you through me, but I know that she has her reasons. She tells me nothing. I merely obey. My orders were to find out all I could about you, in any way I could. To find out if you are indeed the man you have boasted of being.»

He smiled faintly. «And what did you tell her?»

For the first time he beard her laugh. Her teeth were good. «I told her that you are indeed a man. In a few years, if you work steadily, the Gnomen population will be rebuilt.»

Blade did not show the frown he felt. That idea he did not like at all: stud for an entire nation, quite literally the father of a country. This life was not for him. That very night, he thought, he would contact Lord L through the crystal and ask to be recalled to Home Dimension.

Norn lay back on the bed. She raised her knees and looked at Blade. «Please, Blade. Your slave is right, you know. If we are too long the other women will be come suspicious and report us. Please hurry.»

Blade laid down beside her. She might be a liar and a spy, but he didn't think she was lying about her need of him. If she really was enamored of him, he would be a fool not to exploit it. At the moment he was a sexual captive with no points of advantage, and he could be killed at Jantor's whim or at the whim of Sybelline.

Somehow Blade thought that his best chances lay with Sybelline.

He set out to torture Norn a bit. He penetrated and then withdrew. She moaned and clutched at him frantically. How different from the other Gnomen women he had been servicing like a prize bull or stallion. They all lay unmoving and would not look at him, would not have submitted at all but for Jantor's stern orders.

Norn continued to writhe and moan. «Please, please, Blade. I love you. Hurry-hurry-«

He teased her and held off. «You are not telling me everything, Norn. If we are to be friends I must trust you, and I cannot do that until you tell me everything. Now what is Sybelline up to?»

The girl closed her eyes and gasped. «I know little. This much I can tell you… Sybelline bade me to observe you and, when I thought the time was right, to warn you.»

Blade thrust into her. «Warn me of what?»

Norn groaned deep in her throat. «That trouble is coming. Trouble with Jantor. Sybelline wants you on her side and she will give you great rewards. But you must wait-wait and do nothing. If you act too soon all will be ruined. You are to wait and be obedient and cause no trouble. .»

«I can do little else,» said Blade bitterly. «I'm a prisoner and as helpless as any of you.»

Norn reached for him. She wrapped strong legs about him and tugged him to her.

«Not forever, Blade. I will be messenger. I will visit you again and again and when the time is right I will take you to Sybelline. Now-I have told you all my secrets. I know of nothing more. Will you go on denying me? I love you, Blade. Take pity. .»

Blade took pity. And for the first time in days actually enjoyed it.

That same night Jantor sent an armed guard of twenty men to fetch Blade. Sart was permitted to accompany Blade. As they wound through the narrow, maze-like tunnels that connected the main sewers, Blade found it hard not to remain untouched by Sart's fear. The slave was trembling and sweating and his voice broke as he whispered.

«I warned you, master. I warned you. Jantor has found out about that woman, that Norn, and now he suspects you and Sybelline of plotting against him. We are finished, master. You will be killed and I will be sent to the five-mile pits. Oh, I warned you, I warned you.»

Blade's nerves were none too good. He was without weapons. His spear bar, the one he had taken from Sart, had disappeared the first night as he slept. But he did not like whining, and he cuffed Sart so hard that the sturdy Gnoman went down in a daze. Blade pulled him to his feet as the guards watched impassively.

«That will be all from you,» said Blade. «From this time on you will not speak until I give you leave.»

They entered a much wider and higher main sewer than any he had seen before. The cobbled trough was dry, covered with sand and some rank weeds that were not made of plastic. In the air, there lingered the effluvia of long-ago sewage. Blade and Sart, surrounded by the guards, made a right turn and continued along the main sewer. They passed a vast cavern in which fires glowed and sparks flew as metal clanged on metal. It was a forge.

Blade whispered to Sart. «You may speak: What do they make in there?»

Sart, sullen and unforgiving, whispered back that the iron spear bars were made there. He himself had worked there for a short time.

«Just the bars? Nothing else?» Blade had long been puzzled by their lack of weaponry. Granted that the Gnomen were none too bright, were creatures of the moment with a brief attention span and small intelligence, he wondered why they had not developed other weapons.

Start answered his question. «What else should they make but the bars, master? What else is needed?»

Blade shrugged and let it go at that. But he would keep the forge in mind.

Jantor was waiting in a vast, domed chamber with brick walls and a floor of clean white sand. Iron railings and stairs led to the top of the dome, where Blade saw the underside of one of those enormous sewer lids. There was probably a kiosk above it and the eternal sleepers and that treacherous spying moon, waiting. For what? He had the cold, disturbing feeling that the orbfolk, and that moon, were waiting for him, and being patient. As though they knew the first act must be played out in the sewers.

The guards pushed Blade and Sart forward and retired to wait outside. Blade stood blinking in the flare of torches held in wall sconces. Sart clung to Blade's heels, muttering to himself and wringing his hands. Blade knew the man's terror was genuine. At the moment Blade himself was not feeling particularly valiant. His position was weak. He was at the mercy of Jantor. Anything he did now would have to be bravado and bluff.

Jantor spoke from the shadows. «This way, Blade. You will kneel before the throne, and your slave with you.»

Blade never knew for sure, but it may have been his sense of humor that saved him. As he made his way toward the voice of Jantor he saw that the «throne» was an armchair, a simple comfortable-looking armchair made of plastic, set on a raised platform of raw planks. The «throne» had undoubtedly been looted from one of the shops above.

Blade had the sense not to laugh. That may have saved him, too. Sart threw himself sprawling on the sand, beating his head against it, while Blade stood, arms akimbo, and regarded Jantor.

«I kneel to no throne and no man,» Blade said. «This is not meant as disrespect for you, Jantor. It is just my way.»

Jantor looked down at Blade from his armchair throne, his dome of baldness glistening in the torchlight. Jantor leaned forward to stare at Blade, his Gnomen brown eyes narrowed and catching red sparks from the torches.

He spoke calmly enough. «Sart, this slave of yours, has not told you of the five-mile pits?»