The body of a huge animal, it was: a thick-legged coarse-furred thing with great crescent tusks, a giant grazing beast, perhaps, a descendant of the formidable mountain-dwelling creature which according to Metamorph myth had brought the primordial inhabitants of Majipoor into being by licking them out of an icy cliff.

It lay now on the ice of the plaza in a somber motionless heap — a vast shaggy black mound from which bright streams of blood were flowing. The king, muttering and frowning, walked around it and around again, prodding and tugging at it. Plainly he was deeply disturbed. Harpirias realized that the animal must have been deliberately mutilated before it was thrown over the cliff; not only had its throat been slashed but red slashes showed through the heavy fur along its flanks and belly where deep cuts had been made in geometrical patterns.

What must have been nearly the entire population of the village had assembled by now to inspect this phenomenon that had dropped from on high. The tiny figures were no longer visible along the rim of the canyon, and the bonfire, though still smoldering, was almost out.

Harpirias looked toward Korinaam. "Do you understand what any of this means?"

The Shapeshifter shook his head. "A mystery to me, prince. When I was here last year I never saw anything like it."

"Neither have they, apparently." Harpirias nodded toward Toikella, who was huddling with the high priest and a few of the other courtiers in a circle around the fallen animal. "Go over to them. See what you can find out."

But Korinaam had no success in gaining the attention of Toikella and his men. They seemed not even to hear him when he spoke to them. After a while he turned away and conferred briefly with one of the lesser tribesmen and then another before coming back to Harpirias.

"The animal," reported the Shapeshifter, "is called a hajbarak. It’s looked upon as a sacred beast. There’s a small herd of them that roams the mountains just back of here, and only the king is permitted to hunt them. For anyone else to kill one is an act of major sacrilege. The biggest of the bones from which his throne is made are hajbarak bones."

"What is this, then, a declaration of war from some hostile tribe?"

"So far as I know, no other tribes live in this region, hostile or otherwise."

"So far as you or anyone knew, the Othinor didn’t live here either, until somebody discovered them. Obviously there’s somebody else up there."

"Obviously," said Korinaam, with some testiness in his tone. "But whether the ones who threw the animal down here are from an enemy tribe, or are simply outcasts from this one, I have no idea. The first man I spoke to was so shocked that he didn’t seem capable of talking to me at all. The second one told me only that the animal was sacred and that this should not have happened. You are free to draw your own conclusions, prince."

But he had none to draw; nor was the Shapeshifter able to learn anything from the villagers the next day. They simply would not speak of what had happened.

The chief consequence of the evening’s strange event, so far as Harpirias was concerned, was that it produced an additional postponement of the opening of negotiations. The king was closeted in the palace all that day, and the next. The dead animal had been dragged away to the accompaniment of solemn choral chanting; the place where it had struck the ground had been cleansed of all blood; sentries were posted day and night in the plaza to watch the canyon rim for signs of new intrusion.

Then came a messenger to Harpirias in the morning with word that the king was ready at last to confer with him.

"You will tell him, as the very first topic of discussion, that I am not the Coronal Lord Ambinole," Harpirias said to the Metamorph as they crossed the plaza toward the palace.

"Not the very first thing, prince. Please."

"One of the first, then."

"Let me be the judge of the proper timing for this."

"The proper timing," Harpirias said, "was the very moment that the confusion began."

"Yes, perhaps that is so. But it was inappropriate to interrupt the king then to make the correction. And now—"

"I want this thing cleared up, Korinaam."

"Of course. As soon as it’s feasible."

"And from this moment on," Harpirias said, "whenever I address a remark of any sort to the king, I want you to translate it literally and exactly. Likewise I want an exact and literal translation of whatever the king may say to me."

"Certainly, prince. Certainly."

"You know, I’m actually not as stupid as you may think, and it’s not beyond my powers to start learning this language that they speak here myself. If I should discover that you haven’t been a totally honest interpreter, Korinaam, I’ll kill you."

The blunt word so startled Korinaam that he was galvanized into an involuntary moment of metamorphosis. The contours of his body blurred and fluttered, his fragile elongated form thickening and drawing into itself as if for protection; his color deepened from pale green to a dark shade of teal; his face sealed itself so that his eyes and lips could barely be seen. With a gasp and a shiver of his shoulders he recovered his normal semblance and said:

"Kill, prince?"

"Kill. The way I would kill an animal in the forest."

"I have not deceived you in any way," said the Shape-shifter. "Nor do I intend to do so hereafter."

"Better not even to think of it," Harpirias said.

He was surprised to find King Toikella in a jovial, even exuberant mood. The curious happening of a few nights before did not appear to be casting its shadow on him today. Nor was there any trace of the remoteness, the coldness, that he had displayed the one time he and Harpirias had encountered each other since the evening of the feast.

Toikella was down from his throne, energetically pacing around the great hall. As usual he was surrounded by his women — Harpirias noted uneasily the presence of the young princess who had come to his room to offer herself to him — and the king would pause from time to time in his restless perambulation to give this one a rough caress, to mutter something hoarse and perhaps affectionate into the ear of that one. When he saw Harpirias entering he whirled and called out a loud raucous salutation in which Harpirias detected the Othinor word helminthak — which from its context Harpirias had already come to think meant "majesty," "lordship," some such title of honor — and the words Coronal and Lord Ambinole once again.

Harpirias glowered at Korinaam. This error was becoming perpetuated and ever more difficult to eradicate.

But there was no chance now to do anything about it. The king, amidst deafening gusts of laughter, had thrown his arm about Harpirias and was bellowing a lengthy string of incomprehensible exclamations into his ear. After a time Harpirias extricated himself more or less tactfully from the big man’s smothering embrace and looked toward the Shapeshifter.

"What did he say?"

"He was welcoming you back to his court."

"There was more to it than that. There had to be."

Korinaam’s shape wavered just a little at the edges.

"I want an exact translation," Harpirias told him. "Or else." He drew one finger swiftly across his Adam’s apple.

"What the king was saying," the Shapeshifter replied, rolling his eyes, "is that he wonders what kind of race the Maji-poori can be, if they are ruled by such an effeminate king."

"What?"

"You asked for an exact translation, prince."

"Yes. I know that. But what does he mean, ‘effeminate’? He’s talking about me, isn’t he, and not the real Lord Ambinole? What possible reason could he have for believing—"

"I think," said the Metamorph cautiously, "that he is referring to your rejection of his daughter on the night of the feast."