"You speak of Andhur; I thought your god's name was Andhur Regvos?"

"The two names identify the two aspects of the deity; Andhur, the lesser of the two, is that darkness which may be penetrated by light, the darkness that is external. Regvos is internal darkness, that darkness of body and soul which does not pass; you would call it blindness. As darkness comes in many forms-night, shadow, and shade-so does blindness. We, the priests of Andhur Regvos, are seekers after the totality of blindness, as we have, in this temple, achieved the totality of darkness."

Garth was becoming confused; this bizarre philosophy was distracting him from his purpose. He suppressed the urge to say he did not understand, for fear of triggering a long explanation. Instead, he said, "And what of your rituals?"

"Our ceremonies are of no concern to outsiders."

"Have you an idol; as do most shrines?"

"No; what need we with some stone image when the palpable presence of our divinity is all around us?"

"An altar, then, where the rites are performed?"

"Yes, we have an altar, only a dozen paces away from you. Fortunately, our god keeps it safe from your defiling gaze. I see that you have not the makings of a worshipper of darkness; you are too concerned with mundanities."

"Perhaps you are right. Pardon me, then." Garth strode on recklessly in the same direction he had headed before, which he believed to be directly toward the center of the chamber; he hoped to locate the altar and remove whatever it held before the priests could do anything to stop him. After all, would not the darkness hinder them, too? True, they lived in it much or all of the time and were fully familiar with the temple, as he was not; still, finding and stopping a thief in utter blackness would not be easy.

He had gone only eight paces, rather than the dozen the priest had suggested, when his leg struck a low obstruction. He felt about, and decided it was indeed the altar, about three feet high, ten feet long, and perhaps five in width. In its center his groping hands found an object, vaguely spherical and covered with cloth, perhaps a foot in diameter. Another stone, no doubt, like the one he had taken from the temple of Tema. Curious.

"Hold! What are you doing?"

"I merely wished to touch the altar." He picked up the stone; having no cloak to hide it under, he tucked it under his left arm. It wouldn't matter that it was visible until he was out of the temple, and in the open streets he would rely on his superior speed to escape.

He had what he came for, and in the darkness no one would even know it was gone until the ceremonies began. He returned the eight paces to where he had stood before, and said, "My apologies if I startled you."

There were rustlings behind him; a new voice spoke. "The stone is gone! He has the stone!"

Garth growled, wishing he knew an appropriate curse; his people, being atheistic, used none.

Suddenly there were rustlings on all sides; there were priests all around him. Had they been there all along?

"Return the stone to its place, defiler." The voice was that of his instructor, but lower, more authoritative in tone.

Garth ignored it; if he spoke it would only help them to locate him. He crept toward the entrance.

A dozen hands clutched at him; fingers curled around his wrist.

With a bellow, Garth leapt back and drew his sword, keeping his left arm firmly around his prize.

"Away!" he shouted.

"No, desecrator; you must return the stone."

"I have no wish to harm you, but I will if I must"

"Yes, thief, we heard you draw your sword; but can you use your blade in the dark? There are many of us and but one of you. We can find you, for we have lived all our lives in darkness, but how can you find us? Here, of all the world, the blind rule and the sighted serve."

Garth slashed out blindly with his sword, but hit nothing. Again, unseen hands clutched at him; he tore free, and slashed again. He wished he had not so willingly surrendered the flint and steel that had been his only means of making light; if he could see, he would have the advantage.

At least, he so assumed; so far he had detected no weapons. Certainly none had been used against him, and how could the priests risk them in the dark? It would be far too likely that they would hit their companions instead of them opponent. And if the priests were blind, as the voice had implied, light would give him a truly immeasurable advantage.

"Give up, defiler. You cannot get away from us; even should you somehow slay us all, you will never escape. The only exit is through the maze, and without a guide you will never find the true path."

Garth made no answer, but swung the sword again, and again struck nothing. Fingertips brushed his arm, and he moved instinctively away. He was no longer sure of his location relative to altar and entrance; escaping the priests' attempts to capture him had distracted him and moved him he knew not where.

"Do you know what will happen, defiler, if you do not surrender? You will tire eventually; you will fall, and sleep, and when you do we will capture and bind you."

Garth slashed again, and thought he nicked something; perhaps a sleeve. Not flesh, unfortunately.

"Then, when you are securely bound, you will make a sacrifice. Not to Andhur, the darkness that passes, but to everlasting Regvos; you will become one of us."

Instead of a sweeping slash, Garth tried a lunging jab; he was lucky, and a yelp of pain answered him. He doubted he had inflicted a serious wound; there was as much of surprise as pain in that cry. He had probably pinked someone's arm.

"Blasphemer! Do you know how the sacrifice is performed, in cases such as yours? A rope, a thick rope knotted twice, is placed around your head, with the knots resting upon your closed eyelids."

Garth attempted another jab, this time aiming for where he judged the voice to be coming from; the speaker paused as steel whistled near him, but the blade did not connect. When next the voice spoke it had moved well to one side, although Garth had heard no footsteps or rustling garments.

"Then we will begin the Great Ritual, and with each chant the rope will be twisted a half-turn tighter, until the knots crush..."

A particularly fast, vicious lunge tore cloth audibly, and the voice cut off abruptly; Garth heard two quick steps away from him. He was heartened; he was beginning to think that nothing could faze the man.

The voice did not speak again; instead, he felt fingers groping. He whirled abruptly and slashed close in and was gratified to feel the blade cut into flesh and scrape on bone; he had caught a wrist before it could be withdrawn. There was not so much as a whimper of pain, though; Garth marveled at the fortitude that implied.

Even in the dark, the sword gave him quite an advantage; all about him were his enemies, so he could strike freely. That would not get him out of the temple, necessarily, but it might drive away his tormentors, at least temporarily. He charged, swinging wildly.

The sword whistled and cut through cloth, but struck nothing more substantial. He charged again, in a different direction, and struck nothing at all. He stopped and listened.

He could hear nothing; had the priests retreated? He knew they were exceptionally good at being silent, but he was fairly sure that none stood within reach. He wished he could feel about him, but his left hand was occupied with the stone and he dared not lower the sword in his right. He stood for a moment, trying to decide on his next move.

He had not planned on this fight; he had not expected these annoying priests to notice the loss of the altar-stone so promptly.

A hand closed on his right forearm; he yanked free and slashed. The blade bit into something; there was a gasp, and when he raised the weapon back to the guard position something wet ran down over the quillons onto his hand. He felt a grim satisfaction at that; a blow that drew so much blood so quickly might well be mortal. He almost wished that the priest would taunt him again; the silence was making him nervous, and surely the others must have some comment to make about the man he had struck?