Blade, acting the part of a simpleton to the hilt, raised one hand and stroked Sparra's cheek. This almost got him more than he bargained for. Chyatho raised his pistol. The click as he cocked it made Sparra turn around.

«No, Chyatho!»

«Why not?»

«We do not know who he is yet.»

«He is a man who touched you.»

«You do not own me, even if I have given you a child.»

«I should be able to keep other men away from you, at least.»

«I can do that well enough myself, thank you.»

«When you want to, yes.»

«Of course. Sometimes I do not want to. You cannot make me want to, either. And none of this has anything to do with this man.» She sighed. «Bow your head, stranger.»

This time Blade obeyed. She searched his scalp, probing in his dark hair with long, sure fingers.

«Any injuries?» said Chyatho.

«There have been some, in the past,» said Sparra. «This man has seen war, I think.»

«Are they recent wounds?»

Slowly the woman shook her head. «Then stand aside, Sparra,» snapped Chyatho. The pistol swung toward Blade. Terbo, the rifleman, Blade noted, was no longer aiming at him.

Sparra deliberately stepped in front of Blade. «You are a fool, Chyatho. Perhaps I would be better off if you did shoot me. There are many things beside head wounds which can make a man lose his memory. Fevers, great frights, the loss of someone he loves.»

Some strong emotion passed over Terbo's face. «That is so,» he said. «Also, we are on Bekror's land. He would not like to hear of our doing the Great justice without letting him speak.»

«Bekror will not speak to any purpose,» said Chyatho. «And are you so sure we are on his land?»

«He will say we are,» said the crossbowman. «I am sorry, Chyatho. But I think you are not wise, to want to kill this man simply because he touched Sparra. If the healers of Bekror's house can bring back his memory, we may learn something from him. Even if they cannot, Bekror will always be grateful for another strong slave.»

«Are you all against me?» said Chyatho. His voice was almost a snarl.

«We are against you killing this man,» said Sparra.

«What is-kill?» said Blade.

Chyatho threw up his hands in disgust, nearly dropping his pistol in the process. Then he holstered it. «Very well. We shall take him to Monitor Bekror. But we shall take him as if he had his wits about him, just in case.» He pointed at Terbo and the crossbowman. «You two hold him while I bind his hands behind his back.»

Blade submitted to the binding, but held his wrists stiff as the ropes went around them. Chyatho didn't notice. When he had finished, there was enough play in the bindings to let Blade free his hands in a couple of minutes.

He's risked breaking his cover by doing this, but he couldn't afford to be really helpless. He'd made a dangerous enemy in Chyatho, for no reason he could understand, and Sparra was in no position to be much of a friend.

He'd also learned hardly anything new about Kaldak. He didn't even know how many years had gone by since his first trip, which could be important. If everyone who'd known him personally was dead, his secret was a lot safer. About all he knew so far was that one squad of Kaldak's army had an odd assortment of weapons and no discipline worth talking about.

Monitor Bekror's establishment was a walled fortress the size of a small town. The area inside its walls covered several acres, with buildings, trees, pools, and gardens all mixed together.

Long ago, before the atomic war which destroyed the original civilization in this Dimension, there must have been a town here. Most of it was either destroyed in the war or crumbled into ruins afterward, when the population shrank. What must have been the town hall survived, though. It became Bekror's Great House, and the heart of his fortress. The walls had been reinforced with stone and stout gates, to make it easier to defend.

Blade's captors led him through one of the gates in the outer walls, past ragged sentries mostly armed with magazine rifles or crossbows. A more neatly dressed man with a pistol led the whole party through the maze inside the walls to the Great House. There Chyatho went inside, to learn if the Monitor would receive them today. The others waited outside, giving Blade a chance to study the weird contrasts all around him.

There was the door itself. It was twice as high as a man, of elaborately carved wood, and closed by a wrought-iron bar as thick as Blade's thigh. Above it in the wall was a niche, with two sentries on guard. They wore medieval-looking mail, but they sat by a water-cooled machine gun which might have come from the trenches of World War I. On top of the machine gun was something remarkably like a laser sight. Without moving his head, Blade could see five centuries of weapons and fortifications staring back at him.

By turning his head slightly, Blade could get even more confused. Of the five buildings in sight, two were log huts. One was a barracks, with soldiers coming in and out, and more sitting on the doorstep. Between the two huts was a large and thickly planted vegetable garden, with men and women working in it under the eyes of a couple of overseers. Both the men and the women wore nothing but loincloths. The people of Kaldak hadn't worried much about nudity the last time Blade was here; this didn't seem to have changed.

Of the three other buildings, one was stone like the walls, one was brand-new brick, and one was metal. The metal one was probably the oldest thing in sight. It was completely overgrown with vines and bushes and even small trees. The only clean spots were part of the roof and around the doorway. There the metal shone rustless and bright after what must have been centuries. Blade had the feeling that several Dimensions had all run together like puddles.

Eventually Chyatho came out, looking triumphant. Another guard came with him. «Monitor Bekror will see you now,» the guard said.

Inside the hall, the first thing Blade saw was two clerks. Both wore monkish-looking robes and carried jewel-hilted daggers in their belts. One was using an adding machine, the other a crude typewriter. They sat in a cubicle hung with colorful tapestries. Just outside the cubicle four armed men sat on sandbags piled around a heavy laser, placed so that it could sweep the whole hall in a matter of seconds. The soldiers wore uniforms instead of chain mail, but they also carried sheathed swords. Blade had to listen to the language around him to remember that he was in Kaldak, or indeed in any place real.

Monitor Bekror met them seated at a long table at the far end of the hall. Several guards stood close by, but he obviously wasn't relying completely on them. He wore a shirt of plastic discs over leather, a sword, and a laser pistol.

How long has it been? Blade nearly shouted the question out loud. Then he saw a large tapestry hanging on the wall over the Monitor's head. It showed a powerful dark-haired man flying above a ruined city on the strangest creature Blade had ever seen or imagined. It looked like one of the big metal waldos he'd learned how to control-the twelve-foot humanoid Fighting Machines. But it had a man's face on top of its metal body, and great feathered wings growing out of its back. Laser beams shot out of its eyes, and the man held a flaming sword.

This question he had to ask, risky as it might be. He pointed at the tapestry. «The-the High One?»

Sparra shook her head. «That is the Sky Master Blade.»

Fortunately no one expected Blade to make a quick reply to that. He shook his head slowly. «The High One-I know him.»

«Is that your name for the Sky Master?» said Sparra.

Chyatho made a disgusted noise. «Sparra, do not waste Monitor Bekror's time trying to get from this fool answers he will never give. Honored Monitor, we found this man on the bank of the Sclath.» He told the story of Blade's capture. «I think Sparra hopes he may get back his wits. I do not. I think he has either lost them for good or is only pretending. If he is only pretending, we should learn what he really is.»