Twice he was respectfully but firmly turned back, both times by squads of oversized men armed to the teeth. Once he was told the king's chambers lay beyond the guarded door. The other time, where the men appeared to be eunuchs, it was the Princess Harima's chambers they were guarding. Blade noted both locations and moved on without argument.

Eventually he came out through a high-arched portico into a garden. A garden? It was more like a park. It seemed to stretch away in a beautiful confusion of trees and shrubs and grass for hundreds of yards. Gravel walks wound in and out among the greenery and the occasional splashes of color that told of flower beds.

Blade strode out into the sunlight and wandered about the garden, without any particular goal in mind. Mostly he simply wanted to see whether there was going to be any uproar over the Pendarnoth's prowling freely about the palace.

In time he found himself approaching a white marble bench that stood in the middle of a roughly circular clearing. This was a good place. He didn't want to sit down anywhere somebody might be able to sneak up on him without being seen. But here there were thirty feet of open grass on all sides. He sat down on the bench.

He had barely stretched out his legs when he heard the sound of footsteps approach on the other side of the bushes to his left. He rose quietly, and silently drew his sword. The footsteps continued as far as the end of the bushes, stopped, and then continued again. A slim figure dressed in white came around the end of the bushes. It was Princess Harima, with two serving women.

Blade thrust his sword back into its scabbard and smiled. But his thoughts were not as pleasant as the expression on his face. Had chance brought the princess here at this time, or something more?

The princess pressed her hands together and bowed her head gracefully. «Greetings, oh Pendarnoth. I heard that you were walking in the gardens, and I wished to talk to you without all the people of Vilesh looking on. Were you expecting an enemy? Your sword was out.»

«I did not know whether to expect an enemy or a friend, princess. And I have been a warrior long, enough so that when I do not know who is coming I make ready to greet him-properly.»

«I see.» Harima smiled. «How long have you been a warrior?»

«Nearly twenty years.» He did not add any other details. He did not want to encourage the princess to ask about his life before he found the Golden Steed. He had the impression of a sharp intelligence that might leap on any slips he made and use them to his harm.

Harima was beautiful as well as intelligent. It was not a picture-book beauty. She was a trifle too sharp-featured for that, and her high-arched nose just a little too large. But the wide dark eyes and the full mobile red lips were set in a proud pale face framed by glistening dark hair caught up beneath a silver diadem. And the most critical opinion could not have found fault with Harima's figure. The white gown she wore only hinted at what lay beneath, but to Blade's eyes those hints were sufficient-and exciting. Steady down, he told himself. Wait for her to show interest, if there's going to be any.

The princess motioned her ladies back toward the bushes. She sat down on the bench and with a graceful wave of a long-fingered hand beckoned to Blade. Blade noticed that in contrast to the usual display of gold or gilded jewelry among the Pendari, Harima wore only a single ring on each hand and a pair of earrings.

«Come and sit down, Blade,» she said. Her voice held a hint of laugher.

«Is it proper that I should, princess?»

«Is anything improper for the Pendarnoth? No, you are right in asking. Of all the men in Pendar, you and my brother are the only ones who might sit so with nothing improper.» The laughter in her voice was more than a hint now.

Blade sat down on the bench but left a safe yard or so between them. «Asking questions like that is part of the caution I have learned, princess. One does not live as a warrior for twenty years without learning caution. In fact, any man will live longer if he learns caution, not just warriors.» The last words were not an accident. If Harima wanted to take them as a reference to the present situation in Pendar, she was welcome to do so.

Harima smiled again and was about to speak again when footsteps suddenly thudded behind the bushes. Then the bushes themselves crackled and shook, and the serving women screamed. Six armed men with drawn swords suddenly burst through the bushes into the clearing.

Blade's sword was in his hand so fast it seemed to have jumped there like a living thing. He whirled, trying to get between Princess Harima and the six men. The princess was not screaming. She was backing away, a step at a time. One hand plunged into a purse at her belt and came out with a small jeweled dagger. A dainty lady's weapon, ill-suited for serious combat, but her spirit earned Blade's admiration.

The men ignored both the princess and her servants and formed a circle around Blade. He jerked his wrist to draw his dagger from its sheath, and stared at his opponents. He recognized none of them. It would have been too much to hope that he would after only two days in the palace.

Very well, he would have to assume this was a real move against him. And there was only one way to reply to such a move. His eyes flicked from right to left, meeting the eyes of each of the six men in turn. Then he took a long step forward, until he was within striking range of one of the men. Again Blade stared hard at the man. For a few seconds the man tried to hold Blade's gaze, then his eyes flickered away. As they did so, Blade struck.

His sword was a whistling blur in the air as it came down. It smashed into his opponent's sword, driving it down so hard the point sank into the ground. Before the man could move to free his sword, Blade's lightning speed took him forward another step. His dagger rose, flashed, thrust home into the man's chest so hard that it almost jammed between his ribs. The air went out of the man's lungs with a whistle. Blood spewed from his mouth as he crumpled to the ground. Blade jerked his dagger free and leaped over the falling man, whirling as he landed to face the other five.

As if the death of the first man had tripped a spring in their legs, all five men charged at Blade together. He twisted sideways as the first sword whistled down past his chest. His dagger drove down into the hand holding the sword. The man screamed and his bloody fingers opened, letting the sword fall. Blade sent a backhand slash whistling at the man's head, and saw his throat gape as the razor-sharp edge crossed it. The dying man reeled backward into the middle of his companions, confusing and tangling them still further.

Two down, four to go, and time for another few steps backward. Blade gained the distance he needed in a single leap, turned again, and flourished his sword and dagger. He made the air hum as he wove a pattern with them, deliberately trying to dazzle his opponents. He had taken his measure of them. These were not first-class swordsmen by any stretch of the imagination. Were they acting on their own against the Pendarnoth? Or had they been hired? If they had been hired, were they simply the best that their employer could get? Or-a possibility with all sorts of implications-were they supposed to fail?

But facing four armed men was no time to be thinking about why they were facing you. Blade took another step backward, sword and dagger still dancing. The four men followed him, matching him step for step. Were they afraid to close now? Then he'd have to take the fight to them.

He sidled to the left, saw them shift to meet him, moved right, saw them match that movement also. He repeated the sequence, and again they matched him. Good. He had them set up now, at least psychologically. And in close combat, working on your opponent's mind was half the battle.