It proved a night for the heeding of curses, if not the answering of prayers.That was appropriate and perhaps significant in Sanctuary called Thieves' World.

The shaft streaked past the spire and reached the end of its tether if not itsvelocity. It snapped back. The line forced it into a curving attempt to return.It snapped around the spire. Twice, thrice, four times. The archer was dragginghard. Keeping taut the silken line bought at the expense of a pair of lovely earpendants of gold and amethyst and chrysoprase stolen from -never mind. Thearcher pulled his line, hard. That maintained and increased tension, tightenedthe arrow's whipping about the spire which was, naturally, gilded.

Then all motion ceased. A mourning dove spoke to the night, but no one believedthat dolorous call presaged rain. Not in Sanctuary! Not at this time of year.The archer leaned into his line, and braced his heels to lean his full weight onit. The cord was a taut straight-edge of immobility and invisibility under theun-anposing one-ninth moon.

Teeth flashed in the dimness. The archer's, standing atop the granary behind theGovernor's Palace of Sanctuary. His mop of hair was blacker than shadowed nightand his eyes nearly so, under brows that just missed meeting above a bridgednose that Just missed being falcate.

He collected his other gear, collected himself, swallowed hard, choked up all hecould on his line until he was straining, stretched, on tipetoe.

Then he thought something rather prayer-like, and out he swung.

Out above the street made broad enough to accommodate several big grain wagonsabreast he swung, and across it. The looming wall rushed at him.

Even with the bending of his knees until they were nearly at his chest, the jarof his impact with the unyielding wall was enough to rattle teeth and turnprayers to curses. Nothing broke, neither legs nor silken line. Certainly notthe wall, which was of stone, quarried and cut to form a barrier four feetthick.

He went up the rope in a reverse rappel, step after step and hand over hand.Dragging himself up the wall, walking up the fine perfectly set stones, climbingabove death, for that was the penalty for slipping. The street was far below andfarther with each pulling step.

He never considered that, or death, for he never considered the possibility ofslipping.

A mighty warrior he was not. As an archer he had many peers and many betters. Asa youth he was perfect, lean and wiry and strong. He was a highly competentthief in a citylet named for thieves. Not a cutpurse or a street-snatcher or anaccoster; a thief. A burglar. As such, he was a superb climber of walls, withoutbetter and possibly without peer. He was good at slipping in by high-setwindows, too.

His colouring and clothing were for the night, and shadows. They were oldfriends, he and shadows.

He did not slip. He ascended. He muscled himself atop the broad wall of theGovernor's Palace, of Sanctuary. Unerringly, he stepped through the crenel, theembrasure between two merlons like blunt lower teeth. And he was at home, inshadow.

Now, he gazed upon the palace itself; the palace of the golden prince sent outfrom Ranke to (pretend to) govern Sanctuary. The thief smiled, but with hismouth closed. Here there were tigers in the form of guards, and young teethwould flash even in this most wan of moonlight. That precaution was merely partof his competence.

At that, he had lived only about a score of years. He was not sure whether hewas nineteen or twenty or a bit older. No one was sure, in this anile town theconquering Rankans called Thieves' World. Perhaps his mother knew - certainlynot the father he had never known and whom she had known casually, for thisthief was a bastard by birth and often, even usually, by nature - but who knewwho or where his mother was?

Below, within the wall lay ancillary buildings and a courtyard the size of athoroughfare or a small community common, and guards. Across, just over there,rose the palace. Like him it was a shadow, but it loomed far more imposing.

He had broken into it once before. Or rather he had previously gained nocturnalentry in manner clandestine, for that other time he had help. A gate had beenleft unlocked for him, and a door ajar.

Entering that way was far easier and much preferable to this. But that time theopener of the gate had been bent on the public embarrassment and downfall of theGovernor, and the thief was not.

Prince-Governor Kadakithis was no enemy, as a matter of fact, to this youthspawned in the shadows of the wrong end of town. The thief had rendered theRankan prince two considerable services. He had been rewarded, too, although notin such a manner that he could live happily ever after.

Now, on this night of the most niggling of crescent moons, he stood atop thewall and took in his line from behind and below. It stretched upward still, tothe pennon spire. It remained taut. He had to believe that it would continue todo. Elsewise he was about to splatter on to the pave below like a droppedpomegranate, a fruit whose pulp is plentiful and whose juice is red.

When the line was again taut he yanked, dragged, braced, yanked, swallowed hard,and kicked himself off the wall into Space. His stomach fell two storeys to thepave; he did not. His soft-booted but padded feet struck another wall of cutfulvistone. Impact was no fun and he had to stifle his grunt.

Then he went up.

'D'you hear something, Frax?' A voice like a horse-drawn sledge gliding overhard earth. Not stone, or sand, but packed dry earth.

'Mmm? Hm? Huh? Wha'?' A deeper voice.

'I said: Frax, did you hear something?'

Silence. (At sound of the voice the thief had frozen. Hands-forearms-torso atopthe very palace; tail in space and legs adangle.)

'Uh-huh. I heard something, Purter. I heered her say "Oh Frax you han'some dawg,you're the best. Now suck on thisun awhile, darling," and then you woke me up,you bastard.'

'We're supposed to be on guard duty not sleeping, Frax, damn it. - Who was she?'

'Not gonto tell you. No I din't hear nothing. What's to hear? An army ofDownwinders comin' over the friggin' walls? Somebody riding in on a hootey-owl?'

'Oh,' Purler's higher voice said, with a shiver in it. 'Don't say that. It'sdark and creepy enough tonight.'

'Stuporstishus rectum,' Prax accused, with more austerity than skill, andlowered his head again on to his uplifted knees.

During their exchange the thief had got his rangy self on to the wall. He madehardly any sound, but those idiots would have drowned out something even as loudas snapping fingers. He wriggled through another embrasure and on to the defencegallery that ran around the top of the palace, below the dome and spire thatrose on up, higher than the outer wall. Men trusted with guard duty, he wasthinking contemptuously, heard something and blabbered. He shook his head.Idiots! He could teach these stupid soft-butted 'soldiers' a thing or threeabout security! It took a civilian to know about the best security measures, insuch a town as this. For one thing, when you thought you heard something, youshut the hell up and listened. Then you made just a little noise to pretendunconcern, and froze to catch the noise-maker in another movement.

The shadow of a shadow, he moved along the gallery, between the smooth curve ofthe dome and the crenellations of a wall. After thirty-one paces he heard thescuffing footsteps and tap-tapping pikestaff butt of a careless sentry. Thatpersuaded him to squat, get as close to the wall as he could, and lie down.Flat, facing the wall, whose merlons rose above the gallery. He lay perfectlystill, a shadow in shadow.