Silently Blade nodded, and by the time he finished kissing her he found that somehow desire was again rising in him.

Blade's being Esseta's recognized lover didn't make things any easier between him and Hadish. It wasn't that the senior guard was jealous of Blade's delightful hours in bed with her-he didn't care for women. He did see very clearly that with Esseta's support Blade could go almost anywhere and do almost anything. Furthermore, if it came to a clash between him and Blade, Kubin would be far more likely to support a man on good terms with one of his favorite ladies. Not being a fool, Hadish was afraid of Kubin Ben Sarif.

That same fear kept him quiet for some time. Meanwhile, Blade began escorting the ladies of the House of the Night's Tale when they went out to shop or take the air in the parks by the Da. For this Esseta bought him several new sets of clothes, as well as a jeweled dagger that would have looked at home on a nobleman's belt.

«We of the House of the Night's Tale have our reputation to uphold,» she said. «Can we be escorted by a man who does not look his best?»

«Hardly,» said Blade. He noted that in spite of all its jewels, the knife was well-balanced and sharp. Esseta was a good judge of weapons.

The knife might be able to gut a human attacker like a fish, but it couldn't do anything against flies and foul smells. For some time that was all Blade faced as he escorted Esseta and her companions about Dahaura.

Dahaura was even busier and more prosperous than he'd imagined. It was hard to believe that any sane man could conceive of overthrowing this bustling city and the empire it ruled with no more than five thousand fighting men.

But then, the Master of the Hashomi was not entirely sane. Immensely gifted, to be sure, but also somewhat mad-and all the more dangerous because he was both. He would certainly try to carry out his plans, and even if he failed and the Hashomi perished, so would thousands of innocent people.

Even worse, it was possible that he might not fail. Blade kept his ears and eyes open, and what he heard and saw told him much about the religious conflict within Dahaura. The Fighters of Junah were despised and openly persecuted, in a way that turned Blade's stomach. He saw them stoned and beaten in the marketplaces, thrown into the rivers, driven out of shops and taverns. He saw two or three of them cut to bloody ribbons when they openly raised a hand in their own defense. He saw them treated in a way that would not have been wise even if they'd been incapable of resistance.

Since they were steadily organizing for battle, the persecution was worse than unwise. It was criminally stupid. It was sowing the seeds of religious warfare in Dahaura, just as the Master of the Hashomi expected. That warfare would come sooner or later-Blade was certain of that. And then? Religious warfare had brought down empires before, even without the aid of the Hashomi to make things worse.

The Master of the Hashomi might be mad, but his plan to overthrow the Baranate of Dahaura was not a madman's fantasy. It was a real danger, and that meant Blade's information about the Hashomi had to reach the Baran.

How? He might be able to speak to Kubin Ben Sarif and get some results. Kubin had no great love for the Fighters of Junah, even if he'd operated on the fringes of the Baran's law most of his life. He could be trusted. Unfortunately, he would also be hard to find-Blade hadn't seen him since their first strange interview.

Send a message? Not on this matter, and not with Hadish around. Esseta? Blade saw her every day. She was cool-headed, discreet, and loyal to the Baranate. Unfortunately, she'd also made it clear that she never mixed in high politics. That was one reason she was still alive and unbranded, so she intended to go on that way for the rest of her life.

The word had to get to the Baran somehow. But if he spoke to the wrong person, it might also get to the ears of someone ready to pay for having Blade's gutted corpse floating in the Da. It was a delicate situation, and likely to get worse rather than better.

Sooner or later, though, he'd have to gamble. The only alternative was to remain completely silent, and that he would not do. He had a debt to pay to the Master of the Hashomi.

It promised to be a hot day even for Dahaura. The only air moving was a faint breeze from the river that seemed to be passing over the tanneries on its way. The foul reek of curing leather surrounded the little party as they left the House of the Night's Tale.

Blade was the escort for a party that included Esseta, two of the other women of the house, and three servant girls to carry the purchases. They were going to walk, as their destination was the Street of the Perfumers on the bank of a canal less than half a mile away.

They walked swiftly, Blade in the lead and Esseta bringing up the rear. Blade's size and appearance cleared a path, and few of the beggars and street boys even bothered to shout at them. They were a slave and six Women Beyond the Law, but the sashes they wore showed that they were also under the protection of Kubin Ben Sarif.

They passed donkey carts and sedan chairs, fruit juice vendors, porters and puppet shows, a squad of the Baran's soldiers, and three mounted noblemen. At last they made their way into the Street of the Perfumers. It was oven-hot in the narrow street, but the delicate scents drifting out of the shops and booths drove out the stink of the tanneries.

Esseta was bargaining vigorously over a jar of mint-scented green lotion when Blade noticed an odd trio moving toward him from the far end of the street. Down the middle of the street a small pudgy man was walking with slow precise steps. He wore the turban of a tribal chief from the mountains in the north of the Baranate, but he wore the robes and ankle boots of a high-class merchant of Dahaura. He also wore a purse and an ornamental dagger on his belt. Blade had seen men in the same mixture of clothing before. They were usually men of mixed blood, acting as traders and agents for their fathers' tribes.

Moving parallel to the merchant and almost level with him were two other men. One wore nothing but a breechcloth stiff with filth, and his matted hair and beard did not conceal his thinness or his scars. One of Dahaura's beggars, with nothing unusual about him-except the purposeful way he was keeping pace with the robed man.

On the other side of the street was a man in a workman's breeches and full-sleeved tunic. He had a full beard and a surprisingly bushy head of red-brown hair. The color of his hair was not unusual, but the sheer mass of it drew Blade's eye.

Blade was shifting his glance back to the beggar, when suddenly the man ran out into the middle of the street and threw himself on his knees in front of the merchant. «Alms, alms, for the love of Junah,» the man cried. «Alms, that my children may eat. Alms, alms, and my prayers will be with you in all your wakings and sleepings. Alms, alms. alms!»

The skinny arms reached out, pressing long-fingered hands with black nails against the front of the merchant's robes. «Peace, my friend,» he replied. «Alms shall be yours, and bread in the mouths of your children.» He reached for his purse.

As he did, the beggar's hands clamped hard on the man's belt. With surprising strength, the beggar jerked the merchant forward, off balance. At the same time the bushy-haired man broke out of the crowd and came running up to the merchant from behind. As he ran one hand darted up inside the other sleeve and came out holding a short knife. With both speed and grace, he stabbed at the merchant's exposed back.

The stab that should have gone deep into the victim's flesh barely cut through the robe. The point grated on metal and stopped abruptly, caught in what could only be the links of a shirt of chain mail. Before the would-be murderer could react to this unexpected development, Richard Blade was charging down on him.