"Lallia?"

"I'm all right, Earl." She kissed him again then moved away, eyes curious as she looked at the gem on his hand. "When I touched that ring I felt the strangest sensation. It was as if I heard someone crying, sobbing as if their heart would break. Where did you get it, Earl?"

"It was a gift."

"From a woman?"

He smiled at the sharpness of her voice. "It came from a woman," he admitted. "She is gone now."

"Dead?"

He nodded and she smiled, coming close to him again, a female animal purring her satisfaction.

"I'm glad she's dead, Earl. I don't want to share you with anyone. I think I'd kill any woman who tried to take you from me. I know I'd kill anyone who hurt you. I love you, my darling, always remember that."

Dumarest closed his arms around her as she again pressed close. She was a creature of emotion, as honest as her tem shy;perament allowed, with the fiercely possessive nature of a primitive. But was that so very bad? She would be true to him according to her fashion and who could do more than that? And she was his wife, married to him according to Web trader custom, jealous of her rights.

"Earl?" Lallia stirred within the circle of his arms.

"What is it?"

"Nimino said that we're calling at Tyrann next Have you

ever been there?"

"No."

"That's good." She purred, moving even closer, snuggling against him. "Neither have I. We can explore it together."

Tyrann was a world of wind and scouring dust, of heat and eroded soil, a dying planet exploited for rare metals by men who looked with envious eyes at the beauty of the girl. A merchant, bolder than the rest, offered to buy her for the price of five High passages, doubling the offer when Dumarest refused.

Lallia was thoughtful as he escorted her back to the Mo shy;ray. "You should have sold me, Earl. I could have sneaked out later and left the fool with nothing."

"A man like that is no fool," said Dumarest curtly. "And I am not a seller of women."

For the rest of their stay he kept Lallia within the con shy;fines of the ship while Sheyan negotiated a load of freight and Claude, happy in a tavern, stocked up on supplies.

From Tyrann they went to Dreen, where they delivered their freight and sold the fish skins. From Dreen to Ophan, where they left the oil and singing crystals, buying manu shy;factured electronic components, capsules of medicine, and gaining three passengers: dour, silent men who refused to gamble despite Lallia's blandishments.

The passengers and medicine were left behind on Frone as they plunged deeper into the Web. With them rode a dozen passengers bound for Joy.

"I will take," said Yalung slowly, "one card."

Dumarest dealt him the required card, relaxing a little as he threw in his own hand. The game was poker, the stakes running high, and they had been playing for twelve hours straight. He watched as Yalung bet, raised, was called, and raked in another pot. The dealer in precious stones had been a steady winner throughout the session.

One of the players rose, shaking his head.

"That's enough for me," he said. "Deal me out. I know when I'm outclassed."

Dumarest scooped up the cards and shuffled, his eyes searching the faces of those who remained at the table. A miner, an engineer, a raddled woman who smelled of acrid spice, a seller of chemical dreams, and Yalung, who sat to his right. In the light their faces were taut masks of inner concentration.

"The pot is ten," said Dumarest and, as chips were thrust forward, began to deal. "Openers are a pair of jesters or better."

The miner passed, the engineer also, the woman opened for ten. The seller of dreams stayed and Yalung raised the bet to twenty. Dumarest took a quick look at his cards. A lord, a lady, two eights and a three.

"Dealer stays."

The miner dropped out and the engineer stayed, which meant that he had either passed on an opening hand or hoped to improve. The woman stayed as did the seller of dreams.

"Discards."

Dumarest watched the players as he poised the deck, not their faces, they were schooled to display only desired emo shy;tion, but their hands which told more than their owners guessed. The engineer flipped his cards, moving one from one end of the fan to the others. Adding it to others of the same value? Arranging a sequence?

"I'll take three."

He held a pair then, probably of low value because he hadn't opened. Dumarest dealt and turned to the woman.

"Two," she said.

She had opened and must have at least a pair of jesters. A two-card draw meant that she might have three of a kind or was holding onto an odd card, hoping to make two pairs or more, or, more likely, in order to bluff. She hadn't raised Yalung's increase-unlikely if her hand had been strong.

Beside her sat the seller of dreams. Envir had a thin, in shy;tent face, which told nothing, and hands which told little more. He moved a pair of cards, hesitated, then threw out his discards.

"I'll take two," he said.

Like the woman he could have either a pair or three of a kind. He could also be hoping to complete a flush or a straight, in which case he was fighting high odds.

"One," said Yalung.

He had not fiddled with his cards, his hands, like his face, unrevealing. He could have four to a flush or a straight, two pairs, three of a kind and an odd card, or even four of a kind.

Dumarest threw out his own discards. "Dealer takes three."

He let them lie, watching the hands of the others, the tiny, betraying tensions of their knuckles as they saw what they had drawn.

"Twenty," said the woman. It was a safe, normal opening bet. Envir raised it.

"Make that fifty."

Yalung pushed chips into the pot. "I'll raise that fifty more."

Dumarest looked at his cards. He had drawn another eight and a pair of ladies. A full house.

"Dealer raises that by fifty."

The engineer hesitated, scowling, then threw in his hand. The woman stayed. Envir cleared his throat.

"Well, now, this promises to be fun. I'll just meet that last raise-and lift it another two hundred."

"That's two hundred and fifty to stay," mused Yalung. "I'll raise by another hundred."

Dumarest looked at the pot. It held over a thousand. If he raised it would give him a chance to raise again later- but both Envir and Yalung had seemed confident. The woman, he guessed, would drop out. Envir might stay, in which case the pot would go to the one with the best hand.

"Dealer stays," said Dumarest.

He thought he saw a shadow of disappointment cross Yalung's face, then turned his attention to the others. The woman, as he had guessed, threw in her cards, displaying the pair of jesters on which she had opened. Envir hesitated then made his decision.

"I'll raise a hundred."

"One hundred?" Yalung leaned forward, counting the chips in the pot. "There is just over seventeen hundred there," he mused. "According to the rules I am allowed to raise to the full extent of the pot. So I will do that. I meet your raise, my friend, and add another fifteen hundred." He smiled at Dumarest. "It will now cost the dealer sixteen hundred to stay. An interesting situation, is it not?"

"No," said Dumarest flatly. "I cannot stay. I haven't the money."

"But surely you have items of worth?" Yalung looked at Dumarest's hand. "That ring, for example. Shall we say a thousand?"

It was a tempting proposition. Envir had drawn two cards and could be pushing his luck with a straight or flush, both of which he could beat. Yalung could be bluffing, using his money to buy the pot, also maybe holding a flush or straight. But, against that, Dumarest could only gain to one for his money if Envir dropped out and, if he raised, he would be unable to stay.