Dumarest looked up as he sipped his wine, his attention caught by the name of the trader. A broad back was talking to a high forehead.

"I saw him," said the high forehead. "Rolling all over the place. No man can drink like that and remain sharp. He's only got to let the generators get point oh, oh five out of phase and you know what happens then."

"Curtains," said the broad back. "Disorientation and, in the Web, that's bad."

"That's final!" The high forehead was emphatic. "Say, did you hear about the Quand? I met a man on . . ."

Lallia smiled at Dumarest as he turned, lowering his glass. "We don't have to worry, Earl. We won't be on the Moray when Claude finally sends her to destruction."

"No," he said, thinking of Lin, the burning desire of the boy to learn, to emulate his friend. Suddenly the wine tasted sour. "Let's go and look at the town."

The main street led to an area thronged with sideshows. A man called as they passed. "This way, lord and lady, sense the thrills of the condemned. Full sensory tapes of those who have met death by burning, hanging, poisoning, and dismemberment. Not to be bettered in the entire Web!"

Another, "Two more wanted for the love-raffle! Come and share in erotic delights!"

Another, "Trained symbiotes from Phadar! Exotic thrills for an ounce of blood!

A painted crone tittered as they passed her booth gaudy with mystic signs. "Read your future, dearie? Find out if the fine young man means what he says."

"He means it, mother," said Lallia hanging to Dumarest's arm. "I'll see to that."

A fire-eater blew long streamers of brilliance. A girl writhed to the monotonous pounding of a drum. A squat, amorphous creature snarled and rattled heavy chains. From before a billowing tent a woman called in a voice of trained allurement:

"You there, master! Care to fight for your lady? Ten-inch blades and first blood the winner. A prize for all contestants and, if you win, fifty coryms and the choice of five willing wantons."

Lallia was curt. "Go to hell, you painted bitch!"

The woman, a blonde, curvaceous of body, smiled with a lifting of her full, red lips. "What's the matter, honey? Can't stand the competition? Or are you afraid good-looking will get himself hurt?"

"Make it five hundred and he'll fight to the death!"

The woman blinked. "Say, do you mean that? If you do a match can be arranged. How about coming up here to discuss the deal?"

"Forget it," snapped Dumarest.

"Why, Earl?" Lallia looked up into his face as he pulled her away from the tent. "I've seen you fight, remember? The pugs they've got in there wouldn't stand a chance against your speed. And we could use five hundred coryms."

"I'll fight if I have to," he said curtly. "But I don't do it for fun. And it wouldn't be a fair combat. The opponent would be helped all along the line. Lights fixed to dazzle, attention-catchers, even a gimmicked blade. I've even known them to use a gas-spray to slow a man down."

"You've worked in the circuits," she said slowly. "You didn't tell me that, Earl."

"There's a lot I didn't tell you."

"But you could win," she insisted. "You know that."

He halted and looked into her eyes. "Listen, girl, there's no such thing as a certainty. Every time a man fights he gambles his life. So far I've won but that doesn't mean that I can't lose. It could be this time, in that tent, is that what you want?"

"You know it isn't, Earl."

"Then forget it." Gently he lifted his hands and dropped them on her shoulders, squeezing before turning away. "Let's look at the rest of the carnival."

A crowd thronged around a table on which a man manipu shy;lated cards. Dumarest won thirty coryms by finding the jester, spent half a corym on a mass of sticky sweetmeat for Lallia and paused before a booth. Young men were practic shy;ing their skill by throwing knives at a target. The leather-lunged operator saw the couple and called an invitation.

"A corym for six blades, my lord. A prize for getting them all in the center."

Dumarest paid his coin and hefted the knives. They were badly balanced, crudely fashioned, and showed marks of wear. But they had a point and that was enough. His arm rose, the hand moving forward, the knife a blur as it left his fingers. The thud as it hit the target was repeated five more times.

"You win, my lord!" The operator looked anxious. "A set of six entitles you to anything on display."

Lallia chose a doll, a pretty thing with long, silken hair and clothes of finely spun fabric.

"You wish to play again, my lord?" The operator smiled his relief as Dumarest shook his head. "It can be done," he bawled as the pair moved away. "You have seen it! Roll up and test your skill!"

"So you can throw knives, Earl," said Lallia as they walked past the glittering booths. "What else don't I know about you? Never mind," she said, not waiting for an answer. "I'll find out. I've a lifetime to do it in. Right, lover?"

He looked at her, tall, beautiful, the doll cradled in her arms, and felt a sudden wave of tenderness. It would be good to find somewhere to settle down, to build a home, and to find immortality in children. Good enough, perhaps, to eliminate his need to search for a forgotten world.

"Look!" Lallia pointed to where an arched opening stood before them. "Freaks and interstellar zoo," she read. "Can we go in, Earl?"

A man stepped forward as they passed into the area be shy;yond the arch. He was old with a sunken face and eyes which held a burning intensity.

"My lord and lady," he said. "I beg of your charity. For the love of all you hold sacred help the pilgrims to Shrine."

Lallia looked around. "Pilgrims?"

"Those within, my lady." The man gestured towards the opening of a tent. "The animals are beyond, but the others need no cage."

"The freaks?" Lallia frowned. "I thought you said they were pilgrims."

"They are both, my lady. The journey is long and costly so they display their infirmities in order to raise funds. It is not a pleasant thing to do but what is pride against neces shy;sity?"

The interior of the tent was dim with a pale green lighting which threw no shadows and yet was gentle to the eyes. A score or more of figures sat or sprawled against the walls on heaped piles of rags. Many appeared to be asleep. All were grotesquely deformed.

"Medical science cannot aid them." The man had accom shy;panied Lallia and Dumarest into the tent. "They are trans shy;plant immune, or they are so distorted that nothing can be done. There are others who suffer less visible infirmity, those with strange diseases and stranger internal growths, but these are not on display."

"And all are bound for Shrine?" asked Dumarest.

"That is so, my lord. There, if their faith is strong, they will be cured. The weak shall rise and walk, the crippled stand straight and tall, the deformed be relieved of their afflictions." He held out his collecting bowl. "Of your charity, my lord. I beg it in their name." He stared as Dumarest poured coins into the bowl. "My lord! Our thanks for your generosity. May good fortune attend you."

Outside Lallia said, "You're crazy, Earl. That or soft. Why did you give him so much?"

"You've been stranded," said Dumarest quietly. "You know what it's like. But you had your health and strength. Can you imagine what it must be like for those poor devils?"

"You're right, Earl, I'm sorry." She bit her lip and then, brightening, said, "Well, it's done and good luck to them. Let's go and look at the animals."

They were a poor collection, beasts from a dozen worlds, furred, clawed, tailed, and armored; most were offshoots of the animals men had taken with them, a few native to local planets. A scaled thing chittered and threshed its wings. A legged snake crawled, eyes like jewels, jaws agape to show a darting tongue. A thing of tendrils and wirelike hair swung in a tight ball from the top of its cage. The air was thick with a dozen odors.