A straggle of revelers hung around the cages, a small group standing before one containing a furred, manlike crea shy;ture, laughing as they tormented it with their whips and the thrusts of long canes. Dumarest looked towards them, past them, narrowing his eyes as he caught a flash of yellow. Yalung? The figure was the same but he had only caught a glimpse-and yellow and black were common colors during a festival.

Lallia shrugged when he mentioned it. "The dealer? No, I didn't see him, but if he's here what of it? I guess he has to relax sometime, like the rest of us."

She wandered off, intent on the animals, leaving Duma-rest behind. He stood, barely interested in the exhibition, waiting until the girl had slaked her curiosity. He watched as she moved towards the cage holding the tormented beast. A man laughed as she protested, and he deliberately thrust again with his cane. The beast stirred, smashing at the stick and tearing it from the man's grasp. Incensed he struck at it with his whip.

"Don't!" Lallia caught at his arm.

"Get away from me, you bitch!"

He pushed, sending the woman sprawling, lifting his whip to strike again. A tuft of fur and blood sprang from the point of impact. The beast roared and flung itself against the bars. Abruptly the entire front of the cage swung open with a grate of yielding metal.

"Lallia!" Dumarest was running as the animal sprang from the cage, one swipe of its paw sending its tormentor hurtling to one side with a crushed skull. "Lallia!"

She moved, crouching on the ground, eyes terrified as she looked at the beast advancing towards her. It was a mutated sport, five feet tall with the body of a gorilla and the fangs, teeth, and muzzle of a bear. As she rose it snarled and jumped towards her.

Dumarest met it in midair.

It was like hitting a wall, a compact mass of bone and sinew three times the weight of a man. He felt himself fall, the sour reek of the thing's breath harsh in his nostrils, and rolled desperately to avoid the raking claws. They rose to shy;gether, the beast lightning fast, and Dumarest knew that to run would be suicide. He sprang forward before the creature could wholly regain its balance, ramming the top of his skull under the lower jaw, wedging his boots be shy;tween the hind legs and locking his arms around the furred barrel of the chest.

He strained, muscles cracking as he tried to break the animal's spine. His body was an arched bow, head and feet pressing hard into throat and groin. The teeth couldn't hurt him, the claws on the hind legs couldn't reach him but he could do nothing about the vicious claws on the forepaws. He felt them rip at his shoulders and back, tearing the plastic of his uniform and ripping into the flesh beneath.

Again he heaved, the breath choking in his lungs, face turned to avoid the smothering mat of fur. It was as if he pulled against a mountain. He tensed, straightening so as to press the creature's head back so that it looked at the sky. It snarled and tore at his sides as he strained against the rigid back, knowing that his only chance was to break neck or spine.

He felt something yield and the beast whimpered, a small sound deep in its chest. Gritting his teeth, Dumarest sum shy;moned the last of his strength.

"Yalung!" He heard Lallia's shout above the roar of blood in his ears. "Good God's sake, hurry!"

The beast whimpered again, yielding even more and then, suddenly, convulsed with an explosion of energy which sent Dumarest staggering to one side, to fall and rise fighting for breath, shaking his head to clear the mist from his eyes.

He saw the animal lying dead, Yalung standing over it with a rod of iron in his hands, the end of the improvised spear thick with blood.

"Earl!" Lallia ran towards him, eyes enormous in the pal shy;lor of her face. "My God, Earl, your back!"

He straightened, feeling the burn of multiple lacerations, and looking down saw that his sides and legs were drenched with blood. More blood made a puddle on the ground. The claws of the beast had ripped wide and deep.

And, suddenly, there was pain.

VIII

lallia said, "I'm sorry, Earl. I had no choice. There was nothing else to do but get you back to the Moray."

Dumarest looked at her from where he lay on the bunk. She was wearing the iridescent dress and the thick coils of her midnight hair hung loose about her shoulders. The light gleamed from the naked flesh of her arms, the long curves of her thighs.

"You had a choice," he said quietly. "You could have taken me to a local doctor."

"Yes," she admitted. "I could but I didn't think of it. You were in a hell of a mess, passing out with weakness and pain, and Yalung seemed to know just what to do. He washed you down and shot you full of dope and antibiotics. At first I thought of moving you before it was too late but Sheyan left early. The rest you know."

A time of pain interspersed with gulps of basic, the sting of antiseptics, the discomfort of changed dressings. Of drug-induced sleep and the sparing magic of slowtime. Dumarest sat upright and looked at his naked body, seeing the thin lines of scar tissue on his sides. There would be more on his back and shoulders: newly healed wounds which would eventually harden.

"A local doctor could have got me fit within two days," he said. "Using slowtime and intravenous feeding. But it would have cost money. Did you think of that?"

Lallia met his eyes. "At first, no, but I did later. All right, Earl, so I begrudged the cost. It would have taken all we had and I didn't fancy us being stranded on Joy. And what's the difference? So we didn't quit the Moray, but there will be another chance later."

Dumarest rose and looked down at the woman. He saw the pallor of fatigue, the lines of weariness marring her beauty. She could have left him. She could have let him die. Instead she had sat beside him in constant attendance.

"You're tired," he said. "Lie down and get some rest"

"I'm all right, Earl."

"Do it." He stooped and lifted her from the chair. "I don't want you losing your beauty."

"As long as you want me, Earl." She clung to him. "Any way you want," she whispered. "But just keep wanting."

He smiled and pressed her to the bunk. Turning he opened the lockers. His uniform had been ruined and he had the choice of wearing the protective clothing or those he had worn before joining the ship. He chose his own, slipping into the gray plastic, the material comforting in its protec shy;tion. Had he worn it on Joy the claws of the beast would never have penetrated the wire mesh buried in the material. The knife fell as he adjusted the tunic and he thrust it into his boot.

That's better." Lallia looked at him as he stood beside the bunk. "You never did look quite at home in that han shy;dler's uniform."

"Go to sleep," he said, closing the lockers. Turning off the light he stepped from the cabin.

Yalung looked up from the table as Dumarest entered the salon, watching as he drew a cup of basic, refilling it twice more before setting it down.

"You were hungry," said the dealer. "A healthy sign. You are fully recovered?"

"Yes." Dumarest looked at the yellow face, the enigmatic eyes. "I must thank you for coming to my aid with that spear. And again for looking after me."

"The woman did that." A scatter of gems lay on the sur shy;face of the table, tiny lights winking from their facets. "She tended you as if you were her child. My own part was small. If I could offer advice I would suggest that you conserve your strength. The wounds were stubborn to heal. The claws of the beast must have carried a mutated infection. Once I despaired for your life." His hand touched the gems. "I gathered from the woman that you intended to leave us at Joy."